Archive of Our Own

There's a way that she looks at you whenever you walk into a room now that leaves your heart racing and you standing a little taller. Makes you look twice, makes you pay attention. You're not sure why, she's just Waverly, and while your friendship is incredibly special, it's always been just that... friendship.

She's not just anything, though, not really, she's... miraculous on a bad day.

But lately, there's a look she's given you. From across the street, from across the room, when she thinks you can't see her, when she watches you with her sister or at the station, everywhere. It's about as subtle as a brick to the face but you can't quite put your finger on what it means. What's changed for her.

Why it hasn't changed for you.

She's started touching you more, brushing fingers when she walks past you, reaching for your arm when she stands next to you, holding on as if her life depends on the anchor of it. She smiles the biggest smiles and laughs when you definitely aren't funny and she's always around. Always asking you questions, always hanging on your every word, always sharing the knowledge of her with you like there's nobody else in the universe she'd rather tell. You'd be flattered if you weren't so confused, but there's also part of you that's enraptured with her, and you're starting to notice her too.

It's definitely not... unpleasant. But it's definitely different.

But maybe different is good.

----

It's eleven in the morning and your early morning coffee has just begun to teeter out, stacks of paperwork and your God awful khakis making you uncomfortable enough to check the clock for when you can grab your next cup. Waverly has been fussing you more and more lately about 'pacing yourself' with your caffeine intake, whatever that even means, but she's persistent and sweet enough about it that you've begun thinking twice about overloading yourself like you have in the past. It's nice when someone notices subtle things like that, it's nice that Waverly notices, even if you're not sure why you care whether she does or not. You've never cared before.

You can feel yourself getting antsy and a tad irritable when Lonnie interrupts you for the fifteenth time today, asking questions he knows the answers to, probably just because you're a woman and if you're going to outrank him so quickly upon arriving in Purgatory, he's going to bug the shit out of you for it.

You sigh long and hard, rubbing at your temples when you feel something in the pit of your stomach, something new, and something that you're slowly starting to be able to associate with Waverly. It's subtle but persistent, confusing but calming, and the second her name pops into your head she's sashaying around the corner, drinks in hand and a beaming smile on her face and when every ounce of tension ebbs from your body, you can't help but smile back.

How anyone can resist smiling back is beyond you.

Looking up, you lock eyes with her as you rub your collarbone and she stops with a mid-air wave and she's just barely licking her lips, eyes on you, biting at the bottom one, but you catch it, and she catches you catching it and she blushes and it's kind of one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen.

There's something about it that makes your cheeks feel a little warm too.

She's staring at you with a smile that makes your heart race and your skin itch to touch hers, why, and then her whole body relaxes and she plasters on her eye-crinkled smile that means she's genuinely happy, and she's walking to the counter, still looking at you intently.

"Waverly, hey!" You greet her eagerly, eyeing the coffee in her hands, hopeful that one of the trio is for you, and she's standing there grinning at you in a kind of a standstill haze that puts you a little on edge because she's never been this affected by walking into the precinct before.

It's not hard to get lost in wonder of what's going on in that beautiful brain of hers, if there's a secret at the tip of her tongue that she's waiting for you to catch. It's not hard to want to be the one to catch them, and the more you're learning about her, the more she fascinates and draws you in.

She's started doing research for BBD in the back offices, and while you're still not sure exactly what goes on back there, she comes alive while she's doing it and she and Wynonna seem to be growing closer because of it, and it's sweet watching her come into herself so fully.

You shift awkwardly in your chair and stand because nothing is really happening beyond her grinning at you, but you're nothing if not hospitable and you move to stand in front of her, cocking your head to the side and smirk at her, hands placed deliberately on your duty belt. Her eyes go wide and she clears her throat, looking down at the to-go cups in her hand and then looks up at you through hooded lashes and the sweetest, coyest smile you've ever seen from her. She looks to your hands and something shifts in her stance that has you eyeing her a little more intently.

"Nicole."

It throws you off guard how she says your name, how she allows it to echo inside of her mouth, fill it and toss it back to you laced with so much more than a name should hold. It's how she says it with such reverence, so directly she may as well have pierced into your soul. It's not something you've ever experienced before, but pretty much everything about Waverly is so uniquely wondrous that you're never surprised when you're left a little more confused after each interaction.

Not in the how, but in the why.

"You're definitely a sight for sore eyes, today is an all boys day 'round here and I'm decidedly not a fan." You lift your eyebrows at her, hoping she'll snap out of it and play along, but instead she blinks at you a few times and then giggles and you're honestly so taken aback at the sound you'd probably have tripped over your own feet had you been walking. "So yeah, are you heading to the back? Bringing Wynonna coffee before she gets here, or..."

"Oh! Coffee. For Wynonna, yes." She nods and then pauses, as if debating whether she wants to say more, disclose more, but Waverly is never one to shy away from anything and when her single eyebrow raises you know she's pleased with herself and is about to be brave. "Well actually, I brought them mostly for you, for us, to drink together, but you know how she is if someone gets coffee without her." She does a little shrug and tilts her head to smile at you as you laugh and when you wink at her, because you know exactly how Wynonna is with her coffee, she almost drops the tray altogether. "God, I'm such a mess today."

She sighs and then quickly gasps when one of the deputies walks behind you and you turn quickly to see what's startled her, unsure why. You turn back to her and she's rolling her eyes and you're not sure what's wrong or why she was startled, but you bring your hand back to your belt to give her some space and offer her your words instead. "That's very sweet of you. How did you know I'd be desperate for it right about now?"

You'd swear she pouted just a bit when you've settled back into your own space and you step back a few paces to encourage her to follow you. She takes the hint and nudges the swinging saloon door with her hip, turning as she does and you notice just how short the skirt she's wearing is. How her hair is half pinned back, wavy and delicate as it cascades past her shoulders.

Waverly looks beautiful, radiant, even, and you wonder if she'll be going to see Champ later because of the effort she put into her ensemble. The thought makes something twinge in your stomach in a very uncomfortable and unfamiliar sort of way. Because you've met him a few times, and he's nice enough, a bit handsy and possessive with her, ignorant in that small town kind of way, but not the worst. But you really have no reason to care so you let it go as a fleeting thing because you're on edge and under caffeinated.

She pauses in front of you and you lean back against the top of your desk, crossing your legs in front of you as you watch her watch you. Watch her as she traces over every inch of you and studies you and you'd probably squirm a little under any other circumstances, but she's Waverly, and she's observant, she memorizes details for fun so it's not uncommon. You shift back a little more and she gulps, and her breathing has changed but there's coffee and it's two feet in front you, teasing you, all but calling to you, and when she notices you eyeing it and eyeing her and you must be pouting because she shakes her head, takes pity on you, and hands you the coffee, brushing your fingers as she does.

She sighs loudly and you're not sure why it just happened but she's recovering quickly and nudging you with her hip to scoot over so she can perch next to you and drink her tea as you greedily chug your own, grateful for the warmth as it fills your belly. "Thank you for this, I don't know what I'd have done without you."

She flushes a little under the attention, but laughs anyway, and leans in a little closer. "You'd have begrudgingly huffed your way into the break room and poured the last of the six am coffee Nedley made. And you'd probably get even more annoyed because it's not how you like it, but you'd drink it anyway because your caffeine addiction rivals Wynonna's."

You turn to look at her then, because you're always surprised when she knows things about you in so much detail, with so much attention and focus. She locks eyes with you and gives you that look, the one that seems to demand and inquire at the same time, an answer to a question you can't quite translate the undercurrents of.

"And anyway, it's only fair I bring you the good stuff since I keep pressuring you not to consume it every minute of every day." You can't help but blush at her directness, her conscientiousness tinted with scolding that you definitely don't hate coming from her. Because she cares and sees you, and it's so... Waverly it makes your heart ache and you're not sure why.

"Why are you so dead set on me drinking less caffeine, more is always better. Coffee is good, you know." Her smile drops and she eyes you intensely and it definitely makes you a little nervous. You can tell she's choosing her words carefully by the pointed way her eyes crinkle, choosing her message purposefully, and she speaks it slowly. If you didn't know her you'd presume that she thought you couldn't follow, but you do so you know it means she wants you to hang on every word.

When she wants you to pay attention.

