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Sheriff Nicole Haught was used to the worst thing in her life being something. Criminals, Revenants, hellhounds, demons. Drunk hockey fans. Teenagers. Asshole city council members. Potentially haunted garden gnomes. And none of those somethings had broken her.
But somehow it only took three days of pure, unadulterated nothing before Nicole was waving the white flag.
When Agent Dolls had done her the favor of driving her home from the hospital— her patrol car was still out at the attack site, unless Lonnie had remembered to have someone retrieve it (and what were the odds of that)— nothing had sounded better than a few days to relax on her couch with her cat and sleep off the lingering pain in her shoulder.
That feeling had lasted a little less than a day, at which point the boredom of her house arrest and the weight of her job’s responsibility began pressing at her from either side— one a rock, the other a hard place, and Nicole sandwiched painfully between them. After all, even on a quiet day, Purgatory was like an ER on a full moon. And now they were without their sheriff? With only Lonnie in charge? How did they expect anyone to survive? Purgatory would be a smoldering crater by the end of the week.
Not to mention, without a constant stream of work and chaos to busy her mind, there was nothing to distract her from… thoughts.
The same thoughts that always descended on her when she had too much time on her hands. Thoughts about a certain face, a certain voice, a certain smile.
God, that smile.
And the thoughts were so much stronger now. Waverly’s visit in the hospital had left her brain freshly scrambled. Usually, she was pretty darn good at keeping her fantasies under covers… But now, layered in with the usual pointless longing were fresher, brighter memories: Waverly’s careful hands running through her hair, Waverly’s sweet voice reading her to sleep. The feeling of drifting off into the night with her warm presence next to her, like something out of a dream itself. That feeling of safety, and rightness, and wholeness.
The memories resurfaced in dreams, any time she closed her eyes. But in these new dreams, things always went too far. Dream Waverly would gather her hair away from her neck and press tender, lingering kisses there. She would wrap her arms around her and hold her close, whispering sweet promises that shattered her heart and left her aching and hollow. Dream Waverly would lie next to her in bed, tracing her face with her fingertips, then lean in, nuzzling their foreheads together. The dreams themselves were tame, almost chaste, but the sheer, raw intimacy of them stole her breath. Each time, she woke up with wet eyes and a gnawing hunger deep in her chest like a ragged bullet hole in her heart.
It gave a sharp urgency to the ever-present craving that always pulled at her heart— to just see her again. To talk to her. To bask in the glow of her attention. To make her smile.
God, that smile.
It took three days for the pain in her heart to overpower the pain in her shoulder.
When she limped through the swinging double doors of Purgatory PD after three days away, she would have sworn she saw literal tears of relief in Lonnie’s eyes. While she gave a quick salute to two-dimensional Nedley and sank down at her desk, already cold and sore and a little tired, he babbled some of the things she had missed while she was gone— a slew of noise complaints, another missing dog, a possible domestic dispute.
“It’s fine, Lonnie, I’ll look over the reports in a minute,” she said. Then, at his guilty silence, she raised her eyes to meet his. “You did file reports on all of them, right?”
“Um… sort of?”
She covered her face with her hands and sighed, already regretting coming in. Her shoulder throbbed feverishly, hot where the rest of her was too cold, and she could already feel her hair coming loose from its low ponytail. That ponytail in itself was openly flouting regulation, but had been all she could manage that morning with her shoulder still healing. And besides, she was the sheriff, it wasn’t like anyone could turn her in. Sometimes, rarely, there were perks to being at the top.
She set herself to the task of writing up her (heavily sanitized) report on the warehouse attack— she would write a real one for Black Badge later, when she was alone. That, plus helping Lonnie translate his notebook scribbles into official paperwork, ate up most of the morning. By about halfway through the day, she was starting to have regrets. Her shoulder ached fiercely, and the healing burn on her face itched like crazy. She almost wondered if she should have stayed home, bored out of her mind on her couch for another day or two.
