Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is hot.

Not warm.  Not a little stuffy.  Not a bit uncomfortable.

Hot.

The waves of heat rolling off the hood of the truck, sticky asphalt shimmering in the distance, blazing sun kind of hot.

Nicole loves it.

Most people would favor the air conditioner in this kind of scorcher, but it’s a dry heat, and Nicole finds the artificial air stuffy, so even though the swirling sand is billowing around the sides of her dark blue pickup, she leaves the windows down.  The bill of her favorite old UBC Thunderbirds cap is shielding her eyes against the harsh glare of the midday sun, also keeping her hair out of her face, but the coppery locks that spill out from beneath it are whipping around her neck and shoulders in the wind that is sweeping through the open cab of the truck.

Nicole lives for this.  She’s rumbling down the empty highway in her faithful old Chevy, eyes dancing as she takes it all in.  The rolling plains dotted with breathtaking mesas.  The freshness of the air, clouded only with dust and sand rather than exhaust and refuse.  An open road stretched out as far as she can see.  It reminds her of summers on her grandparents’ ranch, and it feels like freedom.

The rock station Nicole has been listening to for the majority of her drive fizzles out, finally giving way to the static that has been threatening around the edges for the last half an hour.  She abandons the drum solo she’s been beating out against the steering wheel, letting her arm sling over the edge of the window, hand dangling lazily against the outside of the door.

Up ahead, a sign is coming into view, and she sits up a little straighter in the driver’s seat, feeling a hint of excitement creeping into her veins.

Now Entering Wyatt Earp Country

Wyatt Earp. 

Nicole can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth as she reads the lonely billboard standing like a long forgotten sentry alongside the dusty highway. 

Grandaddy would get a kick out of that.  Always was a sucker for the heroes of the Old West. 

The sign isn’t fancy, but it is resolute.  There are no elaborate pictures or decorations.  Only simple, old-western style letters, faded from years of standing guard under the unforgiving sun. 

Just like Grandaddy.

As she draws nearer, the truck still barreling down the deserted road, Nicole can see that the wooden frame is splintered, the paint blistered and peeling under the effects of the constant exposure to the elements.  Hope the condition of the sign doesn’t say anything about the condition of the area, she catches herself thinking, but the idea is fleeting, gathered up and swept away with the wind rushing past her ears as she fiddles with the radio again.

After nearly giving up on it for good, Nicole actually chuckles out loud when she finally lands on a strong, clear signal and the sound of Tim McGraw accompanied by several guitars pours out of the speakers around her.  “Figures it would be country all the way out here,” she says aloud to no one, but the broad smile on her face remains in place as she cranks up the volume and catches hold of a memory wrapped up in the music.

“Turn it up, Grandaddy!  Turn it up!” a five-year-old Nicole squealed while clapping excitedly.  She was in her cotton dress – the one she hated just the tiniest bit less than her others – wedged between her grandparents on the bench seat of his ancient pickup truck on the way back home from church.  He grinned down at her, the tanned, leathery skin crinkling at the corners of his gleaming eyes, and reached out to turn the dial.  She cheered with delight, wiggling happily in her seat.

“Aren’tcha gonna sing it to Grandmama?” Nicole asked, poking her grandfather’s muscular arm and blinking up at him.

“Yeah…  Aren’tcha?” her grandmother played along, grinning at him from the passenger seat.

A low, rumbling laugh made his broad shoulders shake, and he held his free hand up in surrender.  “Well, it looks like I ain’t got no choice now, do I, Li’l Darlin’?” he said with a wink, then crooned along with the upbeat country song, drawling out his words in just the right places. 

“Don’t know what it is ‘bout that little gal’s lovin’, but I like it.  I love it.  I want some more of it.”

The little girl leaned her head back against her grandmother’s shoulder to watch his antics, and together they wiggled along with the music, both of them giggling when her grandfather pulled a funny face during his serenade.  Nicole thought that maybe someday she would make someone smile at her like that when she sang them a silly love song.

She’d been singing along loudly with the blast from her past, but when the song ends, fading rapidly into some newer country pop tune, Nicole wrinkles her nose and turns the radio back down, her thoughts still lingering on her grandparents.  Her chest grows uncomfortably heavy as a weight settles in and presses against her heart.

She’d lost Grandaddy several years ago.  Just before she had graduated high school.  Before she had gone to college.  Before she had led her team to another women’s basketball championship.  Before she had graduated from UBC and then enrolled in the Academy.  He had missed so many things.  And while her family – parents, sister, grandmother – had been there for all of them, Nicole had always found it difficult to swallow around the tightness in her throat when she looked up and realized he wasn’t there to wink at her, and sling his heavy arm around her shoulders, and give her a scratchy kiss on the cheek while he told her “I’m proud of ya, Li’l Darlin’.”

Nicole doesn’t seem to realize that her hand is still hovering in the air as though suspended there by a puppet’s string after she’s released the knob of the radio, her thumb having started to stroke absentmindedly over the turquoise band trimmed with gold that she wears on her finger.  She’s only had the ring for a handful of months now, and she still isn’t used to wearing it.  She often catches herself fiddling with it when she’s lost in thought. 

But Nicole would give anything in the world not to have the ring.  Not to be getting used to it.  Not to be spinning it around her slender finger with her thumb while she gazes at the road and operates her truck on auto-pilot.

Because if Nicole did not have the ring, then it would still be on her grandmother’s finger.

She had been a little over halfway through her training at the Police Academy when she had gotten the call from her mother.  It had come out of nowhere and left her reeling.

“Hey, Haughtstuff!  You coming out with us tonight?” one of Nicole’s classmates called into her cramped dorm room as she was wringing out her hair after a quick shower.

“Yeah, just need a few minutes,” she answered, waving her hand at the mess of wet hair still gathered in her towel when Matt and Jennifer poked their heads around the open doorframe.  “Go ahead.  I’ll meet you there.”

“First round is on you,” Matt declared, jabbing a finger decisively in her direction.  “It’s the least you can do after kicking our asses on the range today.”  His tone was grumpy, but his expression was playful.  Jennifer elbowed him lightly in the ribs and he “oomfed” dramatically, earning him a subsequent slap on the shoulder.

“Deal,” Nicole answered with a smug grin, moving to plug in the hair-dryer and waving when Jennifer said they would see her soon before the pair disappeared around the corner again.  Between the noise and her distraction, she didn’t notice her phone vibrating on the desk the first time, and she nearly missed it the second as she was hastily shoving it in the pocket of her jacket on her way out the door.

“Hey, Mom,” she answered quickly as she turned back to search for her keys, almost as an afterthought.  “I was just headi—“

But then her world was shattering around her like the time she had accidentally knocked one of her mother’s vases off the table by the door when she was dribbling her basketball in the front hall because it was raining outside.  Nicole knew her mother was still talking, but none of the words were finding their way through the pounding in her ears as she stood there trying to remember how to breathe.  She reached a shaky hand forward and braced herself against the wall, her keys having slipped from her grasp, long forgotten.

Nicole’s fellow cadets found her a few hours later, curled up in a ball on the floor next to her bed, face swollen and caked with tears, the door to her dorm room still standing ajar.  She managed to get the next week off, her instructors granting her leave to go to Wyoming for the funeral, and for a few desperate days, Nicole considered not even going back to the Academy. 

But then she thought about what her grandmother always told her when she fell off of her horse, or missed the cans on the fence post with her rifle, or cried when the boys told her stupid girls couldn’t play basketball.  “Never give up, Hawk.  That’s just the place and time that the tide will turn.” 

Nicole hadn’t really understood the gravity behind them when she was little, but as she grew older, the words had stuck with her, always in the back of her mind when she felt like she was in a tight place and everything was against her.  If she let the tide pull her under now instead of waiting for it to turn, what would Grandmama have to say about that?

Nicole manages to pull herself out of her reflections.  That’s quite enough of that.  She blows out a couple of deep breaths and shakes her head, determined not to lose the good mood she’s been enjoying since she started this trip with the sunshine, and the fresh air, and the open road.  Her mind settles instead on the memory of the nickname her grandmother had given her when she was a hurricane of a little girl, running around all skinned knees, and bruised elbows, and bravery, and determination.

Hawk. 

Nicole can’t even think about it without smiling.  It always seemed so random to anyone who ever heard Grandmama use it, but really, it wasn’t.  The orange hawkweed – Pilosella aurantiaca, to be exact – was a wild prairie flower that grew all around the land of the ranch.  Sometimes you could stand in the middle of a field and see nothing but waves of fiery orange and red until they bled into the horizon.

When she was little, Nicole had thought the color of her hair was the only reason her grandmother had given her the name.  Then one time, Bobby Evans and his friends had teased her, saying it meant she was just a weed.  When the ensuing scuffle had ended with the other boys hurling curses at her while they helped Bobby scurry home with a busted nose and a black eye, she realized it might have also had something to do with how stubborn the hawkweed could be.  She had seen Grandaddy mow down an entire field of it once, and before the end of the summer, it had already started to grow back.

The sound of the DJ’s voice chattering on in the background, just a muffled droning while Nicole was lost in thought, finally gives way to music once more and she grins happily when it isn’t a faux-country song again, but instead, another from the time when she was growing up.  She hasn’t really listened to cowboy music in years – something she imagines might change in the near future, given her current destination – but when the voice of Garth Brooks fills the cab of the truck, she remembers why she had enjoyed country “back when it was still good.”  Her mother’s words, not hers.

Nicole’s hand has fallen idly on the center console beside her, no longer fidgeting with her ring, and she uses it to crank the volume on the radio back up to slightly higher than acceptable levels.  She flops her other arm back out the window again, letting it rise and fall as she twists her hand in the wind currents while she sings along to “Friends in Low Places,” making funny faces during the silly parts of the song and dropping her chin to her chest to hit the low notes during the chorus.

She carries on that way for several more kilometers, singing along with the older songs that she knows, and tapping out rhythms on the steering wheel and the ledge of the window for the ones that she doesn’t.  Eventually she sees another sign drawing into view up ahead on the right. 

As she gets a bit closer, Nicole does an actual double take.  What the…?  It looks like something out of a bad 50’s sitcom.  Cartoonish “All-American Family” types – gotta love some irony… do they not know we are in the middle-of-nowhere Canada, for fuck’s sake?  – smile and wave at her from an absurd retro convertible.  Smile?  Kinda looks a little more like they might be screaming.  She squints against the glare from the sun in order to make out the words.

Welcome to Purgatory!  (only 7 away)  You’ll Never Want to Leave!

Quirking her eyebrow, Nicole actually snorts as she passes the comical sight.  What exactly are you getting yourself into, Hawk?  But then she thinks about why she is there, and she thinks about the words at the bottom of the sign, and a part of her hopes that maybe they will prove true. 

Might turn out to be just what you’re looking for.

She had felt so alive when she had graduated college.  Like she was standing on the precipice of something amazing.  Her team had won another title.  She had graduated with honors.  She had a life with her beautiful girlfriend.  Her family had been so proud of her.  And she had known without a doubt what her next step would be.  It had taken a few months after graduation to complete all of the processes, but when Nicole had announced that she’d been accepted into the Police Academy, her whole family had been prouder still.

Her girlfriend had not.

The fight had been quick.  Explosive.  Full of harsh words and bitter truths and finality.  Much like the time she had punched Bobby Evans in the nose.  Only this time, it was her ex that had stormed out of their apartment, and Nicole was the one left standing with the wind knocked out of her. 

Apparently, even though she had majored in Criminal Justice and minored in Psychology, it was still some sort of surprise that she had applied to begin her career in law enforcement.  Apparently, that only made her a walking stereotype, especially when added to the basketball.  Apparently, spending six months in Chilliwack at the Academy was unacceptable – although, apparently taking an indefinite internship at some computer tech company in Chicago somehow managed not to fall under the category of unacceptability.  Apparently.

The suddenness of it all had knocked Nicole off of her game at the time – a little more than she would care to admit now – the unexpected wound fresh and raw.  But the urge to abandon her friends, and listen to Adele on repeat for hours on end, and sleep on the couch instead of in their bed had faded quickly, and it hadn’t taken long for her to regain her footing. 

With the encouragement of her family – sometimes having a sister ten years your senior is a good thing… “She’s not good enough for you, Nic.  You’re worth so much more than that.  You’ll see.” – she turned her focus ahead to starting at the Academy, regardless of the hurtful words that echoed in the corners of her mind.  But then the wound had healed while she wasn’t looking, and soon all that was left was painless scar.

It’s been over a year since Amy left her.  She isn’t heartbroken.  She isn’t pining.  She isn’t lamenting what could have been, or running away to hide from the world.  With all that Nicole has accomplished since, she simply looks back on the whole thing as a learning experience. 

She isn’t one to change herself for someone else.  She never has been.  Not when she was a little girl protecting her best friend by shooting the boys with her cap gun instead of playing with Barbies.  Not when she was studying and playing video games instead of sneaking out the window to get drunk with her friends.  Not when she was kissing the ranch foreman’s daughter in the stables instead of chasing after the cowboys.  Not when she was playing basketball and studying the law instead of focusing on business and interning at her father’s firm.  And when her girlfriend had given ultimatums alongside the threat of walking out, Nicole had decided she certainly wasn’t going to start then.  Not for Amy, not for anyone.

When Nicole had graduated from the Academy with top scores in marksmanship and the top 5% of her class overall, she was told she would basically have her pick of open rookies slots.  Her parents assumed she would return home to Calgary and become a constable with the municipal force.  She had considered it herself – being close to her parents and her sister’s family wouldn’t be terrible – but something about the prospect of it just didn’t feel… right.

Nicole had never felt more at home than she did spending time at the ranch in Wyoming.  She’d been devastated when they had moved to Calgary in the first place for her father’s work when she was six, and she had insisted on returning to spend her summers there every year since – even in college, she managed to make it back between the end of the semester and the beginning of her off-season workouts.  Her Academy instructors thought she had lost her mind when she told them she wanted to find a small-town posting in a rural area, but Nicole knew it was what her heart truly longed for.

It took a few months to find an open post – small towns don’t often have a high turnover rate – and when the Academy placement officer had brought Nicole an application to some place called Purgatory, she’d actually thought he was pranking her at first.  But here she is, all of her possessions loaded in the back of her pickup – and let’s face it, there aren’t many.   Between campus life, and then the Academy so soon after, she’s never really accumulated much beyond that of a typical college student.

It won’t be long now.

Nicole is leaning forward in her seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands.  She’s driving through the countryside, past a ridiculous sign, toward a town with a ridiculous name, but the windows are down and the volume is up, the sun is in her eyes and the wind is in her hair.  She lets her grandfather’s words ground her as she feels a rush of adrenaline surge through her body when she comes upon the first signs of civilization on the outskirts of the town.

“With every rising of the sun, Li’l Darlin’, think of your life as just begun.”

Chapter Text

Nicole flops down on her couch, all sweaty, and exhausted, and sore, but feeling pleasantly accomplished.  The aging piece of furniture is a bit lumpy in some places – what she likes to call well-loved – but it’s deceptively comfortable, and she has slept on it more times than she can remember after grueling study sessions, or late-night returns from away games, or other equally exhausting activities. 

She’s glad she hasn’t allowed herself to collapse on it until now, or all of the unpacking she has been doing for the last two days wouldn’t have happened.  Because as soon as she is sinking into the welcoming comfort of the familiar cushions, Nicole knows she would never have gotten back up.

Luckily, the Corona she is rewarding herself with is still within reach on the coffee table, nice and frosty after spending an hour in the freezer before she had retrieved it a few minutes ago.  Nicole’s body feels like it is full of lead, but she stretches her heavy arm out anyway, managing to wrap her outstretched fingers around the long, slender neck.  Barely.  She flinches reflexively to keep from knocking it over, and regrets it immediately when her aching muscles scream at her in response to the sudden movement.

She shakes the bottle with a frustrated grunt when the cardboard box-top it had been sitting on remains stuck to the bottom.  I really should find those coasters, she thinks as she takes a long, lazy pull of the smooth liquid.  Nicole actually jumps when a few beads of icy condensation trickle down from the lip of the glass rim and fall on her heated skin just above the low neckline of her tank-top.  But then she sighs and drops her head back against the cushion and runs the frosty bottle over her forehead, before holding it to both of her cheeks.  A couple more sips of the cold beer, and she thinks she might never get off the couch again.

Nicole had arrived in Purgatory in the early afternoon a few days ago, anxious, and excited, and ready to start her new life.  She had taken care of finding a place to live through an online service, exchanging financial information and references for pictures of several listings and a couple of virtual tours.  She had eventually settled on a two-bedroom place – more like one bedroom and a larger than average closet, but who’s counting? – with a decent sized bathroom, an open kitchen, and a surprisingly nice living room.   It was located in a quiet building with five other tenants near the center of town, and it was by no means large or fancy, but after several years of dorm rooms and a small on-campus apartment, for the first time in her life, Nicole felt like she actually had more space than she knew what to do with.

The transaction had been easy.  The real estate agent had faxed Nicole the lease and Nicole had transferred the money for the deposit and the first month’s rent.  She was told that her keys would be left at the Sheriff’s Department for her to claim upon her arrival, so when she had rolled into town early Thursday afternoon, her first stop was her new place of employment.  Nicole had spoken with Sheriff Nedley twice on the phone, and another time over a video conference the placement officer had set up for the official interview, but even with her naturally confident demeanor, she found she was rather nervous to meet him in person for the first time.

It didn’t take her long to realize she didn’t need to be. 

When Nicole strode into the front office, she was greeted by an older woman who was answering the phones and serving as the dispatcher.  She introduced herself to the woman – Ruthie, she quickly learned – who then hollered at Nedley to come out of the nearby break room.  The Sheriff shuffled out, wiping at his sleeve with a napkin in one hand while trying not to slosh the steaming coffee out of the mug in his other.  He squinted at Nicole with confusion for a few brief moments – to be fair, she did look quite different in her faded blue jeans, Toronto Raptors t-shirt, and UBC ball cap – before realization dawned on his face and he ushered her back to his office.

Nedley gave her the abbreviated rundown of the department – the real orientation would start on Monday with her first shift – and introduced Nicole to a couple of the guys that happened to be in the station at the time.  He gave her directions to the outfitter’s shop where she could pick up the uniforms she had already ordered, and handed her the new badge that she was to affix to the Stetson the shop would also fit her with.  When the Sheriff asked how she was settling in to her new place, she politely reminded him that her keys were actually somewhere there in the office.  He sloshed his coffee again when he muttered to himself and waved his hand. 

She pretended not to notice.

Ruthie ended up finding the keys and had Nicole sign for them, and in a surprising move, Nedley asked if she had anyone to help her unload her stuff.  She blushed, and scuffed her boot subconsciously against the tiles, and admitted that she didn’t.  He grunted and called gruffly to the two officers slouched at their desks, ordering them to show Nicole to her new place and help her with her furniture. 

Her face had burned and she’d wanted to refuse the help, but she had also realized she had no idea how she was going to get her couch and mattress up the stairs by herself, and when she looked up at Nedley again, he had an odd sort of fatherly expression on his face, so she scratched the back of her neck and eventually nodded.  He had one of the guys drive the patrol car that would be assigned to Nicole so she would already have it to start her shift on Monday.

The two officers – Stanton and Marks – didn’t have a lot to say, but they were by no means unpleasant, and between the three of them, it only took an hour to empty the entire truck bed of all Nicole’s possessions.  She thanked them profusely, offering to pay them for their trouble.  They refused, but eventually agreed when she said she would make it up to them with food the next time she saw them, and then headed back to the station, leaving Nicole’s squad car parked on the street next to her truck. 

It was late afternoon by that point, and Nicole had found a corner shop about a block down the road, grabbing a few things for the kitchen before returning to her apartment, where she called her mother and then spent the rest of the evening trying to get her bed put back together.

Friday was spent picking up her Kevlar, duty belt and its gear, and uniforms – including the new Stetson that Nicole couldn’t wait to fasten her badge to – setting up things at the post office and bank, finding a real grocery store to stock her place up with, and then beginning the long process of unpacking all of her things.  She turned the spare bedroom – large closet? – into kind of an office, setting up her desk, the small gun safe she kept for her personal handgun, rifle, and shotgun, and her large bookcase where she carefully placed all of her criminology, law, and psychology textbooks.

Saturday was a bit more taxing, as Nicole had spent the entire day putting together the cheap furniture she had purchased for herself before moving.  She pushed around the couch and the two armchairs from her previous apartment until they were in a satisfactory position facing the area where the TV would go, and then spent two frustrating hours trying to build her new entertainment center. 

The instructions were in Chinese and she tried to follow the pictures, but they were out of sequence and Nicole was gritting her teeth by the time she was finally able to figure it out on her own.  At least setting up the electronics was easier – having a tech savvy ex did come in handy sometimes – and she pumped her fist in victory when the Blue Jays game popped up on her screen and blared through the surround sound speakers she had just finished hanging.  Baseball wasn’t exactly her favorite sport, but basketball didn’t start for two more months, and at this point, she would have taken just about anything.

The rest of the furniture – end tables, shelves, cabinets, and the like – had proven much easier, and soon Nicole had the entire room arranged, with a few things even hanging on the walls.  The final – and possibly most important – remaining task was to install the special lockbox she had purchased for her service weapon.  She mounted the small digital safe behind one of the cabinet doors in the display unit just inside the front door, pleased with how simultaneously secure, yet easily accessible it would be.  When she was finished, she reverently placed her Taurus 92SS-17– a gift from an extremely proud Grandmama when she had been accepted to the Academy – on the velvety surface, and ran her finger once along the polished barrel before locking it in with a faint beep.

And now Nicole finds herself currently sprawled on her favorite couch, exhausted but happy, sipping her Corona between cooling herself with the chilled glass, feeling like she might not move again until Monday morning.  That is until a low, rumbly gurgle from her stomach breaks her contented silence. 

She blushes, even though she is alone in her apartment.  “Shit…” she mutters, poking at her abdomen tentatively with her empty hand.  It growls again defiantly.  Her mind drifts to the freshly stocked refrigerator and the newly organized cabinets, and all she can muster is a pitiful groan.  “Screw it,” she says, and pulls up the browser search on her phone.

Nicole calls the only pizza place she can find and is told that because of the big tractor pull that is being televised this evening – seriously?! – they are particularly busy, and it will likely take about an hour for her order to be delivered.  Her stomach balks at the notion, but she agrees anyway, figuring it will give her time to take a quick shower before the food arrives.

“Fuck!” a naked Nicole yells in her empty bathroom five minutes later when she realizes she messed up her address while giving it to the pizza guy.  She sighs and rests her forehead against the refrigerator after grabbing another beer while waiting for someone to answer the phone again.  It’s a different guy this time, and it takes considerably more runaround than it should before they get the problem sorted, but she is eventually assured that a pizza will definitely be delivered to her door within the next hour.

Sunday passes quickly – spent exploring, relaxing, and taking considerably longer than reasonably necessary to lay out, then rearrange, then re-polish, then lay out again a uniform, and boots, and gear, and a hat – leaving Nicole wondering how she is already setting her alarm and climbing into bed with an entire colony of butterflies in her stomach.  After staring at the ceiling for a long while, a smile creeps across her face as she hears Grandaddy’s words echoing in her head.  “Cowgirls don’t sleep, Li’l Darlin’.  They just wait.”  That’s what he had always told her when she argued that she wasn’t ready to go to sleep, and it had somehow always appeased her when she would then cross her arms and nod defiantly while lying in her bed.

Nicole’s eyelids grow heavier, and her breaths grow longer, and eventually sleep threads its fingers through her overactive mind in the darkness of her new bedroom.  A few hours later when she startles awake, it takes her several minutes to remember where she is and why she is feeling so anxious.  She rubs her hands over her face and reaches for her phone, checking the time. 

0430 hrs?  Really, Nicole? 

Her alarm isn’t due to go off for another hour, but there is no way in hell she is getting back to sleep now, so with an exuberance that is entirely unusual for this ungodly of an hour, she slides out of bed and heads for the shower.

All in all, it takes her less than an hour to get ready, even counting the minutes she spends staring in the mirror after she has donned her uniform, and braided her hair, and tucked it into her hat.  Not surprising, considering she had gotten all of her things ready three separate times the night before.  And then Nicole finds herself climbing into her squad car at a little past 0530 hrs, the sun not even up yet, and the deserted street completely silent.  She slides the key into the ignition with a trembling hand and grips the steering wheel tightly with the other.

The Crown Vic roars to life, and Nicole sits there letting it idle in her parking spot for a few minutes while she runs her fingers over all of the equipment, an expression of awe touching every corner of her face.  The in-car computer, connected directly to CPIC.  The panel on the dash with the switches for the siren and the various light bar combinations.  The controls to the left of the steering wheel which operate the flood light mounted just above the driver’s side mirror.  The center console with the scanner, and the loudspeaker, and the radio. 

This is what Nicole has been dreaming of since she was a little girl defending her best friend, Megan, from the likes of Bobby Evans and his gang.  And now here she is, sitting in her very own patrol car, a badge on her hat and a gun on her hip, and her heart is beating so strongly, pushing a tingly heat into all of her extremities, she thinks it might physically burst right out of her chest.

With a child-like grin plastered on her face, she finally pulls out into the street and heads toward the town square and the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department.  The drive takes less than ten minutes, and Nicole is pleased that the lights from the diner just down the street from the station are already casting a warm glow on the sidewalk that connects them.  She hasn’t forgotten her promise to feed Stanton and Marks – and anyone else that might be around – the next time she sees them, and she fully intends to keep it with better than just a box of day-old donuts.

A bell above the door announces her arrival, drawing the attention of a group of old men who were having a colorful argument over something one of them read in the newspaper spread open on the table between them.  Just over one of their shoulders, Nicole spots a framed photograph of exactly the same men, in exactly the same booth, and she realizes they have probably had breakfast and coffee together every day for decades, come hell or high water.

The men continue to stare at her through squinted eyes, whatever frivolous argument forgotten for the moment, and Nicole shifts her weight from one foot to the other before nodding her head slightly and tipping the brim of her hat in their direction.  They are silent for a moment more, and then one of them jabs a finger back in the direction of another one sitting directly across from him. 

“I don’t care what that blasted paper says, Leroy!  I’m tellin’ ya.  Ethel’s hip had the ache all week.  It’s gonna rain in the next three days!”  The others all jump in, each arguing their opinions over the others, and Nicole has to bite her lip not to chuckle out loud.

“What can I get ya, hon?” a muffled voice coming from somewhere behind the counter draws Nicole’s attention away from the bickering men, and she turns just as a plump woman with a rosy, round face, easily in her seventies, comes waddling out of the kitchen.  Before she can answer, the woman speaks again, pushing strands of her snowy white hair off of her forehead.  “Oh, sorry Officer, didn’t realize…” she trails off, a look of confusion spreading across her gentle face.  “Well, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around here,” she finishes with a warm smile.

Nicole steps up to the counter, taking off her hat and fidgeting with it in her hands.  “Yes, ma’am.  I’m the new rookie.  Today is my first day,” she smiles, dropping her hat on the yellowing formica surface and sticking out her hand.  “I’m Officer Haught,” she says, feeling a rush of pride at the way it sounds when she introduces herself.

The woman chuckles and shakes her hand politely.  “Oh now, honey, there’s no need for ma’am around here.  If you’re workin’ for Nedley, I’m sure we’ll be seein’ plenty of each other.  I’m Mama Lou, and this is my place,” she says with a wide grin as she gestures her arms around the establishment.

“Nicole,” she answers, her smile broadening as she drops her hands to rest on her duty belt.

“That’s more like it,” Mama Lou nods and points to one of the stools in front of the counter.  “Make yourself comfortable.  What can I get for ya?” she asks again, repeating her earlier question.

“Actually…” Nicole starts as she climbs awkwardly onto the padded stool, still trying to acclimate herself to the extra bulk around her torso.  “As I said, it’s my first day.  And I promised a few of the officers that helped me move that I’d feed them the next time I saw them.  I was sorta hoping…” she chews on her lip for a moment, and Mama Lou nods in understanding.

“Lookin’ to make a good impression, eh?  Sounds like a solid plan, sweetie,” she beams back at Nicole, and flops a laminated menu down in front of her.  “I think I can help you out with that,” she adds with a wink, and Nicole flashes her dimples at the woman in response.

Twenty minutes later, Nicole places several bills on the counter and heads out to her squad car, backing through the front door, her hands full with a large cardboard box.  She balances the box between her knee and the back bumper while she opens the trunk, and she wedges it between the spare tire and the bag with her gear.  She has less than two blocks to drive, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to ruin the effort Mama Lou put into helping her pack the box just right.

Nicole’s shift is supposed to start at 0700 hrs, but her nerves are too jittery, and her mind is thrumming with anticipation, and her whole body is practically vibrating.  She doesn’t care if she is entire hour early, she just wants everything to begin, so she kicks open the front door of the Sheriff’s Department and she catches it with her elbow, and she shuffles through it awkwardly with her arms full of the cardboard box, and she jumps almost a foot when it closes behind her with more force than she expects. 

Jesus Christ, Nicole.  Pull yourself together. 

Luckily, no one sees any of it play out, and Nicole walks purposefully toward the break room near Ruthie’s desk, grateful that both are currently empty.

Thank god. 

Setting the box on one of the rickety chairs, Nicole starts pulling out styrofoam containers and positioning them carefully across the chipped wooden table, removing the lids and allowing the enticing aromas to overtake the smell of stale coffee, and burnt popcorn, and musty ceiling tiles.  She is just arranging a stack of paper plates and a handful of plastic forks when she hears footsteps echoing in the hallway outside.

“What the…”

Whomever it is stops abruptly, and Nicole spins around to find a middle-aged man in a uniform identical to hers standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open and his arms dangling limply at his sides. 

“Uh…good morning?” Nicole says with a sheepish grin as she scrunches her shoulders up around her neck.

The man continues to gape at her.  He is barrel-chested and stout, with broad shoulders and a thick neck, and his temples are tinged with grey, unlike the rest of his sandy blonde hair.  He quirks an eyebrow at Nicole, clearly recognizing that she is in a uniform, but having absolutely no idea who she is or what she is doing there.

“Oh, right!” Nicole exclaims, crossing the break room in two long strides and extending her hand for the second time that morning.  “I’m Off— erm…  I mean…  Nicole.  Nicole Haught.  The new rookie.  It’s my first day,” she says, hoping the blush creeping up her face isn’t too noticeable in the poor lighting.

He stares at her for another long moment and then reaches to grip her slender hand in his own thick paw, calloused and dry.  “J.T. Hicks,” he answers simply.  “You’re early.”  He drops his hand and looks at his watch, then back at Nicole, his eyebrow creeping even higher.  “Really early.  I’m still on duty for almost an hour until day shift comes in.  And what is that smell…?” he adds at the end, craning his neck in an attempt to see around Nicole’s lanky frame.

“Yeah, um… About that.”  Nicole steps to the side, and for the first time since Hicks rounded the doorway, he has a full view of the table.  His eyes go wide as saucers.  A mound of fresh biscuits sits piled in one of the containers, and on either side of it are two large cartons filled to the brim with thick white gravy dotted with large chunks of sausage.  Another container holds a heaping portion of fresh hashbrowns, glistening with grease and sending wisps of steam into the air surrounding them.  A final box-lid is sitting on the other side, filled with an assortment of pastries, some leaking various fruit fillings from the ends and others smothered in a crusty white glaze.  Lined up against the wall are three large glass jugs, one containing orange juice, another holding milk, and the third has fresh coffee.

Nicole shifts her weight a few times when Hicks still hasn’t said anything, and she takes off her hat, turning it nervously in her hands.  “I owe Stanton and Marks breakfast after they helped me move into my apartment the other day.  Thought I’d bring enough for everyone.”

This time when Nicole shrugs, it is a little less sheepish and a little more casually confident. 

Hicks can’t contain himself any longer and an enormous grin cracks his grizzled face.  “I think you’re gonna do just fine, Haught!” he proclaims, clapping her roughly on the shoulder.

I sure as hell hope so.

Chapter Text

Nicole doesn’t think she’s ever signed her name this many consecutive times in her entire life.  She’s been filling out form after form after form for the past hour, and her eyes are starting to cross.  With each one she finishes, Ruthie whisks it away and replaces it with another as she chatters on about insurance, and emergency contacts, and membership in the Canadian Police Association.  Nicole knows things like this are part of getting her new job, but her excessive energy is making it difficult to sit still in her chair, and her leg is bouncing like a jackhammer.

Thankfully the end is finally in sight, and Nicole finds herself being ushered to Nedley’s office.  She doesn’t have a chance to sit down before he is out from behind his desk, beckoning her to follow him.  They move around the station from room to room and Nicole is given security codes to memorize and told where the physical keys are kept.  She is shown the holding cells, and the new records room, and eventually they end up on the executive floor of the adjoining Municipal Building.  Nedley knocks on the door, receives a grunt in return, and opens the it, waiting for Nicole to enter.

She does so and sees that they are in a large office decorated as though it is some sort of hunting cabin.  Stuffed trophy heads adorn the walls and shelves, and Nicole doesn’t miss the crystal bourbon and brandy snifters situated on a polished cabinet in the corner.  A balding man dressed in a grey western-style suit, complete with cowboy boots and a bolo tie, steps out from behind an enormous desk.

“Sheriff,” he says, walking over toward them.  “What is it?”

“Time to swear in the new rookie,” Nedley answers, tilting his head toward Nicole, who is hanging on to the buckle of her duty belt with a death grip.  “Judge Cryderman, I’d like you to meet Officer Nicole Haught.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”  Nicole snaps to a parade rest stance and reaches her hand forward.

Cryderman rolls his eyes as he shakes it – why are his palms so sweaty? – and looks over at Nedley.  “Let’s get this over with.”  He spins on his heel and walks back to his desk.

The Sheriff gives Nicole what she thinks is an apologetic shrug and gestures for her to follow the judge.  He yanks open a filing cabinet, curses a few times, then withdraws another form and slaps it down on a nearby table.  “Do you remember the words, or do you need the card?” he asks, turning back around to face them.

“I know the words, sir,” she answers, standing up just the slightest bit straighter.  Nedley’s moustache twitches, but he says nothing.

“Alright.  Raise your right hand and get on with it, then.”  He pours himself two fingers of bourbon.  It’s not even 0900 hrs.

Nicole does as she’s told and begins to recite the oath and affirmation. 

“I, Nicole Haught, do hereby solemnly swear that I will be loyal to Her Majesty the Queen and to Canada, and that I will uphold the Constitution of Canada, and that I will, to the best of my ability, preserve the peace, prevent offenses, and discharge my other duties as a Police Officer with the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department faithfully, impartially, and according to the law.  So help me God.”

Nedley’s eyes twinkle and he claps her on the shoulder as she takes a deep breath when she is finished.  Judge Cryderman just nods and hands her a pen, pointing to one of the lines on the piece of paper.  Nicole scrawls her signature much more carefully than she had for Ruthie, and then the Sheriff signs directly beneath it.

The judge adds his personal seal and scribbles across the top of it, saying “Welcome to Purgatory” as the officers make their way back to the door.

Nicole thinks he makes it sound more like a curse than a greeting.

The Sheriff himself is riding with her for the remainder of her ten hour shift because it is her first day, and she has been the recipient of the talk for the past three hours while he is giving her the tour of the town and all of its surrounding jurisdiction.  But Nicole doesn’t mind, because she is driving around in a cop car, and they stopped to take a disturbance complaint – which involved a cow walking through the yards of three residences, tearing up two flower beds, a small picket fence, and a bird feeder, but Nicole got to write an ordinance violation and she even managed to keep a straight face while doing so – and she has used the radio three times already. 

In fact, she is getting ready to use it a fourth, because Sheriff Nedley has just told her it’s time for them to call 10-7 for their lunch break.

Nicole is about to stop in front of the station when Nedley signals for her to keep going.  “There’s an important establishment down at the other end of Main St. that you’re gonna want to get to know.”  She glances over, waiting for him to elaborate, but he never does, so she just drives until he finally tells her to pull over.  She parks and looks around, and that’s when Nedley jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating a place behind them.

“’Bout time you met Shorty,” Nedley tells her, like she is supposed to know what that means, and he lumbers out of the car slowly, meandering back across the street.  Nicole scrunches her face in confusion for a moment, but then she’s clambering out of the driver seat and trotting after him, still looking around for some kind of restaurant. 

That’s when she realizes he is heading straight for a bar.

Or not a bar, really.  More of a saloon.  An honest to god, old-western-style saloon.  The only thing missing is the set of slatted wooden panels swinging iconically on their hinges.  In their place stands a pair of heavy wooden doors, worn by time and the weather and their fair share of rough handling by drunken cowboys. 

Nedley yanks one of them open by its tarnished brass handle, and Nicole hesitates for a moment because they are on duty, and it is noon, on a Monday, and they are walking into a goddamn saloon, but he stands there with an impatient look on his face and finally says, “Well, come on already, Haught.  That breakfast of yours wore off about two hours ago.”  So she shuffles past him into the dimly lit bar and breathes a bit easier when she finds that it is relatively deserted at this moment in time.

Nedley heads straight for the counter and settles heavily onto the wooden stool, seeming like he’s done it a thousand times before, and turns to the middle-aged man approaching from the other end of the bar.  “Shorty,” he says in a simple greeting with a nod of his head.

“Sheriff,” Shorty nods in return.  “The usual?” he asks.

“Yep,” Nedley answers, dropping his hat on the bar next to him, and Shorty moves down the counter for a minute, yelling something inaudible through a door that presumably leads to the kitchen.  Nicole is relieved when he returns carrying not a bottle and a shot glass, but a pot of coffee and a large mug with a western-style sheriff’s star bracketed by the words “Wyatt Earp.” 

She watches as Nedley lifts partially off his stool and leans forward with a grunt, grabbing the container with the multi-colored pouches of sweetener from behind the bar before dropping back on his seat with a huff.  Shorty looks amused but says nothing, and the Sheriff snaps a couple of sugar packets between his fingers before ripping them open at the top.

Shorty’s eyes slide past Nedley for a moment and then back to his face with a questioning glance.  “Oh, right,” Nedley quits stirring, clanking the spoon loudly against the rim of the ceramic mug.  “Shorty, I’d like ya to meet my new rookie.”  He turns to gesture over his shoulder, but then realizes Nicole is still lingering at the bottom of the stairs by the entrance, hat in hand, looking around the room with wide eyes.  “Puppies…” he mutters, and Shorty chuckles. Nedley gestures a bit more conspicuously, and Nicole’s attention darts back to the bar, blushing when she realizes both men are staring at her.

“This is Officer Nicole Haught,” the Sheriff announces, and she dips her head at the other man as she shuffles over to stand next to Nedley.  “Haught… this,” he waves his hand dramatically, “is Shorty.”

Nicole places her Stetson carefully next to Nedley’s on the counter and sticks her hand out in greeting.  “Nice to meet you, sir,” she says, all formal tone and straight posture and no-nonsense demeanor.  Shorty guffaws, clearly amused at being called sir, but he shakes her hand just the same and is impressed by her firm and confident grip.

“The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am,” Shorty returns, still laughing, but his eyes are warm, and his face is gentle, and Nicole can’t help but smile back at him.

“Christ, Haught,” Nedley snaps.  “You just gonna stand around all day?” 

She turns back to face him, panic spreading through her body as her mind races to grasp the memory of something she must have forgotten to do.  Radio in?  No…we called 10-7.  She feels the cruiser keys digging into her leg from where they rest in her pocket.  Nope…didn’t forget to lock the car.  She flounders for a moment longer before the Sheriff’s deep laugh cuts her off, and her eyes focus on him again. 

“You might as well get comfortable,” he chokes out, gesturing at the stool next to him while he swallows down his laughter.  “Our burgers will be up any minute.”

“Bur… Burgers, sir?” Nicole splutters, her brow furrowing in a comical fashion.

“Yes.  Burgers,” he answers, pointing at the stool again.  “Why did you think I was bringing you to a bar at noon?” he chortles again, and Nicole stammers for a second, then busies herself with climbing onto the stool without tripping like an idiot so he won’t notice the blush staining her cheeks.

Shorty is still chuckling, but he takes pity on the poor rookie and slaps his heavy palm down on the polished counter in front of her.  She jerks her head up, but finds him looking at her kindly, and she starts shaking her head at her own antics, a slight grin tugging at her lips. 

“What can I get ya to drink, Officer Haught?  Coffee?”

Nicole almost says yes, but thinks about how much caffeine she’s already had today, and how her nerves have been in overdrive since she woke up, and how the excitement has been making her jittery all morning behind the wheel.  She shakes her head at him and thinks for a moment.  “How about…  Do you happen to have any lemonade?” she asks hopefully, deciding that if the answer is no, she will just settle for water.

“As a matter of fact, we do,” he grins.  “I thought it would be a waste, but Waverly insisted,” he adds with a shrug.  Nedley nods with a knowing smile, as if that is the most perfectly logical answer he has ever heard, and Nicole just raises a confused eyebrow, but Shorty is already shuffling over to the refrigerator behind the bar and pulling out a pitcher and a frosted glass.  “Enjoy,” he says cheerfully as he sets the glass on a disposable pub coaster sporting the Big Rock rooster and slides it across the counter to her.  When Nicole takes a sip and the tangy sweetness hits her tongue, she thinks it might be the best goddamn lemonade she’s ever tasted.

Nedley explains that Shorty’s is the only “respectable” – he uses air quotes as he says it, and Shorty pretends to be wounded – drinking establishment in Purgatory, and while it is usually reasonably tame, there are times when it can get out of hand.  Especially during rodeo season.  Or football season.  Or hockey season.  Or Bubba-slept-with-Junior’s-girl-and-Junior-found-out-about-it season.  Needless to say, Nicole will be answering plenty of calls at Shorty’s, so she might as well get used to being there.

A few minutes later, a short woman with tight, salt-and-pepper curls bustles out of the kitchen, two paper-lined baskets in her hands, scooting past Shorty without giving him a second glance.  He shakes his head and laughs, then wanders off toward the other end of the bar and chats with another customer.  Nedley’s eyes light up, and Nicole isn’t entirely certain if it’s at the sight of the woman or the food.  “Always nice to see ya, Gus,” he says, nodding his head at her.

“Stayin’ outta trouble, Sheriff?” Gus asks, placing the baskets down in front of the two officers, and dropping her hands to her hips.

“Best as I can in a place like Purgatory,” he shrugs, and Nicole thinks she sees the smile on Gus’s face falter just the tiniest bit, but before she can comment on it, Nedley is jerking his thumb in her direction while he drags his basket closer.  “This is Nicole Haught.  My new rookie.”

Gus smiles at her and then narrows her eyes at the Sheriff.  “Hope you take better care of this one than you did the last one,” she says mysteriously, and Nicole’s eyes widen as she inhales sharply, her hand freezing in midair where she was reaching to offer it to the other woman.  But then Gus winks at her, and Nedley snorts, and Nicole’s shoulders sag when she huffs out a stuttered laugh. 

Gus shakes her head, and her eyes dance with mirth as she leans toward Nicole in a conspiratorial manner and stage-whispers, “Don’t worry, kid.  It’ll end up bein’ you that takes care of this one.”  Nedley snorts again, already biting into his burger, and Nicole’s broad grin is genuine this time, her dimples showing as Gus pats her on the hand when she reaches for her own basket.

“How’s Curtis?” Nedley asks when his mouth is empty again, and Gus leans against the bar, rolling her eyes dramatically. 

“He’s off on another one of his treasure hunts,” she says with exasperation, but Nicole can see the affection clearly painting her features, and she is still smiling around her mouthful of food as she listens.  “Got himself really worked up about this one.  Said somethin’ about finding an important piece before he ran out of time,” Gus continues, waving her hand in the air.  “Like some junky antique is just gonna up and walk away after a hundred years.”  She rolls her eyes again, but chuckles when she says it and Nedley just shakes his head in mock sympathy before shoving the burger back in his mouth.

Gus grabs the nearby pitcher and refills Nicole’s glass of lemonade, then politely excuses herself and shuffles back toward the kitchen, leaving the officers to finish their lunch.  It doesn’t take long, and soon after, Nedley is paying their tab – he insists, even after Nicole protests – and they are saying their farewells before heading outside to call 10-8 – back into service.  Nicole has just opened the door to her patrol car when she hears a commotion and looks back toward Shorty’s.

A blur of red and blue and hair and legs and…abs? has just collided with a patron leaving the saloon, knocking piles of something all over the sidewalk.  The whirlwind finally stills, and Nicole can see it is a girl – a beautiful girl – who is apologizing profusely to the man she ran into.  He waves her off and stoops to help her pick up her things, and she is babbling to him about something while she scoops up a few of the items herself.

Who is that?  Nicole wonders as she goes a little slack-jawed. 

“Waverly Earp.”  Nicole visibly jumps, startled by Nedley’s answer. 

Shit.  Did I just ask that out loud?  What the fuck, Nicole… 

“Town sweetheart,” he continues, apparently not noticing her reaction, his arm propped against the roof of the cruiser.  She knows she should look at him while he is talking to her, but her brain isn’t responding, and her body isn’t cooperating, because her eyes have just landed on the strip of midriff exposed between the crop top and the short shorts.  “It’s a miracle she turned out as well as she did, considering her wreck of a family.” 

His tone is darker as he climbs into the car, still muttering to himself, and she almost misses it because Waverly has just smiled and waved at the man who is now walking off, and Nicole is thinking this is what it must be like to look directly into the sun.

Waverly turns and walks right into Shorty’s.  Nicole turns and walks right into the open door of her squad car.

Well, shit.

Chapter Text

Nicole’s heart is racing and sweat is pouring from her brow, running over her flushed face, and trickling down her neck.  Her mind is flooded with the rush of the euphoria washing over her, and she closes her eyes as she continues to push out deep, ragged breaths, her chest heaving with the effort.  She thinks it seems like forever since she has felt this good.

It hasn’t been, of course.  She’s exaggerating and she knows it.  But this is the first time she’s had a chance to visit the gym since she arrived in Purgatory on Thursday, and if she’s allowing herself to exaggerate things, Nicole thinks she could marry the treadmill she’s currently sharing intimate feelings with.

Breaking Benjamin is blaring in her ear buds, and she feels like her heart is matching the frenzied rhythm beat for beat.  Nicole has always had a wide range of tastes when it comes to music, committing a surprising array of lyrics to memory, and she prides herself on the ability to pull an appropriate line from an appropriate verse seemingly out of thin air at the drop of a hat for any kind of situation that presents itself.  It’s an impressive party trick, and it’s earned her a phone number hastily scribbled across the back of her hand on more than one occasion.

But Nicole knows there’s nothing quite like hard rock, and post-grunge, and alternative metal when she’s working out.  She lets the strong beats, and the aggressive guitar riffs, and the heavily layered vocals motivate her in a way that smooth love songs or peppy pop tunes simply can’t. 

When her blood is pounding, and her lungs are burning, and her muscles are screaming at her but she keeps pushing just a little bit harder.  Pulls herself up on the bar just one more time.  Powers through just one more set of reps.  Makes her feet pound out just one more kilometer. 

Nicole lives her life with the same drive and determination as the music, and it reminds her always of who she is. 

The song fades out before shuffling on to the next one, and she opens her eyes to check her progress. 

She never gets that far. 

Instead, she stumbles and nearly goes sprawling backward off the treadmill.  A familiar whirlwind has just blown right past her in bright pink yoga pants and a low-slung white cut-off shirt that is hanging off one of her shoulders past the strap of her matching pink sports bra, a yoga mat tucked up under one of her arms and a bottle of water gripped in her other hand.

Waverly Earp.

Nicole manages to catch her balance and hop her feet up off of the sides of the running surface just in time to keep from crashing and burning, and her fingers blindly search for the button to slow the speed of the rotating strip of rubber before she breaks her neck.  Her eyes haven’t left Waverly’s retreating figure, and she watches as she scurries into the nearby classroom where the instructor is already setting up for the next class, calling out a greeting as she enters. 

Waverly Earp, she thinks again, and suddenly forgets how to breathe.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nicole. 

She finally tears her eyes away when Waverly is out of sight around the corner of the classroom door.  Yesterday, she had walked into the door of her squad car – producing a rather impressive bruise on her knee – and tonight she was almost thrown backward off the treadmill like some Saturday morning cartoon. 

This isn’t Nicole. 

Nicole is bold.  Nicole is self-assured.  Nicole is confident.  Nicole is not someone that forgets how to function in the presence of a pretty girl that she has never even met.

Besides.  Nicole doesn’t have time for things like pretty girls.  Beautiful girls.  Gorgeous girls.  She’s been in Purgatory for less than a week.  She has a grand total of two shifts under belt – which she is getting much more accustomed to now, thank you very much.  She is the new girl, in the new place, with a new job, and a new life.  She has no intention of getting tangled up in something that might sink her before she ever really even gets a chance to float. 

But then Waverly Actual-Ray-of-Sunshine Earp walks past the open door again, and Nicole has to take a gulp of her water because, although she has been running for over an hour, this is the first time her throat has been so dry she can’t even manage to swallow.

Nicole knows her focus is blown for the rest of the evening, and with a sigh of resignation, she wipes her face and neck off with her towel before shoving it in her gym bag with the bottle of water.  Time to head home and grab a shower. 

Probably a cold one. 

Rolling her eyes at herself, she slings the bag over her shoulder and heads for the door while digging out her keys.

She gets the cold shower much sooner than she planned.  It is pouring.  Huge drops that carry far more chill than one would expect in the wake of the warm August day. 

Perfect. 

Nicole dashes for her truck, but she is soaked clean through by the time she crosses the small parking lot.  Flinging her bag in ahead of her and slamming the door closed behind her, she leans her head back against the seat and watches the rain slide over the window in smooth, glassy sheets for a moment before bringing the old Chevy to life. 

A stray thought flits through her mind as she pulls away and heads for home.

Ethel’s hip was right.

“Oh, you’re one of those.”

“Sorry?” Nicole’s brow is furrowed with confusion as she looks at the woman seated behind the counter in front of her.  A familiar dread pulls at the edges of her chest. 

Fuck.

“A groupie.  An Earper,” the librarian clarifies with a dismissive wave of her hand, disdain thick in her voice.

Wait, what? 

Nicole hesitates, taking a moment to process just exactly what it is she is being accused of.  Okay, that’s not where I thought this was going.  “Sorry…?” she says again, and the woman rolls her eyes.  Let’s try this one more time.  “My name is Nicole, ma’am.  Nicole Haught.”  She sticks out her hand, as she has become accustomed to doing so often in the last month.  “I’m an officer with the Sheriff’s Department.”  The woman is still staring at her.  “I live here?”  She tries, giving what she hopes is a charming smile.

The scowl on the librarian’s face doesn’t soften, but she does eventually give Nicole’s hand a single, curt shake.  “Mrs. Brizzard,” she replies tersely.  “Why on earth would an upstanding citizen like you wish to waste their time on those god-forsaken Earps?”  She says “you” with the same seething tone that she uses on the word “Earps,” and it makes Nicole clench her jaw behind the façade of her charming smile.

She’s been hearing this kind of talk about the Earp family – “those crazy Earps” or “best to steer clear of the Earps” or “the only thing an Earp is good for is trouble” – for weeks now, and it has garnered the same reaction from her every time.  She’s not even sure why, really.  She still hasn’t even met any of them. 

One in particular. 

She pushes the thought from her head while she tries to remain patient with the unnecessarily rude woman.

In the month that she’s been here, Nicole has found Purgatory to be a mostly friendly place.  There’s no avoiding the typical awkwardness that comes with being an outsider in a small town, but for the most part, the townsfolk have been at least polite and civil, and a few of them – Mama Lou, Shorty, even Nedley in his own way – have been downright welcoming.

But there have also been a fair share of citizens like Mrs. Brizzard here.  Stubborn.  Rankled.  Uncooperative.  Peggy from the east side, who measures her neighbor’s grass with a ruler every day, and calls the station if it’s not to her liking.  Gerald from the edge of town, who calls in the license plate of every. single. car. he doesn’t recognize that drives by his property.  Bruce, the less-than-functioning alcoholic who earned frequent-flyer status because he calls in with false reports every time he feels bored, only to throw his empty beer cans at the officers when they show up. 

And there was also the banty rooster from just last week.  Nicole, Hicks, Gomez, and Murphy had been called to a disturbance at the Wilson farm.  It turned out to be a typical barn party, but that rodeo kid and a bunch of his buddies had crashed it, and were picking fights with everyone else.  The four officers had gotten everything broken up without having to make any arrests, but just as he was supposed to be leaving, the kid had turned back for one last go.  Nicole had cut him off before he could take two steps, but he was of the mind that no woman was any kind of obstacle to be concerned with.

One smoothly executed wrist lock later, and Nicole had marched him back over to his friends.  He yelped and struggled, which only made it worse, so instead he pretended like he was actually dragging her over to them so they could hit on her.  They laughed and clapped him on the back and strutted out of the barn like they owned the place before piling into his big black pickup and peeling out.  Shitheads.

And now she is standing here with a woman who clearly views her as a trespasser.  In the public library.  But Nicole is known for having a level head, so she keeps the charming smile plastered on her face.  “I’ve been here for a just over a month, ma’am.  I figured it’s high time I learn a little about the history of Purgatory.”  She slides her hands casually into the back pockets of her jeans.  “And it seems like to do that, I’m also gonna have to learn about Wyatt Earp’s legacy,” she says with a small shrug. 

And it might also be hard to impress a certain girl whose last name happens to be Earp if I don’t know anything about her famous ancestor.  There’s also that.

Mrs. Brizzard gives another disapproving sigh, but apparently realizes her new customer is too determined for her to discourage, so she pulls the pencil out from behind her ear and scribbles a few notes on a post-it and shoves it at Nicole.  “Follow that aisle all the way to the back,” she says, pointing to the corner farthest from the door.  “There’s an entire section on our founders, and our cowboys, and that Earp.”  There it is again.  With that, she turns back to a pile of books stacked next to a three-ring binder and starts checking things off with her pencil, clearly done with the conversation.

Nicole bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from huffing out something she would regret later, and turns instead to look for the titles on her post-it.  Thirty minutes later, she has a respectable selection of books, and journals, and old newspapers spread in front of her on a reading desk near the center of the library. 

