A/N: As Longmire fans, I know we all want a happy ending and while I am not convinced the show will give us that I hope that season 4 moves us past the Martha saga and gives Walt the much needed closure his character needs so he can move forward. I'm not sure if I have accomplished what I wanted between Confessions and Truths but I hope you have enjoyed the ride.

Lastly, thank you for those that consistently read my stories. It means a lot that you take the time to review and leave feedback.


Winter rolled into Wyoming with the unpredictability of a temperamental bridegroom. It is fierce and fleeting.

"I think we should do it." He slips some eggs onto his wheat toast and makes a half-sandwich.

"Do what?" I say pouring entirely too much 2% milk in my oatmeal.

His fingers dangle over his plate as he leans forward looking at me. He takes a sip of coffee like he wants to make sure he's clear not like he's afraid.

"Next weekend. Let's try it together." His face is rigid. He's thought this through.

This fall, Nighthorse was sentenced, his plea agreement expedited the process. Hayden emails me when she gets an update from the US Attorney's office and Barlow is working out an agreement now that he is well enough to be released from the medical unit. So, our holding pattern has run the course of these two men, though I don't believe either one of us has named it.

It hasn't been a smooth road but we have managed to stay on it. Henry and Walt hit the trifecta, a rare occurrence I was assured, and they teamed up with Omar to hunt this year. When his tags came through we had our first serious fight but it was a Walt fight which meant not many words were exchanged. After three weeks of the silent treatment and my Italian temper he finally poured it all out. He stopped hunting after he and Martha were married because it meant more time away from her and from Cady. He grew to resent it but he never acknowledged it.

It's shit like this that will never work with us, you know taking out our unresolved bullshit out on each other, and slowly we've worked toward this point where here at our table at the Busy Bee he asks me to spend the weekend with him.

He runs his fingertips over my index finger and he smiles and it does things to me; things I fight not to acknowledge but things just the same and that makes it worse because I know what we have been missing. I don't have to guess. It's not a mystery. He is real. He's a fire breathing man and I miss him.

"You can't stand it anymore can you?" I tease because if I'm going to suffer so is he.

"It's more than that." He looks down, rubs his index finger under his still clean shaven jaw, but I think about it, Vic. I think about it all of the time."

"Me, too." I say and my eyelashes bat, they honest to God bat, and my face flushes and my smile gets big because now all of the defense mechanisms have kicked in.

He smiles a little bigger and his eyes drift like he is remembering and his face gets full.

"How do you want to do it?" I ask but it sounds flirtatious and that's not what I meant.

His face turns bright red.

"What I meant was what are your plans?" I clear my throat.

"I thought maybe you could spend the weekend with me at the cabin now that it's finished." He looks at me trying to read me, trying to put the pieces together, "or we could spend it at your place. I want you to be comfortable."

I look over at the nearly full restaurant trying to process the feelings I wasn't expecting to have this morning over oatmeal.

We have to make peace with ghosts.

"What is this for you?" Suddenly realizing just how serious his proposition is.

"A start for us, Vic. It's a real start in our real world."

The light shifts through the wood blinds catching the hazel flecks in his coral eyes.

"I'll pick you up around 6 on Friday after your shift. I'll even cook dinner for us. A couple of steaks, a couple of beers." And he smiles, again. He's thought about it and he wants it.

"No more best friends?"

"We'll always be that."

I look for everything to do and even volunteer to serve civil papers as an excuse not to be in the office or be on a call with him. It's juvenile, right. Yeah, I know but I'm nervous because the seriousness of this, of what we are doing, is life altering. I packed and repacked my bag about twenty times and still thought everything was wrong so I just left it.

Fuck it. I think, this is too much fucking stress. It's not like we haven't slept together before. Hell, I know what we have been missing and it dawns upon me that's why I'm so nervous because I already know.

Walt struts into the office unexpectedly late Friday afternoon and his hair is cut, his face is super smooth, and as he strides by I catch it. I catch the woodsy musky smell of aftershave and my stomach knots. His left leg drags a half-beat the way it does, his index finger trails my desk, and he makes his way into his office and slams the door shut.

Ferg looks up at me, his dimples extra deep, and his smile extra wide.

"Shut it." I say pointing my pencil eraser at him.

His hands go up in surrender. "I didn't say a word."

He looks back down at his paperwork, "I didn't have to apparently."

I toss a wad of paper that lands square on his head and we exchange a welcome laugh.

"Joe says that Walt's a regular at the barbershop now." Ferg is a little serious.

"I suppose." I add.

"That's good." Ferg says and it is serious.

My cell phone rings and it's the station number.

"Hello."

"We still on?" That deep quiet reverberation of his voice fills my head.

"Yes."

"I'll see you at 1800"

"k."

I hang-up and offer an alibi without being asked, "Just a friend." And Ferg looks at me like I'm crazy because honestly I think he could care less but my behavior is suspicious whether I want it to be or not. I honestly have to get my shit together.

"I'm calling it a day. See you Monday, Ferg." I'm halfway out of the door before he gets out a see you later.