But when she felt her stomach grumble petulantly, announcing the approach of lunchtime, she actually felt a jolt of shining excitement that made it all feel worth it.
It was almost time.
Noon was Nicole’s favorite time of day— and it wasn’t even close— but a strong second was the hour leading up to noon. She had learned to revel in the anticipation, the keen joy of knowing that it was almost, almost time. It was her hour to wonder all kinds of little things— what she would be wearing, if her hair would be up or down, if she would be in a hurry or if she would sit and chat for awhile. Actually seeing Waverly was the best, but there was an aching sweetness to the waiting itself.
At 11:25, she couldn’t resist anymore and picked up the phone, her fingers tapping out the oh-so-familiar number.
Riiiing…
…Riiii-
“Shorty’s.”
Nicole felt a huge smile split her face just at the single word, said by the sweetest voice in the world.
“Howdy, stranger, I was looking to place a lunch order, if you’re ready for me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line.
“Sheriff, you’re back already? How are you feeling?” The words tumbled out in a hasty hurry, and Nicole bit the inside of her cheek against a laugh.
“I feel great,” she said, the words suddenly true in spite of her aching shoulder. “Well, good, but hungry.”
“Oh, right! Sorry, forgot for a second. What did you want?”
Nicole leaned back in her chair, already feeling tension melt from her shoulders. That voice…
“You know, I’m not feeling picky. Is there something you guys are trying to push out the door?”
“Well… we did get a double order of cheese slices the other day, and they won’t last forever. Feel like a cheeseburger? Oh, or grilled cheese?”
“Either sounds perfect. Whatever’s the least trouble for you.”
“Sheriff, that’s not how this is supposed to work. You’re supposed to tell us what you want.”
Well, ‘to see you again’ isn’t on the menu, her mind tempted her to say, the words sitting on the tip of her tongue.
“Really, anything sounds good to me right now,” Nicole said, the banal words jostling past the flirtatious ones she couldn’t say. “I’m just looking forward to taking a break.”
“Well then, I’ll be over in two shakes. Or at least as fast as Jeff can get some food off the grill. Hopefully just a few minutes, anyway.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you in a few minutes then, right?”
“Can’t wait,” Waverly joked, before hanging up. At least, Nicole was pretty sure it was a joke. Can’t wait. Can’t wait to see you. It had to be a joke. She wished it wasn’t, but it was safer for her sanity if she assumed that it was.
The burn on her face flared again, itching. Her hand twitched with the urge to rub at it, and she deflected by pressing a pen hard into the desk. Her logical side knew that whatever her base instincts said, however annoying the itch was, scratching it would mean agony. No matter how much she wanted to give into the urge, it could only end badly.
But knowing that didn’t made it itch any less. It was funny how many things in her life seemed to turn out that way.
“Isn’t it a little early for lunch?” Lonnie asked. She shot him a stern look, and he nearly cowered. “Um… I mean… good idea, it’s been a busy morning. Why don’t I go… catalog the warehouse evidence?”
“You didn’t cat—?“ Nicole cut herself off with a tired sigh. “Yeah, why don’t you go do that.”
He scampered off into their sorry excuse for an evidence locker, and she slumped back into a chair at the front desk, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over her throbbing shoulder. He hadn’t remembered to take the phone with him, and she debated whether it was worth calling him back out, or if it would just be easier to watch it herself.
For a few long minutes, she sat in the quiet station— her station— and contemplated her life choices.
Her ruminations, and her exhaustion, and the pain in her shoulder, and the itch of her burn, all fled in an instant as the clock ticked over, the door swung wide open, and Waverly Earp swept into the room. This was Nicole’s favorite part— her absolute favorite instant of the day. Just the way her whole body fizzed with endorphins at her mere presence, drowning everything else out. The way all the colors in the world seemed to ratchet up, making everything seem more vibrant and alive. Sunlight breaking from behind the clouds. Noise turning into music. However stressed she was, however bad her day had been going, it all melted away at the sight of that smile.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Waverly greeted her brightly— even more brightly than she usually did. “You’re really feeling better already?” Waverly’s hazel eyes seemed to clock the burn on her face, then drifted down to where the uniform covered her bruised shoulder. Her concern was as good as any painkiller.
