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Walt leaned back on the wooden bench, splaying his legs wide comfortably and sliding his arm along the back of the bench behind Henry. His friend had stayed and kept him company, promising with a wry smile to eat him out of house and home.
“Good thing I don’t have much of a home then,” Walt had answered self-deprecatingly. Henry’s smile fell from his face as he considered his friend seriously.
“Walt, if you are not alright--”
“I’m fine, Henry,” he’d interrupted gruffly, not willing--or ready--to talk about the way his home still felt empty without Martha or the way he felt his heart was starting to betray him and her memory.
Walt pushed the pizza into his friend’s hands with instructions to take a seat while he raided the fridge for a couple of cans of Rainier. They had settled the open box of pizza between them, popped the frosty cans of beer, and alternated between silence as they overlooked the setting sun on Walt’s land and exchanging quiet conversation about the Red Pony, Cady, the Res, and the day-to-day life of Absaroka County.
Walt was mid-bite of his fourth slice of pizza when a familiar truck pulled up and stopped in front of his cabin, tires crunching the gravel and headlights illuminating the immediate pathway.
He glanced at Henry who simply smirked at him and settled further back into his position on the bench, grabbing another slice of pizza, and watching the impending show unfold.
Victoria Moretti--his deputy, his friend--came storming up the pathway, the steps up to his porch taken two at a time, until she was stomping his way, a fire in her eyes and a heavy heft to her step.
“Hey Henry,” she said warmly, flashing him a friendly smile. Henry inclined his head and tipped his pizza slice in her direction in greeting.
“Sorry to interrupt you boys, but I was just thinking that Walt and I have a small matter of unfinished business that I didn’t think could wait til tomorow. You don’t mind, do you, Henry?”
“Not at all. Do you mind if I stay for the show?”
“Be my guest.”
Walt swallowed hard and made a halting, stilted motion as if to stand. Vic held her hand up, effectively stopping him.
“This won’t take long,” she assured him with a cool smile. He was familiar with many of her expressions and the cold, overly bright smile she was currently giving him was one she normally reserved for suspects and uncooperative witnesses.
“What’s up, Vic?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip. “You owe me an apology,” she said, her tone no-nonsense.
“I, uh, I thought I did? Back at the car.”
Vic scoffed disbelievingly, shooting a look to Henry as if to say Can you believe this? Henry shrugged and nodded his head in Walt’s direction as if to say What can you do?
Turning her attention back to Walt, Vic let him have it. “No, Walt, you didn’t Last time I checked ‘oh, uh, well’ doesn’t count for shit. God, I can’t believe you thought that made up for you calling me a flirt and a bad friend.”
Walt frowned. “I never called you a--”
Vic dropped her voice low in an imitation of him. “’You think the whole world is flirting? Ever think it was just you?’”
Beside him, Henry let out a low groan and shook his head. “Oh, Walt.”
Heat suffused his cheeks in shame and Walt ducked his head, running his hand over the back of his neck and through his hair.
It had been a riot of emotions the last few days. First, dealing with the spark of attraction that he had felt--for better or worse--for Lizzie Ambrose. And then, reconciling his feelings at the way Vic had pushed him towards her so quickly. Confusion, jealously, anger, desire--all had warred within him as Vic continually teased him and pushed him away.
In the six months since she’d joined the force, he could admit to himself that the flirting--and it was flirting--between himself and Vic had grown and taken root somewhere in his heart into the first seedlings of feelings.
Her pushing him towards Lizzie was a stark reminder that Vic was flirting--only flirting--with him. It was a reminder the she was married, that she was his deputy, that she was off-limits.
So he had lashed out in embarrassment. Embarrassed that he had thought there was anything more between them. Embarrassment that Lizzie had shown up at the station in front of all of his deputies and put his personal life on display. It made him feel hot and prickly and he’d never been good with emotions, even on a good day.
“So,” Vic said sharply, drawing him back to the moment. “Apologize.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. One he owed her.
He met her eyes and poured every ounce of sincerity he could into his voice. If nothing else, he could give her this. She deserved it after the way he behaved, after his words.
“I am so sorry, Vic. I should never have said those things to you. I should have known better. Known you better,” he amended.
Vic surveyed him, eyes searching his face for a moment. He wanted to know what she was looking for and if she found him lacking.
After a long moment, she nodded and uncrossed her arms, striding forward purposefully. For a moment, he thought she was coming to hit him, to deck him and lay him out flat.
Instead, she reached past him and grabbed a thick slice of pizza out of the box on the bench and taking a huge bite.
Through the mouthful of pizza, she nodded and lifted the slice in thanks to Henry before turning to Walt. “Apology accepted,” she said in a faux-sweet voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He watched her go with an open mouth as she strode back towards her truck and slipped inside the driver’s side door. The window rolled down and she stuck her head out and yelled across to him.
“The pizza in this town sucks!”
And without further ado, pizza and apology acquired, she tore back down the drive, tossing the half-eaten pizza out the window.
“That is some deputy you have hired, Walt Longmire.”
Still looking out over the porch railing, following the rapidly disappearing taillights of his deputy’s truck, Walt took a long drag of his beer and nodded in agreement.
Vic Moretti really was something.