Part 2

One Month After Vic Announces Pregnancy

Not long after Vic announced her pregnancy to him, Ruby came into his office late one afternoon just before quitting time.

"Walter, I'm surprised you haven't either terminated Vic or put her on administrative leave or…something."

He looked up. The paperwork never seemed to stop these days, and he longed for a nice, juicy murder to solve to take him away from it.

"Why? What did she do?"

"Walter," she said in conspiratorial tones, and to be sure, rather patronizing, "there's never been a pregnancy before in the Absaroka Sheriff's department, much less one of an unwed mother. How does that look with the cloud we have hanging over us?"

Vic had done nothing professionally wrong, or personally, for that matter, as far as he knew, other than hiring Hector. The morals clause in her contract, well, that was possibly another thing. This was Durant, not Chicago.

"What do you suggest I do? Take away her income and leave her penniless and working as a waitress at the Pony for tips?"

Ruby made a displeased noise, as though he were dense. Well, maybe he was. "No, of course not…"

"Then what, Ruby? I've offered to help, but she's reminded me it's not my business."

"That's a crock, Walter Longmire, and you know it. She stayed here after the divorce because of you, no matter what you may let on. You need to either fire her or support her."

"Financially, you mean?"

"No, of course not. I might be able to get the church to help do that, but…"

"But…that might set up endless sermons on Mary Magdelene or encouragement to repent?"

Ruby looked uncomfortable. "Maybe. I can't see Vic standing for any of that."

"Nope."

"Then it's up to you, Walter. I thought for a long time you were mentoring her, and then I thought…well, you were so protective of her...more than Martha, more than Cady…" She looked down. "I don't know what I thought, but nothing happened between you two."

He exhaled through his nose. Really, the world kept bearing down on him. He'd lost Martha, he'd repudiated Lizzie, he'd been dumped by Donna, and now, Vic was in trouble. He went home, downed half a dozen beers, and fell asleep on his couch. His bed had become uncomfortable because he always dreamed of her there.

He didn't know what more he could do.

Five Months Later

Who knew that pregnancies lasted so long? Nine months didn't sound long until you actually had to suffer through them, minute by minute.

More than seven months along, feeling like a bloated boat, no, make that a ship under full sail, usually listing to one side or the other based on the whims of the wind.

The one thing carrying around another person gave you was time to think. Her thinking had changed from the terrifying burden to a blessing she had never thought to have.

Cady had insisted throwing her a baby shower now that the probability of a successful pregnancy was high, and, it seemed she invited half the town. The trailer was overflowing with both used and new baby clothes and all the accoutrements, although some a bit shabby, that she might need.

Ferg had bought her the car seat. "Can't let the little guy get smushed, the way you drive!" He said it grinning, and she was a little overwhelmed. Ruby had bought her a stroller and a Baby Bjorn, because carrying turned into pushing them around so quickly.

One of the ladies gave her baby furniture, another gave her a high chair. True, it saved them from having a garage sale or putting an ad in the paper, but it was really generous considering she'd felt the heat for months from some of the OBB of the town. Cady said many of them had been Martha's friends at church, which explained some of it. She was an embarrassment to the ASD in their eyes.

Too bad she couldn't share the experience with Walt, but after his visit the week before, he had been avoiding her, and she him. It couldn't be helped, with what had transpired.

One Month Ago

She had gone home, coaxed a healthy dinner out of the tiny kitchen in the trailer, and gone for a walk after dinner. Sunset was earlier every day as fall approached, so it was still pretty early. As she came up on the trailer, her face perspiring in the lingering late summer afternoon heat, she saw a tall figure folded on her steps, and down at the other end of the tree-lined gravel walkway sat the Bronco.

"Hey." She wasn't out of breath, but suddenly felt breathless.

"Hey." He looked uncomfortable. "Cady asked if I'd look in on you once in a while now that you're further along."

Her forehead furrowed. "Why? You see me almost every day."

"I know, that's what I told her."

"Oh. Well. I don't have any beer, just to let you know."

He shook his head. "No, I—"

"Look, Walt. We're not in the office here. If it's the gossip around town, if it's complaints about morals, I'm not fazed by them, but if you need to, fire me. It's in your hands."

