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Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. This was not how her day was supposed to be going. It was way too out of character for Waverly Earp, Queen of Being On Time, to be stumbling down the stairs at Shorty’s, half an hour after the bar was due to be open. The day drinkers usually arrived not long after the doors were supposed to be open, and given that Purgatory was a town made up of day drinkers, that made for a problem. The last time Shorty’s hadn’t opened on time (and that was almost before her birth), there had nearly been a knock-down, drag-out fight on the building’s doorstep. She had barely had time to change out of her pajamas for fear of the very same thing happening.
Except, when Waverly rushes to the front door and flings it open, no one is standing outside pissily smoking. There is no line, no angry grumbles, not even a speck of blood. The sidewalk outside of Shorty’s is empty but for one person.
“Hi, Waverly.” Officer Haught--Nicole, she had told her to call her Nicole --is leaning on the brick wall of the building, surprisingly out of uniform. Instead of the usual tan pants and ten gallon hat, Purgatory’s deputy was wearing...jean shorts and t-shirt? Waverly gapes at her for a moment.
“Uh, Waverly?” Nicole tilts her head and frowns slightly. Jumping, Waverly shakes herself.
“Oh my gosh! Hello, Officer Haug--Nicole! Officer Nicole....Haught.” She stammers. Holy hell , what was wrong with her? Get it together, Waverly.
“Hi,” Nicole chuckles, “And I told you, just Nicole is fine.”
“Right! Right. Sorry, I guess I’m just..tired from the funeral and everything.”
“Ah, yeah,” A dark frown passes over Nicole’s face, “Are you alright?”
“Me? Oh, I’m...doing fine?” It comes out like more of a question than a statement. Waverly ducks her head in embarrassment and backs into the door, holding it open for Nicole. The officer frowns again and steps through into the empty bar. Their footsteps echo hollowly through the quiet space.
“I don’t know why it’s so empty. Usually, there’s guys here right when we open.” Waverly says, leaving the door to walk around the bar. Nicole rests her elbows in her usual spot, the section of the bar Waverly had been calling the Haught Zone. But only in her head.
“Maybe they are paying their respects to Shorty by giving you a day off?” Nicole shrugs, eyes gentle, “That would only be fair.”
“Shorty wouldn’t--he would have laughed at that. Said it was the ‘perfect time to go fish’.” The quiet in the bar is only reinforced by that fact that Shorty wasn’t out fishing or running late. He was never going to walk in the door again. Waverly runs her hands across the worn, varnished wood of the counter. Nicole’s eyes follow her hands, but she doesn’t move. The memory of the moment Champ interrupted crashes around like the elephant in the room.
“I didn’t know him that well, but he seemed like a good man.”
“He was.” Waverly sighs, “I just wish I could have been there to help protect him.”
“Waverly, there was nothing you could have done.” The words are some she has heard hundreds of times in her life, but Nicole’s soft voice removes the normal tone of condescension.
“Ha. You’re right, I can barely protect myself in this town, according to some.” Wynonna and Dolls meant well by trying to keep her out of the field and she didn’t fault her sister in the slightest for being wary the dangers the revenants posed. Yet, it was frustrating to be sidelined when she felt she had so much to give. Nicole is still looking at her with those eyes though, those eyes that feel like the sun and warmth. It takes focus not to melt under those eyes.
“What if I taught you how to protect yourself?” The suggestion floats out like it’s just a random offer, but the weight behind the look that accompanies it says otherwise. Waverly feels a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I, well, I wouldn’t want to cut into your day.”
“You wouldn’t be cutting anything. It would be my pleasure.” And damn, if this woman wasn’t smooth...Wynonna could probably take tips. Then again, her sister cultivated brazenness like it was her personal brand, so maybe not.
“And what would you have in mind?” Waverly asks, leaning forward. Nicole’s fingers tap against the siding of the bar.
“You’ll see.” She smiles.
As it turns out, Agent Dolls wasn’t the only person who knew where the makeshift shooting range was. When the Jeep rolls up to the dusty patch of grass he and Wynonna had been standing on a few days prior, Waverly muses to herself. They park the car and get out, Nicole carrying a single black duffel bag.
It’s sunny out, no clouds, but a light breeze keeps it from being overwhelming. A small burst of dust kicks up when Nicole drops the bag and kneels down to rifle through it. Waverly takes the time to lean back against the front of the Jeep and watch two hawks wheeling around each other in the sky. They dive and swoop, but neither of them seem to have any interest in hunting or resting or doing anything but stay in each other’s company. She glances back at Nicole pulling two regulation pistols out of the bag and finds that she agrees with them.
“Okay, what do you want, the first Glock or the second Glock.” Nicole laughs, holding up two identical guns. Waverly smiles and shrugs her shoulders.
