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“Who the hell is the blacksmith?” Wynonna says, leaning back in the booth — leaving the gruesome photos of The Seven strewn across the table. Waverly shushes her to no avail. “And why does Purgatory have a blacksmith? Is there a booming job market in blacksmithery? Should I buy stock?”
Waverly has gotten used to this Wynonna tactic since her sister’s return — get bombarded with one real question surrounded by almost nonsense. It’s an easy way to get answers, and an easier way to cloud sincerity.
But Waverly knows, really, that Wynonna is almost always sincere — especially when she acts the most flippant. To the untrained eye, she seems like she’s only further grown into the reckless ne’er-do-well that the general populous of Purgatory believes her to be. Waverly has gotten to know her sister again, though; she’s protective and observant — and here to stay.
Waverly believes it now.
She hopes she’s right.
“Will you put those away? It’s not very discreet,” Waverly says, pushing the photos back toward Wynonna’s hands and away from her — avoiding her sister’s pressing question about the blacksmith. Waverly can keep her own walls up, too. “I looked, I’ve got it.”
She meant it when she told Wynonna that she doesn’t like the photo of The Seven — standing around her dead father like a trophy. It’s not because it’s her father hanging there dead, and the very real feeling of fatality that could make your heart clench, it’s that they’re all standing there like it was easy. None of them are wounded, or even look tired.
She wonders if all of the heirs were that easy to kill.
Would Wynonna be easy for them too?
Waverly doesn’t like to feel the fear — it doesn’t motivate her the way it does for Wynonna; she’s seen it in her sister’s eyes, flickering for only a moment at a time. But after any of these moments, Wynonna always reappears stronger, more driven, more sure.
Waverly doesn’t work that way.
Researching the curse is not nearly as terrifying as ending it, but knowing more — really knowing — is how Waverly finds her confidence, her motivation. Plus, the curse has only created more questions, more problems to solve.
She’s plenty motivated.
She looks at the Seven and wonders how they connect to BoBo Del Rey, to the Stone Witch, or to Wyatt — the photos are grabbed off the table and Waverly’s eyes blink back to the present to find Wynonna rolling hers dramatically.
“And Dolls said you’d be mad if I didn’t show you,” Wynonna grumbles, carelessly packing the photos away and shrugging — clearly disappointed in Waverly’s reaction.
“I would be. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Waverly responds, matching her sister’s dramatics to smooth away whatever tension just passed between them.
“Yep, the title of my autobiography. Now, this blacksmith — who, what, when,” Wynonna shoves a fry in her mouth and continues nonetheless, “other important questions.” Wynonna asks, in her way that isn’t asking.
Waverly knew she wasn’t going to get out of it that easily.
Truth be told, Waverly didn’t know Purgatory had a blacksmith either until a couple of years back.
From what she knew, per her Uncle Curtis, The Blacksmith was a good woman, but she dealt with very few people — meaning definitely not Wynonna. She had trusted Curtis, though; Waverly wasn’t privy to why, exactly.
But she had ideas.
Waverly knew Curtis believed in the curse, but he always just referred to his own research, casually, as his ‘metal detecting hobby’. He must have done some type of work with, or for, the Blacksmith though — and Waverly is no longer naive enough to think it had nothing to do with the Earp Curse.
One day, maybe two years prior, Curtis had come into Shorty’s looking ashen; he told her after Waverly asked if he was feeling alright, that he needed to see the Blacksmith. Waverly chuckled and asked if he needed a new sword made. Curtis looked at her seriously and told Waverly that the blacksmith ‘knows how to protect Purgatory’s people and its history’ and that she doesn’t craft weapons anymore.
Waverly remembers feeling embarrassed at her reaction, but her uncle covered her hand with one of his, his eyes gentle again, and told her that one day the time may come when she would need to see the Blacksmith for protection as well ‘or at least a good history lesson’.
As baffled as she was at the time, Waverly knows that the time for seeking the Blacksmith is now. “Well, the Blacksmith knows a lot about Purgatory, and its history,” she not so subtly emphasizes ‘history’ in hopes that Wynonna picks up of the hint, “and is pretty protective of that knowledge.”
“Sounds pretentious, where’s he at, though? Dolls and I need to go there tomorrow.” Wynonna says, putting far too much ketchup next to her fries.
“Wynonna,” Waverly sighs. She opens a map on her phone to find the general whereabouts of the Blacksmith’s place.
“Have a little faith, baby girl. I know when I have to show up.” Wynonna says, keeping her eyes on her plate of fries and shoving three more in her mouth.
“Like this morning to discuss Uncle Curtis’ will?” Waverly asks sourly before she can stop herself. Wynonna’s eyes shoot up to meet her own; Waverly can’t read the expression. “Sorry.” Waverly looks down at her own plate of fries, picks one up, and puts it down after realizing it’s gone cold.
“No, you’re not.” Wynonna says, and Waverly can still feel her looking at her, but her tone is serious enough that Waverly feels like she has to look back up.
The silence between them makes Waverly’s hands start to sweat, but Wynonna always has a way of drawing answers out of her. “You should have been there.”
Wynonna still looks at Waverly, unblinking, and Waverly can see tears well in her sister’s eyes. She knows that Gus didn’t really want Wynonna there; she doesn’t trust Wynonna. Maybe Waverly just wanted her sister there for her own selfish support.
Maybe she just wanted Wynonna to show interest in being there.
The moment is gone before Waverly is finished pondering and Wynonna is looking inside her empty coffee cup, saying, “I don’t do well in stuffy office buildings, anyway.”
