Survival
(Set after S3E10 and references HiE and AtCF books)
Kudos to the creator of Durant, and merely an homage to his characters. After a reader PM'd and contested my use of "Tensleep," I will refer you to the mountainous recreation area and Permian sandstone, which are indeed spelled "Tensleep." The tiny town itself is spelled "Ten Sleep." Hope this helps. Also, an Italian feast with centerpiece might not fit on the kitchen table for 3 in Walt's cabin. Also, we have NO idea how Vic is with horses in general; we have only seen her with a recently-traumatized wild horse, in the context of catching a murder suspect. She may be fine with horses; she got Horse to the vet just fine in S2E8. I also haven't found any specific references in the books. These just explain a few of my choices, here.
"Shouldn't there be some sort of survival course for prospective SITs?" Vic asked, sipping her third glass of a lovely red wine that evening, courtesy of Henry Standing Bear. Walt had resorted to his default Rainier beer. She had been counting: two, so far. His consumption had really gone down in the year since the Barlow Connally shooting. She considered she might have something to do with that.
Walt tilted his head and looked up from his beer. "SITs?"
"Sheriffs in Training," she explained. "Prospective, of course."
"Of course," acknowledged Henry gravely.
The three of them sat ensconced in Walt's cabin after she had finally had the chance to prepare the very fine Lasagna Rustica attributed to her Uncle Alphonse's restaurant in Philadelpia. She had only made it once before, but the attempt had not been repeated since Walt's assault on Tensleep two years before, and she and Walt were having their very first dinner at the cabin with a guest as a…well, unofficial couple.
They were all sitting at a makeshift table she had cobbled together out of packing crates she had borrowed from the shed, the sturdy top over the assemblage an old door, all pieces scrubbed to within an inch of their lives specifically for the event. Although none of the chairs matched, she could care less. The tablecloth was red-checks, no doubt from some past picnic, and the late-season fresh wildflowers, courtesy of Walt, very much said home. She had originally thought to eat outside, but the robust Indian Summer had suddenly faded to a bleak wintry chill in that sudden seasonal change that was Wyoming. Warmth from the cheerful fire and a fat candle on the table dispersed that chill with a mellow glow.
She had of course asked Walt, before fresh-washing and using the tablecloth. She didn't want to dredge up any sad or unwelcome memories on her first attempt at entertaining in his home.
"So, what do you guys think? About the training, I mean." She tried to keep it light.
Both men responded to her query with raised eyebrows, before looking at each other, tilting their heads. They were thoughtful. Too much so, and she knew where that might lead, so she interrupted their contemplations
"Oh, c'mon, I'm from Philly…I'm tough, but I might need a bit of coaching to make it in the wilderness, and if you really want me to run in a few years, Walt, I may end up stranded in this county in fucking nowhere…You and Walt know these mountains, Henry, maybe I should at least get acquainted up close and personal?"
"It's not a bad idea," Walt finally allowed, and she wondered if somewhere in that head of his he were PTSD-ing his own experience as he pondered, including his infrequent mentions of spirit guides up in the mountains. She had withheld comment on said guides, but whatever had helped him survive, had brought him back to her, those, she thanked.
He went on, "We might as well work with her while we are both still spry enough to keep up…" He still rarely missed pointing out their age difference when with Henry. He would not speak to it in larger company, though. Say, with daughter Cady or the less senior deputies, and that did warm her heart.
She threw a pillow at him for even mentioning it, tactically and tactfully missing his Rainier, but his eyes lit with promise of retribution, the Longmire Later in his eyes. Her eyebrows lifted in challenge. We'll see how just old are you are, indeed, Later. She had worked very hard to remove the 'O' word from his vocabulary, if not from his thoughts. How fortunate she was to be fluent in WaltSpeak, where he spoke his heart through his eyes. Those early years, that was all she had from him, and had somewhat learned to be his translator in crisis situations.
"No," agreed Henry, "it is not, since she is already learning to ride bareback and western with me, but after her 'hunting accident' with Omar a couple of years ago, she could certainly use some back country polish."
Unspoken there was that in an English saddle, she was a proficient jumper from her teenage years, but the sitting trot, latigo knots and riding without a saddle was still difficult for her.
"Walt already lets me help with Horse," she offered. She very much wanted to surpass the 'dude' phase if she were going to be a serious contender for sheriff whenever Walt decided he was through. Some days she thought it might be the next month, then next year, then maybe many years down the road. She knew he loved it, and probably needed it far more than she did at this juncture. It staved off the inevitability of the "R" word: Retirement, and being sheriff kept him from joining his former boss Lucian in that old-guy state. She liked that he was in no hurry. She herself was in no hurry. There was still time, still a lot to learn.
Well, except for her pesky biologic clock unexpectedly kicking in, and doing little checks here and there. Like, gotta make a decision here soon, no kids with the older guy, or to try for one or two. But that was a discussion involving Walt for much later. Right now, they were barely a couple.
"Well, even now, I doubt if I could keep up with either of you at altitude, or at orienteering," she admitted, returning to the here and now, "and I am a total washout at tracking. Also, if I were supposed to catch or hunt dinner, I can pretty much guarantee we'd end up hungry, and probably thirsty. And…I'd freeze in a heartbeat." She did not add that Walt had cheated death more than once in the wintry landscapes, despite growing up near the Bighorns. "I know Ferg has some of those skills, but…"
"But, he's young and still inexperienced. So, survival skills? Mmmph," Walt grunted. He took another sip of his Rainier, and his eyes narrowed.
She shrugged, then trimmed a sliver of lasagna from the baking dish and put it on her plate, before slicing it into small pieces.
"No lasagna rustica out there," said Henry agreed gravely, but there was a sparkle in his eye.
"Just think about it," she urged, chewing with relish. It brought back all sorts of good memories and aromas from Uncle Alphonse's over the years, and her eyes closed in anticipation, because she knew Walt also liked watching her eat. He even assisted her here and there with that…but that might be for the Later promised in his eyes. And, she had planted the seed about the training. Let them see where they took it, what they made of it.
Vic knew that a year or so back Walt had helped out one of Mathias' female deputies to be a better law enforcement officer over a couple of weeks while she was training in Nebraska. At the time, she had bit her tongue. It was a noble thing to do on his part, but she thought there might have been an attraction of some sort. Once she even considered that it might be the uniform, and wondered if Walt had experienced the hots for any of his fellow female Marines umpteen years ago. Then again, Henry had mentioned the deputy once or twice since then, but she had bit her tongue on that, as well. That was between Henry and the deputy, or maybe between Walt and Henry.
Unproductive thoughts, because the look in Walt's eyes then had been and still was only for her, and she came back to present just as Henry was saying, "I would be glad to teach her tracking if you will teach her survival in the cold. You might not appreciate me with her in the same sleeping bag."
The ruddy color on Walt's cheekbones betrayed his response to that, although he said nothing. She smiled inwardly.
"Wow, thanks, you two."
Walt's eyes came up to hers. "We both want you to succeed," but she could see the fear in his eyes. Fear that she one day might do something like he had done at Tensleep? Fear for her? Probably yes to both.
She laid a hand over his, where it rested in his thigh and kept her eyes on his. "Thank you," she said, but her own eyes said to him, "I want learn to survive, because I love you and don't ever want to leave you."
Hopefully he was as proficient at VicSpeak as she was at WaltSpeak.
"Now, who is ready for Tiramisu?" she asked brightly and the evening continued as a great success.