Chapter 6
A/N: I PM'd an early version of this chapter to a couple of folks for their delicate enjoyment. I hope the rest of you enjoy it in this current incarnation. Might this be—virtual revenge?—on a room full of writers who played Debby Downer for Season 4, transforming it into a dark, gloomy, overcast season of violence and unresolved and poorly threaded storylines. This is a chapter saying, "Take THAT!"
The world swam into view. Walt, face craggy with exhaustion, leaning over me, my hand enveloped by his massive one. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't withdraw my hand, not just yet. It felt too good, if too good to be true, possibly not real but some really good, really great drug-induced dream.
The past grabbed and held me hostage, the disappointment, the disgust. His apparent concern must be for a deputy down, not for me. Not anymore. The hug, the hospital, was as fuzzy as the world around me was right now.
I withdrew the hand, not gently.
"You're here for my statement, then." I made it a statement, not a question. I felt foggy. I tried to de-fog without much success.
"Statement can wait," he said gruffly, as though he hadn't been using his voice for a while. "How do you feel?"
"Like shit. Go." When had my voice become so hoarse?
"Vic…"
"You have to leave. You're not on my HIPAA list. Come back later when you need my statement."
His eyebrows furrowed. "Vic…"
I began to push the nurse button, really the only defense I had at the moment, prepared to yell NINE if they asked how bad the pain was, but the shame of it was, it was not in my arm or the burn areas on my chest, it was deeper inside. The Hidden Terror of Absaroka County grabbed his hat off the end of the bed and retreated.
The Former Terror was in force.
They medded me and I swam back out. Breaching the shore was just too terrifying to deal with at that moment.
When I swam back in, no one was there. All right then. The Terror ruled.
I was premature. About five minutes later a nurse sailed in and after determining I was at about a four, let me pass on the meds. I knew guys who had gotten hooked after one injury, and I was not gonna do that. She helped me pee. A couple of minutes after the nurse reopened the door, Walt filled its frame. His hat came off and he twisted it in his hands as the nurse left.
"So now you're ready for my statement."
"Vic, don't do this."
"The doctors will notify you when they release me, just like everybody else." And then I remembered the letter on his desk.
"You did get the letter I left?"
His expression became grimmer. "I won't accept it for that date, Vic. This is a county-paid injury. You don't want to have to pay those hospital bills. There will probably be lost wages as well."
"There you have it. Those things. As soon as the doctor releases me, you release me from the county, so I can move on."
I could feel it, the hurt emanating from him, but I pushed it aside, because this was not all about him!
"Whatever the doc orders, Vic. Therapy for the arm, probably physical, OT, counseling. Then I can sign off."
Fuck that. I finished him off. "You can try to weasel out of it, but my personal life is none of your business since I'm no longer your deputy, plenty of time to attend to Dr. Monaghan as you should. I know you, the last couple of days have been focused on these two cases, haven't they? Have you even called her?"
"Of course it's been about the cases…the Zoloft ring, the reverse-transference…and Vic, I won't be calling her, again."
I'm not all that into that transference mumbo-jumbo," I said, the pain level beginning to rise into the vicinity of a six, and some of it was heartache. Somewhere during the last med cycle while I was still foggy, I had tried to tell the nurse "It's my heart," once, but that had elicited panic and an EKG. I didn't want to express it like that again, even though it was the truth.
"Heart better, now?" he asked as though he had heard me thinking, and I thought I heard real concern behind it. "The nurse said it hurt." I wanted to laugh. I was about to cry.
"I'll do," I said. I'd heard that somewhere, and it expressed it fine. If they'd just take the IVs off I'd go…where? I hadn't said anything to Omar, nor had I done more than leave Cady a note with $500 in it, hoping that would help her as she had certainly helped put a roof over my head.
No, I'd have to go back to Cady's, at least for a day or two. I might need to equilibrate though, spend a night at the station first, catching up and sleeping there, before I could muster enough courage to stay with Walt's daughter again.
XXX
The Ferg didn't want to take me. I insisted. I wasn't cleared to drive, so I bummed a ride with him, but commandeered the address. On the way, I asked him about the Browning investigation.
"Browning will recover. He's at Tri-County. The other guy won't—you'll be investigated but exonerated, Vic. There's not even jurisdiction issues…they wanted him gone, too. There's no question."
"Well, I wondered. No one has taken my statement, yet."
"I think Walt's waiting for you to return to light duty to take care of that."
"Yeah, well…that might not happen, but I still need to see Lucian. Tonight."