“Hmmm, I guess...the second one. It’s speaking to me.” She says. The grip of the second gun is offered up to her. She takes it carefully, hyperaware of how close Nicole’s fingers are to hers. The grip is cool in her palm, so she focuses on that instead.
“Alright, so, basic safety...” Nicole begins before rattling off a list of do’s and don’t’s as well as a detailed overview of all the parts of the gun. Waverly nods and listens intently, Nicole’s voice is direct and clear. Very pleasant.
“Got it?” The officer says, and Waverly nods.
“Let’s blast some stuff.” She says in her most John Wayne voice. It earns a loud laugh from Nicole, which bounces around the hills around them.
“Alright, killer. Put your feet like this.” She demonstrates the proper stance, “Yep, good. And brace your weight evenly. Don’t put too much weight on one side.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, excellent. Now, bring the gun up and hold it steady with both hands, strong hand on the trigger.” Nicole demonstrates again, shifting into her stance perfectly. Waverly moves to imitate her, settling her weight back. She lifts the gun up and sights down it, target locked on one of the poor hay bales across from them.
“Huh, you’ve almost got it--here, can I touch you?” Waverly turns her head to see Nicole gesturing to her whole body. A thousand possible responses filter through her head, ranging from normal to downright inappropriate. Had it been Champ who said that, she wouldn’t have even thought twice about intention behind the obvious innuendo, but Nicole seems to genuinely want to help.
“Yes.” Waverly says, nodding and turning back to the target to hide her blush. Nicole wrings her hands together once before stepping up to Waverly’s side and gingerly putting her hands on her wrist.
“It’s okay, Officer, I’m not going to break.” Point for Waverly! That was the first smooth thing she had said all day--and probably the last too, because then Nicole takes her cue to step in closer and grip more firmly. They aren’t quite pressed together, but Waverly can feel small breaths rustling the hair near her ear and warm arms mimicking her own. Someone’s heart is beating faster, but it’s impossible to tell who.
“Like this.” Nicole says, guiding Waverly’s right hand up with her own. Her left hand smoothes gently over the curve of her hip and rotates it ever so slightly, leaving them even closer than before. Waverly sucks a sharp breath in when that hand ( that hand! ) lingers on her side for a second longer than necessary.
“Has Dolls told you anything about shooting a gun?” There is more warmth at her ear. To say she was thankful for the cooling breeze was an understatement.
“Just that I didn’t have a badge, so I shouldn’t do it.”
“Wow, that’s very...Dolls.” The last thing Waverly wants to be doing right now is talking about Dolls. She tightens her grip on the gun. Nicole must feel her tendons jump because her arms press infinitesimally closer.
“What you want to do is look at your target with both eyes. No squinting.”
“I wasn’t going to squint!” Waverly giggles, brushing backwards. Nicole lets their shoulders meet briefly, too briefly, before refocusing.
“There will be kickback, so make sure you’re not holding the gun too high or it will--” Waverly pulls the trigger before Nicole can finish her sentence. She rolls the backward force of the shot into her body and watches with satisfaction when the bullet smashes through the center of the target. Not her best, but certainly decent. Nicole stands still behind her, eyes fixed on the brand new hole in the target.
“Waverly Earp,” Nicole’s voice becomes low and gravelly, “I think you’ve shot a gun before.”
A shiver winds down Waverly’s spine. They are still pressed together and neither seems to plan on moving. She slides back a step further with a sly smile.
“I may have.” A disbelieving snort sounds from behind her. Nicole drops her hand from Waverly’s wrist and uses it to spin her around.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew how to shoot?”
“Because you said you wanted to teach me and I am always one for learning new things.” She doesn’t know if that’s a joke or thinly-constructed lie, but Waverly’s smile only widens with Nicole rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a low chuckle.
“You let me drag you out to this dusty place knowing full well how to shoot a gun?”
“You make it sound like I tricked you. I didn’t! I wanted tips!” They’re both laughing now. It feels good to be light after the funeral and the revenants and Purgatory in general. There are about five inches between them, and Waverly clicks the safety of the gun on because all of her cells are jumping and that isn’t good for a trigger finger. She stares at those sun-warm eyes again. They are staring back.
It would be laughably easy to lean up and kiss this woman. She’s gonna do it....goddamn it, Waverly Earp, Queen of Being On Time, is going to rush into this right now. She’s going to go early. One hand reaches out to ghost along the side of Nicole’s neck, who practically magnetizes to the airy touch. It would just take one little burst forward...one little tiptoe.
But then her hand is dropped and Nicole is backing up and putting the guns back in the duffel, unloaded. All she says is “Champ”. Waverly looks away.
The new silence out here, in this flaxen field, is different from the one in Shorty’s, but no less uncomfortable. Biting her lip, Waverly closes her eyes. Carefully, she reaches down to rest her palm against the other woman’s cheek. Nicole looks up with an expression of worry and hope.
“Champ never taught me how to shoot a gun.”