"Because, silly, when you're conscious of things that you love and allow yourself to savor them instead of mindlessly allowing them to consume you, the reward, the taste is that much sweeter."

Flabbergasted, you pause mid-sip, looking down your nose at the cup and bring it down and set it on the desk, turning a little to look directly at the woman sitting next to you. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness, and your timing. It's perfect, thank you."

You watch something flash behind her eyes, a fondness, a desperation almost, and you can't help but preen a little for making her look dopey and adorable like that. "Now come on, I'm sure Wynonna will fling herself around the door soon enough and if she sees us drinking coffee together she's going to get jealous and we'll never hear the end of it, let me walk you to your office." You stand and offer her your hand to pull her up and she looks at it a little foreignly but slides hers into yours and allows you to bring her to her feet.

She flushes a little at the chivalry and you make note of the fact that she enjoys it and you'll definitely be offering it as often as she'll allow. You don't let go of her hand immediately as you tug her along to follow you and she quickly falls into step with you, marching you stride for stride as she almost skips to keep pace with you. You smile at her as she watches you out of the corner of her eye and she smiles back, bringing her cup to her lips to try and mask it.

You could definitely get used to whatever this is.

----

You haven't seen Waverly for a few days and her absence is more noticeable when you're stuck with her broody sister without the perky buffer to Wynonna's bullshit. She's stuck between Mr. Flavor of the day, fighting with both, you presume by her temperament, and she's been extra awful to you all afternoon. "You can't just dismiss me with a wave of your hand, Wynonna, I'm not your damn dog."

"I meaaaan..." You blanche and she chuckles to herself, sipping the coffee you brought her and snaps her fingers at you when you drop the folders per Dolls' demand on the desk, crossing her dirty boots over top of them. Her lack of respect and overall rudeness makes you want to throw her in a jail cell for a few hours of peace and some semblance of justice but Nedley's continual 'play nice' rings in your ears and all you can do is snark back.

As you walk over and shove them off, wiping off the smudges she left behind, she quickly stands and gets in your face for touching her, shoving at your chest a little, daring you for a real challenge, and when you start to see red, when you're close to losing control and shoving her back, Waverly bisects the door to the office with a stern clearing of her throat, arms crossed and eyes harsh and annoyed.

Both of you turn to look and all but jump apart as she just stands there looking very tired and it takes everything in your not to rush over to her and pull her into a hug and you're not sure where that desperation has even come from, but you feel it in every fiber of your being. "Quit it, you two!"

She's peeved and you instantly feel like the worst person in the world for contributing to that.

Wynonna speaks up first, brave enough to break the silence, which you're mildly impressed with until the words tumble from her mouth and you're even more annoyed. "Where have you been, Waves? We need you to translate some documents." Waverly sighs and looks at you and looks at Wynonna with a stiffness in her posture, caught between the rules and her reluctance to dismiss you, but Wynonna beats her to it. "Haught here was just taking herself for a walk, don't worry."

"If you don't quit the dog references, so help me..."

"What? You'll give me a citation?"

You walk a few paces, putting some space between you and Wynonna and eliminating some between you and Waverly, but stop at the doorway, not wanting to upset Waverly but not wanting to put up with Wynonna's bullshit. You decide that standing up for yourself outweighs Waverly's discomfort and pray that she'll understand. "Just because I value the rule of law, doesn't make me an obedient pet you can take advantage of. Next time get your own coffee and your own files and clean up your own damn messes because I'm tired of you and BBD walking all over me and this department."

She stands there with her arms crossed and smirk on her face, always one to appreciate a backbone, even if it's directed at her, but still pleased to be pushing your buttons enough to get a reaction. You eye Waverly who's standing there shell shocked and you place your hand on her arm as she gazes at you warmly. You watch the shift in her, the snap of focus and the sharp pivot has you a little startled because she's doing something you've never seen from her before as she immediately turns to glare at Wynonna.

Wynonna opens her mouth again, because of course she does and it's just one more nail in the proverbial coffin you'd love to bury her alive inside. "Come on, babygirl, we don't have all day, you know how Dolls will get if we don't meet his deadline."

You sigh, dropping your hand from where it rests and shake your head, walking out the door. Waverly is a big girl and capable of making her own choices and so are you and even though you know Wynonna means no harm, that she's as harmless as Waverly with a bit more... bark... she's still a pain in the ass and you're over her attitude for the day. The irony isn't lost on you that Dolls' trickle down rigidity has them both stressed.

You turn sharply to eye Wynonna with disdain because Waverly is her own goddamn person and the fierce protector you usually see would normally be acknowledging that herself were she not wedged so tightly between Doc and Dolls. "She's perfectly capable of operating on her own time, she doesn't answer to you, Wynonna." You don't even give her the opportunity to retort, and you almost think you hear Waverly gasp as you walk past her and leave the BBD offices for good.

----

No sooner do you walk out of the room can you hear Waverly, very animatedly, standing up for you to Wynonna and it definitely has you taken aback because she's very persistent and you'd think she was defending her dissertation. Honestly, you've never had someone so willing to defend your honor and it makes your stomach twist in a certain sort of way that has you stopping in the middle of the hallway with your interest piqued as to what she has to say.

You can picture Waverly, arms crossed and fiery as she tries to stand her ground, tries to look intimidating, tries to show her sister she means business. "You can't just bulldoze through places or treat people like they don't matter just because they don't to you. And for that matter, she should matter to you, because she matters to me. She brings you coffee and just wants to be part of all of this and there's nothing wrong with that."

One of them shuffles to the other and with Waverly's tone of voice you assume it's Wynonna trying to soften her sister's resolve with presence. "She's just Nedley's pet cop project, why are you so worried about it? What we're doing here is more important Waves, I thought you would know that better than anyone."

There's a long, pregnant pause between them and you wonder if things are over, if Waverly has acquiesced and backed down in order to make the peace and keep her sister happy. You wouldn't blame her for it, you're honestly surprised she's said as much as she has. Her sigh is forceful and determined and the fact that you can hear it from the feet away that you are makes you a little nervous for what's going on for her because you should not be making her wage this kind of war within herself. "She's not just a cop."

Wynonna scoffs as she does and you can practically hear her eye roll. "Okay, I can see I'm getting nowhere with you, but let me offer you some sisterly advice. You're playing with fire and you will get burned, will... not if, no matter how hot you think the package is you better be careful."

"You don't know anything about anything, Wynonna."

The conversation seems to have waned and you pick up your pace to get as far away from them as you possibly can so you aren't caught eavesdropping, aren't caught between sisters who are fighting about two different things, and you aren't sure exactly whether or why you were in the middle of it.

----

"Nicole! Wait!"

You're halfway to your desk, when Waverly sprints over to you, grabbing you by the wrist and drags you the handful of paces over to Nedley's office. She fiddles with the door, which is locked, and then blushes and looks at you with pouted lips for help because of her plan not being executed the way she wanted, and you reach for your keys to open the door for her, curious as to what, exactly, she's up to.

You let her into the room and she beams at you, yanking you inside to stand in front of Nedley's desk as she looks around the room at his various hunting and fishing taxidermies and winces at every one until she sighs and turns to look at you, hands drawing down the length of her scarf. You can tell she's lost her nerve a bit, perhaps forgetting why she dragged you in here in the first place, and you're honestly not sure either so you both stand there watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.

"I need to apologize for her mouth, she had no right to say any of those things to you. She's just... I don't even know these days, perpetually on edge or being tugged in a million different directions. It's not an excuse for how awful she was to you, but I promise she didn't mean it. It's like she's purposefully trying to be polarizing." She looks at you with pleading, uncertain eyes, wondering, perhaps, how quickly you're going to run as far away from the two of them as you can get.

"She doesn't scare me, Waverly, it's obvious she's lost and struggling and I try very hard to be nice to her but she sure doesn't make it easy." Waverly sighs, long and drawn out and your fingers itch to reach for her to soothe her. It's not an uncommon desire, but with Waverly it's with an intensity you've never experienced and you just wish you understood what it meant.

She bites a little at her bottom lip and bounces a little in place, coy and sweet and so soft it makes your heart swell at how adorably lovely she is. "It's sweet that you bring her coffee, I know she appreciates it even if she doesn't say so."

There's always a motive behind having coffee in hand when you visit the BBD office, and as you stand a little taller and flex your hands around your duty belt you decide that you can be a little brave too. "I bring the coffee for you, and if you aren't around, it's an easy peace offering to her and she's none the wiser."