The chair isn’t particularly comfortable, and it takes her several different tries to find a position she can tolerate, but she doesn’t really mind, as she finds she is actually looking forward to this endeavor.  She even brought one of the notepads she normally carries in the pocket of her uniform shirt so she can take notes to study later.  Nicole is nothing if not thorough.

She has no idea how long she’s been engrossed in her research, all hunched over a particularly interesting historical account of the O.K. Corral with her face screwed up in concentration, when Nicole’s brain suddenly registers the distinct scent of cinnamon.  Wincing at the crick that has formed in her neck, she glances up trying to locate the origin of the pleasant aroma. 

She almost knocks over her stack of books.

Waverly Earp.

Waverly Earp has just bounced up to the service desk, her arms laden with heavy research volumes.  She’s all cowboy boots, and bare legs, and denim skirt, and cropped shirt, and flowing hair, and –ENOUGH, Nicole.  She hefts the thick books onto the counter, having to push up on her toes in order to do so, which causes her already short top to ride up and expose a fraction of skin along her waist.  Nicole splutters, and tries to cover it up with a coughing fit, allowing her coppery locks to spill down like a curtain around her face and keep her hidden. 

Nice one, idiot.

Mrs. Brizzard looks up at the loud thud and purses her lips when she slides the stack of books to the side and sees who is standing behind them at her desk.  Her lips remain thin as she gives a condescending smile to the brunette, but Waverly seems unfazed by it, returning the greeting with a mega-watt smile and an enthusiastic wave. 

“How to Blind a Mere Mortal,” a novel by Waverly Earp.

Still hiding behind her hair and a conveniently placed stack of books, Nicole is enthralled.

The librarian sighs dramatically and points to another small pile of old books pushed all the way to the corner of the long desk.  Waverly skips – she actually skips – to the end of the counter and scoops them up.  “Thanks, Mrs. Brizzard!” she says cheerily.  “I’ll have them back soon!”  She turns and hurries out of the library, humming something quietly to herself, the smell of cinnamon still lingering in the air behind her.

She sounds like an angel.

Nicole watches her with a dorky smile on her face and hearts in her eyes.  The trance is eventually broken when Mrs. Brizzard catches her eye and gives her an extremely reproachful glare.  Nicole clears her throat and drops her head to hide her blush, busying herself with straightening the reading materials in front of her.

Inhaling the fading hints of cinnamon while sitting there in the musty old library, she comes to a decision.  Time to grow a pair, Nicole.    She’s seen Waverly at the gym every Tuesday night for the last month since that first time when she had scurried past in a rush to make it to her yoga class on time. Nicole decides that this Tuesday will be different.  This Tuesday she is actually going to talk to Waverly Earp.  She taps her pen nervously against her notepad and swallows thickly.

How do you talk to an angel?

How did I end up like this?

Nicole’s lanky frame slouches awkwardly on the padded stool, allowing her to lean forward against the counter so she can cradle her forehead in one of her palms.  She uses the knuckles of her other hand to massage her throbbing temple, and immediately regrets it.  Her hands are stiff, and sore, and her knuckles are slightly bruised, balking at even the light pressure she is subjecting them to.

By spending two straight hours waylaying the heavy bag last night, dumbass.

Oh, right.  It’s no wonder she can barely lift her arms today.  Dumb.  Ass.  Nicole tries to tell herself it wasn’t entirely her fault.  Yes it is.  That her disappointment had just gotten away from her.  That is not even a thing.  So what if she had been looking forward to last night ever since Saturday morning in the library?  You’re so hopeless.  So what if she had barely made it through her shift yesterday without fucking anything up because the anticipation was consuming her?  You did fuck something up. Nicole rolls her eyes at herself.  She did have to fill out that incident report twice because she used the wrong fucking form the first time.  But it wasn’t that big of a deal.  Fair enough.

Then her shift had mercifully ended, and Nicole had rushed home to get ready for her weekly Tuesday night ritual.  The time had come.  It was the night she was finally going to say hello to Waverly Earp.  She’d arrived at the gym a little earlier than usual, but she didn’t care.  She found a treadmill facing the door and started her run. 

And she ran. 

And ran. 

And ran. 

She ran fifteen kilometers, and Waverly had not yet appeared.  It was thirty minutes after the yoga class had started.  Waverly had never been that late before. 

Nicole ran ten more kilometers.  The class was over.  Still no Waverly.

The realization that Waverly wasn’t coming had deflated Nicole faster than her favorite basketball the time she had pried a nail out from one of its seams.  She’d felt the sudden need to hit something.  Hard.  She wrapped her hands up, ripping the tape with her teeth a bit more forcefully than was necessary before shoving the roll back in her bag.  Once her hands were crammed into her orange and black Rival Ultras, she’d laid into the heavy bag without even so much as a warm-up.  Letting the harsh, aggressive sounds of Bullet for My Valentine drown out her disappointment – she wasn’t angry… just frustrated – she had continued to land jabs and hooks until the muscles in her arms felt like Jell-O.

Nicole let her forehead rest against the cool tiles of her shower long enough that the scalding water running over her shoulders and back had turned frigid.  She had climbed into bed, expecting to pass out from exhaustion, but there had been no such luck.  Instead, she got lost in an endless loop of questions.  Why hadn’t Waverly gone to her yoga class?  Had something happened?  Was she okay?  Why am I so worried about it?  I don’t even know her.  And then back again to the one that worried her the most. 

Was she okay?

“You look like death warmed over, hon.”

Nicole’s eyes snap open, pulling her out of her musings, and she struggles to focus on the face in front of her.  Mama Lou is sliding a paper bag containing her sandwich across the countertop.  Nicole just groans in response and Mama Lou chuckles.

“Rough night?” she asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“UGH,” Nicole grunts dramatically.  “Just…didn’t sleep well.  Can I also get a refill for my travel mug?” she asks pitifully, wiggling the empty container in the air with a sigh.

Mama Lou laughs again and takes the mug over to the back counter where she fills it with coffee from the freshly brewed pot.  Nicole slides heavily from her stool and digs in her pocket for her cash.  Mama Lou places the coffee next to the paper bag and gently pats Nicole’s other hand.

“On the house, dear.”

Nicole’s head jerks up and she immediately starts shaking it.  “No, Mama Lou.  I couldn’t.” She winces as her bruised fingers twist in the confined space of the pocket of her khakis, but then they close around the folded up bills and she wriggles them free successfully.

“Nonsense,” Mama Lou gives her a warm smile.  “Consider it payment for rescuing that poor kitten from the dumpster out back last week.”

“Wasn’t the kitten the payment for rescuing the kitten?”  Nicole laughs, and a genuine grin is starting to settle on her weary face.

“Perhaps,” Mama Lou winks.  “But I’m still grateful the little fella has a home now.  How’s he doing? Does he have a name yet?”

“Yeah, about that.  Turns out he is actually a she.”  Nicole smiles softly at the memory of waking up the following morning to find the kitten curled up in a tiny ball inside her Stetson.  It had apparently knocked the hat off the dresser during the night and was fast asleep in the bowl, purring steadily.  “Her name is Calamity Jane.”

Mama Lou throws her head back and laughs boisterously.  “Oh, that’s perfect!” she says and Nicole’s dimples are showing, some of the worry from last night and the exhaustion from this morning finally starting to ease out of her.  She tries once more to lay the money on the counter, but Mama Lou isn’t having any of it.  “I mean it, hon.  This one’s my treat,” she pats Nicole’s hand again.

“But…” is all she can get out before Mama Lou cuts her off.

“Sweetie, if one turkey melt and a coffee refill are gonna break me, I might as well close the doors to this joint right now.”  Nicole is picking up her Stetson and dropping it back on her head, and Mama Lou gives her a stern look before grinning at the officer and shooing her toward the door.  “Now get on outta here and let your afternoon be better than your morning has been.”

With her brown paper bag in one hand and her travel mug in the other, Nicole pauses at the door to dip her head in an effort to tip her hat the best she can with her hands full.  “Thanks, Mama Lou,” she says, her voice a bit softer, layered with genuine gratitude.  And she means it. 

Stepping out into the warm sun, Nicole is truly grateful to the mothering woman who had managed to cheer her up, and is reminded of something her grandmother used to say.  “Worry is like a rocking horse, Hawk.  It’s just something to do that won’t get you anywhere.”  She takes a deep breath of the fresh September air and walks back toward the station, determined to stop worrying, and a better mood begins to wrap itself around her tired, aching body.

It lasts for exactly three minutes and forty-seven seconds.

Chapter Text

Ruthie is glaring at her. 

Not just side-eyeing her.  Not just giving her a reproachful look. 

She is glaring.

Nicole doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care that she’d stormed into the Sheriff’s Department so forcefully that the glass door had rattled against the brick wall.  She doesn’t care that when she hurled the brown paper bag into the metal garbage can – untouched turkey melt and all – it had slammed sideways against the counter and almost toppled to the tile floor when it bounced back.  She doesn’t care that when she yanked the chair back from her desk, she had knocked over the framed picture of her sister’s family with a loud clatter.

She doesn’t care.

Except that it’s an outright lie.  The whole goddamn problem is that Nicole does care.  She shouldn’t.  She knows she shouldn’t.  She doesn’t have any right to.  But there’s no refuting it now.  It’s obvious.  Nicole Haught absolutely, undeniably, 100% cares.

Glad to see you’ve returned from your scenic river cruise in Egypt.

Nicole had thrown herself into her chair had dropped her head onto her desk, the irrational bitterness morphing into something else that had dangled like a lead sinker from her heart and settled into the pit of her stomach.  Not even ten minutes before, she had been walking out of Mama Lou’s, determined to have a better afternoon.  She had convinced herself that there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation why Waverly had missed her class.  If something bad had happened, she would have read about the incident report in the patrol log at the beginning of her shift that morning.  Maybe she had been busy.  Or too tired.  Or working.  Or out of town.  Things would be fine and Nicole would see her next week.

Or maybe she would see her in three minutes. 

Maybe she would come bursting out of Shorty’s.  In that glorious crop-top.  Alongside some other woman.  A brunette.  Leggy.  Leather jacket.  Kind of badass.  Nicole had watched them interacting as she continued to walk back toward the station.  They definitely knew each other.  There was a distinct familiarity between them.  An easy banter.  A playful smack on the arm.  And then, forty-seven seconds later, Waverly Earp had been hugging the mystery badass in the middle of the street.  Not a casual, friendly hug.  She had wrapped her arms around the taller woman’s neck and was holding her close.

Son of a bitch.

Nicole had never been so glad to reach the front door of the Sheriff’s Department in her life.  Wrenching it open, and storming inside, and…  well…  there were plenty of reasons Ruthie had glared at her.

She finally raises her head from her desk and slumps back into her chair.

Is glaring.  Ruthie is still glaring.

“Wow,” Stanton breaks the silence from where he has been observing with wide eyes, his feet propped up on his desk, a Tupperware container of meatloaf balancing across his midsection.  Nicole narrows her eyes at him.  “Didn’t know you were such a Haught-head,” he deadpans, trying to break the tension with a bit of levity.

It works.  Because before he can even raise his fork in defense, a rubber band has ricocheted off of his forehead with a loud pop and landed in the container, sticking to the sauce smothered all over his lunch.

Nicole turns back to her desk and picks up the picture of her niece and nephew tucked into Greg and Hayley’s arms that she had knocked over during her tantrum.  She sees her reflection in the glass, her face still red, and chides herself for her childish behavior.  Nice one, jackass.  Now your co-workers think you’re a two-year-old who just got told ‘no.’ Well done.  She sets the frame down carefully and suddenly regrets flinging her sandwich in the trash.  Genius.

“What’s up, Haught?” Stanton asks.  He’s dropped his feet from his desk and is now leaning forward to fish the rubber band out of his meatloaf.  “Do I need to punch someone for ya?”

She sighs at him.  “No.”  He quirks an are-you-sure? eyebrow at her.  “No, it’s just…” It’s just that I am jealous that the girl I’m hopelessly crushing on – that I don’t even know yet – was just hugging some badass beauty in the middle of the street.  No big deal. “…nothing.”

Before he can press her any further, they are interrupted by a ruddy-faced Nedley storming in from the break room, waving his hat around.  He’s been in a terrible mood since he returned from an early morning call to an animal attack in the woods, muttering something about a “dick.”  Nicole thinks it looks like his mood has only gotten worse.  Just what I need right now.  “Look alive, you two,” he snaps, jabbing his hat in their direction.  “I can guarantee you we’re gonna have our hands full with that goddamn Earp girl.”

“Sir?”  It comes out sharper than she means for it to, something flaring dangerously in her chest.  She may be… angry? jealous? disappointed? – stupid? her brain supplies – at Waverly Earp, but she sure as hell isn’t ready to hear someone talk about her like that.

“Been in town for a single morning, and I’ve already gotten a report of two shots fired above Shorty’s.  I’d bet my hat she was behind it,” Nedley practically spits.

Does not compute.

Nicole has never seen him so full of venom, and she is struggling to reconcile the things he has just said with the only Earp she knows anything about.  “S-Sir…?” she stutters it this time, utterly perplexed.

“Wynonna goddamn Earp,” is the only clarification he gives.

“She came back?” Stanton asks with an incredulous look on his face.

“Gus said she showed up at the funeral.  God knows why.”  Nedley shakes his head in disgust.

Nicole feels like she is the only person in the room that doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, and it is frustrating as hell.  Since it’s obvious she isn’t going to get anything more out of the Sheriff without making herself look like an ass, her eyes slide over to Stanton, burning with silent questions.

He catches her eye and recognizes the confusion immediately.  “Waverly’s sister.  The oldes—“ he seems to catch himself and then continues,  “—older Earp.  Bad news.  The worst kind.”

Sister.

The brunette badass beauty hugging Waverly Earp in the middle of the street…was her sister.

You are such a fucking idiot, Nicole.

“Officer Haught?”

Nicole is leaning back with her arms folded across her chest, one of her ankles crossed over the other, and a frown tugging down at the corners of her mouth.  Her duty belt is slightly askew thanks to her weight pressing against the awkward positioning of the high countertop and it’s causing her gun to dig uncomfortably into her thigh, but she doesn’t notice as she stares out the window with a furrowed brow.

She’s angry with herself.  Angry for getting angry.  Nicole is known for her steady calmness and her level head.  She has always taken pride in that fact.  Well… not always, and you know it.  The creases on her forehead deepen as she blows out a slow breath and thinks about that for a moment.  Someone is calling out her name again, but she is oblivious, caught up in a memory.

“I missed you!” Megan squealed, throwing her arms around Nicole and hugging her tight.  “So much has happened since last summer!”

“There can’t be that much,” Nicole laughed.  “We talked on the phone every month,” she said, hugging her best friend back before releasing her and bumping her shoulder playfully.

“Well…” Megan started, and Nicole almost swore she could see a faint blush rising on the other girl’s cheeks, but it could have just been the sweltering heat.  Megan hesitated a moment and then smiled brightly again.  “Well, I missed you anyway,” she finally said, poking out her tongue with a giggle.

“Okay, okay!” Nicole laughed again, holding up her hands.  “I guess I missed you, too.”  Megan swatted her across the arm and Nicole grabbed her hand and started dragging her away from the porch.  The girls fell into stride easily, and soon they were approaching the enormous walnut tree at the edge of Megan’s property. 

When they were little, they had spent hours upon hours playing in the old tire swing that hung from one of the sturdy branches.  Now that they were too old for such things – if you could call the ripe old age of thirteen “too old” – they liked to enjoy the shade of the huge tree while they straddled the wooden fence, or climbed up and lounged among the leaves, or just sprawled out at the base between the gnarled roots.

Megan leaned against the trunk and watched as Nicole took a running leap at the old swing, grabbing the rope up high and landing with her feet atop the tire, all in one smooth motion.  She stood tall, striking a ridiculous pose, and while one hand gripped the rope tightly, her other saluted Megan before she started rocking back and forth, making the tire begin to swing.

“Such a daredevil,” Megan snorted and flopped down, pulling her sweaty hair out of her face.  She absentmindedly plucked blades of grass and rolled them in her fingers before flicking them at the tree while she watched Nicole continue to show off.  After a while, she finally broke the easy silence.

“Hey, Nic?” she called, quietly, fidgeting with a stick she’d picked up.  Nicole now had one of her feet inside the tire, the other one swinging wildly in tandem with her free arm, causing it to start spinning in circles.  Megan jabbed the stick into the ground, digging a small hole.  “Nicole?” she said louder, having gotten no response the first time.

“What?!” Nicole answered dramatically.  “Geez, I’m right here.  No need to shout!” she joked, but Megan didn’t laugh.  Nicole stopped her flailing, and watched her friend intently as the swinging motion of the rope started to die down.  “What is it, Meg?” she eventually asked, a bit more serious.

“I…” Megan continued digging the hole with her stick, and after a deep breath, brought her eyes up to meet Nicole’s.  “I need to tell you something.”  She seemed nervous, and Nicole was getting worried.

Nicole’s palms were sweating, and it had nothing to do with the humidity.  She wiped them on her cargo shorts and then dropped down from the swing, moving to kneel next to Megan.  “Okay,” she said softly and swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.  “You know you can tell me anything.”  She hesitated for a moment and then reached down to take the other girl’s hand in her own.

“It’s just…  I don’t want you to be mad, Nic.”  Megan didn’t pull her hand away from Nicole, but she also made no move to return the grasp. 

“Why would I be mad?” Nicole looked at her with confusion.  She was still squatting in front of Megan, and was just about to move her other hand to cover their already joined ones, but she never got the chance.

“What are you doing all the way down here?” a voice called from behind them, and Megan jerked her hand away from Nicole’s, standing up quickly and brushing the loose blades of grass from out of her lap.  The sudden movement knocked Nicole off balance and she fell over backwards onto her ass.

The owner of the voice chose this moment to come into view, and suddenly Nicole’s ears were echoing with the sound of laughter.  She pushed herself awkwardly to her feet, using the trunk for support, and then spun around on her heel only to find herself face to face with Bobby Evans.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nicole seethed, her muscles tense and her hands curling into tight fists around the small, rough objects they were still holding from when she stood up.

“Nicole!” Megan cut in, looking back and forth between her friend and Bobby.  “Calm down,” she tried, laying a hand on Nicole’s shoulder, but the taller girl jerked away from her without breaking her glare at the bully.

Bobby’s lip curled up into a sneer.  Something glinted in his eyes for a moment, and then he stepped around Nicole and grabbed Megan’s hand.  “Come on.  Let’s get out of here,” he said smugly and started leading her back toward the house.

“Let her go, asshole!” Nicole shouted, and without thinking, she drew her arm back and flung it forward.  A walnut hurtled through the air and cracked Bobby square in the back of the head.

He cried out and wheeled around with fire in his eyes, but Megan moved in front of him before he could take a step.  “Jesus Christ, Nicole!  What are you doing?” she demanded, and it caught Nicole completely off guard.

“W-what?” Nicole stammered.  “He can’t bully you like that!” she yelled, jabbing her finger toward Bobby, her other hand still clenched in a fist.  “You’d think he would’ve learned by now, but I’ll keep teaching him if I have to,” she threatened through a clenched jaw.  Just last year, she had broken his nose for calling her a weed.  She had no problems doing it again.

“Nicole…” Megan said with a wince.  “He’s not bullying me.”  She reached down and took his hand again.  “He’s my boyfriend.  I was trying to tell you.”

“Your… boyfriend?” Nicole parroted, her voice trembling.  “Megan, he picked on you all the time.  He stole all of your toys when we were kids.  Then your lunch.  And your money.  He beat you up!  How many times have I had to kick his ass for you?” Her whole body was trembling now, not just her voice.

“Well, he doesn’t anymore,” Megan answered, and Nicole could see Bobby smirking at her from over her friend’s shoulder.

Something inside her snapped, and before any of them knew what was happening, Nicole was surging forward, shoving Bobby into the dirt.  She drew her arm back to hit him in the face, but her elbow accidentally slammed into Megan’s hip, who stumbled sideways.  Nicole turned, apologies falling out of her mouth, but Megan only shoved her backward so that she was now on the ground, too.

“Dammit, Nicole!  You’re ruining everything!” Megan yelled, her face now red and her eyes sharp with anger.  She reached a hand out to help Bobby to his feet, and together they stormed off toward the house.  As Nicole sat there with her mind reeling, Bobby looked back over his shoulder, mouthing the word “weed” with a wicked grin.

Nicole ran all the way back to the ranch without slowing down.  Her lungs burned and the sweat pouring from her brow trickled down her face and mixed with the hot tears that blurred her vision and painted her red cheeks.  She didn’t even bother going in the house, instead flinging herself roughly into the old porch swing by the back door.  There were so many emotions clouding her mind that she couldn’t think straight, and her body betrayed her as it curled in on itself, wracked with heavy sobs.

She had no idea how long she had been curled up on the swing, but eventually the tension began to ebb, the sobs slowly dissolving into hiccupping sniffles, and Nicole rubbed the last of the tears from her puffy eyes.  She felt drained and heavy, like if she jumped from the rope swing by the docks at the swimming hole, she might sink to the bottom and never rise again.

But as her body stilled, the chaos in her mind raged ever stronger.  What had just happened?  Why had she felt so angry?  She had fought with Bobby plenty of times before, but never unless he had started something first.  Why had this time been different? 

Nicole thought back to when she had been kneeling in front of Megan.  When her heart had hammered against her ribs while she waited for her best friend to make a secret confession.  When she had reached forward and taken her hand.  They’d held hands a million times before.  Why had she felt like her skin was on fire when she had taken it that time?  Why did it feel like she had been waiting – hoping – for certain words to be whispered?  And why in the hell couldn’t she figure out now what those words might have been?

“This seat taken, Li’l Darlin’?”

Nicole jumped, causing the swing to shudder beneath her, jerking on its squeaky chains.  She looked up to find her grandfather leaning against the railing a few feet away from her.  She was still in a bit of a daze, but she pulled her legs up under her, leaning heavily against the armrest to make room for him to sit.

He eased into the swing and began to rock it back and forth gently, his legs long enough to allow his feet to remain planted firmly on the wooden planks of the porch.  Nicole’s body shuddered with an involuntary sigh, and he patted her gently on the knee.  “Ya wanna talk about it?” he asked, moving his arm up to drape it across the back of the seat.

Nicole remained silent for a long while, but eventually turned her blotchy face to look at him.  He was watching her intently, but made no move to press her.  “I got in a fight today,” she finally mumbled, and he simply nodded, waiting for her to continue when she was ready.

And then, before she could stop herself, it all came tumbling out.  How she had wanted to protect Megan from the boy that had always been a bully.  How she had been so confused when Megan had stopped her.  How badly it had hurt when Megan had chosen Bobby over her.  Nicole’s eyes stung as they brimmed with tears once more, and her grandfather let his arm fall from the back of the swing to wrap around her shoulders and pull her close to him in a tight hug.

She buried her face in the fabric of his soft flannel shirt and inhaled the scent of his musky cologne.  His whiskery chin was scratchy against her forehead, but Nicole didn’t care because she felt safe and grounded in his strong arms.  He didn’t rush her, and she allowed herself to regain her composure before she pulled back and looked up at him again.

“That temper of yours, Li’l Darlin’.  It’s gonna make a fool outta ya, if ya let it.”  He said it softly, in the way he had that made him sound like an old wise man.  It wasn’t what Nicole was expecting him to say, but if she was being completely honest, she couldn’t disagree.

“I didn’t mean to, Grandaddy.  It just happened.  I just got so angry.”  Her eyes fell to her lap where her hands were fidgeting with the flap on the cargo pocket of her jean shorts.

“I know ya’ve always stood up for yourself, Li’l Darlin’.  And for those that ya care about.”  He reached out and nudged her chin up so that she was looking him in the eye.  “You’re a protector, and I’ve always been proud of ya for it.”  He was smiling gently, but his face was still serious.  “But ya can’t protect outta anger, Li’l Darlin’.  It has to be outta love.” 

Nicole could feel heat rising in her face, but she didn’t know if it was because of the temperature, her guilt, or something else.  He dropped his chin slightly but held her gaze, as though he was looking at her over the top of a pair of glasses.  “If ya let people make ya angry, Nicole, ya give ‘em control over ya.  Ain’t nobody deserves to have control over ya, but yourself.”

Nicole didn’t say anything, but her eyebrows knitted together slightly as she concentrated on the words he’d said.  She didn’t like the idea that she had let Bobby – or Megan, for that matter – have any power over her.  She didn’t like it one bit.  She chewed her lip as she thought about it, and decided she definitely didn’t want something like that to happen ever again. 

She knew she would have her work cut out for her – Grandaddy was right… she certainly had a temper.  He always said she was fiery, and it wasn’t only because of her flaming red hair. – but when she glanced back up and saw how proud he looked at seeing her come to a realization, she knew it would be worth it.

Nicole leaned in and hugged her grandfather one more time, and then slumped back against the armrest.  The shift in weight made the swing sway sideways, and she giggled before he straightened it back out by rocking it with his long legs again.  He watched her for a moment and then raised an eyebrow slightly.  “You sure there ain’t nothin’ else botherin’ ya, Li’l Darlin’?” he asked with a twinkle in his bright eyes.

Nicole spluttered for a moment as her mind flitted back over the confusing questions that had been swirling through it not so long ago.  She brought her hand to her mouth and tried to cover up the panic with a sudden coughing fit.  He only watched her quietly, an almost imperceptible twitch ghosting across his lips.

“N-no, Grandaddy,” she finally stuttered, eyes wide.  “I’m good.”  She managed a nervous smile.

He quirked his eyebrow a little higher, but then he grinned.  “Well, alright then, Li’l Darlin’.  Let’s go find that rhubarb pie Grandmama baked today before she gets a chance to hide it.”

Nicole beamed at him and then leapt from the swing with newfound energy.  “Last one in takes the blame!” she called as she dashed past him, squealing when he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her back so he could dart ahead of her.

“You’re on!” he challenged, elbowing his way through the door.

The screen door slammed behind them and the farmhouse echoed with the sounds of laughter, the tension of the day melting away with the setting sun.

Nicole blinks a couple of times, wincing at the sun spot currently floating across her vision as a result of the glare from the mirror on the car parked just outside the window.  How long have I been zoning out?  She squeezes her eyes closed and pinches the bridge of her nose with her stiff fingers.  She had allowed her temper to flare for the first time in ages, and regardless of the fact that it had only lasted for about fifteen minutes, she feels the same heaviness in its wake that she had all those years ago.

“Officer Haught?”

Nicole hears the exasperation in the voice that is calling her name and wonders how many times she hasn’t heard it.  She jerks when she feels someone tapping on her shoulder and opens her eyes just in time to see a teenage boy leaping back with a startled expression.  Thanks to her athletic reflexes, she is able to catch his arm and steady him before he tumbles over the nearby chair.

“I’m so sorry, Danny!” Nicole quickly apologizes as she lets go of him, sure now that he has his footing.  “I just haven’t been myself today,” she adds with a sigh.  He gives her a curt nod, and she thinks she hears him mutter something that sounds an awful lot like “no shit” as he turns back toward the other counter, but she lets it go and follows him in silence.  She hands him a couple of bills and tells him to keep the change before picking up the cardboard carrier and the white paper sack with the ridiculous logo on the front. 

Nedley had handled the shots fired call from the bar at lunch time, returning not long after when Shorty had insisted it was only a “misunderstanding,” and Nicole had spent most of the afternoon filling out the paperwork for all of the traffic violations she had written that morning when she had been in such a foul mood.  She’s grateful there’s only an hour left on her shift because she is dragging ass so badly she’s leaving tracks behind her. 

It’s been a long goddamn day, and Danny isn’t the only one Nicole needs to apologize to.

She pushes the glass door open with her hip and shoulders through it, trying not to tip the carton in her hand.  The sun is bright in the late afternoon sky and Nicole squints against it, the ache behind her eyes still nagging.  The Municipal Building is literally just around the corner and she quickens her pace, ready to get the next bit of groveling over with.

Just as she rounds the corner, Nicole stops dead in her tracks.  The apology will have to wait.

Waverly Earp is across the intersection helping a woman in a grey sweater whose cane seems to be stuck in the storm drain.  She is no longer wearing her Shorty’s outfit, instead dressed in an equally short black shirt covered in flowers and a denim mini-skirt, but it doesn’t stop her from stooping down to wrench the cane free from where the rubber tip is caught in the metal grate.

Nicole’s heart flutters and she is dumbstruck as she watches Waverly chat with the citizen, all animated face and gesticulating arms and bubbly laughter.  The woman’s face is lit up as if she hasn’t had that much conversation in days.  Waverly pats her gently on the shoulder, gesturing to the other side of the road, and the woman nods a little sheepishly.  Waverly answers with a warm smile and holds her arm out, allowing the woman to grasp her elbow firmly before she helps her step down from the curb.

Waverly Earp is helping this woman to cross the street.  How can she even be real?

When they reach the other side, Waverly says something else to the woman and then gives her a hug before watching her carry on down the sidewalk for a moment.  She is still smiling when she heads back across the road and climbs into her red Jeep, buckling up before she speeds away in the other direction.  Nicole suddenly realizes she’s been staring this whole time and spins quickly on her heel, narrowly avoiding a collision with a nearby parking meter.

Okay.  So you’re mad about her, not mad at her.  So what?

She walks the final distance to the front door of the station, and is relieved to see that Ruthie is not at her desk when she enters.  Nicole strides forward quietly and glances around, then rings the bell on Ruthie’s desk and steps back quickly.  She hears someone shuffling closer from the direction of the break room, but she doesn’t see them because she is holding the white paper sack up at eye level.

Nicole hopes that Ruthie will be happier to see the green cup covered in cactus needles, wearing spurs, swinging a rope with a lassoed donut that is on the front of the sack than she would be to see the officer’s face hidden behind it, so she stands there and waits for her to say something.  The seconds tick by and Nicole starts to worry that someone else had come out of the break room, but then she grins when she hears the older woman’s voice.

“You think you can buy me off with a treat from E-Spurs-O’s, young lady?” Ruthie scolds.

Nicole finally moves the sack from in front of her face and grins sheepishly at the dispatcher, scrunching her shoulders up around her neck.  “Thought it might be a step in the right direction, ma’am.”

Ruthie scoffs at the usage of ma’am – they’ve been over this before – but she doesn’t take her eyes off the package from the coffee shop.  It’s only when Nicole is dangling it back down by her side that she notices her other hand is wrapped around a cardboard drink carrier.  She glances back up and fights a grin.  “Perhaps we can consider it a deposit.”

“I’m sorry about earlier, Ruthie.” Nicole is speaking more softly now.  “I don’t know what got into me.”  Liar.  You were jealous – and possibly angry – at a girl you’ve only ever seen at the gym, and in the library, and hugging multiple people in the street.  “It won’t happen again,” she says as she places the offering on the desk.

Ruthie gives her a stern look and says nothing, but eventually nods before unrolling the top of the paper sack.  Her eyes dance when she pulls out the blueberry muffin, the kind with the extra cinnamon & sugar crumbles on top.  Nicole grins and slides one of the paper cups out of the carrier.  “Is that a…” the dispatcher trails off as she points and Nicole answers with a nod.

“Mocha?” Nicole finishes.  “It is.”

“Okay, maybe this can be a deposit and first month’s rent,” Ruthie quips as she eagerly takes the cup and inhales deeply.  She closes her eyes and takes a long sip, and Nicole swears the sound that follows is entirely inappropriate for the work place.

“Can I get you anything else?” Nicole asks sarcastically.

Ruthie is already nibbling on the muffin, and she only answers by shooing Nicole away from her desk.

“And what about me?” Stanton asks from his desk as Nicole drags herself into the bullpen.  “You did bounce a rubber band off my forehead and into my lunch…”  He smirks at her and chuckles when she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she retorts.  “You did deserve it, after all.  ‘Haught-head’?  Really?  That’s the best you got?”  He’s laughing now, but Nicole stops at his desk nonetheless, setting a paper cup down on the edge.  “Some of that rotgut Columbian roast you love so much,” she says and he makes grabby hands at her like a child as she slides it across the desk to him.

Finally reaching her own desk, Nicole eases gently into her chair and tosses the empty drink carrier in the trash after she extracts the remaining clear plastic cup.  With as frayed as her nerves are this afternoon, she had decided against coffee for herself.  She pulls the straw out of the wrapper and drops it in the strawberry, banana, and orange juice smoothie and takes a long pull, careful not to give herself brain-freeze.

Nicole spends the final hour of her shift pretending to do more paperwork while the events of the day keep playing over and over in her head like a video on a repeat loop.  She’s still upset that she had let her temper get away from her, but she’s more focused on the embarrassment of the why now.  Her intentions for the gym last night had fallen through, due to what she now knew was a death in the family.  But after the rollercoaster of emotions she had gone through today, Nicole decides there is only one way she is going to get past this. 

She’s a big girl and she can take the answer either way – she thinks… hopes – but she needs to know one way or the other if she stands even a snowball’s chance in hell with Waverly Earp.

By the time she makes it home, Nicole is practically dead on her feet.  She goes through the motions of feeding Calamity Jane, taking a shower, and eating some leftover pasta without even bothering to warm it up.  She skips settling in on the couch, choosing instead to crawl into bed and turn on the small TV.  She flicks it over to the Blue Jays game and lets it play in the background, but her thoughts are on other things.  Nicole has the next two days off, and while she has never been one to sit around idly, she knows she needs some time to recuperate after getting no sleep last night and then getting sent through the emotional wringer today.

A plan starts to form itself in her head as she stares through the baseball game, completely unaware of the actual score.  She doesn’t know Waverly’s schedule by any means.  Nicole has only been back to Shorty’s a couple of times since her first day, and Waverly was never working when she was there.  But she does know that Waverly works on Saturdays.  She’s seen the red Jeep parked outside every time she’s had Saturday patrols.  That’s the next day Nicole is working, and she decides right then that she will make it in to Shorty’s at some point during the day, come hell or high water.

You’ve got two days to prepare.  She’s too tired to even feel nervous about it right now.  You can do this, Hawk, she thinks as her consciousness starts to slip away from her.

She closes her eyes and she dreams of Waverly Earp.

Chapter Text

“Hello.  I’m Officer Haught.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

For fuck’s sake.  Get the stick out of your ass.

“Hey, I’m Nicole.  What’s up?”

Talk about going to the other extreme…

“You must be Waverly.  From the yoga class, right?  I’ve seen you at the gym.”

Yes.  A creepy stalker.  Every girl’s dream.

“Are you a parking ticket?  Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Nicole.  Cheesy cop pick-up lines?  Are you fucking serious?

Nicole drops her head into her hands and groans loudly, causing Calamity Jane to scurry under the bed.  She rubs her eyes, then drags her fingertips down her cheeks, stretching her face out of proportion as she looks back up at the mirror in front of her.

“You used to be smooth,” she says to her reflection.  “What the hell happened to you?”

Waverly Earp.  Waverly Earp happened.

…True.

She slumps heavily against her closet door, absentmindedly turning the business card she’s been practicing with over in her hands, her fingers running along the edges and flicking at the corners while she’s lost in thought.  Nicole has always been a confident person.  Confident in the way she carries herself.  Confident in what she believes is right.  Confident in how to deal with someone who threatens her or someone she cares about.  Confident in her athletic abilities.  Confident in her convictions. 

Confident with girls.

Nicole remembers the last time she had been this flustered over a girl.  Fifteen.  Her first real crush after finally figuring out what her feelings meant.  All shy and blushing and awkward flirting.  She hadn’t really known what to do next, but thankfully the ranch foreman’s daughter did.  Nicole had her first kiss with a girl down by the swimming hole and it was all clumsy and sloppy and full of giggles, but it was so much better than the ones Ryan had given her after the dance, and it had made her feel like she could fly.

The rest of the summer had been filled with lingering glances and stolen touches and sneaking off to the stables for a chance to literally roll in the hay.  Valerie was a year older, and though they never actually went all the way, Nicole had most definitely learned a few things during their heated make-out sessions.  Needless to say, by the end of the summer, the confidence and swagger that was ever-present in the rest of her life had also found its way into her love life.

Nicole has certainly never been a player.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  She is patient, and kind, and chivalrous – almost to a fault at some times – always treating girls the way her grandfather had treated her grandmother.  But there is no denying she has game. 

Or, at least she used to. 

Because now she finds herself standing in her bedroom, introducing herself to the mirror over and over again, complete with props.  And she feels fifteen again.

What have you done to me, Waverly Earp?

“Got a 10-54.  Report of a horse on the loose out by the Yates farm,” Ruthie’s voice crackles through the radio.

Super.

Nicole reaches for the mic in her center console as she starts to turn the car around.  “Haught responding.”

“10-4, Haught.  Go get ‘em, cowgirl.”

The radio clicks and goes silent, but Nicole is almost certain she heard snickering in the background just before it cut out.

Fantastic.

She finds the horse a lot sooner than she expects to.  It is quite a ways from the Yates farm, trotting right down the middle of the road.  That’s…odd.  Nicole shrugs it off and pulls the cruiser over alongside the ditch, trying to avoid spooking the animal as she gets out of the car.

The horse slows to a stop directly in front of Nicole and stares at her for a few moments.  Odd, she thinks again.  She reaches out to pat the side of its neck and it nuzzles against her shoulder.  Such a beautiful animal.  Nicole hasn’t had a chance to ride a horse in almost a year and a half.  What could it hurt?

With the grace of an old pro, Nicole places her hands across the shoulders of the animal, hoists herself upward, and swings her long leg across its back.  She settles in immediately and carefully threads her hands into its silky mane, turning it around and directing it back toward its home.  That was…easy.

They set off at a slow pace at first, but after a short while, Nicole gets a bit more daring and nudges the horse’s sides with her heels, causing it to break into a quick trot.  Just as she considers urging it to go faster, she sees someone standing on the side of the road, leaning heavily against one of the fence posts.

Nicole leans forward and gently tugs on the mane to bring the horse up short.  An elderly woman is clinging to the post, apparently unable to move.

“Ethel?” Nicole questions, a bit confused.  “What are you doing out here?”

“It’s my hip!” Ethel cries out.  “It’s got the ache!  I can’t get home!”

“It’s gonna rain again?” is the first thing that tumbles out of Nicole’s mouth, her face all scrunched up.  But then she reaches out her hand, gesturing for Ethel to take it.  “I can give you a ride.”

Ethel squints at her for a minute and then lunges forward to take hold of Nicole’s arm, who easily pulls the woman up to sit behind her.  They take off again, and before Nicole can stop herself, she kicks them into a canter.

The woman starts by gripping tightly at Nicole’s waist, but suddenly she has reached up and is pawing at her face.  She covers Nicole’s eyes as she makes strange noises in her ear.  Then she is poking and prodding at her cheeks.  Then back to covering her eyes.

“Meow.”

What the ever-loving fuck?  Did Ethel just ‘meow’ at me?

More poking of the cheeks.

“MEOW.”

Nicole’s eyes fly open, and she sees green ones staring back at her from mere inches away.  Her body jerks from the shock and she bolts upright, lucky that the paw prodding at her face doesn’t leave a nasty scratch in its wake when Calamity Jane darts off the bed with a hiss.

What.  The.  Shit.  Just.  Happened?!

Her heart is still racing from being startled awake and Nicole runs her hands over her face a few times to try and calm herself.  CJ doesn’t usually wake her up like this, and to say it’s a shock to the system would be an understatement.

Nicole glances at the clock and rolls her eyes.  Just after 1000 hrs.  No wonder the cat is agitated.  She usually gets fed four hours earlier than this.  She rolls out of bed slowly with a grumble.  Her alarm will be going off in less than thirty minutes anyway so she shuts it off and pads into the kitchen.

Goddamn swing shift… 

But then she remembers why she is actually happy about it.  This will be her first shift as a real cop – she knows she’s already a real cop, but she still can’t help thinking about it that way in her own mind – and she doesn’t even care that it is the shitty swing shift no one likes.  No more probation.  No more Field Training Officer.  She’s no longer required to be accompanied by another officer to every call.  There are always incidents that might require her to call for back-up after she arrives, and there are some types of calls you never answer alone.  But for the run-of-the mill complaints so common in small towns, Nicole is now officially allowed to respond on her own.

CJ is still pissed, emitting warning noises from the back of the couch, but the moment Nicole opens the container with the food, she hops down and starts rubbing against her ankles.  “Yeah, yeah,” Nicole says, reaching down to scratch behind CJ’s ears.  “I see how it is.”

After turning on the coffee pot, Nicole heads to the bathroom and sets about her normal routine.  Shower, uniform, braiding of the hair, coffee and a sandwich, checking the news, duty belt.  She actively tries not to think about what day it is, and she succeeds for a while, but when she is making sure she has her notepad in her left shirt pocket, she feels the weight of the business cards in her right pocket.

It’s Saturday.  Waverly Earp day.

She has to be at the station for her shift at noon, but Nicole intends to drop by Shorty’s the first chance she gets after she’s out on the road.  Partly because she hopes it won’t be too busy yet, and partly so it’s before she can talk herself out of it.  She grabs her hat, stops at the lockbox for her service weapon, and locks the front door behind her.

Not two minutes later, Nicole is rushing back into her apartment, heading straight for the bedroom and grabbing the business card off of the dresser where she had left it last night.  She knows she has a whole stack of them in her pocket, but as she traces a slightly trembling finger over her name on this one, she can’t help but think it feels the slightest bit lucky.  “Can’t go leaving things to chance.  Gotta make your own luck.”  She hears Grandmama’s words bouncing around in her head, but she slides the card carefully into the front pocket of her uniform khakis just the same.

Time to go make your own luck, Hawk.

Her mouth is dry and her palms are sweaty and she can barely breathe.  Her knuckles are white and her muscles are tense and her heart is thundering.  Nicole squeezes the steering wheel of her patrol car even tighter, the vinyl making strained creaking sounds beneath her iron grasp. 

Nicole is parked across from Shorty’s, staring blankly at the heavy wooden doors.  She had stayed at the station long enough for the day shift guys to take their lunch breaks, but then she had left, volunteering to “patrol,” and now she is here. 

Right here. 

The saloon is still closed.  They are open later on Friday and Saturday nights, so they don’t serve lunch over the weekends.  But the familiar red Jeep is parked in the nearby alley, and one of the large outer doors is propped open, and she knows that Waverly Earp is inside. 

Probably alone. 

And right now Nicole can’t feel her fingers.

Shit.

She releases her death grip on the wheel and flexes her hands with a wince.  They’re clammy, and Nicole runs them along the thighs of her uniform pants a few times, trying to restore proper circulation.  She doesn’t know why she is this nervous.  It’s just talking to a pretty girl, for Christ’s sake. 

The pretty girl. 

She touches her ring, trying to draw some kind of support from it, and she can’t help but feel like there is a lot riding on this introduction, but she should be used to that kind of pressure by now.  As the captain, she had carried the weight of her basketball team on her shoulders and never cracked. 

Suddenly, she’s flooded with images of the locker room before UBC’s final championship game.  They were considered to be the underdogs, up against a much more physical team, but Nicole had stepped up and whipped her T-Birds into a frenzy that had paid off in the end.

“Tomorrow isn’t promised,” Nicole started as she paced up and down between the lockers.  “What will we give for today?  Forget everything else!”

Cries of agreement rang out from her teammates.

“Forget everything else,” she said again, her finger stabbing into the air for emphasis.  “Forget that there will be sunlight left tomorrow.  How will we spend today?”  She looked around, but didn’t wait for a reply.  “Thinking about what could be?  About ourselves?”  She paused for a moment.  “Or about our sisters that stand beside us?”  Nicole gestured her hands around the room, encompassing the entire team.  “Will you give everything in your heart for them?”

Shouts of “Yes!” punctuated by claps and whistles filled the charged air around them.

“We get one opportunity in life.  Once chance.  To do whatever we’re going to do.”  Nicole was still pacing, her hands emphasizing her words.  “To lay our foundation and to make whatever mark we’re going to make.  Whatever legacy we are going to leave behind.”

More shouts.

“And it’s all about effort.  Wins and losses are a dime a dozen.  But effort…  nobody can judge our effort.”  Nicole’s voice was full of intensity, and so were all of the eyes plastered on her.

“So that team,” she pointed in the direction of the other locker room and was met with a chorus of grumbles.  “They think they’re ready for us.  They’re ready for what they’ve seen on the film.”  Nicole stopped pacing and stepped up onto one of the benches.  “But they have no idea what the film doesn’t show!”

Nicole’s voice was straining to be heard over the cacophony around her.

“Because every day is a new day.  Every moment is a new moment.”  She pounded her fist into her other hand dramatically.  “And we are going to go out there and show them that we are different creatures than we were last month.  Last week.  Five minutes ago!”  Her arms flailed wildly around her.

“We are hungry!” Nicole yelled hoarsely, and her teammates yelled it right along with her.  “Hungry for greatness!  We don’t worry about taking breaks, and we won’t settle for being mediocre!”

The locker room echoed with the sounds of whoops and hollers.

“So let’s go out there tonight and show them.  Show them that they don’t know the meaning of the word ‘ready.’  It’s now or never, Thunderbirds!  Time to do what we do!!”

Full on cheers erupted around Nicole, and she found herself being hoisted off the bench onto the shoulders of two of her teammates.  They exited the locker room to chants of “Thunderbirds! Thunderbirds!  Thunderbirds!”

Nicole is standing at the threshold of the outer entrance to Shorty’s, somehow managing to exit her car and cross the street in her daze.  She can see through the inner doorway that the lights are on over the bar, and she can hear the muffled tones of a song playing on the jukebox.  Straightening her hat, wiping her palms on her khakis again, and taking one last deep, steadying breath, she steps forward into the darkness of the small entryway.

It’s now or never, Hawk.  Time to do what you do.

However much Nicole has been anticipating this moment – practicing dialogue, running scenarios through her head, praying she can keep her swagger in place for just a few short minutes – no amount of rehearsing could have prepared her for this.  Stepping out of the darkened entryway, her eyes quickly adjust to the soft lighting of the bar, and there she is. 

Waverly Earp.  All bare arms, and tanned skin, and wavy hair.  Swaying gently to the soft reggae beats that fill the room.  Completely absorbed in her current task.

Nicole barely has time to process what she’s seeing before her heart leaps into her throat and she damn near chokes on it.  Because the tap Waverly has been cleaning chooses that exact moment to malfunction, spraying her with a shower of Big Rock Traditional Ale.  Her tank top is now clinging to her every curve – and Jesus, they are curves – and her chest is glistening with droplets of the amber liquid. 

Yep.  I could really go for a beer right now.

“Jesus Chr–  Jesus!  Ugh.  Perfect.”

The sound of Waverly’s frustrated voice cuts through Nicole’s temporary coma, and she manages to pick her jaw up off the floor and lean against the door frame in a manner which she hopes looks casual, Stetson in her hands.

Better not let her catch you standing here gawking at her.  You’re already a borderline stalker.

Before Waverly can look up from where she has dropped her hands against the bar with a dramatic roll of her eyes, Nicole finally manages to find her voice.  “I didn’t know Shorty’s had wet t-shirt competitions.”

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

Did.

You.

Just.

Say?????

You’ve been working up to this moment for a month now, and you choose to sound like a fucking frat boy when you finally open your goddamn mouth? 

Leave, Nicole.  Just turn around and walk out the door.

But Waverly’s head snaps up at the sound of the other woman’s voice, her mouth falling open with a sharp gasp, and it’s too late for a hasty escape.  Nicole can’t tell if the reaction is just from surprise, or… is it…  fear?

She’s staring at you, Hawk.  Say something, you idiot.

“You okay?” Nicole tries to keep her voice light.  Why would she be afraid?

Waverly seems to relax a little when she realizes it’s a cop standing in her doorway and she reaches for the rag she had been using before the accident.  She tries to dry herself with it, but the material is already saturated and only makes things worse.

“Uh…” Waverly mutters as she tosses the rag back on the counter with a wet slap.  “Yeah.  I, uh…” She turns and grabs another white towel from a stack of clean ones a little farther down the bar.  “Just a bit jumpy,” she says turning to look at Nicole, who has moved down the stairs, hat still in hand.  Why is she so nervous?  Nicole gives her a reassuring smile.  “Had a…” Waverly hesitates as she starts to pat herself down with the towel, and then a smile falls into place.  Nicole immediately notices it is not as free and easy as the ones she is used to witnessing – albeit from afar.  “A crazy night,” Waverly finishes.

“Sorry I wasn’t here to see it,” Nicole says as Waverly looks up at her when she reaches the bar.

Nicole places her Stetson on the counter and leans forward against it, her weight resting on her hands.  This is the closest she’s ever been to Waverly, and she worries that the pulse in her neck might actually be visible to the naked eye.  The faint aroma of cinnamon mixes with the scent of malted hops and makes Nicole’s head swim.

Words, Nicole.  Use your words.

“I’ve been, uh…”  One of her palms taps against the bar where it has been resting, a subconscious show of determination to press on.  “I’ve been meanin’ to introduce myself.  I’m Nicole,” she says, extending her hand, feeling a bit more confident with this sort of familiar territory.  It falters immediately when Waverly grasps her hand – her skin is so soft…  – but by some miracle, she is able to finish without stumbling.  “Nicole Haught.”

“Hi,” Waverly manages to get out, but before she can say anything else, Nicole’s enthusiasm cuts her off.

“And you are Waverly Earp.” 

Shit, Nicole!  You’re supposed to let her say that part, dumbass.  Such a creeper!  And why did you say her name the way you always say it in your head when you’re daydreaming about her?  You are su—she’s still holding my hand.  SHE’S STILL HOLDING MY HAND. 

“Yes…” Waverly confirms, a bit of confusion creeping into the smile on her face, and her voice snaps Nicole out of her internal rambling.

She starts to slide her hand out of Waverly’s and is surprised when it’s given the slightest squeeze before the other girl drops her palm loudly to the countertop. 

How do you already know her name, Hawk?  Better come up with something quick…

“Quite a popular girl around here.”  Nicole almost groans as soon as the words are out of her mouth. 

You’re a walking disaster.

Waverly forgets her efforts to pat herself dry, seemingly a bit embarrassed by the proclamation.  “Oh, you know…  It’s all in the smile and wave,” she says, demonstrating.

Nicole’s mouth is suddenly very dry.  “Yeah,” she croaks out. 

You’re damn right it is.

Waverly’s eyes abruptly drop and seem to catch notice of the buttons on Nicole’s shirt.  Since leaving the Academy and joining the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department, Nicole has taken pride in what her uniform represents, and she, therefore, has the utmost respect for its appearance. 

Except for today, apparently. 

She was so distracted when she was getting ready this morning with the knowledge that she would be meeting Waverly Earp today, she is not exactly as buttoned-up as she normally is.  And not just in the figurative sense.  Nicole realizes as it’s happening that the second button of her shirt is not fastened, and her collar is hanging open much wider than usual. 

Great.  Now she’s gonna think you’re a slob, too.

But instead, the most peculiar thing happens.  Waverly’s eyes linger for a fraction of a second longer than would constitute just a simple glance, and Nicole swears she can see the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. 

Or maybe not a slob.  Perhaps I should keep this in mind…

Waverly’s gaze flickers back up and the next thing Nicole knows, she is getting lost in hazel eyes.  She thinks the world could fall away from beneath her feet, and she would still remain tethered here, floating weightlessly in their warmth.

You’re staring, Nicole.

Nicole…  You’re staring…

HAWK!  Words, dammit!

“Can I get a cappuccino to go?”  Nicole blurts out as she eases onto the barstool she’s been leaning next to, the memory of the first time she sat there eating a burger and drinking lemonade flashing through her mind.  That was also the first day she ever saw Waverly Earp.  She mentally high-fives herself for placing an order so casually, just like any other customer.

“Ooooh, I’m…  I’m really sorry,” Waverly says, looking around and gesturing with the towel she’s still holding.  “Umm…  We’re not actually open yet, so...”

Just like any other customer. 

Except that there are no other customers.  Because it’s Saturday afternoon.  And Shorty’s isn’t open yet.  And Nicole knows that.  It’s the whole goddamn reason she came by now instead of later.  But apparently she forgot.  In the time that it took to walk from the car to the door.  From the door to the counter.  From the counter to the depths of Waverly’s eyes… 

Fucking genius.  Now what are you gonna do?

“Oh!  Right!” Nicole glances around the bar, throwing her hands up in a dramatic surrender.  “Okay, my bad.” 

Jesus Christ…  It just keeps getting worse.  Say something else.  Quick.  Like when you used to know how to talk to a girl?  Remember those days? 

“It’s just when I, uh…  when I see something I like, I don’t wanna wait.” 

Okay, that…was better.  That was… yeah.  Well done, Hawk. 

“And your door was open,” she adds, pointing over her shoulder.  “So…” 

Aaaaaand you should have shut the hell up while you were ahead.

Waverly suddenly looks like a deer caught in the headlights.  Her eyes focus on the door behind Nicole, as she nods slightly.  “Right…”  She doesn’t seem to know what to say, looking down at her beer-soaked self and the towel that is clearly not helping her situation at all.  “G-God, I’m sopping wet,” she awkwardly changes the subject.

You and me both.  Nicole can’t stop the chuckle that bubbles in her throat.  …Oh, fuck.  Jesus Christ, Nicole.  NO. No, no, no.

Waverly continues, thankfully oblivious to the fact that Nicole just tripped and fell face first into the gutter.  “You know, I keep telling Shorty that he needs to fix the darn taps, and…” she trails off and takes a moment to catch her breath.

Nicole thinks she’ll leave Shorty a larger tip than usual next time as payment for his apparent procrastination.

“Sorry, do you mind just…  uh…?” Waverly twirls a finger in the air and brings her hands up to cover her own eyes a couple of times.  “I’m gonna…”  There’s a faint blush creeping up her glistening chest and she clumsily gestures the movements of pulling her shirt up.  “So…”

Nicole’s eyes are wide and her mouth has fallen open slightly as she watches the adorable bumbling, but then she realizes Waverly is looking at her expectantly.  “Oh!” she says, bringing her own hands up to mimic the other girl covering her eyes.  She smiles and spins around on her bar stool, giving Waverly some privacy.

And herself a chance to pull her shit together.

As Nicole sits facing the front door, she instantly feels like there’s been a solar eclipse, the blaze of Waverly’s smile no longer warming her face and burning through her ability to function like a normal human being.  The thought of Waverly taking her shirt off less than five feet away makes her squeeze her eyes shut and swallow hard.

