VIC

She was woken by Walts knock at her door "Vic, sorry to disturb you but dinner is ready, if you want some". Of course she wanted dinner! Climbing out of the rather comfortable bed, she splashed some water on her face, applied a wet cloth to various parts and dressed in some clean if wrinkled clothes from her case. While she had resisted the urge to throw the ridiculous decorative pillows out onto the snow, and instead piled them in the wardrobe, she had forgotten to put her clothes away. She sighed, she forgot so many things if someone didn't remind her. When they did, she got angry because they needed to. It was a no-win situation all round.

Padding barefoot down the plushly carpeted hallway, choosing what she hoped was the right door and pushing it open with a sigh of relief to find the lounge room. Walt stood as she entered, over by the dinner table, with reluctance she walked in his direction. Dinner for two was laid out, on either side of the table, close enough for conversation but not….. intimate. She walked to her seat, and sat down, staring at her plate for a moment before looking up at the man seated across the table, waiting.

"Who cooked this? Last I heard you could barely manage toast?"

He nodded and one corner of his mouth twitched "That's still true. There is a chef and a maid that are wintering over." He paused while she forked up her first mouthful of what her tastebuds confirmed was an excellent chicken alfredo on fettucine "The chef is Italian and seems pleased to have someone else to cook for. You should meet him, he will be delighted"

A maid and a chef! A Italian chef! Fucking Fantastic! You couldn't tell from looking at her, but food had been one of her only comforts during her recovery. Initially she still got terrible headaches and the neurosurgeon was concerned they were food related and put her on a limited diet, but as the headaches continued, she eventually decided to at least enjoy what she was eating. Everything around her made her angry, SO ANGRY and regaining control of one small part of her life, well it helped.

The pasta was excellent but one thing was missing "No wine?" In fact there was no alcohol on the table at all, not even beer. Instead there was water and iced tea in glass jugs off to one side, and she poured cold brown sweet tea into her possibly crystal tumbler.

Walt shrugged "You can't mix alcohol with your meds, I wasn't about to be so crass to drink in front of you, plus well….." and he looked away from her without finishing the sentence.

"Fuck, are you in rehab?" She laughed, a little too loud and long at that, having to guzzle down to some tea to fend off a coughing attack "That's just perfect, absolutely fucking perfect!" He stoically continued eating, still not looking at her, but the muscles in his jaw jumped more than they should while he chewed.

Delighted at this turn of events, she prodded, demanding a response "Well tell me all about it, god knows I could do with hearing a good joke" and she paused and said cuttingly "well maybe someone did tell me one but I've forgotten by now" she was darkly delighted at how he flinched at so easy a hit, maybe this was going to be more fun than she figured "Come on cowboy, spill the beans!"

WALT

He pushed his plate away, he hadn't finished but his appetite was gone now, as he looked at the changeling child that had replaced the Vic he had known and cared about. Lena had warned him repeatedly that she was different, harder, darker, vicious even and uncaring with it. Lena had described it as "our old Vic but without any of the usual social filters in place" and he had heard the tears in her voice when she said it.

So he knew she wouldn't stop tormenting him til she got some form of answer so he steeled himself. It was likely Vic would discard the truth as an impossibility, but that was the only option there was "No, I'm not in rehab. But I am seeing a therapist and one of her requirements was I had to cut my drinking a lot". Fortunately the therapist had recognised he had been a functional drunk for the last year or so, and he couldn't go cold turkey, not at the time. The aim was to maintain the minimum intake required for him to work in an unimpaired state, at least until all the hearings and investigations were finally over.

Vic's expression was doubtful so he went with the full story "I had to see the therapist every day for the first few months, and every day she breathtested me." It had been one of the most humiliating periods of his life, and she still did it randomly, though his appointments were down to twice a week now. He winced as she laughed that slightly forced, hysterical laugh again and got up to clear his plate and cutlery to the kitchen.

He had to go back for the glass and the jugs, he knew the maid Maria would clear it away, but he couldn't break the habits his mother had instilled in him, nor did he want to, and Vic got him on his return visit. He noticed she hadn't eaten all her dinner either, but it had been a generous portion.

She was staring at him with a thoughtful look on her face and said abruptly "Therapy? How the fuck did they get you to agree to therapy?" Well she still hadn't lost her knack of asking just the right question, or in this instance the wrong one. He took his time gathering up the glassware, and turned back to the door and paused and spoke over his shoulder, there was no way in hell he wanted to see the look on her face when he responded

"Well, I nearly killed a man using the line of duty as an excuse for a personal vendetta, one of my deputies died, the other one wrote a compelling letter condemning my actions. I had the choice of being fired, or getting help." He waited a moment before saying quietly "I chose the help" and he walked into the brightly lit kitchen and away from the heavy silence left behind at the dining table.

So he never heard Vic whisper to herself "Well its about fucking time you made a good decision for once."