“Wynonna. You work there.”
“A fact far more surprising than you knowing Gus didn’t want me there anyway.” She says it without room for acknowledgement, immediately changing tone and subject, a sign Waverly knows the conversation is over. “I think I need more fries for this ketchup. Hetty, could I get more of these delicious fries please?” Wynonna practically shouts to Hetty’s back as she hands an order ticket to Mama Olive.
“Wynonna.”
“I don’t think she heard me. Damn,” she grabs one of Waverly’s cold fries and drags it through her plate of ketchup, “So where’s this guy at, anyway?”
“What?” Waverly asks, not keeping up, and receives a finger in her face indicating that she should wait while Wynonna finishes chewing.
“Oh that was awful. You let it go cold. And not what, who; the Blacksmith. Where’s his place?”
Waverly doesn’t even have the energy to correct her as she brings her attention back to her phone to get a good pinpoint on the map. “I’ll just send you the location.”
“Are you both ready for the check?” Waverly hears Hetty and sees, from her peripherals, the blue uniform come to stop next to their table. Waverly cringes inside, knowing Hetty heard Wynonna shout at her across the room.
“Actually, I’d-“
Waverly puts down her phone and interrupts whatever her sister was going to say, “Yes, that’d be great, Hetty. Thank you.”
Hetty gives Waverly a small smile and doesn’t bother to acknowledge Wynonna before putting the check on their table and walking away.
“That was fast.” Wynonna says, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
“Wynonna, you didn’t exactly make her job very easy.” Waverly retorts, putting cash on the table.
“Waves,” Wynonna starts, but Waverly’s attention is brought to her phone when a text from Champ lights up her screen from where it sits on the table — she can see a picture of him holding something lacy and she snatches her phone up, but not before Wynonna sees it too, “I hope those aren’t Champ’s.”
Waverly doesn’t respond to her sister, but she does open the text. It’s a picture of Champ holding Waverly’s underwear from the night prior with a text saying ‘you forgot these last night. I like them better with you in them’. She wants to roll her eyes at Champ’s lack of subtlety; she hadn’t responded to his first text after Wynonna took her phone out of her hands, but apparently he wasn’t deterred.
Though, to his credit, things had gotten decidedly hot and heavy the night prior — definitely memorable. She’d texted him after her argument with Officer Haught during her shift last night, and made her own less-than-subtle intentions clear when he arrived. It felt nice to remember why she’s stayed with him, why she wants him.
“Earth to Waverly.” Wynonna’s voice cuts through her thoughts and Waverly finds her sister standing next to her, waiting for her to leave the diner with her.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Waverly says, gathering her belongings.
“File that under things I don’t need to know, Waves.” Wynonna tells her, putting a hand in Waverly’s face, that she quickly slaps away.
“Shut up.”
“I don’t understand how you can be so caught up in Champ freakin' Hardy.” Wynonna is ahead of her now, and Waverly sees her shiver dramatically as if bugs were crawling on her.
“Yeah, well you and Nicole can have a nice long chat together about it.” Waverly says, shoving her phone in her pocket — no longer in the mood to respond to Champ’s messages.
They get outside and Wynonna stops so abruptly that Waverly almost runs into her. “Nicole?”
“Officer Haught,” Waverly clarifies, but Wynonna’s face tells Waverly that she doesn’t know who that is either, “Sheriff’s deputy? Red hair, brown eyes,” Waverly points to her own head, “Stetson? Officer Haught?”
Wynonna shrugs, “does Champ know you talk about some cop like that?”
“Wynonna!” Waverly shoves her sister gently, and Wynonna laughs. She feels her cheeks flush, “That’s her last name. Come on.”
“Officer Sexy, right.” Waverly hits her shoulder and Wynonna laughs louder as they get in the truck. “So Deputy Smoke Show is the one Dolls keeps threatening with death. Love putting a name to a face.”
The engine roars to life, and Waverly buckles her seatbelt, “That’s not very nice. She’s a really great person.”
“Not very nice?” Wynonna says incredulously, “I could only dream of people constantly calling me hot — and formally at that. How do you even know Officer Hot Damn anyway?”
Butterflies flood Waverly’s stomach — she thought she was past that strange nervousness, but all she can think of is Nicole helping lift her shirt off, her hands soft and cool, then being asked to coffee and the way she set her business card down and — Champ would definitely not be happy to know Waverly was talking about anyone like that. “Um, I think at Shorty’s.” Is all she tells her sister, “I don’t know how you haven’t met her since you work in the same building.”
She doesn’t hear whatever sassy remark Wynonna says.
All Waverly can think about is everything that came after when she and Nicole met. At Shorty’s wake, and after — how Waverly couldn’t say her name for weeks, and then drinking coffee together, being two less lonely people in the world.
All Waverly can think about is how these few, small moments have amounted to more than years of moments with Champ, and maybe she should — and could — want someone for more than just staying.
It’s terrifying, but this fear does feel motivating; maybe the part of it that feels like hope is what motivates Wynonna through the curse. Waverly doesn’t know.
“Did I lose you, Waves?” Wynonna asks gently. Waverly thinks her expression must be readable, even in the low evening light as they drive back to the homestead.
“Yeah, got distracted. You want to watch a movie when we get home?”
“Sure, anything in mind?”
“Casablanca, I think.” Waverly responds, looking out the window, thinking about Ilsa and Rick and the difference between safe and brave decisions.
“God, I haven’t seen that in forever.” Wynonna says, and chuckles. “Good choice.” Waverly smiles to herself and lets Wynonna have her moment.