A/N - I am missing Longmire terribly so to fill the void I decided to try write my own story. Set sometime towards end of Season 3. Vic and Sean have split. Not entirely true to series but pretty close. Just a stand alone story.

Disclaimer - I do not own these characters.

Chapter 1

A tired and weary Sheriff Walter Longmire returned to the Absaroka County Sheriff's office and hung his hat and coat on the rack just inside the door. His deputy, Vic Moretti, raised her head and smiled at him from behind her desk. His other deputies, The Ferg and Branch Connally, were busy discussing the lunch order.

"You want something, Sheriff?" Ferg asked.

"Sure," Walt replied. He was starving. It had been a long time since breakfast. "Surprise me."

The Ferg shrugged, knowing that meant the usual. Walt entered his office and closed the door without engaging further with his staff.

He flopped into the chair behind his desk and contemplated the morning's events. It had been an exceptionally busy morning and he had spent the majority of it trying to track down a suspect who had attacked and raped a middle aged woman living on a ranch a few miles outside of town. It was a harrowing and violent case. The woman, Molly Grady, had been found by her teenage son when he went looking for her early that morning before school. She had been badly beaten and left for dead. Walt got the call before he left his cabin and had driven the Bullet at speed straight to the Grady's property.

He had arrived before the ambulance and witnessed Mrs. Grady's young son, Mark, doing his best to help his mother. She had been beaten about the head and was drifting in and out of consciousness when Walt got there. Her clothes were ripped and her son had tried to spare her dignity by covering her with a horse blanket. Walt did what he could to make her comfortable while they waited for help.

The ambulance arrived soon after and took Mrs. Grady and her son to the hospital in Durant. Walt checked around the property for any sign of the attacker, but he was long gone. It was obvious from trash left in the barn that he had spent the night there and Walt assumed that Molly Grady had probably disturbed him when she entered the barn that morning.

It had been a tough day from thereon in. Walt followed the ambulance to the hospital in the hope of talking to Molly. However, the unfortunate woman remained unconscious, the doctor's suspecting swelling on the brain and they were unsure if she would recover from the beating she received. Walt was angry and frustrated. So far, he had very little to go on. Obviously, the victim was his best witness, but he had no idea when he would be able to talk to her or even if he would ever be able to talk to her.

Walt hated cases like this, incidents where good people were touched by a dreadful evil that shattered their lives. There was no rhyme or reason for it. It was just senseless barbarism.

That was what was going through his mind when Vic yelled from the outer office for Walt to pick up line one. It was his daughter, Cady.

"Hey, Punk," he greeted her affectionately.

"Hi, Dad. I'm just calling to remind you to go to the bank this afternoon. Remember? Like you were supposed to do yesterday and the day before that," she said pointedly.

"Well, I'm kinda in the middle of something here," Walt told her evasively, wanting to spare her the details of his harrowing morning.

"Dad, you're always in the middle of something," Cady reminded him. "This will take all of ten minutes. Just cross the square and take out what you need to pay Bob."

Bob was the handyman that Cady had hired to help her dad finish off his cabin. Walt sighed.

"All right. Okay," Walt relented. "I'll go right now. Are you still cooking dinner tonight?"

"That's the plan," Cady replied. "Just try be home by eight….please?"

"I'll do my best," he said before biding her farewell.

He rooted in his desk drawer for his bank account details. He had them written down somewhere. He found the scrap of paper eventually, then dragged himself back to his feet and marched through to the outer office. The Ferg had left to grab the lunch orders. Vic and Branch were working at their desks.

"I gotta run to the bank. Be back in ten," he said, reaching for his jacket and hat once more.

He strode across the road onto the grass covered square. He continued through the greenery and made his way to the impressive stone building on the opposite side of the square that housed the local bank. As he neared, he rooted around his inside breast pocket and took out his scrap of paper. He wasn't intending on spending very long in the bank, in fact he really hadn't time for this at all, but he couldn't to put it off any longer. Cady would kill him. He just needed to get some cash to pay Bob so he could get the rest of the supplies to finish the job. Most people would use an ATM, but not Walt. He was a bit of a technophobe. He preferred the personal touch.

"Good afternoon, Sheriff," an elderly lady said as she passed him on the sidewalk.

"Mrs. Tobias," Walt replied with a tip of his hat and a smile.

Walt continued toward the bank. He thought he heard a scream and glanced around him, thinking the old lady may have slipped and fallen, but nothing seemed out of place so he shook it off. He was about to place his hand on the handle of the heavy glass door of the bank when it burst open, almost hitting him in the face. He stepped back as someone rushed out. He suddenly found himself standing toe to toe with a masked raider. Their eyes met and Walt was momentarily stunned. Walt saw a flicker of realization quickly followed by panic in the eyes of the gunman when he saw the star on Walt's coat. Walt was already reaching for his weapon but the gunman already had his drawn. He backed away from Walt, pointed his weapon at his face and warned;

"Don't do it, old man."

Walt hesitated. His hand hovered over his weapon. He watched as the gunman continued to back away. He appeared distracted, looking over his shoulder several times. That was when Walt saw a sedan speed around the square and screech to a halt by the sidewalk. The gunman turned towards his ride and Walt took advantage of the momentary distraction and drew his weapon. However, the gunman must have sensed the movement because he re-acted a fraction quicker and fired at Walt, hitting him high in the chest. The impact spun Walt around and he reached for the wall to stay upright. Despite the pain coursing through him, he managed to steady himself, turn and raise his arm to get off a shot of his own. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the gunman grunt as he ran to the vehicle.

