Based on 2x1 'Unquiet Mind', title is the song 'Smoke Signals' by Phoebe Bridges.
Henry watched the sun rise over the snowy peaks, shedding golden rays onto the white hilltops but doing nothing to improve the bitter temperatures. He and Branch had been out in the mountains for nearly eight hours, trying to decipher a trail in the blinding snow. The most they'd managed to find was an unsteady trail of footprints, a trail that was quickly disappearing under the fresh snow. Henry tried to stamp down the endless scenarios that might be Walt's fate, he was thankful that at the very least Branch was quiet enough to leave Henry to his work.
Another hour, the snow had stopped but the tracks had disappeared. Henry's nerves felt sharp, like spikes of electricity buzzing through his veins. He was beginning to think that turning back and letting the FBI scan the scene from the air before both he and Branch lost the rest of their consciousness to the cold was looking to be the best option. But as they cleared another snow drift he heard the deputy call out, "Henry! There he is."
Henry's head whipped to look where Branch was pointing and sure enough, at the bottom of a steep slope lay a prisoner in orange and the Sheriff. Neither figures were moving, the air deathly silent aside from the crunch of the snow beneath the horses' hooves. Branch was already rushing towards the convict just as Henry began to dismount his horse, unable to take his eyes off of Walt's lifeless body. His heart dropped almost as quickly as he dropped from his horse. For a hazy moment Henry feared that his legs were giving out completely, but they steadied as he hit the soft snow. He nearly tripped over himself in his rush to get to Walt's side, disregarding his jeans as he fell to his knees beside him. "Is he dead?" Branch called from behind him.
Henry ignored him, watching silently as Walt raised his head, leveling his cloudy blue eyes with Henry's own. Ice clung to his face and Henry suddenly became aware of how wet Walt's clothes were. His lips parted, words struggling to surface, "The agent...the girl...she's in a mine."
"Okay Walt, we will get her." He reassured, turning to the deputy urgently, "Branch, help me!"
Branch rushed to his side, looping one of his arms under Walt's while Henry led his horse closer. Henry mounted his horse, helping to hoist Walt so he sat securely behind him."Can you hold onto me?" He asked, already adjusting Walt's arms to wrap around his waist.
A soft hum and the sharp angle of Walt's chin settling on his shoulder was the response he received, easing and heightening his anxiety all at once. "I need you to stay awake Walt." He pressed, hoping that Walt wasn't quite conscious enough to register the panic in his voice.
He quickly turned his attention to Branch, who was waiting for orders, "Branch, there's still an agent up here, in a mine. I know of an abandoned shaft about a half mile from here, I need you to find her."
Branch nodded, mounting his horse before turning back once, "Is he going to be alright?" He asked cautiously.
"He is always alright." Henry's voice was harder than he intended but Branch only grimaced in agreement before setting off in the opposite direction. Henry squeezed the horse's flanks, setting down the mountain.
The ride down the mountain was substantially shorter than the ride up, but nevertheless every moment that passed was another moment with Walt out in the cold. The subtle warmth of Walt's breath on his neck was the only thing keeping the panic from clutching his chest. Every so often he would pose Walt's name as a gentle question, and Walt would faithfully respond with a mumbled reassurance.
As the mountains finally gave way to the snow-covered roads, he squeezed Walt's hand once, "We are almost there." He murmured, moving his hand from Walt's to search for his phone.
The connection was spotty at best but it was enough to reach the depart, Ferg's tired voice answering on the other end. "Ferg, this is Henry, I have Walt."
A loud clattering was the result of this statement before an anxiety-ridden Vic was on the phone, "Henry! Ferg said you have Walt, is he okay?"
"He is alive." Was the only answer he supplied, "Branch is still up there looking for a hostage, try to get a surveillance scan if you can. We are about five miles out of town." With that he hung up, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and replacing his hand on Walt's.
"She is worried about you." He said off-handedly, unsure if Walt had it in him to register what he was saying, let alone form a response. Silence was nothing new, Walt was not known for his talkative personality. He and Walt made a habit of residing in the quiet of each other's company, their minds filled with enough voices as it was. But this silence was not comforting, this silence was deafening, squeezing Henry's chest as he strained impossibly to hear the beating of Walt's heart.
They arrived in town as the sun found its place high in the sky, indicating just how long they'd been gone. He stopped outside of the Sheriff's department, an expectant deputy there to greet him. As they dismounted he became very aware of how soaked his back was, the chilly wind penetrating the wet fabric with ease. He couldn't even imagine how Walt felt. He helped Walt to the ground, despite his silent resistance. "Walt are you okay?" Vic was by his side so quickly Henry thought he might have lost time.