The hot shower and glass of wine is welcome and I put my bag by the front door like I'm headed to summer camp. I close my eyes and chastise myself for being nervous and for acting like an idiot. This isn't a mystery.

Of course he's early but by Walt standards he is right on time. He knocks on the door, though he still has a key, which he never uses. It's like it's off limits or maybe respectful.

He looks good and I hear my breath catch as the door opens all the way. His hair isn't quite dry, yet and he's wearing a new black button up shirt with white stitching and diamond shaped snaps. It's retro Johnny Cash but on his long lean frame it looks good and his third snap is undone and tonight standing under the porch light his sex just drips off of him and he looks like a pagan fertility god not like a 70's disco king trying to bring back the good old days.

"Hi." He says and he smiles.

"Hi." I say and as I smile my eyes line up with his belt buckle and I take a peek because I can't help it. The silver on his gig line matches the silver snaps. It's a natural progression I tell myself. It's by design.

"Your bag?" His deep voice whips me back to reality as his eyes look down my body in a very welcoming way and he doesn't bother to hide his approval.

I pick it up by instinct and he takes it from my hand. Our fingers brush and it seems like an extra-long time but it's not I think I just want it to be.

It's that uncomfortable silence on the ride to his place. The one where you curse yourself for being quiet then say something completely meaningless and stupid. Pretty quickly, I decide to opt for silence, because it's less chance of being followed by an apology.

When we hit the turn-off to his place he reaches over and takes my hand.

"Nothing is going to happen we don't want to, Vic. We are just hanging out, ok."

"Is this how you hang out with all your female friends?" Trying to be funny.

"You're my only one." He turns his head and winks and flashes that brilliant smile.

It is funny but it's also true. This tiny town is just that, it's tiny, and being with him brings all kinds of complications.

The Bronco lights hit the cabin and it's the first time I've seen it since the construction was finished. It looks just a little wider, nothing striking, except the porch is finished. The steps are in and to my complete surprise he hung three Chinese lanterns in the front.

"Walt, it's beautiful."

"I thought you would like the lanterns. I was thinking of you when I bought them."

"I love them."

He opens my door and grabs my bag. As we walk up the steps I see the table on the corner of the porch and realize that he wrapped the porch around to the extension.

"I thought we could eat outside."

The table is set and there's an unlit candle in a hurricane lamp.

"It's like 14 degrees, Walt."

"It's cold but it's clear and I got a heater."

He points up and there tucked under the rafter, on the inside lip of the overhang, is an electric heater that runs the girth of the patio.

"Bob knows a really good electrician and we wired up a lot of stuff. The heater was my idea and it works great when you flip on the ceiling fan it pumps out a tremendous amount of heat. It's pretty amazing. Henry thought of the copper fire pit, said it adds ambiance."

I nod my approval feeling like I have landed in an alternate universe.

"Good, I was hoping you would say, yes."

He opens the cabin door and waits for me to go in ahead, his hand gently falling to my lower back as he guides me inside.

It smells clean, like pine, like the country and the changes they are almost overwhelming.

"Walt, the cabin looks fantastic."

"Thanks, Vic. I've spent a lot of time getting things together. We got those bookcases done. That's my favorite restoration, I think. "

"You want the grand tour?"

"Yeah."

He takes my hand and walks toward the new extension, there are two bedrooms; one slightly larger with a shared Jack and Jill bathroom between them. "They get the morning light."

He puts my bag down in the larger bedroom and rubs his hands on his thighs in a bit of nervousness as he turns trying to read my reaction and there's not much that surprises me about him but this does.

"I read in this room, pointing to the smaller room. We put a murphy bed in the wall so it wouldn't feel like a bedroom but it is."

The overstuffed classic leather chair with the overhead reading lamp and built in bookcase screams of a Walt man-cave.

"I found my old record player and we monkeyed around and got it hooked up to this old receiver so I could play my records. Records I forgot I had." His face lights up like he has a great idea.

"Hey, do you like the Rolling Stones?"

"Who doesn't?"

He smiles and my legs get weak, weak like jelly. He puts on the record and turns it up.

"Nice thing about not having neighbors." And he rubs his hands on his thighs again and smiles that nervous smile and only then do I realize he's nutted up just like I am and that makes me feel better like I'm not the only one.

He walks past me, pressing his palms against my shoulders, as he turns sideways out of the doorway.

"The steaks are resting on the counter. I better get them on the grill. The potatoes are staying warm in the oven. I'm pretty hungry."

"Ok." I pause before he moves almost too embarrassed to say, "You didn't have to put me in the guest room. I mean…."

His face brightens just a bit as if he is surprised, "Oh, ah, I didn't explain. This is the master bedroom now. I made the other room the guest bedroom." His palms slide down my arms and land at my wrists, "This is about us. About our memories." He says just as his lips land on mine and they are soft and full and gentle. Every single pore in my body is on fire and I am pretty certain I am going to collapse.

"I think we should eat dinner." I say so I can recover.

