This update was ready sooner than expected. Thanks to everyone for the continued reviews and messages!

There is some mature content in this chapter, just to warn you. I won't be changing the rating of the fic since the vast proportion of it is T rated, but this might be on the edge of an M. If you aren't into that sort of thing, better skip approximately two thirds of this installment. Haha! Somehow I suspect you'll all be okay with it. ;D

Dreamcatcher
Part VII

"What the hell do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

The instinct to run after Vic when she stormed out of the office had been overwhelming, but Walt found himself paralyzed in a white hot moment of indecision and fear. He'd taken a few steps toward the door, only to jerk his neck around to look at the glaringly out of place folder on his desk.

How had he missed it? It was nothing like the ones used by this department or any other local agency. Lately he'd been feeling like he'd missed everything, and the folder was just a physical manifestation of all his failures. Despite his progress in therapy he had lashed out at Vic with anger that should rightfully be directed at himself, and upon her swift exit he'd been moments away from a repeat performance of his raging anguish induced desk-flipping tantrum from what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He'd known he should read Donna Monaghan's mysterious statement immediately, both as a matter of personal safety and potential investigative interest, but he was too distracted and anxious. At that point there'd been a sudden epiphany that devoting his attention to another woman yet again when his heart was screaming for him to go to Vic could potentially be the worst decision of his life.

Once the choice was made, Walt gave it his all. He'd run past a startled, purse-clutching Ruby in the stairwell without a word. He'd broken speed limits on the short trip to Cady's place. He was finally ready to lay it all on the line.

"Fine."

Vic didn't exactly invite him in, simply left the door wide open and stalked away with her back turned. The house was dark with the exception of a faint glow from the kitchen, which was Vic's destination. She hadn't had the time or inclination to take off her duty jacket, but Walt politely removed his hat as he followed to find her standing with her laptop open on the kitchen counter banging away at the keys.

"What are you doing?"

"Booking a plane ticket to Philadelphia."

His heart dropped into his similarly battered boots… it was his worst fear come true. "Why?" He knew it was his fault, but he had to ask her anyway. He swallowed, trying to push the fraught emotions back down his throat.

"I'm tired of being treated like your damn dog." She wouldn't even look at him, lashes fluttering over eyes that were fixed to the illuminated screen.

Tentatively, he stepped closer. Reaching out, he placed one of his hands on her shoulder. "Vic, I didn't mean to—"

"Save it for someone who cares."

She was ignoring his touch, which was almost worse than having her shrug him away— at least that would have been a reaction.

"Oooh, looks like I can get a flight from Denver tomorrow afternoon for around $275. Nice to get a decent bargain, since I'll have to ship all my stuff back separately. I'm sure Cady will help me with that."

He dropped his hand from her shoulder, fingers sliding along the smooth material of her jacket before coming to rest on the cool surface of the countertop beside the computer. He could feel the warmth of her body in front of him as he imposed himself into her space. "Don't do this."

"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't."

Walt's chest pressed against Vic's shoulder at an angle and he realized how rapidly she was breathing. It was right on pace with the hammering of his pulse. He knew this was the moment that could change everything— maybe they both knew it.

Because I love you, he thought to himself, but he couldn't come up with the words.

Walt had always been a believer in the adage that actions spoke louder, so he made his play. The hat fell from his fingers as he twisted Vic around and pressed her against the counter, taking note of how her eyes flashed as he grasped her head in both hands and meshed his lips onto hers.

Her body stiffened at first, hands shooting up to grip both of his biceps just above the elbow joint. Walt thought for sure she was about to push him away, so he tilted in and swept his tongue over her bottom lip in a device of unambiguous communication. To his surprise, Vic relaxed, slumping against the counter and slanting up so their mouths could seal and explore.

Vic made a purring noise in the back of her throat, fingers traveling up to Walt's shoulders and further to grasp at the collar of his jacket and pull him down. He inhaled sharply through his nose, lips unwilling to separate from the frantic dance that had begun. One of his hands slid to Vic's neck, fingers gripping at the hairline as the kiss continued to intensify. His other arm wound around her back, folding her into him as their tongues stroked provocatively.

It was probably less than a minute, but it felt like a slowly floating lifetime. Their lips finally parted and Walt released a soft involuntary groan as they both gasped for air. Vic's cheeks were flushed, eyes wide as she stared up at him. All Walt wanted to do was renew the connection, continue the pleasure-drunk descent. Right when he slanted in for more Vic shoved him away, dipped one shoulder, and slapped him hard across the face.

The physical sting was nothing compared to the crippling internal pain of a rejection that seemed likely to be final and complete. But then the anger in Vic's features faded, and one tear slid down her cheek following a trail that appeared to have been recently used. Walt wanted to reach out, wipe all her tears away and promise never to hurt her again. He wanted to cry himself, but he didn't have a chance to do anything.

Vic's fingers touched her mouth as she searched his face, inhaling shakily. "Shit," she breathed, right before launching suddenly and violently into Walt's arms, nearly knocking him over. Her lips attacked his, fingers plunging into his hair as he pulled her against him and wrapped her into an airtight embrace. Their lips molded and devoured, sharing a broken sigh as they clutched desperately at each other.

