Chapter Text
Nicole is undoing the third button of her uniform when Waverly walks in, fanning herself with a case file. It’s definitely not the hottest day in Purgatory, but the police station’s AC has yet to be fixed—meaning, Nedley has yet to attempt to fix it, accidentally break it, and inevitably call Nicole or Lonnie to do something about it instead.
Used to milder weather, it seems even Purgatory’s Best is suffering.
Nicole glances up from the paperwork splayed across her desk to see Waverly staring at her from the doorway, some probably-classified file frozen mid-flap in front of her face. The shorts, which no one in Purgatory dares own more than one pair of, tell Nicole everything she needs to know.
“Damn, is it hot in here, or is it just me?” Nicole half-jests, half-complains with a tired grin.
Nicole stretches back in her chair, free arm reaching up to fix her braid. Waverly continues to stare as she relaxes, finally wrestling the third button loose. In a daze, Waverly replies. “It’s definitely you.”
“What?”
Waverly’s eyes snap up. “What?” The makeshift case-fan resumes its job at a faster pace.
“Hey now,” Nicole narrows her eyes at a blushing Waverly. “Not you, too—Wynonna already calls me at least five variants of ‘Haught shit’ on the daily.”
Waverly blinks, grateful for the unwitting save. “Yeah, it’s—it’s one of her many talents.”
The redhead scoffs in agreement. Her eyes light up as she remembers something. “Did you know—” Nicole is now fully turned towards Waverly, and beckons her closer, “—that Wynonna has even come in and sat on my desk, just to sing me a, quote, ‘purgatory parody’ of ‘Hot Dog’? What’s up with that?”
“‘Like, why are you so obsessed with me?’” says Waverly, doing her best Mean Girls impression. It makes Nicole laugh fully, a mesmerizing and memorable experience if Waverly were to say so herself.
(tbc.)