A/N One shot ...prompt inspired by RebelxxWaltz ... Folsom Prison Blues and Johnny Cash as the PERFECT wingman.
Only static squeezes in between the atoms of dead air permeating the vast Wyoming county as the Bronco splits the two-lane highway surrounded by the brilliantly green evergreens draping the asphalt.
"This is why people pay for satellite radio. This is bullshit." She says.
He smacks his lips and glimpses out of the window judging her statement and wondering why anyone would ever consider paying for what should be free but his eyes go back to the road and his words stay locked inside.
They haven't been the same since, well you know the shit that went down last year, and how do they recover from that? They fill their intermittent time together with facts about cases and not much else. She told him the day they took down the skimpy Christmas decorations at the station that she was going to stay. He didn't ask for more and she didn't offer but each knew it was a reprieve. They don't do well with ultimatums.
He scratches his jaw with his index finger the way he does and she takes note of the gray that fills his beard; his sideburns are completely gray. It's the stress she tells herself but it's more than that she knows that to be true too. She turns the left knob and then the right twirling it back and forth until a few recognizable notes drift through. The twang of the old school guitar leads the lived in voice.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees his head bob just once as his wrist bends forward; his fingers fall over the steering wheel, and then she hears it.
"I hang my head and cry." His deep voice is in tune and he's keeping rhythm and as the familiar chord of Folsom Prison Blues continues he twangs along with the strings and in pitch perfect harmony with Johnny Cash.
"What the fuck?" She says, smiling and her face is full and it flushes because he's so handsome.
He pats the steering wheel and continues to sing and move his body in a way that makes her want to rip his clothes off and she realizes that she hasn't thought of him, naked that is, for several months and at first it was like deciding to stop drinking coffee or eating chocolate. He was a hard habit to break but she did and she didn't want to go back not after all the hurt that they were still trying to heal from.
"Come on, Vic." He says, his smile is full, his nice white teeth glistening along with his blue eyes.
She can't stop smiling.
He gently pushes her shoulder with the tips of his long fingers, "Everybody knows this song. Come on."
I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, they harmonize together and Walt turns the steering wheel into a drum set while Vic wales on the air guitar. It's the best three minutes and thirty-six seconds they've ever had together and they both come to the same conclusion simultaneously as the static bullies its way back through the round hidden speakers.
They are both quiet from the awkwardness of familiar desires that they both buried.
"That was fun." The deep timbre of his words float through the small space between them and he smiles, his lips closed, his eyes bright.
She twirls her hair in her finger, the way she does when she's flirting or curious or both, "It was." Her smile matches his and she tries to hide her surprise as she feels her heart begin to beat.
She breathes in deeply and her words come out measured and calm, "I've really missed us."
His hat turns full tilt as his eyes fall into hers and she knows he's not thinking he's just feeling it, "Me, too."
"Maybe we should talk about it." He says, his voice is a little weak because it hurts not because he's scared.
She shakes her head, "I don't know what to say to you, Walt, about any of it, really."
"We need to be better to each other."
Her eyes stay on him.
He points to the turnout but he doesn't say anything like she can read his mind and she does as he pulls the Bronco onto the carved out section of highway; his foot presses the brake, his palm faces heaven as he pushes it into park.
"I didn't know how to be there for you, Walt. I was falling apart and couldn't admit it. It was all too much."
His hat is off, his thick fingers run through and pull his locks back, he slides the felt brim up on the dash.
"I wasn't there for you either, Vic." He looks out of his window and checks the side mirror and the rear view out of habit then he looks back at her his fingers back on his jaw then collapsing around the steering wheel.
"I came back early just to see you." He offers her and he means it.
She listens as she remembers him carrying the bookcase into his office, strutting like a peacock, with his feathers on display.
"Why couldn't you tell me that?"
"Eamon."
"Eamon?"
"I didn't like it, him being so close to you, and well you know the rest."
"Can you tell me now?" Her voice is soft and feminine like it is when it's just them, when she isn't performing for the rest.
He checks the mirrors again and lifts his arm on the back of the bench seat exposing his entire side opening himself to her.
He doesn't hesitate when he tells her because he knows there is nothing more he can do to destroy it, "I want you."
"Prove it."
His fingers wrap around her collar and he pulls her into him as he leans to meet her and he's not gentle, he's not sweet, he's taking what she is giving. There's no head mashing, no bumping, they are in sync as she follows his lead. Their tongues have waited, their lips have teased, as he pulls her lower lip in and sinks his teeth into her flesh.
It feels like a transfusion, that's what she's thinking, as the years of never really being loved fueled her insecurity and as his tongue fills her mouth fitting perfectly in the warm space, he's filling her with all of the love she's ever wanted and needed.
Just as they both run out of air, he leans back, and brushes his nose with his finger and sniffs the stuffiness in his nasals away.
"I don't want this to stop." He says, eyes serious, and trained on her.
"Should we talk about consequences?"
"We'll talk ourselves out if it."
"Maybe we should."
"Is that what you want?"
"No." She shakes her head. "But I want to be smart about it for once in my fucking life."
He traces her hand with his finger and stops and rests his palm on hers.
"Ok."
"You can't freak the fuck out if we do this, Walt."
He smiles, "I won't."
He's not convincing.
She drops her head and looks at him sarcastically and he smiles, "Ok, I won't freak out too badly." He laughs.
"Walt."
"Yeah."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She can't resist the invisible pull between them and she leans forward into his chest. He relaxes into the seat and she takes control and he lets her. His hands fall around her waist and she can feel him through his jeans and it turns her on; the fact that she turns him on.
When she stops to take a breath he whispers in her ear, "We gotta job to do."
"I'm doing it."
She can hear him laugh softly and she starts laughing and his hands slide up her back and back down again as he pulls her into him.
"Have dinner with me tonight."
"I can't." She says and she waits for it but it doesn't come and he says, "Ok."
His hand rests on her handcuff case, "How about Friday night. A real date. With me I mean."
"I'm covering for Ferg, on Friday, remember."
He leans in and smells her hair and kisses her neck, "If we don't have sex soon I think I'll die."
"What?" She's not actually sure she heard him correctly and she can feel her face flood as he kisses her and her hands grip the back of the seat, then they press against his ears and she knows she loves him. She's always known and tasting him for the first time she knows she will never let go but it doesn't scare her, it doesn't intimidate her, because it's right.
They both know it.
I'm back on hiatus. Enjoy. So, looking forward to Season 5 of Longmire.