"That's really sneaky and I really really like that."

You blush and when she sees it dot your cheeks the pride that swells within her is so beautiful you want to die. Or you could die happily knowing you made it happen and you still don't understand why.

It's comfortable in its awkwardness as you both stand in Nedley's office a little unsure what's supposed to happen next, her losing her resolve after tugging you in there and you still not sure why she did in the first place, when a door slams somewhere in the precinct and you both jump, clearly lost in your own heads.

"Well we should probably--"

"Thank you for--"

She giggles again and rolls her eyes and lifts her eyebrows expectantly for you to continue and if you'd been quicker and more on your damn toes you'd have been able to avoid being vulnerable in your gratitude altogether. You and your big dumb mouth.

"For defending me with your sister. You didn't have to and I know that couldn't have been easy, but I do appreciate it. She just... got too carried away and pushed my buttons to make herself feel better. It doesn't excuse any of it, but it was," you take a moment to contemplate what, exactly it was, and how much, exactly, you can express here. "It was very kind of you. And very brave. Thank you."

Whenever a pretty girl looks up at you with hooded lashes and such soft, beautiful smiles you know you're in trouble, but when Waverly does it you feel like you've just lept off a cliff and instead of falling, you've soared.

The freedom of her is the adrenaline rush you've chased your whole life.

"Let's call it even and get out of here before we get caught, yeah?" You laugh and she laughs and it's light and free and effortless and feels like something you wouldn't mind doing for the rest of your life.

----

You're sitting at the bar with Waverly as she works, all five feet four of her tight jeaned and cropped topped and effortlessly floating around in her element as she discusses the intricacies of Egyptian hieroglyphs and their origins with you. It's fascinating how her mind expands and the flood gates open and she shares. She's quickly doing twenty things at once in between her little cocktail experiments behind the bar, always one to keep busy, always one to be helpful, always one to learn. She's been concocting what she calls 'new takes on old comforts' and you've been listening, and allowing her to teach you mixology and ancient Egyptian and a little Coptic, supposedly, for most of the night and it's endearing getting to spend time with her like this.

There's barely been a moment when she wasn't playing Jeopardy with you, but when you catch Wynonna fist pumping into the air and whooping loudly from across the room, she distracts you enough to turn away from Waverly just for a moment.

You'd been there for hours now, hanging on Waverly's every word while Wynonna challenges anyone who'll play her for free drinks. But now she's playing against Waverly's co-worker, who's always been sweet to you, brown hair and smokey eyes and a sway about her walk that makes you feel a thing or two sometimes. You're only human, after all. She's definitely got a cute way about her that you've taken notice of, nothing focused, but enough that you don't mind the view of her shooting darts in the vicinity of you.

"Earth to Nicole!" You're a bit distracted, humming your acknowledgement and nodding your head because you're still listening, kind of, when a bar towel hits you in the back of the head.

"Hey! What the hell was that for?" You spin on the stool and face a very annoyed Waverly, arms crossed and eyes honed in on her sister across the room. No, on Taylor across the room.

"To wipe up the drool you're getting all over my clean floor with the way you're staring over there." She huffs a little, turning on her heel to the other side of the bar and you shrug because you have no idea what her problem is and it won't take her long until she can't stand it anymore and she'll tell you anyway so no use in worrying.

Wynonna makes her way over to the bar, arm draped over Taylor's shoulder in her victory and she catches you watching the sway of her hips as they walk towards you and smirks, ushering Taylor to the other side of her body closer to you, and she's quickly being shoved into your space, knocked off balance, and you reach to steady her as she chuckles and looks away at suddenly being in your arms.

"Are you alright? Wynonna's a klutzy idiot, I'm sorry for her." You run your fingers down the woman's arms making sure she's good and she ducks her head bashfully at the attention. You meet her gaze and before you can even smile, there's glass shattering to the floor behind you. You turn immediately, worried about Waverly, worried you'll need to step in if someone had gotten a little too rowdy, only to see a shell shocked Waverly, eyes ablaze, standing in the middle of a mess all over the floor.

"Damn Waves, what's your deal?" You watch her shoot Wynonna a glare and then meet your gaze, your hands still firmly on Taylor's arms. She shakes her head with a scowl, looking down to assess the damage as Wynonna heads over to help her clean up. "Hey Haught, you should go give your friend some pointers at the art of the aim. Maybe she can beat you and buy you a beer. Or six."

You turn and look at her as she stands a little taller, reaching for your hand to drag you along as Wynonna nods approvingly at her completely not subtle attempt at being the wingman you didn't ask for. But you love darts and enjoy playing with pretty women, and you'd never turn down a game so you allow yourself to be dragged across the bar with a dopey grin because what's the harm in flirting, right?

----

You're standing beside her and she's leaned into your side, hand hesitantly on the small of her back to help her posture, at her request to improve her shot, which is a ruse you're both well aware of when you see a tiny powerhouse of rage storming towards you.

You're not sure what Waverly's problem is but she's coming in hot and Taylor groans and takes a step away from you and you turn to look at her and then back to Waverly, very lost and a lot more confused. She's storming up to you, muttering too quickly for you to even begin to catch even a word or two, as she glares at you and then at Taylor. —Seriously, juste devant moi ?— And all you can do is watch the scene unfold and panic a bit about being stuck in the middle of it.

You're just standing there a little dumbfounded as Waverly grabs the darts from your hand, shoves you away from the line with her hip, sends the darts into the board, effortlessly landing a bullseye and a trip nineteen to finish off Taylor's game like she was born to do it. She gives you both a dirty look and storms right back in the direction she came, yelling an offhanded statement with a wave of her hand behind her, —Honestly, c'est pas si dur !— that you're pretty sure you don't want or need the translation for because if she's crossing her languages she's clearly just pissed.

You wonder what has gotten her so out of sorts because the Waverly you know, the multi-lingual, eager, teacher, who's patient and accommodating and would rather share her knowledge than use it as a weapon, would never use it to isolate you rather than include you, and nothing about any of the last half an hour feels right.

You turn and meet eyes with Wynonna across the room who shrugs between casual sips of her beer that she's really just nursing for show and you turn to apologize to Taylor because what Waves' problem is is beyond you.

She stops you with a gentle shake of her head and you eye her more curiously. "You don't have to apologize for her, she's got a whole deal these days. One you should probably pay more attention to because she's only got so much room in that tiny toned body of hers to hold things in before she'll explode with magnitude next time." She places her hand on your arm and smiles, walking to the board to remove the darts before heading back to the bar to drop them off.

You follow in her wake, take a deep, bewildered breath and head over to plop down next to Wynonna, grabbing her mug to take a long sip, meeting eyes with a still huffy Waverly as she exits the back room carrying more mugs to replace the ones she shattered. You offer her a smile and a shrug and she pauses, looking around the room, and furrows her brows and looks away, rushing off to make her rounds.

"Do you know what's up with your sister?" You hand Wynonna the mug and she turns to you with a smirk that confuses you because it usually means she knows something that you don't and it unnerves you.

"The real question is why don't you know what's up with her." She's pleased with herself and it only leaves you more uncomfortable because you loathe when everyone is clued into something and you're kept in the dark. "I think she wanted to be the one playing darts with you."

"What? Why? We play darts all the time and she always kicks my ass. Why would one game bother her?" You're genuinely asking because it's not like you wouldn't have played with her after she got off work or whenever she wanted, but Waverly is Waverly and whatever is going on in her head must be something huge and you groan that you haven't been paying close enough attention to help ease whatever she's struggling with.

"You've got so much to learn, Haught. So much." She slides the beer in your direction again. "You need that more than I do." She claps you in the shoulder with a laugh and you're not really sure what's going on but you take a sip and decide to deal with it later.

----

In an off brand move, Wynonna has invited you over to the homestead for dinner ala Waverly and you're a little confused by the invite not coming from Waverly, but you'll take any opportunity to see both of them that you can. They've really become a makeshift kind of element of home for you, especially since Wynonna has been having an easier go of it and hasn't been as insufferable.

Accepting the invite was easy, a bottle of wine and a bag of groceries for Waverly and a six pack tucked under your arm for her sister as you make your way onto the porch, nerves rolling over a bit in your stomach at being welcomed into their space and their life and getting to spend a snapshot of time with them away from the demands and the prying eyes of this ridiculous city.