Her heart is bucking wildly against her ribs like the angry bulls at the rodeos Grandaddy used to take her to when she was little.  Nicole smiles softly as she draws the parallel.  “Courage is bein’ scared to death, but saddlin’ up anyway, Li’l Darlin’,” he used to tell her, and she imagines actually riding one of those bulls, trying desperately not to get thrown off and trampled.  She thinks that right now, in this moment, she might have an idea of what it would be like.

You’ve already opened the gate, Hawk.  Now you just need to hang on for dear life.

She spins her ring around on her finger a few times, then drags her sweaty palms over her uniform pants again, and just as she is finally starting to regulate her breathing once more, she is startled by Waverly’s distraught voice. 

“Uh…Officer?  I’m stuck, so…”

Nicole whips her head around and is greeted by the sight of Waverly in her bra – and those abs – with her arms raised awkwardly over her head, twisted in the wet shirt.  This has got to be some kind of goddamn dream.  Nicole’s eyes bulge and she chokes out a strangled “Oh!  Geez…” before she finally remembers how to move.

Waverly continues to mutter while struggling against the fabric and Nicole practically falls off of her stool trying to get around the end of the bar.  “Let me help you.  I got ya,” she says as she reaches the tangled mess that is Waverly.  Her fingers brush against cool, damp skin as she starts to carefully extract the bartender from her amusing prison, and she swears she hears Waverly gasp at the contact. 

Nicole’s stray thought from earlier keeps repeating in her head like some sort of mantra. 

Her skin is so soft.  Her skin is so soft.  Her skin is…

“Oh, god…” Waverly whines pathetically, clearly mortified by the situation.  Nicole finally manages to unsnag the button from Waverly’s hair and starts pulling the garment up and over her outstretched arms.  “Good job you’re not some guy, right?” Waverly chuckles bashfully.  “Or this would be…”

The shirt is balled up in one of Nicole’s hands and she is standing inches away from Waverly, staring at her with a grin so wide her dimples are practically splitting her face in half. 

Her skin is so soft.  Her skin is so soft.  Her skin is…

“Reeeally…”

Nicole still hasn’t moved yet. 

Her skin is so soft.  Her skin is so soft.  Her skin is…

“Really… awkward…”

Shit.  Awkward is right.  How long have you been staring at her like a dork, Nicole?  Snap out of it!

Nicole dips her head immediately, her gaze dropping to the floor momentarily before she looks back up at Waverly, concentrating extremely hard on meeting her eyes rather than letting her attention wander to the expanse of exposed skin below her neck.  Waverly has taken the shirt out of Nicole’s hand, which is now dangling limply at her side, and draws it up to her chest protectively. 

Nicole has never been one to leer at or objectify a woman.  It simply isn’t how she was raised.  She can see that Waverly clearly finds the situation embarrassing, and Nicole resolves not to make it any worse by gawking at her like a jackass.

Waverly lets out a shaky breath.  “Umm…” she stutters.  “I…  I owe you one.” 

Nicole notices Waverly hasn’t broken their eye contact yet, either.  The smaller girl reminds her of the frightened calves she used to encounter on the ranch when it was time to introduce them to the herds.  They must be handled with caution so as not to spook them, but you still have to take the lead.  You must be gentle, yet confident. 

You ought to be able to handle that, Hawk.  You’ve been doing it your entire life.

“Alright, well… How ‘bout you buy me that cup of coffee?” There you go.  “How ‘bout tonight?”  Now you’re getting it back!

“Oh, I can’t,” Waverly immediately blurts out.

“No?” Nicole answers so quietly it almost gets lost in the music.  With a pang of regret, her mind briefly flashes to the memories of Megan from all of those years ago, and she wonders if she’s managed to get herself into the same situation all over again.

But then suddenly Waverly is rambling, and it’s absolutely precious, and Nicole’s memories dissipate like a puff of warm breath into a frosty winter night. 

“No.  I mean I’d love to – li… li… like to.  Uh…  But I have plans.  Yeah.  I’m a planner.”  She laughs nervously.

Waverly isn’t offended.  She isn’t appalled.  She isn’t disgusted.  She’s flustered.  And it is the most adorable goddamn thing Nicole has ever seen. 

“Mmhmm,” she hums, nodding and running her tongue over her bottom lip, trying to rein her grin in to a level that is a bit more acceptable.

More rambling.  “Like to know what I’m doing at least two... or three days in… advance.”  Waverly can’t seem to catch her breath.  She tries to speak again, but nothing comes out.  She finally makes a sound that is more like a strangled yelp than a word. 

Nicole is trying desperately not to reach out and touch her face to still her movements. 

“I’m in a relationship.”  The words tumble out quickly, like if Waverly doesn’t say them all at once, she might chicken out.  “With a boy.”  Her eyes grow wide for a fraction of a second.  “Man,” she corrects herself, and Nicole isn’t entirely sure if it is for her benefit or for Waverly’s own.

The information sends ice through Nicole’s veins, and she tries not to let the wind rush out of her like the first time she was thrown off of her horse as a little girl, landing on her back with a jarring thud.  But she knows she has seen definite signs throughout this interaction. 

The twitch of Waverly’s lips, the flush in her cheeks, the nervous energy, the lingering eye-contact even through the awkwardness. 

“Whether it’s life or yer horse that throws ya, Li’l Darlin’, ya gotta get up and get right back on.”  Her grandfather had always picked her up, dusted her off, and lifted her up into the saddle again.

Waverly seems to be almost trembling as she fidgets with the material of the shirt she still clutches to her chest, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed.  Nicole is once again reminded of the frightened calves. 

Come on, Hawk.  Gentle, yet confident.  Don’t want to scare her away now.

“A boy-man,” Nicole repeats with a smirk and a nod.  She thinks back to Ryan, and how he had been more of a boy than a man when she’d refused to let him do anything other than kiss her after the dance.  His wounded pride had resulted in whispers beginning to float around the school, but Nicole hadn’t really cared all that much because something had finally clicked into place for her. 

Not really a rumor, per se, if it’s actually true. 

“Yep.  I’ve been there,” she chuckles lightly as she makes her way back around to the other side of the counter.  “It’s the worst,” she says in a more hushed tone, as if she and Waverly are sharing some sort of secret conspiracy.

Waverly has watched her walk all the way back to the barstool and is currently staring at Nicole with her jaw hanging open unceremoniously. 

“Okay,” Nicole gives a light-hearted shrug.  “Well…” she says grabbing her Stetson as she slides the lucky business card out of the front pocket of her pants where she had stashed it earlier in the morning.  “Some other time.” 

Nicole plops the card down on the countertop like it’s the most casual goddamn thing in the whole fucking world and turns her body toward the door.  She is still looking at Waverly over her shoulder, and Waverly is still gaping at her.

Nicole pauses momentarily, the hand holding her hat hovering in midair.  “I mean it,” she says smugly, flashing her flirtiest dimpled grin before dropping the Stetson on her head in a move like a pure-blooded cowboy from one of Grandaddy’s old westerns. 

She chances one last glance over her shoulder as she ascends the final stairs, and the awestruck smile still plastered all over Waverly’s face makes her feel like her feet aren’t even touching the ground.

Smooth as fuck, Officer Haught.  Smooth as fuck.  Turns out you do still have it.

Her hands are trembling as she touches the steering wheel this time, in stark contrast to the iron grip she’d had on it just fifteen minutes ago.  Nicole catches her own eye in the rearview mirror and sees that her entire face is flushed and she can feel her hairline prickling with sweat under the brim of her hat.  But she blows out a long, shaky breath and sees her eyes crinkle up as she realizes she’s beaming from ear to ear.   

A single thought occupies her entire mind.

Waverly Earp.

Chapter Text

“Does this mean I’m a real Sheriff now?” the little boy asks breathlessly, his chest puffed out and his fists on his hips like a superhero.

“You betcha, partner,” Nicole answers enthusiastically as she peels the silver star from its waxy, paper backing.  She sticks it just over his heart with a couple of playful thumps for emphasis.  “You’re an official honorary Sheriff of Purgatory.”

He grins proudly at her, his lips and teeth stained bright blue from the cotton candy he’d obviously finished just before her arrival, and starts to trot back over to the swings when suddenly he stops and hurries back over to where she is still kneeling.  He leans in like he has a secret only Nicole is allowed to hear and then his face goes shy as he whispers a question.  “Can I have another one of those?”

Nicole quirks her eyebrow at him and he licks his lips, his entire tongue stained blue as well.  “For my little sister,” he clarifies quickly.  “Because girls can be sheriffs, too!”  His eyes grow wide as though his sugar-fueled mind has just made an important connection.  “Just like you!”

She can’t help but giggle along with him as he puts up his hand for a high-five.  Nicole obliges, and his palm sticks to hers momentarily when she slaps them together, the melted sugar acting as a temporary adhesive.  “That’s right, partner.  They sure can!” she says as she wipes her hand along the soft grass to rid it of the tackiness before she unspools the roll of stickers and carefully tears the paper below two more of the stars. 

“Here’s an extra one.  Just in case,” she whispers with a wink and he takes them from her with a soft gasp, then dashes over to where his mother is waiting with a toddler in a stroller.  He shoves one of stickers into the pocket of his overalls, but he carefully peels the other one from the backing and gently presses right in the center of the little girl’s chest.  She squeals and claps, and he turns to give Nicole a salute.  She stands and brushes off her pants, then gives him a dramatic salute in return, followed by a friendly wave to the mother who is smiling at her as they walk away.

While community policing usually tends to get somewhat of a bad rap, Nicole can’t be bothered to give two shits about it today.  She had left Shorty’s fully under the influence of Waverly Earp, and she is still riding the high hours later. 

Even after executing the neighborhood visibility patrols she had technically volunteered to do in the first place.  Even after mundane alarm checks at the high school, and the bank circuit, and the churches.  Even after a brief run-in with Peggy, the grass-measuring diva from the east side of town.

Waverly Earp is intoxicating.

She doesn’t think there’s any other word to describe it.  Waverly Earp’s eyes are full of pure moonshine, and Nicole had gotten drunk just from shaking her hand.  So she had spent the rest of the afternoon driving around doing the boring parts of the job that no one else enjoyed doing, grinning like an idiot the entire time – her cheeks are actually starting to hurt, but she really couldn’t care any less – and then she had found herself at the park on this beautiful September day, putting in some face time with the locals because she felt like if she concentrated on it hard enough, she might actually be able to shoot rainbows out of her goddamn chest.

The adults in this town don’t always have the most pleasant opinions of Purgatory’s finest, but when Nicole had shown up with her fancy hat and her shiny police car, the children had flocked to her all wide eyes, and “oooo’s” and “aaah’s,” and excitement.  She had let them take turns sitting in the driver’s seat, honking the horn, and flashing the lights, and she even blipped the siren for them a couple of times.  Then she had raced them to the playground equipment, and pushed them on the swings, and had even taken a dare to go across the monkey bars – though she’d had to bend her knees and lock her ankles behind her just to keep from touching the ground.

The families had slowly trickled away as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, and she had given each child a sheriff’s star sticker before they left.  And as Nicole stands here waving to Connor and his mother while they shuffle off toward their mini-van, she realizes she should probably get back to the office before shift change hits for everyone else.

Alright, you precious little unicorn.  Time to get your ass back to work.

With the smell of cinnamon still tickling at her nose, the sound of melodic laughter still echoing in her ears, the feel of soft skin skill tingling on her fingertips, and the image of a radiant, awe-stricken smile still dancing across her vision, Nicole wanders back into the station still feeling like she’s floating in the clouds.  She tips her hat at Ken, the weekend dispatcher, and grabs a clipboard from behind the main counter before settling at her desk to begin marking down the completion of the patrols and security checks.

“Haught!” Nedley barks out from his office, startling Nicole so badly her pen actually jerks across the edge of the page.  She wants to be aggravated about it, but mostly she just feels the harsh beginnings of panic creeping up her spine. 

Shit.  What did I do now?  Why is Nedley even here on a Saturday?  Did I spend too long at the park?  Shit… 

“Haught!” he bellows again.  “Get in here, dammit!”

Fffffuck.

Nicole shoves to her feet and scrambles to his office, falling into a parade rest just inside the door.  “Yes, sir?”  She prays her voice isn’t trembling, and silently curses herself when she realizes she still hasn’t fixed her goddamn buttons.

Thankfully Nedley doesn’t seem to notice, obviously preoccupied with whatever has him all riled up.  “Where’ve you been today, Haught?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

Her swallow is almost audible, but she keeps her chin up.  “Visibility directive, sir.”  The answer is short and precise, and it hangs between them in the air that’s as thick with tension as Nicole’s body, still frozen at attention.

The Sheriff seems to consider this for a moment – Nicole is sure it’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity – before he answers with a simple grunt.  “Oh.”  He rubs his thick fingers over the scruffy whiskers on his chin, and the way the soft schhhk reverberates through the silence is almost deafening.   “That’s, uh…  That’s good.”  He’s nodding at her with an almost impressed look on his face.  “I like your initiative, Haught.”

Nicole’s shoulders visibly droop, the stiffness melting away from the relaxing muscles, though she still remains in the formal stance.  “Thank you, sir,” she says, resisting the urge to dip her head, meeting his eye instead.

“Goddamn feds,” he grumbles, his face hardening again when his gaze lands on a black box shoved to the corner of his desk.

What the hell?  Non-sequitur much?

“Sir…?” Nicole questions with a furrowed brow, his train of thought clearly having jumped the tracks.

“We’re apparently going to be babysitting a ‘cross-border task force.’  They’re taking over the old, empty records offices.  That government lackey thinks he’s something special because he’s with the Marshals Service.”  Nedley is sarcastically using air-quotes, but it’s obvious how pissed off he is by the way he’s flexing his jaw.

Nicole’s curiosity is immediately piqued. 

An American federal agent in Purgatory?  Is this place about to get a lot more interesting? 

“What are the Marshals doing all the way up here?” she asks before she can stop herself, realizing her mistake the moment she sees her words add fuel to the fire already burning in the Sheriff’s eyes.

“Oh, didn’t you know, Haught?  It’s classified,” he seethes. 

Way to go, Nicole.  Poke the already angry bear. 

He grabs up the black box from the corner of his desk.  “That self-entitled asshole is already having his mail delivered here.”  Nedley glares at Nicole like he expects her to be sharing the same levels of righteous indignation. 

Well, if he has an office here, where else would you like his mail to be delivered? 

She manages to shake her head a bit with what she hopes is a neutral expression, and it seems to satisfy her boss as an agreement on her part.

He pushes himself roughly out of his chair and shoves the box toward Nicole.  She barely gets her hands around from where they were clasped behind her back in time to keep the package from slamming into her gut.  “Go deliver this to Deputy Marshal Dolls,” he practically spits the name.  Then he narrows his eyes and drops his voice a few decibels.  “And see if you can catch a glimpse of anything while you’re in there.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Nicole clears her throat as she shifts her weight under Nedley’s continued glare.  She’s uncomfortable with the position he is putting her in, but she doesn’t really have much of a choice, so she tucks the package under her arm with a nod.  “Yes, sir.”

Gotta love being the rookie.

She starts to back out of the office and then turns when she reaches the doorway, heading toward the closed door across the hall.  She makes it as far as the swinging gate that separates the bullpen from the public area on the other side of the long counter before Nedley calls out after her, almost as an afterthought.  “And, Haught?”

Oh, God.  What now?

Nicole spins on her heel and stretches across the wooden barrier so she can see her boss leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed.  “Yes, sir?”

“Throw the cream out from the fridge.”

What the fuck?  Is he going for a BINGO in randomness today?

“Umm…  o-okay…?”

The questioning tone of her response is met only with the slamming of his office door, and Nicole is left standing there bewildered for a minute before she shakes herself out of it and continues across the hall, stopping briefly in the break room.  The order regarding the cream may have been a bit à propos, but she has no intentions of further aggravating Nedley’s crankiness.

She sets the box she’s carrying on the table, yanking open the refrigerator door and kneeling down in front of the shelves.  As she’s digging through the haphazard collection of Tupperware and takeout containers in search of the carton of cream, Nicole feels the cold air ghost across her neck and chest.  Her fingers reflexively go to her open collar, but as they brush against the button, the image of Waverly Earp letting her eyes linger with a twitch of her lips flashes through Nicole’s mind, and though the heat rising in her cheeks counteracts the chill in the air, she can’t help but smile just the same.

It caught her attention, Hawk.  She liked it.

Nicole lets her hand drop back to her knee without redoing the button, still smirking when she finally finds the cream and carefully extracts the carton without starting an avalanche of leftovers.  A quick glance at the date printed on the bottom tells her it has been expired for almost a week and she laughs through her nose as she tosses it in the nearby trashcan before scooping up the package and continuing over to the abandoned office with the dopey Waverly Earp smile still on her face.

Knocking twice on the door, Nicole pushes it open and pops her head around to find two people staring back at her:  Deputy Marshal Dolls and…  Oh, shit.  Wynonna Earp.  The potentially crazy sister of the woman she had just been hitting on a few hours ago.  Awesome.  Seeing both of them flusters Nicole in the moment, and she suddenly turns into a complete dork.

“Heeeyyy.  Check it out.  Another piping hot delivery from…” she trails off, only just now really looking at the box for the first time since Nedley had shoved it into her hands.  Holy shit.  “Wow.  CSIS.”  Damn.  I’ve been walking around with a package pertaining to national security.  Way to be observant, Haught.  She looks up to find the Deputy Marshal standing directly in front her, his face stony. 

“Oh.  Uh, I’m Nicole.”  Jesus Christ.  Professionalism, dumbass.  “Um, Officer Haught.”  Nicole chances a brief moment of eye contact with Wynonna and gets a slight jerk of the chin in acknowledgement.  There’s a stack of grey metallic cases against one of the cluttered walls and a litany of file boxes spread across the large table, along with an empty box of donuts and a few crumpled napkins still covered in crumbs and… sprinkles?  Really?  “Y’all gettin’ settled in alright?  What is all this stuff?”

When Nicole turns back to Dolls, his eyes are bulging, the tendons in his neck are straining, and the vein in his forehead is standing out.  What the fuck?  Rather than an answer to either of her questions, all she gets is a condescending tone.  “Nice to meet you, Officer Haught.”  She smiles warmly at him and nods.  The smile she gets in return is cold.  “If you ever enter my offices again without knocking, I’m gonna have you arrested for treason.”  He pauses for effect and then adds a patronizing, “Okay?”

Okay, this fucking jackhole…

Nicole is completely taken aback by the abrasiveness of the asshat standing in front of her.  She’s met his type before.  Cocky.  Conceited.  Arrogant.  Puffing themselves up with self-worth so they can lord it over everyone else around them.  The academy had been full of them.  One in particular.

“Like a woman could ever set the bar for a class of cadets.  You may be good with a pencil, Haught, but there’s no way you’ll beat me on the mat.”  Several snickers sounded behind Nicole in the mess line.  A heavy hand clapped down on her shoulder hard enough that she had to shift her feet to keep from stumbling forward.  “Don’t worry, honey.  I’ll make sure you enjoy it,” he added loudly, waggling his eyebrows.  The snickers morphed into cat-calls and wolf-whistles and she clenched her jaw so tightly it made her teeth ache.

Nicole looked up into the eyes of the cadet that was leering at her and allowed an icy smile to settle across her lips.  “Oh, Shane.  I doubt you’ve ever done that,” she said, her voice dripping with the level of fake sweetness found in the little pink packets shoved behind the cane sugar at the local diner. 

This time the laughter came from further up the line, and something flashed in Shane’s eyes as his lips curled into a sneer.  He opened his mouth to retaliate, but was interrupted by one of the cadets ahead of them.  “Shit, Calvert.  You need to visit the infirmary for that burn?”  He gritted his teeth, but released Nicole’s shoulder and stalked back to where his buddies were waiting several feet behind her.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and blowing it back out again slowly.  Being a female cadet came with its own unique set of challenges.  Less than 15,000 of Canada’s 70,000 sworn police officers were women, and when you were in a 20% minority, it was a hell of a motivator to bust your ass and excel. 

Nicole had anticipated a fair amount of hate from those who still held the “old boys’ club” mentality, and to be honest, she had been a little surprised that there was much less of it so far than she had expected.  She was charismatic, and smart, and filled to the brim with work ethic, and she found that she was well liked by her fellow cadets and her instructors.

Mostly.

Then there were douchebags like Shane Calvert who had more meat in their heads than brains.  Who strutted around like they owned the place and thought they had the right to decide who else deserved to be there.  Who cared more about seeing their names at the top of a list than about how they got there.

It was like Bobby Evans all over again. 

But Nicole had learned her lesson all those years ago.  Her temper was still ever-present, always swirling just beneath the surface, but she’d meant what she had promised her grandfather and she had worked every day to wrangle it into submission like the colts on the ranch.  Instead of being thrown into a blind rage by idiots like Shane and Bobby now, Nicole hit them where it hurt the most: on the leaderboards.  It made the victory so much sweeter knowing she could still hold her head high at the end of the day.

Still.  That didn’t mean that enduring their antagonistic remarks was a particularly enjoyable activity.  Nicole slumped into a chair at one of the tables on the far side of the cafeteria, picking at the food on her tray.

“Aw, don’t sweat it, Haughtstuff,” Matt said, dropping into the chair next to her.  “Calvert’s talking out of his ass.  Which conveniently sits on top of his shoulders.”  Nicole snorted and bumped his shoulder with her own before popping a fry in her mouth.

“He’s right, Nicole.”  Jennifer slid onto the bench across the table from them.  “You’ve already gotten top scores in marksmanship.  And you’re in the top 10 on the written exam.”  She started unwrapping her sandwich.

“Yeah, but he aced the tactical exercise and the obstacle course,” Nicole protested, spinning her cup absentmindedly with her fingers.  There was no way she could set any kind of Academy record, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she wanted to at least finish with a higher overall ranking than Shane.

“So what?” Matt piped up with his mouth full.  Jennifer kicked him under the table and he swallowed hard a couple of times before continuing.  “All you gotta do is put him on his ass during the sparring, Nic.  He’s already top-heavy with ego.  Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Nicole rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway, especially when Jennifer made a goofy “he’s got a point” face at her from across the table.  They finished their lunch and headed to their next class, leaving all thoughts of Shane Calvert behind like the food-smeared trays piling up around the trash can.

“Guess it’s about time your Haught ass found out what it’s like to be pinned by a man,” Calvert taunted smugly while they strapped their protective gear on.  Nicole’s nostrils flared, but she bit down on her mouth guard and said nothing.  She settled into a defensive stance and watched her opponent dance around until the instructor signaled the beginning of the exercise.

Calvert wasted no time, running straight at Nicole with his arms out.  Of course.  Using brute force.  No surprise there.  She hesitated a moment and then shifted her weight at the last second, watching as he stumbled past her and over the boundary line at the edge of the mat.

A whistle sounded and the voice of the instructor cut in harshly.  “Keep it in bounds, Cadet.”

Nicole had moved around to where Shane had started and was back in her defensive stance, legs set wide and gloved hands in front of her chest.  He continued his dancing and advanced on her again, this time trying to grab at her arms.  She managed to dodge his attempts, still circling around him as she alternated between watching his eyes and watching his feet.

Shane was getting agitated that she wasn’t actively engaging him, but Nicole knew that while she had a couple of inches on him, he easily had thirty pounds on her, and her best course of action was to stay defensive and wait for an opening.

He threw a couple of jabs toward her center mass, and while she absorbed some of contact with her body, she was able to deflect most of the weight behind them.  Nicole expected him to make another move to gain position and her eyes flicked down to his feet, but she had miscalculated his intentions, and Shane landed a solid left hook to the protective gear just above her ear.

Nicole staggered under the force of the impact, and she could feel his breath on her face when he leaned in to brace his thick arm against her shoulder while she was still off-balance.  A quick jerk accompanied by a rough hip-check sent her thudding to the mat, her ears still ringing from the blow to the side of her head.

Rather than moving in for the pin, Calvert turned to make a lewd gesture toward some of the other cadets watching their exercise.  The tide is about to turn, Hawk.  Let’s help it along, shall we?  Nicole let her grandmother’s voice spur her into action.  She kicked out with her right leg, connecting with the back of Shane’s knee at the same time that she hooked her left ankle around his and yanked.  He tumbled to the mat face first, sprawled unceremoniously, and Nicole rolled away quickly.  Pushing herself to her feet, she shook her head a few times to clear her unfocused eyes, and prepared herself for an attack once again.

By the time Calvert was back on his feet, his face was almost purple, his eyes swimming with rage.  “You dyke bitch!” he screamed, barreling toward Nicole with his shoulder lowered.  She braced herself and leaned to the side as he approached, but left her leg planted with her knee pointing forward.  It connected with his shin and he yelped as he reached forward to tackle her. 

Nicole was ready, though, and caught his wrist, using her other hand to grab just above his elbow, and he suddenly found himself in an arm bar.   Shane lunged forward, still trying to knock her over, but the shift in his weight only helped her gain the leverage she needed to slide her hand farther up, solidifying the arm bar and driving him into the mat by the shoulder.  Lodging her knee in the small of his back, she kept the pressure on the joints of his wrist, elbow, and shoulder until the instructor blew the whistle to indicate the end of their sparring.

Nicole hadn’t let the cocky, conceited bastard provoke her.  And it had paid off.  Her final scoring had been high enough to place her in the top 5% of her class overall.  As an added bonus, she had found out a few days later that Shane Calvert hadn’t passed the final psych eval.  Turns out aggressive tendencies aren’t exactly what Canada is looking for in its police officers.

But now she finds herself standing toe to toe with another arrogant, puffed up asshole.  And just like before, this is neither the time, nor the place to let her smart mouth get the best of her.  So Nicole bites back the retort dangling from the tip of her tongue – literally... that’s going to hurt later – and she gives a curt nod instead. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” she can’t help but add – at least it’s better than what she wanted to say – as she turns and stalks back out of the room, the words holding an edge that is hard to miss.  She yanks the door closed behind her with a bit of panache and purses her lips with satisfaction when the frosted glass rattles in its deteriorating frame.

Just as Nicole is skulking back to her desk, she hears Wynonna’s voice, laced with sarcasm, and slows her pace momentarily to listen. 

“She did knock, Dolls.  Sure you don’t wanna threaten her with death?”

Well, that was unexpected.

It isn’t much.  Nicole knows that.  Just a snide comment from a woman with a reputation for so much worse.  But something about hearing Wynonna so flippantly call Deputy Marshal Dolls on his bullshit causes the scowl etched across her face to curl into a smirk. 

Especially when the smartass comment that could – very loosely – be construed as coming to her defense was made by Waverly Earp’s sister.

As Nicole sinks back into her desk chair with a dopey grin, suddenly thinking about her encounter at Shorty’s again, she makes a mental note to be sure that there’s a fresh box of donuts in the office tomorrow.

With sprinkles.

Chapter Text

“I don’t really give a shit who or what he’s off screwing.”

“Okay, but wh—“

“My truck, Officer.  What I care about is my truck.”

Nicole’s grip on her pen is so tight she’s afraid it might snap right in her hand. 

She wonders if the pen will be the only thing that snaps.

Breathe, Hawk.  Just breathe.

“Of course, Mr. Russell.  I have all of the information for your truck written down.  Twice.  What I’m trying to understand is why you think Mr. Auch stole your truck.  Is he not missing, too?”

Nicole shifts uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair and looks across the unsteady folding table at the squat man with thick glasses.  Even though the sun has gone down, the office is stuffy, thick with the sickeningly sweet smoke curling up from his cheap cigar, and she wishes the owner of the security company would quit talking her in circles so she could just get the hell out of here.

“Wouldn’t be the first time some scoundrel took off outta this hellhole for bigger and better things,” he drawls, flicking a bit of ash that drifts down to the table top and settles among the dust, and lint, and ash that’s already there.

“So let me get this straight, sir,” Nicole does her best to keep her tone level.  “Mr. Auch showed up for his shift last night.  He clocked in and checked out the keys to the security truck.  He radioed in several times throughout the night.  And then he just… never showed back up after his shift was over this morning?”

She gets a grunt in response, accompanied by a cloud of thick smoke.

“You haven’t been able to reach him all day.  And you waited until now to call him in as missing?”

Mr. Russell leans forward and uses the cigar he’s holding to gesture at her.  “Ain’t you been payin’ attention, lady?  I ain’t called him in missin’.  I called about my—“

“Your truck.  Yes.  I’m aware.”

He nods triumphantly and leans back in his chair, the plastic creaking under his shifting weight.

“Do you at least have his address in your employee records?  I’d like to go and have a look around his place.”  He narrows his eyes at her and looks like he’s about to say something but Nicole raises her hand to stop him before he can open his mouth.  “To see if there’s any evidence pertaining to your truck.”

He mutters something that Nicole is pretty sure she’s glad she didn’t hear, but he heaves himself out of the chair and over to a dented file cabinet in the corner.  Squinting in the flickering fluorescent light, he eventually finds what he was looking for and comes back over to toss the file on the table in front of Nicole.  She just manages to catch it before it skids off the edge.

Making a few more notes before closing the folder and sliding it back over to Mr. Russell’s side of the table, Nicole clicks her pen shut and returns it to her shirt pocket with her notebook.  Her legs are stiff from the way she had to fold her lanky frame into the chair, and she stands slowly to keep one of them from buckling beneath her.  “Thank you, Mr. Russell,” she says with a forced smile, extending her hand in the process.  “You can pick up a copy of the stolen vehicle report tomorrow if you need it for your insurance.”

He snorts at that and yanks the file off the table, stalking back over to the filing cabinet, never bothering to shake Nicole’s offered hand.  She barely contains a frustrated sigh and crosses the small office with a few long strides.  The bell above the door rings loudly when she pushes it open, pausing long enough to add “Have a good night, sir,” and she’s not surprised in the least when he doesn’t even turn back around.

The crisp evening air is a welcome change from the stifling office, and Nicole breathes it deeply as she returns to her squad car, once again cursing the swing shift.  Things had been quiet for most of the evening.  Dolls and Wynonna had left around dinner time, not long after their treasonous introduction, and the evening shift guys had been trying to get a bit of paperwork out of the way at the beginning of their shifts before another rowdy Saturday night during rodeo season.

Ken’s voice had come over the radio announcing a not-in-progress stolen vehicle call, and even though there were only a couple of hours left on her shift at the time, Nicole had volunteered to take it.  No sense in getting one of the evening shift boys tied up on something when they would likely have their hands full later anyway. 

And it will be your first real solo call.  Don’t forget that.

Except now Nicole is not exactly sure what she’s landed herself in the middle of.  She came here expecting to take a report on a company vehicle being stolen off the lot after hours.  Instead she found that the truck had been signed out properly by one of the security guards, who had gone about his normal business on his shift, but then neither the truck nor Mr. Auch had turned back up at the office this morning.  And then the owner had waited nearly twelve hours to report it. And then his first assumption had been that the missing guard had simply decided to keep the truck when he got off work and leave town with it? 

What the hell…?

Nicole punches the guard’s name into her car computer and looks over her notes again until CPIC kicks back a response.

Auch, James William
DOB:  10 Oct 1989
Male     H/E: Bl/Br
H/W:  181cm/64kg
DL:  874652-384 AL
Criminal History:
     **N/A**

No criminal history.  No alerts.  Would this guy really just…  work his entire shift and then take off after while driving a company vehicle? 

That makes no goddamn sense.

Still eyeing her notes, she picks up the mic from the center console to let Ken know she’s done here.  “This is Haught.  I’m 10-24 at the security office.”

“10-4 Haught.  You coming back in?”

Nicole hesitates for a moment, still looking at driver’s license photo on her computer screen.   It’s just after 2000 hrs, and there have been no other calls so far this evening.  She’s got just under two hours left on her shift.  There’s plenty of time for her to at least drive by Mr. Auch’s place before she needs to get back to the station. 

What could it hurt?

“Negative, Ken.  I have one more stop.  Gonna swing by the…  suspect’s place, and see if I can find anything that relates to this stolen vehicle.”

“10-4.”

Twenty minutes later, Nicole is pulling up in front of a block of apartments set around an overgrown courtyard.  Lights are on in about half of the residences, and she can hear a mixture of television, music, and conversation floating through the open windows on the gentle evening breeze.  Checking the address information from the employee file against the driver’s license info on her computer one last time, Nicole squints around the complex, looking for the correct unit number.

“This is Haught.  I’m 10-23 at Bullseye Apartments,” she lets Ken know she’s arrived on scene, using her shoulder mic as she walks slowly across the courtyard.  “I’ll be out of the car for a few minutes.”

“You need any back-up, Haught?  I can send Gomez your way.”

“Negative.  Just checking to see if anyone is home.”

“10-4.”

Nicole appreciates that Ken takes her at her word and doesn’t doubt her ability to do her job, and the feeling helps her center herself as she approaches Mr. Auch’s door.  No lights are on, including the one under the overhang above the door, and the windows are all closed.  Nicole knocks loudly on the door three times and waits, straining to listen for any sounds of movement. 

She’s met with complete silence, and after a minute, she knocks again. 

Still nothing.

Did you really expect him to be here, Hawk?

Nicole checks the handle to find it locked securely and she leans closer to peer into the window, but the blinds are closed and she can see nothing.  A voice startles her just as she’s preparing to knock for a third and final time.

“You need somethin’?”

She turns to find a middle-aged woman with her hair up in curlers, her feet in fluffy slippers, wearing an honest to god flannel muumuu.  She’s staring at Nicole with her arms crossed and a cigarette hanging out of one corner of her mouth.

Oh, lord.  Here we go…

“Yes, ma’am.  I’m Officer Haught,” she says, extending her hand, which is completely ignored.  “I’m looking for James Auch.  Is this his apartment?”

The woman simply grunts and jerks her head once.

“Do you happen to know when was the last time he was home?”

“Ain’t seen him since he left outta here last night,” the woman replies, uncrossing her arms to take a long drag from her cigarette.

“Okay,” Nicole nods, slightly disappointed, even though it’s exactly the answer she expected.  “Did anything seem…  off about him when he left?”

A thick cloud of smoke is exhaled directly at Nicole, making her eyes water instantly and she struggles not to splutter and cough.

Fuck you, too, Madame Muumuu.

“Listen here, lady cop,” she flicks ash deliberately at Nicole’s boots.  “I ain’t one-a them ‘nosey neighbor’ types, and it ain’t right that y’all highfalutin assholes think that’s how it is around here just ‘cause this ain’t the fancy part-a town.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Ma’am, I don—“  Nicole’s hands are up in a placating gesture, but she can’t even finish her thought before she’s being cut off again.

“You can kindly fuck off, Officer.”  The cigarette flicked at Nicole for emphasis hits her squarely in the chest, little sparks of ash glowing warmly in the darkness as it bounces off and lands in the nearby grass.  She lunges forward quickly to grind it out with the thick, rubber sole of her boot and looks up to see the woman stomping back toward her own apartment.

 As much as someone can stomp in fuzzy slippers.

I should drag her ass into the station.

It’s true.  She could technically arrest the woman for assaulting a peace officer under the Canadian Criminal Code.  But quite frankly, the mere thought of having that fucking Miss  Congeniality handcuffed in the back of her cruiser is enough to convince Nicole to let her just walk away, the muscles of her jaw flexing as she watches. 

It’s not why you’re here, Haught.

Nicole closes her eyes for a couple of seconds and sighs deeply, her nostrils still flaring, but she turns back toward the apartment and takes out her flashlight, clicking it on and sweeping it widely across the door, the window, and the front stoop.  Nothing seems out of place, and as she’s squatting down to check the doorknob for any signs of force, her radio crackles to life.

“Haught.  Status check.”

“Haught secure,” she replies.  “No one’s home.  I’ll be finished here soon.”

“10-4.”

Just a quick look around back.  Then you can at least say you were thorough.

Nicole swings the beam of her Mag-Lite around the corner of the apartment and walks slowly between the two buildings, one arm raised in front of her to light the way and the other hand resting cautiously atop her holster.  There’s a strip of grass that runs behind the housing units, a shared yard area, and it’s littered with broken plastic lawn furniture and a jumble of children’s toys.  The small patio at the back door of Mr. Auch’s place is clear except for a small Weber charcoal grill chained to the railing and a heavy, wrought iron chair with peeling black paint.

When she aims the flashlight at the back window, Nicole realizes that the curtains are open, so she drags the chair out of the way for a closer look.  Checking the door first and finding it locked, of course, she lets the bright beam from her Mag-Lite illuminate the entire kitchen, and from this angle, she can see a basket of laundry on the table and stacks of dirty dishes on the counter.

Doesn’t exactly look like the place of someone who was planning to leave town.

Nicole frowns at this discovery, but before she can think on it anymore, a loud crash sounds behind her, and in one swift motion she has drawn her weapon and has it leveled over the wrist of her other hand, still gripping the flashlight.  Her heartbeat is thundering in her ears, and she stands rigid for several long seconds, not even breathing.

And then she sees it. 

Frozen in the sudden bright light, half hidden by the plastic tractor it had just dislodged from the pile of junk stacked against a rusty metal table is… a raccoon.  A motherfucking raccoon. 

Jesus fucking Christ, Nicole.

It’s the first time she’s ever had to draw her service weapon – okay, had to is maybe a bit of an exaggeration… she doubts a goddamn raccoon constitutes deadly force – and Nicole will never stop being grateful that no one else is there to see it.  Her heart is still thumping against her ribs – she can feel it, even through the Kevlar vest – and her hands are trembling as she returns her firearm to its holster, and she wishes there was a simple on/off switch to the adrenaline that has turned her into a jittery idiot.

Not such a badass after all, Haught.  Better keep this one to yourself, eh Rookie?

Nicole swallows around the lump in her throat and stalks back around to the front of the building, still trying to steady her breathing, and willing her galloping heart to settle down into a more respectable trot.  She sits in the soothing silence of her cruiser for a few minutes, allowing her frayed nerves to reknit themselves, and coherent thoughts slowly become easier to grasp.

A stolen – missing? – vehicle.  An absentee – missing? – driver.  An empty  – signs that someone was carrying out their normal, everyday business? – apartment.  No one else seems to think the security guard’s disappearance is strange.  The only thing anyone seems to care about it is the goddamn truck.

Shaking her head with a sigh, Nicole decides there’s not much more she can do about it right now.  Her shift is over soon, and she needs to get back to the station.  Clearing her throat, she grabs the radio mic.

“Haught is 10-24 at the Bullseye Apartments.  I’m coming back in now.”

“10-4 Haught.  You find anything?”

A whole lot more questions.

“Negative.  I’ll see you soon, Ken.”

“10-4”

Nicole starts the car and heads back to the Sheriff’s Department practically on auto-pilot.  She keeps replaying the conversations over in her head and thinking about the things she had seen in Mr. Auch’s kitchen. 

The whole thing just makes her feel…  unsettled.

What the hell is going on around here?

Nicole’s lips are tingling and she feels the heat spreading over her tongue.  For a brief moment, she worries this might have been a bad idea, but the thought is rapidly pushed from her mind when a soft moan vibrates in her throat.  A faint sheen of moisture is forming along her cheeks as the blush creeps upward from her neck to paint her face a glowing shade of pink.

It isn’t until her eyes start to water that she finally caves and takes a long pull from the frosty longneck bottle of Corona sitting in front of her.  Hayley’s new spicy barbeque may be to die for, but Nicole is quickly learning that it also isn’t for the faint of heart.  Still… having a sister that runs a catering company certainly has its perks, and Nicole makes a mental note to thank her for sharing the new recipe the next time she calls.

The cold beer and the real food are going down easy tonight as Nicole leans back in her chair and stretches her long legs out under her kitchen table.  She had almost considered take-out diner food when she left the station, but now she’s glad she talked herself out of it.

It’s been a long day.

A really long day.

Meeting Waverly Earp.  Getting drunk on Waverly Earp.  A post-Waverly Earp hangover.  Meeting Waverly Earp’s potentially crazy sister.

Oh yeah.  There had also been getting threatened with treason.  Let’s not forget that.

And then came the excitement of her first solo call. Except that the simple stolen vehicle report had turned out to be anything but.  In Nicole’s opinion, at least.  It was even more aggravating that when she’d returned to the office and filled Ken and Gomez in on what she’d discovered, they had dismissed her suspicions, as well. 

“Don’t make a mountain out of a mole hill, Rook,” Gomez had told her.  “You’ll get plenty of calls that are more exciting.”

Nicole had felt a flash of anger flare in her chest when he laughed and went back to his conversation with Ken.  This had nothing to do with wanting a more exciting crime.  She wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone on her first call.  Every ounce of her intuition was telling her that something weird was going on, and she couldn’t understand why no one else saw it.

Pushing her frustration aside, she had given the license and registration information of the security truck to Ken so he could at least update CPIC tonight.  There hadn’t been enough time left on her shift to start an incident report, but Nicole figured she would have plenty of opportunity tomorrow to write it up properly.

Coming home to cook herself a decent meal had been surprisingly cathartic, and now that some of her tension has eased, Nicole is feeling the effects of the day.  Finishing off her beer, she drops her plate in the sink with a quick rinse, deciding she can do the rest of the dishes in the morning.  Having learned her lesson, she makes sure there is plenty of food in Calamity Jane’s dish this time.  She has no desire for a repeat of this morning’s disaster.

A quick shower later, and Nicole is crawling into bed.  It’s well after midnight, and she is exhausted, both physically and mentally.  One more weekend swing shift tomorrow, and then she is back on days for the next week.  Thank god.  After making sure her alarm is still set for the morning, Nicole lets her eyes slide shut, and within minutes, sleep is tugging at her consciousness and she starts to drift away.

For the first time in a week, she falls asleep with something other than Waverly Earp on her mind.

“Are those… donuts?”

Nicole almost drops the box on the sidewalk when Dolls and Wynonna come barreling out the front door of the Sheriff’s Department just as she was reaching out to open it.

“Yes?” she grunts as she stumbles backward, glaring at the back of the Deputy Marshal’s head.   Not sparing so much as a glance in Nicole’s direction, even after having nearly knocked her on her ass, he continues to stride briskly toward his excessively large SUV.

Compensating for something, are we?

“Like… donut, donuts?”

She swings her head around to see Wynonna still holding the front door open, letting her eyes bounce back and forth between Nicole and the box in her hand with a pointed look.  One corner of Nicole’s mouth curls into a smirk.  “Yeesss,” she drawls out smugly.

With sprinkles.

Nicole holds the box out with one hand and pulls the lid open with her other, one of her eyebrows quirking in the process.  Wynonna’s eyes widen and she lets out a sort of throaty groan as she comically points at the box, then at herself, then back at the box.

The officer nods, her lopsided smirk spreading.  Forgetting about the door, Wynonna’s hand darts out and grabs a donut with chocolate frosting and multi-colored sprinkles.  She bites off half of it in one go, and cries a muffled cheer through the enormous wad of dough.  “Haught damn!”  Nicole’s other eyebrow raises and Wynonna snorts, causing a few crumbs to fly out of her still open mouth.

“EARP!”

Wynonna rolls her eyes with a whine at the expressionless Dolls, who’s waiting impatiently by the driver’s side of his vehicle.  She glances back at Nicole, and then making up her mind, grabs three more donuts for the road before stomping over after her boss.

Nicole watches them peel out and speed away before replacing the lid and sauntering into the station, unable to wipe the smug grin from her face.

Score one for the sprinkles.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

Ken’s face is clouded with confusion.  “No…?”

Nicole rolls her eyes with a frustrated sigh and lets her head rest against the doorframe.  “Okay.  Tell me again.  What exactly did he say?”

“Mr. Russell called early this morning.  He’s cancelling the stolen vehicle report, because the truck was back in the lot when he got to work.  The keys were left inside.  I told him I’d let you know when you got in.”

“And that’s it?” Nicole asks flatly. 

 Unfuckingbelievable.

“That’s it,” Ken is still eyeing her suspiciously.

Nicole squeezes her eyes shut and breathes in deeply, then back out again.  Had she really been imagining things last night?  Had she fallen victim to trying to find something deeper and more exciting buried in her first call?

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Haught…”  Ken hesitates.  “But isn’t it a good thing when a stolen vehicle is found?  The case can be closed now.”

Her eyes snap open and she pushes off the doorway, her posture stiffening.  “Of course,” she says quickly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, of course.  Look at that.  Rookie closed her first case in less than a day.”  She laughs nervously, her hands gripping her duty belt tightly.

“Uh huh…” Ken nods slowly.

“Was there, uh…”  Nicole licks her suddenly dry lips.  “Was there any word from Mr. Auch?” she tried to ask casually, failing miserably.  “Did he show up for work with the truck?”

Ken shakes his head, frowning at her.  “Mr. Russell said he tried to call and let him know he was still fired, truck or no truck, but he couldn’t reach him.  Looks like he really did skip town this time.”  He watches Nicole closely and sees her face fall.  “Come on, Haught,” he wheels his chair closer and nudges her arm playfully, trying to be reassuring.  “We talked about this.  It’s nothing.  Just let it go.”

Right.  Nothing.

She heads back to her desk, letting her heavy boots scuff across the floor along the way.  It’s childish, and it draws a look from Hicks, but Nicole doesn’t really care.  This is not what she had anticipated for today.

Operation Donut had been a success.  It hadn’t exactly gone as planned, but Nicole is counting it as a win regardless.  After that, she’d had every intention of settling in for a quiet Sunday swing shift, and spending some quality time on a proper report for last night’s events, including all of the details – except for the raccoon, of course – and suspicions, so that she could present it to Nedley tomorrow.  Surely the Sheriff would be interested in a potentially missing citizen.

Apparently not.

Rather than writing an official report, Nicole is now filling out the single page incident form simply stating that she responded to a call and made contact with the reporting party.  She presses so hard with her ink pen while writing that she realizes after filing the form that she’s left indentations on the desk blotter beneath it.  Scrunching up her face, Nicole feels a bit sheepish over her petulance, but then another thought strikes her as she runs her fingers over the grooves, a reminiscent ghost of the information.

You should keep a record of this, Hawk.

Perhaps this isn’t the first time something strange like this has happened.  Perhaps there’s a reason everyone else is so quick to dismiss what seems so obviously suspicious to Nicole.  She thinks about the gun safe in her spare room, and the smaller compartment at the top for keeping the firearm registration papers.  It would be the perfect place to keep a file on any strange cases she comes across. 

A determined smile spreads across her face as she already begins to make plans for her project.

The day is passing slowly.  No new calls coming in, no recent paperwork that needs catching up on.  Nicole spends an hour and a half killing time at her desk, fidgeting absentmindedly with her ring while browsing through Purgatory Register articles from the past couple of years to see if anything else stands out as odd – nothing really glaring catches her eye, but she does make a note of a particularly high frequency of “animal” attacks.  When she can no longer feel her feet, she stands and stretches, heading to the break room for some much needed coffee, shaking out her numb legs as she goes.

The coffee pot is acting like it’s possessed again.  Nicole has filled the water reservoir and added the grounds to the filter, but no matter how many times she presses the button, it flickers off again after a few seconds.  She sighs and begins the exorcism ritual, tapping on its sides and banging it against the countertop a few times.

“Officer Haught.”

Nicole almost knocks the entire thing on the floor.  Spinning around, she finds herself face to face once again with Deputy Marshal Dolls.

Jesus Christ.  Does this guy not understand personal space?

“Deputy Marshal Dolls,” she commends herself for keeping her tone even and bite-free as she takes a step backward, stopped short by the row of cabinets.  He’s holding a pair of to-go cups from E-Spurs-O’s, and Nicole glances behind him, wondering where Wynonna is.

“Officer Haught,” he says again, lowering his voice this time as he looks over his shoulder toward the door of the break room.  “Since Black Badge Division is setting up a temporary unit here in Purgatory, we’ll be handling any out of the ordinary cases that come in.”

Like when a vehicle and its driver both go missing, then the vehicle mysteriously reappears, but the driver is still missing?  You mean like that?

Nicole decides to keep that bit of information to herself for now, staying silent and simply maintaining eye contact with Dolls, hoping her face has remained impassive.

After a few beats, he continues, his voice still low.  “I need you to let me know when anything unusual comes across your desk.”

“I’m not sure if the Sher—“

“Sheriff Nedley doesn’t seem to have a very healthy respect for jurisdiction, Officer Haught.  Can I trust that you do?”  He gives her a pointed look.

Nicole grits her teeth, hating the position she’s currently being placed in.  She is 100% sure it is because she’s a rookie, and also 100% sure there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.  So she nods at him stiffly, much like she had done yesterday.  “Yes, sir.”  Her jaw clenches on the second word.

Dolls simply nods at her.  “Very good.”  He hesitates a moment, then shoves one of the cups into her hands.  “Thank you, Officer Haught,” he says, and then without another word, he turns and walks back to the Black Badge Division office.

“You’re… welcome?” Nicole mutters to his retreating figure, and it sounds more like a question than an answer.

She looks down at the cup in her hands and raises it warily to eye level, inhaling deeply.  Her brow furrows in surprise at the familiar aroma.  Taking a hesitant sip, she confirms her deduction:  bone dry cappuccino with a hint of caramel syrup.

How in the hell did he know that?

“Now with new and improved clumping action.”

Jesus Christ.  Is this what my life has come to?

Nicole sighs and tucks the box of cat litter under her arm, shifting the bag of cat food to rest on top of it.  The rest of her Sunday shift had been extremely quiet, interrupted only when Dolls had gone sprinting out of the BBD like a madman around 1600 hrs.  And while she is certainly happy to be back on day shift for the next couple of days, today had been like a jackpot of ridiculous calls.  Since she is not only the rookie, but also able to handle those frivolous calls on her own now, Hicks and Nedley were thoroughly enjoying the fact that Nicole had spent the entire day running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

First had been Mrs. McCaleb, calling to complain that her neighbor’s dog had left a present on her front lawn.  That had been a fun ordinance violation to write.  Then Nicole had spent almost two hours with Gerald, who insisted she run the entire list of license plates he had recorded as having driven by his property in the past 24 hours.  The fact that they all belonged to parents of Purgatory High School students – most likely returning from the out of town volleyball tournament – did little to convince him that he was not being spied on by mafia hit squads.

It had taken Nicole nearly forty-five minutes to chase the wandering cow back into the pasture it had escaped from near Jackson’s Ranch, and another half an hour to rig a makeshift patch for the fencing since no one had been home to take care of it themselves.  And what would a Monday be without a trip to Pauline Detmer’s house to check her attic for “any of them peepin’ Toms that might be takin’ naughty pikters of her in her birthday suit,” followed by a cup of the worst sludge ever to be called tea?

The calls had been endless, and while her colleagues – including Ruthie – had barely hidden their amusement, Nicole had done her best to take it all in stride.  Now, however, she is mostly just tired and looking forward to heading home.  There’s leftover BBQ with her name on it, a few more Purgatory Register articles to place in her new X-Files folder – what can she say, she’s been in love with Scully for as long as she can remember – and after that, Nicole has a hot date… with her Playstation 4.

It wasn’t until she was halfway home after her shift that she remembered she was completely out of cat litter, and a fresh bag of food probably wouldn’t hurt either, so she’d had to turn her squad car around to visit the store.  Nicole loves Calamity Jane, but right at this moment, she’s trying really hard not to resent the little furball.

Just as she’s rounding the end of the aisle to step up into the empty checkout line, Nicole is nearly bowled over by a shopping cart filled with several items sticking out at awkward angles.  The driver doesn’t seem to have noticed the near miss, their face hidden behind a large notebook, muttering to themselves.  Nicole is barely able to step back into the side aisle quickly enough to avoid the collision, and that’s when she sees it as the cart continues to press forward.

Waverly Earp.

The driver of the cart is Waverly Earp, and she’s checking off items from a list as she bops her head along to whatever music is filtering through the ear bud she has in one of her ears.  She’s wandering aimlessly forward, and still hasn’t noticed someone is standing not three feet from her.

“Looks like I might have to arrest you for reckless endangerment, ma’am,” Nicole drawls out, laying her accent on thickly.

Waverly jumps like a startled cat, the ear bud falling out of her ear and her notebook flying out of her hands, skidding across the floor, and she damn near runs the cart into the display of dog food cans stacked in a pyramid at the end of the aisle.  Nicole throws her free hand out just in time to catch the corner of it and prevent a disaster.

“That is certainly not helping your cause, Miss Earp.”

Waverly gapes at Nicole, looking very much like a fish out of water as her mouth opens and closes a few times with no sound coming out before she finally licks her lips and begins to find her voice.

“O-oh my gosh,” she stutters, her gaze involuntarily dropping to the cuffs on Nicole’s belt at the mention of being arrested.  Waverly gulps so drastically it is actually visible.  “I’m so, so sorry, Nic—O-Officer Haught,” she croaks, dragging her eyes back up to meet Nicole’s and her face is practically glowing.  “I didn’t see you, and…  and I was just checking my list, and…  Oh!  My list!”

Could she get any cuter?

As Waverly darts over to pick up her notebook from where it had lodged under the magazine rack at the end of the checkout counter, Nicole allows herself a moment to take in her full appearance. 

Gone are the high-wasted shorts and the crop top, replaced by light pink sweatpants cut in a fashionable capris style, with the words “Love Pink” stenciled up one leg, and a low-cut white tank top with “Pizza & Chill” scrawled across the front.  She’s wearing matching pink flip-flops, and her hair that is normally so meticulously groomed is twisted up on top of her head in a messy knot.  It’s all Nicole can do not to gawk at the toned muscles of her legs and arms rippling as she squats down to pick up her list before bouncing back up and over to the cart again.

Even her sloppy clothes are designer.  It would figure that she’s a Victoria’s Secret kind of girl.

The flush in Waverly’s face is still prominent and Nicole can see it slowly spreading down her neck and across her chest along the deep v-line of the tank top.  She almost drops the cat supplies tucked under her arm, but manages to make it seem like she was just shifting their position, actually grateful for the reason to drag her eyes away from Waverly’s cleavage.

This girl is gonna be the death of you, Hawk.

“I really am sorry, Officer Haught,” Waverly starts in again, her voice still sounding a little choked.  “I should pay more attention.  To where I’m going, not to you.   I mean, not to my list!  Yep.  Was already paying too much attention to that.”  She giggles awkwardly.  “I just didn’t want to forget anything.  I have a very important project, and…” she trails off, waving her hand over the cart.  “I didn’t want to forget anything.  Might run into some trouble without all of the parts.”