"He is fine." Henry cut in, seeing how dim Walt's eyes were, "He just needs to get to the hospital."
Walt waved off his suggestion, "I'll be fine."
This seemed to offend Vic beyond reason, "Are you kidding me Walt?! You're gonna scare everyone like that and then refuse to go to the hospital when you clearly have hypothermia?" Henry couldn't help agree with her, but by the stubborn look in Walt's eyes he doubted that either of their opinions mattered very much.
Walt, being the ever-stubborn bastard he was, continued to outright refuse to be admitted to the hospital, claiming he was fine through chattering teeth. Henry heaved a great sigh before yanking the passenger door of his truck open, trying to ignore the outrage on Vic's face. "Henry you can't be serious, do you see the state he's in?! He needs to get to the hospital!"
"I agree with you but I do not think that is going to happen." Henry responded, watching Walt stiffly climb into the passenger seat.
"Listen, I'm not doubting your medical skills Henry, but this isn't a job for you." Vic argued, looking as if she was about to dodge Henry and pull Walt out of the car.
"Would you rather risk spending an hour trying to convince him to go to the hospital or let me drive him home in ten minutes?" He asked.
Her resolve seemed to give and she nodded, "Don't let him do anything else stupid."
"I will try." He promised.
As the deputy turned back to the station with his horse in tow, Henry revved the engine of his truck and cranked up his heater. He considered driving Walt to his cabin but the snow was bound to be worse out of town, and a selfish part of him wanted an excuse to keep a vigilant eye on Walt. So instead of taking the freeway, he turned left and headed towards the Red Pony. He could feel Walt's eyes burning holes into the side of his face and it took all his concentration to keep his shoulders relaxed and his eyes on the road. "We are going to the Pony." He stated.
"Ok." Walt mumbled.
Once his truck rolled around the back of the Pony, he wasted no time in hustling Walt through the back door. His spirits dropped when he felt the starking cold of the room. The power must've failed when he was gone. "Get warm, I need to get the power back on." Henry waited for the silent confirmation of Walt's footsteps up the stairs before venturing back out into the biting morning.
It only took a handful of minutes of fumbling with the power box before he watched the Pony shudder back to life. Once back in the bar he double-checked the thermostat and the locks on the doors before ascending the stairs himself. When he opened the thin door to his apartment a wave of warmth washed over his stiff body. Walt had lit a fire in his small furnace, the one he was now sat next to, slowly discarding his damp clothing. Even in his sleep-deprived, hypothermic state, Walt had managed to solve the problem faster than Henry.
"Are you hungry?" Henry asked, shucking off his gloves and setting the kettle on the stove. Walt shook his head, focusing on peeling off his soaked socks. Water warming on the stove, Henry rummaged through his house to find a set of dry clothes and something to bandage Walt's hand with. When he returned to the living room Walt was shirtless in front of the fire, the sharp scars on his back softened by the glow of the fire. Henry wordlessly set the clothes beside his friend before returning to the kitchen, the water just beginning to boil. He poured two cups of herbal tea and prepared the soothing mixture for Walt's hand before returning to the living room again.
Walt was fully dressed now, the flannel hanging open over Walt's cotton clothed chest, unable to button over his wide shoulders. Henry set the tea and supplies down on the coffee table and gestured for Walt to give him his hand. His fingers were still cold but he was glad to find that they were no longer trembling. Henry ran a warm washcloth over the wounds, clearing them of any remaining dirt. Then he covered the deep purple and red that spotted his knuckles with the healing salve, before bandaging it securely. He looked up at Walt's face, finding a matching spatter of purple and red there as well. He ran the cloth over Walt's cheeks and forehead, careful not to press on the deep bruise there. "You don't normally come away looking like this unless your sparing mate is me." He commented, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth.
"Making you miss old times?" He grinned back.
"Maybe if you didn't get beaten up so often we could call them old times." Henry shook his head, setting the washcloth back on the table.
"Consequence of the job."
"Perhaps more of a habit than a consequence." He posed, offering Walt his tea before he could retort, "I am going to get you a blanket, is there anything else you need?"
Walt shook his head again, mug held between both hands. Henry piled the spare blankets from his closet with a pillow from his own bed, making himself busy by setting a bed for Walt on the foldout couch. He could feel Walt's eyes following him as he bustled around the apartment, frantic for a reason he couldn't place, "Henry." Walt grumbled from the floor, "You're cold."
"Which one of us has hypothermia?"