You take a deep breath, readying yourself for whatever you find on the other side of the door because things have been, admittedly, a little weird lately. Not in any discernible or concerning way, Waverly has just been... reserved, apprehensive when she's always been so assured and direct and you wonder if something is simmering under the surface of her, if she needs someone other than her sister to step up for her, to shield her from whatever might be going on around her while she figures it out for herself.

Even if it's not your job and even if she's capable of handling herself, sometimes we all need someone to take a step forward and offer us a hand and remind us that we don't have to carry the burdens of tomorrow alone.

It'd been a few days since the glass shattering darts throwing fiasco at the bar and you'd honestly been feeling a little guilty, for what you're not sure, but you hope that you can make it up to Waverly tonight with some focused attention and devoted effort just for her. You thought you'd been doing that this whole time, but the way Waverly has been looking at you makes your chest a little tighter and your sighs a little longer and if you're being honest with yourself, Waverly's discomfort, even the thought of her discomfort, leaves you a little on edge and a little sleepless and you need to figure out why before things get much worse for both of you.

You knock on the door and hear Wynonna tell you it's open, and if you weren't on edge before, the scene the door opens to definitely has you a little on your way there now. Waverly's head is resting on her hands, face down on the kitchen table, Wynonna is sitting across from her with a pensive sort of awareness, both in silence, Wynonna looking worryingly like something is going on that you aren't privy.

For some reason you feel anxious in a way you haven't experienced around Waverly thus far and it has you on edge as you close the door quietly behind you and stand awkwardly in the entryway, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment or instruction from either of them where to go or what's supposed to happen next. Wynonna looks to you, tilting to lean back in her chair with a shrug when you look at Waverly, who seemingly hasn't realized that you've come into the house.

You wince a little and shrug the groceries in your hands. "Uh, hey?"

Waverly looks up immediately, wide eyed and nervous and then darts her gaze between a very confused you and a very pleased with herself Wynonna and sighs, plastering on a smile that doesn't reach her eyes but definitely lands an ache square in your chest.

She didn't know you were coming, didn't invite you, and you feel badly for intruding on her space and on her clearly distressed moment.

"Nicole, hey." She tries, bless her, but fails at her usual enthusiasm. "I'm just going to head upstairs and freshen up, someone didn't tell me we were going to have company, I'll be right back okay?"

She walks past you with a soft smile and shoots Wynonna a glare because what the actual hell is she getting at with all of this. You don't want to be an imposition and you certainly don't want to invade Waverly's privacy, but you're kind of now thrown into the mix of things, standing awkwardly unsure what you're supposed to do next.

There's not much for you to do and after a few more moments of awkwardly shuffling in place you look at Wynonna with desperate, pleading eyes because you'd really rather just go home at this point. "For the love of God, Haught, just get in here already." You deadpan at her because it's not like it's your damn house but you head over to at least put the groceries and beer in the fridge anyway.

"Is she okay?" Wynonna offers you a look, a sympathetic one at that and the way it makes your stomach turn worries the shit out of you for whatever is going on with Waverly. She doesn't seem too concerned, but you are and above all else, even your own discomfort, you need to check on her.

Wynonna reaches for your arm as you pass her on your way out of the kitchen and you pause next to her as she flexes her fingers to let you know she's being genuine. "Just be gentle with her, okay?" And it's so soft and different than you've really ever experienced her it calms you almost instantly when it should almost unnerve you.

You offer Wynonna a nod of acknowledgement and make your way up the stairs, not quite sure what you're going to find but determined to at least try and figure out what's going on. Maybe she'll talk to you, maybe you can just sit with her, you're not really sure, but you know you have to try.

----

The last step at the top creaks under your weight and you cringe at the foreboding announcement of your arrival and curse old houses, even though you adore their character, and head to the room closest to the stairs, taking a deep breath at the unknown that awaits you. The door is cracked open, bowed enough not to close fully anymore, more accurately, and you can tell that the wood has warped at the hinges and you could probably fix that if it were something Waverly needed.

She looks over to you as your knuckles make contact with the door, holding a beat up looking teddy bear in her hands as she stands in front of a buffet covered in stuffed animals. It's a weird scene that feels more like you've been transported back in time than you're comfortable acknowledging in more than passing.

You nudge the door open a bit more, giving her time to decide whether she wants you in her space or not, whether she wants you to be part of this trip down memory lane or not, and when she drops the bear and turns away your stomach sinks and you consider that maybe coming up here was a big mistake altogether.

"Hey, is everything alright?"

"Everything's great, perfectly fine, why?"

"I don't know, you just seem... a little sad and I wanted to come and check on you."

She smooths out the wrinkles on the bed where she must have been sitting before you came up, but still doesn't quite acknowledge that you're really here. "It's not your job, Nicole."

"What?" The way she says it is clipped and tired with none of her usual enthusiasm for anything and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

Whenever Waverly sighs the desire inside you to wrap her up is so overwhelming you can barely contain it, especially not these days, because she is the sun and when the sun is a little bit gloomy, sometimes all it needs is for the clouds to part and the universe to sigh alongside it and make some space for its rays.

And every atom inside your body screams at you to sit with her until the clouds part and she can smile again.

"Of course I know it's not, but as your friend I care about you, why wouldn't I make sure you're okay?" She flinches over a few of your words and you notice when and upon which immediately, even though she tries her best to mask it, and you feel a desperation to help or fix or protect and a million other things that aren't actually healthy or conducive to fostering relationship durability, but with Waverly Earp, something about her makes you crave immediate solutions and lofty goals of tomorrow and instant... love.

Instant everything.

You stand in the doorway, as she plops down on the child's bed in the middle of the room. She doesn't bid you to come in and you wait, standing strong and patient and steadfast so she knows that you won't leave until she tells you to go.

That she can push and push you away, but you won't leave her alone and you'll never leave her behind.

"You can just come in, it's really fine."

Whatever it is is definitely not fine.

The door creaks as you slowly open it wider, taking in your surroundings as the room opens up to you. You know her older sister died a long time ago, when Waverly was just a little kid, and you assume that this must have been her room with the lost in time chic vibe about it.

It's the first time you've been up here and the energy is insanely uncomfortable, regardless of Waverly fussing with the seams of the golden throw blanket, always one to keep her hands busy when she's anxious. You wonder why they haven't changed things, haven't made this home their own instead of a sealed tomb of the past.

"Sorry for the room, it was my sister's and we could never bring ourselves to change it." She shrugs offhandedly and you can tell that's not at all what any of this is about. There are toys strewn about, butterflies and mold on the walls, and the stark contrast of Waverly sitting in the middle of it all, trying to be an adult while her sister and the town and everyone around her try to keep her young and naive isn't lost on you. It's probably not lost on her either with the defeated look and the way she sinks in on herself, and it makes you shiver and want to get her and yourself out of there as quickly as possible.

She's stressed and you can feel it rolling off of her and when she reaches to rub at the back of her neck and closes her eyes in a wince as her fingers dig into the muscles there, you know you're in for a bumpy ride.

You take a risk and permeate the silence once again. "Do you have a headache?" You shrug more for yourself than for her but hold the lazy, dimpled smile you know has always made her face melt when she looks back up at you, hoping to lighten the mood, hoping that she knows she doesn't have to be on guard with you around.

Hoping, hoping, hoping that she knows, or that she'll understand in time, that you can work through whatever is bothering her, together.

Her hair is french braided tightly (beautifully) and as you walk further into the room, the space is almost suffocating with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future as it looms over you both, the vaulted ceiling offering nothing but sharp, judgemental angles and lofty tortured heartache.

You can't help but wonder why she hasn't taken her hair down, why she's keeping herself locked up when she's struggling with the desperation to be free, why she'd keep torturing herself when even something small like that could help.

You watched her put it up at Shorty's during your routine coffee date earlier that morning, her fingers moving diligently and effortlessly through the still wet, silky strands before her shift. You've taken to watching her create the various braids that have become but an extension of her self-expression, and it's always been one of those mundane tasks for you that watching a beautiful woman do, has always left you in awe of the masterpieces they are.

Waverly is the definition of masterpiece.

