I am so sorry for my extended absence. Trying to not go onto a huge rant, but basically the first people to promise us internet were useless and the second lot only a little less so. The engineer never showed up for the appointment and we had to get a new appointment which we could only get for today. But I am back now and will put up two other chapters I've finished besides this one straight away. This is by far the longest chapter I've written for this story. Hope you like it!

Still don't own anything.

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"Do you want me to walk you in?" Walt asked, a slight hesitation apparent in his voice. Vic smiled at him and despite the urge to accept his offer, her flat was a mess and she was tired, in pain and in desperate need of a proper shower and a change of clothes, not to mention several hours in her bed, sleeping.

"Thanks, but I think I can manage it. Besides all I want to do right now is sleep." Walt nodded, realising that this was as close as she would ever get to admitting that trying to walk home was a bad idea.

"Ok. I'll come by tomorrow if you want." He offered and Vic could feel her heart leap a little with hope.

"That would be nice. See you tomorrow." She smiled at him, before carefully climbing out of the car, trying to make it look easier than it really was. She didn't want him worrying too much. Despite the world seeming to spin around her, she made it to the door without too much trouble and as she turned to look behind her, she could see him still sitting there in his car making sure she got in. She smiled and waved, the smile deepening when he waved back before starting the car. With that, she unlocked the front door and staggered in.

The door to her apartment was on the ground floor, for which she was extremely grateful when the spinning of the hallway seemed to intensify. Locking the door behind her she kicked her heels off and stumbled to the sofa as carefully as she could, minding the wound in her side. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the cushion.

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For a moment she wasn't entirely sure where she was. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. As she opened her eyes, Vic realised that she was still on the couch where she remembered having fallen when she got home. The pounding she thought was solely in her head turned out to be coming from the door as well. Carefully she pushed herself up, the stitches in her side pulling uncomfortably when she moved too fast.

"I'm coming!" She yelled at the door and thankfully the knocking ceased. Noticing the sticky feeling on her arm, she looked down and saw a new bloodstain on her skin where her arm had pressed against the wound. "Shit."

"Vic!?" Walt's voice was calling from behind the door and she suddenly realised that he was going to tear her a new one if she showed up at the door still in her blood-stained hooker outfit and obviously not having looked after her wound.

"Give me a moment. I'll be right there." She yelled back at Walt and made her way as quickly as possible to her bedroom, tearing the ruined shirt over her head, then grimacing as she could feel another stab of pain in her side. "Shit." She cursed again, tugging the skirt down and swinging the fluffy bathrobe around herself. Taking a quick look into the mirror she pulled another face at the visage greeting her and tried to tuck the hairs that had escaped her braid behind her ears.

Swallowing her apprehension, she looked around the small apartment that wasn't exactly shining with cleanliness, but seeing as there was no time to do anything about it she headed to the door. After all she wasn't entirely sure when Walt's patience would run out and he would burst in through the door, lock and hinges be damned.

She pulled the door open to find him standing behind it with his fist raised to knock again. Without saying anything, she pulled it open further and motioned him in. He looked a bit sheepish as he stepped over the threshold and gazed around the main room of the small flat. She hadn't vacuumed the place since moving in and the little kitchen corner was littered with plates that had once held something edible brought in from the Busy Bee or delivered from a take-out.

"Sorry for the mess." She said picking up a pair of jeans that were lying on the floor near the door to her bedroom. The stitches pulled again and she barely managed to quell the moan of pain. Using her right arm to press against the soreness, she tossed the jeans onto her bed with the left and pulled the bedroom door shut.

"Has your side been bleeding?" the question is quiet, his eyes fixed on the blanket she had pulled on top of herself yesterday before falling asleep. Now that she looked, there was another brownish-red stain there, clearly indicating that her wound had been bleeding.

"I guess I must've torn it a little in my sleep." She replies before realising that admitting she slept on the sofa was probably not something she should do. Luckily he seems not to think it worth commenting.

"Have you changed the bandages since yesterday?"

"No. I just woke up." He nodded like she'd just confirmed his suspicions. Then he turned to look at her and she could see the worry in his eyes along with something that looked a lot like caring.

"Why don't you go and have a shower while I heat up this food and get all the supplies ready. Then I'll check your wound and after that we'll eat." He said indicating to the bedroom door, the bag he was carrying and the bag that was lying on the coffee table where she'd dropped it the previous day. Blushing at the implication that she couldn't take care of herself (she had just been tired yesterday, but that didn't mean that she couldn't handle herself!) she nonetheless nodded and retreated to her bedroom too tired to argue.

Standing in front of the full body mirror that was attached to the bedroom side of the bathroom door, she dropped the bathrobe unsnapped her bra and shimmied out of her panties. Holding her breath, she scratched one edge of the dressing on her side and once she had a hold, pulled it off. She refused to let the tears gathering in her eyes get any further despite the pain as the dressing finally fell off. The skin underneath was pulled together with dark threads, one of which had pulled open, a small bright red stream of blood running down towards her hip. The area was abundantly decorated with green, purple and red marks, the combined effort of bullet, bone and doctors trying to save her life. She dropped the dressing into the bathroom bin before stepping into the shower. She tried to keep the wound as dry as possible, but occasionally streams of water hit the opened stitch and stung cruelly, making her gasp. Reaching up to wash her hair was difficult, but using only one hand she managed.

