Chapter 2: Sorting

Vic began to clear dishes after Henry formally thanked them for dinner, put on his coat and said his goodbyes. While Vic was preoccupied in the kitchen, he gave Walt the eye. Walt swung on his suede jacket which still bore the white stitching on the left shoulder thanks to his run-in with Chance Gilbert the year before, donned his hat, and together they sauntered out onto the porch. Henry leaned against a post in the brisk air. Walt stood impassively, arms crossed.

"Are you going to discuss it with her?" asked Henry without preamble. He did not specify what.

"Yep."

"Are you going to explain why you have been keeping her out of the field whenever possible? She was at the Pony a few weeks ago crying into her beer about office crap. I edited that. You know the word she used. She is chafing at your restrictions, Walt. The larger investigation is in Federal hands, now. The danger to her has decreased dramatically."

"Yep." He was unsurprised by Henry's concern. She was more than competent to be out there alone, more than either Branch or Ferg, but ever since Chance's, and the unknown puppetmasters pulling Barlow's, Jacob's and Malachi's strings, he had found ways to keep her back, and into more in-house, often data-based investigations. She was good at them, but her forte had been and always would be in the field. It had been almost a year, and the investigation had been passed onto the Feds months ago. It was time for that discussion, more than time, really.

"And now she wants to learn survival techniques. That is bound to rub you wrong, Walt, if you are trying to keep her safe."

"Yep."

You can stop with the yeps—what are you going to do?

He shrugged. "We'll train her. I would rather we train her than lose her to the elements, or her lose a suspect because I didn't let her learn to survive and navigate in the wilderness. I don't think there's any question she's gonna run for sheriff. We've already talked about me resigning part way through next term, and then her running when my term's up."

"Then it is settled: I will continue to work with Vic on her horsemanship. I will also encourage her participation in a few tracking opportunities as they arise."

"Thanks, Henry. We'll look at our schedules—and the weather, and figure out some winter camping somewhere in all this."

"While her training is settled, what you will still not acknowledge is that while you want her to succeed, you still want to keep her safe."

Walt just gave a close-lipped smile.

Henry shook his head. "I stand by what I said almost a year ago. You are a lucky man, Walter Longmire, and I still want you or Vic to find me a woman who looks at me the way Vic looks at you. I want to be able to look at her the way you look at Vic."

That surprised him. Who but Henry had noticed how they looked at each other? The entire town? Walt just ducked his head and smiled. He was sure the looks between them that Henry referred to had existed well before either of them had been willing to acknowledge such things existed.

"Walt, you also need to admit to her that you no longer want her to run for sheriff when you retire. I believe that is why you are procrastinating at setting a date. You need to tell her that."

He lifted his head and pursed his lips. Although that was not exactly true, Henry could always see through him. He blew out his breath in frustration. He had no ready answer to that.

"You both need to have that discussion before you go any further with your lives."

He nodded, but he really did not want to have that conversation. Things were finally so good between them at both home and for the most part, office. He didn't want to spoil things.

"Play for her, and then talk. She likes it when you play."

She did like it when he played piano man. A little Fats Waller, a little Gershwin, and she would relax in his arms. This time, he would have a guilty ulterior motive for playing. Unlike other times, he would not be playing from the heart as he usually did, before breaking a hornet's nest of truth open on her.

"I thought it went well," Vic said from the kitchen as he came back in, carefully hanging up his jacket and hat, and blowing on his hands. It had started sleeting just before Henry pulled away. The damp night promised worse weather before morning.

She looked absurdly young and fresh in candlelight—he had always thought women looked good in candlelight—and he regretted the necessity of spoiling the evening with the upcoming discussion. He thought about asking if she'd like him to play, but she took that decision out of his hands.

"So, are you going to tell me what you and Henry were so earnestly discussing out there? You were seriously serious for a bitchin' long time." Her voice was flirty, but her intent, not.

He inhaled. It was time to broach it. No time to set her on his lap at the piano and warm her up to it, he just had to say it.

"Come here," he said softly, drawing her from the kitchen, pulling her to him and down onto the sofa. She smiled quizzically, but let him put his arm around her, his chin on the top of her head.

"I have to confess to a few things."

He could feel her go wary, questioning, stiffening a little. Mental note: Don't try that again. Confessions were never a good way to broach anything with her.

