Facts, is the third installment of (Confessions, Truths) it came about from a few reader requests. The story picks up about 4-5 years after the end of Truths.
I'm maintaining the fort while the rest of you party at Longmire Days! Seriously, have fun for all of us that couldn't go! We're there in spirit. XD
Only on television do partners split up. That's something I learned in the academy and it's something we live by as both partners and well, you know, partners. It's a statement of fact.
The other fact is that a marriage, no matter how much you want it, is hard. I'm obsessive, that's his new word of the day, and while I may have called him an asshole for saying it I know he has a valid point. I obsess on the good and the bad and lately there seems to be nothing but bad with us and I hate it.
We fight and I storm out of the cabin and into my truck, Ray-bans down on my eyes, mouth loaded for another sharp retort as I start the engine. He stands in the doorway, with one hand on his hip, the other hanging onto the doorframe. He's judging me. He's such an asshole I say to myself. My hand sits on the shifter but I don't move, relaxing my foot from the brake, I storm out of the truck and back to the porch to meet him head on in the doorway.
His hands meet at his chest, arms fold, and he's ready for battle. He doesn't move. We square off in our very domesticated threshold and I step-up into his defined personal space where my lips meet his. A simple kiss on his tight lips signifies another kept promise.
A rule to never fight before we start a shift because it's a fact that one of us may not make it back, back to each other, back to the fights, back to the love that fills our home.
I step back, push my Aviators up on my forehead, and I look at him. His jaw is set, his eyes are dark and he's not letting me in. This is how we do it and it's frustrating and fucked up. Deciding to wait that extra second, deciding if I should apologize, and deciding if I should hold out for him knowing that both of us are wrong.
I'm done I say to myself as I turn and he presses his heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Vic," he says.
"Fuck off," I say.
I feel him behind me, his arms wrap around my waist, his chin in my neck, his lips on my ear.
"Vic."
My hands collapse around his forearms because they pretty much have a mind of their own and despite all this shit I know I love him. I know he's worth it.
"We need to stop." I audible.
"I know, babe." He whispers.
His lips traverse my neck, his tongue trailing across, igniting the fire that constantly burns between us but he stops because it's his turn to keep one of our promises.
Deep breathy tones fill my ear, "Be safe and remember that I love you."
He holds me tight, not letting me go, like his love depends on my breathing.
"I love you" and his arms tighten with mine.
"Are we good?" He asks
"You know we are." I tell him.
"I know"
"Why did you ask?"
"I'm afraid I'm losing you."
"Where would I go?"
"Anywhere you wanted."
"I want to be here."
"I want you here."
"I know"
"I love you." He whispers
"I love you." I say.
We stay like this for a few moments and I soak in the scent of him and as his arms relax I turn facing him. The piercing blue shines brilliantly in the morning sun.
"I'll see you after court?" I ask him casually.
His eyes fall to my chest and his finger meets his stare there, "I'm counting on it." He smiles touching me there like it's a natural way to have a conversation on the front porch.
He leans forward, I wait for his lips to touch me, but they don't instead he says quietly and suddenly, "Let's go away this weekend."
"What?"
He pulls back and looks at me, "Let's just spend some time together."
"I miss you." My fingers trace his overnight bearded jaw and I feel his cheek swell in my hand along with his smile.
"How long has it been?" He asks, his eyes looking up and out onto the unadulterated view from our porch.
"Hmmm at least two years." I answer not able to pinpoint when we were last together, alone, just us, away from Durant.
"We should end that streak this Saturday."
I think for a moment, processing the details, "Let's do it."
"I plan on it." His toothy grin growing wider.
I blush and its welcome, this feeling that flows through me.
"Ok"
This time when he leans forward he kisses me and my hand holds onto his ass and I don't want to let go.
"See you soon." My breath is hot.
"Yup." He follows. It's slow and seductive. He's talking about something else.
Driving to the station, I feel better, but know this weekend is more than a get-a-way it's a fork in the road. The past four years have been idyllic for us but now the lug nuts are loose and it feels like the wheels are about to fall off.
It took about a year for me to agree to move in with him and part of it was my shock that he was good with us living, in what he loosely defined, as sin. He wanted me to be sure and after some time I was sure that not only did I love him. I like him.
The calls come and go. The injuries come and go. The hurt feelings come and lately they stay. I chip. He gnaws.
I line-up coverage for the weekend while downing my morning oatmeal followed by a strawberry protein shake. I still smell like him. I take a deep breath hoping it doesn't go away. I entered us in a 5k charity race for the annual county BBQ. He balked, said he didn't run unless it was to dodge a bullet, and I promptly bought him a new pair of running shoes.
Rainier gets in the way of his training and I hate that but I'm not interested in changing who he is so I accept it.
A couple of weeks ago, Ferg filled out a police report listing Walt's pale legs as a public nuisance and an arrestable offense. It was funny but it is also true. He says blinding his opponents is part of his winning strategy.
I hear the distinct thud of his boots on the old wooden steps just before lunch.
He strolls in with his morning hellos and slides two bananas and a bottle of Smartwater full of ice chips on my desk.
"Peace offering?" I ask
"Something like that." He replies and his fingers slide over my shoulder as he walks past me into his office.
See, this is why I love him.
I wait.
Hearing his footsteps behind me, I feel the hair on my body begin to rise and he's next to me, not touching me, maintaining his professionalism.
I look up at him; my eyes meet his, his lips form the words, "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He nods just for a flash and I stand following him to his office.
The book sits on his desk, open to the first page, "How did you know?"
"We've come from that place, Walt. I thought it would be a good reminder for both of us."
Looking down at his desk, at the crisp clean distinctive smell of a newly pressed book, his once broken and healed fingers stroke the page and he reads my words, The mind of man is capable of anything because everything is in it, all the past as well as the future.
Stepping toward me, he meets me on the visitor side of his desk, his hands rest on my hips with assuredness.
"Quoting Conrad, in a Conrad book, is a very attractive quality for a beautiful woman."
"A peace offering?" He asks.
"Love offering." I say.
His eyes are full and he's fully engaged, fully invested in this, in us.
"I'm going against one of our rules." He says softly and quickly as he kisses me and it's slow, and steady, and warm, and reassuring.
"You need to get busy planning our weekend." I say when our lips break, "I already got shift coverage for the weekend."
His deep blue eyes are half hidden by his drooped eye lids. Eyes that are ready. My hand slides up the front of his jeans, maybe its habit or maybe its instinct but it happens and I lean in and kiss him again while his arms fold around me.
"Save this for this weekend." I say teasing and gently squeezing before I turn toward the door.
He chuckles, that quick little thing he does, "Vic, I won't make it past tonight."
I feel my face flush, he still manages to get that reaction after all these years, and I smile.
"Don't start without me." I flirt back.
His face turns red and he smiles and the phone starts to ring.
"All's fair." I say laughing as I walk out of the door. Little did I know that the other end of that quote was on the other end of the line.