Finally feeling clean for the first time since leaving that rave she turned the tap off, dried herself off, wrapped her hair into the towel and wondered what to do about clothes. She thought of just going out there in nothing but the robe, but that might move things into a direction that they were probably not quite ready for. Not to mention she still felt like death warmed up and physical exertion was the last thing she wanted at the moment. She couldn't help but feel a degree of admiration for Branch's constitution considering that he had returned to work so quickly. Besides she felt a strange yearning for Walt to be the one initiate the move towards the physical, as she had always been the one to take her relationships to the next level. She didn't think that that would have been the right way to proceed with him, so she decided to wait for him to make the first move.

Deciding on jeans, she put on her underwear (her best bra and matching panties, just in case) and pulled on the jeans. Then she wrapped the robe around herself again and pulled out a button up shirt she could put on after she had the dressing on again. Taking one last look at herself in the mirror she admitted that it wasn't her best look. Her eyes were surrounded by dark circles and seemed sunken, her skin was pale and the faint lines on her face seemed uncomfortably prominent. She looked about ten years older than she was.

Shaking her head, she opened the door to the living space and found Walt sitting on her sofa which he had straightened up, the bloody blanket folded with the stain up so that she could take it to the machine. He'd done the dishes too, she could spot them drying beside the sink. Domestic Walt was something she had never seen before even at his cabin and it woke something inside her, something that demanded to see more of this side of him.

"The food is in the oven. Let's take a look." His words drew her out of her musings. He indicated to her left side as he spoke and she sat down on the sofa next to him. Her hands shook a little as she undid the ties of the robe and she could have sworn she heard a deep intake of breath from the man next to her when she dropped the left shoulder of the robe so he could see the ugly marks on her skin. He helped her peel the sleeve down her arm to completely reveal her bruised and battered ribs.

She leaned away from him slightly and lifted her hand to rest on the back of the couch so he could see what he was doing. The first touch of his fingers felt like an electric shock had gone through her and she jerked without meaning to. He was extremely careful when he prodded the skin around the broken stitch.

"You've pulled one out. I'll pull it together with a steri-strip unless you want to go back to the hospital-"

"No. The strip will be fine." She cut him off before he could finish, but he just nodded and reached for the supplies on the table. Once he'd pulled the edges of the wound back together he peeled off the paper that covered the sticky bits of the large dressings they'd given to her from the hospital and slowly pressed it against her side. Her inhaled gasp had only a little to do with pain when she tenderly stroked the edges of the dressing to get it to stick to her skin. The warmth of his fingers seemed to be burning her skin and she couldn't move. He made one more soothing round around the dressing before pulling his hand back and releasing her from the spell.

"Thanks." She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No problem." His voice wasn't any louder, shaking a little. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I think the food ought to be hot by now." Quickly he got up and moved towards the little kitchenette while she scrambled to stand, pull the robe completely off and pull on the button up shirt. As she was fumbling with the buttons, she realised that it was now one pm and that she had been asleep for almost twenty hours, that entire time passing without her taking her antibiotics or her pain killers. No wonder her side was on fire and her mouth was still as dry as a desert.

Finished with the buttons she turned to go to the sink and fill glasses of water for herself and Walt, but he'd beat her to it indicating she should sit back down as he placed two large cups of water on the coffee table. Her legs still a little unsteady she sat back down gratefully and took a sip of water as she turned the TV on, lowering the volume to background noise. Rummaging in the bag on the table revealed the antibiotics and the pain killers she'd been prescribed and after checking the dosage she counted the right number of pills into her hand and tossed them back with the rest of the water.

Walt pulled the cup from her hands, refilled it and brought it back, followed by two plates full of food. Hungrier than she had realised, she fell on the food like a hungry wolf. Once she had eaten she became very conscious of Walt sitting next to her on her small couch, his leg resting against hers, hot and solid. She could feel his gaze on herself and turned to look back. He had on his sheriff-face, blank and unreadable; she didn't have the faintest of ideas about what he was thinking about.

The moment stretched as they looked at each other and the need to speak, to break the silence was becoming overwhelming. She had always been mouthy and her coping mechanism with long, uncomfortable silences was to fill them with whatever came to mind, usually something inappropriate that would get her into trouble. Just as she was about to break and shatter the silence Walt spoke.

"I've been thinking."

"Yeah. You do that sometimes before you speak, right?" she replied with a little smile.

"Yep." He smiled back, his voice quiet and calm.

"What about?"

"How do you feel about dinner?" The smile was still there, but it took on some of the hesitation from his voice making him seem younger. She could swear she could see a ripple of the teenage Walt Longmire peeking through, asking a girl out for the first time.

