Christmas in Absaroka, Continued

All I do is copy Craig Johnson. (And when I say "copy" I do not mean word-for-word, I mean I find inspiration in his stories, as do all Fan Fic authors). Every Christmas, for a few years now, he writes a short story and emails it to his newsletter subscribers on Christmas Eve. The stories are a nice treat while we wait for the next novel. Most of the stories are glimpses into Walt's life. There isn't nearly enough Vic in most of them, and a decided lack of Walt/Vic action, much to my dismay. So… what Mr. Johnson does not provide, I feel compelled to add. So far, I have two Part 2's. If I think of more, I'll add them as additional chapters.

Add'l note: since I'm inspired by Mr. Johnson, these are written more in the book universe than the TV realm. So if you've only watched the show, the timelines/relationships/situations may not match up just right.

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The Percentages, cont'd.

"Did you know only 11% of newlyweds are over 50 years old?"

"Shut up, Walt."

The Terror was sitting on my lap, making quick work of unbuttoning my shirt and mussing my hair. Despite her overwhelming presence, I was still obsessing over an article I'd read in a magazine for "senior adults" I'd found at the airport while waiting for the three loves of my live to return from Philadelphia. Cady invited us to stay at her place in Cheyenne, but both Vic and I were anxious to be back home with no one else around. A week away was too long, as far as I was concerned.

"It's just that, reasonably speaking, the chances of success for a new relationship at this age …"

"I'm not over 50," she needlessly pointed out while unclasping my belt. Boy howdy.

"Only two thirds of Baby Boomers are married. Over half have been divorced, and almost a third have never married at all."

She ceased the attention her lips were giving my neck and gave me the look that indicated she was about out of patience. "Have you been reading Huffington Post again? And who says we're getting married?"

"Well, after all that talk of hearth and home … I mean, we haven't discussed it lately, but …" I stopped to collect my thoughts, which wasn't easy since Vic was now unbuttoning her shirt while locking those tarnished gold eyes on mine. I shifted a bit and pushed her hips just a bit away from mine before continuing. "It's just that, this past week, and any time you're away… I miss you more every time. It's made me realize I don't want to be away from you. I want you here all the time." She didn't interrupt, so I continued. "Like I said before, I've tried to do things your way, but I'm not crazy about being with you just part-time. I know you like your independence, but would you consider moving in here?"

She sat very still and quiet before answering. "So what's up with the Percentages of Doom? Those sound like someone trying to talk their way out of a relationship, not deeper into it."

She had a point. "I guess, while I want you here, I also want us to know what we're getting into. Life with an old fart like me won't be easy."

She smiled her lopsided smile and raised an eyebrow. "Old fart? You know I don't think of you that way. You are tougher, and sexier, than any man I've ever known." She leaned in close, pressing her lips to my ear. "And you are a better lover, too." Her breath and her words sent electricity down my spine. "Besides," she continued, "there are plenty of reasons for the over-50 crowd to get married."

"You mean other than the sex," I couldn't help but mention.

"Yes, other than that." She moved off my lap and onto the coffee table, leaning forward to pull off her boots. "Insurance is generally cheaper for married couples."

"Is that so?" I managed, while getting an eyeful of breasts.

"Yes. Not to mention sharing living expenses is a bonus, and sometimes necessary, for older couples." With this, she stood and turned her back to me, straddling my feet and leaning over to pull of my boots. This time the view was of her jean-glad backside and words wouldn't form in my brain, much less come out my mouth.

She returned to my lap, squeezing my thighs between hers. "And for you and me," she returned to unbuttoning my shirt, "being married might lend an element of legitimacy to our relationship, which might help win over your constituents who are less-than-supportive of your involvement with your deputy."

"Did you just use the word 'legitimacy' in a sentence?" I said with smirk.

"Shut up, Longmire," she mumbled as she pressed her lips to mine.

"You left out two other very good reasons," I managed, while grasping those jean-covered thighs. "Hospital visits and medical decisions. For married couples, hospital visits aren't restricted and spouses are consulted on medical decisions." I lifted her off my lap and laid her on the couch, laying between her thighs.

"I love it when you talk dirty," she giggled as I pressed my lips her throat. "Was that one reason or two?"

"That was one." I managed to pull away so I could see her face. I studied her and lightly played my fingers across her lips. "Love. When you love someone, you want them around. All the time. It's probably selfish, but I want you here, on my couch, in my bed, underfoot and in the way… all the time." She was smiling back at me, with no hint of annoyance or frustration. "Besides, percentages show that people in a loving relationship live longer."

"Well, here's to the percentages," she offered with a big smile, pulling my lips to hers.