She's still rubbing at her neck and you walk over to the bed and wait for her to acknowledge you, and when she does, she smiles gently and scoots over to make room for you to sit with her, make room for you to exist beside her, make room for you in her discomfort.

It's progress, to say the least.

"Here, let me." You encourage her to scoot forward even more so you can squeeze yourself in behind her so she doesn't have to twist and turn and pester her headache anymore than she already has. She doesn't understand what you're asking, what you're offering, so you gesture for her to turn around and can't help but laugh a little at her furrowed brows, the same ones you're intimately familiar with observing while she reads her tomes of knowledge, while she studies, while she immerses herself in what has been to try and make sense of the what could be.

"Just... scoot so I can help." She shrugs and does so, deciding to trust whatever your intentions are, and you squeeze in behind her, your body (and you can feel hers as well) relaxing as your legs make contact with her lower back. And you're not sure what any of it means, comfort in a time of strife, safety in a time of uncertainty, but something about how this feels, how right she feels so close to you settles into the pit of your stomach.

"I'm just gonna... is it alright if I take out your braid for you? You put it up wet this morning so I'm sure it's been extra tight all day." Her whole body freezes at the ask of the question and you worry that you've overstepped, that you've pushed past a boundary of physical familiarity, even though she's braided yours probably fifty times since you've known her.

But doing and undoing are two completely different acts of intimacy and the absolute last thing you want to do is make her even more anxious and uncomfortable than she already is.

She takes a deep breath and the entirety of the bed moves with the intensity of the exhale and you're completely still, waiting. For her to decide, for her to be comfortable, for her to be okay. She nods and when you still don't move she scoots back to get closer to you, so close she's practically sitting in your lap and the need to help make this better is so strong within you you have to dig your nails into your jeans to make sure you don't reach for her before she's ready.

It comes from her, gentle as a breeze, barely above a whisper but when the softest yes, please? falls from Waverly Earp's mouth you never ever make her ask twice. You sit a little taller and so does she, prepared, guarded, but when you reach to touch the strands of her hair, sliding your fingers down the ends of it, her head falls forward and the entirety of her neck is extended before you.

And in the movement, in the visual, your stomach drops and it's such a nerve wracking sensation, because this is her trusting you enough to be vulnerable and your body is suddenly on high alert panicking to you that this is Waverly Earp and her neck and her hair and so.much.skin and you're about to run your fingers through it and and and and it takes every ounce of composure in you to keep your hands from shaking.

To keep your heart from racing right out of your chest.

You close your eyes and steel your resolve because this is a small gesture of comfort you can offer her, that she desires, and it's nothing right? Friends do this or each other all the time. She braids your hair all the time. This is no.big.deal. Except it's a really, really big deal.

Fuck.

The hair tie unrolls from the braid effortlessly and you extend your fingers around it, stretching it a bit to hold on to the tactility of it, to savor every second of this, because this may never happen again. You reach around her, flexing your fingers to offer her the elastic band and she turns her head just so and the expanse of her neck and jaw and the tendons flex with the strain of the turn is such a sight to behold, but you've still got lots of work to do, check lists in your mind to keep it occupied, to keep you distracted and focused on the task before you. You tap the back of her hand and she chuckles - just barely - but you catch it and slide the band over her hand.

She turns around to you to catch your eye, soft and somber and it makes your insides melt. "Thank you for this."

"Duh." It's simple but she smiles and it's enough. "Now turn back and relax." She takes your cue and does so, leaning more fully back into your strength behind her and drops her head forward as she cranes her neck a bit and God that neck and that skin and what are you even thinking right now but she stills and you can feel her prepare herself for what's about to happen next.

You finger through the first cross and you can do this and then you move to the next this is easy see and then the next and when your nails catch the underside of her scalp she hums to herself and you can feel it in the points that your bodies are connected and the things that it makes you feel leave you bewildered and uncertain and wholly confused.

She's relaxing though, you can feel the tension ebb from her body so you decide to keep going, to keep helping her, and as you loosen where the strands from the side of her head join, the sound that leaves her body vaults right to yours and you can barely breathe.

"Oh my God." It's out of her mouth in an unconscious kind of way and she's not even freaking out about it but you are absolutely freaking out about it but you can do this and she needs this and if this is something she's lost herself in for just a moment, you have to keep going.

You push your fingers a little more gingerly along her scalp, certain that it must be loosening all kinds of tension if the crimps the braid left behind are any indication. You know intimately the itch and the relief of everything finally coming apart, of finally being free and you're extra diligent in making sure every inch of her head is soothed and relieved. But she said oh my God in that way and your brain keeps repeating it faster than you can even quell the thoughts and before you can even stop yourself you drag your fingernails and she gasps and it's a lesson in staying present with her, moment to moment because when you lose yourself in the sensations of her you lose yourself in the sensations of her.

"Languages." It's out of your mouth in a desperate sort of shout and it startles you both with the force of it and she tenses a bit again, and you roll your eyes at your work at relaxing her probably being undone. You blink a few times at your own ridiculousness and try to come up with something to recover. "Uh, what is it about languages that makes you feel so much?"

She hums a little to herself, acknowledging your question, still moving her head in the momentum of your fingers as they push and move, but when she doesn't answer right away you word vomit more as you start back to work, undoing her braid, undoing your goddamn bravery. "I've never seen someone look the way you do when you're reading something in another language. I've always wanted to ask you but it was always such an honor to get to witness the love you have for them. I never want to interrupt you."

She doesn't move or turn but you can see the tendons of her jaw flex and you hope that she's smiling. She takes a moment, takes a breath, and offers her entire soul.

"I like what language means. I like that every single character and symbol tells a story. It's both a mystery and a conspiracy all at once, between the speaker and the reader, between one person and another, it transcends time." You feel her sigh, tilting her head to get you to move to a specific spot and you happily oblige.

She takes another breath, releases more of her tension, shares more of her mind.

"You can imagine so many tales and adventures, so much rebellion between punctuation marks, from one hieroglyph to the next, lifetimes and generations woven out of each word. They embody culture and conflict and so many lives lived in each letter, in each slant and each flourish."

She's painting you a picture and you're hanging on every word. Your finger curls and wraps and catches a particular tangle and when you tug to try and release its hold you watch as her back moves in time with quickening inhales and deliberate exhales. She's pacing herself, focusing on each breath and God so are you.

But she's fearless now and whatever is happening to her body is exactly what's meant to be happening and existing with her in this moment is life changing.

"Each one is unique and each has evolved as we have, as our needs for communication and connection have expanded, so have our languages, and I think there's just something so beautiful about that." She says it all in just a handful of breaths as it pours out of her, as if she's waited her entire life to express something so fundamental to who she is - who we all are - and the fact that you were the one to ask... you can feel her tremble under your fingertips as something flows through her, something magical.

You're frozen, finger between a third of her hair because it might be one of the most beautiful things you've ever heard and it's out of your mouth before you can even think to hold it back, before you can even process what it even means. "You're so beautiful."

She coughs a little, and your brain immediately goes into panic mode because what but her whole body relaxes under your touch and maybe, just maybe, you've done something exactly right.

----

She starts talking to you now in an easy banter sort of way, leans back into your touch and you're basically just giving her a massage at this point and your fingers are just doing their thing and she's invigorated by all of this and it's an effortless kind of moment that you're comfortably just existing in alongside her, breathing and moving and enjoying her like this. Building something together.

Close and connected and content.

You can tell that there's still something looming under the surface of her, a question she hasn't asked or a statement she hasn't made, but you know that when she's ready, after all of this new sort of intimacy created and crafted and cherished, she'll get there eventually. She talks a little about her sisters, about growing up, about high school. About all the accolades and the accomplishments, the people who loved her; the friends who wanted to be her and the boys who wanted to be with her, and how all of it made her feel so alone.

Because she never once thought about what she wanted or who she wanted, mostly just where she wanted to go, how far and how quickly she wanted to go, and how she didn't know if she'd ever get there.

She asks about your travels, she knows you've experienced life in a way that she's only dreamed of, and you're gentle in your offerings so there's less sting of wanderlust and more warmth of wonder of the beauty that exists outside the GRT borders. More hope that she'll get there and less disappointment at the fact that she hasn't. There are details you leave out, people you leave out especially, and while she hangs on every word there's a hint of sadness in her tone the more she engages with you.

And then she reaches behind her and laces her fingers with yours to still you and you offer her a smile she can't see and a gentle squeeze back so she knows you're right there with her.

