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These are the steps to a not date:
An overtly sumptuous gaze, an invitation for coffee the day after tomorrow, a smile that reaches her eyes and seems to want for nothing more than Waverly is willing to give.
A yes.
Nicole spends her lunch at the edge of the bar, close enough to catch from the corner of her eye and far enough to keep from the attention of Purgatory's ever-prying eyes. She lingers on Waverly's movements without an effort to hide it and Waverly busies herself re-cleaning the glasses under the bar, if only to keep herself from getting caught in the trance that is Nicole Haught's gaze.
She doesn't pander for Waverly's attention.
Nicole brings her own lunchpack and a manila folder, greeting Waverly with a tip of the hat and an "Afternoon," just before the mealtime regulars pack themselves in their usual spots. She settles into her seat without so much as another word and unwraps a PB&J as she pours through the week's casefile. Waverly almost thinks that the visit hasn't anything to do with her, except for the way Nicole's eyes always seem to be traveling slowly up, tinge of pink at her cheeks when they look at each other.
She likes the attention and she doesn't, doesn't know what to do with herself or with the flutter that blooms in her chest when she catches Nicole worrying at her lower lip as she flips through whatever it is she's working on. For a moment she wonders if it's all in her head anyway. Women can be nice to each other without it meaning anything.
Finally, "Hey, Waves?"
Nicole leans into the counter, tilts her head in a come hither motion. "What are you doing the night after tomorrow?"
These are the steps to a not date:
Her second best outfit, one accessory, minimal makeup.
Two hours of switching blouses, slipping into different dresses, of mulling over whether her shade of lipstick might send the wrong message (whether she wants to send the "wrong" message). Wynonna leans against her doorway as she slips into the fifth outfit of the evening, sporting a split lip and a bruised cheek. Waverly asks, but Wynonna deflects with a shrug and a "You look nice, baby girl."
She sticks around for a moment, brow raised, makes a comment about how she doesn't get why Waverly tries so hard to impress Champ anymore. Waverly considers correcting her but she's gone by the time she decides either way.
It's ten minutes until she's meant to meet Nicole at the coffee shop when Waverly realizes just how long she's spent on a second best outfit and she's out the door before she realizes she'd forgotten her wallet.
Nicole is beautiful.
Waverly knows she can find a woman beautiful without it really meaning anything, and Nicole is beautiful in a way that leaves a lump in her throat whenever she sees her.
This evening is no exception.
She sits at the back corner of the coffeehouse, ankles crossed underneath her chair, palming a mug of something creamy. Her hair falls just at her shoulders in soft, amber locks and for just a moment, Waverly lets herself wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers down the length of it. She's never seen it worn down, out of the procedural braid Nicole usually keeps it in. Waverly likes it better this way.
Nicole looks up just as she finishes the thought and there it is again, the Nicole Haught smile, warm and confident and meant just for her, and that's fine too. She can hold onto a smile from another woman without it really meaning anything.
Even when it does.
"Shit."
Nicole hums.
"I think I left my wallet at home."
A raised brow.
"Late and freeloading," Nicole says through a smile. "You're kind of a shitty coffee date."
Waverly makes her best sheepish apology face and revels a little in the effect it seems to have, a little in the use of date.
Nicole covers it. "Next time you can buy me a beer and we'll call it even."
Waverly likes the idea of a next time.
Curtis is dead and Shorty is dead and Champ is… Champ. Wynonna tells her Champ was brave and Champ tells her Champ was brave, which is good. Boyfriends are supposed to be brave, but Shorty is still dead and she feels like throwing up every time she thinks about it.
She isn't thinking of Nicole - isn't thinking of very much, really - but there she is, and Waverly tries not to dwell on whatever it is she feels when she sees her approaching.
Nicole takes her hand for what feels like a split second, nestling her thumb into her open palm. Nicole rubs the inside of her wrist and looks at her like she'd stay like that forever if Waverly asked. She doesn't try to say anything, doesn't really need to.