"Take off your jacket." Walt's voice was stern, but not unkind. With a sigh of resignation, Henry began to unzip his heavy parka, surprised at how violently his hands were shaking. He shed his jacket, boots, and flannel, finding them all to be much damper than he'd expected. Now standing in only his jeans and cotton t-shirt he couldn't disguise the shivers coursing through his body.
"I will put your clothes in the dryer, lay down." Henry commented, gathering both of their wet clothing before heading back towards the kitchen. After the whir of the dryer began, he threw on a flannel for himself before stripping the blanket from his bed and wrapping it around his shoulders. Despite the fire still kindling in the living room, the small apartment above the bar wasn't necessarily made for living, making it poorly insulated. Cold Wyoming air still managing to snake through the boards of the walls and under the windowsills.
Henry returned to the living room to find Walt sitting on the couch, a blanket draped around his shoulders as well. Henry picked up his tea from the coffee table and sipped it tentatively, observing the man on his couch. Walt was gazing at him through half-lidded eyes, lips pressed in a gentle line. Henry could see the thoughts gathering themselves into words before Walt even spoke, "I saw you..." His voice was almost a whisper, "In the mountains."
"An apparition?" Henry asked, deciding to settle on the couch beside him.
"Yes."
"What did I say?"
"You told me to come back."
Henry ducked his head as a smile flitted across his face, "Then even my apparition was trying to talk some sense into you."
"You're always there to talk some sense into me."
"Or at the least to try."
Walt hummed in agreement as they once again fell into a comfortable silence. Sleep weighed on Henry's eyelids but the lasting anxiety in his blood kept them from sliding shut. The image of Walt's body, bloody and lifeless at the top of the mountain haunted the edges of his mind. The unadulterated fear he had felt as he'd fallen to his knees beside him still lingered in his tense body, despite Walt's warm presence next to him. It's not that Henry was unaccustomed to finding Walt at the mercy of his profession, but this time was different. This wasn't a heroic rescue or a 'wrong place, wrong time' type of situation. No, Walt had purposefully put himself in imminent danger with little to no chance at success. Henry had almost lost Walt and it was Walt's own damn fault. He felt anger rise in his chest before he swiftly finished his tea, setting the cup on the table with an unexpected clattering.
Walt's gentle eyes shifted to him in a silent question, one that Henry had no intent on answering. Instead, he patted his leg, "Lay down, I need to check you for head injuries."
After a moment of hesitation, Walt obliged, laying his head in Henry's lap. Henry tentatively combed his fingers through Walt's hair, his fingertips searching for any bumps or bruises. After finding no apparent injuries, his fingers turned from searching to simply touching. Brushing Walt's hair from his face and pressing gently into the base of his neck to feel Walt's body let out a shaky breath and finally relax. He watched as his eyes slide closed and as they did, he felt the remaining tension in his own body wash away. Walt was here, warm and heavy against his thigh, quiet and still under his fingertips. Darkness pressed at the edges of his mind and he had almost let himself slip into sleep before the gentle rumble of Walt's voice surfaced him again, "You came for me…"
It took a moment for the words to register in Henry's tired mind, but when they did he opened his eyes to see Walt staring up at him, unreadable expression on his face,"Of course I came for you." Henry breathed.
"You shouldn't have."
That shocked Henry out of whatever drowsiness he had been feeling, almost pulling Walt's hair from jolting to sit upright, "What?" His voice was rough.
He could see Walt's forehead crease into a grimace, "You shouldn't have come after me in that storm."
"You should not have gone out there in the first place."
"I had to."
"No you did not." He could feel the tightness in his chest resurfacing, making him itch to get up and put some distance between them. All the accusations and fears building up in the back of his throat, until he looked down at Walt's tired eyes. Sighing, he decided reprimanding could wait until tomorrow, right now Walt needed to sleep. He exhaled the anger and fear, instead fixing his friend with a knowing look.
He slipped a pillow under Walt's head and gently stood, before crouching at eye-level with him. The next few minutes passed as Henry drowned in Walt's murky blue eyes, watching the thoughts swirl behind them like a storm. Half-consciously he brushed his hand over Walt's cheek, "I will always come looking for you." He murmured.
"You shouldn't sacrifice your safety for me Henry." Walt chided softly, but the weight of his words was not lost on either of them.
Another long moment passed as Walt's eyes closed, a heavy breath leaving his lungs. Henry waited until his friend's breaths leveled before he allowed the quiet confession to leave his lips, "I would sacrifice it all for you, Walt Longmire…"
The phantom squeeze of Walt's fingers around his was the barely-conscious answer he received, and in a way, it said more than words ever would've.