She turns to face you, scoots in with impossible closeness, knees touching knees like you're sixteen years old and you've known each other your whole lives, where you picked out songs that made you feel her, as a love language for her, about her, just so she'd know, where nothing else mattered but you and her where you loved loved loved for longer than you can even remember. Where maybe this isn't the first time you've grown into something you still don't quite understand but can feel with every ounce of your soul.

Maybe knowing Waverly Earp, maybe loving Waverly Earp, is something you're destined to do. Whether this lifetime or the hundreds before, or forever in the thereafter. Maybe it's always been her and this and you and why it's taken you so long to understand that makes you ache with the time lost.

She picks at the inseam of your jeans while she formulates what she wants to say next, and before you can place your hands over hers to calm her she looks into your eyes with barely there tears pooling at the corners, searching for something in your gaze that would startle you if she weren't already so firmly rooted inside your heart.

"What do you do when you find yourself at a crossroad?"

You study her, head tilted and heart open, not sure what she's asking but desperately wanting to give the right answer. Because she's trying, and being brave and you need to be for her back. "Well, I tend to find the next biggest mountain and move across the world to climb it, but that's not really advisable or sustainable long term." She smiles so genuinely, crinkled and resplendent and your eyes drift to her lips on their own accord, what are you thinking, and when she swallows long and deeply you have to force yourself not to watch with intention. "I guess all you can do is look both ways and decide which one will help you reach the path where you want your final destination to be."

She looks off to the side, contemplating your answer thoroughly, perhaps it was not something she expected, perhaps not something she wanted to hear, but Waverly Earp is nothing if not thoughtful in everything she does, and when she takes the time to involve you in her process, there's nothing more incredible in the entire world.

"Will you stay?" It's soft and a little pained and you're not quite sure what she's asking, what she needs from you. But maybe it's exactly that, to stay.

"Yes." The sincerity shocks her and she takes in a staggered breath, apparently craving exactly that answer, with exactly that conviction.

"Wait, you don't know what I mean because--"

"I know what you're asking, Waverly, my answer is the same. Yes."

You don't know what she's asking specifically, but you're slowly learning that whatever the question, whatever the outcome, your answer to her will always be yes.

"But what if--"

"Yes, Waverly."

The tears are falling freely from her eyes now and you sit and wait and breathe in time with her, a metronome of feeling and existing where she counts the beats and directs your heart and the flow of you and her and here and this and today and tomorrow are fused together, intricate and patterned and beautiful.

She smiles and reaches for your hands, a resolved prepared, deliberate breath out and an expectant, playful glint to her eye that tells you she's about to be cheeky. "Would you jump off a cliff?"

You roll your eyes and smirk in exasperation. "Yes. But I have a whole whack of stipulations."

"Will you stay?"

"Yes, as long as you want me, I'll stay." You don't mean for it to sound the way it does, because this is home and these sisters are home, and whether she chooses to have you in her life or not, you'll never be far away because you could never be far away.

But yeah, you'll stay, it's the easiest answer you've ever given to anyone.

She nods and smiles and moves to stand, tugging you up with both hands and the motion and swing of your arms as she doesn't let go feels like she's trying to get you to wrap her up, to pull you into her embrace. But she backs off, looking down to her feet, shy and sweet and everything.

"If we don't head back downstairs, Wynonna might think I murdered you and it's been a long day and I'd rather not be on her bad side if I'm gonna hang out for a while."

"I am sorry my welcome wasn't what it should have been, because I was, am glad you're here, even though I feel a little like we've been parent-trapped by my sister."

You remember the groceries and the wine and tug her a little in the same sort of way she had. "Come on, I brought groceries, teach me to make your lasagna? I hear it's one of your favorites."

"What do you mean... one of?"

You turn sharply to glance behind you and wink at her and she flushes because you know about her weird little secret and now she knows you know too.

----

You'd think after an evening like that things would have gotten weird and uncomfortable, but your routines pick up right where they left off and rush forward more quickly than you can even keep up with.

And yet things couldn't be more normal.

She's taken to asking you more about you, about your life before Purgatory, the stepping stones and missteps that led you to this place and to her. You find that she's not a fan of your family, a big fan of your days at the academy, and always always tries to get you to paint her a picture of each of the places you've visited.

She closes her eyes as you describe them to her, trying desperately to live them alongside you, through you, with you, and each time she comes to your house she floats from photo to photo, magnet to magnet begging for more.

She's insatiable in the knowledge of you and it's everything you never knew you needed.

You do take notice how purposefully she strays from asking who the people are, particularly who the women that frequently pop up in your framed photos are, and if she weren't so easy about it, you'd almost think it was intentional. Jealousy, even by the way her jaw clenches and she quickly looks away every time she passes one. You don't push because they're all part of your past anyway, and with each new dawn that breaks it's Waverly more and more.

It's all easy and fun and her enthusiasm is infectious.

She starts asking to come over to cook for you, worrying that you're not eating enough home cooked meals with the insane hours you work. She's not wrong, but you're also not sure why she's paying enough attention to that, even if it feels nice that she cares enough to offer.

And that's where you find yourself late one evening with a full belly and an even fuller heart. You'd done the dishes together and told her stories of doing it with your grandma when you were little. How she'd sit you on the counter and go over your vocabulary words for the week as you dried and she washed. She likes stories like these, because while your past is complicated and so is hers, good memories are important to hold onto and she feels safer sharing her life if you don't shy away from the bad while offering her the good too.

She came over unannounced tonight, pacing on your porch in that way that she does when she's working out an idea that she's not ready to share. You'd opened the door and laughed at her and she'd crinkled her brow and shoved her way in and fussed at you for being a butthead for a good ten minutes while she went to work making the food you didn't know you'd be having for dinner.

One day you'll get Waverly Earp to say ass.

Hours later you're sitting on the couch as you watch her in the kitchen. She'd told you she had some things that she wanted to tell you, that she needed to tell you, and that you were going to sit on the couch and wait for her to work up her nerve, and all you could really do as she pushed you down was offer a yes, ma'am and wait.

There's an effortlessness in the way that she moves, but a presence in it too, she's a million little things, contradictory and complementary and as you're watching her you realize exactly what's been going on, like a lightbulb clicking on and a sledgehammer between the eyes simultaneously.

And you understand instantly as you watch her, as the puzzle pieces snap into place of her and you in your mind, that you've got it bad for Waverly Earp.

Like, really really bad.

You start to panic a little because she's Waverly, your friend, and she's also Wynonna's little sister, and the town darling, and you've somehow been almost completely clueless to all the ways she's brightened your life, all the ways she's given you a sense of belonging, of roots in Purgatory, more than anything or anyone ever could.

How she's given you a stronger sense of you, through her eyes.

She's filled your days and pulled you into her, she's elevated you in all the right sort of ways that a person who's good for you, with you, does. You sit a little straighter and are suddenly very nervous when she turns and looks at you over her shoulder. You wave stupidly at her, her confidence, her unwaivering desire that's been present for months now ever present and filling you with butterflies.

You realize just how delicious she is. Has always been.

It dawns on you in that instant what that thing about the way you've always interacted with each other has been. The pull. The look. The way you've looked at her. God, the way she's looked at you.

Every look and every subtle touch has been dripping with it.

Pure, unadulterated desire.

You think back now to all the ways that things had changed for you too, subtle minute shifts in your relationship that you were obviously just too dense or too spoiled to notice, too wrapped up in her attentions and affections and her, of already having her in ways you've craved since the very beginning to understand and notice that everything had changed for her. That she'd somehow been interested and steadfast and waited for you to catch up, to see. That she'd been here, been yours and let you know. Waited for you to want her back, and your stomach knots and your breath catches because God you've wasted so much time when you could have been...

You hear her take a deep breath from the other room, muttering a few words to herself and you assume she's psyching herself up and you don't dare interrupt her because it's cute how well you know her, how you can picture the exact look on her face, her fists balled as a million thoughts run through her head. It's beautiful. She's beautiful. She's everything.

You could never get enough of knowing the ins and outs of her.

She saunters to you, two wine glasses in her hands, and the confidence in her gaze, the resolve, has your stomach dropping and you licking your lips unsure in how the next few moments will change things between you. If they possibly could, if she feels it too. She stops in front of the couch and takes a deep sip, staring you directly in the eye over the rim of the glass as she does, and if you were a poet, if you had mastered languages as she has, you'd wonder if she were sipping your soul like the wine in her glass.

