Work Text:
Jessie loved them already, but sometimes the toys in Andy’s room just didn’t make sense. She understood ribbing between friends. Within a few weeks of her being there, she was able to join right in without anyone batting an eye. She also knew that, at the end of the day, they still cared about each other. So she understood why they gave Buzz a hard time for mispronouncing words, or for having thought he was a real astronaut. The part she didn’t get was all the jabs at his intelligence. He could stumble over his words, or take things too literally, but she could hardly call him dumb. She’d heard the stories about him, and sure, they were funny. He laughed about it, too. She just couldn’t judge him for believing something when it was all he knew.
If anything, he seemed to be the most level-headed in the room. Woody was practical, but he let his emotions get in the way and often needed to be talked down. Jessie didn’t tend to think twice about things, which worked out a decent amount of the time, but was far from a bulletproof strategy. Buzz looked at every angle before he acted, and saw things no one else did. He was (literally) built that way; it was the space ranger in him. He also knew how to get through to people, and he’d formed that ability all on his own. It could be a matter of reassuring them when they were struggling, or just making them understand another side to something they thought they were certain of. He’d done that for her before even learning her name.
After years in the apartment, she’d eventually stopped questioning Pete and taken it for granted that she’d be better off locked away. If it hadn’t been for Woody, she’d have stayed in storage. But Buzz was really the one who’d saved them. Overhearing him tell Woody what the museum really meant had broken something open in her mind. Somehow she’d forgotten how much she hated to be contained, and how much about the world she didn’t know anymore.
She’d never had someone who would come after her like Woody’s friends had for him. She knew Buzz had led them all there. She’d seen him catch up to that plane. He was clever and, despite where he’d started, stable in a way she’d never seen. For all his misconceptions, she refused to believe he was anything less.
She knew he was infatuated, and she wanted to give him time to get over it or, if he couldn’t, to decide what to do about it. At the moment, she wasn’t sure what she felt. She was flattered, but she didn’t want to mistake that for feeling the same way he did and wind up hurting him. Still, he wasn’t like other folks she’d known, and she wanted to understand him better. The first hurdle was getting him to stop calling her “ma’am.”
By the time Andy was a teenager, she knew. Buzz would do just about anything for his friends, but it was different for her. When the others had problems or doubts – and they multiplied as Andy got older – he would simply try to keep the peace. He was always so much gentler with her, more understanding. He’d tell her again and again that whatever happened, they’d figure it out. She could tell he didn’t always believe that, but he needed to hear it, too. He didn’t want to lose his family any more than she did. As much as he tried to be someone for everyone else to fall back on, he needed somewhere to land, too. The best way she could think of to be that for him was by choosing to believe him when he said they would be okay. Maybe they could make it true for themselves. She loved him, and she had no choice but to act like it. But judging by the way he reacted when she so much as touched his arm, a straightforward conversation about that might have just made him even more anxious. Maybe after Andy went to college and they were settled in the attic, he’d be ready to talk. She wasn’t going anywhere if she could help it, and he was worth waiting for.
Then they went to daycare, and within a day he was gone. She’d heard him yell from down the hall, she just hadn’t realized at the time what it was. While she sat awake in her “cell,” it set in that his entire life had been stripped away. Not just his friends, or his job, his whole self. The one he’d become once he knew what his life really was, the only version of him she’d ever known. The others, at times, seemed more annoyed by it than anything else. Even Woody’s reaction made it look like a nuisance and not an absolute horror story. Woody would admit later to being just as scared as she was, and she’d admit to spending that entire time regretting everything. Daycare had been her idea. She’d put off telling Buzz the truth, then led him into a trap.
His Spanish persona was amusing, fascinating even. It felt like they were closer to him, but couldn’t really reach him yet. This one was a romantic through and through, which was not entirely unlike the one they were searching for. Buzz had never been good at hiding emotions. They all came through in his face or in his voice. So she knew how he saw her, and it was more or less like this. It could be a lot. She could understand if he was overwhelmed by it; she’d never experienced it, either, before him. Now it felt like it was all coming out at once, because this one didn’t bother trying to put on airs. Maybe that was because he didn’t really know her. Then again, maybe some part of him did, deep down, and that was why he fixated on her. He still didn’t know what they had to lose if this plan didn’t work.
She saw some of his real self in the way he acted in the truck. If it was really him, he’d still look for her, still try to pull her away from danger, still throw her out of the way so she wouldn’t take the hit that was coming for both of them. Looking back, it was a good thing the TV landed glass-side down. The back or the sides may have crushed him completely instead of breaking around him. That didn’t make it any less of a nightmare in the moment.
Then he woke up, and for a second no one moved. He was alive, which was a start, but they couldn’t know if it was demo mode, Spanish mode, or something entirely different but equally bizarre.
