Chapter Text
You held me closer, stone by stone
Now I'm letting go
Catch me dear, I'm falling
Catch me dear, I'm falling
The walls are coming down
Piece by piece take me now
From the moment that our lips met
My defense is all but gone
We collide and explode like a cannonball
Cannonball
-The Sweeplings
~*~
It has been a long day and he sinks across his couch, not even bothering to pull out the sofa-bed, feeling lonely and sorry for himself for the first time in weeks. It is one of the first nights he's truly spent alone, he thinks sadly, pulling one arm up to rest over his forehead. But it's simply too late to show up at Walt or Henry's place at this hour of the night. The paperwork had been piling up and he'd finally managed to make a huge dent in it, but that meant missing dinner with his... his... lovers. Henry liked to chide him and use the word 'boyfriends' but there was no way in hell he was going to go for that sort of mushiness. He's not some lovesick, teenaged girl. He does not have 'boyfriends'. Hell, he can barely stomach the word 'lovers' but it has to do because he has to call them something.
The knock on his door startles him from his half-doze and he sits up, instantly awake and aware. No one knocks on the Chief of Police's door at midnight unless there's trouble. Hell, it might even be Walt again, he thinks crossly, but he does close his hand around the familiar shape of his gun as he eases up to the door. He's not a fool. When he swings open the heavy door, leaving the screen door closed, he nearly shuts it again in relief as the tension coils right out of him. And then coils right back. "Henry," he says softly, hand still on his gun. "It's late."
"I need your help," Henry says simply. "It is Walt," he continues, when Mathias reaches for his jacket and opens the screen door. As he pauses to shrug on his coat - these late nights in October are growing colder by the day and it's hard to feel warm sometimes in the chill of the late night and early morning - he considers Henry, who is dressed only in his usual black jean jacket as though the cold does not bother him.
"What about Walt?" He asks, not liking the hard set of Henry's mouth.
"I will explain on the way," Henry offers, indicating his old truck with the sweep of one hand. At least it's out of the wind. And he has his cell phone, has his gun. He's not in any danger with Henry tonight, not if they are only going to Walt.
"It better be worth it. I was falling asleep."
"I apologize. Perhaps you can rest on the way," Henry replies, opening the door and climbing up into his seat.
Puzzling over his cryptic tone, Mathias climbs into the other side and shuts the door. The bench seat is cold and he blows on his hands while he waits for the ancient radiator to produce some heat.
Henry has promised to tell him on the way there, but he has neglected to mention just how long that trip might be. They drive in silence, out of the Reservation, past the little road that goes to Walt's cabin, past the road that goes into Durant, to the Red Pony. Instead, they take the cut-through to the Interstate and drive and drive, weaving in and out of logging trucks and other semis and not much else at this hour.
"Walt?" He asks finally, when it is clear they are not stopping any time soon.
"He has holed himself up. We are going to him, to convince him to come back."
"And you needed me for this?"
"You are his boyfriend, are you not?" Henry asks archly, unable to keep the slight smile from his voice and face.
"Shut up and drive," Mathias snarks airily, crossing his arms to himself, burrowing his chin in the fur-lined hood of his coat. And Henry does. By the time he is turning off of the Interstate, Mathias is mostly asleep, pressed against the glass of the door, mouth slightly slack and certainly not snoring. He opens his eyes once when they go over a ramshackled bridge that seems to creak with every rotation of the tires, to see Henry glancing over at him with a sweet, fond smile on his face. Then sleep swallows him back up with a thick blanket and he is gone until the car comes to a complete stop.
They are in the deep woods, having come down what looks like a logging road to a large cabin settled on the very edge of a deep lake. It isn't cold enough to ice over yet and that's just as well because there, on the porch that stretches out into the water, there is a large man sitting, crumpled beer cans scattered around him as he casts another line into the water.
"It is a good thing we are here," Henry says abruptly, as the truck's engine dies. The last thing to go out is the dashboard where the clock reads well after three a.m. Mathias stifles a yawn and sits up sharply, shaking his head to clear it after the fog of the nearly three-hour drive.
"Did your piece of shit truck just die?" He demands, chasing after Henry who has already exited the car and is walking towards the porch and Walt.
"I may have... pushed her a bit too hard tonight. She will probably run again tomorrow."
Walt's Bronco is parked on the other end of the dirt drive, closer to the cabin, windows frosted over with cold.
"Well, we can take Walt's Bronco back into town now and come back for it in the morning," he suggests, hugging himself against the sharp cold of the autumn's night.
"Walt's keys are in the lake," Henry says airily, but with no trace of sarcasm or humor.
"Walt's keys are in the lake," he growls back, feeling his hackles rise. They have got to be fucking with him.
"Fishing accident," Walt says simply, voice brittle and hard in the night.
"Fishing- are you drunk?!" He demands, hands on his hips now as he stands in the drive staring up at the men on the porch.
Walt considers, casts another line, and nods slightly. "Might be."
