Hi, all! Here's something new. This was originally intended as a one-shot story and I've been working on it steadily for several weeks in the rare pockets of time I've been able to find. As it has now crept up over 6,000 words with a fair amount left to go, I decided to start posting it in parts. I have other reasons for doing so, too— for one thing, I have a serious case of shareitis. The urge to share is powerful, and I've got ants in my pants. :)

The first parts of this fic contain some mature subject matter, but are acceptably T-rated. Later portions, on the other hand, are quite racy and I will eventually have to change the rating to reflect this. I admit to a certain degree of selfishness with my posting strategy here, because I would like people to actually see this fic before I change the rating to M and it is eaten by ffnet's filters. So yes. Be aware; mature content throughout, rating will rise.

Hope you'll all enjoy it!

x

Undercover
Part I

"Ready?"

Walt did a double take at the sight of the blonde deputy leaning against the doorframe of his office. Her hair was loose, legs lengthened by high heels, and her leather jacket was in place. As his eyes raked over Vic's form he found that his mind was generating nothing but questions, some of them pretty damn complicated, with nary a simple answer in sight.

Through sheer force of will he managed to grind out a trusty "Yep," standing behind his desk.

Some of the questions were fairly innocuous.

Why did they always wear leather jackets when they needed to go undercover? He'd mainly done it because it was the only jacket Walt owned that he thought of as something he would wear off-duty— the irony of course being that the only time he wore it was when he needed to appear incognito while most certainly on-duty. Then Vic had started doing it too, and Walt didn't have the heart to ask her whether she was trying to match on purpose or if she simply hadn't noticed.

In the middle of the range of questions was something that had been a constant itch at the back of Walt's mind ever since they'd all sat down to plan their strategy for solving this case. Why was it that Vic automatically assumed that the two of them would be the ones posing as a married couple? Surely Branch was closer to her age range, and in some ways it would have made more sense for Walt to stay on the outside to coordinate both teams. And yet, he'd gone along with it. Which opened up another line of questioning he most definitely wasn't prepared for.

Last on Walt's list of queries and most certainly least likely to be asked or answered was this: just where, exactly, was his deputy concealing her firearm within that short, tight dress?

He shook his head to clear it of the inappropriate imaginings it had concocted. She probably has a shoulder holster under her jacket, you idiot.

x

Two hours later they were perched at a dingy bar just inside the line with Cumberland County, and Vic was doing a bang-up job of making it look like she enjoyed cosmopolitans. Maybe she was enjoying them— Walt thought she preferred dirty martinis, but perhaps even her choice of cocktail was undercover tonight. She certainly was taking their purported status as newlyweds seriously. The casual touches and the whispering in his ear, even if those whispers happened to be all business, had Walt wired hotter than he'd ever be willing to admit.

The wedding ring glinted on his deputy's hand as she leaned over to talk to the bartender, making a big show of taking a large sip of her drink. And wasn't that just the problem? Walt had never considered himself particularly effective at undercover. It was too easy to lose track of where the pretending ended and reality began. Vic wasn't married anymore, but the sight of that ring made him think back to how much he'd wanted her even when she was. He still wanted her, in every conceivable sense, and the way she was wriggling up against him in that form-fitting turquoise dress was giving him… ideas.

As if on cue, her painted-pinker-than-usual lips pressed against the shell of his ear. "I think I got us in. You were right, it's the Dry Creek Motel."

Walt played into it, resting his hand at the small of her back as he nodded in the affirmative. Touching Vic seemed like such a natural thing, the swaying line of her waist fitting so perfectly beneath his hand as he slid it there. The material of the dress was lacy, but softer than it looked. She leaned her back against his chest as she finished the girly-looking pink cocktail, placing it on the bar next to his three-quarters-empty bottle of Coors. The length of Vic's body against his own made Walt wonder whether his choice of beers might not be the only questionable decision he'd make tonight.

They headed out, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm until they arrived at the black truck Walt had borrowed from Omar. Both of their vehicles were far too recognizable— undercover didn't tend to go so well if you showed up in a mode of transport emblazoned with departmental logos. Vic used his shoulder to help herself climb into the cab, and a flash of one long smooth leg left Walt wondering how women wearing skirts and dresses ever managed to get in and out of their vehicles without giving everyone in town a show.

