Amnesty Fic: To Doing What We Can
Fandom: Longmire (TV)
Ship: Vic/Walt
Summary: Vic and Walt hang and finish drywall (mostly off screen). Fic amnesty for Trope_Bingo
Thank you to
ishie for taking the time to read over this.
Vic came to save him from himself. Cady, Vic, and Henry had decided to push their agenda for a better Walt Longmire.
She came bearing a six pack. That itself wasn’t enough to last the night if split between the two of them, but in addition to what he had in the fridge, it would be enough. Drinking was the only thing that would get him through the weekend.
Though he had welcomed her gift of beer, he was leery of the other boons she brought with her.
It took them most of an hour to get the drywall from the back of her unit and into the house, where it wouldn’t get damp if it snowed overnight.
“Careful,” Vic warned.
The warning amused him. Vic had trouble keeping her end of the wallboard up, but Walt made no mention of it. Pissing Vic off was not the way to set the tone for the next day. He shut up and helped her carry the construction materials into the house.
While Cady and Henry had set to work on his relationships and sanity, Vic had volunteered herself to help with his house.
“Do you know how to use any of these?” Walt asked as he helped her carry a table saw onto the porch.
“My uncle Antonio is in construction.”
Walt lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t give me that. I used to help him in the summer after I got fired from waiting tables at my other uncle’s restaurant.”
“Was this before or after your uncle with the garage?”
“The point is I know how to use them, okay. So, stick with me and this place could pass for habitable,” Vic said, pressing her foot down on one of the floorboards on the porch that Walt had never gotten around to nailing down. “Someday.”
---
Vic took the ladder. Walt didn’t argue, though she had to stand on the top rung of the ladder in order to reach the edge where the ceiling met the wall. If Vic wanted to reach for it, she was welcome to, especially given the way her shirt lifted just slightly to reveal a flat stomach when she stretched to apply more puddy. The Eagles shirt she wore might have been baggy at some point in time, but a few too many turns through the dryer had shrunk it. The splotches and stripes of compound drying on her arms did nothing to detract from the sight of her.
“Did you decide what to do about the house?” Walt asked, trying to focus.
“That fucker won’t just let me have the house, so we’re selling it and splitting the money.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, can’t do anything about it. At least we’ve got a buyer.”
“That’s good.”
“And I’ve got nowhere to live. Have you ever tried to buy a house on what you pay us? I might as well move into the jail.”
“There’s a cell with your name on it.”
“Very funny,” Vic said.
---
She popped the can open and put it to her lips to take a swig. Immediately, she recoiled. Vic spat the beer into the kitchen sink, then turned the tap on. It took a few mouthfuls of water before she turned off the water and stood to face him.
“Do you have any taste buds?” Vic asked. “It tastes like piss.”
“It tastes how beer is supposed to taste.”
“Beer isn’t supposed to taste like piss. God, don’t you have anything else to drink?”
“Only the Ranier. I don’t get a lot of guests...”
Vic handed him what remained of the beer she’d opened even though he’d only finished half the beer he had in his hand.
“We could go to the Red Pony?”
“I don’t want to go out.”
The sanding and smoothing had lasted all afternoon. They had only hung drywall in one of the smaller rooms in the cabin, yet his body ached from the work. He wanted nothing more than to kick off his boots and crawl into bed. Even the tv dinners waiting for them in the freezer didn’t appeal to him as much as some more face time with his pillow. Vic seemed not to be so weary from the day’s work.
Walt took a sip from her can. It tasted better than the can he’d been nursing, then again, it was still cold. There was no reason to let good beer go to waste, so he forced himself to finish off his room temperature can before starting in on hers.
Vic excused herself to go out to her unit and came back with a bottle in a brown bag. She set it down on the table in front of Walt and went to rifle through the kitchen cabinets.
“Do you have ice?”
“Check the back of the freezer,” Walt mumbled as he pulled the bag off. It was a bottle of Jim Beam that hadn’t been opened. For a moment, Walt contemplated asking Vic what she was doing driving around with a bottle of liquor in her county owned vehicle, but caught himself. It would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, he decided.
“What’s the occasion?”
Finding nothing better, she took two beer glasses Henry had given him and filled them with a few cubes.
“Why does there need to be an occasion?”
“Do you usually spend your Saturday nights with a bottle of bourbon?”
“Only when I’m feeling frisky.”
She set one of the beer glasses down in front of Walt and poured in two fingers of bourbon, enough that the ice cubes lifted off the bottom of the glass. Vic had washed the compound off of her arms, Walt noted, but she had missed a spot near one of her elbows.
“To finishing your house,” Vic suggested as she poured a drink for herself.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Fine,” Vic said, raising her glass. “To doing what we can.”