"I like dinner. Girls gotta eat, right?" The joke was lame and slightly defensive. She had known he cared about her for a long while, but it was not that easy to let her heart be the one to reply, rather than her smart mouth.

"Would you like to come eat some dinner with me? Some day?" The nervousness was definitely there, stronger than before, but now that she knew for sure what he was asking the answer was easy.

"Yes. That sounds nice. Maybe not tonight though, I'm still a little banged up and the drugs seem to be making me woozy." She let a full smile onto her lips and was rewarded with the same from Walt.

"Ok. You let me know when you're feeling better and I'll make the plans."

The conversation died at that point, the TV was still on and they settled down to watch some repeats of some old daytime TV show.

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He had been knocking on the door for what seemed like an eternity when he finally heard her voice shout that she was coming in a moment. It was a relief to hear her voice as the lack of answer had begun to worry him greatly. When the door finally opened he'd been about to knock again and his arm froze where it had been when he saw her. She looked terrible. The beautiful woman was still there, but she was pale with dark circles around her eyes and looked like she had just gotten up from a restless night. She invited him in apologising for the mess in her place. It wasn't really that bad, his cabin had been worse during the worst times.

He sees her flinch despite her best efforts as she picks up a pair of jeans from the floor and throws them through what he assumes to be the bedroom door, before slamming it shut. As he approaches the couch, his eyes zero in on the blanket that looks like someone slept underneath it last night, the blood stain obvious on the beige surface.

"Has your side been bleeding?" The question falls from his lips, worry creasing his brow. The idea of her sleeping on the couch all alone in the flat with no one to look after her when she needs it twists his stomach.

"I guess I must've torn it a little in my sleep." Her reply is indifferent, almost airy except for the tinge of guilt in her voice, probably because she realises she should have slept in a bed.

"Have you changed the bandages since yesterday?" He quizzes again, hoping she'll answer and not bite his head off for asking the question.

"No. I just woke up."

"Why don't you go and have a shower while I heat up this food and get all the supplies ready. Then I'll check your wound and after that we'll eat." He doesn't really expect her to agree, after all they're not at work and she is usually so independent. To his surprise she acquiesces and disappears into the bedroom. To distract himself from the thought of a very naked Victoria Moretti in the other room, he proceeds to tidy up as much as he can, straightening up the couch, doing the dishes and sticking the food into the oven to heat up.

Walt sat down on the sofa, pulling out everything they'd need for cleaning and re-bandaging Vic's wound. She came out of the bedroom wrapped in the same robe as she was wearing before, but now he could see that she's wearing jeans underneath. As she sits down and shrugs the robe off of one shoulder, revealing that underneath she was wearing nothing but a bra Walt could feel his breath catching. Forcing himself to concentrate on the ugly mess of partly healed cut and contusions rather than the expanse of smooth soft looking skin barely covered by her lacy bra, he touches her side. The skin is soft but also very sore judging by the way Vic jerks back a little at the first touch. As carefully as possible he cleans the place where the stitch has pulled open and sticks it closed with a steri-strip before smoothing a large self-adhesive dressing on the whole thing and if his fingers make an extra round around the edges it's just to make sure the dressing doesn't fall off, it has nothing to do with the intoxicating feel of her skin under his fingers.

Shaking himself out of his reverie he tidied up the mess and got the food while Vic got dressed. He was unable to stop from looking back towards her when he reached the kitchen, the way her muscles moved under the skin as she shrugged on her shirt. He was distracted for the rest of the meal, unable to stop thinking about how close she had come to dying, how he had almost lost her before ever even getting the chance to know her as well as he wanted and he'd have been lying to himself if he didn't admit to spending more time than was decent on memorising the way she looked sitting on the sofa in nothing but her jeans and the bra.

As they finished dinner he couldn't stop looking at her, the way her hair was loose around her face and her skin seemed to have gained back some of the colour it had lost. She turned to look back at him and for the longest time they just stared at each other before he could sense that she was about to burst, silences never really her thing, especially if someone was watching her.

"I've been thinking." The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them, but now that they were out, he decided he might as well continue.

"Yeah. You do that sometimes before you talk, right?" He recognised his own words being thrown back and answered her smile in kind.

"Yep."

"What about?"

"How do you feel about dinner?" At first she looked taken aback, like he had suddenly started speaking a foreign language, before answering with a joke. The nervousness that had been coursing through him wasn't eased, but seemed to be intensifying.

"Would you like to come eat some dinner with me? Some day?" He expanded and she was smiling widely again before saying yes. The relief that he hadn't been barking up the wrong tree made the tension in his muscles ease off and they agreed to agree on the day later, when she was feeling better.

Walt and Vic spend the rest of the day on the couch watching television at least until Vic's medication made her fall asleep, her head sliding to rest on Walt's shoulder. He sat there for a little while longer before carefully getting up. He gathered her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom, laying her down before tucking her in. Before leaving he set a glass of water, a sandwich and her antibiotics on her bedside table along with her phone, which he set up to go off so she could take her pills on time. Then he turned off the television and left, feeling distinctly hopeful about the future.