It was him. Holy crow, it was him. He was alive, he was awake, he was aware, and all she could do was throw her arms around him and kiss his face. He didn’t comment on it, which was fine. If he wanted to write it off as platonic affection, she’d accept it for now. But if anyone asked, she wasn’t going to lie.
For a moment she thought she would never be as scared as she was for those few seconds that he didn’t wake up. Of course, she was quickly proven wrong. She was also proven right about everything else, in the worst possible way. She knew he was just as scared, but even now he was focused more on comforting her and their friends however he could. He clutched her hand, looked at her as if in apology, and stayed as close to her as possible. She used to think he was being selfless to a fault, never admitting his own fears or disappointments. Now she understood. This was how he maintained some degree of control, how he comforted himself as much as anybody else. So she held on and hoped he could take some solace the way she did.
Once everyone was saved, they didn’t let go. She wasn’t sure if he realized it right in that moment, but she did. Holding onto him was how she convinced herself this was all really happening, that everyone was okay and out in the daylight. And if she was honest, she’d waited so long to do anything like this that she wanted it to last. When he finally noticed, it sure looked like he wanted the same.
After everyone was settled at Bonnie’s, she finally dismissed the idea that everything would work out in its time. Buzz was worth waiting for, sure, but he was also worth pushing through whatever barrier was between them.
Telling him was easy enough. She knew it would change things, probably force a more blunt discussion than either of them was used to, but she was plumb tired of not saying it. She was tired of not kissing him when he was being especially adorable. So she started to do both. What surprised her was the feeling when she heard it from him. She’d loved him for years already, but never had the butterflies that seemed to plague him until now. If she thought she’d felt them before, well, she was wrong. It was never anything like this. She liked it; it felt like they were finally on even ground.
They didn’t say it all the time, or act all lovey-dovey all the time. But now they could. They went through what Woody called a “honeymoon phase,” but it felt more like catching up. The first time he kissed her without her initiating it, she was downright giddy. She couldn’t stop talking about it, she was just so proud of him. She got to call him pet names that she never quite finished: hon’, darlin’, sweetheart (she never enunciated the H). Buzz wasn’t as comfortable using them. Every time he tried, it just didn’t sound natural. So they agreed that he would just keep using her name. She liked the way he said it, anyway.
After a few months, this phase – the moments alone in the middle of the night, the delirium of being properly in love – started to wind down. They didn’t mind, hardly even noticed. As far as they were concerned, that had been years’ worth of being together, and they had years to go. Most people thought that this kind of affection becoming routine spoiled the romance of it, dulled some kind of spark. She never saw it that way. When it started to feel normal was when everything felt right. He still tripped over himself sometimes when she shamelessly flirted with him, and she could still catch him staring when her hair fell a certain way. But she could also hold his hand without thinking twice about it. She could steal a kiss and barely even get a reaction sometimes. It wasn’t banal, it wasn’t boring, it was secure.
Woody was happy for them, but may not have been prepared to see it for himself. He walked in on them once, when her arms were draped over Buzz’s shoulders and his hand was against the small of her back. He looked a lot more embarrassed than either of them. There was nothing untoward going on. He’d probably just never seen their faces that close together. They tried not to laugh until after he’d turned on his heel and walked away.
He couldn’t really talk. He and Bo had been caught on occasion getting much too friendly back at Andy’s. Buzz and Jessie might make an offhanded joke about it, but never told either of them to their faces how nauseating a sight it could be. So they understood: he could be absolutely thrilled for them without wanting to think about certain details. He’d been rooting for them all along, they knew, but they could tell he was relieved when things settled down.
“Sheriff” had never been a formal title, and Buzz had only ever used it jokingly with Woody. With her, it meant something. He seemed to think of her as being suddenly above him, like there was a real hierarchy he needed to stick to. It felt like they were moving in reverse, back to the formalities he’d clung to when they’d first met.
When she told him, wringing her hands over her braid, he was actually taken aback. He wasn’t trying to put her on a pedestal. He was proud of her, that was all. She took to it so naturally, without a shred of doubt, and came through for Bonnie in ways he didn’t even know were possible for a toy. It was amazing to see her like this, and he was happy to follow her lead.
She was proud of him, too. Andy had always cast him as a hero, but Bonnie was different. Her stories were becoming much more over the top, and could make any of them look completely ridiculous. Some of the other toys were embarrassed by it, but never him. He didn’t show it, anyway. Whatever kind of scenery he had to chew, he’d do it for Bonnie without complaint. An insult to his real self, he might take to heart, but he took it in stride when their friends mocked whatever his role had been that day. He was a natural.
“Sheriff” had become his own term of endearment. He couldn’t say it to anyone else. He promised never to grovel: he’d tell her if she got on his nerves, or if she really needed to stop and think before she jumped into action. She was back on solid ground now.