Her hands slid under his jacket, fingertips digging into the slightly rigid cotton of his shirt. His lips traveled to the soft skin of her neck just beneath her earlobe and she released an airy moan as he scraped it with his teeth and then sucked gently, tasting. Vaguely recalling one of his dreams, Walt walked Vic backward and hoisted her onto the kitchen counter, stepping between her legs as she squirmed her hips to perch at the edge. The heat and motion were making Walt lightheaded, and he paused for a breath as Vic pushed the jacket off his shoulders.

"Walt." Vic's hands were on his face, lips touching his softly. She kissed the corner of his mouth, tugging at the snaps on his shirt front. Her touch was deft and her fingers were nimble. Pushing forward he ran both hands up the outsides of her denim-covered thighs, kissing her hungrily as his fingers clutched her waist and bunched the material of her uniform shirt. She arched against him, tightening the grip of her legs around his torso.

God he wanted her, and the aching hardness inside Walt's jeans was making his desire clear. The angle wasn't quite right to press himself against her, but he could feel the welcoming warmth emanating from the junction of her thighs. He wanted to be buried in it, but he was absently aware that this was not an appropriate time or place. "Vic," he choked out, leaning his face into the crook of her neck, "We should stop."

Vic didn't agree. She had worked the front of his shirt open, pressing her palms flat against his chest. "Do you want me?"

He breathed her in, lips skirting the edge of her collarbone beneath the material of her shirt. "Of course I do. I have for so long. I—" His brain was telling him no, but the temptation of her willing body was a powerful draw.

"Then you have to show me, or there's no reason for me to stay." Vic slid herself off the counter and down the front of his body, biting her lip as her center brushed past the prominent ridge of his erection. His jaw dropped from the ripple of pleasure caused by her actions, even through all their layers of clothing.

"But—" His brain was growing hazy. "Cady might—"

Vic shook her head, craning up to mouth at the side of his neck. "She's out of town until Friday."

Walt's arms were on either side of Vic, hands gripping the counter. His hips jerked as she reached for his belt buckle, and he realized she had him half undone in more ways than the obvious while she was still fully clothed. In that moment he knew that she was in control, and the only viable option was unconditional surrender.

Walt was warm. The sensation permeated his skin and seeped into his bones, like a hot shower after a long hard day out in the cold. With all of Vic's naked skin pressed against him, he felt as though he was warmed through for the first time in months, maybe even years. Blonde hair tickled his chin as the woman in his arms snoozed silently with her head resting atop the crook of his shoulder.

At least, he'd thought she was asleep…

"Walt. I can actually hear you being awake. Your brain is loud."

"Sorry," he said softly. He had a lot to be sorry for, so maybe he should start apologizing now.

"Hmm, maybe I can be persuaded to forgive. What were you thinking about?" She stretched and twisted enticingly, raising her head to look at him.

One of her hands was resting on top of his chest, so he covered it with his own. "You." It was true, though the mode of his thoughts was subject to interpretation.

Fortunately, Vic chose to focus on the most direct possibility, voice low and sultry. "That's a good answer. I was dreaming about you."

That piqued his curiosity, visions of his own dreams dancing in the shadows on the ceiling. "Really? What was I doing?"

Rolling on top of him beneath the twisted blankets, Vic flashed Walt a toothy smile. "Me."

The evidence of her happiness made his chest feel tight, but Walt didn't have much time to ponder it before the thought was lost among the sensations of Vic grasping and stroking him to full readiness as she slowly rubbed her body against his own. Allowing his hands their newfound freedom to explore, Walt gripped Vic's hips and groaned appreciatively as she enveloped him in her slick, tight heat.

The silence of the dead early morning hours was peppered with whimpers and soft cries of pleasure as they rocked against each other, tempo increasing as Vic added a little twist to her hips and Walt molded his hands over her breasts. His touch worked her into a frenzy, grinding down and leaning in to breathe a sensual plea against the shell of his ear.

"Oh, God— harder."

An uncontrolled, blatantly aroused noise erupted from Walt's throat as he wrapped one arm low around Vic's back and heaved her compliant body beneath him. He buried himself in her, rolling his hips and pumping deeper and faster in time with her impassioned cries. Walt was making plenty of his own sounds, shuddering with intense gratification as Vic dug her fingernails into his lower back and met his thrusts with targeted movements of her own.

One of Walt's arms was still buried beneath Vic, their legs tangling and chests rubbing together as he pounded into her. He bit out a gruff "Oh," as she tightened and arched off the bed, gasping and shaking with the first tremors of orgasm. The growing force of Vic's climax sent Walt out of control, every inch of his cock engulfed by the scorching, viselike spasms of her body. He tumbled over the edge, lost in her, skin tingling and brain blanking from the concentrated ecstasy of release.