You watch as the liquid draws the definition of tendons in her neck and she smirks at you because she knows that you're watching, what you're feeling, how she's consuming you. You know that nothing else in the world would make more sense than to stand and take the glasses from her hands, wrap your arm around her waist, reach for her chin to tip it back and press your lips to hers.

To kiss her and taste her and never, ever stop.

She sighs and smiles softly, offering you the second glass as she walks to the other side of the couch. Usually she'd curl herself under a blanket on the opposite arm, turned to face you, studying you, desperate for every word you'd offer her, but this time she looks to the other side of the couch and then looks back to you and smirks, and sits right in the middle, turning halfway with one leg drawn under the other as she places her glass on the table and then reaches for yours to do the same before you can even take a sip.

You look between your hand and the table a little bemused at the turn of events and when she takes a deep breath, her hands fisting in resolve, you wonder what, exactly, is about to happen because she's definitely on a mission and definitely has a plan.

"I love how much you care, Nicole. How passionate you are about caring." She reaches for your hand and laces her fingers with yours, the anchor, drawing strength from you. You can't breathe in the way she's looking at you, how resolute she is. How she has to say these things and she's not even going to ease into them. "I love how protective and how steadfast you are."

"Waverly - you don't have to - "

"Oh, Nicole, of course I do." She squeezes your hand and you rub your thumb over hers so she knows this is a safe space and she's safe with you and no matter what she says she will not lose you. That she will not lose this, whatever this is.

Her voice drops an octave or two and so does your stomach and you have never wanted to kiss someone as badly as you need to kiss her.

"I love how I know unequivocally that you'd step in front of a bullet for me, same as Wynonna. I feel so safe with you, in a world that has never offered me any semblance of stability or safety, you have become all of those things for me. I trust you more than I've trusted anyone my entire life."

She runs her fingers up the length of your forearm, finding and twisting the button under the rolled sleeves of your sweater there like she always does and she takes a deep, deep breath and you watch the way the corners of her jaw tense and the way you need to kiss along the expanse of it and the thought of your lips pressed to the skin of her neck is so overwhelming you feel like you might pass out. She drags her fingernails across the skin of the inside of your elbow and you all but jump right out of your skin. "I love your smile and your dimples that make me go weak in the knees, even though I vowed never to tell you that."

She laughs a little and your heart leaps and you want to offer her something, offer her reciprocation, show her that you're right there with her. "I always - " She shakes her head, placing a finger against your mouth and you can't help the way it parts at the gesture just a bit. Nor the way her finger slides against the wetness of the inside of your bottom lip and how it makes her eyes flash and every molecule of stardust in you wants to leap from your body into hers.

Maybe they've always belonged to her anyway.

"Please, just - please let me." She takes one last look at your lips, closing her eyes just briefly enough that you know that she's struggling in the same sort of ways you are, and takes a deep breath, firming her resolve in whatever this is becoming. Whatever the two of you are becoming.

Whatever the two of you already are.

"I love your red hair, and the way it slides between my fingertips almost every morning when you let me braid it and I have craved, every moment since I've known you, to bury my fingers in it and never let you go." You can't help the way your body reacts to her words, can't help but fight the pull from her skin to yours because you know she's going to say more, and you're not sure you've ever been more desperate to hear someone speak than you are at this moment.

You need more, of this, of her, of the potential of forever. Of the potential of right now. Because you've been an idiot and Waverly Earp has been sure and steadfast and now she's finally, finally going after what she wants, and that's somehow, by some miracle, you.

"I love the way that you love, Nicole. And I - have wanted to be the person who loves you as fiercely as you love everyone around you since the moment you first said my name and shook my hand and left me utterly spellbound." She releases her air in a rush and she takes another in just as quickly because of the softness in the look you're giving her, trying desperately to convey how much she means to you, to help her be fearless.

She relaxes and smiles and continues at your rapt attention, nerves bubbling through her like the streams of a brook on a spring afternoon. "And I know I haven't been subtle, I know that when I want something I can't stop myself from charging head first and allowing it to consume me, but with you I've wanted the journey. I've wanted to learn every subtle thing about you, and I've wanted to take my time, because sometimes, oftentimes, the best things are worth the wait. And God are you ever worth everything."

She smiles at you in an awe sort of way because you aren't sure what you're supposed to say, offer her bravery, reward her for being forward and honest in a way you never have been with her. "And no matter what you're going to say to all this, you have to know how overwhelmingly and uncontrollably I cannot get you out of my head every moment of the day. But, no matter what, you can never, ever leave, do you understand? I need you in my life like I need the oxygen around me, but you have to know, okay? I need you to see me fully."

You turn a little and when you do she pulls her knees under her and sits up leaning into your space just enough to shock you, arm draped over the back of the couch as if she's going to climb right on top of you and you aren't sure what to do so you lean back against the arm and offer her more room to climb into your space if she wants it, so she knows it's okay, that you're right there with her and she gulps when your eyes drop to her lips hopelessly.

But she sits up a little and waits, watching you, because you can tell she's got more to say, has more to get off her chest and who are you to stop her. "You consume me in a way only languages have, history has, my history has, and I have no idea what to do with that. But it's you, Nicole, it's been you since I first laid eyes on you in that stetson and your perpetually unbuttoned top button that drives me crazy." She reaches and traces down your throat below the collar of your shirt, deep into the v of your sweater, eyes never leaving yours, and presses ever so purposefully as you swallow, following the muscles as they jump under her touch. "I remember it like it was yesterday, when you laughed so unencombered at some dumb thing Wynonna said that first day in Shorty's and all I wanted was to make you laugh that beautifully myself every day after that, just so I could know you were happy."

You nod to her, you remember that morning because she had floated her way into your life and you had never known someone who made you think or breathe or feel so differently. She reaches forward to steady herself with her other hand, placing it on your thigh as she traces the hem of your jeans a bit, succumbing to her nerves and the uncertainty of how vulnerable she just was as the potential for rejection settles inside her chest and you ache with it. "And I don't know what I'm doing here," she takes a deep breath and rakes her eyes over your body and motions with her hand to all of you. "But all I do know now, all I feel like I've ever known, is that I want you."

She says it in a rush of air, barely with a breath and you've probably been holding yours since the day you met her. "Is it my turn to say something?" She laughs and so do you and you reach to twist a strand of her hair around your finger and tuck it behind her ear, running it along the line of her jaw to cup her cheek. She leans into it with a sigh and it's in that moment that you realize everything is going to work out, that life has presented you with a gift, and with her face cradled in your palm you realize you might just be a little in love with her.

Ha.

"I think I've always liked you a little out of focus." She crinkles her eyes a little skeptically at you and you roll yours because she never can wait for you to finish a thought before she wants fifteen more. "You've been a blur sometimes, always flashing around me, like I could only catch glimpses of your light... and that was safe for me, easier than really noticing, until that morning you brought me coffee." She looks at you a little dreamily and sighs, remembering back, you're sure.

Because you're remembering too.

"I could never quite understand why it felt like the moment I met you you clicked something on for me, like you've slowly taught me how to feel safe enough to start feeling again, like every drop inside of me has craved the clarity that you've brought to my life. Craved you." You flush a little and shake your head, looking down at her lap because you're not making much sense but she deserves something more.

She reaches for you and tilts your gaze to hers and holds you steady, offering herself up to you completely. So you do the same. "Sometimes I thought I could feel the undercurrent of your motives, like I've always known there was something, a subtle hue of something you wanted from me that I didn't know how to give, because I never could have imagined someone like you would want something like that from me."

Her body bows forward, her arm never leaving the back of the couch as she uses it to leverage herself as close as she can possibly get. You feel the weight of lifetimes as they engulf you and pull the two of you together, pulling you towards your destiny, pulling you towards her. "I hoped that you'd clue in eventually, but I tried my hardest to be respectful." You nod and swallow, thinking back to all the times she'd pushed without pushing and hinted without saying and offered herself without preamble and you shake your head a little in disbelief at how lovely this woman actually, truly, is.

She's staring at you while you go over her words and remember her actions and steady yourself with her intention, waiting, and you kind of can't believe that you're both here, her basically in your lap, her basically begging you to kiss her, her basically, almost, maybe someday, yours.

