The Repercussions of Chess
A/N: this is a post-Season 4 WIC story, early holiday/Christmas present to you all, probably five or six chapters, but this is NOT the holiday story I mentioned. For me, this is a post NanoWrimo indulgence.
So at some point, we may have a male writer join us here, but he may have an issue with so much, er, WIC-ness, which is a valid male concern and perspective. Full disclosure, this story is not so much a mystery as a resolution to relationship issues which pervaded Season 4, so read with that in mind.
His head pounded and his tongue felt like it had been chewing cotton balls. As he slowly opened his eyes, he became aware of something just out of focus, something he would not expect to see in his bed.
He pulled back, and it snapped into focus…womanly attributes swathed in a modest brunette forest, a woman lying on her side, the indent of her waist betraying her curvy figure, knees together, her delicate feet and painted toes close to the head of his bed. He inhaled sharply.
Who?
He thought he remembered. His memory might be playing tricks, but he would swear he had spent the previous evening playing chess and drinking Pappy's with his irascible former boss Lucian Connally. He, er, hadn't been in the market for female companionship. Vic. Vic had been there, and of course Lucian, his old mentor covertly and sometimes not so covertly leering at her tits. Occasionally, as the Pappy's had loosened him up, he had sneaked a peek, himself.
Vic had driven him home. Vic, who had accompanied him on Tuesdays for several months of Tuesdays now, and had stayed surprisingly sober and almost indulgent of Lucian's irascible humor. Vic, who had been quiet, almost silent, and fell asleep on the couch as they played. She'd been like that since the fiasco with Donna, more apt to accompany him to his weekly appointments with the old lawman. He suspected she didn't spend much time at Cady's, but she had been mute about Eamonn ever since the alley, and didn't think she was spending any time with him.
After his own little peccadillo requiring a 911 and a few days in the hospital where she had performed as acting sheriff and consulted with him on things she said she couldn't handle alone, she resumed riding with him, but The Mouth had gone mysteriously silent, which might have been a blessing, but was instead deeply troubling to him.
While Vic had been in charge, Ruby had consulted with him on the things she considered he really needed to know about, and between them, he had felt the office in four competent hands.
At least with The Mouth, he had known where he stood. Now, he apparently sat in limbo with her…and if this proved out to be some unknown woman, he might have even ruined even that marginal truce.
He had wanted to ask for so long, since she had made that blow-to-his-heart announcement in the alley, if she were seeing anyone…Eamonn or otherwise, but she had not shared. He figured it was his fault for those damning words of his in the alley, and karma, not Vic, was indeed was in this case, a bitch.
So here he was, obviously having picked up someone…had they stopped at the Pony? He really couldn't remember…
"Stop thinking, Shithead!" came a muffled voice from under the covers, in the vicinity of his groin and someone grasped him quite firmly there.
He couldn't suppress a gasp…Vic in his bed? And…in this position?
Now he was pretty sure he did not remember, and he didn't like that about Pappy's, because he wanted to remember every last detail.
What he assumed had been her hand fell away, and her tousled blonde head poked up from the covers.
"You seemed to like it, earlier," she said conversationally.
"I—Vic?"
She reared back a little, but drew a blanket around her.
"Who'd you think's down here? No, don't answer that." The voice was dry, bitter. As though she were imagining other hands, other mouths, other womanly attributes in his bed.
He didn't want to acknowledge, yes, exactly that, but she interrupted his thought—
"I told you to stop fucking thinking!"
"Is that…are you…?"
"Complete sentences, please?" She sat up. "You can't remember? Really? Even after the third time? I mean, they were memorable for me, but…"
Three times? He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. Shit…but all he could say was, "You're still brunette down below?"
She snorted with laughter. "That's what threw you off? Yeah, I stopped dyeing it when there wasn't anybody I had to 'match' for…" She left the sentence hanging and shifted onto her elbow. "So, I wasn't too forceful, you're not sore?" she asked solicitously.
He tested out all the equipment, it all felt in order, but he could tell parts of him had been busy, muscles he hadn't used in a while…
"Nope, good to go. Were you…wanting another round?"
"Oh, I dunno, I thought I might take a shower before heading to work, my boss has been making a point of the deputies not being late—and you might want to visit your horse. She's been protesting the slow room service for the last couple of hours. Or I might just freeze to death making coffee. You're warm, your house is not."