"You have got to be kidding me! This is ridiculous! This is stupid! This is... this is kidnapping!"
"You got in the car of your own free will," Henry reminds him, standing in the door to the cabin, between the screen door and the heavy wooden one. "We are here to help Walt. And other things."
"Other things?" He follows him up the short flight of steps and looks over the sad sack of a man surrounded by his beer cans and an aura of frustration. "Why is he so pissed, anyway?"
"Did you know?" Walt demands harshly, fighting with something in the lake (maybe his car keys, Mathias thinks ruefully).
"Know what?" He asks flatly, in no mood for one of Longmire's moods.
"Who Cady's dating," he finishes, dragging up nothing and reeling the line in too sharply in response.
"Oh, fuck," Mathias says simply, running a hand through his hair, hindered by his thick, close-fitting hood. "Yeah, about that..."
"Nighthorse," Walt spits, literally spits the name, letting the rod fall across his lap as he takes it in both hands. "Jacob Nighthorse."
"They're actually... Well they're not bad together, Walt, you should see how she smiles at him," Mathias begins, trying to think of how to soften this blow.
"Nighthorse!" He snaps in response, "With my daughter. Tell me how I'm supposed to take that."
"As any father who wants his daughter's happiness must," Henry interjects pointedly. "With respect for her and her decisions."
Walt seems to deflate some at that, fishing around in his beer cans now, looking for one he hasn't killed. Once again, he seems to come up empty.
"Mathias and I will be in the bedroom, Walt. If you want to come," he lets that last part hang invitingly in the air, the double entendre not lost on Mathias. If he gets anything out of this evening, a little sex would not go amiss, he thinks to himself, following Henry in the door.
"I have to be at work tomorrow at 8 a.m., Henry," he protests lightly, allowing the other man to unfasten his coat and strip it from his shoulders. He is still wearing his uniform shirt and it is hopelessly rumpled and feels lumpy around his body. When Henry leans in to kiss him, Mathias' eyes automatically close in anticipation, but it is only a quick peck before his pocket is picked and his cell phone stolen from his jeans pocket. "Henry, what the hell?" He cries, following him into what must be the bedroom off the side of the house.
"You do not have to be at work tomorrow, or, indeed, any time this weekend. You are taking the weekend off. Your staff has been e-mailed and informed that you are out of town and unreachable for the foreseeable future."
"How can you- What did you- What?!" He demands, hands going to his hips again in an attempt to spread out and make space.
Henry is depositing his phone in a small safe built into the far wall, along with what looks like his own. "You and Walt make the same mistake of leaving yourselves logged in to your professional accounts when borrowing my computer," Henry says with a roguish grin over his shoulder as he shuts the safe.
"That's- This is-"
Henry comes to stand in front of him while he splutters, placing both hands on Mathias' shoulders. "Mathias. Relax. Take the weekend off. After all, it is your-"
"Don't say it!" He warns sharply, lifting one hand as if to ward the other man off.
"Relax. Have some fun. It will be nice. Just the three of us. No calls, no business. Just one another, for the next three days."
He nods, almost to himself, admitting defeat. "I think this really is kidnapping," he says sulkily and Henry kisses him on the mouth.
"Come on, it is bed time. Walt will be joining us in another four-to-six minutes."
"Wanna bet on that?" He grouses, unbuttoning his wrinkled shirt. It is warm inside the cabin, pleasantly warm enough that he knows he will still be comfortable in less clothes.
"Absolutely. Winner gets to name a sexual act the other must perform," Henry says, unbuttoning his own shirt and tossing it in the floor carelessly. He moves on to his belt buckle and Mathias nods.
"All right. It's a bet." After all, there's no way Longmire will sober up enough to come in out of his bitter musings any time soon.
"Walt will be in, in..." Henry raises a hand, pointing at the door. "Now."
The front door closes loudly, making Mathias jump. There is no way that Henry could have seen the front porch from the angle he is standing at.
"How the hell did you-"
"No one knows Walt Longmire better than I," Henry says with a smirk.
Walt enters the room, hands on the buckle of his own belt. "You two aren't in bed yet?"
"We were waiting for you," Henry says, wrapping his arms around his waist. When Walt does the same clumsily, Henry laughs and tweaks his nose. "You, my heart, are quite drunk. Time for bed." When Walt protests sourly, Henry just chuckles again. "Bed," he insists.
Suddenly feeling the hours weighing on him again, Mathias looks to the bed, a plush California king with plenty of pillows for three. Sleep is sounding pretty damn good. It's easy to slither out of his jeans and crawl, still in his socks and underwear, under the thick fur blanket. Sleep comes with Walt's arms around his waist and his snore in his ear as Henry curls up behind him and hugs to his shoulders. It is even easier to fall back asleep now that he's actually in this insanely comfortable bed. Maybe this weekend won't be so bad, after all, he thinks, just as he drops off for the night.
~*~