You grab the bottom of her shirt as it hangs a bit from her body in the angle of her lean and you wrap it a little around your fist, slowly enough that it draws her attention, slowly enough that your knuckles brush the skin of her stomach, slowly enough that she almost falls into you as her body inches closer to yours. She gulps and bites at her lip and you honestly aren't sure where to look and she watches you panicking over her and the salacious smirk that draws across her face as you lose yourself in watching everything that is Waverly Earp turned on and desperate for you to kiss her. The visual has her pulling back and you instantly chasing the closeness, the warmth of proximity that her body all but on top of yours offered you.

"I think maybe," she draws down the length of your skin that's exposed from the v of your sweater, the open of your collar, and the way she licks her lips, the way she can't control the reactions of her body, has every nerve ending of your body ready and waiting on bated breath.

Your heartbeat quickens and you're hanging on her every word because she's being brazen and it's beautiful and if you could push her back and lay her out and ravage her-- "Maybe what?"

"I think that maybe we need to decide right now, in this moment, if we're on the same page because I don't know how much longer I can play this cat and mouse game before I might actually die."

"I vaguely remember you saying something about the best things being worth the wait?" Her mouth falls open and she glares at you, pulling further away and you panic because she cannot leave and this cannot end and you're terrible at playing it cool with this woman waiting and desperate for anything with you.

Because you're even more desperate for her. Because you need this and crave this, and probably, a little bit, if you're being honest with yourself, have always craved this, known that this was meant to be where you ended up with her, spread out and underneath Waverly Earp while she commands and conducts and caresses your body.

"I've been patient for months now while your dumb brain caught up with your body and I'd really like to not have to be forbearing anymore, please and thank you."

"I'm really sorry about that, you know." She runs the palm of her hand slowly up the side of your torso, flexing her fingers as she memorizes the path of your skin, memorizes every freckle and every scar and her eyes have glazed over and she's lost in the sensation of you, lost in this new knowledge of you.

You lift your torso a little to get her attention because she's right, this is a huge moment for both of you, and you need her consent, need to offer her yours, you need to decide together that this is what you both want. It snaps her out of whatever fantasy is playing behind her eyes right now and she looks to you wide eyed and wondrous. You open your mouth to speak and the words don't come because she has pulled her hair over her shoulder and God this woman is breathtaking and she beats you to it in your stalled stupor. "I know you are.''

She nods once, resolutely, getting up the courage to ask one more time.

She'll never have to ask again.

"Now, are we... are we on the same page?"

"I guess that depends."

You can feel her body stiffen just a little bit, a tiny ounce of hesitation that she could be rejected, that you might leave her bare and vulnerable and alone as she swallows hard and you quickly reach to comfort, to assuage, to assure. Something.

"On?" It's soft and small and decidedly not what you want her to be feeling right now.

Never want her to feel because of or with you.

So you leap enough for both of you and hope that you'll catch each other. "On whether the text on that page translates into me kissing you."

She smiles and it drops instantly as an idea flashes behind her eyes and the execution of her plan, of thought into motion, leaves you utterly mesmerized as she stands up from the couch and you panic a little because she cannot go, this cannot end before it's even begun. But when her hand grips your shoulder, holds on for dear life to steady herself, she throws her leg over your lap and brings herself down to settle over top of you, pushing you further back against the arm of the couch with a hand firmly to the center of your chest.

And now you know exactly which page and which language and which book she's pulled off the shelf and handed to you and now you're ready to devour every word. 'I think that's a pretty good assessment, Officer Haught, yeah."

Oh.

She takes a deep breath, eyes on your mouth and as your hands hesitantly slide up the top of her thighs, watching her every movement, offering her the space to stop you or say no or pull away, while still trying desperately to get her even closer so you can touch more of her. She squirms in your lap, trying for some semblance of friction, trying for more and closer and now.

Yeah, you're definitely on the same page.

When you're too lost in the movement of her body and the dark desperation of her hazel eyes and the tip of her tongue as it ghosts out of the corner of her mouth in her own nerves, she shakes her head and huffs a breath of frustration before she lunges forward and presses her lips to yours in a breathless desperation, a leap of her own, and when your lips finally, finally meet you wonder if there's ever been anything more right in the entire universe. Leaping and soaring and falling and catching.

She pushes more fully into you, hands instantly wrapped around the sides of your face holding you close and she groans as you nip at her bottom lip and honestly. You feel her heartbeat through her fingertips as they caress the underside of your jaw, as they bring you to her lips, unrelenting, undeterred, undefeated, and when you try to pull away to slow things down, to savor and check in, she weaves the strands of your hair between her fingertips prophecy and doesn't let you move even an inch as she presses you harder back and down and --.

"Wave--Waverly wait-"

You're not sure why you're asking her to wait, her hand has trailed down the back of your neck behind your collar, her nails pressed in and if she could take you out of both of these damn shirts from the inside out right now, she absolutely would.

There have been a handful of moments such as these, where you're perfectly suspended between what is and what could be, what has become and what will be, and all of them in your life have involved Waverly Earp in some capacity. As she swipes her thumbs across your cheek in such a gentle, loving way for how heated this has become, you wonder just how you didn't see any of this before, not really.

Maybe because you didn't know you could.

She takes a deep breath to steady her nerves, to steady the heartbeat that you can feel is racing beyond her control. Her forehead is still pressed to yours, catching her breath, chasing and desperate to taste yours again, hoping that this doesn't stop, this isn't over, that this hasn't been her mistake.

"I--I'm sorry, was that too... did I?" She moves to pull away but you still her, tilting your nose to caress hers with a dopey smile. Because she never could be too much and she could never ruin anything. Your eyes are still closed because you can't bear to shift the reality of her skin and her mouth and her flush with your body but your reach for her jaw, reach to calm her, reach to drag your thumb over her bottom lip to feel new sensations and new possibilities and when her breath catches in the back of her throat and a soft smile blossoms at the corners of her mouth you forget why you paused any of this in the first place.

You're quick to capture her lips, quick to deepen the kiss, quick to show her exactly how right and how incredible she is and all of this is for you. And one of your favorite things about her is that she's always been a little more show than tell, and as she bites down on your bottom lip, sucks it effortlessly, taking yours on her own terms you're... definitely grateful for more show.

You open your eyes and watch her, lost in the sensations of you, lost in the desperation of her and you can feel her try to scoot her way from straddling you to laying more on top of you and you pull back once more, not to stop her, but to give her the space to chase whatever she's lost in.

"Wow."

The breath leaves you staggered and unsteady but you know she understands by the way her eyes are closed and she's tasting you as she swipes her tongue over her lips. Her words break the cacophony of breath and taste and heartbeat, of desire and desperation and declaration and her voice is hoarse and deep and delicious. "Yeah, that was--"

You laugh, swiping your thumb across her cheek, dragging it down the corner of her mouth again and she exhales and you catch it like you were born to do. "So incredible you can't articulate with your wealth of knowledge?"

"Mhm, yes." She settles farther down your body, navigating the awkward angles and the positions effortlessly as she slots herself between your legs and waits. For your consent, for your comfort, for you to turn her page.

She's always been a fast reader.

You make a little more space for her, and she gasps as the two of you fit so perfectly you're certain your bodies were made to do just this. Her mouth moves as if trying to articulate a thought, trying to express her desire, trying to beg for something that's unspoken but absolutely there. And you try to make light of things, try to calm your heart and settle every single nerve ending that's on high alert and anticipating. "Waverly Earp, speechless? I don't know if you've ever paid me a higher compliment."

"Well, I'd like to pay you about a million more if you'd just stop talking and keep kissing me back." She leans in to try and steal another, steal another hundred, but you pull back just a fraction because you know that if you do she'll pout the sweetest pout and furrow those adorable brows like her favorite toy has been taken away from her and honestly there's nothing more endearing or more delicious that it's you and who are you to deny her anything.

She kisses you with a smile, kisses you with promise and hope and adoration. She kisses you like she's always kissed you, always been meant to kiss you. She kisses you like she is the sun and the moon and you are their rise and set. She kisses you with the weight of other lifetimes and the magic of other universes. The magic of this one.

She kisses you like you are everything she's ever dreamed of.

And you kiss her back because you know she is too.