"Wait—what might not happen? Wait—you're just out of the hospital, and you want to visit Lucian?" he asked, his voice rising in disbelief the way it did. It was comforting to be in his presence once again, and not in a sick-room.
"Just shut up and drive." I felt a hint of apology, this wasn't Ferg's fault, so I lightly punched him on the shoulder with my good hand. "Oh, Ferg, I can't tell you how great it is to be out of that place. Be thankful I'm in such a good mood!
He snorted, as well he ought.
Lucian was much more apprehensive. He seemed well into a bottle of Pappy's.
"Your boss was here last night, and feeling a little blue, I think. Even Pappy's couldn't fix what ailed him."
"He's not my boss."
I enjoyed seeing the white brows rise right up to what was left of his hairline.
"Is that so?"
He proceeded to fetch a presumably clean glass from below the little table set next to him, and filled it with amber liquid, putting it before me.
"Shouldn't, I'm on meds."
"That much will just make them work better."
I accepted the shot and downed it in a gulp.
Lucian winced visibly. "That stuff is sip and savor, Moretti, not chug and forget."
"Yeah, well tonight is not about savoring, and I'm not real sure what I should be doing, right now."
He took another sip, before offering, "Well, sometimes it's best to leap quick and not look, but other times, you really should stop and look."
I blinked.
"Let Walt help you get situated, sounds like he owes that much to you."
I couldn't help it, my mouth twisted.
"What?" Lucian said, taking another sip of amber liquid.
"You're right. Pappy's makes it at least feel like that makes sense."
"Have some more," offered Lucian, so of course I accepted such a kind offer.
"It must be working. I haven't noticed you looking at my boobs once."
"Sneak peeks, Moretti, making do. Drink up."
After I wobbled back to the Fergmobile, my driver pulled over and stopped at the side of the road maybe a mile away from Lucian's Snowy Vista facility.
"Look, I can smell the whiskey from here, Vic, so I'm pretty sure Lucian dosed you on top of meds, but there's something about Walt you need to know."
"Fuck!" I wasn't about to hear some lame defense of the Walt of the last few months. I could fix that, fast, by leaving, but Ferg gripped my wrist and it was my bad arm. It hit nerve centers all the way up.
"Ow!"
But he didn't release me. He wasn't hurting, just holding.
"Dr. Monaghan was, er—screwing—patients and then writing them prescriptions they then brought back to her. They were mules." He abruptly released my wrist.
I tried to concentrate on breathing, taking that in. Succinct. Damning.
"Fuck!" The alcohol made me slow on the uptake, but mercifully also numbed the pain in my bad arm. "So, where is she now?" I might need to have words with her for taking advantage of him. The bitch! Wait, had I said the thing about words out loud?
He verified my worst fear. "Stay away from her, Vic. You're in no shape, and she's out on bail."
"No shit?"
"Wish we'd been able to keep her in, I think she really did a number on Walt. If I could see it, he certainly did, she reminds me of Martha, and I think he may have latched onto her because of that. Don't give up on him, Vic. He needs you, no matter what he might say."
"Fuck!" With the whiskey on top of the meds, I suddenly thought I might throw up in the not distant future. "Just…take me back to the station. Please." Then I thought of the one thing no one had told me, yet. I could live without knowing most of it, but that one thing…
Ferg sighed and the Trans Am resumed idling.
"So Walt has my gun and badge?"
"In his drawer, but they'll exonerate you, Vic, you just need to give them your statement."
"And I killed the fucker with the shotgun.""
"Yep."
"Fuck, just the one, I hoped I'd killed them both and saved the state the money."
He seemed genuinely appalled by that, but by then, it was definitely the whiskey talking.
XXX
The morning after I was released from the hospital, despite being slightly hung over from Lucian's offerings, I got up and walked to the park from Cady's. Although still sore, that it didn't prevent the rest of my laundry from being dirty, and I wasn't prepared to face it, yet.
I would have slept on the cot at the station the night before, because of course, irrationally, I couldn't sleep again in the bed where I'd been with Eamonn until I washed the sheets, but someone's very tall, lanky form was snoring on the cot. I elected not to try the couch, I preferred no interaction with him at all. After returning to Cady's and arming myself with meds, I took a nap on her sofa while the sheets washed during the night.
Later that afternoon, while the last of my laundry including my uniform shirts were agitating in the washer, I heard a knocking sound I hoped wasn't the washer. I tried to ignore it, finally getting to the good part of one of the books Walt had offered me when I'd long ago been at his cabin, The Red Pony. I admit, I was struggling through it because John Steinbeck had to be The most depressing writer ever, but besides my iPod, it was what I had at Cady's house. Like her dad, she didn't have a television. Like father, like daughter.