He looked down at the offending appendages she had mentioned. "No. I would have fired you if it had been the right thing to do. Even in the office, you're pulling your weight. I have no complaints."

She huffed out. "Then…why the visit?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe…" He looked up, squinting a little as though looking past her, "I thought maybe we could finally talk."

"Talk." He might have well used a foreign word. Given Walt's predisposition for just the opposite, it might as well be.

"Yeah, you know. It seemed like…like a lot of stuff has been hanging there for a long time. Things we haven't addressed."

She paused, cleared her throat. "Such as."

"Such as…Chance. Branch. Maybe Eamonn? Definitely Donna."

"Oh." Stunned. She took one of those LaMaze cleansing breaths she had been practicing. Her lips pursed. "Would you like some iced tea?"

He seemed to release a breath he'd been holding. "Sure, I'd love some. Could we go inside, maybe? It's finally getting cool out here."

"Yeah, sure."

He moved off the tiny stoop and she opened the door. He could have gone inside at any time, the lock was a nonsensical device not designed to stop anyone. She poured two iced teas, and wiped her moist face with a paper towel.

"I've cut the heavy exercise routines."

"Makes sense. How are you feeling?"

"Now, great. Was a little tough, early on. Threw up at almost anything."

He gave a rueful grin. "Yeah, I seem to remember a few of those."

Before she'd reluctantly assigned herself to desk duty, there had been a couple of investigations where she'd left the crime scene to, she hoped, discreetly vomit the contents of her stomach.

Henry had offered advice on that, although she never knew where he came by it, or from whom, and it helped. Controlling her breathing, crackers in her go-bag and jacket pockets, and plenty of water. It generally worked. She owed him, and it was always in the back of her mind she could name her baby after him and it would cause no speculation.

She sat as comfortably as she could with a bowling ball in her lap. "So, you want to talk. Spill it, Walt."

"I fought Chance because I didn't want to lose you."

She felt her face go soft. "You saved both Sean and me. Could've died from it."

"No, like…lose you. And I don't mean Sean."

"Oh." She'd thought so at the time, but not for a long while since.

He went on, words a little unsteady. "After Branch, I felt I'd caused his death, you felt you'd caused his death, we were both grieving in our own places and couldn't seem to come together and grieve."

She swallowed. That's probably true…"

"You pushed me away at the river. I…I needed to be held, Vic. There. Then. I was looking for a miracle there in the river, to absolve me of that guilt."

"It wasn't really you I was pushing away. I was drunk and sure I was toxic," she mumbled. "Gorski, Sean, Donaletto, Branch." She hadn't known he'd felt that way. He would never say anything. "I was afraid it would be you next if anything happened between us."

"Eamonn…"

"Never dated him, Walt. Just the one night, but when you threw Donna in my face, I retaliated."

"He told me."

"He…told you?" Her eyebrows crept up.

"Yeah, last month in my office."

"You were talking about me."

"We were trying to figure out who the baby's daddy is, if we could get him to step up, ante up, or do the right thing…"

Try looking in a mirror, big guy.

"Ahhh. Okay." It was pretty easy to get pissed with those hormones on overtime. "What happened to the alley speech about your personal life not being my business and vice versa? I mean, you know it's vice-versa, right?"

He turned a little red. "He and I are both worried about you, Vic."

"Worry about the lawsuit, worry about the county. I'm fine. This litle guy is a blessing, no matter what the OBBs or the Town Elders may say."

He seemed to absorb that. Then, "Donna. I think that evening you came over to discuss the case, she'd just broken up with me. That's what I really want to talk about."

"Donna?" Her nose scrunched, a bad smell in the air. "I don't want to talk about her."

"Just hear me out."

She shrugged, sipped at her iced tea, looked at the leaves brushing the window in the freshening breeze outside.

"She wanted me to be a better man than I am."

"What?" She hadn't expected him to say that.

"That reminded me of Martha. Martha would have liked me to end up in the state government, a senator, maybe. She didn't want me to stay 'stuck' in my job, as she called it."

"Hmmmmph. You're good at your job, at finding justice. Maybe not so much at the paperwork, without Ruby, you'd be a wash. Definitely not at the making speeches."