They collapsed in the aftermath, still connected and clinging to each other. Walt never wanted to let go, peering at Vic's slack and satisfied facial expression out of the corner of his eye. After a few long minutes of blissed out silence, Vic tilted her head toward his, faces close enough that their noses were almost touching. Walt reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.

She smiled again, and he started to feel like he could get addicted to the sight. "Did you ever imagine it would be like this?"

Walt chose to assume she was referring to the sex, rather than anything else. Blinking slowly, he considered how to answer without admitting just how many times he had wandered down those exact pathways in his mind. "I suspected."

He could feel her laughter vibrating through her ribs where his arm enfolded her midsection. "You sure are confident."

"No," he countered, sandwiching one of his legs atop both of hers as his eyes drifted shut. "But I am a pretty good detective."

Walt's sleep was dreamless, and the next time he woke there was light filtering in through the curtains. He was alone in the bed, but the door to the room was open and he could hear noises emanating from the kitchen. Taking stock of his surroundings, he noticed that there was a small ornamental dreamcatcher hanging from the window frame. Weren't those things supposed to go above your bed to keep the bad dreams away? In his case it seemed all that was needed was a night of passion with the right woman.

Speaking of his deputy, maybe now his partner of another kind, it would probably be a good idea for them to talk about what had happened between them. Rising from the bed, Walt located his jeans and pulled them on. The rest of his clothes were bound to be scattered somewhere, but they could wait.

He emerged and crossed the living room, feeling a bit uncomfortable wandering through the open spaces of his daughter's home with no shirt on. Had this been the type of thing Cady was imagining when she'd told him it would be 'weird' for Vic to stay with her? His daughter certainly wasn't stupid— maybe she'd had a better understanding of his relationship with Vic back then than he had himself.

Vic was in the kitchen, cooking an omelette and, endearingly, wearing his hat along with her ensemble of very brief knit shorts and a black tank top. He smiled, watching as she bopped along to a song on the radio.

"Good morning," he offered, voice feeling a bit rougher than usual after an uninterrupted slumber.

She turned her head toward him, tipping the hat back. "Hi. There's coffee." She gestured to the coffee pot on the counter.

Soon they were sharing the omelette, which had cheese and peppers and a few vegetables Walt wasn't certain he could identify. Spinach, maybe? It tasted good, and he absently realized that he'd never eaten Vic's cooking before. He felt like he could get used to it… which reminded him of the talk they should probably be having.

"So, uhh—"

Vic had removed his hat and set it brim up on the side table, and a wisp of hair escaped from her loose ponytail as she sipped her orange juice. She was beautiful.

"Hmm?"

"I— well, I was thinking we should probably talk about this. Shouldn't we?"

Setting down her fork, Vic struggled to maintain eye contact. Wasn't that a bad sign? "Umm. Yeah, I guess?"

He reached for her hand. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I just thought— well, there are a lot of things we need to clear up." I need to tell you that I love you, for one thing, he thought to himself.

She raised an eyebrow, marbled brown eyes lighting with what could have been a spark of defiance. "Well then. By all means, clear away."

Beginning to wonder whether talking might be a colossal mistake after all, Walt opened his mouth. Before any words could form, Vic's phone vibrated beside the plate of toast on the table between them.

"Shit, it's Ferg."

Walt felt an odd sense of relief at the interruption. "You'd better get it, he might need one of us."

Vic answered the phone, and Walt half-listened to her end of the clipped conversation that followed. When she hung up, he could tell by the change in her face that something was wrong. Walt knew that face, it was the same one he'd seen in Arizona behind the door between their rooms on that night when he was ready to break all his rules. He tilted his head, waiting for her to fill him in.

"Ferg stopped by the hospital to visit Zachary on his way back from the substation this morning."

She stood, quickly gathering the used plates.

"Yeah? And?"

"Zachary's gone."

A sense of dread settled in the pit of Walt's stomach. "What, he checked himself out?" He doubted Zachary was ready for that just yet, but it wasn't the end of the world.

"No, that's the problem- he didn't. And nobody else came to visit him after I took his statement yesterday. He was there when the nurse did her rounds at 4am and by the time Ferg got there he had disappeared."

"Shit," he mumbled.

Vic shot him a slightly amused look. "That's usually my line."

Standing, he helped with the last few dishes, scanning the area for the rest of his clothes and belongings. "Its use is definitely warranted in this case. We'd better get moving."

"Yep." He'd stolen her line, so apparently Vic felt she was entitled to borrow one of his.

And with that the spell of their night together was broken, though Walt's body still ached with the memories. The pressures of the outside world were calling, and the threads of their aborted talk were left fluttering in the breeze as the Bronco carried them down the highway toward Durant Regional Hospital.

Well, I call that progress! That talking thing might be a bit of a problem, though... to paraphrase one recent reviewer, why can't Walt and Vic have nice things? Maybe they can, eventually! ;D

Let me know how you liked it, and if you have any theories about Zachary's whereabouts! Reviews will be rewarded with spritzers, Gin Rickeys, and other retro cocktails! The non-drinkers can have a Shirley Temple.