“I suppose I can let you off with a warning just this once, Miss Earp,” Nicole drawls again, using her index finger to tip her Stetson a little further back on her head with a wink.  Waverly squeaks and Nicole bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking.  She lets her eyes drift over the contents of the cart, and her eyebrow shoots up her forehead as she looks back at Waverly pointedly.

Waverly looks down at her cart, then up at Nicole, then down at her cart again and she gasps as her eyes grow wide.  “Oh no, Officer!  It’s not what it looks like.  I swear!”  Waverly’s cart is packed with a shovel, a bundle of rope, a large pair of construction scissors, duct tape, rolls of plastic sheeting, and several buckets of industrial grade bleach.

Nicole concentrates on keeping a skeptical look on her face and lets her free hand drop down to rest playfully near the holster on her duty belt.  Waverly is starting to panic, and launches into a hurried explanation, laced with nervous laughter.

“Y-you see, Officer.  I’m moving back into our old family homestead.  W-with my sister.  A-and we need to get it cleaned up.  Because it’s a real disaster, you know?”

Yes, Waverly.  I know.  You are an adorable goddamn disaster.

Nicole keeps her best serious cop face on, even furrowing her brow for added effect.  “Mmhmm…” she nods, not breaking eye contact with Waverly.

“N-no, really!” Waverly pleads.  “We need the shovel to dig in front of the barn doors so they’ll open again, and the rope is for dragging away some fallen tree limbs.”  Her arms are flailing now.  “A-and the duct tape is for the ripped screens, and the plastic is so we can paint.  And the scissors are… well, for scissoring… I’m sure you already know about that,” she says, making a dramatic snipping gesture at the officer.

Nicole almost chokes on her own spit, and at the same time, Waverly seems to realize what she just said.  Her eyes grow so wide that Nicole is reminded of the cartoons she used to watch on Saturday morning.

“I mean, you know… to cut the plastic and everything!” Waverly practically shouts, and her face is so red it looks like someone painted it. 

Nicole licks her lips out of habit and nods carefully at Waverly again, simply muttering another skeptical, “Mmhmm.”

“A-and, umm…  the bleach is… I mean…  Did you know that it only takes a one to ten ratio of 6.15% sodium hypochlorite solution to kill most viruses or bacteria that might grow on or around common household surfaces, and that any solution stronger than 500 parts per million can be corrosive to metal?”  Waverly sounds like she belongs on Jeopardy right now, but she can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.  “And if your skins is exposed to too much sodium hypochlorite for too long, the most effective neutralizer to use is sodium thiosulfate, in a solution of fiv—“

“Okay, Bill Nye the Science Guy,” Nicole cuts her off before she dies of a cuteness overload.  “So what you’re saying is this,” she sweeps her hand over the cart, “is definitely not a murder kit, and I definitely should not add conspiracy to commit murder to your reckless endangerment charges?”

Waverly’s laugh is a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment and relief.  “Ha ha, Officer.  That’s a good one.  Yep.  You really got me.”  Nicole raises an eyebrow and Waverly splutters.  “Oh, um.  I mean with the joke!  Yeah.  You really had me going with the whole murder kit thing.”  She waggles a finger at Nicole while other hand rests on her hip.  Her face is crinkled up with laughter, and all Nicole wants to do is reach out and smooth the creases with her fingertips.

“Well, I do believe I promised to let you off with a warning this time, ma’am.  Can’t go back on my word now, can I?”  Nicole smiles at her fully now, her dimples etched deeply into her cheeks.

“I guess that means I owe you two now,” Waverly says, her voice quieter, and she fidgets with the thin spiral wire of her notebook.  It looks like she’s about to say something else when her phone chimes loudly and shatters the moment.  She glances at it quickly, chewing on her lip, and then looks back up at Nicole.  “I…  I’ve really gotta get going, Officer.  I really am sorry about almost running you down.”

“It’s alright,” Nicole says softly.  “At least I know I still have my reflexes from my basketball days,” she adds with a wink.

Waverly cocks her head, as though processing that piece of information, but before she can respond, her phone chimes again.  She sighs loudly, and angles the shopping cart around to enter the checkout lane they’ve been standing in front of, the dark haired cashier watching them the entire time.  Nicole moves to follow her and almost slams right into her back as Waverly suddenly stops with no warning.

“I should let you go first.  You’ve only got the two things,” she says, gesturing to the bag of food Nicole is swinging from one hand and the box of litter that dangles from the other.

“No, no.  It’s fine.  You go on ahead.”  Waverly starts to protest, but Nicole doesn’t let her finish.  “You have an important project, remember?”  She flashes her dimples again.

Waverly smiles back at her.  It’s not a nervous twitch this time, but a genuine smile, and Nicole feels a warmth bloom in her chest that makes it difficult to breathe.

It doesn’t take long for the clerk to ring up Waverly’s items, and once she’s handed over several bills – small, liquid stained, crumpled bills that look suspiciously like they came from a tip jar – she moves forward to make room for Nicole to put her items on the counter.

“Thanks, Cassie,” Waverly says cheerfully to the cashier, who only rolls her eyes in return.  Turning back to Nicole, she gives another smile and a little wave.  “Good night, Officer Haught.  I’m sorry again.”

It’s all in the smile and wave.

“No need,” Nicole waves back, then tips her Stetson.  “Good night, Miss Earp.”  Waverly dips her head, trying to hide her blush, then turns and pushes her cart toward the front door.

“Well, you can arrest me any time you want, Officer,” Cassie says suggestively as she rings up Nicole’s items.

“Yeah, that’s nice,” Nicole answers absentmindedly, still watching Waverly walk away.

“I’ve been a very naughty girl,” the clerk tries again, husking her voice and leaning against the counter to push her chest out a little farther.

“Thanks.  You, too,” Nicole says dreamily as she drops some cash on the counter and scoops up her purchases.

She doesn’t even turn back around before heading out, and she definitely doesn’t hear Cassie scoff and mutter, “You two are so fucking gay.”

Nicole makes it out to the parking lot just in time to see Waverly slowing up in front of large, black pickup truck.  She tosses the items in the bed by herself, and climbs up into the passenger side with a little bit of difficulty. 

The grin on Nicole’s face disappears in an instant, as though someone suddenly flipped a switch.

She recognizes that truck.  From the barn party out at Wilson’s farm.

The banty rooster.  That cocky, son of a bitch rodeo kid.

Champ fucking Hardy is Waverly Earp’s boy-man.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

“You know you love me.”

“Better not let Lori hear you say that.”

“What Lori doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Marks leans back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto his desk.  “No, but it might hurt you,” he points at Nicole dramatically.  “And if that happens, who will take all of these shitty calls for me?”  He gives her a devilish grin and she just groans and lays her head down on her desk.

“Come on, Alan,” Nicole pleads, turning to look at him with one side of her face still resting on the top of her desk.  It distorts her words like when children try to talk while squishing their cheeks together.  “You saw the log from Monday.  It’s been like that for me all week,” she whines and gives him a pathetic look, her cheek still pressed against the desk.

Marks laughs heartily, his shoulders heaving, and his chair creaks as it rocks beneath him.  Nicole flips him off, and it only makes him wheeze harder.  When he finally catches his breath, he cocks his head, watching Nicole, who is still glaring at him with her head on the desk and her middle finger still extended just below the line of sight of the counter that leads to the public area.  After considering her for a few more seconds, he finally takes a little pity on her. 

“Okay, Rook.  Let’s make a deal.  I’ll rock-paper-scissor you for it.”

Nicole snaps her head up and grins broadly at Marks, a mischievous twinkle in her dark brown eyes.  “You’re on,” she smirks.

He looks at her suspiciously for a moment, but drops his feet to the floor and squares up, one fist resting in his other palm.  “You ready?”

“You know it,” Nicole answers, and they count it off.  “HA!  Paper beats rock,” she proclaims victoriously, and spins around in her chair.

Marks narrows his eyes at her.  “Best two out of three…” he says cautiously.

She quirks her eyebrow, but agrees, squaring up to face him again, and they count it off once more.  “Rock beats scissors, Marks.  You’re not very good at this game.”

“Three out of five!”

“It’s your funeral.  I can do this all day.”

Marks scrunches up his face with determination and they count it off again.

“Aaaaand paper still beats rock,” Nicole crows, shaking her head at him.  “Are you sure you even know the rules?” she snickers.

“What is going on here?” Marks asks with desperation.

“What’s going on here,” Nicole waves her hand with a smirk, “is that you are driving for an hour out to bumfuck nowhere to take a bullshit vandalism complaint from the old Bushwick Mill, while I stay here and enjoy this delicious breakfast platter that Mama Lou made just for me.”

It’s Nicole’s turn to prop her feet up on the desk, smugly pulling her styrofoam container closer and taking a large bite of hashbrowns.  She takes the opportunity to rub her victory in by adding a dramatic “Mmmmmm…”

“No, seriously…  What just happened?”  Marks gapes at her, his hands still holding the “rock” position.

Nicole leans back a little farther in her chair, letting one hand come to rest behind her head while she animatedly uses her plastic fork to accentuate her words with her other.  “What just happened, is you,” one jab with the fork, “made a deal with me,” and another, “and it backfired.”

“But how?  How did it backfire?”

Nicole grins slowly and leans forward in her chair again.  “You really wanna know?” she drawls.

Marks seems to hesitate for a moment.  “Yes…?” he finally admits.

Grabbing her empty coffee mug, Nicole hauls herself out of her chair and strides past an incredulous Marks with a cocky bounce in her step.  When she reaches the doorway that leads to the break room, she turns back to face him and leans against it, one hand dropping to rest on her duty belt and her mug dangling from the fingers of the other.

“Well…?” Marks says expectantly.  “Don’t leave me hanging here, Haught.  How in the hell did you do that?”

“You,” she smirks and points at him with her mug, her eyes sparkling, “have a tell.”

Marks opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get anything out, he is cut off by a harsh voice coming from the hallway on the other side of the bullpen. 

“Is either one of you idiots going to answer the vandalism call I put out?  This isn’t a buffet.  You don’t get to pick and choose.”  Ruthie glares back and forth between the two officers, her hands on her hips.

Nicole wiggles her fingers at Marks in a mocking wave.  “Have fuuuuun,” she says in a sing-song voice and disappears around the corner.

God, you’re gonna pay for that, Nicole.  But it was so worth it.

Filling her mug with freshly brewed coffee, Nicole darts her tongue across her lips and tastes the greasy residue from the hashbrowns she took a bite of a minute ago.  Her stomach rumbles loudly and she snorts, glad it happened now and not a few seconds ago when she was flaunting her victory in front of Marks.

Yeah, that would have made you look like a real badass.

Nicole gets three steps past the swinging gate in the bullpen before she stops dead in her tracks, almost sloshing her coffee. 

“Ohhh, that bastard!”

Marks is gone.

So is her breakfast.

Nicole:  You’re such a shithead, Marks.

Marks:  But I’m a well-fed shithead.

Nicole:  ASS!  Enjoy your adventure out in the BOONDOCKS.

Marks has been texting Nicole every time he’s had to stop at an intersection in the last hour.  Telling her how amazing his breakfast platter is.  The most recent one was a picture of him eating the last of her biscuits and gravy.  She curses him as she eats her crappy toast, but is still feeling pretty smug for beating Marks at his own game.

Nicole is going through the court docket, checking if anyone with a pending appearance has outstanding warrants.  Another loud chime breaks the silence, and she instinctively reaches for her phone before her brain processes the fact that it is a different notification tone.

With a few quick keystrokes, Nicole brings up the CPIC alert on her screen.  Metro PD has put out a bulletin involving two violent crimes in the past week that they now believe are connected.  She pulls up the attachments and begins studying the information given.

The first case involves a brutal attack at a bus stop.  Security footage shows three white males assaulting a middle-aged man in a suit waiting on a bench.  It doesn’t appear to be a mugging; they don’t take anything from him. 

Aside from his left hand.

Well, that’s…gruesome.

The victim in the second case is much higher profile, and is drawing considerably more attention.  The Deputy Mayor was viciously murdered in front of a large group of witnesses, his body completely gutted and filleted like a fish.  It was a community event for the opening of a time capsule, and the only thing that was taken from the scene was an old journal.

Filleted?  Jesus Christ...

There is no video footage from the most recent attack, but nearly a dozen witness statements all describe three white males dressed in leather vests with motorcycle gang patches.  Two of the statements also indicate the witnesses saw what they believed to be a severed hand fall out of the bag of one of the attackers.

Right, so… definitely connected.

Nicole’s brow furrows as she watches the security footage again.  The whole encounter seemed so senseless.  No valuables taken.  No threats made.  Just three roughnecks approaching a seemingly random citizen and chopping of his hand, before waving it at the camera and disappearing.

She pauses the video and squints at the screen.  The witness statements from the murder scene had described the leather vests as having insignia patches.  The angle of the camera isn’t great, but Nicole can see the outline of a skull on the back of one of the vests.  Assuming the others bear the same patch, she is pretty sure these thugs are members of the Grim Reapers.

Sheriff Nedley has been collecting information on the biker gang for the past couple of years.  It seems the old Trading Post out by Ghost River Gorge has become a hotspot for their illicit activity.  Nicole spent a few days looking over the files back when she was still getting familiar with the place, and the insignia in the video is definitely familiar to her.

This could link a pretty big case to our department.

Nicole prints the alert bulletin and hangs it on the corkboard at the back of the bullpen.  Part of her wants to call the Sheriff right away, but another part is replaying a conversation she had just last weekend.

“Since Black Badge Division is setting up a temporary unit here in Purgatory, we’ll be handling any out of the ordinary cases that come in.  I need you to let me know when anything unusual comes across your desk.”

“I’m not sure if the Sher—“

“Sheriff Nedley doesn’t seem to have a very healthy respect for jurisdiction, Officer Haught.  Can I trust that you do?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nicole digs through the bottom drawer of one of the locked filing cabinets lining the walls next to the corkboard.  She fishes out a stack of manila folders almost six inches thick and returns to her desk with a sigh and a frown.

Why do I always end up in positions like this?

Nedley would be pissed if she turned over a case like this.  But so would Deputy Marshal Dolls if she didn’t.  Nicole may be a rookie, but she’s definitely smart enough to know that a severed hand and gutted bureaucrat absolutely fall in the category of the unusual.   She fiddles with her now habitually open collar, images of her own X-Files tucked away in her gun safe flashing through her mind, and Nicole thinks of how her suspicions last week had been so easily dismissed by everyone else.

At least Dolls seems interested in the strange things.  At least he probably wouldn’t laugh at you for bringing him something to look into…

Nicole knows she doesn’t have much of a choice – not really – but she likes to think that right now she is making a conscious decision.  Leaving the file folders stacked neatly on her desk, she climbs back out of her chair and shuffles across the hall.  Taking a deep breath and wondering if she is making a huge mistake, she reaches out and raps four times on the door.

The sound of shuffling papers and creaking hinges immediately comes from the other side of the door, and Nicole rolls her eyes as she imagines Dolls and Wynonna scrambling to cover their treasonous secrets like school children trying to keep anyone from copying off of their test paper.  It’s almost ten seconds later before she gets any kind of response.

“Enter.”

Nicole opens the door slowly, peering around it before tentatively stepping just inside the room.  Dolls is standing stiffly with his hands clasped behind his back, glaring at her like she’s trespassing.

Still a pretentious dick, I see.

“Hey, uhh…” Nicole takes another step farther into the room.  “You asked to be alerted whenever things come over the wire that seem…  unusual…?”

“Yeah, we’re coming.  Thanks,” Dolls replies flatly, before she can even give him any more information.

Great.  This was apparently not the right decision.

Dolls turns away from her, and for the first time since entering the room, Nicole notices who else is present.  Wynonna, of course.  With a mug in one hand and donut in the other. 

Some things never change. 

Except that it’s powdered sugar today instead of sprinkles.

And Waverly Earp.

Nicole feels her stomach drop into her boots. 

Waverly Earp is the last thing Nicole expected to see when she walked into the Black Badge Division offices, but here she is all sunshine, and cinnamon, and fields of wildflowers dancing in the gentle prairie wind.

It is entirely possible Deputy Marshal Dolls just said something.  It is also entirely possible Nicole has absolutely no fucking clue what it might have been.  Because Waverly just looked up at her and gave a shy smile, and the only thing Nicole knows right now is that she looks gorgeous in green.

The next thing Nicole knows right now is that Dolls is striding towards her and she has to press herself against the door to keep him from running her over.  She can’t even bring herself to care, her eyes still glazed over and a goofy smile still plastered all over her face.  As she backs out of the room to follow the Deputy Marshal, Nicole steals one last glance at Waverly before closing the door.  Waverly is peeking up at her through the curtain of her hair, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.

Well, if that isn’t enough to get you through the day, Hawk…

Dolls is waiting for her when she gets back to her desk, his arms folded across his chest and his face blank.  Nicole tries to shake off the Waverly Earp induced haziness and slips past him to pull out her chair.

“You said you had something for me, Officer Haught?”  His eyebrow is quirked, almost as though he doesn’t believe her.

“Yes, sir,” Nicole says, scooting up to her desk and opening the alert bulletin on her screen again.  “This was issued by Metro PD about an hour ago.  Two crimes, several days apart.”  She looks up over her shoulder at him and he nods for her to continue.  “First one, attackers approach a random man at a bus stop and cut off his left hand.  Second one, they filleted the Deputy Mayor in front of a crowd, and stole an old journal from a time capsule.”

“Filleted?  No need for dramatics, Officer Haught.”

“No, sir.  They actually filleted him.  Gutted him like a fish.”

Dolls leans in, resting his hands on Nicole’s desk and takes a closer look at the screen.  “Is there video?” he asks.

“Only for the first one, sir.”  She clicks on the attachment and plays it for him, reaching forward to pull the stack of files closer to her while he watches.

“And why do we think they’re connected?”

At least he hasn’t dismissed you for thinking that it’s strange yet.

“Witness statements place a severed hand at the scene of the second attack,” Nicole answers.  “And the physical descriptions given match the three attackers in the video.”  Dolls is still reading over the information displayed on her screen.  She considers him for a moment, and decides to try her luck.  “Plus…  I have an idea.”

He stands back up, his hands going to his hips now.  “An idea,” he repeats tersely.

Nicole swallows the urge to call him out for treating her like she doesn’t deserve to be holding this conversation, and instead presses on with her suspicions. 

“The witness statements all described the attackers as having leather vests with biker patches on them.  Which is consistent with the video footage, as well.  I noticed when one of them was facing away from the camera that they bear the skull insignia of the Grim Reapers.”

“You think bikers are behind this.”  Nicole feels like she’s being scolded by a teacher.

“Well, I wouldn’t venture to guess why bikers would be involved in something like this, but yes, sir.  We have a collection of Grim Reapers that operate around the outskirts of our jurisdiction, and I think that a few of them might be the guys in the video.”  She looks up at him and maintains eye contact.  “Or at least I think it’s as good a place as any to start.”  She taps the folders in front of her.  “I pulled all of the information Nedley’s collected in the past couple of years.  Thought I could start looking through it for you.”  Nicole tries to keep herself from sounding too eager, but she’s not sure she succeeded.

Dolls just stares at her for several moments, not giving any indication as to what might be going through his head.  Nicole doesn’t know if she’s about to be commended or charged with treason.  Finally he reaches down and grabs a pen from the cup on the corner of her desk, scribbling something on stack of post-its sitting next to it.  He sticks it to the top of her folders and then drops his hands back to his hips.

“Send the links for that footage and those witness statements to my e-mail,” he says, indicating the note he had just left her.  “I’ll call Metro and get the crime scene photos and anything else I can.  You can start looking through your files.  We need full descriptions of the suspects and names if you can get them.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicole replies, trying to keep her excitement in check.

Dolls is already walking back to his office when he stops at the swinging gate.  “Good work, Officer Haught,” he says, nodding his head in Nicole’s direction.

“Thank you, sir.”

He’s just about to turn back around when he cocks his head at her, considering something for a moment.

Oh, shit…

“Have you told Nedley about this yet?”

The blood drains from Nicole’s face, and she only shakes her head at Dolls, afraid her voice will crack if she tries to speak.  She swears she sees the corners of his mouth twitch when he answers.

“I think I’ll do that myself.”  He’s already slipping a cell phone out of his back pocket as he walks away.

What have you just gotten yourself in the middle of?

Nicole doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though.  She has her orders, and she is determined to come up with something that will be useful to this case.  She quickly sends the e-mail and opens the first file.

Alright, Nicole.  Time to find your dream guy.

“Enter.”

Nicole finds herself at the door of the BBD office for the second time in as many hours.  She had been studying the Grim Reaper files since Dolls had left her at her desk, and she finally has some pertinent information to share.

She’d only had to pause during her research twice for interruptions.  The first time was when Nedley came stomping into the station, looking like he might suffer an aneurysm at any second.  It looked dangerously like he was heading straight for Nicole’s desk – she’d had a brief vision of being told to pack her things – when thankfully Dolls had swooped out of the BBD office and cut him off. 

Nicole had heard Dolls take the blame – she suspected he thought of it more as taking the credit – for claiming jurisdiction over the case, and then when Nedley had turned to give Nicole new orders, Dolls had smirked and said she was already conducting Federal business.  Nicole had immediately ducked her head, gluing her eyes to the report on top of the stack, trying desperately to suppress a grin.

The second interruption had been very brief.  Wynonna had come flying out of the BBD office, coat and gun in hand, with Dolls yelling “Earp!” after her.  Nicole noted, not for the first time, what a strange relationship the two of them seemed to have.  But she didn’t dwell on it, getting back to her research, feeling pleased she was starting to narrow down the pool of potential suspects.

It had taken her two hours of pouring over the life and times – crimes? – of hundreds of bikers that had either settled in or passed through the area in the past couple of years, but her efforts had eventually proven fruitful.  Nicole strides into the office, finding Dolls hunched over the table, studying an array of crime scene photos.

“I’ve got something, sir,” she says, holding up three files before spreading them on the table in front of him.  He opens one of them and looks at the printouts as Nicole begins to rattle off the information for the first suspect.  “Franklin, Gary T.; white male; late 30s; 12 counts of aggravated assault; 4 with a deadly weapon; 3 counts of armed robbery; 1 outstanding murder charge.”

Dolls jerks his eyes up to meet hers, his mouth slightly open.  “Did you memorize that, Haught?”

“I have a good memory, sir,” she shrugs, not missing a beat.  “The one who held up the hand in the video,” she indicates one of the folders and he flips it open, “Sturgiss, Martin A.; white male, late 20s; 32 counts of aggravated assault; 26 with a deadly weapon; 8 counts of armed robbery; 12 counts of attempted murder; and 7 outstanding murder charges.  He has a preference for a hunting blade.  He’s my front-runner for gutting the Deputy Mayor.”

Dolls quirks his eyebrow, giving her a quizzical look, but says nothing.  He opens the last folder and nods at her.

“Thornhill, Samuel J.; white male; early 30s; 24 counts of aggravated assault; 13 with a deadly weapon; 4 counts of armed robbery; 6 counts of attempted murder; 3 outstanding murder charges.  He has a vehicle on file.  It’s not registered anywhere, but I at least have a description.”

Pulling out his notebook and pen, Dolls waits for Nicole to continue.

“1981 Ford Club Wagon Chateau.  Brown and tan.  Several reports indicate he has attached some kind of rack to the front grill.”

“This is good work, Officer Haught,” he says, and Nicole thinks it sounds like he actually means it.

“Thank you, sir.  Is there anything else…?” she trails off hopefully, but his face has turned hard again.

“That will be all.”

Nicole hesitates for a moment and then nods at him once before turning to leave.  A phone rings behind her on her first step, and by the time she reaches the door, Dolls is calling after her.

“Haught,” he barks.  She spins back around to face him, her brow furrowed.

What the fuck did I do now?

He is still on the phone, holding out his hand toward her, one finger extended in an indication for her to wait.  The muscles in her jaw flex, but she says nothing as she stands at the door, her hand still resting on the knob.  “Okay.  Get back here, Earp.”  There’s a pause.  “Earp…  No, you ne–  Earp…   EARP!  NOW!”  He jams his finger against the screen and tosses his phone down on the table with a huff.

Thanks a lot, Wynonna.  Piss him off before he talks to me.

“I need to you run another name for me, Haught.”

“Yes, sir?” 

He pauses, as though waiting for her to grab her notebook, but Nicole just stares at him expectantly.

“Stanley Gatewood.  Last known residence:  Purgatory Cemetery.  Been there since the 70’s.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, wondering if that was him trying to make a joke or if he was incapable of such a thing.  Sometimes she thinks he’s had his sense of humor and most of his manners surgically removed.

It doesn’t take Nicole more than a few minutes to pull up the history on Mr. Gatewood, and she returns the Grim Reapers files to the locked cabinet while she waits for the single page of information to print.  Dolls is actually waiting at the door for her this time, so she hands him the sheet, and he thanks her, and then she’s back at her desk, doing her best to avoid the glares being leveled at her from Nedley’s office.

Nicole goes back to the court docket she had been working on earlier in the morning, but there is a nervous energy buzzing through her, and she finds it hard to concentrate.  Despite his inability to act like a human being, she is pretty sure she impressed Dolls with her hard work.  Or at least didn’t disappoint him.

And that is something she feels like she can be proud of.

“Sheriff!”

Ruthie is running through the bullpen.  Running.

She almost bowls Nicole over where she’s standing at the copy machine.

“Sheriff!”

Nedley has jumped up from behind his desk and is scrambling to the door of his office.  “What’s going on, Ruthie?”

It had been quiet after Nicole had finished her project for Dolls.  Wynonna had returned not long after she’d called, stalking in with a frustrated expression and cup of coffee.  She glanced up and noticed Nicole sitting at her desk, jerking her head up with her chin out as a greeting, and Nicole had nodded back at her before she’d disappeared into the BBD office.

They hadn’t stayed in there for very long, Dolls exiting quickly and stopping a few steps into the hallway to turn around call after Wynonna.  “Earp!”  She emerged begrudgingly, still holding her coffee, but now rubbing her lips gingerly.  He rolled his eyes at her and she flipped him off, and then they were gone.

Nicole had taken advantage of the quiet to make a couple of quick copies of the suspects’ files she’d given Dolls earlier.  They seemed like they would be perfect additions to her own X-Files, but she had nearly forgotten about them in the paper tray when Ruthie had just blown past her in a panic.

“There’s been shots fired down at Crown Surplus.  They’ve got hostages, Sheriff!”

“Hostages?  Are you sure?”

“We’ve gotten more than one call about it, Sheriff.  It looks bad.  Also…  That Fed is already down there.  With that Earp.”

There it is again.  That tone.  Still.

“Goddammit,” Nedley mutters.  He looks around the bullpen, then back to Ruthie.  “Where’s Marks?”

Nicole’s nostrils flare at the thought that he would rather take the other deputy than be stuck with her.  She tries to tell herself it is because the more deputies present the better.  It mostly works. 

Mostly.

“He’s been handling that vandalism call out at Bushwick’s Mill all morning,” Ruthie answers with a frown.  “He radioed in earlier to say there had been a break-in and property damage, too.  He hasn’t even started the drive back yet.”

“Shit,” Nedley grunts and turns to Nicole.  “Looks like it’s you and me, Haught.  You ready for this?”

“Yes, sir,” Nicole answers too quickly, her voice higher than normal.  In truth, her heart is racing and she can feel a knot growing in her stomach.

The Sheriff strides over to her desk, his previous aggravation with her gone.  She’s fidgeting with her ring and shifting her weight from foot to foot as he looks at her before leaning forward and placing his palms on the top of her desk.

“Breathe, Nicole,” he says, his voice low and calm.  “Take a deep breath in and back out.  And look at me.”

She does as he says, dropping her hands to her belt to help steady herself.

“Good.  Now listen to me.  Are you listening?”  Nicole nods at him, still taking long, deep breaths.  “Okay.  You haven’t been in a situation like this yet.  Nerves can run high and judgment can run low.”  He raises one of his hands and lays it firmly on her shoulder.  “I need you to stay calm, Haught.  Because it is our job to make sure the opposite of that is true.”

Nicole licks her dry lips and swallows thickly.  “Yes, sir,” she croaks, embarrassed that her throat is still so tight.  Her hands stiffen around her belt.

“Now, you’ll need to stay back when we first arrive.”  She immediately starts to balk, but he squeezes her shoulder gently.  “You haven’t done anything wrong.  But it’s better if only one of us assesses the situation first, and then we can get an idea of how to proceed.  I’ll speak to Dolls, and then you and I can figure out where to go from there.  Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”  Her breathing is starting to even out, and her voice is stronger now.

“Alright.  We need to go, then.  Full code, and stay close behind my Explorer.”

Nicole grabs her Stetson off the rack by the counter and starts to hurry out the door.

“Haught.”

She stops in her tracks and spins on her heel to face him, hat in hand.  “Sir?”

“Are you forgetting something?”

Nicole looks down at her hands and back up at him.  She has her gun.  Her radio.  Her cuffs.  Her hat.

He looks at her pointedly for a moment, but she just continues to stare back at him with confusion.  He sighs and taps his chest a couple of times, raising an eyebrow.  The reaction is immediate, her face turning the color of her hair.  “Right…” she mumbles and turns the other direction toward the locker room.

Nedley rolls his eyes and ducks back into his office, grabbing his own hat and vest before heading out.

Shrugging out of her shirt, Nicole straps the Kevlar on quickly, yanking the sleeves back over her arms and shoving the tails back into her pants.  She jams the Stetson down on her head and practically sprints outside, climbing into her squad car. 

They peel away from the curb, lights flashing and sirens blaring.  Nicole grips her steering wheel so tightly it’s almost painful and she can barely hear her siren over the thundering in her ears.

Speeding through the streets of Purgatory, she tries to calm her breathing by counting the beats of her own heart.

Steady, Hawk.  This is what you trained for.

Chapter Text

“We’re both 10-23, Ruthie.”

Nicole still feels like the world is happening around her in a blur.  She has the distant fleeting thought that she’s glad her voice had at least stopped trembling before she had to call on scene.

“10-4, Haught.  I’ll be on standby for frequent status checks.”

“10-4”

Nicole is amazed, not for the first time, at the elderly woman’s ability to remain calm during a high-stakes situation.  She may mother them in the office, scolding sternly or doling out the shit sarcastically, but when it comes to a crisis, Ruthie Hunter is all business.  Nicole supposes it comes from the thirty-five years Ruthie spent as a deputy before retiring and deciding to stay on as the daytime dispatcher. 

She must have been a force to reckon with when she was still out on the road.

Ruthie’s experience definitely shows in circumstances like this, sitting alert at the radio waiting to record the actions of her officers, fulfill requests for information, and perform constant check-ins for status.  She may no longer carry a firearm, but she knows that the lives of her officers are still every bit as much in her hands as they were when she used to be standing next to them on the front line.

There are worse role models you could look up to, Hawk.

By the time Nicole makes it out of her cruiser and to the front of the car – after having forgotten to unbuckle her seatbelt the first time she tried – Nedley, Wynonna, and Dolls are already clustered around his oversized SUV, Nedley a few steps behind the other two.  Nicole fights the urge to spring forward and join them, remembering the instructions she’d been given to “hang back.”  It goes against every fiber of her being, but she forces herself to comply, hovering a few feet in front of her squad car with her hand resting firmly on her gun and her other arm twitching nervously at her side.

They are speaking too quietly for Nicole to hear what they’re saying, but she can make out Nedley’s characteristically gruff tone being countered by the arrogant calmness of Dolls.  Wynonna, for her part, seems uncomfortable being caught between the two of them, crossing her arms as her shoulders sag with a heavy sigh.  Dolls turns to face Nedley and must say something particularly acerbic, because the Sheriff’s posture stiffens, with his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his mustache bristling as his scowl deepens.

Nedley turns and strides toward Nicole, and she can practically feel the animosity rolling off of him in waves as the heavy footfalls of his cowboy boots thump loudly against the asphalt.  She straightens her Stetson as he approaches, wishing it would also straighten her head, which is still buzzing with anticipation.  Nedley stops in front of her, his hard stare fixed on some point in the distance for a moment.  Nicole shifts her weight anxiously from foot to foot, letting her focus slide to the ambulance that has just arrived and is staging at a safe distance, until he turns back to face her.

“Jackass,” he breathes, and Nicole barely hears him.

“Sir?”  Her other hand has come to rest on her belt buckle and she grips it tightly trying to ground herself.

“Goddamn jurisdictional bullshit,” he growls, louder this time.

“What are our orders, sir?” Nicole asks with a frown.

Nedley snorts, glaring back over his shoulder at Dolls, who is now in a heated conversation with Wynonna.  “Our orders,” the Sheriff bites, “are to ‘take our cues from Deputy Marshal Dickhead.’  He isn’t even calling in the TAC team.  Thinks he can handle it by himself with that Earp.”

The muscles in Nicole’s jaw flex instinctively at the familiar tone, but she says nothing, instead watching an exchange currently taking place between Dolls and Wynonna.  He passes her a cell phone and gestures for her to hand him her gun.  That ridiculous gun.  She apparently disagrees, because it looks like they are arguing again.

He wants his deputy to give up her firearm?  What the hell…?

She can’t tell what they are planning, but Nicole finds herself feeling surprisingly apprehensive at the thought of Wynonna facing a situation like this unarmed.  She feels the weight of her own service weapon sitting heavily in its holster on her hip, the textured grip digging roughly into the pads of her fingers where they are curled around it and the normally cold steel warmed under the heat of her sweaty palm.  Nicole realizes she’s had a death grip on it since she exited her squad car, her index finger turning white where it’s extended along the barrel, pressing the entire holster firmly against her thigh.

Nicole thinks about how she is clinging to her firearm like a security blanket and she can’t imagine being asked to surrender it like Wynonna is currently doing, finally relenting to the insistent look Dolls is giving her.  She doesn’t have long to consider it, though, because Dolls exhibits an uncharacteristic show of affection to Wynonna, stroking his hand just behind her ear, and Nicole suddenly feels like she’s intruding on a private moment by watching them.  She turns back to Nedley, who is still standing next to her and glaring at the pair of them.  He scoffs loudly, and Nicole is surprised at how irritated she is by his behavior.

Their strange relationship just keeps getting more and more interesting.

The moment is broken and Dolls draws his weapon as Wynonna walks slowly ahead of him.  Nicole suddenly realizes what they intend to do and she is flooded with both trepidation about Dolls sending Wynonna in alone, and adrenaline, sharp in her chest and bitter in her throat.  Her feet are rooted to the spot, as though the rubber soles of her duty boots have melted and fused to the oily asphalt, but her mind is running at breakneck speed, hurtling through images involving an unarmed Wynonna with a penchant for running her mouth, sadistic bikers with a penchant for filleting people, and defenseless hostages with a penchant for getting caught in the crossfire.

An insistent yank at her elbow pulls Nicole from the barrage of worst case scenarios flickering behind her eyes to find that Nedley is dragging her toward the open door of his Explorer.  “Stay on me, Haught,” he says, his voice calm as he delivers the instruction.  He leans in to grab his shotgun from between the front seats, and Nicole’s thumb flicks open the fastening strap on her holster in the same fluid motion that she draws her weapon and cradles it firmly with her other hand.

Nedley props his forearm against the frame of the door, using it as leverage as he levels his shotgun at the building.  Nicole follows suit, thankful that muscle memory easily drops her into the familiar stance and brings her arms up to eye level, straight and steady, equal amounts of tension simultaneously pulling towards her body and pushing away from it.  The barrel of her firearm does not waver as she takes aim, her finger resting on the trigger guard.

Wynonna knocks on the door of the surplus store, glancing back over her shoulder at Dolls, and Nicole can see the uncertainty on her face.  He doesn’t give any perceptible response, but they must share a look because Nicole can see her swallow and nod, apparently getting whatever assurance she needed from him.  Wynonna turns back toward the door and a few seconds later it is opened by a face Nicole recognizes from the Grim Reaper files:  Samuel J. Thornhill.

His mug shot doesn’t do him justice.

Nicole trains her gun on the felon in the doorway, focusing on a point just to the right of Wynonna’s head.  Her lungs are burning as the bitterness from her throat spreads across her tongue, and she has to force herself to take a breath.  The first time she had drawn her weapon on the job, she’d been faced with a raccoon.  But there is a very different sort of bandit lined up in her sights now, and Nicole clicks the safety smoothly with her thumb, never taking her eyes off of her target.

After several tense moments, Wynonna manages to talk her way inside, and Nicole isn’t sure if that is a good or a bad thing, but it is the hand they are dealt.  She relaxes her stance a bit, reengaging the safety as she lowers her weapon, still in the readied grip but angled downward in front of her waist. 

Seconds later, the phone Dolls is clutching rings and he begins pacing as he speaks in low tones to whomever is in charge inside.  The call ends quickly and the pacing Dolls continues to do gives no indication as to how things were left, but Nicole can see the muscles in his clenched jaw flexing from all the way over by Nedley’s vehicle.  His face remains blank as he prowls back and forth by his SUV.

Remind me never to play poker with him.

Doing nothing is nearly impossible for Nicole, so she lets her eyes scan the rest of the scene for the first time since they arrived.  A beat up old Ford Club Wagon Chateau has jumped the curb and is parked halfway onto the sidewalk just outside the door of the surplus store.  It’s an exact match to the description Nicole dug up earlier this morning, down to the makeshift rack attached to the front grille.  There are several spectators gathering on the sidewalk farther down, and she hopes they don’t try to get any closer because they don’t have the manpower to set up a proper perimeter right now. 

And then something else catches her eye.

A jacked up black pickup truck.

Nicole doesn’t have time to process the possible implications arising from this because the door to the shop has just opened again, and her arms immediately snap back up into place, her weapon once again trained on the entrance.  Three civilians scurry out – two women and a man – still bound at the wrists with zip ties and looking terrified.  Nedley waves his hand in their direction, signaling for them to run to the ambulance parked a block farther down the street, where they can be tended to until one of the officers has a chance to see to them.

Shit.  Wynonna is still in there.

Nedley has his shotgun cocked against one hip and is leaning against the frame of his Explorer, but Nicole is practically vibrating with the excess adrenaline and a desire to actually fucking do something.  That’s Waverly’s sister in there and there’s no way Nicole can let something happen to her.  Before she even registers what she’s doing, Nicole is jamming her firearm back into her holster and stalking toward Dolls with purpose and determination.

“What’s the plan, Deputy Marshal?”  She refastens the leather strap on auto-pilot and her other hand grips the buckle of her duty belt again out of habit.

To her surprise, Dolls doesn’t brush her off, which is more courtesy than he had afforded Nedley when they’d arrived.  “We surround the store,” he directs, not tearing his eyes away from the storefront.  “You get a clear shot, let me know.”

Nicole’s gaze is also focused on the nearby entrance and she nods her head absentmindedly in acknowledgement.  “Alright,” she mutters, as she considers the new plan of action.

Dolls turns his attention toward her and she meets his eyes.  “We hear shots, we go in.”  He considers her for a moment, and then fishes his cell phone out of his back pocket, holding it out toward her.

Nicole looks down at it briefly, then back up at him with confusion, but takes it from him anyway.  “Call Waverly,” he says, looking at her earnestly, his voice softening ever so slightly.  “Tell her that her sister’s in a situation.”

“…’kay,” she almost whispers, nodding at him.  Thanks to the nervous energy still coursing through her, Nicole twirls the phone in her jittery hands as her eyes dart around the scene again, finally coming to rest on something she had momentarily noticed before.

The black dually Chevy Silverardo with the double cab and the tinted rear windows.  She had noticed it earlier, but now the realization finally clicks.

Shit.

“Hey, isn’t that Champ’s truck?” she asks before she can stop herself.

Dolls slides his eyes in the direction Nicole is currently staring.  “Waverly’s boyfriend?” he asks, a little surprised by the question.

“Unfortunately,” she answers with an edge in her voice as her glare hardens and she exhales sharply through her flared nostrils.

Dolls snaps his head back around with a quirked eyebrow, intrigued by the disdain the rookie is so clearly harboring for Champ Hardy.  Nicole doesn’t notice his questioning look, however, as she is already shuffling away, cradling his phone in her hands, muttering to herself with her head bowed.

“Call Waverly, he says.”  She strokes a finger over the screen of his phone as she walks numbly toward her squad car, her vision narrowed.  “Call Waverly.  Like it’s the easiest goddamn thing in the world.”

Hey, Wave.  It’s me.  The woman who’s crushing on you.  Also, your sister might be getting herself killed by a group of bikers.  Oh, and maybe your boy-man, too.  Anyway.  Call me sometime if you want to go out for coffee.

Nicole pinches the bridge of her nose and breathes out an exasperated sigh.

Come on, Hawk.  You’ve stared down an angry bull.  Calling Waverly Earp oughta be a walk in the meadow.

*BEEP*

Shit.

Nicole had been expecting to speak with Waverly.  Which would have been bad enough, but at least she could have relied on the other girl to help direct the conversation.  What she got instead was an exuberant greeting in Waverly’s melodious voice, the bright and cheery words taking on an almost sing-song quality.  It was enchanting.  Nicole was enchanted.  So much so that she had been grinning like an idiot in her squad car until the harsh notification tone jarred her from her daydream haze.

Shit fuckity fuck.

She hadn’t planned for this.  Hadn’t painstakingly prepared the right words to say.  And now the line is open, and the seconds are ticking away, and Nicole is sitting here with her mouth hanging open and panic dancing in her eyes.

“Uhh…  Hi, Waverly,” she finally blurts out.  “It’s…  it’s me.  Umm…  Nicole,” she stutters, then curses herself.  Her face burns when she realizes Waverly would probably hear that, too.  She clears her throat and tries again.  “Officer Haught.”

Nedley had passed her when she was still leaning against the outside of her car, trying to psyche herself up to place the call.  He spoke a few words to one of the paramedics hovering busily around the ambulance and then shook hands with the released hostages.  There wouldn’t be time to take official statements until the situation was completely resolved, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to get an idea of what they were up against.

Nicole had just begun scrolling through the contacts in the phone Dolls had given her when Nedley approached her to give her the brief rundown on his way back up to his Explorer.  There were three bikers, all armed – Nicole was not surprised by this, given that it was she who had tracked down their rap sheets earlier that morning, and she had smiled smugly at the thought.  The three hostages were relatively unscathed and no worse for the wear.  And, unfortunately, they were not the only hostages that had been taken.

To Wynonna’s credit, she had attempted to negotiate the freedom of all others involved.  But the bikers had insisted on keeping a few extras.  Nedley’s mustache had twitched when he’d told her who else was still inside:  Champ Hardy and… Shorty.  A knot had formed in Nicole’s stomach at the knowledge that Shorty – the man who had been so kind to her since her first day on the job – was still trapped in there, and the thought of Wynonna trying to save him had drawn her attention back to the phone in her hand and the task she had been entrusted with.

Now Nicole takes a deep breath and focuses on the badge on her Stetson where she had dropped it on the dashboard in front of her.  It glints in the sunlight that is pouring in through the windshield, and she lets the shiny, polished silver that she wears so proudly remind her of why she is doing this.

“Waverly…  I…” Nicole stalls again, and tries to pull some confidence from her uniform, the firearm on her hip, the very car she is sitting in.  When she starts up once more, her voice is stronger.  Steadier. 

“Deputy Marshal Dolls gave me his phone so I could call you.  There’s been an incident.  At Crown Surplus.  Some bikers have taken some hostages, and we’re all here on scene.  Me, and Sheriff Nedley, and…  and Black Badge Division.”  She takes a deep breath to stop herself from rambling.  “Your sister, Waverly…  She’s gotten herself caught up in all of this.” 

Nicole pauses for a moment, realizing how many times Waverly must have heard something like that in her life.  How many times she’s been told that Wynonna is in trouble and the police are involved.  How many times the news must have been delivered with an air of haughtiness – whether by Gus or the Sheriff himself – each word laced with the unspoken message:  I told you so.

Waverly deserves so much better than that right now, though.  Wynonna deserves better.

“But she was so brave, Wave.  So courageous.  She tried to negotiate with the bikers.  Offered herself in exchange for the other hostages.”  Nicole’s eyes drop from her badge to where her fingers are nervously picking at piece of loose vinyl along the edge of a crack in the steering wheel.  “It… She...”  The little piece of plastic tears free and she rolls it between her fingers. 

“She was able to free three of the hostages.  But Shorty is still in there.  And…  and Champ…”  Nicole flicks the rolled up ball a little more forcefully than she intended to and it ricochets off the passenger window, a pang of guilt settling in her chest when it comes to rest in the dip of the brim of her Stetson. 

“But don’t worry, Waves.  She’s still in there with them.  Wynonna will keep them safe.  And we’re all still out here.  I won’t –“ Nicole makes a strange gurgling noise as she tries to still those words in her throat.  “I mean we won’t let anything happen to her.”

Nicole hesitates for a series of heartbeats and when she speaks again her voice is softer, barely more than a murmur.  “If you need anything, Waverly…  anything…  you can call me.  You have my…  my card.  I’ll always be here for you.”

Before there is time for Nicole to say anything else, to take any of it back, to even think about what she just said, she is cut off by the notification tone again, signaling the end of the voice mail.

*BEEP*

Nicole groans and leans forward to rest her head on the steering wheel, her eyes squeezed shut tightly.  She honestly can’t remember the last sixty seconds of her life and she really has no idea what she might have just said.  All she can hope is that it will offer some sort of comfort to Waverly.

This isn’t about you, Hawk.  It’s about her.  Let’s hope you didn’t blow it.

“Okay, look.  I can offer safe passage in return for the hostages.”

His booming voice echoes through the otherwise deserted street as Dolls tries to take control of the situation.  The Sheriff is at his side, his shotgun pumped and aimed, and Dolls argues with him in tones too hushed for Nicole to make out from her position behind the open door of Nedley’s Explorer.

Nicole had stumbled out of her patrol car after the phone call, one hand trying to draw her gun and the other clinging to the door to keep her from tripping over her own feet.  She had been spurred into action when Dolls had yelled and Nicole had looked up to see Thornhill peeking his head out the door again.  Unfortunately, she had still been a bit disoriented, which had led to her clumsiness.  By the time she had righted herself, he was already back inside, Nedley and Dolls lowering their weapons again.

Cursing her inattention and slow reaction, Nicole had ducked back into the car to snatch her Stetson off its resting place on the dash and caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror.  Her face was flushed, and she had an indentation on her forehead from where it had been resting against the steering wheel just moments ago.  Fuck.  She had jammed the hat down low on her brow to cover the mark, slammed the car door, and stalked back over to the others with her jaw set.

Handing his phone back to him, Nicole had informed Dolls that she’d been unable to reach Waverly, but had left her a voicemail concerning Wynonna’s situation.  He had nodded at her, and actually thanked her, before turning his attention back to the door.  It was clear to Nicole that he was having just as hard of a time doing nothing as she was.

A few status checks with Ruthie later, and things have escalated again.  Thornhill is holding Wynonna as a human shield, her hands zip-tied and a pistol pressed to the base of her skull.  Nicole can see Champ Hardy cowering next to them, his tattooed arms raised in front of his face, and a smaller biker is hiding behind Shorty’s large frame.  What she doesn’t see is the third biker that the other hostages had confirmed.

Nicole’s stance is rigid again, the familiar push and pull forming the tension in her arms as she trains her weapon on Thornhill’s shoulder – the only portion of his body exposed behind Wynonna.  He’s pushing her forward, toward the old Ford van, the others trailing along behind them.  Nicole can finally see the face of the second biker:  Martin A. Sturgiss. 

Mister Hunting Knife himself.  Fantastic.

“Here’s our safe passage!” Thornhill yells back, his voice gruff and strained.  “Anyone with a badge follows us, they all die!”  Nicole’s teeth grind at the threat, her thumb pressed tightly beneath the released safety and her finger twitching on the trigger guard.

Dolls lowers his weapon, much to Nicole’s surprise.  “Deputy, did they find what they were looking for?” he calls out, seemingly unconcerned about having a conversation with Wynonna in front of the man who has a gun to her head.

“Yeah, a loveless heart,” she yells back, her bound hands working to open the cargo door of the van.  Sturgiss is still behind Shorty, and Champ is almost comically frozen between them, hunkering down with his hands still covering his face.  “But don’t sweat it,” Wynonna continues.  “I’m gonna kill these sons of bitches with my bare hands.”

Nicole is trying to focus on deep breaths in through her nose and back out through her mouth, her firearm still leveled at the piece of Thornhill’s arm she can see over the hood of the van.

This must be the Wynonna everyone is always talking about.  Still running her mouth, even with a gun at her back.  Hope she doesn’t manage to get herself killed.

Wynonna manages to slide the side door open, and Thornhill shoves her in first, forcing her to climb up front into the driver’s seat.  He crawls in behind, and all Nicole can see over the dashboard is the gun in his hand.  She lets her arms swing to the left, her sights now following Sturgiss as he corrals Champ and Shorty into the back seat.  Nicole can hear Dolls and Nedley arguing again, but she doesn’t want to shift her focus away to find out what it is about.

The aging engine coughs and sputters to life, and it is then that Nicole realizes neither Dolls nor Nedley are making any sort of move to keep them from driving off.  In fact, both of them have let their arms fall to their sides, weapons dangling harmlessly against their legs.

What the fuck?!

Nicole understands that this is a small town, and that they are undermanned right now.  But she is pretty sure that just sitting here watching a van full of felons and hostages drive away while doing absolutely fucking nothing to stop them is not on the list of options she was taught at the academy.  The thundering in her ears is back with renewed vigor, and her limbs are tingling with the fresh wave of adrenaline rushing through them.

“What, we’re just letting them go?”  Nicole’s voice is high-pitched and laced with exasperation and worry.  It only takes a couple of her long strides before she is at Nedley’s side, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“No,” Dolls answers quickly, practically cutting her off.  He offers no further explanation and Nicole stares at him, clearly confused, as it seems to be exactly what they are doing.

The van lurches forward, and Wynonna begins to navigate it through the mess of law enforcement vehicles in the middle of the street.  Nicole still has her firearm raised, appalled that Dolls and Nedley do not, and she keeps it aimed through the windshield until she is forced to move out of Wynonna’s way.  They make eye contact as she passes, and though Wynonna’s brow is furrowed and her face is hard, she manages a sad quirk of her lips toward Nicole.

What the…?  Is she trying to reassure me?  That is not how this is supposed to go.

Before the van has even cleared the spot where Nicole’s squad car is parked, Dolls is already puffing his chest back out, with his chin tipped up in that pompous way he has.  “You two clear the scene.”  His tone is authoritative, daring them to challenge him.

Nedley glares up at Dolls for a brief moment, his lips so thin they disappear beneath his mustache, before he begins walking back toward his Explorer, shaking his head with disgust.  Nicole stares at Dolls a little longer.  She had really expected more out of him than this.  With his arrogance and his superiority and his crates full of treasonous weapons.  But he had just let his only deputy – someone Nicole suspects he might actually care for – drive away as a hostage without lifting so much as a finger to save her.

Unfuckingbelievable .

His glare doesn’t relent, and Nicole eventually spins sharply on her heel, her head whipping harshly to the side in order to hide her frustration.  She jams her firearm back into her holster, storming over to where Nedley is returning his shotgun to the holder between his front seats, and slumps against the hood of the Explorer with her arms folded in a huff. 

Nicole waits for the scolding she assumes she’ll be getting from Nedley, but it never comes.  She looks up to find him tapping his palm against the top of the doorframe, aggravation clearly playing across his features as his stony gaze bores a hole in the back of the Deputy Marshal’s head. Stepping back, Nedley slams the door with more force than he probably meant to, causing Nicole to jump from where she’s leaning against the vehicle and snap to attention, her hands automatically dropping to her belt buckle.

“C’mon, Haught,” he says with a sigh.  “Let’s go clear the scene.”  He grumbles and uses air quotes and wearily draws his service weapon as he trudges toward the front door.  Dolls has just finished examining Wynonna’s gun and climbed into his SUV.  He revs the engine – unnecessarily, in Nicole’s opinion – before peeling out behind where Nedley had just crossed the street.

What an ass.

She draws her own firearm as she trots across the street to catch up with Nedley, her limbs feeling heavy and her stomach twisted with consternation.  Nicole follows the Sheriff’s lead as they breach the building, though they both know they will be greeted with an empty store.

She can’t remember ever feeling this useless, and for the first time since applying to the academy, Nicole begins to wonder if she’s made a huge mistake.

“You think you can handle this on your own?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“You know what to do?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Alright, then.  Get in there.”

“Th-thank you, sir.”

“You earned it, Haught.”

Nicole enters the Crown Surplus for the second time that day.  She and Nedley had cleared the building and secured the scene a couple of hours ago after Dolls had sped off.  There hadn’t been much to it.  It was obvious the threats had already left, driving away while the rest of them stood dumbly by and watched.

Nedley had called for the Crime Scene Unit from Metro, and being the rookie, Nicole had been assigned the task of keeping the scene secure until they arrived.  It had taken them nearly an hour, which had left her standing at parade rest in front of the door, as though someone might actually try and walk into the store.  Nedley spent his time keeping the hostages corralled by the ambulances – they’d called in a second rig due to capacity rules – and coordinating with Ruthie to get APBs put out on the van and the bikers.

Marks had arrived around the same time as the CSU techs, and he set about keeping a perimeter between the gathering townsfolk and the crime scene.  Nedley was on the phone with Metro and the neighboring counties, and Nicole… was still guarding the store while the techs began their work.

But now the lab guys are done, meaning the Sheriff’s Department can begin their investigation, and it’s time to take witness statements from bystanders, and the hostages can finally be transported to the hospital – much to their dismay, but policy is policy – with an officer escort.

Nicole had assumed Marks would be given the store since he has seniority, leaving her stuck with witness duty.  But when Nedley had announced he was heading to the hospital to finally take the official statements from the hostages, he had tasked Marks with talking to the crowd, and slapped Nicole on the back when he informed her she could start making notes about the scene inside.

Pulling her black leather patrol gloves onto her slender hands, Nicole makes her way through the overstocked racks and the jumbled display cases.  She slides her notebook from the pocket of her shirt and clicks her pen open, ready to observe and take detailed notes, just like she had learned.

