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dwaynepride · 7 months

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THE LONG ROAD BACK

summary: you and Walt take an early morning ride and discuss the future.

words: 2,070

warnings: none. fluff mixed with inaccurate horse knowledge from someone who's never ridden one.

They say the history of the West was written from the saddle of a horse.

Maybe they should have written it from bed instead.

Walt kept a steady pace through the tall grass, reins and spurs jingling lightly from his hand. The pale light of dawn didn’t seem to faze him as it did you - a reminder that it was still several hours before either of you had to get to the office and weren’t spending it curled up in bed. Where Walt never wavered in his trek through the field, you lingered behind in shorter, stilted steps.

“Why couldn’t we do this later again?”

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was smiling. “Dawn’s the best time to ride,” he answers simply. “Not unless you want the sun beating down on you and fightin’ with the bugs. Plus, can’t deny the view.”

A few stars dotted the sky here and there - the last remnants of a calm night before the sun broke the horizon, blackness bleeding into pale pink and yellow. The mountains and trees etched themselves into the sky, threatening to break the soft clouds not yet baked away by the summer heat.

Though, your gaze lowered to Walt, and you watched him pick through the grass and shrubbery in tall boots and the new pair of jeans you bought him a month ago. While the sun wasn’t quite bright enough to get into his eyes, he still wore his hat low on his head with his hair curling out from under it.

“Yeah,” you reply, hoping your tone was flat enough to cover up the sudden tightness of your chest. “Hell of a view.”

This time, you heard his smirk. As if he’d just read your mind.

Walt stopped suddenly, half-turning to glance back before sending out a loud, high-pitched whistle into the air. You stopped beside him, panting lightly from the long walk from his cabin. An arc of familiar pain shot up your leg, though you resisted the urge to lean on your other to give it a break. Walt had finally stopped asking about it.

“I’m going to fall off, you know.”

“You won’t.”

“And when your horse tramples me, you’re gonna have to explain to the others why you dragged me out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn just to get killed.”

“You’ll be fine.” Walt turns his head, leaning it to the side. “You’ll be with me.”

A scoff comes from your chest, another sarcastic remark ready to lash out and do no damage whatsoever before you heard the deep rumble of hooves against soil. The shiny black coat of a stallion stuck out against pink-gold grass, and even the sight of it made you shift nervously, despite the healing leg.

You weren’t afraid of horses. You’ve been here too long to be. Riding one, however…

“How is he with beginners?”

Walt leaves your side, approaching the stallion as he obediently slows to a stop. He lifts a hand to caress its muzzle. “Not great,” he admits. “But I’m not a beginner. You should have some more faith in me, sweetness.”

The addition of that petname was strategic, as was everything Walt ever did. He was hoping to quell your anxiety, as well as get you to loosen up a bit. Horses could sense the kind of apprehension you were giving off.

“It’s not you I don’t have faith in,” you replyed, slowly following and taking up position right behind Walt as he hooks the reins up. “It’s him. And gravity. And the ground not being made of feathers.”

From under his hat, you spot the wrinkles of a smile. Silence stretches on as Walt prepares the horse - assuring the saddle is tight, the reins are properly attached, and the horse himself was calm and collected. Honestly, you would’ve been happy to stand right here in this field and watch.

He was cute, and the horse wasn’t bad, either.

Walt pulls himself up into the saddle, hooking his feet in the stirrups like it's second nature. The horse huffs, takes a few steps, and doesn’t look all that pleased until Walt gives the reins a tug and reels him back in.

“Alright,” he says, reaching out a hand to pull you up. “Your turn.”

But you hesitate. “Walt…”

“Just trust me.”

You take his hand, and he pulls you up with ease.

The saddle was nothing special. A lot less comfortable than you expected. Your hands instinctively gripped the old leather tight to keep yourself still and stable, thighs clutching tight around the horse, spine curling inwards to try and minimize the height between you and the ground.

Walt’s hands are on your hips, holding tight to help keep you seated. “See?” He rumbles from behind. “Not so bad.”

You scoff at him, not daring to peek over your shoulder because you haven’t gotten your bearings yet and you know he’ll just be wearing that damn grin. “Okay, I’ve ridden a horse. I can get down now,” you tell him, but make no moves to do so. Mostly because you didn’t know how.

But also because Walt had his hands on you. It was hard to pull away when he did.

“Sitting and riding aren’t the same. You ready to move?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not unless you wanna walk all the way back on that leg of yours.”

When his hand drifted down to ghost over the healing spot on your leg, it was difficult to tell whether it was the ease of weight or Walt’s touch that made it feel better. So you leaned back against him and decided it was Walt.

“Take me home, then. Cowboy.”

His chuckle rumbles deep in his chest like a summer thunderstorm. Walt reaches for the reins, gives it a gentle tug, and prompts the horse into a slow stroll through the grass. But even this small movement chased away the easy comfort that came with being with Walt. You instantly stiffen up against him, a hand grasping one of his arms as if it would save you from falling.