The knocking persisted, close, and I realized it was at the front door. Maybe Cady had stepped out for a bit. I tossed the book aside and walked the few steps from my room to the door. It was Walt. All in one moment my stomach dropped out, but I sighed, probably rolled my eyes in disgust, as I cracked the door open.
"I'm still on medical leave today, didn't Ruby tell you?"
"Yep."
Absorbing that, I added, "Well, all my uniform shirts are in the wash, so I'm not really available to help you out, Walt," I said, figuring he had a call he needed help with and nobody available. Sick days were not really as promised in Durant because of our limited staff, especially now with the casino. I started to shut the door. He stuck one of those 13Ds in and wedged it in a little.
"Not asking you to. I know you're on medical leave. Wondered if you'd consider…if you'd like to have dinner with me at the Pony. I'll buy."
"Dinner." Nothing could have thrown me more for a loop than that. After rejecting my tentative suggestion to get a burger months ago, and Mr. "My personal life is none of your business…" I couldn't let him get by with that, not after the flagrante delicto scenario I'd puzzled together from the scanner chatter, with Dr. Donna's shrieks replaying in my head as I hunted down Walker Browning. Ferg had more or less confirmed that suspicion, even if Dr. Donna was now a persona non gratis.
"Gee, that would be tough to choreograph, Walt, since my uniforms are wet and your personal life is none of my business." I tried shoving the door shut again, but his foot was still there, and I really didn't want to ruin Cady's door.
"Hey, what's up?" Cady breezed into the room, shutting off her phone. His foot moved backed away incrementally, and I had the urge to slam the door in his face, but it was Cady's place and Cady's dad, and of course my boss, at least temporarily, so I didn't.
"Hey, Punk. Maybe you could join us for dinner at the Pony?"
Her head canted and one eyebrow went up. "Us? You mean you and Vic are on duty?—wait, aren't you still off tonight, Vic? Just out of the hospital?"
"Yeah, I'm off. Healing. Reading. Doing my wash."
"Isn't this way last-minute? I'm working on the Little Thunder case this evening."
"No," I said, twisting the knife, "he really means you and him. My plans tonight include reading The Red Pony, not eating there."
The look on his face was priceless.
"You're reading it?" I could hear the disbelief in his voice. I wanted to punch him, and it was not the first time.
"Yeah—and Cady's busy, so—buzz off!" I re-thought my good intentions and slammed the door in his surprised face.
Cady did kind of a double take. "Things not good between you and my dad?"
"Bad enough that I didn't let him visit me in the hospital. We've been working different shifts, we can't even keep it professional tonight because my uniforms are in the wash, and he's made it clear he doesn't want to cross any work-to-social boundaries. He's also made it clear he's under abundant scrutiny at least until the wrongful death thing goes away."
She made what I thought of her a thinking face. "Maybe he just wants to talk. I know, that doesn't sound like him, but he does, sometimes. Honest. He won't admit it, but that home invasion thing really got to him, and before that, David Ridges, Barlow, that Gilbert thing... You know, I asked him about it when he had your boxes in the car, I thought he'd offer you to stay at his place, you had seemed close at the Pony a few months ago, but I realize that wouldn't have worked with Eamonn and all…"
"Yeah, he shouldn't have stuck you with all my boxes and emotional baggage. But all that probably has affected him, and he should be in therapy for it. Luckily, his new girlfriend is a therapist. He shouldn't be sniffing around here."
She gave me a probing look. "His new girlfriend?"
"Yeah, the lady shrink."
"Vic, I don't know what you think you've heard, but…"
"Look, Cady, I know the story, so just leave it. If she's on bail, either let him get his help from her or someone else. I'm out of that little drama." I hadn't actually told Cady I'd resigned, yet. She'd accepted my $500 with the provision that her latchstring was out for as long as I needed it. I took that in the generous spirit offered, but planned to be out ASAP.
"Not arguing that a little therapy might help—like you should probably be getting for all that stuff that happened to you at that Survivalist's? You still having the dreams? When you scream, it gives me the shivers."
Shit, she must have heard me some night. I wanted to kick something. Bad. I said slowly, "Maybe."
"You know, you two really are two sides of the same coin, neither of you realize how much alike you are."
I stopped at that. "I'm like Walt?" I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice.
"Sure, Henry and I have both noticed your speech patterns and expressions have become similar, you stand alike, started to sort of dress alike with the buttons and such, you both talk shop even when you're off duty, won't talk about your feelings, defer anything you can…that time in the bar, cleaning his face, I really thought…thought maybe there might be something going on between you. I thought maybe if you stayed with him, you two would figure it out."