He gave a chuckle. "No arguments there. I like solving puzzles and I hate public speaking. But…" he went on, "Donna didn't like how quiet it was, or that I lived in the country. She didn't like the poetry I liked. All our tastes were different, and I have no idea how I misread that. Martha loved the quiet, but she'd been a ranch girl. I had a dream and I guess thought Donna was another Martha."

"A dream."

"Yeah, had some prettly good ones about her, and…well, she excited me."

"Okay." She felt absurdly uncomfortable at that, remembering something amazing he obviously did not regarding the excitement department.

"Well, we'd never actually even gotten to a date the day her van burned. You sort of set us up that day, after you revealed you and Eamonn had been together."

"Yeah. I wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me." She said it without thinking.

"What? Why"

She cocked her head. "What?"

"Why did you want to hurt me?"

She made a face, looked down. Because you'd hurt me. "Asked me to say and then looked elsewhere."

"Donna was only very recent.."

"Walt, you'd pushed me away. It took me a while to come to grips with Chance, Branch, Sean and the divorce, eviction, all of it. When I offered you a chance to talk, at the bus, and later to get a burger, you pulled back, then shut me out completely. Everything from ambiguous statements to changing your shirt in the middle of the day."

She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. She knew only too well sometimes it took a while for him to sort information. It was part of his puzzle-solving process.

"You didn't trust me about Jacob."

"You still haven't trusted me with the truth about Jacob."

There. That was a stalemate, on its own.

"And then there was Donna."

"I guess…after the one night she and I were actually together, she told me I talked in my sleep."

This was new information. She stilled, listening intently. Martha would always have a place in his heart…

"Evidently I was saying, "Vic, Vic" in my sleep. Ferg said I mumbled that a lot after the Durrell thing on Tensleep."

"No shit!" Now, he'd surprised her.

"So I guess it was a whole lot of things."

"Yeah." She was still stunned…he talked in his sleep about her? "Well, it's too bad, opportunities missed, I guess," she tried to make it philosophical.

He turned his hat in his hands. "Or maybe I just couldn't handle everything going on around me at once?" He almost looked questioning to her.

She sighed. "I'm in early tomorrow to cover for Ruby, Walt. I should probably get some sleep." She stood up and yawned to punctuate her words.

"Yeah." He still sat there. "I should go, but…I don't want to."

There, it was out there, a hint. She refused it. "I do." She swallowed at saying the lie. "Want you to." She said it firmly, but not mean. Just matter-of-fact.

"Then I will." His head bowed a little, but he stood, then turned.

"Vic," he said, and bent to kiss her cheek.

And then strode out of the trailer.

One Month Later

The fall nights were beginning to turn chilly. It would be Halloween soon, her first in Durant not on patrol for unruly revelers. She still walked, but not as long a distance. She tired more easily.

Only the week before, the baby's gender had been confirmed by ultrasound, although the blood test had told her months before. She had decided to name the baby Henry.

She had put on some music, when she heard a car down the lane. She peered out, but the headlights went out. She moved toward her duty weapon, just in case. There were still people who had Walt in their sights, and in her mind, as a pregnant female, she would be a particularly soft target.

Steps crunched up the lane, and in the old sodium lamp, she recognized a familiar hat and drag in the step. She stepped out.

"Walt? You okay?" In her surprise, she'd forgotten she still held her Glock.

He gave a wry smile.

"I give up, officer."

"Yeah, I—well, out this way, you can't be too careful."

"That's kinda what I wanted to talk about, if you have time."

She had lots of time. So much time that words unsaid echoed about in her head on a nightly basis.

She shrugged. "Sure, come on in."

He came up the steps, his one leg dragging, and she realized he looked tired. She peered into his face.

"You look beat. I have iced tea or can make coffee. You need coffee?"

"Coffee does sound good."

"Sure, give me a minute." She whipped around the corner into what was the kitchen, and efficiently fired up the little coffee maker. It could make two cups, which would be enough. "Have a seat." She indicated her sagging, built-in couch which doubled as the seating for her tiny table.

"Vic."

"Yes," she said, forehead furrowed as she critically inspected cups from the cupboard. She'd found dirt in one the other day, no idea how that had happened.