“How is your leg, anyhow?” A question to most likely distract you from the ride. It only worked a little, since he asks it so often. “Noticed it was stiff last night, and you were havin’ trouble putting weight on it before I pulled you up.”

Of course he noticed.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” It was routine, at this point. You were lucky the bullet wound was the most serious of the injuries you sustained - the rest having healed over the weeks and leaving Walt with nothing to fret over. And while it was nice to have him push your shorts up every night to check over it thoroughly, the questions were getting old. The questions, and…

“...Fine enough to get out of the office, even.”

“Hm. Maybe.”

Maybe. Perhaps. Few more days. We’ll see. Next time.

Now it was Walt who was blind to your expressions - he couldn’t see the roll of your eyes and grit of your jaw (even if he’s seen it every other time you asked about getting back into the field.)

A sigh rolls from your lungs. A sigh he feels against his chest. “Look, I know you wanna do more-”

“I can do more,” you interrupt. “It only really hurts when I have to get up at dawn and go hiking because my boyfriend made me. But other than that, I can keep up. You’re just being overprotective.” And yeah, you recognize that your tone may be a little sharp. Maybe you were being harsh, knowing how worried Walt had been these past few weeks. But you were still alive, and he didn’t seem to understand that.

He’s quiet for a little bit. And it’s his silence that gives you hope. Maybe he was thinking it over. Seriously considering letting you leave the office again, no longer having to babysit the radio or make phone calls.

“I have conditions.”

You move to perk up in surprise, but the movement of the horse forces you to stay pressed against Walt’s chest. Still, you nod eagerly. “Name them.”

“First, you don’t take any risks. Not for a while longer, at least.”

Whether it was because he was worried or you were still healing was hard to tell. But you nod again. “Yeah. Definitely. Ferg takes point. Got it.”

A small huff of laughter comes out, but Walt continues. “Second, if I think you’re pushing yourself too hard, I bench you. With no backchat.”

That pill was a little harder to swallow. It was too easy to imagine Walt using this condition to his advantage - but then again, he’s never misused his power. Especially not with you. So, after a moment, you dip your head.

“Third.”

He gives the reins a tug, the horse stops, and then he lifts them up to offer them to you. There’s silence. Hesitation. Apprehension. Walt beckons you to take them. “You take us back home. It’s a straight shot back to the cabin. Just take the reins and give ‘em a little snap. He’ll do all the work.”

“Walt, I don’t-”

“The conditions are all or nothing.”

He’s patient, at least. Gives you time to consider the deal, weigh the options, before you slowly reach out and take the reins from him. The leather is old and worn. Warmed from Walt’s hands and impossibly heavy while tied to the wild black stallion you’re sitting on. Walt returns his hands to your hips, gives them an encouraging squeeze, and you snap the reins.

The horse resumes its slow walk, and you don’t take a single breath for the first few strides. The only sounds in the cool morning are his hooves against the dirt, the fading chirps of cicadas, and Walt’s gentle breathing against your back. Still, you don’t focus on any of it. Only the land ahead, the horse’s movements, and how fucking far the cabin still is.

“Doin’ real good. Nice and steady. Don’t let him know you’re scared. That’s it…”

After a little while, it wasn’t as scary. It was clear that the stallion didn’t have a vendetta against you, and wasn’t going to buck (at least, not with Walt there.) The sky slowly lost its soft pink and yellow color, bathing the field in a pale red light that slowly brightened more and more as the sun rose.

Once the horse reached the outer fence, Walt took the reins back. Pulled him to a stop and reached over to give his mane a few gentle pets. “Go on, pet him. Let him know he did good.”

You scoff, but follow his instructions. Leaning forward and running your fingers through the inky black strands that touched the saddle. “Thank you for not killing me,” you mumble. Walt sighs, and it’s followed with a chuckle.

“You did good, too. Wasn’t so scary, was it?”

This time, you had the courage to turn and face him. His gaze was focused, but the small smirk ruined the illusion of a serious question. “No,” you relent. It was hard to lie when he looked at you like that.

Walt dipped his head before leaning in to press a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He stayed close, knowing you’d want more and take it. Your chin tilts up to press your lips against his, sighing softly as his arms circle around your waist. It would’ve been easy to sit in the saddle of this horse and just keep kissing him, but…

“So,” you lean back, almost laughing at Walt’s furrowed brows at the interrupted kiss, “does this mean I can do more? No more answering phone calls or paperwork?”

He hesitates, and you almost think he’s about to take back his word. But he dips his head again. “Yes,” he replies. But his arms squeeze you just a little tighter. “Just…try to be more careful. If anything happens to you…”

He didn’t need to say more.

“Nothing will happen. Not if you’re there with me.”

That softens his focused gaze. Between all the frustrated days spent indoors and Walt’s overprotectiveness, you understand it all. He’s been through a lot. Lost a lot, and wants to prevent more loss. You know how he is.

“Let’s go inside. Bugs are starting to come out.”

“See? Told you dawn was the best time to ride.”

#damn my first fic in like 2 years is for yet another emotionally stunted traumatized man who couldve seen this coming #longmire imagine #walt longmire x reader

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