Across the square

"Did you hear that?" Vic asked, hearing the first shots from where she was seated at her desk by the open window.

"Sounded like gunshots," Branch replied.

She and Branch both rose from their desks simultaneously and peered out of the window of their first floor office which looked out onto the street. When the next shots came, they noticed some commotion and a car tearing around the square and knew immediately that there was some trouble at the bank.

"Walt," Vic said, remembering her boss was out there.

Branch and Vic exchanged glances. They were already leaving the office and heading down the stairs when more shots rang out.

As those shots rang around the square, Walt realized the precarious position he was in, out in the open with no cover, but there was little he could do about that. The gunman was escaping, already climbing into the car. Despite being injured, Walt followed, keeping himself as close to the walls of the buildings as he could and crouching down. He was starting to feel light-headed. Another shot rang out. Walt responded in kind, firing his Colt, the bullet smashing the rear window of the car.

The getaway car was pulling away and Walt squared his shoulders and released several more shots in its direction. The fleeing thieves responded with another volley through the open car window. Walt felt another impact and fire erupted in his thigh. This time he went down as the blow took his right leg from under him. Tires screeched as the getaway car whipped around the corner and out of sight.

Then everything went quiet. Walt lay on his side, his chest heaving. He could feel his strength slipping away. It hurt to breathe. He knew he was in trouble. His head told him to get up but he hadn't the strength. He tried to concentrate on taking shallow breaths and staying conscious.

By now, Vic and Branch were tearing across the square on foot, weapons drawn.

Henry Standing Bear was one of the few customers who had been inside the bank when the robbery occurred. He had released a sigh of relief when the raider left the building, but when he heard the shooting outside, he took cover inside with everyone else. When the shooting finally stopped, he was one of the first to emerge. He stood outside the door with a couple of other guys for a moment, making sure the coast was clear until one of them pointed to a body lying on the sidewalk.

Henry recognized the tan leather coat and his heart sank when he realized that it was his best friend lying in the dust. His hat had come off and lay close to his head. His chrome pistol had fallen from his grip and lay out of reach a couple of feet away. Most worryingly, his friend wasn't moving. Fearing the worst, Henry composed himself and did what he knew he had to.

"Walt!" he called out, running and dropping to his knees at his friend's side. He put his hand on Walt's shoulder. Walt didn't respond.

Henry rolled him over onto his back to check him for injuries. Walt groaned and tried to respond but couldn't get the words out. Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth. Henry could see the fear in his friend's eyes. Walt knew he was gravely wounded and he didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave his daughter. Henry watched in horror as his friend struggled for breath.

"Hold on, Walt. I need to see where you're hit," he said as he laid him on his back.

With one hand, Henry held his head up off the ground and checked him over with his free hand. He checked his torso first of all and discovered a growing blood stain on his pale blue shirt beneath his heavy coat. He could hear Walt's rasping breath and then noticed the blood bubbling in his throat as he tried to breathe. Henry knew enough about bullet wounds to know that Walt's lung was hit so he gently rolled his old friend onto his injured right side so that his uninjured lung could function unimpeded. Walt groaned as pain shot through him. The movement made him cough and expel the blood that was choking him onto the sidewalk.

"Sorry my friend but this will help you breathe."

As he said it, Walt's eyes rolled in his head and he lost his tenuous grip on consciousness.

"No, no, no, Walt. Please."

Henry's heart sank, thinking that he had lost him. He frantically felt his neck for a pulse and was relieved to find one, however weak.

Henry then turned his attention to the other wound in Walt's right thigh which by now was bleeding profusely. The blood was pooling on the sidewalk and Henry knew by the volume being lost that a major vessel was hit and Walt was in real danger of bleeding out.

"Give me your tie," he demanded, looking up at a nervous-looking bank clerk who was among the small group of people who had emerged from the back and gathered around.

The young banker quickly loosened his tie and handed it to Henry, who used it to tie above the wound in an attempt to slow the blood loss.

Vic and Branch arrived on the scene together and the first thing they witnessed was Henry trying to help their boss.

"Oh, my God! Walt! Walt, can you hear me?" Vic called frantically as she dropped to her knees beside him. She stroked his head, willing him to be okay. Her eyes fell on the disturbing pool of blood on the sidewalk and she felt sick.

"What the hell happened, Henry?" Branch asked, trying to take in the scene.

"The bank was robbed. I am assuming that Walt intervened," he replied. Then, without warning, he stood up and started to run away from the scene.

"Henry, where the hell are you going?" Branch yelled. "Has anyone called an ambulance?"

"To get my truck. Walt's in real trouble, Branch. He's bleeding out. We haven't time to wait for an ambulance," Henry replied. "Keep pressure on the wounds!"

Branch looked around at the group of people that were gawping and saw their concerned faces. Then he looked at Vic and finally down at Walt. There was no love lost between Branch and his boss. They'd had their disagreements, the biggest over Branch's relationship with Walt's daughter, but however strained their relationship was, he would never wish any harm to him.

He had seen Walt receive bruises and scratches in the line of duty before and had shaken them off, but Branch realized that this was no scratch. Walt's face was grey and spattered with blood. His shirt was stained crimson and his jean's leg was completely soaked. He could see that Henry wasn't exaggerating. His boss was in real trouble.

A/N - hope our beloved Walt getting hurt isn't too traumatic for you. Let me know what you think if you have time. This story is unbeta'd so all the mistakes are mine.