"Vic, please come and sit. We need to talk."

She looked up with surprise. He looked so serious.

"Uh-oh, what did I do now?"

He shook his head. He held out a hand, supplicating. "Just come here."

She reluctantly perched on the edge of the bench opposing the couch. He gave a sigh of relief, or was it resignation?—as she sat.

She jerked her head. "You know, I think I'm going to name the baby Henry."

"Henry? It's a wonderful name, but are you sure? I am here about the baby, though. I'm here because Ruby took me to task a few months ago."

"To task. About what?"

"About you. About us."

She gave a surprised "Huh?!"

He shook his head. She knows without being told that I asked you to stay, and feels it's my fault you're in this predicament."

She felt her eyes grow wary and wider. "She feels that?"

He jerked his head. "Well, she's not wrong about that."

Vic wanted to laugh. Did laugh, rather, scoffed. "So you're Ruby's messenger?"

"No. No, of course not. I just got to thinking."

"Uh-oh," she repeated, but finished it with a twist of her lips. "That's a dangerous occupation when it's you, Walt. Spit it out."

He exhaled through his nose. "I wondered if you'd like to get married. I'll raise the baby as mine."

Okay, it wouldn't take a feather now to knock her over. Not a puff of air. Just breathe on her and she'd be on the floor. "You what?" It came out far sharper than she intended, as though he planned to murder her on the back forty.

"You know, us get married, you move out to the cabin. It's safer, there, and the baby can have a lot more room and a nice place to grow up."

"You want to get married for the baby? Are you insane?"

She obviously had not responded as he'd hoped. "I thought—I thought, maybe we could start again…"

She acknowledged to herself that she'd wanted that for a long time, but not to drag the baby or any commitments into it.

"Oh, Walt," she said sadly, and then heard the coffeemaker beeping.

She sprung up as you could wielding a belly, and poured out the two cups. As she handed his to him from above, her blonde hair fell around them like a living curtain in the confined space. He looked up with surprise, then caught her lips with his. She jerked back, finger to her lips, and couldn't contain the hurt in her reaction. She bounced back into her tiny seat, afraid she was going to break down and bawl.

"Drink it and go." Her throat was thick. She couldn't look at him again before he left.

XXX

He drove home, the most amazing images burning in his brain. Vic, above him, her hair a living throbbing curtain around them, the heat, the sheen of perspiration and smell of lust, the exultation of thrusting and the animal noises emanating from her. Keening. The recurring dream, so much more vivid and lasting than those of Martha—or even Donna—had ever been.

As soon as he stepped up into the cabin, no doubt fueled by the coffee, the rejection of his offer and his kiss, he began to clean in a frenzy, anything to do to escape the dream. He began with the kitchen, which took a while. As usual, his place had become a mess again. He followed with the bathroom, and then the living area. He had almost finished with the bedroom, when he elected to move rather than sweep under his dresser, and he found two items: a dusty plastic case and an elastic hair tie. When he opened the case, he saw birth control pills, all neatly in place, with dates early that year. The name on the prescription was Victoria Moretti.

He came out to the couch, plumped down on it with the two items of evidence on the table in front of him, as though they would inform him what they had been doing hiding under his furniture for so long and reveal their story. After a few minutes of unsuccessful study, his thoughts churning, he went to the pantry and brought out the Pappy's. It was usually successful to help him forget and let him sleep.

It was as he poured the first glass that he remembered Vic sitting next to him, trying to converse about a case. That had been during that unusual evening visit last spring. He remembered she'd been in her uniform shirt, and hair in a ponytail. She had not tried to talk him out of the Pappy's, because he'd been stung and wallowing in Donna's defection. And what had happened then…?

He remembered her having a couple of beers, and then a shot somewhere along the way, and then nothing later…until her curtain of hair around them, the heat, the lust…

He sat bolt upright and drank down the shot.

He had to be absolutely sure, went to his desk and unpinned the monthly calendar hanging above it, brought it back to the couch, and poured another shot.

The date, the date near where conception of her son had to be…the night she had visited him.

He sat stunned, the second Pappy's undrunk.