I feel him, pressed against me, and I know he feels it too.

"Good idea." He says but he doesn't move like he can't walk and I think he has to get down from that cloud we are on.

I follow him into the kitchen, he washes his hands, and I can't help but see him again as if I am seeing him for the first time.

"Can I help?"

He looks up, sprinkling the salt on the steaks, "Yeah, grab the salad from the fridge and whatever dressing you want."

"I have a choice." I ask

"You always have." He says not talking about dressing.

"So have you." I say, confirming.

"I know. I made it." He's looking at me, his eyes frozen on mine, as the distance closes and I kiss him. It's not so slow and it's not so gentle and he returns in kind like he's been waiting far too long.

His fingers tangle in mine and his voice is super soft, "I'm gonna put these steaks on. Let's have our dinner date," and he's serious and I think how hard he's worked to make peace.

Dinner is perfect and it's filled with small smiles and simple blushes. I just finish my salted baked potato when he says, "I want you to be comfortable. I know it will take some time but you know I want you to be yourself here."

My fingers land on his, "This is a very good start." I say and his lips curl up, his face relieved. "I can't believe three guys came up with this." I look up and around noticing the flower boxes and the covered sofa and table on the other end of the porch.

"Cady helped a lot." He stirs the remnants of his steak around on his plate and his hand lands on the clothed covered table.

"Henry and I made the table underneath. One of his artist friends from the Rez hand painted a chessboard so Lucian and I can play out here. He spent a couple of nights with me and Cady this summer."

He looks off into the distance like he's remembering that specific feeling of forgiveness.

"It was nice spending the time with her. She picked out the linen, you know the feminine touches." His lips curl up in a moment of parental pride.

He leans his chest forward, his hand still holding his fork; his eyes move over toward me, "She's not opposed to the idea of you and me you know."

"She's just not for it you mean."

"You may be surprised. She likes you more than you think."

"That would surprise me."

"We have been spending college football Saturday's together just like when she was a girl and it has been the best part about getting my life together. That and spending Sunday's with you." He gives me that nervous half-smile.

"There's room for both of you in my life.

"I never thought of it like that before."

"Truthfully, neither did I until I realized how much pressure I was putting on myself and on us. You know moving too fast because I thought I was going to lose you."

"In all these Sunday's you never mentioned that before." I'm leaning forward closing the distance between us while delighting in the warmth from the heater and the fire pit.

"It's been a process."

"The hardest part is not being able to touch you like I've wanted to."

I smile and he licks his lips subconsciously, "For me too."

He leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth, then my lips so softly and I feel his lips part but it feels like slow motion and his tongue just brushes my lips. He doesn't move when he says, "I'm nervous like it's the first time." And he smiles and I feel it against my lips.

"I suppose it is a first of sorts." I say and he backs away gently pulling my wrist toward him and guides me into his lap and we make out on the porch filling each other with months of missing kisses and groans.

"God, I've missed this." I whisper in his ear my thighs are tight with longing.

"I don't ever want this to stop, again." His eyes are black like coal and the heat from his hand is burning through my jeans.

"Why would it?" I ask slightly teasing but slightly serious.

His grip tightens around me, "I'm serious, Vic." The vein in his neck throbs, the pulse evident in the candlelight.

I trace his eyebrows with my thumb and rest my hand against his pronounced cheekbone and super smooth skin. Our eyes lock in this fourth dimension and his words float up.

"I won't stop and start, again. Whatever comes we face it together by being together."

"I'm here, Walt." My fingers tremble against his jaw.

"It will mean late nights and not so regular romantic evenings but not being able to make love to you, Vic, that's something I won't do again."

"I'm ready to be loved." My hand falls and lands just above his heart.

"Are you?" He asks and it's serious like an interrogation and it means much more than he is saying.

"I won't be second place." It's what I've always wanted to say. It's how I've always felt.

"You're not."

I lean back just enough to refocus, he twines his fingers in mine over his heart, "Walt, I played second string to an oil company but I won't play second string to Absaroka County and I won't put you second, either. I don't want to make that mistake with you."

He looks past my shoulder and up and back around like he is really thinking about what to say.

"I'm gonna mess up sometimes." His voice gets a little higher and his finger rubs against the soft flesh at my side.

His eyes are full and exposed and tender, "I'm probably going to mess up more than you want me to but I know I love you and being in love with you means you're always first in my thoughts, Vic."

"But"

"But it means you have to tell me what you need and what you want so I can be the proper man for you. I don't want 30 years of guessing."

"Only 30?"

"I figured if I said 50 it would be reaching."

Neither of us smiles and his grip tightens as the heat rises to an inferno between us, "I'll split the difference." I say and as I lean forward he whispers, "I promise to love you until I die. I'll never stop."

It won't be flawless I think as we make love for the first time that marks the rest of our lives but nothing is and a lifetime of imperfection with him is worth fighting for.

That's our truth. Always has been.


Last Note: Enjoy Longmire Days and get lots of pix with my main man Robert Taylor.

Complete