Chapter 10

Missing Scene

from

"Death Without Company"

Warning: MULTIPLE SPOILERS ALERT for "Death Without Company."

Walt has saved Sancho but been caught under ice. Henry has cut through with his tomahawk and pulled Walt out. With lungs full of water, Walt dreams about Mari Baroja, but it is not Mari kissing him, it is Vic doing CPR. Walt thanks Henry for saving him and Sancho thanks Walt, but as employer and mentor, what can Walt say to the savior who brought him back from Mari's arms? I was going to re-write this, because in the book, Walt and Vic do not interact until after Walt and Dog are all shot up and she yells at him, but I liked it better here, so, it fits as a missing scene. (Can't I rationalize?) It also allows the epilog to make more sense to me.

Just a few A/N items: I am back in town now for the foreseeable future, no more quick trips out of state to retrieve the contents of my mom's storage unit, no more vacations this year. I will be returning to work on Leaving Durant, Survival and my own characters. I worked Wednesday-today since returning to Denver Tuesday evening, and that work stuff really gets in the way of my writing, haha!

Of course this is Longmire, and I Own Nothing. I wore that sobriquet on my name badge all during Longmire Days, just in case…

The trip up from the basement seemed to take forever, fighting against gravity, as he managed the stairs with increasing effort. The previous night had taken a lot out of him. He was almost to the first-floor landing which turned and headed on up to the office, when his head tipped up and he saw those high-caliber eyes trained on him. They were tarnished gold equally locked and loaded as his sidearm which had earlier been lying across Lucian's chest.

Of course they were the eyes of his vision—well, a portion of his vision, the eyes of the female warrior on the horse, and those of Mari Baroja after they had somehow morphed. Right now, they were narrowed into cat-like gold slits, the lips pursed in obvious disapproval.

"So you fucking leave the hospital like all is la-ti-dah and have started stair marathons? Where are your meds?"

He thought silence might be the best tactic, here. He did not want to admit the meds lay in the wastebasket in his office, where he'd chucked them before changing his shirt. She filled his silence.

"Isaac reminded me to make you take your meds."

"I do. Have them." True, just in the office trash…

"When did you last take one?"

He could hardly admit he hadn't taken one, yet.

"What, the fuck, Walt? Do you mean these meds?" She held up a bottle out of her pocket. "I get back from serving a summons, and these are in your wastebasket? Like, what happened last night was no big thing?" Her voice had risen proportionate to the drama of the situation.

"I'm okay," he said, trying to reassure her.

"Like fuck you are! Isaac says you have walking pneumonia. That's serious stuff. You know, the puppet guy, Jim Henson poo-pooed that and ended up dying of it. No more Kermit. So I leave the response to the summons on your desk, and what do I find in your trash?"

"I know—" he began, only to be cut off.

"You know shit! I performed CPR last night—no membranes, no nothing, because your lungs were full of water. It seemed like you threw that up…but you also have, as I count it, a broken bone in your orbit, numerous contusions, and your eye is not in the best of shape. And you were out of the hospital in what…about an hour?"

He shrugged. He couldn't dispute the accuracy of her statements.

"So. You take one of these. Now."

"Water, Vic."

"Upstairs. I'll get you water. No more fucking winter swimming, Walt."

It was little more than what Ruby had said, except for the expletive.

"No."

Her face was mutinous. The tarnished gold blazoned full bore and flashing.

"Vic…about last night…" He watched her. He was beginning to think he could read her. It was not always a comforting thought. She almost looked like she was going to cry.

He thought about the water, his dream vision, Henry's tomahawk and strength pulling him out, and Vic cradling his head in her lap. He remembered the warm salt water falling on his face as though she were administering comfort from heaven.

She threw him a look to stop prevaricating. He knew the look, had seen it a hundred times. Somehow, the Cheyenne Nation's simple thank you, similar to what he had managed for Sancho a few minutes before, did not seem enough.

"Vic…" He saw her mouth go white. Abandoning any semblance of thought, he pulled the prickly deputy into his arms, something he had wanted to do for so long…since he had first stood in front of her double-wide with the wind trying to flick away their words to Nebraska…

"It's okay. I'll be okay."

And then he could feel a new wave of warm salt water dampening the front of the shirt he had donned from the Reading Room shelves.

"I owe you and I have no idea how I can ever return the favor."

"Not a favor, just don't fucking get hurt again," she grated out into his shirt, and he thought he felt her mouth against his chest working again after she said it.

"I'll try not to." But it was not a promise, as in one he knew he shouldn't make and likely couldn't keep.

There was a muffled noise from below, Henry finally coming up behind him on the stairs. He idly wondered what Henry and Sancho had conspired about, before realizing he was holding his deputy in a very unprofessional manner in a very public place.

"I will try to do better." There. He could say that to her.

She took a deep, snuffling breath and pulled away. "Like I fucking believe that," she whispered, folding his hand around the meds, as she bounded out the door, away from the station.

He let his breath out, long and painful. Isaac was not kidding about shortness of breath. He really did have some issues in his lungs. He looked at the next obstacle of stairs and resolved to take one of the meds with a Broncos mug full of water before he accomplished anything else.

"Now what?" asked Henry.

"I don't know. I guess I should have thanked her," he said.

Henry's brows rose. "I meant about our next venture into the snow looking for your wounded suspect, a Mac truck and mobile home. Little things like that."

"Oh," he said, because he was still channeling more bottle rockets and tears on his chest at the moment than any of the things Henry had mentioned. "We get a few things together and go."

Despite implementing their plans, his shirt stayed damp for what seemed like a long time, and he found himself wondering at the foul but luscious mouth, and whether it would take him all the way to heaven to kiss her.