Walt's take on the Harvest. So many Walt/Vic feels. I hope my Longvic shippers enjoy. I look forward to hearing from you. You guys are wonderful.
Spoilers
I wish the doc had a fix for the broken pieces inside instead of just needle and thread for the freshly torn flesh on my arm. I can see the inner turmoil and the pain in Vic's eyes and I want to fix it and make her whole. My best sales job doesn't convince her everything will be ok as she fingers the hole from the bullet on my jacket. That badge has cost me a lot and it nearly cost me my life, again. I take her hand because I need to touch her, told hold her, to make sure she is real. As she sobs in my arms, revealing her soft and vulnerable underbelly, I am honored because it means she feels safe with me. She knows I not only can protect her I am willing to protect her. Allowing herself to be weak with me is the truest demonstration of her love but with it comes concern because she should be like this with Sean and she hasn't even mentioned his name.
I want to love her. I know I do and I catch myself stroking her hair and pulling it back because I want to kiss her but I can't because she belongs to another man. Instead, I try to be the best friend I can be, and comfort her in my arms. Despite my conscious attempt, I know that things will never be the same between us as we move ahead in the shadow of the showdown.
As the hours fade into the next day, I am surprised that Vic is at work; given the circumstances I would think she would take time to be with Sean. A life and death situation has a weird way of pulling your loved ones closer and whatever problems they were having before most likely will be forgotten. The fact that she is here makes me believe that she is in a bad place right now and as a man, I wonder how it would be to be her husband. Does Sean know how to love her? I know that I have to give her what she needs whether that is space, an ear, or a shoulder.
We settle into our normal routine of discussing a case over take-out. Nothing new but the conversation turns into the last words I ever expect or want to hear, "Two weeks notice." The prospect of Vic leaving feels like I have been sucker punched and my bell is rung creating a temporary daze but I know I have to guard my heart, my feelings, and can't do anything to influence her decision to stay. I can't distract her from focusing on her marriage. It wouldn't be right to confuse her. It's not right that I feel this way about her. It's not right that I love a married woman never mind the fact that she is also my deputy but the thought of losing her is almost too much for me to bear.
Each moment her desk is empty feels like another nail being pushed into my coffin. I struggle to breathe thinking of the prospect of her gone. The loss of a colleague, the loss of a good friend, another lost love, and I can feel my steely veneer cracking but I have to keep it together. As I open my door, I see her behind my desk, and the compulsion to smile is quickly replaced by dread when I see the plain white envelope bearing my name. The moment is here. She is leaving. I don't want to face it. My stomach drops. Is this what men feel like before the execution squad? Before the hangman drops the lever? Because I feel like I am dying all over again as I felt when Martha was taken from me. I didn't have a chance to say good-bye to Martha and I can't say good-bye to Vic in the way I want to say good-bye. Cowboy-up, Walt. Take the damned letter. Why is she sitting in my chair taking liberties like drinking my beer. My knees won't allow me to stand so I sit by the light and begin to read as Vic pauses at the door. I re-read the first 3 sentences twice because it's not a resignation letter. It's not my life walking out of the door. The Governor stayed my execution. I have another day to live.