“Better and better by the second,” Nicole answered truthfully. “I was practically climbing the walls at home, I couldn’t stand the thought of another day on my couch.” Waverly looked like she wasn’t sure she believed her, but didn’t push her.
“Well, we had leftover soup we kinda did need to push out the door, so I hope grilled cheese is okay.” With the familiarity of one who has already asked and received permission a hundred times, Waverly rounded the front desk to hand over the food. It occurred to Nicole that Waverly could have just set it on the counter and left, but instead she chose to come closer. She chose to stay.
“It sounds great,” Nicole said, taking the bag as Waverly passed it to her. Their hands brushed in the passing— just barely, and just for a moment, but it sent Nicole’s pulse skyrocketing, the endorphins fizzing harder, a heated tingle on her skin. Against her will, she flashed back again to how it had felt— Waverly’s hands in her hair, then resting against her back. A comforting warmth that had surpassed anything she could think to compare it to.
She craved it now, the gentle touch from her dreams, Waverly’s fingers stroking over her skin, the whisper-soft brush of her lips. Soothing. Belonging. Adoring. She tried to block out the craving. It was just another itch that really couldn’t be satisfied. One more urge that could only end in pain.
Instead, she very determinedly turned her attention to her lunch, removing the styrofoam containers from the bag. She popped the lid off the soup container and opened the clamshell holding the sandwich. The steam had turned the sandwich soggy, and the soup was mostly dregs, but she beamed like it was a feast fit for a king.
“Thanks for this. I’ve been cooped up for days, and I definitely missed not having to cook my own lunch.”
“Why didn’t you call, then?” Waverly asked, her voice half curious, half playfully scolding.
“I wasn’t here, I was at home,” Nicole said, feeling like it was obvious.
“I would have brought it to your house,” Waverly countered, also like it was obvious.
Nicole paused, the craving flaring harder, now twisted up with surprise and regret. The best of both worlds— resting at home, and getting to see Waverly? Was she really allowed to have both? Instead of sitting atop her desk, Waverly could have been seated next to her on her couch, petting Calamity and asking her how she felt. Maybe bringing her fresh ice for her shoulder, or braiding her hair back again. Alone together. Home. With privacy. Close enough to touch, close enough to just lean into her and—
“Really?” Nicole’s voice cracked a little as she tried to shut down those fresh new images. She blinked hard, her eyes burning. It was too much. Too much to even let herself think about. Waverly had a boyfriend, a fiancé, and would not be cuddling with her on her couch in the throes of domestic bliss. Not outside of Nicole’s wildest, most feverish fantasies, at least. “I guess I didn’t think of that. I thought it would be too much trouble for you.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not trouble. Really. I like doing it.”
“I guess I’ll know for next time,” Nicole lied. Never, her brain reminded her. Her face itched, mocking her.
“Well, hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Waverly continued, oblivious to Nicole’s inner turmoil. “It’s… scary, seeing you hurt like that.” Waverly’s hazel eyes met hers, more vulnerable than Nicole was used to. It made her want to stand between Waverly and the world, to absorb all the slings and arrows that made her eyebrows tilt like that.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“I know,” Waverly said, the words unconvincing.
Nicole made a bit of a show of picking up the sandwich and taking a bite, intentionally using her bad arm, despite its sharp ache of protest. There was too much cheese and the bread was greasy from the grill, but she gave an appreciative hum regardless.
“See? No permanent harm done. I’ll be back in the harness in no time.”
Waverly blinked at her, startled. “You’ll be in what?”
“A climbing harness. For rock climbing. I usually keep one with some ropes and shoes in my car, so I can run off on weekend trips if the weather is good.”
Waverly cocked her head at her, like she was trying to picture it. “I didn’t know you climbed.”
