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It’s easier than Sheriff had expected it to be.
His new relationship, that is.
Doc and him still get coffee at Flo’s together each morning. They still blow off work in order to talk to each other for hours. They still bother each other while the other is busy, regardless of how much the other insists they need to focus. They still go on impromptu trips out of town and long, aimless together. They still bicker like there’s nothing of higher priority. They’re still friends.
But then there are moments like these.
Doc sits on Sheriff’s couch, comfortably reading a murder mystery novel. Sheriff lays with his head in Doc’s lap, drifting in and out of consciousness. Doc lazily plays with Sheriff’s hair with his free hand as the news quietly drones on in the background. The setting sun has painted them in a warm, orange glow.
“Read to me,” Sheriff says. It’s no longer a question - they’ve been here before and Sheriff knows the answer - and Doc always abides.
There’s a moment’s pause as Doc smiles down at Sheriff’s adoring gaze before he starts out loud.
And Sheriff believes that this change in their relationship - as subtle as it may or may not be - makes him the luckiest man in the world.
The moment repeats a couple nights later, as is the pattern they've fallen into. It’s thundering outside, this time, and a science program plays on mute. Both Doc and Sheriff lay on the couch together. Sheriff is on top of Doc with his head resting on his chest. Doc holds the book around Sheriff’s back. He reads quietly, his deep voice easily breaking through and soothing any thoughts that threaten to capture Sheriff’s attention. The fine details are different, but the moment overall repeats.
Sheriff could stay in these moments forever.
He’s just starting to nod off, content to wake up tomorrow to a note from Doc and a bittersweet sense of longing when the doorbell rings.
His brow furrows as he looks up at Doc. Doc meets his eye, cutting himself off, mid-sentence.
“You’re going to have to get that,” Doc says.
Sheriff groans. Hiding his face in the crook of Doc’s neck, he responds, “They’ll leave.”
Doc huffs a laugh and sits up, forcing Sheriff to sit up as well. While Doc puts a bookmark in the book and sets it on the coffee table, Sheriff runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to neaten it.
“Are you sure we can’t just leave them?”
“It’s pouring outside, Sher. Whoever it is could be hurt.”
“And since when is that my problem?” Sheriff asks, standing up.
“Since you decided to become a cop,” Doc deadpans in return.
Sheriff waves him off and mutters something about being off the clock, but still makes his way to the door. Doc watches him for a second before heading to the kitchen.
Opening the door finds Sheriff face-to-face with Fillmore. His clothes stick to him like a second skin, creating a puddle beneath him and his hair hangs straight. The way his arms wrap around himself, rubbing small circles into his sides makes him look much smaller than he actually is.
“H-Hey, Sheriff. Doc d-doesn’t happen to be in there with you, is he?” he asks, the chattering of his teeth giving away any attempt he had made to appear composed.
“Fillmore, what the hell ?!” Sheriff shoots back, stepping to the side.
Fillmore takes the invitation immediately and steps inside. Sheriff closes the door behind him. Immediately, Fillmore sighs, reveling in the warmth.
“That doesn’t a-answer my question,” Fillmore jokes.
Sheriff runs his hand through his hair again - this time exasperated - and runs into his bedroom.
“And that doesn’t answer mine.”
“I got him,” Doc interrupts, placing two mugs on the counter. Sheriff can make out Fillmore smiling at him in his peripheral. “Go grab him a blanket or towel or... something .”
“Right,” Sheriff responds. He’s on autopilot as he heads the bedroom and grabs a spare towel from the bottom of the closet. Between the scare of a completely soaked Fillmore and the fact that he still wasn’t completely awake yet, he wasn’t in the right mind to be questioning orders.
When he returns to the living room, Fillmore is sitting on an armchair with a mug in hand. Doc sits on the end of the couch closest to him with a fixed glower. It disappears for a second when he sees Sheriff come in, though. Sheriff smiles back at him, momentarily forgetting Fillmore’s presence, until Doc nods in Fillmore’s direction.
“Right!” Sheriff notes, cringing to himself when he realizes it was out loud, before wrapping the towel around Fillmore’s shoulders.