From the moment she leapt out that window onto Daffodil, she was well aware she had no plan. It didn’t matter. She could gather her thoughts at the hill and figure something out from there. A big part of her felt like sitting there and rotting forever, the way she had under Emily’s bed. Even now, she knew that was unlikely. Maybe she’d wander for a while before she found some kind of refuge. Maybe she’d go back to Sunnyside, now that it was safer. She might get torn apart over time, but what else was she good for? She sure wasn’t made to be a lost toy like Woody.
She’d been so confident the last time she spoke to him. He probably figured she was fine right now. Maybe, eventually, some other toy of Bonnie’s would call him and tell him she was gone, but by then there would be no finding her. Buzz would probably have to pick up the slack from here on out, if Lily hadn’t taken over completely.
She’d never meant to lie to him. He would have understood if she’d just said she was talking to Woody. But she’d been too embarrassed to tell anyone in that room, even him, that her hold on everything was slipping. So she’d left it out.
It hadn’t really hit her yet, that she’d likely never see him again – or any of her friends, for that matter. She could grieve that later, maybe after she figured out where she was actually going to go. But they didn’t give her time to make any decisions.
She should have known Bullseye would be close behind. He was smart, as animals go, but he was still an animal. He was simple, and trusting, and he’d been with her in that sterile gray penthouse for years. What had she done for him? Brought him to Sunnyside, nearly gotten him killed. Let him stay behind with them when Woody left at the carnival. She was never supposed to be his rider. He was Woody’s horse. Yet, for some reason, his loyalty lied with her. That was why he showed her that glint in the dirt on the other side of the tree, why he settled quietly on the ground next to her while she read the other Jessie’s card and let it set in.
It was a good thing he’d gotten to her first, because Woody looked so relieved to find them that it might have broken his heart to see her having given up completely.
She remembered when he and Bo had dropped off the walkie-talkie, not too long after their first goodbye. Anybody could call them if they wanted, but she’d seen that theirs was marked with a “J.” Bo indicated with a look that it put him at ease having a way to check in on her. Brothers worried about their little sisters. For all intents and purposes, that’s what they were. You couldn’t get in shouting matches like theirs with anybody else and still love them not a minute later. It was a job you didn’t get to quit, no matter where you went.
If Woody looked relieved, Buzz looked like he hadn’t taken a full breath since she’d left. There were much more pressing things to worry about, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d chosen that pink and purple frilly horse over the dozens of plain ones to try and get her attention.
It felt so obvious now that he was here. She wouldn’t show what a frazzled mess she’d be if he up and vanished, but everybody would know. She’d find a way to him, and she felt awful for forgetting that he would do the same, like it wasn’t one of the things that had drawn her to him to start with.
She couldn’t forget for a second what they meant to her. It had just slipped her mind that she meant something to them, too.
He might have overheard Lily say there was a chance Bonnie would turn Jessie and Bullseye away again. Maybe that was what spurred him to finally say whatever it was he’d been trying to say for days now. She knew he’d tried to talk to her after Bonnie had run away from the Jordan twins again, then after she’d gotten off the radio with Woody. Every time she’d gotten his attention after that, his mind had been somewhere else, but he’d tried to play it off. She remembered it just before they rode off to find Lily, when he’d worked up to telling her he had something to ask. That would give him no choice but to actually ask it once this was over with, which was a smart move on his part.
Thinking back, it all looked a lot like how he’d behaved before they were together. So the fact that he insisted on saying it now meant everything before she even knew what it was. He looked scared out of his wits, but he pushed through it. She hadn’t seen him like this since the moment right before he said he loved her for the first time.
The words “Will you…” were a pretty big hint. What made her absolutely certain was when he had to take a breath and psych himself up.
The thought had never occurred to her. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t want to, it just didn’t seem like something toys did on their own. But he always saw things she couldn’t – he was brilliant that way. He was determined to make a promise she’d never asked him to make, and he made her want to do the same.
The only reason she might have ever said no was because it wouldn’t change how they saw each other. Of course, that also meant she might as well say yes.
If they had more time, if there wasn’t a truck heading right toward them, she was sure he would have gotten it out eventually. Even then, she wasn’t sure she could wait any longer to give her answer. She had to take his hand, had to touch his face, had to kiss him. He gave her so many moments when she could think of nothing else to do, much less anything to say.
She forgot sometimes that she could call him her husband now. He never held it against her; he knew what he'd signed up for. The wedding in Bonnie’s imagination justified it to everyone else, and there had been hints of their real selves in the ceremony. Still, to her, it didn’t carry as much weight as the night before. That was the part they’d created for themselves: sweet, chaotic, informal, the two of them to a tee. It wasn’t more than a minute, but it meant more than any ring, any flowers, any (admittedly lovely) decorations, any new titles. It was them promising they’d find a way through in the morning, and every morning after. He hadn’t even finished the thought. She hadn’t technically said yes. But they were unmistakable to each other.