Nicole nodded absently, fumbling for her phone for pictures. Her fingers were greasy from the grilled cheese, and she grimaced a little as she rubbed them clean on a napkin.
“Yeah, for years now. I love the feeling of being up high like that. Seeing the world from up there.” Finally successful, she showed Waverly a photo, taken from a mountaintop. In the photo, it was a striking summer day, the sky electric blue, and all the way in the distance, you could see the deeper blue of the ocean. Waverly looked at it for a long minute, almost yearningly, like she had never seen anything like it. Only when the screen turned dark from being idle did she seem to snap back to the present, shaking her head a little and giggling awkwardly.
“Sounds nice,” she said finally. Her voice sounded strained, and Nicole longed to ask why.
“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you,” she said instead. “There are tons of good bouldering spots around here, and some scrambles that wouldn’t be too hard for a beginner.”
Waverly seemed to be imagining it, her head tilted up slightly, her eyes drifting towards the mountains west of town, hidden from view by the walls of the station.
“You sure I wouldn’t just hold you back?” she asked.
“No way,” Nicole said instantly, waving the thought away with a smile. “I bet you’d catch on in no time. You’d probably be beating me to the top by the end of the day.”
Waverly breathed a laugh, shaking her head at Nicole. She looked like she was going to disagree, or maybe scold her for exaggerating, but her hazel eyes seemed to get distracted by something else as she looked down at Nicole from atop the desk.
“You don’t usually wear your hair that way,” she said, seeming to notice her sloppy ponytail. “At work, I mean.”
Nicole grimaced a little.
“I’m technically not allowed to,” she admitted sheepishly. “If it’s this long, it has to be braided. But with my shoulder, it was kind of hard to reach up like that for that long.” She rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly. It seemed to ache even at the memory. “If I cut it shorter, I wouldn’t have to braid it anymore. I could just leave it down.”
Waverly eyed her for a long moment, tipping her head critically, before she seemed to make a decision.
“You’d look cute with short hair.”
Nicole immediately vowed to schedule a haircut. Soon. Today. ASAP. An emergency haircut.
“Maybe I’ll do that. My shoulder won’t be back to a hundred percent for a few weeks, so that would make it a lot easier to deal with.”
“Do you want me to braid it again, while I’m here?” Waverly asked, and Nicole had to stuff the last piece of sandwich in her mouth to block the ‘YES’ that tried to burst out. The cheese welded her teeth closed and granted her a few precious seconds of thought. Waverly seemed to take the pause as indecision. “I can be quicker this time.”
It struck Nicole as a cruel irony, that Waverly was trying to talk her into something she already desperately wanted… by telling her that it would be over faster.
She coughed a little as the cheese and greasy bread worked its way down her throat with a little less chewing than was strictly advisable.
“Sure… If you really don’t mind,” Nicole said, as though it were really that arbitrary. As though it didn’t really matter either way. As though she wouldn’t die a thousand deaths if Waverly rescinded the offer now.
“Of course I don’t. Here. Turn around.” She swirled her finger in a circle, gesturing for Nicole to swivel in her chair. Nicole obeyed, and was grateful that Waverly couldn’t see her face as she turned away. That she wouldn’t see her eyes fall closed at the first touch. That she wouldn’t see the bliss or the longing on her face as soft fingers tugged the elastic free and ran her fingers through the red length, coaxing days’ worth of stress off of her shoulders.
One of Waverly’s fingers grazed her jaw as it reached for loose strands, and Nicole had to use every last drop of her willpower to not nuzzle her whole face into the touch. The dream-memory flared, far too vivid, of Waverly’s fingers stroking down her cheek, cradling her face, like she was something precious. Tilting her head to bring them closer, leaning in, to—
Stop that, she scolded herself.
“I can see why it’s not staying back,” Waverly commented. Nicole had to scan back over the words three or four times before her addled brain could make sense of it. Finally, she peeked her eyes open and answered with a questioning hm?