Fillmore leans into it. He lifts a hand to pull it tighter around him, using it as more of a blanket than a towel. He does attempt to pat down his hair, though, which seems to be dripping the most. Sheriff mentally thanks him for the effort.
“Thanks, man.”
“How about you thank me later and start explaining yourself now?”
Doc snorts at the comment before offering the mug in his own hand to Sheriff. “Here, this might wake you up.”
Sheriff mumbles a thanks as he takes it. Gently blowing on the hot tea, he resigns himself to being a bystander in this conversation and sits down next to Doc.
“I was planning on being back home before the storm hit, but the weather got the better of me. I broke down about a mile down and it’s not like there was anyone driving by I could ask for help,” Fillmore explains. “I tried Mater first since he was closer but I guess he’s still out. Figured I’d find you next. If you can’t tow my car at least you can tell me whether I’ve got hypothermia or something, y’know?”
Doc pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “You don’t have hypothermia, Fillmore. You’d need to be out there way longer than you were for that. You’ll probably just end up with a really bad cold, is all. Just don’t go back outside for a while. You need to dry off and get thoroughly warmer before you can do that. I’ll help you with your car in the morning.”
“You got it, Doctor!” Fillmore responds with a laugh as he pulls the towel even tighter around him.
Doc stands up and walks around the back of the couch. “I’m going to get you an actual blanket, hold on.” He squeezes Sheriff’s shoulder as he passes. Sheriff unconsciously hums in response, mind now elsewhere.
Something in Fillmmore’s story had stuck out to Sheriff, and he was going over it in his head. “How did you know Doc would be here and not at the clinic?”
It’s an innocent enough question. Or, at least, Sheriff thinks it is. The tea hasn’t done much to wake him up, but the anxiety spike definitely has.
Fillmore shrugs. “Isn’t he always here?”
That doesn’t help.
“Is he?” Sheriff asks, once again cringing when he realizes that it was out loud.
“His car has been parked out front for at least two weeks now, man. And he doesn’t park that thing anywhere that isn’t his garage for any longer than 20 minutes. If he’s not always here, then I must be seeing things. And I’ve been clean for one of those weeks!”
“That ‘ thing ’ is a rare 1951 Hudson Hornet and you will talk about it with respect,” Doc scolds. Sheriff can’t tell if it’s genuine malice in his voice or not. Regardless, his tone softens when he turns to address him. “But he is right. For once. I am always here.”
Sheriff hums in response again. He turns to look ahead of him so that he’s not face-to-face with either of the men beside him. The science program is still playing on mute. It’s hard for Sheriff to tell what’s going on without volume, but it’s something about particles. He tries to focus on figuring it out, but the thought that Doc is always here is printed at the front of his mind in bold letters.
If Fillmore had noticed, does that mean everyone has noticed? Have they not cared enough to say something, or have they just been waiting for the right time? God , how could he have not been more careful? He had been so caught up in the dream that was Doctor Jesse Hudson that he hadn’t had the time to notice the exact effect he was having on his reality.
“Sheridan? Are you alright?”
Sheriff turns to face Doc again, who’s now standing next to Fillmore. He’s halfway through wrapping the blanket around Fillmore’s shoulders, but they’re both staring at him with concern.
“You don’t look too good, man,” Fillmore adds.
Doc swats Fillmore’s shoulder, who, despite complaining, takes the hint and shuts up. He drops the blanket for Fillmore to configure by himself. He takes his seat next to Sheriff and moves to wrap an arm around his shoulders, but Sheriff freezes and leans away from him.
“I’m fine, Jess,” Sheriff assures, but his voice is tense.
Doc curses under his breath as he retracts his arm.
“Alright, so I know I was supposed to shut up,” Fillmore says, slowly, “But do you mind if I use your phone?”
Doc absently gestures towards its location down the hall. “Go ‘head.”
“Thanks.”
Doc doesn’t bother responding. Careful as to not knock the blanket off of his shoulders, Fillmore places his tea on the coffee table and stands up. The moment he’s out of sight, Doc turns to face Sheriff.
“Sheridan, are you sure you’re alright?”
Sheriff hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. “We’ll talk later.”