I looked down at my tank and shorts. While Walt wouldn't wear those, I took ownership for at least some of what she'd said. Apparently others had noticed, too. Maybe even Branch had, with his comment about the special relationship. I peeked out the window. Walt was sitting in his truck, apparently on the radio.
"Well, hell."
I stopped briefly in my room, drew a pair of pants over my shorts, opting for running shoes instead of duty boots, because they slid on faster, and grabbed a jacket. It was getting nippy in the evenings. I threw my wallet in my jacket pocket, went out to the passenger side of the truck and knocked on the door. He looked up from where he was making notes on his duty pad in the interior dome light, and I almost thought I saw a lightness cross his face at my appearance. He swung the door open with one of those long arms, and I held onto it and used my right arm on the strap to climb in.
"Ground rules. Separate checks. No drinking. No shop talk. You bring me home early so I can get my laundry finished."
He gave one of those half-grins. "That's all the rules?"
"Those are my fucking rules tonight, take them or leave them."
He started the truck, which I took for assent, and turned and looked at me. His gaze was piercing in the reflection of the dim dash lights.
"I've missed you."
I stared ahead. "I've missed my friend, the guy I thought was my best and only friend in Durant. Cady and Ferg try, but I've missed him."
There was the inevitable pause as the thinkin' before talkin' took place. I was used to that pause after years of acclimation. Finally he said, "I'm sorry I let you down, Vic. I thought…I thought, I could protect you if I didn't get close. Save you from me."
"Protect—save me?" The enormity of the crushing blow he had dealt me suddenly struck. Hard. "Wait. Let me out." I started to struggle with the door latch, but he laid a hand on my arm, then immediately let go when he realized it as my bad one, which had protested and made me yelp. After Ferg's well-meaning grip the night before, it really was tender.
He yanked his arm away before he pulled the truck over and put it in Park but let the heat run, thank goodness.
"Hear me out. Just hear me and let's get some dinner."
"No, Walt," I said, trying to override the lock. "I rode with you for hundreds of hours and you couldn't say, or explain anything. You left me hanging and hurting."
"At least tonight I did better than when I asked Donna out."
I stared at him. He must have thought that was a joke. It was more like stabbing me with a multi-pronged carving fork.
He saw my face and backed down. "I'll take you back, but please, just please hear me out."
"Here, then. No people, no distractions, no burgers. You say what you have to say here." I pointed down with my finger.
"I had a talk with my attorney almost two months ago, after the County Board recommended I get therapy. They know crim, even murderers like Barlow and David Ridges sometimes exist in a small town, but David Ridges and Barlow Connally dying so close together, I mean, they really want me to do it, but not court-order it. Quiet. Discreet. My attorney said to keep my nose clean, to keep out of fights, to not give anything that could be used by the Wrongful Death suit attorneys."
"Okay, so I just killed a man and slept with another deputy. Guess I haven't helped, that much. How come I didn't know all this before I screwed it up for you? Oh, right…your personal life is none of my business."
His lips were compressed into a flat line. "I was going to tell you all everything, but things just snowballed here, and we're never in office at the same time, anymore…
"And then there was Donna, had to make time for her, while the rest of us, Zach, Ferg, me…had no fucking idea what was going on…"
"I don't know if that impacted it at all, but the therapy, Vic…"
"Cady and I were just saying in there you should get some. You've been through the wringer."
"I—I already screwed up a therapist once last month, Vic, I'm terrified of it, and them, and I wondered…I wondered…would you go with me, for moral support? Like a partner might?"
I was sure I'd misunderstood again. It was the Rookie Cop thing again, but since the heart was reluctantly involved, said heart kept missing the essentials…
I asked slowly to be sure, "You want me to bolster you at some kind of couples therapy?"
"Partners," he said firmly.
"We're not partners," I whispered, infinitely sad to admit it.
"Maybe not now, but we were, before I mucked things up. Before Branch's death."
"Not really…it was well before then, you don't put a partner in lockdown and go in after Ridges without backup, Walt."
"I know…"
"You don't tell a partner someone should stay on with her to protect her and then ask her later to stay, and not acknowledge she might think more was there." He looked down at his lap, his lips pressed together. Nothing from him. He was not carrying on his end of the conversation.
"I always thought in Arizona you were close to crossing the line, and there, I get it, I was married, but I always thought Branch saved us that time…"
Those dark blue eyes flew up to mine. "Yep, he did," he said, acknowledging that weakness for the first time.