Champ pushes against her in a heartbeat, smothers her in kisses, in Axe and I'm here baby's , but all she can think of is the sudden coldness along her arm and the goosebumps that prick at her skin because of it. She wonders how it would feel tucked under Nicole's chin instead, pressed into Nicole's chest. Waverly thinks of how it might feel to inhale Nicole as she holds her tight and doesn't let go.
She blinks, wondering when she started to compare.
Nicole is long gone by the time Champ has consoled himself enough to go home and Waverly sighs when she realizes it, swallows down the disappointment burrowing in her throat.
Heaven is the space where Waverly's t-shirt ends and her shorts haven't begun. It's the dimple that forms when her mouth curls up into a smile that could set fires and start wars, the little crinkle along the bridge of her nose when she laughs. Heaven is the way Waverly tells her she's grateful for the voicemail Nicole won't admit to retying three times, the way she slides her hand across the bar, into the space where theirs had intertwined for the briefest, sweetest moment.
She hangs around for a few minutes after paying her respects, but it's not really the town outsider's place to linger.
The cat purrs especially loud tonight, brushing against her ankle like she knows. She follows her around the apartment, places herself right next to Nicole as she settles into the couch, purrs into her thigh and it's not really the same but it'll do.
"What do you think she sees in him?" Nicole eventually says to the cat, to no one.
She looks up at Nicole, blinking slowly.
Nicole takes a swig of her beer and runs a hand along the back of her neck, smiling at the little one's response. "You'd probably hate him too."
She takes the answering purr as a hearty agreement.
There's a knock at her door that she's not entirely sure is real. She isn't drunk, exactly, but she isn't really not drunk and anyway, no one in town knows her address. The chinese delivery guy maybe, but they're not at the usual stage quite yet, so he doesn't count.
This turns out to be incorrect, because Waverly Earp seems to stand on the other side of her door, probably not drunk.
The first thing Waverly says is probably Hello. How are you, maybe. Something along those lines - Nicole doesn't quite catch it, instead finds herself a bit lost in the way she's looking at her. It throws her off a little; does Waverly notice it?
Nicole pulls the door back wider, suddenly thankful for her penchant for drunk cleaning. The cat scurries away as Waverly comes inside and Nicole swallows down the urge to do the same. She imagined Waverly seeing her place for the first time a little differently.
She blinks.
Not the time to think of that.
Waverly looks at her like she's broken.
No.
No, that's not quite it.
It's different than before though, there's something she can't quite recognize in the hazel looking back at her.
"How is Wynonna?"
Waverly tilts her head, shrugs. "Still kicking."
"I'm sorry," Nicole offers. Maybe that's why she's here. "I should have done more to protect her."
(She'd practiced this, when she was not not drunk. It sounded better then.)
There's that look again; it stops Nicole mid-sentence, before Waverly even begins to move toward her. She's silent, at a loss for coherent thought as Waverly shakes her head, walks right into her space and hugs her.
Waverly pulls her in tight, buries her face into her chest and maybe this isn't what she imagined, but it's nice.
(Better than nice.)
"I'm glad you're okay," she murmurs.
Too soon, Waverly steps away, smiles, and leaves.
Nicole stares at an empty hallway for a few moments, relishing in an idea of what Waverly Earp's gaze might have meant.
She was wrong.
Heaven is kissing Waverly Earp.
It's feeling Waverly smile against her lips, breathing in a moan that starts low in Waverly's throat and sends a hot shiver down her center.
Heaven is Waverly's fingertips pressing into the back of her neck and pulling her close, until there isn't light between them. It's in the way she follows her up when Nicole pulls away, the faint whimper that escapes when Nicole shifts, removing the pressure from between her legs.
She traces a path from her hip to her wound, hovering over the redness as her mouth curls involuntarily.
"It doesn't really hurt anymore," Waverly murmurs, like she can see Nicole's frown without even looking.
"Tell me you got the guy who did this."
Waverly hums. She looks over her shoulder and reaches back for Nicole's hand, pulling it away from her battle scar, to her chest instead. Nicole shifts accordingly, slipping closer to her until their legs tangle and Nicole's nose presses into the nape of her neck.
She could get used to this.