The Dry Creek Motel, it seemed, had become an unusually remote destination for a particular subset of sexual deviants. It was surprising really, how often the Absaroka County Sheriff's Department dealt with prostitution and other sex trade related crimes— evidently the sparse population lacked an adequate amount of choice in hobbies. Walt found it perplexing, that people's appetites would bring them out to the middle of nowhere to engage in such a tawdry and emotionless ritual.

Apparently these days, instead of "If you wanna get laid, talk to the Indian at the Red Pony," it was "If you want to swap wives or join an orgy, get yourself an orange keycard for the Dry Creek Motel." And so they'd gotten one. Or rather, Vic had. Walt wasn't so sure how he felt about his deputy using her feminine wiles to gain access to an underground sex ring. For both of them. But he'd better damn well leave his reservations at the door because they were going to have to make this look good.

When they disembarked into the dimly lit dirt and gravel parking lot Vic skipped the arm-holding and squeezed herself in against him, and Walt had to bite the inside of his lip to contain the noise he almost made when he felt her hand snaking around and sliding into the back pocket of his Levis. She must have felt him tense up, because she leaned her face up next to his shoulder.

"Help—"

"—sell it. Yep, I know."

Figuring two could play that game, Walt pulled her in against him with his arm around her back and his fingers splayed at the curve of her hip. She shivered, and he absently reminded himself that it wasn't a cold night and she was wearing that suede leather jacket that he could feel sliding against the smoother sleeve of his own. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was affected by those unaccustomed touches…

x

After a short and casually observant stroll they found their assigned room, and Walt quirked an amused eyebrow at Vic as she struggled slightly with the keycard. She responded with a wry grin, peering at him from the corner of one smoky eye. Somehow Walt knew that they were both thinking about another night in Arizona, at another motel just like this one.

What had he said to her, when she helped him gain access to his room that time? "And they say chivalry's dead." Well, chivalry and all the noble convictions that went along with it most certainly would have been dead that night if Vic had knocked on the connecting door for the reason he'd been contemplating. He had always gone to great lengths to deny his feelings for Vic, both the romantic and the more outwardly lustful, but in Arizona he had been ready to compromise his convictions. If she had been standing on the other side of that door as anything other than the consummate professional that she was, he knew he would have surrendered to those urges.

The door mechanism beeped and clicked and Walt was back to that mental conundrum, the inability to separate reality from the fantastical constructions of undercover. It was even harder now that they were alone— how was he supposed to act toward Vic while no one was watching them?

Vic stepped into the room ahead of him. He nearly walked right into her as she paused at the threshold of the narrow entryway, peeking around the corner. He steadied himself with one hand on the wall and one at her waist on the outside of her jacket, leather enticingly soft beneath his fingers. She was very still for a moment, and Walt's eyes widened as she turned slowly and reached her lips up toward his ear. What the hell was she doing? There was nobody here to fool, so why was her hand on his shoulder and the softness of her chest pressing against his arm? Walt was swiftly approaching panic mode at the sensation of her breath ghosting over his sensitive earlobe.

"Do you think the room is bugged?"

Oh. Right. Their eyes met for a moment and Walt tried to ignore how close their faces were. Resisting the impulse to swallow heavily, he ducked his head. His cheek was almost, almost touching hers as he returned the gesture and spoke right into her ear.

"Doubt it. They're not professionals, just lucky amateurs."

Her grip on his shoulder tightened just for a moment as he spoke, releasing abruptly as though Vic had caught herself doing something she shouldn't.

Secretly satisfied, Walt leaned in again. "Let's take a look around."

She nodded absently, and he was sure her eyes were fixed on his lips for several seconds before she turned away. He really needed to start focusing on the task at hand, or this whole operation could turn into a very special type of disaster.

x

There we are. Looks like Walt might be in a bit of trouble. Haha! Please do let me know what you thought of the introductory chapter of this little story. It always makes me so happy to hear everyone's thoughts and reactions! :D