Nicole feels strange standing there in the musty store, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, knowing that it isn’t some elaborately staged scene in a warehouse owned by the Academy, each piece of clutter meticulously placed to hide a clue and teach a lesson.  The shards of glass that crunch under her boot weren’t scattered on the floor by an eager instructor, and the blood that she finds smeared along the jagged edges wasn’t painted on in an attempt to add some authenticity.

This is real.  Someone bled.  We did nothing.

None of the hostages that had been released bore any wounds that were consistent with this kind of sharp force trauma, and Nicole begins to wonder who else might have been injured.  One of the bikers?  Champ or Shorty?

Wynonna?

Nicole feels a sharp pain in her chest at the concerning possibilities, dropping the piece of broken glass she had been examining and rising up from where she’d been squatting.  She dutifully records the observation and then ventures further in, finding the room in the back where the majority of the action had taken place.

Nedley had cleared this area when they were in here before, so this is the first Nicole is seeing of the hidden vault.  The ripped up drywall has left a fine layer of the powdery dust, coating the racks of clothing and the floor as though it’s trying to mute the echoes of the violence it had witnessed.

The vault door is still standing open, and Nicole steps inside, curious what she might find.  She’s honestly not sure if she’s disappointed or relieved when she’s greeted by rows of empty shelves, covered in cobwebs, and a single box in the lower right corner that looks like it might have held old-fashioned rifles at some point.  Taking a cautious step forward, she lifts the lid, finding nothing more than several stacks of old balance ledgers, the pages yellowed with the passage of time.

She scribbles a few more notes, and it’s only when Nicole re-enters the stockroom that something catches her eye in the far corner.  A large pool of something, dark against the chalky concrete floor.

Is that… blood?

Nicole wonders briefly if the third biker – Gary T. Franklin – was the one who had been injured by the smashed display case, possibly bleeding out in this back room while his partners in crime watched.  She doubted they had even cared.  Is that why he hadn’t been with them when they left?

But where is his body?

She considers that for a moment.  Regardless of his fate, where is his body?  He didn’t leave with them.  And he hadn’t still been inside when she and Nedley had cleared the store right after.  So where did he go?  People don’t just vanish into thin air.

Do they?

Nicole crouches low to take a closer look, reaching out to run a gloved finger through the thick, sticky substance.  She had thought it was blood, but it’s clear to her now that it is not.  She would almost swear that it was used motor oil – viscous, and dark brown, nearly black – if not for the foul odor.

Missing body and mystery substance.  Looks like another one for my X-Files.

Before she can give it any further thought, Nicole hears a loud crash coming from the front of the store.  It startles her and she almost falls back on her ass where she’s still stooped in the corner.  She clambers to her feet, her heart suddenly racing, and strips her leather gloves as she draws her firearm and begins moving quietly through the stockroom shelves.

The familiar crunching of glass tells Nicole there is definitely someone in the store with her, and also exactly where they are located.  She takes a deep breath and swings around the end of the aisle, her service weapon leveled where she knows the splintered wood and broken glass cover the floor.  She’s met with the sight of… a denim-clad ass and knee-high leather boots.

What the fuck?

Nicole steps closer, but the scuffing of her boot alerts the intruder, who jumps bolt upright and spins around in a flash.  The next thing Nicole sees is the absurdly long barrel of a gun pointed straight at her face.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Wynonna!” Nicole yells louder than she means to, sounding far more panicked than she would ever admit.  “You scared the shit out of me.”  She shoves her firearm back into her holster and leans back against the shelf, snatching her Stetson off of her head and pressing the knuckles of her other hand against her temple.

“Whatsa matter, flatfoot?” Wynonna slurs, waving her revolver around carelessly.  “Give ya a Haught attack?”  She laughs at her own joke and stumbles forward a couple of steps.

A smartass response is halfway out of Nicole’s mouth, but it stalls on her tongue when she notices Wynonna’s glassy eyes, and that’s when her gaze drops to her other hand.  An unmistakable brown bottle dangles precariously from Wynonna’s fingers, and her strange behavior suddenly becomes clear to Nicole.

“You’re back,” Nicole says, eyeing Wynonna.  “And you’re…  you’re okay…”  She’s confused by Wynonna’s presence in the store, and especially by the fact that she’s drunk, but she can’t deny the relief that is flooding through her.

Wynonna snorts, her lip curling up into a sneer.  “Yeah,” she says, taking three times to return her gun to its holster, the long barrel giving her hand-eye coordination fits.  “I’m jus’ fuckin’ peachy.”  She promptly spins back around, bending over again and continuing to dig through the debris.

“What about the others?” Nicole asks, trying not to focus on the ass that’s just been shoved back into her face. 

Wynonna stiffens, but continues rummaging around in the wreckage, the bottle of whiskey swinging wildly at her side.  “Fuckin’ finally,” she growls, still slurring, and wobbles a little as she stands back up and waves her phone at Nicole.  “Damn Revs took ‘er from me ‘afore.”

“Revs?” Nicole questions, cocking her head as Wynonna jams her phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Oooh, right.  Reapers,” Wynonna says, winking conspiratorially at Nicole.  Or trying to, at least.  She can’t seem to keep from closing both eyes at once right now.

“Wynonna…” Nicole reaches out and grabs her by the elbow for a few seconds to keep her from toppling over.  Once she finds her balance, Nicole releases her and begins to fidget with the Stetson in her hands.  “Wynonna, what about the others?”  Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Niiiiiiine Seconds th’ Wonder Boy is Aaaaaa-okaaaay.”  Wynonna stares at her hand until she’s able to bring her index finger and thumb together in a circle and then she waves them in front of her face before taking a long pull from the bottle.

“And Shorty?”  Nicole prompts, Wynonna having already lost her focus.

Wynonna narrows her eyes at Nicole, stumbling closer and jabbing a finger into her chest repeatedly.  “Ya sure are persta—  persisan—“  Wynonna wrinkles her nose, “ fuckin’ nosy, Ginger.”

Nicole sighs heavily, not in the mood for these games.  “Wynonna…”

Wynonna finally snaps, fire in her eyes and fury in her voice.  “I tried-a save ‘im, but I killed ‘im instead, okay?  It happened again.  Are ya happy now?”  

Nicole’s Stetson slips through her fingers and lands at their feet with a soft thump.

Shorty…  This can’t be happening.

Nicole’s chest feels constricted, as though someone has made a fist around her heart and is slowly squeezing it.  Shorty was one of the first people she had met when she moved to Purgatory, and he had always been kind to her, never making her feel like an outsider.  The realization that he is gone – that she had failed him – is nearly enough to make her knees buckle.

She feels like Wynonna just punched her in the gut.  Hell, for all Nicole knows, Wynonna might have actually done just that. 

“He’s dead, Nicole.  Dead ‘cause uvva ‘nother Earp fuck-up.  Izzat what ya wanted-a hear?”

She’s shouting by the time she finishes the fumbled words, having backed Nicole up against the shelving behind her.  If it wasn’t for the fact that Nicole has at least three inches on her, Wynonna would be in her face.  From this distance, Nicole can see that she’s trembling and her eyes are glassy, both from the whiskey and from the tears she is so clearly fighting.

She looks so broken.  Like a bag of broken glass barely covered in skin.

“Wynonna…” Nicole says again, thick and raspy.  She swallows around a lump in her throat and places a shaky hand on Wynonna’s shoulder.  “You didn’t get him killed,” she says, her voice cracking.  “It isn’t your fault.” 

How could it have been?  Wynonna wasn’t even armed when she had left with the bikers.

Wynonna violently shrugs her shoulder away from Nicole’s comforting touch.  “What woul’ you know ‘bout it, Rookie?  Ya don’t even belong innis town,” she spits venomously.  Nicole’s gaze drops to her boots, and Wynonna doesn’t miss the fact that her hand furiously swipes at her cheek, catching an errant tear.  She squints at the officer for a moment, considering her.  “Ya knew ‘im?”

Nicole brings her eyes back up to meet Wynonna’s.  She nods and clears her throat.  “Met him on my first day,” she says quietly.  “He gave me a burger and a glass of lemonade.”  Her eyes soften at the memory.

Wynonna steps back, allowing Nicole to relax herself away from the shelf she’d been pressed against, and takes another long drink of the whiskey.  “He wuzza good man,” she finally says, her eyes still red and shining with unshed tears as she thrusts the bottle toward Nicole.

Nicole stares at the bottle in Wynonna’s outstretched hand, then up at Wynonna, then back at the bottle.  Wynonna wiggles it at her, the contents sloshing loudly, and grunts in Nicole’s direction.

It’s been a shitty goddamn day.

She reaches out tentatively, curling her long fingers around the slender neck, and when Wynonna relinquishes her grip, Nicole feels the weight jerk her arm down slightly.  She glances back up at Wynonna, who nods with a shrug, trying to casually wipe at her nose. 

Nicole raises the bottle to her lips and tips it back, the alcohol burning like liquid fire from the moment it hits her tongue, as it slides down her throat, and all the way until it settles into the hollow pit of her stomach.  She fights the urge to splutter, and briefly wonders if the stuff could peel paint off the nearby wall.

She holds the bottle back out, and Wynonna snatches it from her hand, cradling it against her chest like it’s her most prized possession.  She sways heavily where she stands, and Nicole is about to reach out and steady her again when her face lights up as though she’s just had an epiphany.

“It’s Waverly’s,” Wynonna blurts, a propos, and Nicole gives herself mental whiplash trying to catch up to wherever this conversation just went.

“…What?” she asks blankly.

“The lem’nade.  It’s Waverly’s secret ress-pee.”  She stares at Nicole like it’s the most obvious goddamn thing in the world.

“Oh,” is all Nicole can manage, because she is suddenly picturing Waverly shaking up the lemonade in a cocktail mixer before pouring it into the pitcher.  She swallows dryly, the heat of the whiskey still burning in her mouth.  “I di—“

She’s interrupted by the sound of the bell jangling above the front door, heavy footsteps, and then a harsh voice cutting through the thick atmosphere that had settled around the two women.

“Earp!”

Wynonna grimaces and drinks from the bottle again, easily downing a lowball’s worth of whiskey in a single go.  Nicole cringes but Wynonna seems unfazed. 

Dolls rounds the corner, his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his jacket, and Wynonna turns away from him as he approaches, swiping at her eyes under the pretense of taking another drink.

“Enough of that, Earp.  We’ve gotta go.  Now.”  His tone leaves no room for debate, and Wynonna’s shoulders sag with resignation. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, giving herself another moment of respite before turning to face him.  “Don’t get yer panties inna twist,” she sasses as she shoulders past him, stomping toward the front door.  His nostrils flare, but he says nothing as he follows her stiffly.

Nicole is stooping to collect her hat from the ground, dusting it off against her leg, when she hears Wynonna call out without even looking back.

“Later, Haught Sauce!”

The sound of the bell and the rattling of the glass tell her they’ve already exited the building, but it doesn’t stop Nicole from muttering into the empty store.

“Later, Wynonna.”

She can still taste the whiskey on her chapped lips when she darts her tongue out to wet them.

“Not now, CJ.”

The kitten is prodding at her face, kneading and flexing her paws against Nicole’s cheek.  She gently pushes her aside and rolls over, relishing the way the fresh portion of the pillow feels cool against her heated skin.

It’s eight o’clock at night, and Nicole is already in bed.  After finishing up at the crime scene.  After the mountains of paperwork back at the station.  After debriefing in Nedley’s office.  After forcing herself to eat a piece of toast, and trying not to collapse in the shower when the wracking sobs had become too much.

She’d failed today.  And somebody was dead because of it.  Someone she knew.  Someone she cared about.

She’d failed Shorty.

She’d failed Wynonna.

She’d failed Waverly.

So much for doing her best to keep everyone safe.

Nicole is not used to feeling this kind of doubt.  Doubt in herself.  Doubt in her abilities.  Doubt in her choices.  It shakes her to the very core of her being, and she finds that even the fresh part of the pillow is once again dotted with tear drops.

Calamity Jane finally settles on the bed next to her, curling into her warmth, and Nicole tries to draw some comfort from the slow, steady purring against her chest.  Her eyes land on the top of her dresser, where she can barely make out the glint of the badge on her hat in the silvery moonlight.

Do I even deserve that badge?

The thought makes it hard for her to breathe, and she tries to focus on stroking the sleeping kitten’s soft fur as a calming technique.  Wearing that badge is what Nicole has always wanted.  To protect those who can’t protect themselves.  To place herself between the danger and an innocent soul. 

Lying here in bed, at the end of a terrible day, Nicole finds that she can’t deny it’s what she still wants.

“Ya can’t let the fear of failure stop ya from doin’ what ya really care about, Li’l Darlin’.”  Her grandfather’s words echo through the corners of her mind as her eyes slide closed, her eyelids suddenly feeling so heavy.

I wish it were that easy, Grandaddy.

It’s the last thing she remembers before the weight of the day finally drags her under into a fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

"Officer Haught."

The radio crackles on her shoulder, and Nicole nearly topples backward off of the wooden fence where she's perched.  She throws out a hand and manages to catch herself in time, but in the process, her tuna sandwich falls victim to the tall reeds and cattails swaying against the bottoms of her boots.

Oh, look. Another casualty.

Her mouth twists sardonically as she abandons the idea of a possible rescue mission, the ducks from the edge of the pond already swarming her lunch and ripping it apart like they haven't eaten in days. Nicole doesn't even particularly care for tuna sandwiches, but she'd overslept that morning and it was the quickest thing she could throw together on her way out the door.

"Officer Haught, please respond."

The reception on her shoulder mic is staticky this far out past the edge of town, the signal not nearly as clear as it would be through the large radio in the center console of her squad car, but there is no mistaking that the female voice on the other end of the transmission is unfamiliar. It doesn't belong to the overnight or swing shift dispatcher, and it certainly isn't Ruthie.

Quite frankly, Nicole is irritated at the interruption. She had only called 10-7 for her lunch break less than fifteen minutes ago, seeking some solitude overlooking the pond at the edge of the nature reserve.

So much for some time to think.

"This is Haught. Go ahead."

"The Sheriff is requesting your presence at the station, Haught."

Nicole checks her watch. She's not due back for another forty-five minutes.

What the fuck?

"Any chance I can finish my lunch first?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

Static buzzes in her ear for a few seconds, the line obviously being held open while the mystery woman on the other end mumbles something in the background. "Negative, Haught," eventually comes the reply. "Needs to be now."

Of course.

"10-4. I guess you can go ahead and mark me 10-8, then," Nicole sighs with resignation.  

The flock of ducks is still milling around at the base of the wooden fence she’s straddling, trampling the tall grass beneath their broad feet as they waddle in frantic circles looking for more food.  The drakes quack loudly, strutting back and forth with their sleek bottle-green heads bobbing and swiveling while the mottled brown hens try to corral their broods of black and yellow ducklings that can’t be more than a couple of months old.

Nicole watches them for a while before pulling the crusts off the other half of her sandwich, breaking them into smaller bits and tossing them one piece at a time to the different clusters of ducklings.  She swings her long legs over the log railing, shoving the last bite of her lunch in her mouth, and trudges up the pebbled path back to where her cruiser is parked.

Is just avoiding everyone today too goddamn much to ask for?

She braces herself against the door of the patrol car for a few long moments before yanking it open and climbing in.

Apparently so.

Nicole tosses her Stetson on top of the clipboard next to her so she can rest her head back against the seat while she follows the narrow, winding road back out to the main highway.  She catches a glimpse in the rearview mirror of the dark circles under her eyes after a night of tossing and turning and trying to stem the tears that just kept flowing.

She had wanted to call Waverly this morning.  She’s not sure why, but it was the first thing that was on her mind when she woke up.  Calling Waverly to check in on her.  To ask after Wynonna.  To apologize for letting her down.

Thankfully, Nicole’s better judgment had kicked in before she could do something incredibly stupid.  There had been ample opportunity for Waverly to contact Nicole if she had wanted to speak to her.  She could have returned her call.  She could have texted her.  Hell, she could have sent a goddamn smoke signal, and Nicole still would have come running.  Which is pathetic, and Nicole knows it, but there’s not exactly a lot she can do about it.

But Waverly hadn’t reached out, even after Nicole had offered that she would be there if Waverly ever needed her.  And why would she, really?  Nicole had said she wouldn’t let anything happen to the people that Waverly loved.  And look how that had gone.  Wynonna, Shorty, and Champ had progressed from hostages to kidnapping victims.  Shorty is dead.  And Wynonna clearly blames herself for it.  Champ seems to have emerged relatively unscathed, but Nicole is having a hard time convincing herself that this will provide much comfort in the wake of the other circumstances.

Nicole turns on the radio, hoping to find some distraction from her spiraling thoughts as she continues driving through the countryside from the outer perimeter of the Department’s jurisdiction toward the edge of town.  She lets it auto-scan through the stations, watching as it skips over those with the worst reception and finally settles on the first strong signal it comes to.  The corners of her mouth twitch almost imperceptibly.

I should have known.

The country song filters through the speakers, and for a moment, Nicole gets lost in the picturesque scenery sprawling out in every direction.  It’s late September and the leaves are beginning to turn, touched with an artist’s palette, a canvas full of burning embers and sunsets and dancing flames.  Fields of sweet corn fill the voids between the tree lines, rows and rows of lush green topped with tufts of wispy silk, swaying gently in the crisp autumn breeze.

The stalks are tall and proud and bountiful, and would easily tower over Nicole by at least a couple of feet if she were to wander through the rows with the fertile soil beneath her boots and the soft blue sky overhead.  It will be harvest time in just a few short weeks, and soon the seas of green will be replaced with mown down stalks, foot-tall reminders of the of the life that used to flourish there, surrounded by forgotten ears and abandoned kernels, stripped cobs and empty husks.

The momentary distraction of the landscape and the music falls away as the images of empty husks push their way into Nicole’s consciousness.  Looking back over the events of the past thirty-six hours, and knowing that she will soon be faced with the memorial service of a man whose death she feels largely responsible for, she can’t help but draw a parallel with the remnants of the crops once the blades of the combines have ripped through them.

Empty husks and hollow shells, indeed.

Shorty’s wake is scheduled to start in two hours, and the closer Nicole gets to town, the farther away she wants to be.  She follows the deserted highway at a leisurely pace; she’s responding to a summons, after all, not an emergency.  Nedley had interrupted her lunch – which she had been using to pull herself together – when he had demanded her presence in the office, and Nicole has no desire to rush her return and greet the impending reality.

There’s nothing Nicole can do to cease the disastrous scenarios of the memorial that keep flickering through her mind like bad movies, each one progressively worse than the last.  Waverly Earp, repulsed by Nicole.  Waverly Earp, furious with Nicole.  Waverly Earp, disappointed by Nicole.  The last one is the worst.  She imagines Waverly refusing to even look at her, and a tightness settles into her chest that makes it hard to even breathe. 

The last thing Waverly needs today is to see my face as a reminder.

Nicole glances over at the metal field clipboard in the passenger seat, sticking out from beneath the brim of her hat, and a plan begins to take shape.  Another clipboard with the scheduled repeat patrols hangs in the bullpen, and Nicole is sure that if she were to cover the entire list in one large block, it would require more than enough time to keep her out of the office for the entire afternoon. 

Perhaps avoidance is the best option.  No blaming accusations.  No uncomfortable guilt.  No awkward apologies.

Waverly Earp needs time to grieve, and she deserves the space to do so.

The least Nicole can do is make damn sure she has it.

“Keep your chin up, kiddo.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid.”

“Hogwash.  Don’t make me come across this counter.  I’m gettin’ too old for all that.”

“Alright, alright.”  Nicole raises one hand in surrender while the other cradles her travel mug.  “Thanks, Mama Lou,” she says, dipping her head to tip her hat as she backs through the door.

The coffee is hot and it bites on the way down, but it cuts through the haze brought on by fatigue and grief and regret that has been swirling around Nicole’s mind since she woke up.  The travel mug is already half empty by the time she reaches the station, which is saying something considering it takes her less than five minutes to walk the two blocks.  She’s a little surprised she has to make the trek in the first place because Gomez is the only other officer besides the Sheriff that’s on duty today, but the street in front of the Municipal Building was lined with squad cars when she pulled up a few minutes ago.

Given that she had slept like shit and her lunch break had been cut short, Nicole had made the executive decision that if she was going to be forced to park in front of the diner and walk, she was damn well going to get fresh coffee out of the deal.  As she reaches the door to the station with her head clearer than it’s been all day, Nicole concludes that ducking inside to let Mama Lou refill her mug was definitely worth the couple of extra minutes it had added to her return.

The first thing that catches Nicole’s attention when she enters the station is the unusual excess of people.  Ken is huddled around Ruthie’s desk with Cooper, Michelle, and Beth – the evening, overnight, and swing shift dispatchers – though Ruthie is noticeably absent.  Hicks, Murphy, Bandy, and Marks are crowded in the break room, all in uniform, which is confusing because none of them are on duty.  Nicole frowns as she turns the corner into the bullpen and finds Gomez and Taylor leaning against the counter, while Stanton is sitting with his feet propped up on her desk.

“What the hell is going on around here?” Nicole glares at Stanton who immediately drops his feet, jumps up, and moves quickly to flop down in his own chair.

“Boss called all of us this morning.  Said he needed everyone to come in,” Taylor answers, rubbing his eyes wearily.  “Didn’t you know?”

Nicole shakes her head guiltily.  “I’ve been… out,” she mutters, shuffling over to her desk and dropping her hat on top of a pile of paperwork.  “Anyone seen Nedley?” she asks, squinting at his empty office.  “He apparently wanted to see me.”

“Yeah, he left with Chrissy almost an hour ago.”  Gomez waves his hand toward the door.  “Think they said something ‘bout running down to Olive’s to grab some lunch.”

He left a goddamn hour ago?

Anger bubbles in Nicole’s chest and her fingertips dig into her palms where they hang at her sides.  “Seriously?” she seethes through clenched teeth.

“Uhh…” Gomez scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably under Nicole’s glare.  “Yeah?  I think so?”

“Unfuckingbelievable,” she bites, kicking out at the leg of her desk, causing it to skid a few feet across the tile floor.  Nicole squeezes her eyes closed and takes a couple of deep breaths, her nostrils flaring.

Get it together, Hawk.  Now is not the time.  Not today.

Sighing roughly, Nicole grabs the corner of her desk and scoots it back into place.  Without turning around to face the looks of surprise she knows her coworkers must be making, she keeps her head down and drags herself toward the back hallway past her desk.

Nedley hadn’t even been at the office when Nicole got called back in.  If nothing else, she can sure as shit find out who the hell was behind that.

Nicole can hear the argument before she has even rounded the corner.

“You can’t just keep making unilateral decisions like this, Sharon,” Ruthie spits angrily.

“Well, in our department, we call it initiative,” the second voice – Sharon, presumably – responds stiffly, and Nicole immediately recognizes it as the mystery woman on the other end of the radio.  Whoever she is, she has already made the fatal mistake of crossing Ruthie.  That never ends well.  Nicole smiles vindictively.

Good.

As Nicole steps around the doorway, she finds Ruthie with her hands on her hips, glaring at the middle-aged woman that is standing across the small room, her arms crossed defiantly, with too much makeup and hair that looks like it came straight out of a Whitesnake video.  She’s dressed in khaki pants similar to the ones Nicole and Ruthie are wearing, with the exception of the stripe down the leg, but her shirt is dark brown and has a different patch on the arm.

“You must be Officer Haught,” the woman says, blatantly turning away from Ruthie and shoving her hand out at Nicole.

Nicole completely ignores the gesture, taking a step closer, the muscles in her jaw flexing.  “Are you the one responsible for cutting my lunch short?”  Her voice is low and deadly calm, and she thinks she might have just seen the corners of Ruthie’s mouth twitching out of the corner of her eye.  “Who even are you?” she demands.

The other woman pulls her offered hand back awkwardly, using it to brush her overly-teased hair off of her shoulders as she draws them back and puffs her chest out slightly.  “Deputy Sharon Coulter.  Randy called in a favor with Harry, and he thought I would be the best choice for the job,” she brags with an air of importance.

“Oh, cut the shit, Sharon.  You’re the part-time dispatcher for Ranchland County.  You are not a deputy.”  Ruthie’s exasperation is getting away from her, and Nicole can’t say as though she disapproves in the least.

Sharon sniffs indignantly.  “I am sworn in, Ruth.  That technically makes me a deputy,” she wags her head at Ruthie, who already has her mouth open to retaliate.

“Excuse me, but what does any of this have to do with me losing my lunch break?” Nicole raises her voice, effectively cutting off Ruthie’s reply.

“Well,” Sharon bristles.  “Randy sa—“

“Sheriff Nedley,” Ruthie corrects her sharply.

Sharon rolls her eyes and waves her hand dismissively.  “He said that he was going to want everyone to report to the station so that he could talk to them this afternoon.  Most of the off-duty officers were already here and in uniform, so I took it upon myself to gather up the stragglers.”  She presses her splayed hand over her heart dramatically, as though she has just done the world a huge favor.

Nicole is beginning to see red. 

“The Sheriff wasn’t even here when you called me in, Sharon,” she says, echoing Ruthie’s previous tone.  The older woman snorts triumphantly, but when Nicole takes another step forward, she makes a move to intercept the officer.

“There’s nothing we can do about that now, Nicole,” Ruthie says in a gentler tone than she’s had since this conversation started.  “Come on,” she places a hand on Nicole’s arm, directing her toward the door.  “Let’s leave Sharon here to her temporary duties, shall we?” 

As they step back into the hallway, she continues in a tone low enough that only Nicole can hear.  “Besides.  If I have to look at her stupid face any longer, I might just have to slap that bright red lipstick right off her mouth.  What would Randy have to say about that?”

Nicole barks out a laugh involuntarily, Ruthie’s unexpected words taking her completely by surprise.  Ruthie grins mischievously and pats Nicole’s arm. 

“Now.  You didn’t get to finish your lunch.  Why don’t I go grab us a couple of sandwiches from the diner?”

Nicole stops in her tracks, pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh.  “You don’t have to do that, Ruthie.  I’ll be fine.  I’m a big girl.”

“Nonsense,” Ruthie smacks her shoulder.  “I also had to spend my lunch break teaching Sharon how to use our equipment.  I don’t care if I’m a big girl or not.  I’m starving!”

Chuckling, Nicole reaches into her pocket and pulls out a few bills.  “Are you also going to Olive’s?” she asks, trying not to sound disappointed.

“God, no,” Ruthie is quick to respond.  “That woman…” she makes a disgusted face that causes Nicole laugh again.  “I don’t know why Nedley even bothers with her place.”  She frowns for a moment, clearly giving it some actual thought.  “I suppose he has to spread his attention around equally in order to keep the peace,” she shrugs.  “Politics,” she grumbles rolling her eyes.

Nicole nods in agreement and holds out the cash.  Ruthie just swats her hand away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ruthie winks at her.  “It’s my treat today.  Your favorite still Mama Lou’s turkey melt?”

“How did you…?” Nicole asks with confusion.

“I have eyes everywhere, Officer.  I know everything.”  Ruthie smirks before scurrying out the door leading back out to the lobby.  Nicole smiles after her as she goes, but her brow is furrowed.

Why does it feel like she’s talking about more than just my favorite diner food?

“Can I talk to y— Oh.  Sorry.”

“Right now?”

“Um…  yes?”

“Can you give us a minute, Punkin?”

“Sure, Daddy.” 

Chrissy Nedley, her hair all twisted up in a sleek, simple bun, unfolds her long legs from where they are tucked up underneath her on the couch in the Sheriff’s office.  Slipping her heels back on, she stands and straightens her black skirt and sweater, then steps over to where her father is hunched over some paperwork.  She leans down to give him a kiss on the cheek, but reaches across him at the same time to grab a handful of candy corn from the jar on the corner of his desk.

Nedley chuckles, his eyes crinkling as he watches her shove one in her mouth like she just got caught doing something naughty.  “Thanks, Punk,” he says with a grin and she nudges him with her elbow before she turns to leave.

“Officer Haught,” Chrissy says, dipping her head as she moves past Nicole where she is still hovering in the doorway.

“Sorry, Chrissy,” Nicole mumbles sheepishly.

“No worries,” Chrissy waves her off, smiling brightly.  She leans in closer, adding in a mock whisper, “Keep him in line while I’m gone.  None of those cookies he keeps hidden in his bottom drawer that he thinks I don’t know about.” 

Nedley snorts, and Nicole looks back and forth between the two of them, unsure of how to respond to that.  Chrissy doesn’t give her a chance to figure out, patting her on the shoulder with a wink and pulling the door closed behind her before continuing out into the bullpen and striking up a conversation with Taylor.  The fact that he leans his elbow on the counter a little closer to where she stands and casually smooths his hair with his other hand is not lost on Nicole.  Nor is the fact that Chrissy shares her candy corn with him.

“Well?  What is it, Haught?”

Nicole snaps her head back around, remembering why she had come to her boss’s office in the first place.  Nedley drops his pen and leans back in his chair, his expression clearly conveying that he’s waiting expectantly while he folds his hands over his belly.

“Umm…  about this afternoon…” she starts, holding up the clipboard in her hand.  “I had planned to cover the daily patrols while everyone was busy wi—“

“Dammit, Haught!” he cuts her off, jerking forward in his chair and dropping his hands to the desk loudly.  “Did you not listen to a word I said out there?”

“But, sir…  I thought ma—“

“Look, Haught.  I didn’t call in every off-duty member of the department, and ask Sheriff Spiller for a favor, and then have to put up with that harpy all morning, just for you to skip out so you can put a few checkmarks on that damn clipboard.”  Nicole looks down at the list of patrols in her hands and back up at the Sheriff. 

“I…” her head dips slightly.  “Yes, sir,” she concedes as she lets the clipboard fall back against her leg with a muffled slap.

So much for sticking to the plan to avoid everyone.  To avoid Waverly. 

Nedley had returned with Chrissy in tow a few minutes after Ruthie dropped a sandwich wrapped in wax paper in front of Nicole and slid a large styrofoam cup with steam curling out through the vent in the lid across her desk.  Nicole had eagerly poured the fresh coffee into her travel mug that was already empty again and had all but devoured her replacement lunch.

Chrissy had headed into her father’s office while he had gathered the entire department into the large reception area for the public across the counter from the bullpen.  He apologized for pulling everyone in on their day off or when they should be sleeping, but explained that this office had a duty to uphold and that included days like today.

No matter how much hot coffee Nicole drank, it couldn’t ward off the icy knot that formed in her stomach as Nedley had gone on and on about how Shorty had been a pillar of the community and a loyal backer of the Sheriff’s Department and practically family to half the people in the room.  This man, and his family and friends, deserved the full support of Purgatory’s finest, and Nedley was going to make damn sure they were going to get it.  The entire department would attend the wake together, in full uniform, and he would brook no arguments on the subject.

Nicole had hoped that her status as the rookie might give her an opening to convince her boss that she would be better suited doing the boring grunt work the other officers usually tried to avoid. 

Unfortunately, it looks like that is not going to happen.  She hesitates for a moment longer before shuffling back out of his office.

“What is this really about, Haught?” Nedley asks before she reaches the door, his tone a little softer.  She turns back to face him and she can feel the uncomfortable heat creeping up from beneath her unbuttoned collar to cover her chest and neck.

“I’m…” her voice cracks and she swallows hard before continuing.  “I was just trying to help out, sir,” she says with a halfhearted shrug. 

Nedley is not convinced.

“Horseshit.”  He quirks an eyebrow at her and Nicole squirms under his scrutiny.

“It’s just…”  She shifts uncomfortably, subconsciously tapping the clipboard against her leg.  “I, uh…” a long sigh, filled with resignation.  “I’m just not sure if me showing up there is such a good idea.”  She ducks her head and stares at a scuff mark on the toe of her boot, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

“What?”  Nedley’s chair squeaks as he rocks forward to rest his elbows on the desk.  “What on Earth makes you think that?” he asks, his genuine confusion evident.

Nicole doesn’t answer, her eyes still downcast as the flush continues to spread, painting her cheeks and ears.  She tries to ignore the way her eyes are beginning to sting, and the only sound in the room is the incessant drumming of the clipboard against Nicole’s thigh under her shaking fingers.

“Haught?” he questions again, his voice laced with concern.

When Nicole finally speaks, her hoarse voice is barely above a whisper.

“We didn’t save him.”

The jerking motion of her arm ceases, causing the room to fall into sudden silence, and when Nicole finally looks up at a dumbstruck Nedley, her face is splotchy and her eyes are brimming.

“We were there,” she utters, her voice tremulous.  “We were there, and we didn’t save him,” she chokes out.  “And you are the Sheriff and you know his family, but I am just a rookie, and I…  I just…  I just don’t think…” Nicole’s entire body is shaking now, making it impossible for her to finish.

Nedley is out of his chair and standing in front of her with a speed that belies his age, his thick hands grasping her shoulders firmly.

“Hey,” he says gruffly, trying to get her attention, but she is still trembling and staring just over his head, a single tear spilling over from the corner of her eye and sliding down the outside of her fevered cheek.  “Hey, look at me, Haught,” he says a little louder, giving her shoulders a gentle shake.

Nicole’s glazed eyes gain focus again and she looks at the man standing not more than two feet in front of her.  From this distance, she can see every crease, every line, every wrinkle.  His face is weathered by his years and by a lifetime of seeing things he wishes he could forget.  Another tear silently trickles down her other cheek.

“This isn’t your fault, Nicole.”  Nedley’s voice is warm and earnest as his steel blue eyes search hers for acceptance.  Or an acknowledgement, at the very least. 

He finds neither. 

“Losing someone on the job… “  He shakes his head slowly, but doesn’t let Nicole look away.  “Well, it’s one of the worst things that will ever happen to you.  Whether it’s someone you know, or a stranger.  Someone you hate, or someone you love.”  A shadow of sadness flickers in his pained expression.  “I won’t lie.  It doesn’t get any easier.  It never will.”

Nedley clears his throat, his own voice going raspy.  “But what happened yesterday?  Shorty’s death?  It’s not your fault, Nicole.  It’s not.”  He squeezes her shoulders again to make sure she’s still paying attention.  “You have to stop telling yourself that, Nicole.  You can’t let it pull you under, or this job will drown you.”

Nicole chokes back a sob, her chest heaving mightily.  She pitches forward and her forehead drops to one of his broad shoulders, her body wracking involuntarily.

“Oh…” Nedley blurts in surprise, one of his hands moving to pat her on the back awkwardly.  She shudders a few more times before finally pulling back, her face flushed with embarrassment and glistening with tears.

“I’m sorry…” she mutters, swiping furiously at the wetness on her cheeks.

“It’s okay, kid,” he says gently.  “You’re gonna be okay.”

Shoulders sagging with guilt and exhaustion and the weight she has been carrying around since yesterday, she searches his face.  Finding only sincerity, Nicole searches herself instead. 

After a few moments of reflection, she finds that deep down, she knows he’s right.  It’s hard to admit, and she almost doesn’t allow herself to do so.  But she knows it’s true.  She’s been trying to tell herself this very thing since she had collapsed in her bed last night.

But somehow, hearing it spoken aloud by someone else – someone with a lifetime of experience – it finally breaks through the wall her heart had been stubbornly constructing.

Nicole didn’t realize until right this minute just how badly she needed to hear those words.

“Thank you,” she half whispers, forcing herself back to the moment.  “Sir,” she adds as an afterthought when she remembers where she is.

Oh, god…

Suddenly realizing she just broke down in her boss’s office and cried against his shoulder, Nicole’s eyes go wide and she stumbles backward a few steps.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts, her free hand flying to her forehead, partly out of shock and partly out of mortification.  “I’m so sorry, sir,” she repeats, her voice higher than usual.

Nedley’s mustache twitches as he fights a grin and his posture stiffens again, transforming from a father back to a grizzled lawman before Nicole’s very eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he grunts, his characteristic gruffness back as if the last several minutes never happened.  He returns to his chair and drops into it heavily.

“Now go to the locker room and clean yourself up,” he waves his hand dismissively.  “We’re leaving for Shorty’s in a few minutes.”

“Y-yes sir,” Nicole stammers, spinning around and reaching for the door handle.

“And, Haught?”

“Yes, sir?” Nicole asks tentatively.

“Put that goddamn clipboard back on the wall where it belongs.”

Chapter Text

“You know the party’s in there, right?”

The sudden voice draws Nicole from her thoughts, and she winces at the stiffness in her spine when she flinches.  She has no idea how long she’s been sitting on the cold, hard, concrete bench just outside the door of the saloon, all hunched over and absentmindedly turning her hat in her hands, but it’s long enough that her ass has gone numb.

She shifts uncomfortably, feeling the tingles starting to bloom in her deadened muscles.

“What the hell are you doing out here, Icy Haught?”

At the ridiculous name and the snort that follows it, Nicole finally looks up from her hat.  Black leather boots, black ripped jeans, dark blue shirt under a black leather jacket.  To top it all off there’s a bottle of Varmint Whisky dangling from one hand.

Yep.  Must be…

“Wynonna!”  

Nicole jumps up from the bench, immediately regretting it when she finds the numbness has spread further than she realized.  She stumbles forward before getting her traitorous legs under her, and to Nicole’s surprise, Wynonna actually throws a hand out to steady her.

“Shit, Wynonna.”  Nicole flounders for a moment before finally standing completely upright.  “I’m so sorry about all of…” she waves her hand awkwardly at the bar behind her.  “I know he was…  And you were like…”  Her arms are flailing about in an unflattering manner.  “And, I mean…  Well, last night you said that…  And I didn’t know wha—“

“Jesus Christ, Haught,” Wynonna is surveying Nicole with amusement.  “You been hittin’ the hard stuff already?” she chuckles, sloshing her bottle in front of Nicole’s face.  Then she pulls it away, extending her arm fully as she gives Nicole a stern look.  “Well, you can’t have any of mine, so don’t get any ideas.”

“I wasn’t–   I mean, I’m not–“  Nicole closes her eyes and clears her throat.  “I haven’t been drinking, Wynonna.  I haven’t even been inside yet,” she finally manages to mumble.

“Well, that’s a damn shame.”

Nicole quirks her eyebrow with a deadpan expression.

“Whoa there, cowboy.”  Wynonna barks out a sharp laugh.  “Cowgirl.  No judgment from me.  Just means I got a head start on ya.” 

She demonstrates by taking a long swig of her whiskey and then grins proudly, but Nicole can see the sadness and guilt swirling in Wynonna’s normally mischievous eyes.

“Are you…” Nicole hesitates, and this time it is her that reaches out a hand, tentatively placing it on Wynonna’s shoulder.  “Are you okay?” she asks softly, and she can feel the muscles flex and stiffen beneath the supple leather of the jacket.

I’ll take that as a no.

“I’m awesome,” Wynonna replies sarcastically, raising the bottle to her lips again.  Nicole lets her hand fall back to the Stetson she’s been gripping tightly with the other one.  After a few seconds of fidgeting with the edge of the brim, she speaks again, her voice still soft.

“It’s just…” Nicole frowns, treading carefully along this precarious line they are walking.  One wrong move on her part, and the trust she feels like she’s been building could come crashing down around her.  She presses on gently, genuine concern evident in both the tone of her voice and the way her eyes search Wynonna’s. “Some of the things you said to me last night…  You don’t really believe that, do you?” 

The question she doesn’t asks hangs in the air between them like a clinging early morning autumn mist.

You don’t really believe you killed him, do you, Wynonna? 

It wasn’t your fault.  You did more to save him than any of the rest of us did.

A shadow of something creeps across Wynonna’s face, pulling at the corners of her mouth and deepening the bags under her eyes.  Nicole thinks it looks like she’s about to get pulled under a swell of emotions, and she wishes she could offer some kind of life preserver.

And then – just like that – it’s gone.

“Listen up, Officer McHottie,” Wynonna waggles her finger in Nicole’s face.  “Me and last night aren’t exactly on speaking terms.  There’s no telling what I might have said to you.”  She winks dramatically and raises her whisky in a mock toast.  “The good news is… I don’t remember a goddamn minute of it, so I don’t even have to apologize to you for anything.  Woooo!”

Nicole is 100% sure Wynonna is lying through her teeth, but she doesn’t push, allowing Wynonna to throw an arm across her shoulders instead.

“C’mon.  We’d better get back in there before our dads come out looking for us.  I don’t know about you and Nedley, but I’m sure as shit not in the mood for a lecture from Mr. Treason.”

Nicole can’t help but laugh, and she lets herself be pulled toward the front door by a determined Wynonna, her arm slung loosely across Wynonna’s back.  Just as she’s about to reach out and grab the handle with the only free hand among them, she stops short and looks at Wynonna seriously.

“Wynonna…”

Wynonna sighs loudly, clearly hoping to avoid any more awkward conversation.  “What?” she asks with exasperation.

“Icy Haught?  Really?”

“You should have seen your face when I found you,” Wynonna jabs Nicole in her exposed ribs with the whiskey bottle, hard enough that it makes her huff out a forced breath.  “All scrunched up and grouchy.  And you were just staring.  Like you were frozen.”  She pulls a cheesy face, but it’s obvious she’s clearly proud of herself.

“That…  Is terrible,” Nicole snorts, finally opening the door to the saloon.  “You’re something else, Earp.”

“Damn right I am!  And don’t you forget it!”  She accentuates the end of her sentence with another jab to the ribs, though Nicole is ready for it this time and has tightened up her abdomen. 

With that, Wynonna shoves Nicole away playfully and wanders over to the pool table to spend some quality one-on-one time with her whiskey, leaving Nicole standing alone at the bottom of the stairs by the entrance.  She shuffles over to hang her Stetson on the rack by the door before finding a spot near the window, her hands drifting to her belt out of habit. 

She deliberately keeps her eyes lowered.

She is very actively not searching for Waverly Earp.

“Officer Haught.”

Nicole’s head snaps up at her name being called, her eyes slowly scanning the crowd for the source.  Gus has just descended the stairs across the room and is looking at her the way a teacher looks a student reproachfully over their glasses.  Nicole swallows hard when Gus motions with her head for the officer to join her at the far end of the bar near the door to the kitchen.

It takes Nicole a minute to pick her way through the bodies of the regulars milling about with beers in one hand and paper plates of greasy food in the other, telling stories about Shorty and the times he kicked them out of the bar or drove them home after closing or let them borrow a few bucks to buy their kid the extra supplies they needed for school.  By the time she reaches the place where she had last seen Gus, the older woman is nowhere to be found.

Laying a shaky hand on the countertop, Nicole cranes her neck to see over the clusters of people paying their respects, unable to spot the familiar salt-and-pepper curls anywhere.  She’s already dreading a conversation with the woman who is – was – presumably Shorty’s best friend and business partner, and adding the impression that she is avoiding her to the mounting guilt is not something Nicole wanted to have happen.

“We need to talk, Officer.”

Nicole visibly jumps at the hand suddenly on her arm and the ominous words spoken behind her.  She turns slowly to find Gus regarding her intently.  The knot in Nicole’s stomach tightens and she can’t stop the words that begin tumbling out of her mouth.

“My deepest apologies for you loss, ma’am.  We–  I did everything I could and it just…  It just wasn’t enough.  And now Shorty’s gone, and I wasn’t going to come today, but Nedley sa—“

“Enough,” Gus cuts her off sternly, with a squeeze to her arm.  She pushes a glass of lemonade into Nicole’s fidgety hands.  “Take a breath, kid.  Take a drink.  Do both.  Try repeating them.”  She’s trying to keep a straight face, but her eyebrows are raised and her mouth twitches.

Nicole just stares at her dumbly, the condensation from the glass pooling in the webbing of her thumb and forefinger before trickling down her wrist and running under the cuff of her uniform sleeve.  She doesn’t even notice.

“If I remember correctly, you do like the lemonade here.  Right?”  Gus asks, her voice tinged with mirth.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Nicole stutters, completely dumbfounded. 

Gus purses her lips and gives her a pointed look.

“I-I mean…  Yes, Mrs. McCrea—“ Nicole swallows hard at the glare being leveled in her direction. “…Gus.”  Gus nods her approval.  “It’s the best I’ve ever had,” she mumbles, but Gus is still looking at her expectantly. 

With wide eyes, Nicole raises the glass to her chapped lips and takes a large gulp, immediately regretting it as she swallows it too quickly, tickling the back of her throat and causing her to nearly choke it back out her nose.  She can feel her eyes starting to water at the burning in her nasal passages from the sour liquid.

Nicole is doing everything she can to keep it together and avoid spluttering and spitting lemonade all over the woman standing in front of her.  She takes another long drink, more carefully this time, to cover up her ineptitude.

Gus watches Nicole struggle for a minute, but then her amusement falls away and her face takes on a kind of soft seriousness.  Her hand goes back to Nicole’s arm, and Nicole stiffens, preparing herself for whatever this is really about.

"I wanted to thank you,” Gus says earnestly, and Nicole almost drops her glass.  “For keeping an eye out for my girls."

“I don’t –  I didn’t…” Nicole sets her lemonade on the counter before she ends up sloshing it all over herself.

“You kept those civilians safe,” Gus presses on, not allowing Nicole to continue floundering.  “And you let Waverly know that Wynonna was doing the right thing for once instead of causing the trouble.”  Her voice is a little strained at this last part, but the soft smile she gives Nicole seems to indicate she is coming around to the idea herself, as well.

Nicole freezes.

So Waverly did get my voicemail.

Her throat is suddenly very dry again, and she reaches for her glass to take another drink, managing to do it properly this time.

“I wish I could have done more,” she starts, but Gus doesn’t let her finish, swatting her gently on the arm.

“Bullshit.”

Nicole was not expecting this response, and her head jerks up, her mouth hanging open unceremoniously.  She tries to say something, but nothing comes out.

Gus just folds her arms with a quirked eyebrow.  “You saved three innocent people yesterday, didn’t you?”

“It wa—“

“Didn’t you?”

“…Yes, ma—“ Nicole catches herself this time.  “Gus.”

“You did everything you could, kid.  Don’t ever let anyone else tell you otherwise, Officer Haught.”

“Yes, Gus.”  She takes a sip of her drink.  “Actually, Gus…” she cocks her head for emphasis.  “It’s Nicole.”

The other woman chuckles.  “Fair enough, Nicole.  Now then.  How are you settling into things here in Pur…”  She trails off when she realizes that Nicole’s face has suddenly gone slack and her eyes are fixed on some point behind Gus.

There she is.  Waverly Earp.  She’s all alone…

Confused, Gus turns to look over her shoulder.  She finds only groups of townsfolk, a few scattered officers, her two girls by the bar and the pool table, and a frustrated Nedley having what looks to be a one-sided discussion with the Deputy Marshal near the door.  Assuming that’s what has caught Nicole’s attention, she turns back to tell the young officer to pay them no mind.

“Nedley and his boys treating you right?  They can be a rough bu—“

“I’m sorry, Gus,” Nicole cuts her off, sliding her glass onto the bar clumsily without tearing her eyes away from whatever she’s looking at.  “Can you excuse me, please?”

Not waiting for an answer, Nicole tips her head in lieu of her hat and steps around Gus, who watches her hands drop to her belt as she strides around the end of the bar like a woman on a mission.

Nicole had promised herself she would give Waverly space today.  That she would not allow herself to serve as a walking reminder of what Waverly had just lost, and that she was partly to blame for it.  She had promised herself.

And yet Waverly Earp is standing behind the same bar where Nicole had first met her, upset and alone.  All of these people in this saloon, supposedly here to pay respects to a great man and offer condolences to his family, and they are more concerned with their free food and beer than in comforting the girl that seems to be taking Shorty’s death the hardest.  She is lonely, and crying, and Nicole’s heart is breaking.

Fuck her promises.  Fuck them.

“Waverly,” she calls out as she rounds the other corner of the bar. 

Waverly is pulled from her thoughts, looking up at Nicole with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and Nicole forgets everything she’s been struggling with for the past two days.  The only thing that matters right now is Waverly Earp. 

“I’m so sorry.”

She looks surprised that someone is speaking to her without asking her for something.  Nicole wishes she could arrest every single person that has demanded something of Waverly today.  She watches as Waverly shakes her head slightly, almost as though she’s unsure if she’s allowed to say anything.

“I can’t believe he’s go—“ she chokes back a sob as her voice cracks, and Nicole’s resolve cracks right along with it.

Waverly’s hands are twisting together on the counter in front of her, and before Nicole can stop herself, she’s reaching out to take one of them in her own.  From the moment Waverly had mentioned she had a boy-man, Nicole had backed off from making any sort of advances. 

This isn’t just crossing that line, it’s doing a fucking cartwheel over it. 

But Nicole doesn’t give a damn at the moment because this has nothing to do with how she feels about Waverly, and everything to do with the fact that Waverly needs somebody right now.  She needs somebody that is here for her, not the other way around, and Nicole can sure as hell be that for her, regardless of the consequences she might face for it later.

Like Waverly telling Nicole she never wants to see her again.  It might possibly break her, but she’s willing to accept that if it means she can help Waverly right now when she needs it most.

To Nicole’s relieved surprise, Waverly doesn’t pull away in disgust or anger.  Instead she turns her hand under Nicole’s to return her grasp, allowing herself to be anchored by Nicole’s warmth.  Encouraged by this simple gesture, Nicole reaches out with her other hand, softly stroking the inside of Waverly’s forearm in a comforting manner before sliding her fingers down to take Waverly’s other hand. 

The grateful squeeze she’s rewarded with mirrors the feeling in her heart.

Neither of them speaks as Nicole lightly strokes her thumbs across the backs of Waverly’s knuckles.  Waverly’s head hangs low, her shoulders sagging as she cries unbidden, her heartache finally getting the best of her.  She’s been channeling every ounce of her strength to stay composed, to remain stoic, to keep herself put together in front of all these people so that she can stand behind the bar as though it’s just another day at work, serving them their grief food and refilling their beers.

But everyone deserves a safe place where they can fall apart.

And Nicole knows she can be that for Waverly, personal feelings be damned.

The tender moment is shattered with the heavy clunking of cowboy boots against the wooden floor and a loud tsk. 

“Awww, it’s okay.”

Champ fucking Hardy.

His patronizing remarks, dripping with condescension, are immediately followed by Champ wrapping his thick, tattooed arms around Waverly, using his giant hands to hold her in place by her neck and head.  He begins planting staccato kisses all over the side of her face, accentuating them with exaggerated grunts as he smacks his lips loudly with each one.

Nicole jerks her hands away as though they have burned.  In a way, she feels like they have.  She had been trying to let her silent company comfort Waverly.  To soothe her while she was feeling vulnerable, and to allow Waverly to ground herself and draw strength from the reassuring grasp of their hands.

But now that connection has been severed. 

In an instant, Waverly’s countenance is once again fragile under the imposing presence of Champ and his overt possessiveness.  She pulls frivolously at his muscular forearm, trying to dislodge his hand from where it roughly cradles the entire side of her head, but her efforts are, of course, unsuccessful.

Nicole bites the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes copper on her tongue, and she folds her hands stiffly in front of her on the bar to keep herself from reaching out and removing Champ’s hands from Waverly for him.

“Okay, umm…” Waverly practically whimpers, bringing up her other hand to tug at his bicep, as well.  But Champ is undeterred as he continues to mark his territory in front of Nicole.

“Okay…” she tries again, with the same results.  A soft, involuntary sob betrays Waverly, and Nicole is forced to look away from Champ’s display of false affection.  Very slowly, her hands break apart and slide across the rail of the bar, bracing as though she is going to push herself off of it and begin to move away.  He’s clearly doing all of this for her benefit, and she hopes that if she gives him a reason to think he’s succeeded, perhaps maybe he’ll give Waverly a break.

She’s wrong.

The lip-smacking continues until Waverly finally drops her hands from Champ’s arm and tries to reach out toward Nicole, stopping her departure.  He immediately wraps his arm farther around her, sliding his hand down to the bend of her elbow and pulling it back toward him, but not before she is successful in managing to brush the very end of one of her fingertips against Nicole’s.  It lasts only a split second before her palm drags back across the counter under Champ’s restriction of her reach.

The touch is fleeting.  It’s barely there. 

But to Nicole, it’s everything.

Waverly didn’t want her to leave.  She’s under an assault of physical contact from her boyfriend, and yet she had still craved the comforting touch of Nicole.

She needs me.

Nicole just stares at the place where their fingers had barely touched.  A moment ago, they had been holding hands.  But Nicole had initiated that, and Waverly had simply allowed it to happen.  This was different.  Waverly had reached out for her.

Nicole’s eyes are wide with innocent wonder and her mouth is hanging open in an awestruck expression.  She’s pretty sure she looks like a puppy right now, and there’s not a goddamn thing she can do about it.

“Uh… hey,” Waverly starts, and Champ thankfully ceases his pecking, only to drape himself over her and pull her closer into his space.  “Umm…  I got your voicemail.”

“Yeah,” Champ adds, smirking at Nicole from behind Waverly.

“About Wynonna,” she continues, ignoring him.  “Thanks,” she says, her voice filled with sincerity and gratitude.

Nicole is still distracted by the tingling in her skin where their fingers had brushed, but she manages to close her gaping mouth enough to give Waverly a smile, her eyes still wide and gentle and soft.

“Thank you,” Champ parrots unnecessarily, and for a brief moment, Nicole wonders if he heard the message, too.  The thought sends a bolt of panic shooting through her, but then she sees the way Waverly is looking at her and it dissipates immediately. 

Waverly wouldn’t do that.

Champ, for his part, begins running his hands up and down Waverly’s arms roughly, never once looking away from Nicole.  He is clearly trying to assert his dominance, staking his claim on Waverly as though she is a piece of property to be owned.  Memories of the way Bobby Evans had sneered at her from behind Megan all those years ago force their way into her mind, and Nicole has to remind herself that this is neither the time nor the place to fail at keeping her underlying temper in check.

“It was really sweet,” Waverly says quietly, as though it is only for her and Nicole, regardless of the fact that Champ’s chin is now resting heavily on her shoulder. 

Waverly gives her a genuine smile, and Nicole feels like she’s been touched by the warmth of the morning sun.

“Yeah.  Sure,” she breathes out reverently, unable to help the dimple that frames her smile this time.  She notes the desperation on Waverly’s face for Nicole to hear her.  To believe her.

And Nicole does.

She holds Waverly’s gaze for a few moments longer, lost in their own little world until her eyes flick up to Champ, suddenly remembering his presence.  He looks incredibly pleased with himself as he leans his head against Waverly’s, his smug expression still plastered all over his face.