"Not those kind of things. It's not that bad…"

He felt her waiting. She was good at that—with him, she had to be, it took him forever to stop dissembling if he started.

"Okay, it's like this: I've been keeping you back because I've been afraid."

"Back—you mean, at the station? Out of the field? Of course I've noticed it." She bit her lip. "Because…you're scared of what might happen? Like—I might get—hurt?"

"Yep.

"Like Chance's, attacked by Branch, punched in the nose, hit by a car, stuff like that?"

"Yep." He winced inwardly, remembering her taking punches from Lorna Dove, and then the one from him. He had tried to pull it mostly unsuccessfully, and later realized she had saved him that day from being arrested by her for assault on Jacob, who would most definitely have pressed charges.

"So, when I asked about survival training you panicked, afraid that I'll freeze my toes and fingers off, or something?"

"Or something. And there's more."

She exhaled. "Oh, goody," she grimaced. More…? Fuck me, Walt, just say it."

"Nothing has changed for me. I—still want you to stay."

She exhaled again, and waited to draw him out. He appreciated that about her. She finally prompted softly, "But…?"

"But, I'm afraid if you run for sheriff, you'll get hurt again." He closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion. When there was none, he chanced a glance at her. She was white, but, if he were fortunate, thinking.

"Oh."

She had to be disappointed, in him, in everything. So much investment in time in Durant, in her life, in him…and here he was blighting an enjoyable evening, and possibly a future life together.

"So," she said slowly, "I asked you after Barlow's shooting, and I'm asking you again now: is it the sheriff or the man who wants me to stay?"

That time, he had taken off his badge so she understood it was both. That had not changed, but he needed to reassure her. "Both. Of course it's still both. And about your professional future, it isn't that I don't think you can do it—I know you will be a good sheriff. I'm just not sure I can stay there on the sidelines if there's a chance you might get hurt." He struggled to explain. "I just have to figure out—how to let you be you. Henry thinks I don't want you to run, but that's not really it. I am trying to convince myself not to run against you, as your protector. So far, I'd say the odds are in your favor and you're winning."

She pulled away a little, looking into his eyes, trying to divine the real message. "So—you're not telling me what to do, and you're admitting it worries you, but…you'll let me try? You mean that?"

"Yep."

"More yeps."

"Yep. I know it's not right to keep you back like I have been, and I mean to let you do your job. I just wanted to let you know."

"Okay…?"

"And that brings me back to Henry. He and I are in agreement that we'd rather have you know what to do in a blizzard, stranded somewhere or tracking down a suspect than without training, either as a deputy or sheriff."

"Okay! That's better than I thought —"

"And…" it just came out in a rush, "he wants you and me to find him a girl."

Vic snorted and burst out laughing. "A girl, I hope he said a woman—fuck that, he wants us to be his…Jeremiah Rains? To find a "willing girl from south of the border to ease that tension which is part of a man's daily life?"—or whatever his bullshit spiel was…"

He tamped down that thought immediately. Even the notion made him wince. "Henry also thinks you and I should talk about our personal future-our future together."

That sudden change of topic stopped the laughter, huffed out momentary silence, not what he had expected. Her eyes suddenly looked like wary amber splinters. She quickly pushed away and sat up straight. "Henry thinks that, but not you?Oh, whoa, not sure this is the time for that, Walt. I'm in no rush."

She didn't understand, yet, but Henry had. Henry knew he didn't like change, uncertainty, emptiness, sleeping alone, all hell for him, but Henry also knew he had been through those hells for a long time preceding Martha's death. The cancer and its consequences had exacted tolls on both he and Martha well before she was taken. He tried to explain. As usual when trying to say anything to a woman, he stumbled.

"Ahhh…" He finally gave up and blurted out, "Vic, I don't want to be alone, anymore."

Her eyes were huge and bored into his. She opened her mouth to reply, even as the house phone began to ring shrilly. Insistently. It did not stop until his voice came on with a brief message—no longer Martha's. He saw her awareness as she realized the outgoing message had been altered. Her eyebrows raised in question, before he saw her go white around her mouth as the incoming message from Ruby began. Walt moved swiftly to intercept the call, and he knew she had suddenly figured out that the most likely reason for Ruby to ring so late at night was…a body.

Well, the timing sucked, but it was part of both of their professional and personal lives. It hadn't always been that way…