He counted back again. He remembered her there, he remembered hearing the snap of the hair tie and trying to get down to bare skin…the small tattoo inside her elbow, her essence of vanilla and lemon, carrying her writhing while circling him back to the bed, nipping, biting excitement

Head in hands, he groaned. It had to have been real. But why hadn't she said anything? Worse, she had now just rejected his offer. What more could he do, now?

It was late. Too late for a visit, but he would go, anyway. Maybe she would forgive a fool of an old man who had misused her, the town gossiping about her as though she freely gave her favors.

The Bronco's heat warmed him, but his heart was paralyzed by fear. He was terrified she would keep his son from him, take him back to Philly, or hide him somewhere else. Worse, he was terrified he would lose her, forever, if he hadn't already.

When he screeched to a halt in the lane, thinking he should have the brakes looked at again soon, he was afraid he might meet the Glock first, Vic second, so he called out, and yet again.

The third time, she blearily opened the door in a t-shirt which rode up and sweats riding low under her big belly, what appeared to be a blanket around her shoulders, and he walked out into the sodium light. She was yawning, hand over her eyes against the glare of the light.

"What the hell, Walt?"

"I remembered. That night you came to discuss the Fortin case."

That stopped her. "You remembered. Exactly what did you remember?"

"Everything, or most of it. I remembered you and me. On the couch, on the bed. I don't think I performed my best that night."

"Your best might kill me, then."

"You admit it!"

"I never denied it," she said, but did not invite him up the stairs. Then, "I'm glad you finally remembered. Now let's get some sleep." She turned to go back inside.

"Henry is my son, Vic."

At that, she turned back. She was no less clear than he had been in an alley almost a year ago. "The nature of my relationships and my personal life are none of your business, Walt." She turned back inside and slammed the door behind her.

He stood still as though he'd been pole-axed, actually, she just had done that, a effective stake through his heart.

"You'd keep my son from me?" he roared, but in pain, not so much anger. He deserved every word of what she'd said.

The lights inside went out.

He went in, clumping up, defeating the inadequate lock and cursing that she stayed here in possible harm's way, when she and Henry could have his protection.

He got inside two steps before he heard the unmistakable click of a safety being taken off.

"Don't, Walt," her voice came, husky from sleep and the dark, only a sliver of light from the sodium light making the room less inky.

"It was you, you all the time, Vic. Why I talk about you in my sleep, why I have to change my sheets so often, why I can't sleep in my bed, anymore…"

He heard her breathing, ragged in the dark. "How could you do that, Walt? How could you not remember that night? How could you not remember me?"

He shook his head, forgot she couldn't see it at first, then cleared his throat to try and get it out. "Vic," he said softer. "I'm an idiot. I was an idiot from the first moment I saw Eamonn. I thought you two had been at it while I processed the Barlow mess."

"Everybody flirts, remember that, Walt? I said it before, but you wouldn't believe it. You still don't believe it." Her voice was thick and he felt awful. He had made her cry.

"Vic, sweetheart, come here, don't cry, it's a good thing. I've remembered what an idiot I am in time. We can be together."

"No," she said, but her voice was muffled, as though wiping it on her sleeve. "No, this has only shown us why we shouldn't be together."

He stopped. He had no answer, no coaxing for that.

"You broke into my trailer because you're mad at me."

"No—I—I'm not mad, I'm worried about you. I don't want to lose either you or Henry, or our future."

"I've learned a lot in the last seven months. Mostly about me. Go home, Walt, and I won't call 911."

He put his head down, tried for levity. "Vic, 911 is standing in front of you."

"No, the on-duty 911. I'm not kidding, Walt. You don't make these off-duty rules. You made the alley rules, the "you were forgettable" rules, and kinda threw the morals rules at me along the way."

"That would still make me an idiot, but not a bad man."

"Henry and I are fine, Walt. You need to leave."

It was like having a golfball in his throat. He could barely see, and realized he was crying, too.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"You can take off tomorrow if you need to."

"We'll be in for our shift." She and Henry as a team. She gave not a quarter.

His head bowed, he knew he was beaten, that he could never touch her in anger, or hurt his son.

"Your choice." But he heard something he had not heard for a long time, his own voice breaking as he stumbled out of the trailer, down the metal steps and back to the Bronco.