He suddenly realized it must be much later than he thought. It was…a Wednesday, if Tuesday night with Lucian was the previous night…but he'd never had a headache like this one, before….. and she was right, work. He looked over at the clock on the night table – 8 am. Shit. He could be late, he often had been that Year of Neglect after Martha had been murdered, but he had made it a point after returning from the Barlow hiatus to be an example for the younger deputies, and never was late now…normally.
He threw the covers off, started for the living area. "I'll make a fire, shower, coffee…"
"I can do the coffee. You showed me how my last visit. Don't need a fire, I'm leaving, anyway. You should probably visit your horse, first. She's been calling you shithead in horse language. Even I recognized that tone."
Her last visit, when he had been ostensibly protecting her from Gorski. When Lizzie had dropped by, with both trucks parked in full evidence out front, he had only realized much later.
He quickly visited the bathroom, then threw on a t-shirt and jeans before he realized it was really cold out, and added a thick flannel shirt over it. He was putting on socks when she returned from the kitchen wearing his shirt from the day before, with only a couple buttons done. Her brunette-ness peeked from where it hung open as she handed him a mug of coffee. His first instinct was to set down the coffee and press her back into the mattress.
God, but he wanted to remember!
Unfortunately, he didn't.
XXX
Twenty minutes later he returned from the stable to find Vic looking impossibly beautiful drinking coffee and warming her hands on one of his mugs. She had showered, and was dressed complete to her duty jacket, hair secured in a ponytail. She looked ready to leave, but he didn't want her to, ever. This was a memory he hoped would become frequent, and…indelible. The hair tie looked absurdly familiar.
"What did you tie it back with?"
"Dental floss. I couldn't find mine."
"Probably hiding somewhere under the furniture?" he smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he had really smiled. "Vic—" He reached for her. She evaded.
"Work, remember?" she said lightly, and he resigned himself.
"We'll be pushing the grindstones around if you deign to join us, later."
She turned and put her mug in the sink.
"If you drive in with the Bronco…"
Her jaw worked. She obviously hadn't thought that far, that she'd have to come out to pick him up. She sighed.
"All right, I'll wait, but I'm going to warm the truck up. It's fucking cold in here."
He made a loop of his arm and reeled her in, kissed her softly at the corner of her mouth. She didn't recoil, but didn't throw herself into it, either. She did swallow, so she wasn't as unaffected as she pretended. He was pretty sure now that she was pretending to be nonchalant.
"I won't be long."
XXX
The ride in was nearly silent. Still the silent treatment. When had Vic gotten so quiet? After he had started acting like a dick, he supposed. He took her about a block from her truck per her directions.
"I'll head over to the Bee and bring in breakfast," he offered.
"Don't bother for me…no special treatment, Walt."
"Then I'll bring everybody breakfast. Give over, Vic. I should at least feed you."
"No special relationship clues, Walt, like the stuff Branch noticed. Just another day."
But it wasn't just another day. It was their first day, really.
He felt terrible, he knew he wasn't treating her right.
"Vic—" his fingers grazed her cheek.
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, hopped out and almost ran to her own truck.
His eyes closed. After work, he thought. There was time. There was time.
But somehow there wasn't. Half a dozen phone calls, two marked urgent in Ruby's distinctive blocky print, occupied half his afternoon. He was still getting resistance to add Eamonn on, even though his deputies were not enough to cover the additional casino crime, and the casino kept contributing to the increasing calls county-wide.
She was gone when he he came out to call her in toward the end of the day, maybe set something up, dinner in Sheridan, an overnight at the cabin, whatever, but she was gone.
Ruby was still there, finishing up logs and the latest offering to the Durant Courant.
"Where's Vic?" he asked, feeling stupid. He wasn' asking over Ferg or Zach, both of whom were also gone.
"They all responded to the call about ten minutes ago, a robbery at the Kum and Go."
"A robbery?" You didn't tell me?" Suddenly, he felt something was very wrong. He should have been the one responding. "I could have cut the call short."
"Not with the mayor, Walt. We need the extra help, obviously, and they haven't called in, yet."
"I'll join them." He grabbed his coat and threw it on, adding his hat and cranking it down.
"You do that," said Ruby. "Did you get the go ahead for Eamonn? Should I call him?"
"Yes, and I will when I get back."
She said something else, but he didn't hear it. He was already out the door.