Ship: Vic/Walt
Summary: Vic and Walt hang and finish drywall (mostly off screen). Fic amnesty for Trope_Bingo
Thank you to
ishie for taking the time to read over this.
Vic came to save him from himself. Cady, Vic, and Henry had decided to push their agenda for a better Walt Longmire.
She came bearing a six pack. That itself wasn’t enough to last the night if split between the two of them, but in addition to what he had in the fridge, it would be enough. Drinking was the only thing that would get him through the weekend.
Though he had welcomed her gift of beer, he was leery of the other boons she brought with her.
It took them most of an hour to get the drywall from the back of her unit and into the house, where it wouldn’t get damp if it snowed overnight.
“Careful,” Vic warned.
The warning amused him. Vic had trouble keeping her end of the wallboard up, but Walt made no mention of it. Pissing Vic off was not the way to set the tone for the next day. He shut up and helped her carry the construction materials into the house.
While Cady and Henry had set to work on his relationships and sanity, Vic had volunteered herself to help with his house.
“Do you know how to use any of these?” Walt asked as he helped her carry a table saw onto the porch.
“My uncle Antonio is in construction.”
Walt lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t give me that. I used to help him in the summer after I got fired from waiting tables at my other uncle’s restaurant.”
“Was this before or after your uncle with the garage?”
“The point is I know how to use them, okay. So, stick with me and this place could pass for habitable,” Vic said, pressing her foot down on one of the floorboards on the porch that Walt had never gotten around to nailing down. “Someday.”
---
Vic took the ladder. Walt didn’t argue, though she had to stand on the top rung of the ladder in order to reach the edge where the ceiling met the wall. If Vic wanted to reach for it, she was welcome to, especially given the way her shirt lifted just slightly to reveal a flat stomach when she stretched to apply more puddy. The Eagles shirt she wore might have been baggy at some point in time, but a few too many turns through the dryer had shrunk it. The splotches and stripes of compound drying on her arms did nothing to detract from the sight of her.
“Did you decide what to do about the house?” Walt asked, trying to focus.
“That fucker won’t just let me have the house, so we’re selling it and splitting the money.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, can’t do anything about it. At least we’ve got a buyer.”
“That’s good.”
“And I’ve got nowhere to live. Have you ever tried to buy a house on what you pay us? I might as well move into the jail.”
“There’s a cell with your name on it.”
“Very funny,” Vic said.
---
She popped the can open and put it to her lips to take a swig. Immediately, she recoiled. Vic spat the beer into the kitchen sink, then turned the tap on. It took a few mouthfuls of water before she turned off the water and stood to face him.
“Do you have any taste buds?” Vic asked. “It tastes like piss.”
“It tastes how beer is supposed to taste.”
“Beer isn’t supposed to taste like piss. God, don’t you have anything else to drink?”
“Only the Ranier. I don’t get a lot of guests...”
Vic handed him what remained of the beer she’d opened even though he’d only finished half the beer he had in his hand.
“We could go to the Red Pony?”
“I don’t want to go out.”
The sanding and smoothing had lasted all afternoon. They had only hung drywall in one of the smaller rooms in the cabin, yet his body ached from the work. He wanted nothing more than to kick off his boots and crawl into bed. Even the tv dinners waiting for them in the freezer didn’t appeal to him as much as some more face time with his pillow. Vic seemed not to be so weary from the day’s work.
Walt took a sip from her can. It tasted better than the can he’d been nursing, then again, it was still cold. There was no reason to let good beer go to waste, so he forced himself to finish off his room temperature can before starting in on hers.
Vic excused herself to go out to her unit and came back with a bottle in a brown bag. She set it down on the table in front of Walt and went to rifle through the kitchen cabinets.
“Do you have ice?”
“Check the back of the freezer,” Walt mumbled as he pulled the bag off. It was a bottle of Jim Beam that hadn’t been opened. For a moment, Walt contemplated asking Vic what she was doing driving around with a bottle of liquor in her county owned vehicle, but caught himself. It would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, he decided.
“What’s the occasion?”
Finding nothing better, she took two beer glasses Henry had given him and filled them with a few cubes.
“Why does there need to be an occasion?”
“Do you usually spend your Saturday nights with a bottle of bourbon?”
“Only when I’m feeling frisky.”
She set one of the beer glasses down in front of Walt and poured in two fingers of bourbon, enough that the ice cubes lifted off the bottom of the glass. Vic had washed the compound off of her arms, Walt noted, but she had missed a spot near one of her elbows.
“To finishing your house,” Vic suggested as she poured a drink for herself.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Fine,” Vic said, raising her glass. “To doing what we can.”