She wants to say something to him.  Wants to put him in his place.  Demand to know why he takes someone so amazing as Waverly Earp for granted.  Ask him what makes him think he has the right to paw at her like she is merely a trophy to be won.  She deserves so much more.  Someone who would put her first.  Someone who wants to learn everything about her, and continue to learn every day.  Someone who wants to stand beside her and watch her achieve every dream she’s ever had.

Someone like me.

But it’s not her place to say anything.  Nicole knows that Waverly has chosen Champ.  She is with him and they are together and if Nicole wants to be friends with Waverly in any way at all, then she needs to get used to that fact right now.  If Waverly is happy with this boy-man, then Nicole must be happy with it, too.  Because Waverly’s happiness is the only thing she could ever really want. 

Even if she’s not the one to give it to her.

So Nicole bites back the words she wishes she could say and swallows them down, wincing at just how bitter they taste.  Running her tongue across her chapped lips, she lets her eyes fall to the counter briefly before bringing them back up, her resolve once again intact.

“Of course,” she says as she straightens her posture again, every bit the role of Officer Haught once more.  Her eyes linger on Waverly a moment longer before her hands drop from the bar and she finally turns away.

Nicole doesn’t notice as she moves toward the stairs that Gus is still lingering near the doorway to the kitchen, having watched the entire encounter with rapt attention.  She’s too busy reeling from the wide range of emotions that just played out in the span of mere minutes and she shakes her head, trying to clear it as she goes through the motions of walking up the steps with her hands back on her belt again.

She can’t help feeling like something has shifted between them.

Patience, Hawk.  Remember she’s a frightened calf.  You have to let her come to you.

“Haught.”

Her thoughts are interrupted by Nedley’s gruff voice as he joins her in her quiet station near the window.  Nicole notices the beer in his hand and quirks an eyebrow, but he just shrugs so she lets it go. 

The man did just lose his best friend, after all.

“So, you and the Deputy Marshal are friends now.”

Yep.  Looks like he’s back to normal.

Nedley uses dramatic air quotes and a sarcastic tone, and Nicole already doesn’t like where this is going.  She’s also pretty sure that’s not his first beer of the afternoon.  She waits for whatever uncomfortable task he is about to assign her.

“Why don’t you go see if you can find out anything about those goddamn bikers and that time capsule case that started all of this shit in the first place?”

Definitely not his first beer.

“Sir, I think it was actually the bus sta—“

“Dammit, Haught.  The time capsule is where the Deputy Mayor was killed.  That’s the only one anyone is gonna give a good god damn about.  Not some random bus guy, or a bartender from the middle of nowhere.”

She feels a pang of sadness. 

Just a few hours ago, he had been giving her the encouragement she needed to believe that the weight of all of this didn’t rest squarely on her shoulders, and now the Sheriff is struggling with losing his friend, and Nicole is at a loss for what to say.  She tries for the closure route.

“But, sir…  Isn’t it over?  Didn’t Dolls and Wynonna take care of those guys when he rescued her and Champ?”

Nedley snorts loudly, drawing the attention of a few nearby patrons.  “Didn’t you hear?  Only body they recovered was Shorty’s.  Seems like them other two pulled some kinda disappearing act.”

Like the third guy in the storeroom?

Nicole shakes her head.  Now is not the time for that.  But she has a sudden feeling that this case will be chalked up as “unsolved but closed” in the way that mysterious government agencies tend to do.  Looks like she’ll be adding it to her rapidly growing file at home.

“Well, go on then, Haught.  Go see what you can find out from Mister Fancy Pants.” 

He shoos her away, and Nicole wonders when her job became this.

Luckily, the Deputy Marshal is not difficult to locate, leaning against the railing at the top of the steps that lead down into the area with the bar.  Nicole takes a deep breath and steels herself for the awkward conversation she knows is about to happen.  She just hopes she doesn’t walk out of this gathering in handcuffs, with a newly earned treason charge to her name.

“Hey, uh…” he turns to look at her and she can already see the annoyance in his countenance.  “Any update on that time capsule murder?”

Dolls lets out a dramatic sigh.  “Nedley knows I won’t tell him, huh?”  Nicole can’t help the smirk that settles on her face as she huffs out a laugh.

At least he knows this isn’t coming from me.

“It’s unresolved,” he says, and Nicole doesn’t really expect any less.  “I handed the case back over to Metro.”

Nicole still hasn’t figured out what three relatively unorganized biker thugs could possibly want with a random guy’s severed hand, an old journal, and some locket that’s been hidden in a safe behind a wall since before they were even born.

How did they even know about it?

“Any connections with the kidnapping?” she asks before she can stop herself, and immediately regrets it.

“None,” Dolls answers sharply, and Nicole knows her window for questions is officially closed.

She sucks her teeth out of frustration, suddenly understanding why Nedley is having such a hard time with this.  “Poor Shorty…”

“Yeah.”  She wasn’t actually expecting Dolls to respond to her, and is even more surprised when he continues talking.  “We have his body and we’re doing a full autopsy, but…” 

She’s watching him when he pauses, but then Waverly Earp walks across the room and Nicole’s brain stops functioning.  She knows he is still talking, but not a single word registers.

 “…Our best guess is the stress of the ordeal was too much for his heart condition.” 

He turns to look at Nicole when she doesn’t acknowledge the last thing he said and he finds her staring across the room with hearts in her eyes and a dopey grin on her face.  He follows her gaze, finds Waverly joining Wynonna at the pool table, and looks back at Nicole incredulously.

“She said she was glad I called,” Nicole sighs dreamily, the only words her hazy brain can put together.

Dolls gapes at her, unused to and uninterested in people sharing things about their personal lives with him.  She doesn’t even notice that he’s staring.  “I’ll bet…” he says, and it snaps Nicole out of her trance.

Wait.  Shit.  Did I just say that out loud?

She looks up to find him still staring at her with wide eyes and a pointed look.

Jesus fucking Christ, Nicole!

She quickly looks away, mortified by the fact that the uptight federal agent whom she has been trying to impress just caught her having a moment over Waverly Earp.  His only deputy’s little sister.

When did this become my life?

Nicole knows she should walk away and try to preserve any dignity she has left, but when she chances a glance at Dolls, she notices he’s already watching the Earp sisters again.  She sneaks another look at Waverly, leaning back against the pool table, her arms braced behind her as she tries to comfort her sister.

Trying to be the strong one for everyone else again.

She wishes there was something she could do for both of them.  They are each handling it differently, but Nicole can see they are both struggling, and it is quite frankly heartbreaking.  She makes a promise to herself to be available if either of them ever seem like they need someone.  Nicole knows she’s a good listener, and she finds that she quite enjoys both of their company, albeit for different reasons.

“Officer Haught.”

Static crackles through the shoulder mic of Nicole’s pack radio, but even through the poor reception inside the bar, there is no mistaking Sharon’s voice in her ear.

Fucking Sharon.

Dolls takes this as his cue to excuse himself from the obligation of social niceties, and clomps down the stairs over to where Wynonna and Waverly are still huddled.  He stands behind them, drawn to his full height until Waverly rolls her eyes and wanders back over toward the bar where Gus is chatting with Chrissy Nedley.

“This is Haught.  Go ahead.” 

Nicole is pretty sure you can hear her rolling her eyes through the radio, but to be honest, she really doesn’t give a shit.

“We’ve got a disturbance over at the Prairie Chapel.”

A disturbance at the church on a Thursday afternoon?  What the hell…

“What kind of disturbance?”

“A 10-11”

Nicole pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

“You are dispatching an animal complaint as a disturbance?”

“It is disturbing Keith while he is trying to mow.”

She glances around the bar and notices several of the officers snickering as they listen to the exchange in their own mics.

“What kind of animal is it?” Nicole asks, not even sure if she actually wants to know the answer.

“A possum.”

Laughter erupts from all around her as her friends can’t seem to contain themselves anymore.  There are seven other officers here, not including herself and the Sheriff, and of course Sharon chose Nicole for this gem of a call.  She makes a mental note to kick all of their asses the next time they are on shift together.

“You are dispatching me…  from the middle of a memorial service… to handle a disturbance…  being caused by a possum?”

“10-4, Haught.  I’ll mark you en route.”

Nicole throws her head back with a groan, and asks herself again:  When did this become my life?

“10-4, Sharon.”

Shaking her head and muttering to herself, Nicole works her way back over to the rack just inside the door and retrieves her Stetson.  She glances around the bar one last time as she fits it carefully onto her head.  Her eyes are drawn to the stairs on the other side of the room and her heart leaps into her throat.

Waverly Earp is giving her the smile and wave.

Nicole can’t help it.  She beams back at her and tips her hat as she yanks the heavy front door open and steps out into the crisp afternoon air.  She takes a deep breath, and it is almost euphoric after the stuffiness of so many bodies packed into the saloon.

She may be on her way to chase down a possum, but she couldn’t really care any less right now.  It wouldn’t matter if she had to chase down ten possums. 

Because she’s carrying Waverly Earp’s smile with her, and no one can take that away.

Not even Sharon.

Chapter Text

“I’ve got a live one here!”

Nicole and Stanton shoot each other a worried look and, forgetting about the coffee mugs they’d been about to fill, scurry out of the break room toward the dispatcher’s office.  Taylor rounds the corner from the bullpen at the same time that they reach the doorway and hear Michelle desperately trying to calm her caller down.

“Yes, ma’am.  I—” Michelle waves them in as she scribbles notes on her pad while trying to reason with the reporting party.  “Okay, can you—  Ma’am please, it’s—”

She hasn’t worked many overnights yet during her first month and a half in Purgatory, but Nicole has a feeling that this Saturday graveyard shift is about to get a lot more interesting.  It’s barely after midnight – just over three hours into her ten hour shift – which luckily falls into the period where the evening guys overlap with the night guys.  At least this means there are currently four of them on duty instead of just two, although Bandy is otherwise engaged at the moment with the speed trap Nedley had requested for the entire weekend.

The tension is thicker than Mama Lou’s sausage gravy in the tiny office where the three of them huddle around the dispatcher as she tries to get the pertinent information out of the frantic female caller.  Nicole can see that even the two more seasoned officers are fidgeting anxiously in anticipation for what could possibly be a dangerous call, and she feels less frustrated with herself for the nervousness growing in the pit of her own stomach.

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down,” Michelle tries again, talking over the woman this time.  “I can’t send you help if you can’t even give me your name.”  A few stressful moments pass and then Nicole sees Michelle’s shoulders suddenly sag in relief as she flips the pen out of her hand, watching it roll across the desk until it stops at the radio equipment.

Covering the mouthpiece of the receiver, Michelle looks over her shoulder at Stanton.  “Darlene Rickett,” she says with a dramatic roll of her eyes.  “Her and Larry are at it again.”  Stanton and Taylor groan loudly in unison, their rigid stances immediately giving way to annoyed resignation. 

What the hell?

Nicole doesn’t understand the sudden shift in attitude by the other three.  She knows that domestic disputes can be some of the most dangerous calls officers can respond to, and the fact that everyone seems relieved by this development is disconcerting to say the least.

Before she can ask about it, the other two are ushering her from the room, directing Michelle to keep them up to date with changes in the situation while they are en route.

“The Ricketts live in a rundown farm house about five kilometers from the Ranchland County line,” Stanton tells her as they hurry toward the locker rooms to quickly throw on their vests, unbuttoning their uniform shirts as they go.

“Yeah, we’ve been saying for years that we should all pitch in and pay to have the line redrawn,” Taylor jokes as he disappears into the men’s room.

Within minutes they are jogging out the door to their line of squad cars.  “Listen to Michelle’s updates on the scanner in your car radio,” Taylor says and then points to Nicole’s shoulder mic.  “But turn your pack radio to Channel 2 so Josh and I can fill you in on the whole Rickett saga on the way.”

Nicole does so immediately and moves to climb into her cruiser when Stanton stops her with a hand on her shoulder.  “Listen, Nic.  We joke about the Ricketts, and you’ll find out why.  But every call like this has the potential to be dangerous.  So just keep your head on straight and we’ll all be fine.  You got this, Haught.” 

She nods at him solemnly, and he squeezes her shoulder once before continuing.  “We’ll be responding code to this, so be careful on those shitty back roads at the edge of the county.  They can be a real bitch in the dark if you aren’t familiar with them.  I’ll let Sean lead, and you just stay close on my tail, okay?”

“Okay,” Nicole answers quietly, sensing the seriousness of the situation.  She searches Stanton’s face for a moment, and appreciates that she finds only sincerity and concern.  He holds no condescension and is not patronizing her.  He is simply taking a moment to teach, to give her advice before a big call, and it has nothing to do with her being a woman or too inexperienced to be taken seriously. 

“Stanton,” she says as he drops his hand, turning to climb into his own car.  He glances back over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow.  “Thanks,” she says, giving him a genuine smile.  He grins and tips his hat and disappears into his squad.

Nicole fires up the engine of her Crown Vic, listening to it protest against the chilly October night.  Flipping the switches on her dash to bring her lightbar to life, she sits transfixed for a moment as the red and blue and white lights dance across the reflective surfaces of the other cruisers.  She grips the steering wheel tightly as Taylor and then Stanton pull away from the curb before she backs her own car into the street and follows closely behind.  She can feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins when they clear the main street and she reaches to turn her siren on, listening to it echo through the darkness.

Stanton’s gentle words replay in her head on a loop as they speed off into the night.

Keep your head on straight and we’ll all be fine. 

You got this, Hawk.

“Is she…?”

“Yep.  It would appear so.”

“…Super.”

“Well, Haught.  Looks like you’re up,” Stanton smirks at Nicole.

 “Yeah,” Taylor snickers.  “Perfect opportunity for you to get to know Darlene a little better.”

On the way to the residence, Nicole had been filled in on their history from Stanton and Taylor.  The Ricketts are frequent fliers, who have apparently racked up enough miles over the years to fly to the moon and back.  They both get drunk and one of them calls the cops on the other one, but by the time the officers arrive, either everything is fine or both of them are passed out.  But as with any call, it can’t simply be disregarded, so the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department tends to end up out here upwards of four or five times a month.

During the subject background, Michelle had interjected with updates from Darlene, who had stayed on the phone with her for the majority of the twenty-five minute drive.  The original story was that Larry had punched her in the face and given her a black eye, but it had evolved over time, until the final version involved Darlene trying to convince Michelle that she could cancel the officers because the nurse that was there – who had apparently magically materialized out of thin air – had already checked both of them out and they were fine.

They had called on scene shortly after Darlene had hung up on Michelle, fanning their cruisers out at the edge of the property, using the floodlights above their driver’s side mirrors to light up the entire front yard.  Nicole found herself standing in front of a ramshackle farmhouse, paint peeling, roof sagging, and shutters barely hanging on.

Stanton had motioned for them to approach the house carefully, and with the strap on her holster unsnapped, Nicole had moved forward cautiously, a few steps behind the other two officers.  In front of the house was a rusted out old Ford truck with no license plate, nearly disappearing entirely into the tall weeds even though it was jacked up on cinderblocks.

Amid the trash scattered around the overgrown yard sat a battered 4-wheeler ATV, which Nicole had learned on the way that the Ricketts use to get around because both of them are suspended from driving a motor vehicle due to excessive DUIs and other moving violations.  Stanton and Taylor had stopped just in front of Nicole, and after a confusing exchange, they are now calling for her to proceed.

She steps a little closer, and the moment she shifts her position, the floodlight behind her fully illuminates the ATV.  She can’t believe her eyes when she sees what is waiting for them.

This can’t really be happening.

There, spread out and draped across the 4-wheeler, is Darlene Rickett.

And she’s completely naked.

Nicole looks back and forth between Stanton and Taylor, her hand on the gun digging into her hip and her mouth hanging open.  Stanton all but laughs when he lifts one of his hands from where they are resting on his duty belt and waves it in front of them, indicating for Nicole to go ahead.

“Taylor and I will secure the residence and locate Larry,” Stanton says, starting to move up the weed-riddled path to the front door.  “And you can handle that.”

“Good luck, Haught.”  Taylor is still snickering as he slaps Nicole on the back so forcefully on his way past that she actually stumbles forward a step.

She watches as the two men disappear into the farmhouse, guns drawn in the ready position, and then turns her attention to the naked woman lounging atop the ATV.  Darlene waggles her fingers playfully, grinning broadly, and Nicole can see that her teeth are chattering.  It’s not late enough in the year to have reached freezing temperatures, but it is by no means warm, as evidenced by the wispy puffs of breath both of them are producing.

Nicole pulls on her leather patrol gloves, then unclips her shoulder mic and shrugs out of her jacket.  When the mouthpiece of her pack radio is once again secured on the turquoise loop of her uniform shirt, she approaches the shivering woman, reluctantly holding out the jacket to drape over Darlene’s shoulders. 

“Let’s take this inside, ma’am,” Nicole coaxes, gesturing for her to come down from her perch. 

“Don’t you ma’am me,” Darlene growls, waving her hands around so violently she almost knocks the jacket from her shoulders.

“Okay, okay.  I’m sorry,” Nicole attempts to placate her.  “Mrs. Rickett, then.  Please come down from there.”

Darlene shoves her arms, spider-webbed with harsh purple veins, into the jacket and zips it up.  It takes her several tries, but she eventually manages and hops down from the ATV, stumbling forward and forcing Nicole to catch her awkwardly.

“Yer really tall,” she slurs as she looks up at Nicole, and her breath nearly causes Nicole to stagger.

Thank fuck for that.  At least it means my jacket is long enough to cover the important parts.

This woman must be in her late thirties – maybe early forties – but years of smoking and drug use have hardened her features into jagged lines and discolored splotches.  Her hair is thin and greasy and hangs limply against her gaunt face.  Glassy, bloodshot eyes dart back and forth, unable to settle on any one thing for more than a few seconds at a time.  Her tongue darts out to lick at thin, cracked lips, revealing yellow teeth, stained with tobacco and rot.  Adding to the foul breath, the pungent odor of liquor seeps from her oily pores, mixing with the sour tang of her unwashed body, and it burns Nicole’s nose, making her eyes water.

“C’mon,” Nicole says, gripping the swaying woman firmly by the shoulders and righting her.  “Let’s get you out of this cold.”

“I don’t even know why y’all are here,” Darlene spits.  “Ain’t no reason fer ya to be botherin’ us.”

“Mrs. Rickett…  You called us.  Said Mr. Rickett had given you a black eye.”  Nicole is slowly edging her toward the door while waiting to hear from one of the guys about the situation inside.

“I never called ya.  Are ya blind?  Does it look like I got me a shiner?”  She stumbles, barefoot, on the uneven path, and Nicole’s hands remain on the woman’s shoulders just to keep her upright until they reach the house.

“No.  No, it doesn’t.  How about we at least find you some clothes?”  They pause on the concrete slab in front of the door, and Nicole is struggling to keep her composure.

“Purgatory units.  Status.”  Michelle’s voice crackles on Nicole’s shoulder, immediately followed by Stanton’s reply.

“We’re secure, Michelle.”

“10-4”

“We’re all good in here, Haught,” Taylor shouts through the door.  “You’re clear to bring her in.”

Nicole turns the broken handle on the cracked door, having to put her shoulder into it because it sticks in the corner when she tries to open it.  She wasn’t exactly expecting the lap of luxury, but when she ushers Darlene into the cramped living room, she’s still taken aback by what she sees.

Piles of dirty clothes and dishes with moldy food litter the floor, and in the few places that are clear enough to walk, the carpet is matted and stained, smelling of mildew.  The furniture is mismatched and damaged, white stuffing and coiled springs sticking out of the couch cushions, the footrest of the recliner only attached on one side.  The floral wallpaper, yellowed with years of grime, is ripped and peeling, large pieces of it missing altogether.  One section of the drywall is smashed in, and tufts of the pink fiberglass insulation protrude from the hole like some sort of exotic bloom of reef coral.

A scrawny man wearing nothing but his tighty whities and a purple, grease-stained trucker hat is standing in one corner where Stanton is attempting to get information out of him.  The scraggly beard around his gaping mouth isn’t enough to hide the fact that he is missing several teeth and his pale, skinny arms hang limply at his sides, a maze of scabs and scars.  The fact that his dingy briefs are on inside out – the Fruit of the Loom tag proudly on display – and the vacant stare of his droopy eyes makes Nicole wonder if the boys had found him in much the same state as his wife had been, perhaps even passed out somewhere.

“We figured out a story here yet?” Taylor asks, and Stanton shakes his head in response, snapping his fingers in front of Larry’s face, trying to get his attention again.

“Mrs. Rickett insists she never called us,” Nicole answers.  “The 911 call the dispatcher received was apparently the product of immaculate reception,” she says sarcastically, and Stanton actually snorts while he’s trying to write something in his notepad.

“Y’all shouldn’t even be here!” Darlene accuses, pointing her bony finger at the officers.  She starts pacing in a small area that’s free of clutter.  “Me an’ Larry’s just tryina have a good Saturday night.  Why y’all gotta go ruinin’ ever’thin’?”  She’s shouting by the time she finishes and Stanton nudges the compliant Larry into one of the broken chairs so he can turn his full attention to the escalating situation.

“Calm down, Mrs. Rickett,” Nicole tries, holding her hands up cautiously while Stanton and Taylor edge a little closer.  “You called 911.  We’re required by law to come and check on you.”

“That’s bullshit is what it is!” Darlene yells.  “Y’all just wanna come in here an’ violate our rights.  We got rights, ya know!”

“We know, Darlene,” Taylor says.  “And you know that reporting a false emergency is also against the law.  We’ve been through this before.”

“I didn’t call ya!” she keeps insisting, getting more and more agitated.  “Yer just makin’ shit up so ya can harass us.  Harassment!  Harassment!” she starts screaming, as though there is some invisible audience to hear her allegations.

“That’s enough, Darlene,” Stanton steps in.  “If you don’t calm down, we’re gonna have to take you in.”

“I’d like to see ya try!” she bellows and picks up the nearest plate, stacked haphazardly on a sagging end table, still covered with some kind of crusty pasta.  Before any of them can react, she launches the plate, food and all, hitting Taylor square in the chest.  A half-full glass of curdled milk is next, globs of the congealed mess sticking to Stanton’s pant legs.

Nicole is able to grab Darlene’s wrist before she can catapult another plateful of week-old food, and the woman whirls around, screeching and trying to hit Nicole with her free hand.  Nicole easily catches the flailing fist, spinning Darlene back around and pinning her wrists behind her. 

Stanton is at Nicole’s side in an instant, clicking his handcuffs on Darlene while she continues to struggle against Nicole’s grasp.  She’s kicking out and spitting and trying to wriggle away, but Nicole’s hold is firm, and she carefully tugs on the cuffs to straighten Darlene back up.

“You better cool it, Darlene,” Stanton warns.  “Or we’ll add Resisting to your Assault charge.”

This seems to get her attention, and she remains stiff, but finally stills, no longer fighting.  Nicole is able to release her and straightens her Stetson, which had gotten knocked sideways on her head in the struggle.

“You wanna do the honors, Haught?” Taylor asks, still brushing the remnants of the pasta from his jacket.  “Is it your first?”

“Yeah,” she says, fighting the grin threatening to turn up the corners of her mouth.  Her heart beats a little faster, and she knows it’s silly, but she can’t help it.  She’s filled out a ledger full of traffic tickets during checkpoints after the rodeos and monthly speed traps.  She’s handed out more ordinance violations than she can count.  She’s written numerous incident reports for calls that ended up with positive resolutions.  But this will be her first time in the six weeks since she started that she will be reciting the warning.

Don’t rush it, Hawk.  Get it right.

“Darlene Rickett, you are under arrest for Assaulting a Peace Officer, pursuant to the Canadian Criminal Code Section 270-A, do you understand?”  Darlene grunts at her, so Nicole takes a breath and presses on.  “You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay.  We will provide you with a toll-free telephone lawyer referral service, if you do not have your own lawyer.  Anything you do say can and will be used in court as evidence.  Do you understand?”  A nod.  “Would you like to speak to a lawyer?”

“Fuck lawyers,” Darlene says, making a gagging noise.

“Well, alright then,” Nicole replies, trying to stifle a chuckle.

“Don’t forget to call it in so dispatch has the exact time of arrest for the report later,” Stanton reminds her with an encouraging smile, and she gives him an appreciative nod.

“This is Haught,” she says into her mic, waiting for a response.  Darlene starts shuffling closer to Stanton.

“Go ahead, Haught.”

“Michelle, I’ve got one 10-95.  I’ll be transporting her in my cage when we’re finished here.”

“10-4, Haught.  You and the boys still secure down there?”

“Yeah, we’re good.  I’ll let you know when we’re en route back to the station.”

“10-4”

“Can we find her some pants before I have to put her in my car?” Nicole asks, wrinkling her nose, but before anyone can answer, Darlene starts trying to rub up against Stanton.

“Come now, Officer…” she whines.  “Ya don’t really need to take me to jail.  Why dontcha lemme go so me an’ Larry can go on to bed for a little dickie dickie.”  She tries to bat her eyelashes at him, but only manages a couple of rough blinks. 

“Dickie dickie?” Taylor is practically wheezing as Stanton takes a hasty step backward.

“It’s too late for that, Darlene,” Stanton tells her.  “You threw things at two officers, and tried to punch another.  Besides,” he says, pointing at Larry.  “Larry’s already passed out again.  He won’t even notice you’re gone.”

“Well, that’s his loss,” Darlene tries again, taking another step toward Stanton.  “You aren’t passed out, Officer.  Maybe you an’ me could have a little go.”

“That’s enough,” he warns, shooting a glare at Taylor, who looks like he’s about to choke.  Nicole is only doing a marginally better job of hiding her reactions, bringing her hand to her mouth to cover the smirk.

Seeing that she is obviously not getting anywhere with Stanton, Darlene abruptly changes direction, shuffling over to Taylor who has braced himself against the doorway to the kitchen.  “Whaddaya say, Blondie?  You can have the dickie dickie instead.  Larry won’t even know.”

Taylor straightens up, pushing off the doorframe to put some distance between the two of them, suddenly far less amused by the situation.  “Hard pass,” he says with a distressed look on his face, circling around her to get back over to where Stanton and Nicole are standing.  He grabs a pair of wadded up sweatpants from a nearby pile on the way, tossing them at Nicole.  “You better get her dressed, Haught.”

Great.  Of course it has to be me that puts her pants on her.

Nicole shakes them out, trying to ignore the fact that she’s pretty sure a roach just went flying across the room.  “Okay, Mrs. Rickett.  It’s time to go.”  She holds the sweatpants out in front of her, as if to coax a child.

Darlene saunters over to Nicole, but instead of lifting a leg for Nicole to start dressing her, she bypasses the clothing and moves around to Nicole’s side.

What the…?

“How ‘bout you, Big Red?” she waggles her eyebrows, recapitulating her proposal.  “I’m purty good with my mouth.  You can even use the cuffs.”

This is not happening.  This can’t be happening.

This time, Taylor doesn’t even try to hold it in, the vein on his forehead bulging as he doubles over with laughter.  Even Stanton snorts loudly, his shoulders shaking as he watches Nicole’s mouth fall open, her face turning so red it looks like she might actually glow in the dark.

“C’mon, honey.  Ya look like ya could use a good time,” Darlene takes another step closer, and Nicole stumbles over a stack of old magazines trying to get away.  Taylor is howling with laughter now, wiping at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“N-No.  S-s-stop,” Nicole stutters, trying to hold the sweatpants out in front of her like a barrier, but Darlene has her practically cornered.  “A little help?” she squeaks desperately, looking at Stanton, his eyes dancing with mirth.

He finally takes pity on Nicole and grabs Darlene by the elbow, pulling her back to the center of the room.  “Alright, Darlene,” he says, his voice still laced with laughter.  “Let’s cut the poor rookie a break now, shall we?”

“She don’t know what she’s missin’,” Darlene huffs before blowing a kiss at Nicole, who shudders involuntarily.

Probably a cocktail of STDs.

“I’ll bet she doesn’t,” Taylor chokes out, checking to make sure Larry is still breathing.  A loud snore gives him his answer.

Nicole takes a cautious step forward, holding the pants up again and this time, Darlene sticks out a leg for her, using Stanton’s grip on her elbow to steady herself.  Nicole begrudgingly stoops down, holding the waistband open, and Darlene shoves her foot into the hole.  After a moment of dramatic hopping, she holds out her other leg, and Nicole repeats the process.  She’s never been so glad to be wearing her patrol gloves as she is right now, pulling the pants the rest of the way up Darlene’s splotchy legs and over her wiggling hips.

“Here.  These will work.”  Taylor drops two flip-flops he found stashed around the room on the floor in front of Darlene.  They are different colors and different sizes and Nicole is pretty sure one of them is Larry’s, but at this point, all that really matters is getting the hell out of here.

Shit.  I still have to transport her.  Maybe one of the guys wi—

“You ready to get her loaded up?” Stanton asks, leading Darlene by the elbow toward the front door.

Or not.

They step back into the night, squinting against the intensity of the floodlights still illuminating the yard, and the cold air serves as a balm against the heat in Nicole’s face, still flushed luminous red.  It’s quite a task navigating Darlene and her comical footwear through the weeds that are tall enough to brush against their knees, but they make it to Nicole’s squad without a mishap.

Thank fuck for small favors.

Nicole yanks the car door open and helps Stanton guide Darlene into her backseat, making sure her feet are clear before slamming it shut again.  Taking a ragged breath, Nicole rests her palms against the hood, leaning against it and trying to process everything that just happened.

She had just made her first arrest.  Of a naked woman.  Who had propositioned her partners.  And herself.  Nicole shakes her head, as though trying to clear it like an Etch-a-Sketch.

You made your first arrest.  Let’s focus on that.

Taylor finally emerges from the house, having stayed behind long enough to wake Larry up and tell him he could bail his wife out of jail in the morning.  It’s doubtful he will remember any of this, but that is beside the point.  Taylor yanks the door shut, forcing the sticky corner closed, and by the time he’s walking back toward Nicole and Stanton, he is already laughing at her again.

Feeling the burn in her cheeks renewing despite the crisp temperature, she decides to take her revenge by reaching behind her and angling her floodlight straight at Taylor’s head.

“Fuck!”  He throws his hands up to shield his eyes.  “That’s not playing fair, Haught!” he complains, stumbling toward his own car while Nicole tracks his movement with the light.

“It’s not funny!” Nicole yells back at him and he flips her off blindly.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Haught,” she hears Stanton behind her, unable to keep his composure any longer.  “It’s the funniest goddamn thing I’ve seen since Hicks loosened the screws on Murphy’s chair and he fell on his ass in front of Nedley.”

Nicole whips around, looking at him with disgust, and makes a gagging motion.  “I feel like I need to shower with bleach now,” she says, shuddering dramatically.

“Told ya this would be a fun one,” he winks at her and claps her playfully on the shoulder.

“Just think,” Taylor adds, clapping her other shoulder when he finally reaches them.  “Now you two can enjoy a little alone time on the way back to the station.”

“Fuck off, Sean,” she says, shoving him backward, but she’s laughing as she does so, the hilarity of the situation finally sinking in now that she can view it with some distance.

“Alright, you two,” Stanton chuckles.  “Who’s up for some greasy food?”

“Hell yes,” Nicole answers before Taylor gets a chance to.

“Same,” he adds, laughing.

“I suppose we could all use some comfort food after that traumatic experience,” Stanton smirks, nudging Nicole with his elbow.  “Some of us more than others.  I’ll hit one of the diners on the way home?”

“Mama Lou’s!” Nicole and Taylor both shout in unison.

“As if there was any question,” Stanton rolls his eyes with a grin.

“Get me a—“ Taylor starts.

“I already know both of you jokers’ orders,” Stanton cuts him off, shaking his head.  “Now let’s get the hell outta here.”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice,” Taylor winks and turns, jogging toward to his cruiser.

Nicole climbs into her own car, settling behind the wheel and flicking her floodlight off when Darlene pipes up from behind the Plexiglas barrier.  “It’s about damn time.  I’m freezin’ my tits off back here.”

Maybe that wouldn’t happen if you didn’t walk around outside naked in October when you call the cops and then throw rotten food at them.

“I’ll get the heater going for you,” Nicole says flatly, revving up the engine and cranking the dial.

Stanton closes her door for her and then braces his forearm against the top of it so he can lean in closer, looking at Nicole expectantly through her window.  She rolls it down and raises a quizzical eyebrow.

Did I forget something?

“You girls have a good time now,” he teases, tapping his palm a few times against the roof of the squad as he takes a step back.  Nicole just glares at him, flipping him off beneath the frame of the window, out of Darlene’s line of sight.

He gives her a cheeky grin and waggles his fingers playfully as he turns to walk back to his cruiser.  Nicole, still glaring at his back, reaches over and chirps her siren at him twice, taking great satisfaction when he jumps so badly that he almost trips over his own two feet.  She doesn’t wait for his response, already rolling up her window and pulling through the grass to turn back and face the gravel road.

“This is Haught,” Nicole calls, using the radio in her center console.  “We’re 10-24 at the Rickett residence.”

“10-4, Haught.  You guys need anything else out there?”

“Negative, Michelle.  I’m en route back to the station with one in custody.”

“10-4.  Bandy’s back in the office.  I’ll have him meet you in booking.”

“10-4”

Her headlights provide only a narrow field of vision, and Nicole concentrates intently on the ill-serviced county road.  The steady crunch of gravel beneath her tires is almost soothing, and for a moment she starts to get lost in her thoughts.

Darlene seems to have other ideas.

“Ninety-nine bottles of hooch on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of hooch…” she starts wailing at the top of her lungs.

Nicole grits her teeth, yanking the Stetson from her head and tossing it into the passenger seat so she can at least let her head rest against the high back of her own seat.  She decides to leave her patrol gloves on, in the event that she has to stop and readjust Darlene.

“…You take one down and pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of hooch on the wall.  Ninety-eight bottles of ho—“

“Mrs. Rickett!” Nicole interrupts her loudly.  “Is that entirely necessary?”

“Gotta keep from getting’ bored,” Darlene answers with a wicked grin.  “Ninety-eight bottles of hooch on th—“

“Darlene!” Nicole yells, trying to be heard over the woman’s shouting.

“Yeeees, Big Red?”

“You know it’s supposed to be bottles of beer, right?”

Darlene shrugs.  “Who wants beer when you can have hooch?”

“How about if I turn the radio on?” Nicole negotiates, desperate.

Darlene pretends to think about it for a moment.  “You got any good tunes?” she asks, leaning her head forward against the transparent divider, leaving a greasy smudge right in the middle of it.

“Sit back, please,” Nicole says sternly, slowing the car down until she complies.  “All I have is what’s on the radio.  Will that do?”

“I guess,” Darlene replies, trying to sound incredibly put out.

“Good.”  Nicole turns the dial, hitting the preset for the one country station she has learned will have reception all the way out here.

Nicole groans when she hears what song starts filtering through the speakers.  “5-1-5-0, somebody call the po-po…”

You have got to be shitting me.

“Ooooh.  Dierks Bentley is extra fuckable!” Darlene crows from the back seat.  “I’m goin’ crazy, thinkin’ ‘bout you, baby,” she starts singing along at the top of her lungs again.

Why?  Why is this happening to me?

Nicole reaches out and cranks the volume to a slightly ridiculous level, until the song is blaring.  If she’s going to have to listen to it, she might as well at least try to drown Darlene out in the process.

“5-1-5-0, just this side of loco.  I’m goin’ crazy, think I love you, baby.”

Going crazy.  Yes, I think I might.

It’s shaping up to be the longest thirty minutes Nicole has ever suffered through.  She thinks it might even be worse than the day they did Taser and OC training at the academy.  And that is saying something.

“5-1-5-0, somebody call the po-po…”

Shoot me now.

“Wow.   This is…”

“Yep.”

“What exactly am I looking here?”

“Trust me,” Nicole shakes her head.  “You don’t want to know.”

“Okay, now I definitely do,” Bandy grins.

“Can you just…” Nicole sighs.  “Can you just find me a jumpsuit and some shower shoes?”

He raises a questioning eyebrow, but he doesn’t push her.  “Sure thing, Haught.  I’ll be right back.”

Nicole leads Darlene to the privacy room just outside the heavy metal door that leads to the cinderblock room with the holding cells.  It’s more like an emptied out storage closet, but it gets the job done, and once they’re inside, Nicole removes Stanton’s cuffs, freeing Darlene’s arms from behind her back.  She shoves the cuffs in the pocket of her khakis, and starts to execute a proper search on her detainee.  Until she realizes that Darlene has been in her sight the entire time since she started out naked.

Guess that would be a bit redundant. 

“Thought you weren’t never gonna take ‘em off,” Darlene whines, rubbing her wrists.  “I can’t feel my fingers!”

Nicole reaches out a gloved hand and catches one of Darlene’s, holding it up so she can examine her wrist.  There’s not even a single mark.

“Really, Darlene?”  Nicole gives her a reproachful look, her patience wearing thin after the car ride from hell.

“Okaaaay, Big Red,” she says sheepishly.  “Maybe that wazza lie.  But it still feels better with ‘em off.”

“Mmhmm.”

Thankfully, there’s a knock at the door, interrupting the need for any further conversation at the moment.

“Other side of the room, Darlene.  Put your hands on the wall,” Nicole instructs.  Darlene grumbles about it, but obeys anyway, obviously not a newcomer to these procedures.

Nicole opens the door and finds Bandy waiting for her, holding out one of the old black and white striped jumpsuits they keep on hand for emergencies.  It’s folded up, and resting on top if it is a pair of disposable shower shoes and a plastic bag with a drawstring.

“I’ll dig out Darlene’s file for you,” he offers, and Nicole nods at him, grateful.

“Thanks, Bandy,” she says and then closes the door again, turning back to Darlene.  “Okay.  Let’s get you changed out for the night.”

“I ain’t never had to wear one-a them jailbird suits before,” Darlene huffs, crossing her arms.

“Yeah.  Well.  You’ve probably never come in wearing only sweatpants with holes in them and my jacket before, either.”

“No…”

“Okay, then.”  Nicole holds out the jumpsuit.  “Time to change.”

Darlene takes it from her, kicking her flip-flops off and laughing when they bounce off the walls.  Nicole is not amused.  “Yer sucha fuckin’ party pooper, Red,” Darlene grumbles.  “You really do need to get laid.”

Well…

Nicole ignores it, shaking her head and leaning back against the door with her arms crossed.  “Get dressed, Darlene.”

“Sure ya don’t wanna help, Big Red?” Darlene asks, her fingers lingering on the zipper of the jacket.

“Officer Haught.”

“What?”

“My name.  Is Officer Haught.  Not ‘Big Red,’” Nicole’s frustration is starting to bleed through.

“More like Officer Stick Up My Ass.”

The muscles in Nicole’s jaw flex and her fingertips dig into her biceps where her arms are still folded across her chest.  “Dressed.  Now.”

“Aren’tcha at least gonna turn around for me, Officer Haught?”

“You know I can’t do that, Darlene.  Quit wasting time.”

“Knew ya liked what ya saw!” Darlene teases in a sing-song voice as she finally shirks the jacket and shimmies out of the sweatpants.  She tosses the wadded up clothes at Nicole, who barely gets her hands up in time to keep them from hitting her in the face.  Darlene snickers while she clumsily steps into the jumpsuit, zipping it up before falling backward on her ass to pull on the shower shoes.

Nicole shoves the sweatpants in the plastic bag, and bends down to gather up the discarded flip-flops so she can do the same with them.  She almost adds her contaminated jacket on instinct, but catches herself, instead dropping it in the corner with the bag on top of it.

“Alllll done,” Darlene announces like a proud child, climbing back to her feet.

“Alright.  Let’s go.”  Nicole pulls Stanton’s handcuffs back out of her pocket and holds them up.

“Aw, c’mon.  Do ya hafta?”

“Just until you’re booked.  Shouldn’t take long, if you cooperate,” Nicole says pointedly.

“This fucking sucks,” Darlene mutters, putting her hands behind her back again.

“Nope,” Nicole twirls a finger in the air.  “In front this time.  Still gotta print you.”

“Oops.  Forgot.”

“Yep.”  Nicole clicks the cuffs on loosely and grabs the bag and jacket off the floor before opening the door and ushering Darlene out by the elbow.  She drops the items on the bench, peels off her patrol gloves, and leads Darlene over to the desk, where Bandy has the printing station already inked up and ready to go.

It’s painfully obvious that Darlene has been through this process enough times to be an old pro.  Nicole barely even has to guide her fingers as they press against the ink pad and then roll slowly from one side all the way to the other in each box on the 10 Card.  Nicole lets her wash her hands in the nearby sink, holding out the jar of Gojo for Darlene to get a glob to scrub with.

Within minutes, Darlene is safely in one of the two holding cells for the night, with a bottle of water and a pre-wrapped sandwich from the supply fridge in the back room.  Nicole is shoving the handcuffs back in her pocket when Bandy buzzes her back through to the desk, where he is filing the fresh 10 Card.  She slumps against the counter letting her head fall into her folded arms with a loud groan.

“Rough one?” Bandy asks, slightly amused.

“You have no idea,” Nicole answers, her voice muffled against the crook of her elbow.

He chuckles and pats her on the head.  She swats at his hand, but makes no effort to raise her head back up yet.

“I don’t suppose you feel like doing her booking paperwork?” Nicole cajoles, peeking up at him over the top of her forearm.

Bandy narrows his eyes at her, considering, and scratches at the scruff on his chin.  She bats her eyelashes at him and he laughs.  “Cut the shit, Haught.  That won’t work on me.”

She stands back up with a shrug.  “Can’t hurt to try.”

“I’ve only got an hour left till I go home,” he says and watches her shoulders sag a little.

“S’okay,” she says.  “She’s my collar.  I’ll do it.”

“I’m fucking with you, Nic,” he laughs.  “It won’t take me an hour to book her in.  Half of her shit is already filled in because she’s here so often.”

“Really?” she asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

He shakes his head with a smile.  “Yes, really.  It’s time for your lunch break anyway, isn’t it?”  Nicole glances at the clock and nods.

“If you can call it ‘lunch’ when it’s 0200 hrs,” she laughs.

“Hey.  It’s lunch for you.  That’s all that matters.”  Bandy jerks his head toward the door to the hallway leading back out to the main part of the station.  “Go on.  Get outta here.”

Nicole’s smile is so broad, it’s framed by her dimples.  She washes her hands at the sink and then pauses with her hand on the doorknob after he buzzes her out and looks back over her shoulder, her voice softer and genuine.

“Thanks, Kyle.”

“You can owe me one, Haught,” he waves her off and then she’s making her way back to the bullpen, following the aroma of grease and butter and salt.  Her stomach rumbles loudly and she only just now realizes how hungry she really is.

Stanton is already halfway through his breakfast platter when Nicole rounds the doorway, and Taylor has his feet up on the other side of Stanton’s desk with a styrofoam container of fries drowned in cheese sauce resting in his lap.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Stanton grins, jabbing his fork toward Nicole’s desk, indicating the food he left there waiting for her.  “You hungry, Big Red?”

“Don’t.  Ever.  Fucking.  Call me.  That.  Again.”  Nicole digs his cuffs out of her pocket and flings them at him.  He barely catches them before they land in his eggs.

“Thought maybe you and Darlene were getting to know each other a little better,” Taylor teases and immediately has to duck when Nicole launches her plastic fork at him.  It bounces off the top of his head and skids across the floor disappearing under a filing cabinet in the corner.

“Uh oh.  Now what are ya gonna do?” Stanton asks, shoving another forkful of food in his mouth.

“You know damn well nothing in my order requires a fork.”  Nicole rolls her eyes and drops heavily in her chair, immediately unwrapping her turkey melt. 

“True,” he answers around the bite he’s chewing, crumbs of hashbrowns flying out and sticking to his sleeve.

“Gross, dude,” Taylor wrinkles his nose, tossing a napkin across the desk.  Stanton half-heartedly wipes at his shirt.

“How’d you manage to get a breakfast platter at this time of night anyway?” Nicole asks before taking a large bite.  She’s pretty sure she moans at the greasy goodness.  She’s also pretty sure she doesn’t care.  She’s positively starving.

“Aw, come on now,” Stanton answers after he swallows.  “You know how much Mama Lou loves me.”

“Yeah.  Almost as much as she loves me,” Nicole grins, flipping open the other container.  She grabs the large styrofoam cup and pops the lid off, carefully removing it and the straw, which she brings up to her mouth.  She sucks the vanilla ice cream off of the bottom of the straw and tosses it in the trash with the lid.

“What the hell are you doing over there, Haught?”  Taylor leans over in his chair trying to see around her.

Nicole doesn’t answer, instead leaning back and mirroring him by kicking her feet up on her own desk.  She has her container of fries in her lap and her vanilla milkshake in her hand.  The other two watch with confusion and she grabs a fry and dips it in the shake before popping it in her mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Nic.  If I’d known that’s what you were gonna do with it, I never would have bought you that goddamn shake.”  Stanton curls his lip dramatically.  “That’s disgusting.”

“Don’t knock it till ya try it,” Nicole answers with a shrug, repeating the process with three fries at a time.

“Maybe we should reconsider,” Taylor says cryptically, leaning toward Stanton, who just nods at him.

“Reconsider what?”  Curiosity is evident in Nicole’s voice.

“Oh… nothing…” he smirks.

Nicole rolls her eyes.  “You’re off shift in less than an hour.  Why did you even get food, anyway?”

Taylor scoffs.  “You think I was gonna pass up on some of Mama Lou’s cheese fries?”  He takes a drink from his soda, slurping loudly through the straw.

“What are we reconsidering?” Nicole asks again, this time looking at Stanton.  He narrows his eyes at her, as if contemplating something deeply.

“I don’t know, Sean.  I think she’s earned it tonight.”

“Okaaaay,” Taylor sighs dramatically.  “You get to tell her, Josh.”

Stanton grins and turns back to Nicole.  She’s looking back and forth between them, hand frozen comically halfway to her mouth with a couple of fries.

“Well.  Now that you’ve had your first encounter with the Adventures of Darlene and Larry…” he starts, and watches her set the fries back in the container, too afraid to put them in her mouth.  “Hell.  Dealing with the Ricketts is practically like a hazing in these parts,” he laughs, and even Nicole can’t help but snort softly through her nose.  “You’ve been officially initiated, Haught.  Although I’m a little disappointed you didn’t get the full Larry Experience tonight.  I’m not sure I even want to know what he was on.”

“Yeah.  You’re one of us now,” Taylor adds with excitement.

“Umm,” Nicole continues to glance back and forth between the two.  “Wasn’t I already?” she frowns.

“I mean, yeah.  But, like…  You’re one of the guys now, Nic.  We’re officially inducting you into the group.”

Nicole grins.  She can’t help it.  She’d already felt like she had been fitting in, but now these guys are sitting here telling her this with such excitement, and it’s contagious.  “The group?”  She quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Stanton leans forward in his chair.  “Every week, a group of us go to Shorty’s for Wednesday Wing Night.  We’ve been doing it for so long, we’ve even got our own booth reserved every week.”

Shorty’s?  Oh…  That means…

“Yeah,” Taylor doesn’t let her finish the thought.  “And we want you to start coming with us.”

You did it, Hawk.  You’re in.

“Me.  You want me to come to Shorty’s with a bunch of guys every week.”  Nicole’s voice is dry and serious.

“Well…  yeah…  I mean, if you want to…” Stanton’s face creases with concern.

Jesus, these guys are easy.

“Fuck yes, I’ll be there,” she says giddily, unable to keep up her rouse any longer.

Stanton flops back in his chair, laughing.  “You’re such a shit, Nicole.”

“Obviously.  It’s why you guys love me.”   She grabs another bunch of fries, dipping them in her shake again.  “You two should have seen your faces,” she snickers, jabbing the fries in their direction before stuffing them in her mouth.

“Just for that, the first round is on you this week,” Taylor says, pointing at her.

“I can live with that,” Nicole shrugs and takes a sip from the cup.

“God.  You’re drinking that, too?  After sticking your fries in it?”  Stanton shakes his head.

“Yeah?  So?”  She goes back to dipping her fries.

Before either of them can complain, Bandy comes around the corner from the hallway and tosses a plastic bag at Nicole.  With her feet up on the desk and her hands full of her lunch, she has to settle for letting it hit her square in the side of the head, causing all three of the others to burst into laughter.

“What the fuck, Kyle?” she demands, but she’s laughing with them as she says it.

“You forgot your jacket back there,” Bandy says, pointing at it.  “Thought you might need that.”

“Ugh,” Nicole shudders dramatically.  “I don’t want to touch it.”

“Aww, but it’s the perfect souvenir for your first date with Darlene,” Taylor wheezes, his face red with laughter.

Nicole just glares at him. 

He pushes out of his chair, tossing his empty fry container in the trash.  It’s nearly 0300 hrs, meaning the evening shift is drawing to a close.  Taylor and Bandy say their goodbyes, stopping in to let Michelle know they’re heading out.

Nicole and Stanton finish their food, chatting easily, and then she settles in to start working on the arrest report for tonight’s incident.  Her mind is reeling as she thinks back over everything that’s happened in the last three hours, but she’d be lying if she said she’d trade it for anything.

She does come to one conclusion while she sits here writing up the call, though.  Her jacket.  The boys were joking with her earlier, but she’d meant what she’d said.  She doesn’t want to even think about touching it again. 

Nicole makes up her mind right then.  She’s going to pay Hometown Heroes a visit the next time they are open and buy a new one.  She doesn’t even care that it will have to come out of her own pocket, knowing that the department won’t cover a replacement.  It’s worth it.

The only question now is what to do with her old one.

She thinks burning it sounds like a good option.

Maybe if I burn it, it will also burn away the images seared into my brain right along with it.

Chapter Text

Just take a breath.

Her entire body is tingling, a mixture of nerves and adrenaline.  She can’t explain why, but it’s even more intense than what she felt a week ago when she was facing off against a biker gang that was kidnapping hostages.  Nicole tries to tell herself she’s just nervous about hanging out with the guys outside of work for the first time, but given the way her mind keeps flashing to images of Waverly behind the bar, she’s having a hard time pretending that’s the truth.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hawk.  It’s a busy night.  She probably won’t even notice you.

She’s never been to Shorty’s on a Wednesday night, but it’s clear by the lines of parked cars, congesting both sides of the main road and wrapping around the block in either direction, that Wing Night must be some sort of institution in this sleepy town.  It’s easily drawing the same kind of crowd at 1800 hrs in the middle of the week as one would expect to see at midnight on a Friday or Saturday night.

Nicole had arrived nearly an hour early, her eagerness getting the better of her.  After her run-in with Darlene on Saturday, and a relatively quiet overnight shift on Sunday in comparison, she’d had three glorious, much needed days off.  The majority of Monday had been spent sleeping off the graveyard shift from the night before and then lounging around her apartment.  Soaking in a long, hot bath, leisurely cooking the new beef stroganoff recipe from Hayley, and then an evening of relaxing on the couch while she ran around saving Tamriel as a Dragonborn.

She’d forced herself to get at least a little bit of sleep Monday night, starting the process of getting back on a daytime schedule, and then first thing Tuesday morning, Nicole had dropped in on George and Wanda at Hometown Heroes to buy a new jacket.  She wouldn’t get her next uniform allowance until the first of the year, and the price of the replacement was fairly steep, but Nicole knew that no amount of steam cleaning would purge the image of a naked Darlene wearing it from her mind, and she couldn’t think of anything better to spend her money on right now anyway.

The rest of the day had been taken up with the sort of errands that can only be run during normal business hours.  Post office, bank, stopping in to pay her rent.  Liquor store for a new bottle of wine and a refill on her beer.  She grabbed a six-pack of Corona like usual, but also decided to try one of the local craft beers, settling on Livingston Lager, a Big Rock Alberta label brewed specifically for the areas surrounding Calgary’s Heritage Park. 

She had finally ended up at the grocery store, suffering through a lengthy shopping trip to replenish her cabinets, pantry, and refrigerator.  And then she had left the store mildly confused as to why the dark haired cashier – Cassie, she thinks – had been glaring daggers at her the entire time.

After her standing Tuesday night date with the gym – Waverly hadn’t been back to yoga since her uncle had died and her sister had returned, but Nicole hadn’t let that deter her from the routine she’d settled into – Nicole had called to check in with her parents and had then spent nearly two hours Skyping with Hayley and the kids. 

Adam had been very excited to tell Aunt Nicole about making his first junior hockey league team and had even insisted on trying on his new uniform for her.  Kelly had been more interested in showing off her latest drawings, including one of Nicole in her uniform, complete with cowboy hat and badge.  She had even included a little fuzzball that was supposed to be Calamity Jane.

Today had been different.  Her body was already thrumming with anticipation when she’d woken up this morning, and no amount of puttering around in the kitchen or getting lost in a video game had done anything to alleviate it.  She had allowed herself the satisfaction of burning her old jacket in the fire pit situated in the center of the common yard area out the back of her building – she knew it was ridiculous, but it made her feel better, just the same – but by lunch time, Nicole was pacing her apartment, and she still had hours to kill before she was supposed to meet the guys.

Willing herself to calm down, Nicole’s thoughts had turned to something she knew could always provide a good distraction:  her “X-Files.”  It had only been two weeks since she’d started putting together her file of strange cases, but she’d already accumulated an interesting collection.  Between the abnormally high frequency of animal attacks, a strange incident where a small cluster of farmers reported the sky turning black as night for a couple of hours in the middle of the day, a suspicious number of missing persons, and the disappearing biker from the hostage situation last week, Nicole was starting to get the feeling that something really weird was going on around here.

Retrieving the file from where it hid securely on the top shelf of her gun safe, Nicole had spread out at her kitchen table to look over newspaper articles she’d printed out from the Purgatory Register archives, various incident reports she’d made copies of, and any other information she could dig up using her laptop.

As she had studied and cross-referenced and made notes, some things Wynonna had said when returning to the shop after being kidnapped began to tickle at the edge of Nicole’s consciousness.  That she had “tried to save him, but ended up killing him instead,” and the fact that she’d thrown in an “again,” and also the insistence that it was “another Earp fuck-up.”  Nicole had frowned in thought, and then began tapping away on her laptop.

After several minutes of searching, Nicole had found an article dated from fifteen years ago that made her blood run cold.  After the initial shock had worn off, she’d read through it again. 

And then again.