“Sher, you looked worse than Fillmore for a second, there. I think we should talk right now.”
“Jess, if Fillmore of all people noticed you hanging around here more often, then everyone else surely did, too. Flo, Ramone, Guido, Hell, maybe even Lizzie! Everyone ."
“We’ve always been close with each other-” Doc starts, but is cut off by Sheriff abruptly reaching forward and grabbing his hands. Sheriff holds them close to him and looks up at him with pleading eyes.
“But never this close.”
Doc presses his lips into a thin line. Sheriff has a point, this time. The chance to come up with a response is taken away from him, however, as the doorbell rings again.
Doc groans. “Who could that be-?”
But Fillmore beats both of them to it as Fillmore hurries to the door. “It’s alright, I got it.”
Fillmore struggles with the knob for a second, as he’s still trying to balance the blankets. When he’s finally able to grab it, he only has to open it an inch before it slams open.
Sarge barges in and slams the door shut behind him.
“You almost gave me a God damned heart attack!” he exclaims, seemingly oblivious to the onlookers.
Fillmore raises one hand in front of him in an attempt to coax Sarge down and uses the other to pull the blanket tighter. “Relax, man! You know I try my hardest to follow through on my promises. You can ask Doc and Sheriff, man - the weather got the best of me!” he hurriedly explains.
“ Relax -? You are a full day late and look at the weather ! Could you not have stopped somewhere to call ahead?! You had me thinking of the worst!”
“Alright, alright, you’re right, man. I’m sorry. But can we please just focus on the now? I’m alright,” Fillmore pleads, tone softening.
Sarge scoffs and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bite back the smile that’s starting to spread. The sight surprises Sheriff - rarely has he known Sarge to let Fillmore’s antics get the better of him.
“Yeah, sure, until I’m stuck taking care of you when you’re sick.”
“I’ll be alright. I always have my natural remedies ,” Fillmore teases. His arms are held out in front of him; the tips of his fingers rest on Sarge’s arms.
“As if I’d let you get away with that,” Sarge mumbles, but lets himself be pulled into the hug. For a second, he even hugs Fillmore back.
Doc leans forward, grabbing Sheriff’s attention. Quickly glancing in Sarge and Fillmore’s direction, Doc raises a brow in an unspoken question. ‘Does this make you feel any better?’
Sheriff glances back at the two men as well. He watches Fillmore as he whispers something to Sarge quiet enough that he can’t hear it, and he watches as Sarge laughs into Fillmore’s chest in response before they start to separate. He looks back at Doc and shrugs with a smile. ‘Yeah. I guess it does.’
“You’re not very good at hiding it,” Sarge says, deadpan, with a pointed stare at Sheriff and Doc’s still intertwined hands.
Sheriff goes to drop them but Doc stops him, reaching for them as he pulls away.
“ But ! I doubt you have anything to worry about,” Sarge finishes, crossing his arms.
Fillmore grins from beside him. “And it’s not like anyone in this town has much else to turn to. We’re all each other’s got, man. So even if you did have to worry about someone, they’d learn.”
Doc pulls one arm away to finally wrap it around Sheriff. Pulling him closer, he reiterates, “ Nothing to worry about.”
Sheriff takes a deep breath. He thinks he’s getting better at this whole anxiety thing, but not without outside help. “Nothing to worry about.”
Doc smiles at him before looking back up at Fillmore and Sarge. Fillmore is making his way back to his prior spot in the armchair, and Sarge has taken a seat in the one on the other side of the couch.
“Now, will I finally get the story of how the Hell this happened between you two?” Doc asks with a cocky grin.
“Oh, absolutely!"
Sarge groans, “Oh God .”
Sheriff can only laugh in response. Suddenly, the very concept of Doc always being here seems a lot lighter again; a lot happier . It’s almost impossible for him to imagine a time before Doc started being here so much more often. It’s like he’s always belonged here, and things are only just now starting to fit.
“You down for a long story, Sher?” Doc asks, bringing Sheriff back from his thoughts.
“I suppose we’ve got the time.” Looking out the window, Sheriff smiles. The setting sun is just starting to peek through some of the clouds in the horizon. “It’s not like we’ve got anywhere else to be.”