Waverly’s fingers brushed at a lock, gently stroking it back off her forehead. She repeated the motion a few times, brushing the stubborn strands back again and again, and Nicole’s eyes fluttered involuntarily shut. Sweet merciful angels…
Waverly continued, oblivious. “A little of it got singed here. It’s shorter than the rest. That’s why it keeps falling forward.”
“Makes sense,” Nicole said, still having trouble stringing the words together in her head. Waverly’s fingers stroking her skin were simultaneously making her want to shoot through the ceiling on a rocket of endorphins and just melt into a boneless puddle in her arms. The paradox left her disoriented. “Just one more reason to get it cut.”
Waverly’s hand paused its stroking, instead fingering the ends of the burned section. “True,” she agreed absently. She did her best to weave the shorter strands into the longer ones, to keep them back, and started the braid in earnest. True to her word, she worked faster this time, more businesslike, and Nicole mourned how quickly it was over. Nothing like her daydreams, though it did at least have the benefit of being real. Waverly’s hands were really wound in her hair, touching her. Mere inches separated their bodies, and Nicole swore she could feel the warmth of her against her back.
After the braid was tied off, Waverly signaled the end with what was probably intended as a light pat on the back, but what Nicole felt as a hand brushing down her spine, making goosebumps erupt all over her skin.
“There.”
Nicole was careful to take a deep breath before responding, to give her voice time to steady. She cleared her throat before speaking.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, Sheriff.”
The sound of her title instead of her name, sheriff instead of Nicole, made her flinch. The word itself seemed to force distance between them, prying them apart where they had otherwise felt so close.
But what could she say— it was Waverly called her. Sheriff. Sheriff Haught. Not Nicole. Never just Nicole.
She forced a smile on her face as she turned to face her.
“Well, let’s hope it won’t be an issue for much longer.” After all, she had an emergency haircut to get. And she could look forward to seeing Waverly’s reaction to that, and Waverly would smile at her, and Nicole would pointlessly flirt with her, and things would go on. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be everything to her.
Maybe in time, the itch would fade. Maybe someday she wouldn’t lie awake thinking about her. Maybe eventually the sting would heal.
After all, what was the alternative? How could there ever be a world where she could have Waverly in her arms as well as her heart? Nobody was that lucky. Especially not in the cursed town of Purgatory. It was home, but it was never that sweet. Never that lucky. The town was named Purgatory, after all, not Heaven. Even if Waverly was something of an angel, something straight out of paradise, the ultimate temptation of the sweetest fruit in the most forbidden tree.
“Thanks for lunch, Waverly,” she said. “And for everything.”
For just a beat, a meaningful silence hung in the air between them.
“Any time, Sheriff,” Waverly beamed, making the whole room feel brighter and more alive, and making Nicole wish that for once, she would just call her Nicole. She was proud of her title, but it forced space between them, and she didn’t want space from Waverly. “Well… I probably ought to get back to the bar. You rest up, though, okay? The town needs you in one piece.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
And with one of her patented smile-and-waves, Waverly slipped back out of the police station, leaving Nicole to slip back into cold reality.
Nicole released a pathetic sigh as the door shut behind her with a thud of finality. The room seemed duller and dingier in her absence, even as Nicole could still imagine the phantom touch of her fingers in her hair.
She shook her head and pushed the remains of the cold, congealing food off the top of the desk and into the trash can, no longer hungry. In its place, she pulled a folder of paperwork in front of her and pulled out a pen— one of the good ones she hid in her desk drawer, where Lonnie couldn’t steal them. Her one daily hour of euphoria over, she set herself back to the day’s tasks— processing the week’s payroll while part of her mind, as it often did, orbited another focus. She hoped that back at the bar, Waverly was having a better day than she was.
On her next coffee break, she called around and scheduled her emergency haircut. It was just regulation, after all. Standard operating procedure. And if it gave her one more reason to look forward to lunchtime the next day… well, it wasn’t like she needed another reason.
Waverly Earp would always be reason enough. For anything.