Local Girl Presumed Dead

Purgatory authorities have officially called off the search for Willa Earp, who went missing the same night her father, Ward Earp, was shot and killed by another of his daughters, Wynonna.

The third Earp daughter, Waverly, has been in the care of family members since the incident.

Authorities have yet to comment on a motive or explanation for the gun violence that tore apart the family, nor whether the shooter has any idea of her sister’s whereabouts.

Wynonna Earp remains in protective custody.  A private memorial will be held for both Ward and Willa at the request of the surviving family.

Nicole couldn’t believe what she was reading.  Wynonna had shot and killed her father.  As a child.  And not only that, but she and Waverly used to have an older sister.  Nicole’s mind had suddenly flashed back to when Stanton had told her about Wynonna.  He’d had to catch himself when he’d started to say that she was the oldest.  This must be why.

Wynonna was carrying around fifteen years’ worth of guilt.  It’s no wonder she felt like she’d gotten Shorty killed instead of being able to save him.  She was reliving her past all over again.  That would explain the drinking at the surplus store that night.  And the sarcastic lashing out at Nicole.  And the trying to hide behind humor at the wake the next day.

Nicole’s heart had ached for her new – acquaintance? colleague?  …friend? – and the information from the article had only solidified her annoyance at the entire town saying the name Earp like it was some kind of plague to be avoided.   The details from the incident remained cloudy, but regardless of the circumstances, Nicole didn’t understand how people could place this much loathing on a child.

When the apartment had slowly begun to grow dark around her, Nicole realized her distraction had worked even better than she’d anticipated.  Putting all of her files away, she’d gotten ready for her night out, all the while mulling over the new information she’d learned about the Earp sisters.  It hadn’t taken her long to come to the conclusion that she should keep her knowledge to herself.  They may assume that as a new member of the Sheriff’s Department she already knows, but Nicole thought it seemed cruel to bring it up.

The sobering thoughts had served to quench her anxiousness for a while, but now Nicole is sitting in her truck outside Shorty’s and she is practically buzzing with nervous energy.  It’s still only 1815 hrs.  She’s only managed to kill fifteen minutes playing with the radio and watching people come and go and staring at the familiar red Jeep parked in the alley next to the saloon.

With a final sigh, Nicole gives in to her eagerness and shoulders the door of her truck open.  Pausing briefly on the nerf bar to stretch her long limbs, she drops down to the street, the gravel crunching loudly under her heavy boots.  She takes a moment to straighten her white tank top where it had bunched slightly just above her belt buckle and then runs her hands along the royal blue button-up that casually hangs open over it, smoothing out any wrinkles or creases that had formed while she fidgeted behind the wheel of her truck.

Fishing her keys out of the front pocket of her favorite faded jeans with one hand, she runs the other through the silky strands of her coppery hair and exhales a long breath through her parted lips as a calming habit.  Glancing at the window, Nicole catches a glimpse of her grandmother’s warm brown eyes in the reflection of her own.

You can do this, Hawk.

With a final nod of determination, she spins sharply on her heel, sending gravel skittering and bouncing off her wide front tire, and begins to make her way toward Shorty’s.  When she hears the familiar chirping sound, she shoves her keys back in the pocket of her jeans and lets her hand rest there with her thumb looped over the edge, bringing her other hand up to mirror the action.  With her hands tucked casually in her pockets, she easily falls into the default swagger that gives her an air of confidence as she crosses the street in long strides.

The bar is busier than she’s ever seen it, the air warm and thick with smoke and body heat rolling off the throngs of people crammed into booths and gathered around tables and jostling shoulder to shoulder for a place at the bar.  The sound of Clint Black coming from the jukebox filters in and out of the dull roar of lively chatter, creating an atmosphere in direct contrast to the last time Nicole had been there when the place had been filled with hushed tones and a somber weight.

Nicole’s eyes scan the room and she honestly doesn’t know where she and her group of friends are going to find a place to settle.  Clusters of people are lingering by the door, obviously waiting for a space to open up, and she resigns herself to lean against a free section of wall near the hat rack to do the same thing.  She absentmindedly lets her gaze wander over the crowd, wondering if she might catch a glimpse of Waverly Earp.

It would be the first time they will have seen each other since the memorial just shy of a week ago.  Nicole still believes that something had shifted between them that day, possibly creating an opening for them to become friends, but she had been trying not to get her hopes up given that she hadn’t heard anything from Waverly after that final smile and wave as Nicole had departed to get back to work.

Maybe Waverly had been too busy with her family in the wake of the tragedy.  Between Gus dealing with the loss of Shorty and Wynonna being back in town, seeming to struggle with some demons of her own related to the circumstances.  Maybe she had been too busy tending to her boy-man.  He had almost died, after all.  Nicole bristles at the thought, but forces herself to remember that she has no right to have any sort of feelings regarding such matters.

Or maybe Nicole had, indeed, crossed a line that day when she’d tried to comfort Waverly in her time of grief.  Her chest ached at the possibility that she might have inadvertently caused more stress or uneasiness for Waverly, when all she really wanted to do was take all of her pain away and relieve her from any burdens she might be carrying.

The worry must have visibly settled on her face, because not two minutes after she’d found her place against the wall, Nicole is suddenly jarred from her thoughts.

“Officer Haught.  I almost didn’t recognize you.  Is everything alright?”

Nicole blinks a few times, allowing her eyes to slide their focus from the depths of the room to the source of the voice standing directly in front of her.  A genuine smile settles on her face when she looks down to find rich brown eyes regarding her.

“Everything’s fine, Gus.”  She shakes her head gently.  “And please.  I’m just Nicole tonight,” she adds with a grin as she gestures at her civilian attire.

“Fair enough,” Gus chuckles, then tilts her head slightly.  “Haven’t seen you in here on your free time before.  What brings you by tonight?  We’re awfully busy, but I’m sure I can rustle up some grub for one of Purgatory’s finest,” she says with a wink.

“That’s very kind of you, Gus,” Nicole says, her hands habitually coming to rest at her belt buckle.  “But it wouldn’t do to have me jumping the line.”  Her eyes sweep the area by the door, filled with patrons shuffling about impatiently, before returning to Gus with a shrug.  The older woman looks as though she is about to say something, but Nicole cuts her off before she can open her mouth.  “Besides.  I’m supposed to be meeting some of the guys here.  They said they come every week?  I’m afraid I’m rather early, though,” she adds with a frown.

“Ooooh,” Gus breathes, her eyes dancing now.  “You’ve been initiated, then?”

Nicole dips her head to hide the faint blush starting to color her cheeks, rubbing at the back of her neck shyly.  “It would seem so,” she admits, glancing back up at Gus.

“Why didn’t ya say so, kid?  Your table’s already reserved.” 

Gus takes Nicole by the elbow before she can protest and begins leading her through the pressing crowd.  They make their way toward the stairs at the back of the expansive room and then veer off to the right at the last minute.  Tucked into the alcove formed between the base of the stairwell and the entrance to the kitchen is a large horseshoe booth.  Two extra tables have been pushed against the open end and fitted with chairs, increasing the seating capacity by at least double.

“This is where your motley crewmembers spend their Wednesday nights,” Gus indicates with a sweeping hand gesture.  “I’m glad to hear we’ll be seeing your face around here with those other hooligans now.”  She turns back to grin at Nicole over her shoulder, only to find her standing there gaping at the arrangement of tables and chairs.

When Stanton had told her a group of them got together every week, Nicole had assumed there might be five or six of them.  But she’s looking at a set-up that is clearly prepared to accommodate at least fifteen people, if not more.  There aren’t even that many officers in the entire department, including the dispatchers and the Sheriff himself.

What have you gotten yourself into, Hawk?

Gus chuckles and steps in front of Nicole, catching her attention again.  “Dare I ask what form of shenanigans served as your initiation?”  As a co-owner of the town’s only respectable saloon, Gus has been around the block more than a few times with these guys.  They’ve been initiating new recruits for years.

Nicole’s face instantly reddens at the embarrassing memories from the weekend.  Gus is already laughing when Nicole manages to stutter out an answer.  “The, uh…  The Ricketts.”

“Boy, they didn’t mess around, did they?”  Nicole is still blushing, but laughs along with her.  “Larry or Darlene?”

With a groan, Nicole drops her head into her hands.  “Darlene,” she mumbles against her palms and Gus outright cackles.

“Oh, kid,” Gus says, patting Nicole on the arm.  “Talk about throwing you into the deep end.” 

Gus is still laughing and Nicole can’t bring herself to pull her face out of her hands so she just shakes her head with another loud groan.

“Tell you what.”  Gus squeezes Nicole’s arm and she finally drops her hands to look at the other woman again.  “Why don’t you get yourself settled,” she indicates the booth with a wave of her hand.  “The boys have a standing order for endless wings and bottomless pitchers, but I’ll bring you something to get you started.  My treat, as your ‘welcome to the madness’ gift.  You deserve it after any sort of hazing that involved Darlene.”

“You don’t have to do that, Gus,” Nicole shakes her head and shifts her weight awkwardly.

“Don’t remember asking,” Gus waves dismissively, ushering Nicole into a seat.  She isn’t surprised in the least when Nicole chooses to slide into the booth, situating herself with her back to the wall and a clear view of both the room and the bar. 

“Now.  What’ll ya have tonight, Officer?  Beer?  Something stronger?”  A mischievous grin slides onto Gus’s face.  “Got a fresh pitcher of lemonade if you wanna break out the hard stuff to make yourself splutter and cough at the burn.”

Nicole instantly flushes bright red.  She attempts to level her best intimidating glare at Gus, but it works about as well on the seasoned bar owner as trying to baptize a cat.  Nicole should know.  She and Megan had baptized the old tabby cat that lived in the parish house when they were eight years old. 

She has the scar on her left cheek to prove it.

After floundering for a moment, Nicole finally finds her words. 

“I’m not on duty, ma’am,” she says defiantly and Gus’s eyes twinkle.  “I’ll have a beer, if that’s alright.”

“We’ve got three kinds of Big Rock on tap, which I’m sure you’ll be helping yourself to once the pitchers start coming.  Or would you prefer a longneck?”

Spinning the ring on her finger, Nicole considers her options for a moment.  “Moosehead?” she finally asks.

“Excellent choice.”  Gus tilts her head when Nicole doesn’t elaborate.  “Lager, Light, or Pale Ale?”

“Lager,” Nicole answers without hesitation.

“Good girl,” Gus nods with approval and Nicole grins, her dimples showing.  “Comin’ right up.”

Nicole slips her phone out of her back pocket and sets it on the table in front of her as she settles back into the padded booth seat.  A quick check of the lock screen tells her she’s only killed ten minutes with Gus, and Nicole scolds herself mentally for being so overeager about tonight.  Letting her eyes drift around the room, she notices the specialty night has drawn a crowd ranging from grizzled bikers to young couples with kids – allowed in the saloon during normal kitchen hours – and everything in between.

As she watches a small child wiping his sticky fingers on his bib, giggling at the barbeque sauce smeared all over his face and hands, all the way up to his elbows, something catches Nicole’s eye.  She forgets everything else, staring with her mouth hanging open as a blur of red and blue easily navigates the clusters of bodies and finally comes to a halt behind the bar.

Waverly Earp.

Nicole had seen Waverly in her full Shorty’s attire before, but only from a distance.  With her standing only ten meters away, Nicole feels like the breath has been stolen from her lungs.  Long brown hair cascades down her back, pulled away from her face with two small braids on either side, tied back in the middle.  The hem of the already short crop top has been tied in a knot, nestled into the small of her back, exposing a generous portion of her midriff above her high-waisted denim shorts.  Her bare thighs give way to toned calves, disappearing into soft leather cowboy boots.

And those abs.

Oh, those abs.

Abs that are boldly on display beneath the soft cotton of her Shorty’s shirt.  Abs that somehow manage to hold a sun-kissed tan, even in October.  Abs that twist and ripple every time Waverly pushes up on her toes to reach a glass from the rack above the bar.  Abs that—

“Hello?  Anybody in there?”

Nicole blinks a couple of times and turns to find Gus standing right next to her, a frosty bottle of Moosehead Lager in one hand and a basket of pretzels in the other, her head tilted to the side with an amused grin.  Nicole immediately feels lightheaded from the rush of blood to her face.

Shit fuckity fuck.

“I was just…   I mean…   It’s not wh—”

Gus cuts her off with a chuckle.  “You were farther away than a three-day cattle drive.  What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, kid?”

Oh, nothing.  Just gawking at your niece like a jackass.

Nicole continues to stammer as Gus puts the basket down before pulling a cardboard Big Rock pub coaster from her pocket and dropping it on the table.  She slides the green bottle in front of Nicole and then looks back over her shoulder in the direction that she’d been staring.  Her eyes automatically pass over the bar area and settle on the front doors.  A knowing grin settles on her lips.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Nicole.  These guys may be a little rough around the edges, but they’re teddy bears at heart.  If they invited you to join them tonight, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”  Gus nudges Nicole’s shoulder with her elbow.  “Besides.  If you had to deal with Darlene in order to get here, you’ve already been through the hard part.”

Nicole huffs out a nervous laugh at that, thankful that Gus has misinterpreted her odd behavior.  “Ha.  Y-yeah.  The g-guys giving me h-hard time.  Yeah, th-that’s definitely it.  I-it should be fine, right?”  She rubs awkwardly at the back of her neck and nods stiffly before taking a long pull of her beer.

Gus eyes her curiously for a moment, then apparently decides to let it go.

“Relax, kid.  These hooligans know if they step outta line, they’ll have me to contend with.”  Gus rests her hands on her hips.  “Ain’t nobody ‘round here that wants to deal with that,” she says with a serious expression, and Nicole is finally able to give her a genuine smile, dimples on full display.

“No, ma’am,” she chuckles, spinning the glass bottle between her fingers as the condensation begins to pool on the coaster.  “I don’t imagine they would.”

Grinning at her, Gus winks mischievously as she turns and heads back to the bar, leaving Nicole alone with her thoughts.

Way to go, dumbass.

Nicole closes her eyes and runs her hand over her face, thoroughly embarrassed by the exchange that had just taken place.  How could she have been so stupid?  She takes another long pull of her beer, frowning when she feels the icy liquid swirling harshly in her stomach.  Realizing it’s been over six hours since she ate anything, she grabs a handful of the pretzels Gus had left on the table, smiling at the older woman’s ability to read the situation with ease.

“Never seen someone so excited over a bunch of bar pretzels.”

Looking up to find Murphy and a pretty blonde woman standing at the end of the table, Nicole laughs and throws a pretzel at him.  “Why are you in uniform?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I’m on midnights tonight.  Bandy, too.  We usually come to have dinner before we have to go in.  He should be here soon.”  Nicole nods and Murphy turns to the woman standing next to him.  “This is my wife, Carolyn.”  Gesturing back at Nicole, he continues, “Honey, this is Nicole.”

She steps around a few of the chairs toward the opening of the booth, and Nicole rises awkwardly between the padded seat and the table to greet her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nicole.  Ben’s told me all about you,” she says with an easy smile as they shake hands.

Nicole shoots Murphy a look, then glances back at his wife.  “Uhh…”

Carolyn chuckles, giving her hand one last shake before returning to where Murphy is still standing.  “Don’t worry.  It was all good.”

Nicole smiles sheepishly and slides back down into her seat as Murphy and Carolyn take chairs at the end of the table.  She frowns, gesturing at them.

“You don’t have to sit all the way down there.  I don’t bite,” she grins.  “I even took a shower today.”

Murphy laughs and waves her off.  “The table’s about to get really full.  It’ll be easier for us to get out when I have to leave for the station.”

“Ah, right,” Nicole nods, and takes a few more pretzels out of the basket before flicking her wrist and sliding it the length of the table.

Bandy arrives not long after, quickly followed by Taylor and Ken – with his wife Cindy – and a man Nicole recognizes as Grant Lewis, a paramedic she’s seen at a few of her calls.  Soon the table fills with an assorted group of people in the related professions, along with their wives or girlfriends, and before Nicole knows it, there are pitchers of beer and platters of various flavors of buffalo wings spread before her.

Everyone is laughing and joking, and not a single person has made her feel uncomfortable or unwanted.  Nicole begins to wonder why she had been so nervous in the first place.

These are your people now, Hawk.  You’re one of them.  Enjoy it.

“Looks like Haught has a girlfriend.”

Nicole chokes on her drink, almost dropping the glass mug as she splutters and coughs and sloshes beer and foam all over her hand, down her wrist, and up the sleeve of her shirt.

What the fuck?  Oh, god.  Oh, shit.

Things had been going so well.  When it was all said and done, sixteen people had come for Wing Night, including Nicole.  Grant’s partner – Ryan Foster, the EMT on their rig – had shown up, and also brought his girlfriend, Sarah Dunn, an ER nurse.  The Harrison brothers, Jonah and Micah – a couple of firemen that Nicole had met once – were there.  Plus Ken and Cindy, Murphy and Carolyn, Bandy, and Taylor.  And of course Marks, who had brought Lori, and Stanton, with his wife Jamie.

All in all, it’s been a good night.  Murphy and Bandy have already left for their graveyard shift, but everyone else is still gathered, enjoying wings and beer and conversation.  Nicole has realized that law enforcement in a small town doesn’t have to be a lonely job.  Tonight she’s made friends with medics and firemen and even a nurse – as well as the wives of her work buddies – and these are other people that understand the way things can be sometimes.  People that can laugh about dealing with mopes like the Ricketts, and can empathize with losing someone like Shorty on a harrowing call.

Nicole already considers Stanton to be her best friend – for whatever that’s worth after only just six weeks – but she finds that his wife Jamie, as well as Ryan and Sarah, might also easily become close friends that she would feel comfortable hanging out with outside of work or these gatherings.

But like the idiot she is, Nicole had to go and ruin everything she’d gained tonight.  Because Waverly Earp had just been flitting around the room with a tray of drinks balanced in one hand. And Nicole had definitely just been staring at her.  Again.  And this time, it seems Taylor had apparently caught her doing it.

The entire table erupts with laughter at his observation and her reaction.

Everyone is staring at her and Taylor has a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  Nicole clumsily wipes at the beer dribbling down her chin as she self-destructs in a silent panic.

How are you going to get yourself out of this one, Hawk?

“I don’t…  It’s not…  What are you…”  Her voice is still squeaky after choking and coughing around her drink.

Yes.  Very smooth.  That will definitely not make it worse.

“Don’t deny it, Haught.”

Fffffffffffuck.

“You and Darlene are practically going steady now, aren’t you, Big Red?”

Wait…

“…What?  Oh.  OH.”  Realization dawns on Nicole and she is flooded with relief as she tries to recover.  “Right.  Right.  Haha…  Darlene,” she giggles nervously.  Everyone else is grinning along with her.  Except for Stanton and Marks.  She finds them both regarding her curiously, their eyes slightly narrowed.  Clearing her throat, Nicole continues to play along with Taylor’s teasing.  “Yeah, that uhh…  I’m still trying to bleach that image from my brain.  Had to buy a new jacket yesterday.  Burned the old one, just to be sure.”

That draws another round of laughter and Nicole tries to relax again, though she is very aware that Stanton is still watching her.

“I hope you have your open air burning permit, Officer Haught,” Micah Harrison says in a serious tone, causing everyone else to fall silent.

Oh.  Shit.

“Uhh…  Ha.  I mean…  It was just in the fire pit? Of my building?”  Nicole is pretty sure she needs a permit for the fire burning on her face right now.

“Unauthorized burning is dangerous, Officer.  Such regulatory offences can carry steep penalties.  According to bylaw 5M04, Sections 12 and 14, you are looking at fines totaling up to $1,500.”  Jonah leans forward, joining his brother in the lecture.

“F-fifteen…  Are you serious?”  All of the color that had flooded her face just moments ago suddenly drains, leaving her ghostly pale and slightly nauseous.  For the second time in a span of about five minutes, Nicole wishes she could crawl under the table and die.

“Very serious, Officer.  These rules are in place to keep you and those around you safe,” Micah admonishes, raising an eyebrow.

Way to go, dumbass.  Just keep fucking things up.  Why stop now?

“Y-yes.  O-of course.”  Nicole drops her gaze, fully aware of all the eyes watching her.  “I’m on shift in the morning.  I’ll stop by the fire station to fill out the paperwork.”

When she raises her head again, Micah is still giving her a stern look.  But Jonah’s shoulders are heaving as he shakes with silent laughter.  Nicole glances around the table and realizes everyone is either snickering, or biting their lips to keep from doing so.

They’re fucking with you again, Hawk.

There’s a platter in front of her, piled high with discarded chicken bones.  Nicole promptly grabs one and launches it across the table at the Harrison brothers.  The laughter at the table no longer remains silent.

Nicole is so caught up in the good-natured teasing that she doesn’t even realize someone else has joined in the laughter at the table.

Waverly Earp.

The color instantly returns to her cheeks when she sees Waverly standing a few feet from where she had just thrown the chicken bone, two pitchers of Big Rock Traditional Ale in her hands.

“You know, I’ve tossed regulars out of here for less than that, Officer Haught,” Waverly says with a mischievous grin, the tip of her tongue poking through her teeth.

Why did you even come tonight, Hawk?  Seriously.

“God, Waverly,” Nicole blurts.  “I’m so sorry.  I’ll pick it up.”  She clumsily begins trying to crawl her way out of the booth.

“Easy, easy.  I’m only joking.  God knows these two blowhards probably deserved it.”  Waverly laughs as she bends down to replace the empty pitchers with the fresh ones.

Nicole falls back against the padded booth seat, her mouth hanging slightly open as she watches Waverly’s hair fall over her shoulders when she leans across the table to collect a couple of the empty platters.

“Paulie says your next order of wings should be up in a few minutes.  Can I get you guys anything else in the meantime?”  Waverly glances around the table and is met with a round of shaking heads and polite declines.

When she reaches Nicole, Waverly’s gaze lingers for a moment longer, a bright smile lighting up her face.  When she tries to smile back, Nicole realizes her mouth is still hanging open.

For fuck’s sake, Nicole.  Get your head out of your ass tonight.

“CanIgetasoda?”

“…Sorry?”

Goddammit.

“Can I get a soda?  Please?” Nicole manages to say actual words this time.

“Ooooooh.  Haught’s a lightweight!” Ryan teases, and the rest of the table joins in with ribbing her.

“Listen, Band-Aid Brigade,” Nicole retorts, rolling her eyes, and a chorus of oooooo sounds around her.  “Some of us have to work in the morning.”

“Awww…” Waverly pouts, jutting her lip out, and Nicole’s temporary bravado falls away again.  “Are you leaving already?”  She sounds genuinely disappointed.

“N-no.  No, of c-course not,” Nicole stammers, feeling the heat again.  She swallows hard and clears her throat.  “No, it’s still early.  I just think I’d better switch to soda for the rest of the evening.  Don’t want Nedley kicking my ass for being hungover.”

The smile returns to Waverly’s face.  “Coke?”

“Please,” Nicole nods, and then with one final balancing act of empty pitchers and platters, Waverly is gone again.

Everyone at the table has fallen back into easy conversation, and Nicole groans softly to herself, laying her head down on the table for the moment.

Now who’s the disaster, Hawk?

While silently berating herself, Nicole feels a nudge to her ribs.  She looks up to find Stanton leaning toward her.  Jamie is chatting animatedly with Lori next to him, but just beyond them, Marks is also watching her closely.

Oh, god.  What have you done this time?

“…Yes?”

“You up for some pool, Haughtshot?”

Perhaps getting up and moving around a little might help her shake off the faint haze of the light buzz pleasantly thrumming through her mind and body.  With as many holes as she keeps managing to talk herself into, it certainly can’t hurt.

“You’re on,” she answers with a grin. 

Marks and Lori vacate their chairs, making room for Jamie, Stanton, and Nicole to scoot out of the booth.  The girls return to their seats, but Stanton and Marks grab their beer mugs and follow Nicole over to the pool table.  She fishes a handful of coins out of her pocket, dropping a couple into the slots of the mechanism on the side of the table.  The moment she pushes the coin tray into the receptacle and pulls it back out, the collection of balls drops, rolling down to settle in the compartment at the end of the table.

The soft, steady rumbling sound of the balls is soothing to Nicole’s frazzled nerves.  Her grandfather had taught her how to play as soon as she’d grown tall enough to reach the table, though she’d learned a fair few things from her grandmother when he wasn’t looking.  She stands and drags her fingers along the railing as she moves to the end where the wooden rack is stored in its hollowed out slot. 

Grandaddy had set up his own table with meticulously maintained felt.  She’d also played on her fair share of bar tables with poor quality felt, snagged or ripped or occasionally burned from cigarette ash.  As Nicole runs the pads of her fingers over this felt, though, she can tell it is well cared for.  Not the custom felt of her grandfather’s, but regularly maintained enough to provide a smooth, uniform playing surface.

“I take it you’re both playing?  Should I set up for Cutthroat?” she asks as she starts dropping balls into the rack.  They nod, selecting their cues while she arranges the balls in the appropriate racking order for the chosen game.  Once they are in place, Nicole rolls the rack a few times, using her fingers to tighten the set, and then positions the 1-ball over the foot spot.  With a practiced hand, she carefully lifts the wooden triangle from around the balls and returns it to the slot where it belongs.

“Who’s breaking?” Marks asks, leaning against a barstool at the nearby high-top table.

“Looks like Haught’s all teed up.  Might as well let her break, too.”  Stanton drinks from his mug, winking at her.

“I’ll make you regret that,” Nicole smirks as she examines the cues hanging in the caddy mounted on the wall. 

She tests a couple of 20oz cues, rolling them between her hands and then holding them out straight at eye level so she can check for bowing.  She had hoped to find a suitable option with the same weight as the cue she has tucked away in her closet at home – a sleek graphite shaft with a simple crosscut pattern – but that’s not looking likely given how warped they’ve been so far.  She finally settles on one that’s 18 ounces.  It’s a lighter than she’s used to, but the hardrock maple is solid and the shaft is about as straight as a house cue is going to get.

“Watch and learn, boys,” Nicole taunts smugly as she chalks the tip of her cue.  She places the cue ball in the kitchen, several inches behind the head spot, and lines it up just to the right of center.  Wrapping the long fingers of her left hand around the railing, she slides the cue between her index and middle finger, resting it against the lip of the rail.  After inching it back slightly a couple of times to make sure it is centered on the cue ball, she finally draws it back fully and the muscles of her forearms ripple beneath the loose cuffs where she had rolled her sleeves up earlier as she puts the full weight of her body behind her powerful thrust.

The cue ball rockets forward, striking the cluster of balls with a loud crack, the force sending the balls careening about the table.  They carom off the railing and smack into each other, scattering further with every ricochet.  As they finally begin to lose momentum, the unmistakable sound of balls dropping into the pockets and rolling the length of the table into the collection area can be heard.  A quick inventory of the table shows that Nicole sunk the 7-ball and the 13-ball.

“Damn.  Haughtshot is right,” Marks mutters downing the rest of his beer and stepping back over to their table for a refill.

“Guess that makes me lowballs,” Nicole crows triumphantly, lining up her next shot.

“Yeah, yeah.  Don’t get too cocky,” Stanton warns, circling the table to start planning his strategy for when it’s his turn.

Nicole sinks two more balls, again keeping the remaining sets even, before finally miscalculating a bank shot and ending her turn. 

“Looks like you two can fight it out over mid- or highballs,” she comments once Marks has returned.  He joins Stanton at the table to survey the damage.

She moves over to lean against the high-top table they claimed and watches as Stanton paces back and forth a couple of times while he considers his options.  Just as he seems to settle on the midball choice, Nicole catches the scent of cinnamon on the air and she instinctively closes her eyes and inhales deeply.

When she turns her head, she finds Waverly Earp standing not three feet away.  Nicole’s breath catches in her chest and she grips her pool cue tighter as she stares while Waverly just smiles back at her.  She slides a large glass of Coke across the table top on a pub coaster and drops a paper-wrapped straw next to it.

“One soda for Officer Morning Shift,” she says with a cheeky grin and Nicole finally looks down at the drink in front of her.

Nicole.  You can call me Nicole, Waverly…

“Thank you,” she says quietly instead.  Finally looking up at Waverly, she notices the empty tray tucked under one of her arms.  She must have already dropped off the fresh order of wings to the big table.  Nicole remembers throwing the chicken bone. 

“Waverly…” Nicole starts hesitantly before she can disappear again.  “I…  I really am sorry about throwing that bone earlier.  You’re busy enough tonight.  You don’t need to be cleaning up after some inconsiderate asshole like me.”

Waverly huffs out a laugh, but her face softens when she notices the genuine regret in Nicole’s eyes.

“Hey,” she says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on Nicole’s forearm.  The gesture is second nature to Waverly, but Nicole’s muscles tense reflexively under the gentle touch.  

Tingles radiate from the place where Waverly’s hand is resting, spreading up her arm and exploding in her chest.  It reminds her of when Waverly had reached across the bar at Shorty’s wake last week to stop Nicole from walking away, allowing their fingers to brush for a moment, frozen in time. 

“Don’t worry about it.  Really.”  Nicole shivers at the fire Waverly’s fingertips leave in their wake as they trail across her bare skin when she withdraws her hand to gesture around the room.  “It’ll just get swept up with everything else around here.  It’s not like I had to crawl on my hands and knees to pick it up myself.”

Waverly chuckles but Nicole is still staring at the place on her arm where her hand had just been moments before.  She’s pretty sure she is slack-jawed when she looks back up at Waverly.  She also doesn’t seem to be able to do anything about it.

“I’ll, uh…” Waverly swallows hard as she locks eyes with Nicole.  She has been in her element tonight, completely unfazed by how busy the place has been, and this is the first time Nicole has seen that confidence slip, even for a second.  “I’ll keep an eye on that drink for you,” she recovers quickly, pointing at the glass of soda.

“Right,” Nicole finally snaps out of her stupor.  “Right.  Thank you, Waverly.”

Waverly glances over Nicole’s shoulder briefly, then looks at her again.

“Be sure to kick his ass.”

Nicole’s brow furrows with confusion.

“Josh.  He could use a lesson in humility.  It would be great if you were the one to give it to him, Officer,” Waverly clarifies with a grin, nudging Nicole once with her elbow and then spinning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd of people.

Nicole stares after her, watching her reappear a moment later behind the bar.  The empty tray has been replaced with a white rag, and she’s running it quickly over the countertop as she listens to the drink orders of the people lined up in front of her. 

Waverly slings the rag over her shoulder and pulls several glasses of varying sizes down from the rack above her head.  Nicole watches as she drops ice cubes in each one, and then grabs bottles from the shelf behind her with practiced ease, filling the glasses with the proper liquors before topping them off with soda, or juice, or brightly colored flavored mixes.  It’s like some intricately choreographed routine performed to a beat that only Waverly can hear, and Nicole can’t look away as she observes her with her mouth hanging open in awe.

The sounds of the crowded bar press in around her, but Nicole can’t hear any of them.  She’s completely focused on Waverly’s graceful movements.  So focused that she doesn’t notice Stanton and Marks trying to get her attention so she can take her next shot.  Nor does she notice when they step up beside her.

It isn’t until Stanton leans in closer to speak to her that Nicole realizes what she’s been doing the entire time since Waverly left their table.

And by then it’s too late.

All of the blood drains from Nicole’s face and she feels unsteady on her feet as the words leave his mouth.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

Chapter Text

All of the blood drains from Nicole’s face and she feels unsteady on her feet as the words leave his mouth.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

“It’s gotta be the rhubarb, Darlin’.”

“But it’s always the rhubarb, Fitzy.  What about the triple berry?  Or the strawberry peach?”

“Ya don’t argue with a decade’s wortha blue ribbons, love.”

As her grandparents continued to debate which pie might win the prize at the County Fair, Nicole stared out the window over the sink, her attention otherwise occupied by long black hair clinging to bronze skin, damp with sweat under the heat of the afternoon sun.  The ranch hands had been away for a couple of days, rotating the cattle to one of the far pastures.  Now that they had apparently returned, Nicole couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

She watched Val leading her horse across the adjacent field back to the barn, a swagger in her step and a sway in her hips that made Nicole’s mouth go dry.  She knew that once Val was done unloading her gear, she would be heading to the stable to tend to her horse. 

The stable where she and Nicole had spent a great deal of time that summer, blazing a few trails of their own.

Just thinking about sneaking up to the hayloft for a private “welcome home” had Nicole’s body humming with anticipation.  They hadn’t let themselves go all the way, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been plenty of territory for exploration.  She thought about kissing full lips while her fingertips traced soft curves and twitching muscles and –

“How are those potatoes comin’, Hawk?”

Nicole jumped so forcefully she dropped the peeler she’d been holding, producing a loud clatter as it bounced around the sink.  The half-peeled potato in her other hand followed quickly after, slipping from her grasp and landing with a solid thud against the metal basin.

“Shit,” she muttered quietly, brushing the loose peelings off of the potato and fishing the peeler out of the top portion of the drain.  “Uhh…  good.  Fine.  Definitely good,” she hastened to answer and her face grew redder by the second when she heard the chuckling from behind her as she hurriedly finished the last of her task.

“If ya aren’t careful there, Li’l Darlin’, you’ll end up peelin’ yer finger.  Not the best way to spice up yer Grandmama’s stew.”  Nicole’s grandfather continued to laugh as she gathered up the rest of the peeled potatoes into her colander and turned to bring them over to the table.

“Forgetting something, Hawk?” her grandmother asked with a raised eyebrow.  Nicole looked at her blankly, which only elicited a bemused smile.  “Might want to rinse those off first.”

“Oh, uh…  Right.  Yeah.”  Nicole ducked her head, cursing herself silently again, and turned back to the sink, where she began running the strainer full of peeled potatoes under the tap.  She managed to keep her focus on the task at hand while she held each potato under the stream of water, but when she was finished and reached for the nearby towel to dry her hands, she made the mistake of glancing back out the window.

A handful of cowboys were exiting the barn, likely having just finished unloading all of their gear.  They were laughing and joking and roughhousing, their spirits lifted with the prospect of a long shower and a hot meal and a night spent in their own beds after being out on the range for a few days.

And right in the middle of them, at the heart of the revelry, was Val. 

Nicole was mesmerized as she watched Val participating in a game of Monkey in the Middle, passing one of the other cowboys’ hats around while he chased them back and forth.  She dodged his outstretched hands far more gracefully than any of the boys, and the soft lines of her body seemed to hypnotize Nicole as they twisted and contracted when she spun on her heel to avoid him once more.

“Oh, now I see what’s going on here,” her grandmother said, startling Nicole again as she had managed to move right up next to her without notice thanks to Nicole’s distraction.  “The boys are back in town.”  She winked and bumped her hip into Nicole’s while chuckling at her own joke.

“…Right,” Nicole mumbled, stumbling sideways slightly with the impact of the hip check.  Her shoulders sagged as she tossed the towel back on the counter and gathered up the potatoes again with her head bowed.  She chanced one final glance out the window just as Val and the boys disappeared around the corner of the porch, heading toward the bunkhouse.  Chewing on her lip, she tried to ignore the strange feeling in her gut as she shuffled over to the table with the potatoes and a paring knife.

Sitting next to her grandfather where he was snapping the ends off of fresh green beans, Nicole pulled the heavy wooden cutting board in front of her and set about slicing the potatoes into thick wedges.  Her grandmother watched her quietly for a few moments, then went back to kneading the dough for her buttermilk biscuits on the cloth spread at the end of the table.

Still lost in her previous thoughts, Nicole didn’t notice the looks being exchanged between the two of them, only glancing up when her grandfather cleared his throat roughly.  She tilted her head when she noticed the twinkle in his blue eyes, but before she could say anything, he reached over and nudged her with his elbow.

“It’s gettin’ ta be that time-a year again, Li’l Darlin’,” he said with a wink, tossing another handful of green beans into one of the bowls in front of him.

Nicole frowned.  The summer was drawing to a close far more quickly than she would like.  It would be August soon, and she would be heading back to Calgary in less than three weeks. 

It’s not that she didn’t like it there.  She had her family.  Though, Hayley was already married and moved out and had a kid.  Adam was three already, and Hayley had just found out a few months ago that she and Greg were expecting their second.  Nicole was still wrapping her mind around the idea that she was an aunt, and it was about to happen again.

And she had her friends.  There had admittedly been fewer of them after the incident with Ryan and the whispers that had spread like wildfire, but honestly, Nicole hadn’t been that all that bothered by most of it.  Not when the result was that she’d figured herself out and felt a new sort of freedom at the understanding that had dawned on her.  Plus, being the all-star captain of the championship varsity basketball team had shielded her from some of the backlash that she might have faced under different circumstances.

But the fact remained.  No matter what Nicole had going for her back home, she was never as happy as she was here.  With her grandparents and the quiet peace of the country and the wide open spaces to let her restless spirit run free. 

And her grandfather knew that. 

She didn’t understand why he would bring up the summer being almost over, especially with a wink and a grin.  Now all Nicole could think about was having to tell them goodbye when her parents would arrive to take her home in a few weeks.

And Val.  She’d have to tell Val goodbye, too.

“I hate that time of year,” Nicole grumbled, looking back down at the potato in her hands.

 “You hate the County Fair and the Annual Barn Dance?” he asked, the grin sliding from his face as it was replaced with a look of genuine confusion.

“What?”  Nicole’s expression mirrored his.  “Oh…”  Realization dawned on her.  “No, uh...  No, that’s always a good time.  Can’t wait to see you two bring home the line dancing trophy again,” she smiled at him and then glanced over to her grandmother, who was beaming as she continued to work the dough, clouds of flour billowing up around her aged hands and dusting everything with a layer of fine white powder.

“I know your Grandaddy’s been givin’ ya lessons, Hawk,” her grandmother smirked, pausing her work for a moment as she cocked her head at Nicole.  “Might be you that brings home the trophy this year.”  Her hands rested on her hips, leaving floury handprints at the edges of her apron.

Nicole’s face immediately heated, darkening with a splotchy blush that ironically matched the red and white checkered tablecloth as she had a sudden flash of herself pushing Val around the dance floor in the crowded barn, their bodies pressed together with her hand resting just above Val’s hip where the jagged white scar from the barbed wire fence glowed brightly against her otherwise bronze skin…

“That’s…  not going to happen,” Nicole choked, trying to swallow around her tongue, which had grown suddenly thick.

“It’s all in the partner, Li’l Darlin’.”  Her grandfather nudged her again and leaned forward, grinning so widely that the weathered skin around his eyes was crinkling.  “Find ya the right partner, and the steps are as easy as yer Grandmama’s rhubarb pie.”

“Yeah, that’s…  I mean…” Nicole practically squeaked and she heard her grandmother chuckling.

“Ah, I think we finally found the problem, Fitzy.”  She smirked at her husband.  “She just doesn’t have the right partner yet.”  Her voice held a knowing tone, and Nicole felt like she was missing some key piece of information that her grandparents were already privy to.

Nicole squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking.  She could feel the dread seeping in, and no matter how hard she tried to keep it at bay, it was already starting to claw at her insides.

“I’m sure we can help ‘er out with that, Darlin’.  Cattle ain’t the only thing we have herds of ‘round here.”  Her grandmother groaned and her grandfather threw a green bean at her, but Nicole just stared down at the knife and potato she’d set aside a moment ago.

“Whadaya say, Hawk?  Maybe you should ask Chris to go to the Barn Dance with you.”

“Uhhhh…  I don’t…” Nicole mumbled, forcing herself to look up at her grandmother and at least attempt a half-hearted smile.

“Looks like ya picked the wrong ranch hand, love,” he smirked at her.

“Not Chris, then.  Hmmm…”  She touched her fingers to her chin in thought, leaving streaks of flour in their wake.  “Well…  There’s always Nate.  D’ya suppose he’s the one you’d like to ask, Hawk?”

Nicole remained silent, absentmindedly running her fingertips over the grooves in the cutting board in front of her.  She hadn’t denied the rumors that had floated through the school after shying away from Ryan’s kisses at the dance.  But there’s a big difference between not denying something and actively confirming it.

The creeping dread had settled in her stomach like a pool of liquid lead, and Nicole could feel the sweat prickling along her hairline and above her lip.  She knew she was at a crossroads, but she felt disoriented, like she couldn’t read the signs that told her which way to go. 

She could lie to her grandparents – choose some boy and tell them she’d like to go to the dance with him.  Or she could tell them the truth – speak the words that she hadn’t said aloud yet, even to herself.  She still hadn’t looked up from the cutting board, but Nicole could feel their eyes boring into her.  She was out of time, and a decision had to be made. 

She wanted to tell them. 

These two people that had always been there.  Had bandaged her cuts and bruises and tended to her bloody noses and wiped away her tears.  Had done their best to catch her every time she had fallen, and picked her up and dusted her off the times that they couldn’t.

She wanted to tell them.

“I…” Nicole started, wondering if this was going to leave a gouge in her heart like those her grandmother’s knives had left in the wooden surface beneath her fingertips.  “I need to tell you something.”

There was no turning back now.  She’d swung out over the swimming hole and let go of the rope.  It was the moment of weightlessness before inevitable drop.

“I don’t…  I don’t like boys.  Like that.”

She felt herself begin to plummet, stomach in her throat and limbs flailing.  Watched as the sturdy, knotted rope – her last lifeline – swung back toward the dock, just out of her reach.

Nicole cleared her throat, finally looking at her grandparents for the first time since this conversation began.  She held her head high, chin up, and took a deep, shaky breath.

“I, uh…  I like girls.”

There it was.  She had said it.  Out loud.  She was exposed and vulnerable and suddenly laid bare.  She braced herself for the impact with the icy water she knew awaited her below.

But it never came.

“I do, too.”

Her mouth hung open as she stared at her grandfather, who grinned back at her mischievously like some kind of mad imp.

“Rowan Kelley Fitzpatrick!” her grandmother scolded, dipping her hand in the nearby bowl and flicking flour across the table at him.  Specks of fine white powder dotted the sun-weathered skin of his face and settled in his faded coppery hair that used to burn with the same fire as Nicole’s.

“Yes, Wilma Marie Fitzpatrick?” he emphasized sarcastically.  She flicked her fingers again, more flour settling into the stubble on his chin.  “Okay, okay!” he laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender.  “Sorry, love.”  He grinned with a wink and turned back toward Nicole.  “One girl, Li’l Darlin’.  I only like one girl.”

Nicole continued to gape at him, still unable to find words.  She began to question if she’d actually made her nervous confession, or if it had only been a scenario she’d imagined in her state of panic.  Before she could process it any further, her grandmother leaned forward and placed a comforting hand over Nicole’s where it was trembling on the table in front of her.

“You’d better hurry up and ask Val before someone else does, Hawk,” she said with a nod, her voice knowing and steady, like it was the most obvious and simple thing in the world.

Nicole’s reaction said otherwise. 

She froze, her body going stiff and her throat seizing, causing her to choke on her own saliva.  The coughing fit that followed was overwhelming, and she desperately tried to suck in deep breaths between rough hacks while her grandmother just chuckled and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

A glass of water appeared in front of her and Nicole looked up through watery eyes to find her grandfather smirking down at her, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder near where her grandmother was still trying to calm her down.  With a shaky hand, she accepted the glass and managed to take a few sips without spitting water all over the place.

She didn’t understand what was happening, but the entire situation felt completely surreal.  Had she just come out to her grandparents?  Had they simply taken it in stride and joked with her about it?  Had her grandmother just called her out about Val like it was no big deal?

Oh, god.  They knew about Val.

“What…” Nicole rasped once she could finally breathe again.  “That’s not…” she continued to stammer.  “I don’t know what you mean.”  She tried to be firm, but her voice was practically a squeak.

Her grandfather snorted and dropped back into his chair, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“Ya don’t know anything ‘bout all that time y’all spend in the hayloft of the stables?”

Nicole’s eyes bulged and her throat produced a strangled noise.

“Really, Hawk,” her grandmother added, shaking her head as she withdrew her hands and dropped them to her hips again.  “You two aren’t nearly as sneaky as ya think y’all are.”

Her chemistry teacher had done a lesson once on why spontaneous human combustion was an impossible myth. 

Nicole was pretty sure she was about to prove him wrong in spectacular fashion.

Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed the glass of water again, and downed the rest of it in desperate gulps.  With nothing left to hide behind, it was time to face the music.

“You guys…  knew?  About me?” she asked, finally speaking coherently.  Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.  “About what I am?”

“My Li’l Darlin’?”

“My stubborn, fiery Hawk?”

Nicole shook her head nervously.  She had always heard about those “defining moments” one experiences in life.  She never dreamed it would feel like this.

“That I’m…”  She ran her sweaty palms along her jeans, her fingers flexing and digging into the muscles of her thighs as she steeled herself.  “I’m gay.”

“Oh, honey.”  Her grandmother draped her arm across Nicole’s shoulders and pulled her tight against her chest.  “That’s not who ya are.  That’s who ya love.  Why should that matter any?”

“It really…  It doesn’t bother you?”  Nicole’s voice was tentative.  Hopeful.

“’Course not, Li’l Darlin’.  We’ve been waitin’ for ya to tell us.  For quite a while now,” her grandfather added with a grin and a wink that made the heat bloom in Nicole’s face again.

He reached over and ruffled her hair where her head was still resting against her grandmother’s torso.

“How do ya feel now, Hawk?”

“I…” Nicole hesitated, realizing she didn’t actually know the answer to that question.  “I don’t…”  She pulled away from her grandmother, running a hand through her hair to smooth it back down again while she pondered.  The lead in her stomach seemed to have dissipated.  Her lungs no longer felt constricted.  In fact, the lightheaded feeling she’d been fighting earlier seemed to have spread to the rest of her body.  She couldn’t help the bright smile that slowly spread across her face.

“Free,” she finally answered, feeling giddy.

They both beamed at her, clearly ecstatic to see her so happy.

“Well alright, then.  Now you get back to your work before ya get yourself into more trouble, Fitzy,” her grandmother said, shoving the bowl of green beans back into his hands.

“Aww…  C’mon, love,” he whined.  “Why doesn’t she have to get back to her work?”

“Because she has to go and ask her girl to the dance before it’s too late.”

“Well, I’ve gotta say.  You’ve got good taste, Li’l Darlin’.”  Her grandfather smirked as he nudged her with his elbow again and waggled his eyebrows, causing Nicole to wonder if she was physically glowing.

Her grandmother smacked him upside the back of the head.  Then she leaned in and grinned at Nicole.

“She is very pretty, isn’t she?”

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

Nicole can feel her stomach in her throat and it’s all she can do to swallow around it.  Once again, she’s managed to out herself thanks to her inability to drag her eyes away from a pretty girl.  For a moment, she’s transported back to that same crossroads she had first faced in her grandmother’s kitchen nine years ago.

But the stakes are a little higher this time around. 

It’s one thing to come out to the two people you are closer to than anyone else in your life.  Who have always loved and supported you, and who you can reasonably hope will continue to do so.  It’s another thing entirely to admit that you are a lesbian to co-workers in a very small town, who you have only known for six weeks.  Who you have to literally trust with your life, knowing they are supposed to have your back when you walk into potentially deadly situations on numerous occasions.

Moment of truth, Nicole.  What’s it gonna be?

She had by no means been running or hiding from anything when she came to Purgatory, but the fact of the matter remains:  This placement has given Nicole a fresh start with a clean slate.  A brand new life in a brand new town.  Is she going to hide who she is, or is she going to be true to herself?

We would never ask you to be someone you’re not, Hawk.

Her grandmother’s words echo in her head as Nicole fiddles with the paper wrapping of the straw Waverly had given her for her soda.  Stanton’s words are still hanging in the air between, thick and heavy like the cloud of cigarette smoke that makes her eyes water, and Nicole has run out of time to make a decision.  So she comes to the only conclusion that will still allow her to look herself in the eye when she sees her reflection in the mirror every morning.

“Yeah, she’s…” Nicole finally whispers, barely audible over the din of the crowded saloon.  “She’s beautiful.”

The world around her slows to a crawl and Nicole can practically see her fate hanging in the balance, suspended in a moment where time stands still.  While she stands, waiting like some convict for her verdict to be returned by what is easily her judge, jury, and executioner, she has the fleeting thought that she’s glad she got to experience at least this one night of camaraderie before she ends up shunned, or possibly even run out of town.

“It’s too bad she’s with that douchebag Hardy kid,” Marks says, breaking the momentary silence as he steps closer to Nicole.

She freezes, the paper straw wrapper partially twisted around one of her fingers.  On the list of reactions she was expecting, that was not even an option.

“Yeah, she definitely deserves someone better,” Stanton adds, nudging Nicole gently with his elbow and she’s so dumbstruck that she almost stumbles sideways from the minor contact.

Are they…  Does this mean…?

For the first time since getting busted, Nicole dares to look up from her hands to face Stanton and Marks, who are flanking her and leaning in close against the high-top table.  What she finds thoroughly surprises her.

There’s no malice.  No anger.  No threat or surprise or disgust.

All she is met with are knowing smiles and what appears to be acceptance in their eyes.

Breathe, Hawk.  Just take a breath.

“I…” Nicole starts, but has no idea what to say next.  She’s assuming they have figured her out.  She’s assuming they are trying to let her know it’s alright.  She’s assuming she hasn’t just lost what she considers to be her best friends.

But Nicole knows all too well what happens when you assume.

So how does one go about asking for confirmation in a situation like this?  And what if she is wrong, and the next thing out of her mouth actually gives her away instead of smoothing things over?

Thankfully, Nicole doesn’t have to make the next move on her own.

“Relax, Haught,” Stanton says, reaching out to reassure her, and Nicole can feel the tension pulling her muscles tight under his hand where it rests on her shoulder.  But his voice is soft, not teasing, and the friendly gesture is welcome in this moment of uncertainty.  “No one else has to know.  Not until you’re ready.”

There it is.  Her assumptions had been correct.  She instinctively glances over to the table where the rest of the group is still gathered, oblivious to her predicament.  Her body stiffens again, but he squeezes her shoulder gently and it puts her slightly more at ease.

“But it’s okay, Nic,” Marks speaks up from her other side, giving her a warm smile.  “You can be yourself.  With us,” he adds, nodding his head toward Stanton.

Nicole manages a weak smile of her own, her pulse still rocketing through her veins.

“Thanks, but...  I wouldn’t want to, uh…”  Her hands fumble a bit, dropping the straw wrapper as she can’t quite say what she means.

“What?  Make us uncomfortable?” Stanton asks, dropping his hand from her shoulder to fold his arms across his thick chest.

Her face flushes instantly, setting the tips of her ears on fire as she drops her head to look at her hands again, nodding slowly.

“We may just be hicks from a backwater town in the middle of nowhere to you, Haught.  But give us a little bit of credit, why don’t you?”

Nicole’s eyes snap up at the reprimanding tone, and she finds his gaze hard and his face stern.  She blanches and begins trying to stutter out apologies, but his nostrils flare and the corners of his mouth twitch, and soon he can no longer hold the ruse.  He snorts out a laugh and Marks heartily joins in and Nicole rolls her eyes at her idiot friends.

“I hate you,” she mutters, flicking the now balled up wrapper at Stanton, watching as it bounces off of his chin.

“No you don’t,” he states boldly, still laughing.

“No…  I don’t.”  Nicole shakes her head and punches him lightly in the arm.  Turning toward Marks, she does the same.  “You either, I guess.”

“Gee.  Thanks,” he deadpans, but then his eyes crinkle as he can’t contain his grin.

“Well, uh…”  Stanton drops his arms and shoves his hands in his pockets.  “If you ever need anyone to talk to…” he trails off with a shrug and a grin.  Nicole nods at him, her face growing suddenly serious.

“Thanks, Josh.  But I’m afraid it’s going to be you boys who need someone to talk to.”  Her posture straightens again and she takes a long sip of her Coke while the two of them look at her with confusion.

“Why’s that?” Marks asks with a frown.

“Because you’re about to get your asses handed to you in this game of Cutthroat.”

“You ladies look like you could use some company.”

“What gave you that impression?  Our wedding rings?”

The muscled cowboy with the tight jeans and the tight flannel shirt and the tight smile glares at Jamie where she’s leaning against the high-top table next to Lori.  Nicole takes a long sip of her soda, hiding her smirk behind the glass as she watches her partner trying to line up her next shot.  Unfortunately, Sarah snorted loudly and has to pause briefly to regain her composure before trying again.

Another cowboy with the faded ring of a dip can pressed into his back pocket and the cuffs of his already short-sleeved shirt rolled even higher up his bicep appears next to the first one.  And then another.  And another. 

Nicole is reminded of the brood of ducklings she’d watched that day when she ate her lunch overlooking the pond at the nature reserve.  How they had quacked and waddled behind the…

“There’s no need to be rude, ladies.  We’re just offering to show you a good time.”

…Ah, yes.  There he is.  The leader.

Strutting around the end of the pool table, all boyish smile and sparkling teeth and confident swagger, is Champ Hardy.  He stops not far from Nicole, surrounded by a cloud of his cologne, the sweet musk mixing with the stale sharpness of the smoke in the air, and it’s all she can do to choke back a cough.  His eyes catch hers and darken momentarily before sliding over to Jamie and Lori, resting his large palms on the railing of the pool table and leaning forward on them as he flashes them a smug grin.

“And what would you know about that, Champ?” Sarah asks after taking her shot, satisfied when the 6-ball ricochets off of another and drops into the side pocket.

The grin slips from his face, disappearing into the hard lines of his chiseled jaw.  He straightens back off of the table and takes a step closer to her where she is now chalking the tip of her cue.

“I know the night is always more fun if you have someone to share it with.” 

The grin is back, but it’s more forced and holds an edge of challenge.  The other ducklings spread out, sauntering up to the other women, including one that is looking suggestively at Nicole.  The fingers of her free hand instinctively curl into a fist at her side, but she just continues to sip her soda as she chances a glance over toward the table. 

The boys have their backs to the pool table, involved in some story or another as laughter intermittently erupts around them.  A quick scan of the bar reveals that Waverly is nowhere to be seen, either hiding away on a well-earned break or caught up with something in the kitchen.  Nicole looks back over to the other girls, who seem completely nonplussed by the entire situation, and she wonders if this is a common occurrence.

Hitting on a group of married or otherwise taken women while Waverly is somewhere in the building.  Classy.

“Good thing we’re already sharing it, then,” Lori chimes in, looking around at her friends while she steps up to take her shot after Sarah missed her follow up.

“You’ve had the table all night,” one of the ducklings whines.