"I was so wrong, Walt," I whispered, "I thought you were my friend, my fucking best friend, my only friend in Durant," hoping he heard the past tense, and the pain from having to admit it. I let him digest that for a minute, trying to regain some measure of composure.
"Omar has offered me work," I said finally, when his response was the norm, and he didn't say or do anything. "I've been thinking about looking into Newett and the casino, as well. But you want me to stay in this…God, Walt, at Cady's it feels almost…it just feels wrong."
"It was all I could think of last minute."
"It wasn't your job to think for me."
"I didn't want to turn you out onto the street."
"Or offer me your cabin again," I said bluntly. When you evict a partner, you offer her a place to stay." My lips twisted. "Yeah, Cady told me, she said she'd told you she felt weird having me there, but you more or less forced it on her, and when asked about letting me stay at your place, you said, nope."
There it was, what I had been looking for, waiting for, the Deer in the Headlights look—busted.
"I—"
"Yeah, I know." I cleared my throat and took a deep breath after a minute of silence. "It was because of Donna. Another Lizzie, or worse. So I told Cady I'm only here until I decide where I'm going. A couple of days."
"It wasn't because of Donna."
"Whatever."
"Your uniforms are in the wash."
I gave him the patented WTF look for that disconnect.
"Uniforms are almost done, along with everything else. I'm only missing the one that got shot up by Browning's friend." Yeah, the one they had cut up when they took the vest off me was unsalvageable. "Don't worry, you'll have them back soon, and I'll be out of all the Longmires' hair.
The conversation lagged. His really had lagged the entire time. I waited for him to start the Bronco to take me back. When he didn't, I looked over. He seemed to be struggling with something.
"What if…what if I invite you to stay with me, now? Not as awkward as at Cady's?"
A year ago, I would have jumped into his lap. Now…now, was different. There had been a complication called Donna.
"I believe you set the rules in the alley, which means my private life is none of your fucking business. Besides, three's a crowd."
"Vic, don't—she's not—we're not—I was trying—to protect you…this lawsuit thing is eating me alive. I could lose all my retirement, and my land."
I stopped. He might be right about that. Someone needed to do the work to figure out what mastermind was behind the suit, whether it was Barlow from beyond the grave, the mysterious Branch matron hiding under the veil, or even Lucian, who would have the most standing in court. The county might pay, but it might take his personal wealth as well.
Unfortunately, all that didn't matter, none of it fucking mattered. He hadn't said anything to end what never began, just cut me loose before we'd ever even scheduled a date.
"Well, then we'd both be homeless. Fuck. To save me? Hmmmph. Zach said you asked him about George and Lenny. You told him you thought George was protecting Lenny, in a selfless act of love. Are you comparing us to them?And, you didn't hire me like that, but you hired your most recent deputy from his opinion of a fucking depressing book?"
He tried not to grab me by my wound, but he reached for me. I knew he didn't want to hurt me, but my right arm wasn't available, although it wasn't injured.
"I didn't want to make another mistake, like I did with Branch. I want to prevent that happening. I don't want you to die, Vic. Letting my feelings for deputies get in the way almost cost us both our lives last year. I thought you had learned from my mistake then. Your decision to go after Browning was wrong."
So there it was. Finally out.
I said, very slowly, but my anger pegged the meter before it enveloped me. "I'm no Lenny you had to make decisions for, Walt. I'm me. Just me. I'm not Martha, Donna, or Lizzie, and I'm gonna quote that guy I remember you like, John Donne, for ya. He said no man or woman is an island, shithead. Well, maybe I paraphrased that a little."
My anger was in full throttle. He had to feel it, and it exploded as I hauled off and punched him as hard as I had Agent Towson. I would feel it in my hand for days. And then I thought of Lizzie and Donna, invading his cabin and insinuating themselves between us.
"Shit!" I couldn't help it, I punched him again.
This time he had his hand up, deflecting it, and tried to get hold of mine, but I wriggled away, hoping my injuries would make him less aggressive in pursuit.
Hurting him hurt me even worse, but he had provoked me, fuck it, I couldn't let that go. Maybe, shit, maybe it was the PTSD talking…
He looked shocked, red, and already puffing up, nose bleeding, as I unbelted, released the latch, practically threw myself out of the warm Bronco into the chilly night, trotting along the road back to town as fast as my trembling legs would carry me, every jolt reminding me of my injuries, and my right fist vying for my left arm in the hurting department.
"Shit!" I said again.
Just fire me and be done with medical leave, therapies, counseling, all of it be damned to hell, I thought.
The night swallowed the Bronco lights as I took a shortcut up a hill back to town, and I was pretty sure he did not follow.