“Come on.  We deserve a turn, too,” another quacks after him.

“You boys know the bar rules,” Jamie points out after downing the rest of her beer.  “You want the table, you have to win it first.”

The third duckling, the one still eying Nicole, snorts.  “Win the table from a buncha girls?  Well, that’s hardly fair for y’all, now is it?”

“Yeah, Dale.  I’m quaking in my boots,” Lori retorts, though she falters slightly when her bank shot misses by a full six inches.

“You will be when you play me for the table,” Champ says, puffing his chest out a little farther.  And then the charming grin turns devilish.  “Unless you’d rather be knocking boots instead.”

Even Nicole can’t keep herself from rolling her eyes at that.  What she wouldn’t give for Waverly to appear out of nowhere like she has all night, just in time to see her boyfriend behaving like this.  But she’s still missing in action and Nicole sighs as she chalks her cue.

The other three are decent players in their own right, but Nicole has been holding back slightly while they’ve been playing partners for several games of 8-ball.  She’s not trying to win any competitions here, and the atmosphere has been relaxed, giving her a chance to get to know Josh and Alan’s wives and Ryan’s girlfriend better.  But now it’s her turn again, and there’s only one solid left on the table, and she’s not sure she can draw it out much longer.

As she crouches down to examine the difficult positioning of the 2-ball, she glances up at the three women now clustered together around the high-top.  They are watching her intently and if Nicole isn’t mistaken, they are giving her subtle nods and meaningful looks.  She’s pretty sure she understands.  They want her to end this so they can move along to getting rid of the cowboys who seem to think they’re God’s gift to the women of Purgatory.

With a discreet nod in return, she gives the cue ball a precise tap, walking it along the railing where it just catches the edge of 2-ball, barely nudging it, but sending it inching toward the corner pocket at just the right angle.  It teeters on the edge for a few seconds and then falls, echoing through the hollow belly of the table as it rolls along the chute and clacks against the other balls where they are collected in the reservoir. 

With a satisfied grin, Nicole moves around the other end of the table and lines up an easy shot on the 8-ball.  Calling it by tapping the edge of her cue against the side pocket, she draws back and delivers a smooth stroke that expertly sinks her target in the desired location, ending the game.  Jamie cheers and gives her a high-five, and even the other two girls congratulate her on a well-played game.

The celebration is cut short by the sound of a slow clapping and the four of them turn to find Champ smirking while he delivers the patronizing ovation.  Nicole grits her teeth, but says nothing, choosing instead to take another sip of her nearly empty soda.  She wishes again that Waverly would return to the table to check on them.

“A lucky shot, Officer.  But now the real question is:  Who’s gonna get lucky with me?”  He stalks a little closer, his chest still puffed out and his grin bordering on a leer as he drags his hand along the railing.

Nicole suddenly feels elbows nudging her ribs from both sides.  Looking down in confusion, she finds Jamie and Lori with pointed looks on their faces.  Sarah leans over Lori and whispers, “Slaughter him like the pig that he is, Nicole.”

Her eyes grow wide momentarily, but then the other two are also urging her on, and the corners of Nicole’s mouth begin to curl upward in a slow smirk.  She understands what is happening.  The others know she was holding herself back so that they could all have some leisurely fun.  But now they want her to give Champ a smackdown that he won’t see coming. 

He deserves it, with the way he’s acting like Waverly doesn’t exist right now.

“I’ll play you for the table, Champ,” Nicole says, clearing her throat and pushing off of the table.  She sees the muscles in his jaw flex, but he manages to keep the grin in place.  “I’ll even let you break.”

Champ scoffs, stepping into her personal space.  He’s only a couple of inches taller than Nicole, but he uses them to look down at her smugly.  “Big mistake, Officer.”

The ducklings snicker where they are perched around the table, but Nicole just smiles without giving an inch.

“We’ll see about that.  Guess I’m on rack duty?”

Champ’s eyes immediately drop to Nicole’s chest.  “And what a rack it is.”

Arrogant asshole.

He waggles his eyebrows and it’s all Nicole can do not to vomit in her mouth.  She rolls her eyes and pushes past him toward the foot end of the table, making sure to bump her shoulder against his roughly on the way.

“Drop the balls, Dale,” Champ orders, ignoring Nicole’s dismissal, and the others laugh at his joke, ribbing their buddy while he fishes out a couple of coins for the tray.

By the time Nicole has retrieved the rack and gathered up the balls that still remained in the field of play, Dale has sent the rest of the balls tumbling her way in the collection area at the base of the table.  She repeats the process of racking them up, this time arranging them for a game of 8-ball, and once they are tightly set, she removes the rack and slides it back into its slot.

Champ has already selected his usual cue and is rolling the cue ball between his thick fingers while he watches Nicole.  Once she’s clear of the table, he places it in the kitchen and starts lining up the perfect angle for his break. 

Nicole looks around and realizes Jamie has returned to the table with the empty beer mugs belonging to the other girls.  She leans in while she’s refilling them and apparently tells the boys they might want to pay attention, because as she comes back to the high-top table with drinks in hand, the guys all turn their chairs around, focusing fully on the pool table.

With a snap of his wrist, Champ delivers a powerful break shot, successfully scattering the balls around the table in equal measure.  As they slow their pace and begin to settle, the 1-ball falls in the side pocket and Champ preens while he chalks his cue.

“Looks like I’m solid.  But I think we already knew that,” he boasts, drawing himself to his full height and widening his shoulders.  The ducklings congratulate him on his prowess and Nicole bites the inside of her cheek to keep from starting something.

Don’t let him bait you, Hawk.  Just keep it together until this game is over.

While Champ takes his next shot, Nicole looks over to the group again.  Most of the boys are watching what’s happening on the table, but she notices Marks and Stanton watching her instead.  She catches Stanton’s eye and he raises a questioning eyebrow.  Nicole just glances pointedly at their wives and then back to him, shrugging discreetly.  He shakes his head with a knowing grin, completely understanding that there is no talking them down when they’ve made up their minds about something.

When Nicole turns her attention back to the table, it’s just in time to watch Champ sink his fourth ball with a particularly skillful bank shot.

He knows what he’s doing.  Good.  That will make this all the more fun.

Champ finally faults on his fifth shot, unable to squeeze the cue ball past one of Nicole’s stripes without striking it first before reaching his own target.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, but then regains his swagger as he sidles up to Nicole.  “Regretting your decision to let me break?”  His hot breath washes over her face, all corn chips and barbecue sauce and an overwhelming amount of draft beer.  With dilated pupils and glazed, slightly unfocused eyes, it’s obvious he’s already just the other side of drunk.

This could get interesting.

Nicole makes a point to lean around him and survey the lay of the table, careful not to inhale a choking lungful of his cologne.  He has three solids left, and she has all seven of her stripes.  But none of his are in a position to block any of the pockets, and she can already see her next three shots in advance.

“Nope,” she answers flatly.  “This should do nicely.”

Despite his bluster, Champ can’t keep the confusion and mild panic from creeping into his expression.

Classic deer in the headlights.  My favorite.

“Now if you don’t mind, Champ, I’d like to take my first shot.”  Nicole reaches past him to grab the chalk from the railing and fits it over the tip of her cue.  Seeing that he still hasn’t moved out of her way, she decides to have a little fun with him. 

Rather than just twisting the chalk a few times like normal, she holds it steady and instead hooks the inside curve of her boot against the handle of her cue where it currently rests on the floor.  Without breaking Champ’s eye contact, she drags the base of the cue toward her body with her foot and then pushes it away again, resulting in the entire shaft of the cue spinning as it rolls, rotating the tip where it’s slotted into the chalk cube.

Seeing his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows roughly, Nicole feels satisfaction blooming in her chest as she repeats the action a few times until her cue is sufficiently chalked. 

Two can play at this game, buddy.

He finally steps away from the table and shuffles over to where the ducklings are gathered across from the high-top table where the girls are watching Nicole with rapt attention.  Jamie has an impressed grin, Lori is giving her an encouraging nod, and Sarah tips her beer mug toward Nicole in a toasting motion.

Now that Champ is out of her way, Nicole drops the chalk back on the railing and begins to set up for her first shot.  Rather than taking the easy setup for one of the stripes nestled against the corner pocket, she chooses the longer shot with the more difficult angle first.  Splaying her hand across the felt, she braces her cue in the cradle between her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger and pulls it back with her elbow.

Easy, Hawk.  Don’t get ahead of yourself.  Take a breath.

On her next exhale, she strokes forward, striking forcefully on the lower portion of the cue ball and watches as it scoots forward and cuts the 12-ball at a hard angle, dropping it roughly in the side pocket.  The cue ball immediately draws back toward her thanks to the heavy backspin and comes to rest in almost exactly the spot she had been waiting.

A bit of grumbling ensues from the peanut gallery, but Nicole ignores it, already preparing her next shot.  With her eye on the ball that’s still perched in the corner pocket, she lines up a fairly straight shot on another stripe.  After a long breath in and out, she flicks her wrist and knocks the cue ball into the 9-ball, shooting it forward into one corner pocket and then watches triumphantly as the cue ball skims along the railing in the other direction and nudges the 15-ball the rest of the way into its pocket, all to the cheers of the girls at the high-top table.

“Daaamn…” one of the ducklings mumbles.

“Shut it, Russ,” Nicole hears Dale growl at him and she can’t help but smile to herself when she turns away to walk around the other end of the table.

In just two shots, Nicole has already pulled to within one ball of Champ.  And after that last one, she’s left herself set up perfectly for another.  She smoothly executes her next three shots, watching as Champ grows visibly more agitated with each ball that drops.  Nicole having only one stripe left before the 8-ball, after only a single turn, is clearly not how he had imagined this challenge going.

Been a while since you’ve run the table on someone, Hawk.  Keep your head and finish this.

Unfortunately, Nicole’s last ball is situated in an awkward position behind two solids, and the cue ball is several feet away.  She considers a long bank shot, but the angle is precarious and she doesn’t have much faith in her chances.  That leaves her with a tricky shot that will require some finesse, but she decides it’s the only viable option.  Setting up so that she will strike the left side of the cue ball rather than the center, Nicole drives it forward, watching as it tracks past one of Champ’s solids in the direction of an unpopulated corner of the table.

“What the hell?  That’s gonna be a scratch.  Giving up that ea—”  Champ’s laughing taunt is cut off when the course of the cue ball changes direction seemingly of its own accord.  Because of the considerable amount of english Nicole had applied, it curves around the 4-ball in a perfect arc and strikes the stripe behind it, sending it straight for the corner pocket.

“Holy shit!” Sarah yells, nearly knocking her beer over in the process of surging forward to congratulate Nicole when she comes around to head of the table.  Jamie and Lori join her, draping their arms around her shoulders and shaking her enthusiastically.  She laughs along with them, feeling the slight tingle of adrenaline beginning to creep through her veins.

“No fucking way…” Nicole hears Champ mutter, his voice thick with annoyance.  But then a rumble of laughter builds slowly like a distant roll of thunder, until it is as loud as the crack that chases a lightning bolt from the sky.  Nicole turns slowly toward the brood of ducklings, apprehensive of what she’s about to find.

And that’s when she sees it.

Shit fuckity fuck.

She had taken a gamble on the last shot, and the payoff had been worth it.  But it appears the consequences had also been stiff.  Thanks to the heavy spin required to pull off the massé, the cue ball had skittered off wildly and come to rest less than an inch behind one of Champ’s remaining solids.  The 8-ball is situated a few feet on the other side of it, near the corner pocket. 

Between the one directly in front of the cue ball, and the position of his other two solids, there is literally no angle in any direction that Nicole can use to reach the 8-ball without hitting one of his first.  And if she commits that fault, she might as well forfeit the game because he will have absolutely no challenge in clearing the rest of the table once her turn is over.

Knee deep in the manure here, Hawk.  What are you gonna do?

Turning quickly back toward the girls so that Champ can’t see the worry lines in her brow, Nicole mutters a string of frustrated curses under her breath.  Jamie lets out a slow whistle.

“Damn, Nicole.  Just had to go and make things interesting,” Jamie breathes as Nicole lazily chalks her cue while she tries to get creative with her possible solutions.

“There’s no way you can make a shot on that.  We’re screwed,” Lori groans with sagging shoulders.

“I wonder…” Nicole trails off as she squints at the table.  She finishes off the last of her soda and crunches on a piece of ice while she thinks.  “Technically, there is one shot I could take.  But he’s not gonna like it…”  The other three study the table, trying to see what Nicole does.

Sarah is the first make the connection and laughs.  “Oh, my god.  He’ll throw a tantrum.”

“Oh, shit.  Are you seriously going to…?” Jaime catches on.

“What?” Lori asks with confusion.  “What am I missing?”

“She’s gonna jump it,” Sarah whispers, a bit of awe in her voice.

“You can do that?”  Lori looks incredulous.

“I…  I can,” Nicole answers with a frown, setting her empty glass back on the table and rubbing the condensation dripping from her fingers off on her jeans.  “But, should I?  Is it worth it?  I don’t want to start any trouble.”

“God, yes.”  Jamie doesn’t hesitate.  Just throws her arm around Nicole’s shoulder.  “Stick it to his cocky ass.”

Nicole huffs out a laugh, but with the added encouragement of the others, it appears her decision has been made for her.  Stepping up to the pool table, she leans over the cluster of balls and tries to find a position that gives her enough leverage for what she’s about to attempt.  Using her long fingers to form a sturdy bridge, she balances the tip of the cue between her knuckles and raises the handle up at a steep angle.

“The fuck are you doing, Officer?” Champ demands, breaking off from the group to come and hover just on the other side of the table from where Nicole is standing.

Now or never, Hawk.

“I’m taking my shot, Champ.”  Sparing him one last glance before returning her focus to the difficult shot, she takes a deep breath and then thrusts her cue stick down into the cue ball with considerable force, almost as though she was trying to drive it straight through the table.

With a sharp crack, the cue ball rebounds violently off the surface of the table and shoots into the air in a forward arc, easily clearing the solid that had been blocking its path.  It lands further up the table with a loud thud and jettisons forward, striking the 8-ball and knocking it easily into the corner pocket before coming to rest harmlessly against the far railing.

Both tables erupt with cheers, but Nicole can’t hear them thanks to the pounding in her ears and the lightheaded feeling that suddenly washes over her.

You did it, Hawk.  It actually worked.  You ran the table on this jackhole.

The celebration by her friends is short lived, however, interrupted by harsh words delivered angrily.

“You fucking cheated!” Champ accuses, the vein in his neck bulging as he strides around the end of the table to face Nicole directly.

“Cheated…  Wha—”  Nicole backs away from the table, giving him some space as she hears her grandfather’s stern words of warning in her head.

Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction.

“Champ, you watched me take every shot.  How could I have possibly cheated?”

“That bullshit jump shot was illegal,” Champ seethes.

“Uhh…  Champ…” the duckling between Russ and Dale interjects hesitantly.  “Technically, that wasn’t an illegal shot…”

Champ’s face is growing redder by the minute, his wounded pride bleeding into his cheeks.  “Shut the fuck up, Heath.”

He takes another step forward, and Nicole refuses to retreat any further.  Her fingers tighten around her pool cue as she leans on it slightly while she holds her ground.

Keep it together, Li’l Darlin’.  This is no place for that temper of yours.

“You bitches are all the same,” Champ spits as he leans forward to get in her face, and Nicole can feel bits of sweat and saliva and the stout he’s been drinking prickle against her heated skin.  “Always thinkin’ you’re better than us.”

Before she can react, several things happen at once.

Nicole hears the distinct stuttering noise of chairs dragging heavily across a wooden floor, and the next thing she knows, she’s in the middle of a crowd.  Champ’s brood of ducklings have fallen into step behind their leader, but they are nothing compared to the commanding presence of the figures surrounding her.

“You oughta know better than to talk like that to one of us, boy.”  Jonah’s booming voice easily carries over the noises of the jukebox and the background conversations from where he stands shoulder to shoulder with Micah, their massive arms folded across their chests.

Wait…  Did he just say “one of us”…?

The flushed color in Champ’s cheeks drains along with his bravado and he stumbles back a step while stammering out excuses.  “I wasn’t…  I wasn’t talking to you…”

“No?” Stanton cuts in.  “You were talking to her.  And that means you were talking to us.”

Nicole knows that this situation is far from ideal, but she still can’t stop the warmth that blooms in her chest at the fact that these guys have her back, even for something that didn’t directly involve them.  And not just her work buddies.  The Harrison brothers are standing like sentries at her side, Stanton and Marks are flanking her, and behind her, Ryan, Ken, and Cindy have joined the other girls.

“Goddamn cops,” Champ mutters, and Marks surges up past Nicole until he’s standing directly in front of the group of cowboys.

“You know, Hardy…  I’m pretty sure it’s last call for you and your boys.”

“What the hell?  It’s not even midnight yet,” he protests, but at this point it’s more of a whine than a challenge.

“Damn shame,” Stanton deadpans as he joins Marks.  “Guess you can always come back tomorrow.”

Champ looks like he wants to argue, but when Jonah and Micah start helping to corral the ducklings, his shoulders sag in defeat.

“We’ll walk you out,” Micah says with a smirk.  “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you boys on the way.”

The group of them grumbles, but none of them put up any resistance as they are escorted to the front door through the crowded bar.  Gus watches with a curious look, but says nothing, clearly used to troublemakers being shown out before anything can escalate.

“You alright, Haught?” Ryan asks when she joins the others where they are gathered around the high-top table.

“Yeah, I’m…” she hesitates.  “I’m fine.”

You never should have let it get that far, Hawk.  What were you thinking?

He places a comforting hand on her shoulder, misinterpreting the reason that she’s feeling uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry about those rodeo clowns.  They’re all bark and no bite.”

She appreciates the sentiment, managing a weak smile and a nod.  But mostly she is trying to ignore the sick feeling stirring in the pit of her stomach.

This was all my fault.  I should have just let him win and been done with it.

Ken, Ryan, and the girls are starting to shuffle back over to the table, clearly ready to get back to the food and the beer and the company.  But the warm, stuffy air of the bar is pressing in on Nicole, the cloud of stale smoke stealing her breath and the noise grating on every raw and exposed nerve. 

She suddenly wants nothing more than to get out of here.

The guys are already returning from removing Champ and the others, looking quite proud of themselves, and don’t appear like they’ll be ready to leave anytime soon.  Nicole pulls out her wallet and removes several bills as she returns to the table, but doesn’t take her seat.  She instinctively glances around the bar again, but still doesn’t see Waverly anywhere.

“What’s going on?  You’re not leaving are you, Haught?” Stanton asks, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yeah, I uh…”  Nicole absentmindedly spins the ring on her finger.  “I have to work early.  I think…  I think I’m gonna head home now.”

“Aww…  Don’t let those jerks run you off,” Sarah says, a look of genuine disappointment on her face.

“No, it’s…  It’s not that.”  Nicole laughs nervously rubbing the back of her neck.  “I just…  I wanna be ready to go in the morning.”

Please just let me go.  I need to get out of here.

Stanton looks like he wants to question her, but she silently pleads with him to let it go and he eventually gives her a subtle nod.

Nicole still hasn’t seen Waverly since the last time she refilled her soda before all of this began.  She can’t ask her for the check, and she has no idea what her portion will come to.  Holding up the bills in her hand, she moves to hand them to Jamie.

“I don’t know how much I owe for everything?  If this isn’t enough, just call me at the station tomorrow and I’ll leave more with Ruthie for Josh to pick up.”

“Don’t worry about it, Haught,” Ken pipes up.

“What?  No…” Nicole tries the shove the money into Jamie’s hands again.  The others chuckle when she smacks Nicole’s hand away.

“No, really,” Micah says.  “It’s tradition.  Your first Wing Night is on the group.”

Nicole looks around and sees everyone else nodding at her.  It appears she’s not going to be able to talk them out of it, and while the gesture is nice, knowing they will be paying for her only adds to her levels of anxiousness.

“Uh…  T-thanks, guys.  You don’t have to do that.”

Stuffing the money back in her wallet, Nicole pauses and fishes several of the smaller bills back out.  She looks around one final time, unsure if it’s a feeling of disappointment or relief she’s met with when she fails to spot Waverly for the last time of the night.  While she had hoped to at least tell her goodbye before leaving, part of her is glad she won’t have to face those piercing hazels eyes after nearly getting into a fight with her boyfriend in front of the entire bar.

That thought leaves her with a painful ache in her chest.  Champ is sure to be in a foul mood after losing to Nicole and then being all but thrown out by her friends.  What if he makes things difficult for Waverly and it’s all her fault?

And now she’s not even around for you to apologize to.

Nicole sways where she stands, briefly overtaken by a fresh wave of guilt.  Looking down at the bills in her hand that she’d kept out when putting her wallet away, she formulates a new plan.  It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.

“Do, uh…  Do any of you guys have a pen I can use real quick?” she asks quietly, and she curses herself when she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

Sarah cocks her head slightly at Nicole’s odd behavior, but then digs a pen out of her purse and hands it over.  Nicole takes it with a grateful smile and shuffles back over to the now deserted high-top table where her empty soda glass still stands.  Retrieving her wallet again, she slips one of her business cards out and flips it over.  She would have preferred a page from the notebook she carries with her at work, but she obviously doesn’t have that on her tonight, and the only other option is a napkin with rings of moisture soaked into it.

I hope she doesn’t take me leaving another business card the wrong way.

Hunching over the table, Nicole clicks the pen open and begins to print as neatly as she can in her cramped scrawl.  When she’s finished, she folds the bills in half and tucks the card safely between them before sliding the tip money under the edge of her empty glass.

Maybe I can at least get her to start calling me by my first name.  If we’re even speaking after this.

Nicole quickly returns the pen to Sarah and then wishes everyone a good night before finally making her way to the front door.  Her shoulders are sagged and her hands are shoved deep in her pockets and her head hangs low as she heads for the blessed freedom of the chilly October night.

She’s so caught up in berating herself that she doesn’t notice Waverly push herself up off the top step where she had been perched during her break, watching the entire scene play out.  And she definitely doesn’t notice the way Waverly is looking at her with a heartfelt smile as she lets her fingers trace over the indentations in the card made by the ball of the pen when Nicole had scratched out the quick note.

Waverly –

Thank you for taking care of us tonight.  I’m very sorry for any trouble I might have caused you.

—Nicole

Chapter Text

“What can I get you, Officer?”

A do-over would be great, thanks.

Nicole winces at the thought, her shoulders sagging as she sighs.  Before she can answer the question, the young man across the counter looks at her sympathetically.

“The usual?  How about I slip in an extra shot of caramel this morning.”

“Thanks, Danny.  That would be perfect,” she says with a grateful smile.  Another thought occurs to her, and she stops him as he’s turning to begin making her drink.  “Actually, why don’t you throw in a blueberry muffin and a mocha with that, too?”

“Miss Ruthie will be pleased,” Danny says with a grin when he pulls out a second to-go cup and sets about filling her order.

Nicole leans heavily against the counter while he works, too many things weighing on her mind.  She feels a bit guilty for hitting E-Spurs-O’s this morning rather than her normal stop at Mama Lou’s, but after such a restless night with very little sleep, she could really use the extra pick-me-up.

It had been midnight when she’d gotten back to her apartment last night, and she certainly wasn’t drunk after switching to soda hours before, but her head had felt thick and hazy just the same.  She’d taken a quick shower to rinse the cigarette smoke from her hair and scrub away the light sheen of sweat that was clinging to her skin before climbing into bed with CJ immediately settling against her chest.

Though instead of drifting off, her mind had continued to race, cast about in a churning sea of guilt and shame and doubt.  She had just come out to a couple of her newest friends, and it had gone surprisingly well.  She probably wouldn’t have chosen to do it so soon, or under those circumstances, but now that it’s done, she’s glad it happened.  A part of her feels a freedom she didn’t even notice had been absent.

But that’s not what had been keeping her awake.

She wondered what Gus would think about the scene she’d caused in her bar.  What Waverly would think.  It hadn’t been just a random patron.  It was her boyfriend.  Like some kind of goddamn territorial pissing match.  That’s not what Nicole had wanted.  She never wanted that.  Never wanted Waverly to feel pressure from her.  Pressure to be friends.  Pressure to be more.  Pressure to choose between her or Champ.

Nicole watches Danny put the finishing touches on her drinks and wonders what she’s going to do when next Wednesday rolls around.  The guys are going to expect her to be there again.  And she wants to be.  Being part of a group again felt nice.  Something she didn’t realize she’d been missing since her days at the Academy and being part of the basketball team before that.

But Shorty’s is Waverly’s place of work.  It should be a safe space for her.  One that’s not being invaded by unwanted attention or a pride-induced measuring contest with Champ. 

It leaves her with a conundrum.  Continue hanging out with her new friends outside of work and run the risk of making Waverly feel uncomfortable every time Nicole walks into Shorty’s.  Or bail on the guys, but ensure that she doesn’t cause Waverly any undue stress with her presence.

You’d better come up with a solution soon, Hawk.  You’ve only got a week to figure it out.

“Here ya go, Officer,” Danny says, smiling as he rolls down the top of the paper bag holding the two muffins and drops it onto the drink carrier between the to-go cups.

“Thanks,” Nicole replies, scooping the carrier up in one hand while sliding her cash across the counter with her other.  “Have a good day, Danny.”

“Thanks.  You, too.  Hopefully the treats will help.”  He grins and winks and Nicole tips her hat at him before heading out the door.

I wish it were that easy, kid.

“Where is everybody?”

“Big to-do over at the Halshford place last night.  Neighbor found Megan’s body before sunrise.  All sliced up.  Nedley had to come in early and go over there with the night shift boys over an hour ago.”

“Is Hicks over there, too?”  Nicole asked with a frown.  Did Nedley think she wasn’t experienced enough to handle something like this?  “Do they need me to go and relieve them so they can go home?”

“Nah,” Ruthie shook her head.  “Nedley left word with Michelle to have you and Hicks take any other calls that come in.  They’re gonna be tied up over there most of the morning.”

“Okay,” Nicole muttered, trying not to let her disappointment show.  “And Hicks?  He’s usually here by now.”

“He called on his way in.  Someone hit a deer over by his pastures and left it dead in the middle of the road.  He’s waiting for Animal Control to meet him there and then he’ll be in.”

“Guess it’s just you and me then,” Nicole says with a half-smile and holds up the carrier in her hands.

“Mocha and a muffin?” Ruthie eyes her suspiciously.  “What did you do now, Haught?”

Nicole laughs and drags one of the chairs from the waiting area over to the side of Ruthie’s desk.

“Nothing,” she says, fishing the muffins out of the paper bag and handing Ruthie the blueberry one before pulling off a small piece of her own chocolate one.

“Bullshit.”  Ruthie puts her muffin down and folds her arms across her chest.

“Nothing!”  Nicole insists again and holds her hands up in surrender.  “I swear, I didn’t do anything.  I was just in the mood for a cappuccino this morning, and I thought you might like something, too.”

Ruthie snaps her fingers.

“You’re hungover, aren’t you.”  It’s not a question.

“W-what?” Nicole’s eyes widen in genuine surprise.  “No!  Of course I’m not!”

“You can’t fool me, Haught.  I know what day it is.”  Ruthie leans back in her chair with a sly grin.  “You kids think you invented the Wing Night tradition?  Some of us were going to Wing Night before you were even born.”

Nicole just stares back at her in stunned silence.

“And then you show up here on Thursday morning with E-Spurs-O’s instead of a thermos full of diner coffee?  I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Ruthie…” Nicole pleads, suddenly feeling like she’s been called to the principal’s office.  “I promise.  I am not hungover.”  Ruthie raises her eyebrow and starts to say something, but Nicole pushes through.  “I had less than a pitcher of beer last night, and I switched to soda around nine.”

“So you just stayed out past your bedtime on a school night.”  She can’t be certain, but Nicole is pretty sure Ruthie just tsk’d at her from behind her cup.

“No,” Nicole chuckles lightly, relaxing a little.  “I was home and already in bed by midnight.”

Ruthie hums as she takes a sip of her mocha and then begins peeling the wrapper from the bottom of her muffin.

“Then what’s the deal?” she finally asks, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk and steeple her fingers.  “Something’s off with you this morning, Haught.  Don’t try to deny it.”  Nicole starts to interrupt, but Ruthie cuts her off.  “Don’t forget.  I’m Ruthie.  I know everything.”

“I just…”  Nicole picks at her muffin and tries to avoid the question.  “I just didn’t sleep very well.”

Ruthie narrows her eyes as she watches Nicole put a piece of the chocolate muffin in her mouth.  It seems like she’s having trouble chewing and swallowing it.

“Did one of those dumbasses give you trouble?” she demands, her voice much harder than it had been a few moments ago.  “I’ll put the fear of God in those boys…” she mutters.

“No!”  Nicole is quick to dispel the misunderstanding.  “No, the guys were great.  Even had my back when they didn’t have to.”

“Had your back,” Ruthie repeats, studying Nicole again.  “So, something did happen.”

Nicole takes a long sip of her cappuccino before slumping back into her chair. 

There’s no use in trying to cover it up, Hawk.  She’s gonna find out from someone.  Might as well be you.

“I…” she starts, picking at a piece of lint on her pant leg.  “I had…  a bit of an incident with Champ Hardy last night.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Ruthie says, making a disgusted noise in her throat.  “I hope you knocked that rodeo clown on his ass.”

“N-no,” Nicole hurries to clarify.  “It was nothing like that.  Just…” she sighs, fidgeting with her ring.  “I was playing pool with the girls, and he tried to take the table from us, and I kind of…  Well.  I beat him.  And he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

“Good,” is all Ruthie says, raising her cup in a toasting motion.

“No,” Nicole says quietly.  “No, it really wasn’t.  He was with his buddies, and I should have just let him win so that there wouldn’t have been a scene.”  She continues spinning her ring.  “He got in my face when it was over, and the guys made the whole group of them leave after that.”

“Good,” Ruthie says again with a bit more emphasis.

“I shouldn’t have let my pride get in the way, Ruthie,” Nicole says, a bit more forcefully than she meant to.  “That makes me no better than him.  And now…”

“Now you’re concerned about how someone else might feel about what happened,” Ruthie finishes for her.

“Yeah…” she mumbles, staring down at her lap.  It takes her a few seconds to realize what she just admitted to and she stiffens in her chair, her eyes growing wide as the color drains from her face.

“Don’t worry,” Ruthie says, leaning across the corner of her desk and patting Nicole’s knee.  A hint of mischief flashes across her face and the ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.  “I guarantee Gus was grateful to have his troublemaking ass removed from her bar.”

“Gus,” Nicole parrots with a blank expression.  “Y-yeah.  Gus.  Definitely.  I, uh…  I’ll need to apologize to her.”

Ruthie has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.  She squeezes Nicole’s knee again and then goes back to her coffee cup with smirk.

“I’m sure everyone involved thinks he got what he deserved, Haught.”

“Uhh…  r-right.  Yeah.  M-maybe…” Nicole says with uncertainty.  She steals a glance at Ruthie while reaching for her cup, and squirms uncomfortably at the smug look she finds there.

You just keep making it worse, Hawk.  Way to go.

“Ummm…  I…  I guess I’d better get to my desk.  N-need to see if Nedley left any work for me.” 

She stands and drags her chair back to its place against the wall before collecting her muffin and coffee cup, suddenly feeling like she’s lost her appetite.  Giving Ruthie a forced smile, Nicole shuffles off to the bullpen to try and bury herself in enough work to make her forget about everything for a while.

She doesn’t hear Ruthie chuckle and mutter “adorably hopeless” as she goes.

“Officer Haught.”

Nicole flinches and looks up from her paperwork. 

She had seen Dolls and Wynonna head into the BBD office about an hour after her shift had started, Waverly scurrying behind them like a puppy afraid of getting left behind.  The sight had squeezed at Nicole’s heart, pushing the guilt through her veins again, and she’d ducked her head with a clenched jaw, determined to focus on the work in front of her.

After having been off for three days, there was a stack of incident reports for her to familiarize herself with, and Nicole had thrown herself headlong into it, doing her best to ignore the gravity that seemed to pull at her bones knowing Waverly Earp was behind the door just across the hall.  She had apparently succeeded so well that she hadn’t noticed Dolls exit the BBD office and make his way into the bullpen.

And now he’s looming over her desk, looking at her expectantly.

“Yes, sir?” she answers after a brief moment for her mind to catch up with the present, straightening in her chair and meeting his eyes.

“Sheriff Nedley spoke to a neighbor before we arrived at the Halshford residence this morning.  Got a license plate.”

“Okay?”

“He’s no longer handling this case.  Black Badge is in charge now.”

Nicole lets her gaze shift over his shoulder momentarily and catches a brief glimpse of a red-faced Nedley sitting behind his desk, looking like he just ate a lemon.

“O-oh.  O-okay…”

Before Dolls can say anything else, the door to the Black Badge office flies open, banging loudly against the wall behind it.  Wynonna bursts out, fire in her eyes and purpose in her step.  She mutters something while gripping her revolver and then she’s out of sight.

Nicole hears Dolls sigh heavily, but she barely notices, distracted by Waverly exiting the office a minute later looking disappointed as she slings her bag over her slumped shoulders.  Any hope Nicole still had that perhaps Waverly hadn’t found out what happened last night goes flying out the window.

“I would like for you to track down the neighbor.  A Mister….”  Dolls trails off as he checks his notes, and Nicole snaps her attention back to the matter at hand.  “…Brian Davis.  Get a description of the vehicle.  Find out what time he saw it outside Megan’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Plate number is BTW-8688.  Run it and get me everything you can on the owner.”

“Alberta?” Nicole asks as she scribbles the information down on a post-it. 

“Sorry?”

“It’s an Alberta plate?”

“I assume so,” Dolls answers, something flickering across his face too quickly for Nicole to recognize.  “Check with the witness to make certain.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Text me as soon as you have the info.  I may not be in the office,” he says, frowning toward the hallway where Wynonna had stormed out a few moments ago.

“Okay, but…”

“Problem, Haught?”  Dolls quirks his eyebrow in what feels to Nicole like a warning.

“I don’t have your number, sir,” she says flatly, not in the mood to be harassed about something that is not her fault.

“Right.”  He holds out his hand expectantly.  Nicole waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t, so she reaches for the post-it she had written the plate number on, but he stops her.  “Give me your phone.”

She stares at him for a moment, hesitating, then slips her cell phone out of the left pocket of her shirt.  She unlocks the screen and lays it in his outstretched palm.

He’s got some nerve…

Dolls takes it from her and navigates to the contacts screen, then quickly types something before handing it back to her.

“As soon as you find something, Officer Haught,” he says again.

“Yes, sir.”

He turns and marches back to the BBD office without another word and Nicole stares at her phone for a minute before returning it to her pocket with a smirk.

I bet Nedley doesn’t have his personal cell number.

“Yes, ma’am.  That’s right.  I live next door.”

“And how did you come to find Miss Halshford’s body when it was still dark this morning?”

“We both work in the city and carpool the commute.  It was her turn to drive, but she wasn’t in her garage when I went to meet her.  After a few minutes, I went to knock on her door.  That’s when I saw her through the window.  I called you guys immediately.”

Just then, Wynonna comes barreling back down the hallway and skids to a stop in front of the BBD office door.  She glances up at Nicole with a sheepish look on her face and raises her hand in a greeting.  Nicole starts to say something, but remembers at the last second that she’s still on the phone with a witness.  She waves at Wynonna instead and shifts the receiver to her other ear, nearly knocking over her coffee cup with the cord in the process.

Wynonna laughs and yanks the door open, disappearing into the office.  Nicole barely suppresses a groan as she rests her forehead in her hand.

“That was the right thing to do, Mr. Davis,” she says, trying to regain her focus.   “You mentioned that you saw a vehicle leaving Miss Halshford’s residence the night before?”

“Yes, ma’am.  It left her house just before dark.  A little after five.  It was red.  Four doors.  Nice car.  I gave the license plate to the Sheriff.”

Wynonna comes back out of the BBD office in a flurry with Dolls not far behind.  He pauses and looks at Nicole, tapping his watch in a clear indication that he’s still waiting for his information.  She grits her teeth and motions at the phone pressed to her ear, signaling that she’s talking to the witness now.  He gives a curt nod and follows after Wynonna.

“Yes, sir.  I have it right here,” Nicole tells Mr. Davis as she doodles on the edge of the post-it.  “It was an Alberta plate, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“What made you think to take down the plate number of someone visiting Miss Halshford?”

“Because it squealed its tires and went racing out of her driveway like a bat outta hell, ma’am.”

“Did you happen to see who was behind the wheel?”

“I only looked out my window when I heard the commotion.  The windows were tinted.  I couldn’t see the driver.  I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Davis.  You’ve already been more than helpful.  Thank you very much for your time, sir.  Please give us a call if you think of anything else.  My direct line is 555-0145, or you can call Dispatch at 555-0140.”

“I will, ma’am.  Have a good day.”

“You, too, sir.”

“The Excalibur Building?”

Nicole makes another note on her post-it.

“Okay, thanks very much.”

Just as she’s hanging up her desk phone, the phone in her pocket chirps with an incoming text.

“I swear to god, if that’s Dolls, he better learn to keep his damn pants on,” she mutters as she pulls it out and unlocks the screen.

Unknown (10:04):  Hello?

Unknown…  Did he not even bother to put his name in with his number?  Jesus.

She scrolls through her contacts, and is surprised to find him listed there under the D’s with all of his contact information.  With a frown, she navigates back to the message and types out a reply.

Nicole (10:05):  Hello.

Unknown (10:05):  Is this Officer Haught?

Nicole (10:06):  It is.  Can I help you?

Unknown (10:06):  It’s Waverly.

Nicole drops her phone in a panic and it goes skidding across the bullpen floor.

“Shit!”

She’s on her hands and knees immediately, trying to fish it out from under the filing cabinet along the wall.  She manages to bash her forehead against one of the drawers in the process.

“Ow!  Fuck…”

Nicole hears her phone chime two more times before she finally manages to reach it.  She reads the messages while still resting on her knees.

Unknown (10:07):  Waverly Earp…

Unknown (10:08):  Is it not okay to text this number?  I’m sorry to bother you.

Nicole (10:08):  No!

Nicole (10:08):  No, it’s fine. 

Nicole (10:09):  I was just getting something from the filing cabinet.

She winces after hitting “Send” on the last message.

Well.  It’s not technically a lie, Hawk.

The grey dots flash across the bottom of her screen, indicating Waverly is typing a response, and Nicole holds her breath as she waits for it to appear.  The dots fade and then reappear, fade and then reappear.  It seems Waverly isn’t sure what she wants to say next.

Closing her eyes and shaking her head, Nicole pulls herself up off the floor and dusts her pants off as she walks back to her desk.  Once she’s settled in her chair again, she taps on the unknown number at the top of the texting screen and quickly adds Waverly’s name as a contact.

She’s barely breathing at this point.  Her extremities feel numb and her pulse is racing.  She can hear it thundering in her ears.  After a little over three weeks since she left her card on the bar top, Waverly Earp is texting her. 

Unfortunately, it’s coming on the heels of last night’s incident.  Which means this might not actually be a good thing.

Nicole continues to stare at the phone in her hands, and practically jumps when it finally chirps again.

Waverly (10:12):  Do you have a lunch break today?

She isn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

Nicole (10:12):  Yes.  If I’m not on a call, it will be at noon.

Waverly (10:13):  Can you come by Shorty’s?

Waverly (10:13):  We need to talk.

Nicole feels like the woman who gets sawed in half by the magician and pulled apart in separate boxes.  Because her stomach has just dropped into her boots, and her heart has just leapt into her throat.

We need to talk.

She stares at the four words.  They mock her from the screen and she has to put her phone down and look away. 

You deserve it, asshole.  You got yourself into this mess.  You deserve it.

She can’t bring herself to accept her fate just yet, so she pulls up a second texting window and shoots off a message to Dolls.

Nicole (10:15):  Gathered the following information on the vehicle.  It was seen leaving the victim’s residence last night at just after 1700 hrs.

                BTW-8688
                2014 Chrysler 300
                Red     4D     Sedan
                23 Pine Drive
                Purgatory, AL  T6D 1X0

                Baker, Samantha  Jane
                DOB:  09 Apr 1988
                Female     H/E: Bln/Gr
                H/W:  175cm/61kg
                DL:  763541-273 AL
                Criminal History:
                     **N/A**

Nicole (10:16):  Subject works as an accounts manager at Ghost River Accounting, located in the Excalibur Building over on Grand Ave.

Knowing she can’t stall any longer, Nicole finally reopens the conversation with Waverly.  She knew this had always been a possibility.  From the day she introduced herself, she knew this could happen.  Hell, if she’s being completely honest, she knew it could happen from the first glimpse she caught of the ray of sunshine named Waverly Earp.

But she’s a grown woman.  And she can walk into Shorty’s and take her punishment like a big girl.  At least she’ll be able to look back and remember that she was able to give Waverly some measure of comfort and consolation on a day when she lost a dear friend.  Nicole smiles sadly when she tells herself that she’ll always have that moment to hang on to.

Her throat is tight when she looks down at her screen again, and she can’t help but feel like she’s signing her own death warrant when she types out her simple reply.

Nicole (10:18):  Sure

“Ruthie, this is Haught.  I’m 10-7.”

“10-4 Haught.  Enjoy your lunch.”

Nicole sighs as she climbs out of her patrol car.  Normally, she would have smiled at Ruthie’s smug teasing.  She truly does enjoy their banter.  But it’s not funny right now.  Not today.

Today is different.

She stands silently next to her squad, spinning the ring on her finger, and remembers the first time she came here with Nedley.  Trotting after him like an eager puppy her first day on the job, confused about why they were going to a bar while on duty in the middle of the day.

She remembers standing here before, in this exact spot, ready to take her fate into her own hands.  Ready to walk in and finally introduce herself to Waverly Earp.  Determined to at least put herself out there, regardless of the rejection she might face.

She remembers sitting on the bench by the door, trying to gather the courage to show her face after failing to save a man that was loved by the entire town.  Finding encouragement in the most unexpected of places.  Allowing Waverly to share the burden of her grief, even if the respite lasted only for a brief moment.

She remembers the nervous energy propelling her forward last night, toward an evening brimming with possibility.  The prospect of finding a place to belong in her new small-town-family.  Starting to make this feel more like a home, rather than just a place to live.

But Nicole experiences none of that as she stands outside Shorty’s this time.  No feelings of anticipation or excitement or hope.  All she has is her stomach twisted into knots and her extremities filled with lead and the crippling weight of resignation draped over her shoulders.

She drags herself toward the heavy front doors, looming defiantly like a pair of executioners ready to carry out her sentence.

Dead man walking.

The darkness is blinding when Nicole steps through the entryway and into the bar.  Johnny Cash is plucking out a steady rhythm and she blinks rapidly in time with the music while her eyes adjust to the dim lighting.  Last night, she couldn’t have taken a single step without bumping into someone.  Now, the place is deserted, the only other occupants being a pair of old men huddled around a table next to the jukebox.

Part of her had hoped to find a lunch rush waiting.  There’s safety in numbers, and perhaps her fate would have been a simple, quiet dismissal if there had been a crowd present, threatening to overhear.  The other part of her is glad for the solitude.  There won’t be anyone else around to stand by and gawk as they witness the executioner’s sword fall.

She’s a little surprised that no one is behind the bar.  Nicole figured Waverly would want to get this over with as soon as possible so that she could go back to the rest of her day.  The rest of her normal life before Nicole upset the balance.  She wonders if being forced to wait and think about what she’s done is part of her punishment.

Nicole hesitates in the doorway, absentmindedly playing with the Stetson in her hands, and glances around the rest of the bar.  Her eyes fall on the high top table where she’d left the note last night, and she feels the ghost of a touch over the skin of her forearm where Waverly had laid her hand when they were talking.

She’s still lost in the sensation when she hears someone clearing their throat loudly.  She turns to find Waverly leaning against the bar near the taps, staring at her with her arms crossed.

Nicole almost drops her hat.

Waverly just points at a nearby barstool, her face unreadable, and Nicole realizes it’s the same one she sat in the last time she was in this situation.  The memory seeps into her chest and squeezes her heart as she obediently shuffles down the stairs and climbs awkwardly onto the stool after carefully placing her hat on the counter.

“If you were hanging out by the door in hopes of a show like last time, I’ll have you know I already fixed the tap myself.”

Waverly’s arms are still crossed, her eyebrow raised, and Nicole’s face burns when images of their first meeting play through her head unbidden with crystal clarity.  But the fire running through her veins quickly turns to ice as Waverly’s gaze continues to bore through her, and she comes to a sudden realization.

She thinks that’s all you want her for.  That’s the kind of impression you’ve left her with.  You’re no better than Champ Hardy, you fucking asshole.

Nicole knows she’s about to face her consequences.  And she’s prepared to take what she deserves.  She owes Waverly at least that much after her inappropriate behavior and undesired attention.   But before she can stop herself, she’s blurting out an apology.

“Waverly, I’m so sorry.” 

A shadow of confusion drifts across Waverly’s face, but now that Nicole has started, it’s like she’s opened the floodgate.  Words continue to tumble out of her mouth like a waterfall, and she’s caught up in their current, tossed about before she plummets over the edge.

“That day.  I didn’t…  A-All I wanted was to…”  The words jumble together and Nicole is helpless to stop them.  “I shouldn’t have…  I n-never meant…”  She takes a deep breath and shakes her head as she continues.  “Waverly, I never meant to make you uncomfortable.  But I made things awkward for you.  And I’m sorry.”

Waverly’s brow furrows and her arms fall to her sides.  She rests a hand against the bar to steady herself, but still Nicole doesn’t give her a chance to say anything.

“And last night.  That was…  The whole thing was uncalled for.”  She spins her ring with desperation.  Maybe if she does it fast enough, it will teleport her anywhere but here.  Her own personal ruby slippers.  “I let myself get carried away, and…  Just.  I know that it was my fault.  All of it.  It never should have happened.  I…  I wanted to apologize.  To Gus.  To you.  For the trouble I caused.  I hope…”  Nicole starts to reach out to where Waverly’s hand is braced on the counter, but she catches herself in time and lets it fall to where her hat is resting instead.  “I hope he didn’t take it out on you after I left.”

Waverly is staring at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly open, and a crease in her forehead.  Nicole wants desperately to reach out and smooth away the worry lines with the pads of her fingers, but instead she pulls her hat closer, both of her hands fidgeting with it now. 

Nicole can’t bear to hold Waverly’s gaze any longer as she feels an unwanted pricking at her eyes and they drop to where she’s tracing the ridges of her badge.  Her throat is tight and she has to swallow hard several times before she can force the rest of her words out.

“It stops now, Waverly.  I promise.”  She hears her voice crack, but there’s nothing she can do about it as she presses forward.  “This is your space.  You deserve to feel relaxed here.  Without…  Without someone like me making unwanted advances.” 

She picks her hat up off of the bar as she starts to slide out of her stool.  It’s getting harder and harder to keep herself together, and she needs to get out of here.  Putting Waverly on a guilt trip by breaking down in front of her was certainly not on the agenda for today.  Her eyes still fixated on the hat in her hands, she pushes through the last of what she has to say before she no longer can.

“I’ll stay away from Shorty’s.  I still have to do my job, you understand.  But unless I’m sent on a call, you won’t have to see me around here.  You have my word.”

Just go, Hawk.  You said what you needed to.  Don’t make her watch you like this.

Nicole wills her body to move, but it remains frozen, suspended in a moment between her foolish dreams and a harsh reality.  Unable to resist, she risks one final glance back up to the bar.

“Take care of yourself, Waverly Earp,” she says with a sad smile and turns to walk away, leaving Waverly to live a far less complicated life.

Chapter Text

“Take care of yourself, Waverly Earp,” she says with a sad smile and turns to walk away, leaving Waverly to live a far less complicated life.

She barely makes it two steps before she feels a light grip at her elbow, and even through the fabric of her shirt, it sends tingles down her arm.  Nicole stops dead in her tracks, afraid of what she might find when she turns around.

It’s worse than she imagined.

Waverly is peering up at Nicole, her already small frame seeming to fold in on itself even further.  The effort of putting on a brave face pulls at the edges of her expression, but disappointment and insecurity and hurt are bleeding through the cracks of the carefully crafted mask as it slips and crumbles and pieces of it fall away, leaving her exposed.

“So that’s…” Waverly croaks out, her voice barely audible over the sound of George Jones filtering through the room.  “That’s it then?  You’re not...”  Her hand trails down Nicole’s arm as she releases her elbow, their fingers gently brushing before Waverly’s hand falls back to her side.  “You don’t even want to have lunch with me?”

Nicole can actually feel the vulnerability in the air, reaching out and wrapping its icy fingers around both of them.  She wants so badly to take Waverly’s hand in her own.  To say the words that are skating along the edge of her tongue, desperate to break free. 

Don’t you see me?  I’m here.  I’m ready, when you’re ready for me. 

But she knows she can’t.  Not now. 

Not yet.

She tries to focus instead on Waverly stopping her as she was walking away.  It takes her sluggish brain a few seconds to catch up from where it was drowning itself in blame and guilt, but even then, she still doesn’t know what to think.

Why didn’t she just let you walk away?

“I don’t…  I don’t understand?” 

Waverly is so close.  She had stepped around the end of the bar to catch Nicole, and now she is right here.  So close.  Nicole turns the Stetson in her hands repeatedly to stop herself from doing something stupid. 

“Didn’t you…  I thought…”  She takes a deep breath, gulping air down into her burning lungs.  “When you said we needed to talk…  Isn’t this about what happened last night?”

Waverly moves for the first time since releasing Nicole where she stands, rubbing at the back of her neck and causing the muscles of her torso to flex beneath her red crop top. 

Nicole’s throat tightens even more.

“Uhh…  Yeah…”  Waverly chuckles nervously.  “It was.  I mean…  I was going to ask you where you learned to play pool like that…”

“Oh,” she says dumbly, unable to produce anything more coherent than that.

“But the…  The things you just said.  Are you…”  Waverly’s hands twist in front of her, pulling at each other anxiously.  “Do you not…  want to be friends with me?”  Her eyes fall to her feet and she continues to mumble.  “I thought…  but I guess…  maybe I was wrong…”

Nicole isn’t sure if she was supposed to hear the last bit, but it spurs her into action.  She takes another step forward, the two of them now sharing the same space, and Waverly inhales sharply when she looks up into Nicole’s eyes again.

“I would love to be friends with you, Waverly Earp,” Nicole breathes, her fingers flexing along the brim of her hat, itching to reach out and comfort the woman in front of her.

“You…  You would?”  She looks so timid and Nicole’s heart lurches in her chest.

The clouds break across Waverly’s face and Nicole catches a glimpse of the sun that blinds her even in her dreams.

“Of course I would.”  For the first time in what feels like an eternity, a genuine smile settles on Nicole’s lips.  “I’d consider myself a lucky woman if I got to call you my friend.”

The corners of Waverly’s mouth turn up shyly and she dips her head.  She shifts her weight back and forth between her feet a couple of times and Nicole holds her breath, waiting to see how she will react.  When Waverly looks back up at Nicole again, her smile is dazzling. 

Nicole forgets how to breathe. 

“Does that mean,” Waverly gestures at the barstool again, “you’ll stay and have lunch with me?”

Nicole thinks hope looks much better on Waverly than despair.

“Sure, Waverly,” she says softly, taking a step back.  “Whatever you want.”  She drops her Stetson on the counter again and slides back onto her stool.

Waverly hesitates for a brief moment and then steps back behind the bar.  She traces a finger along the polished top as she goes, like a child that is embarrassed about a question they’re about to ask.  Nicole watches silently from her perch, Waverly’s endearing innocence a soothing balm against the rash of feelings threatening to overtake her.  The breakneck speed at which the pendulum had swung from extreme resignation to shocked surprise to unexpected elation in the past five minutes has left her a victim of emotional whiplash.

“So,” Waverly says, smiling up at her as she slides a menu placard across the counter.  “What would you like, Officer Haught?”

“I’d like for you to call me Nicole.”  The words are out of her mouth before she even realizes what she’s saying, and she wonders if her eyes are as wide as Waverly’s are right now.

Waverly ducks her head, bashful, a blush painting her cheeks that mirrors Nicole’s own.  She picks at the black rubber non-slip mat used for lining up drink glasses waiting to be served and finally peeks back up at Nicole through her lashes.

“Nicole…” she says tentatively, like she’s testing it out, afraid of how it might feel in her mouth.

Hearing Waverly say her name for the first time makes Nicole’s heart flutter in her chest, a thousand butterflies flapping their wings and trying to break free.  It must show on her face because Waverly’s shy smile slowly morphs into a broader grin before she says it again.

“What can I get you for lunch, Nicole?”

Nicole is completely enamored with the way the corners of Waverly’s eyes crinkle up.  The soft red glow that still colors her cheeks.  The twitch of her lips as they twist into an adorable smirk.

Wait.

She’s smirking.

At you.

Snap out of it, Hawk!

“Uhhhh…”  Nicole clears her throat a couple of times and tries to focus.  “Well.  I’ve had your burgers.  And I’ve had your buffalo wings.”  She rests her forearms on the bar and leans forward, tipping her head toward the menu placard standing on the counter between them.  “What else is good here, Waverly Earp?”

She’s almost certain she just caught a flash of salt and pepper curls disappearing into the kitchen out of the corner of her eye when she looked up.  But Waverly doesn’t give her much of a chance to think about it.

“Paulie makes a mean roast beef sandwich on a French roll,” she blurts out in a rush, the words all running together, and Nicole can feel Waverly’s warm breath wash across her face from the other side of the bar.  She leans back in her stool and Waverly’s nervousness seems to ease in response.

“A roast beef sandwich on a French roll,” Nicole repeats.  “Interesting.”

“I have him melt a slice of provolone on it,” Waverly grins.  “It comes with fries and my very own secret recipe dipping sauce,” she says proudly.

Waverly is beaming and Nicole might spontaneously combust.

“Roast beef and secret sauce it is,” she says with a nod and a grin, and based on the slight shift in Waverly’s gaze, Nicole guesses that her dimples have popped.

“You won’t be disappointed!” Waverly says with excitement and rushes off to the kitchen.

I could never be disappointed with you, Waverly Earp.

Nicole slowly blows out a deep breath, taking advantage of the moment alone to try and pull herself together after the rollercoaster ride she just endured.  The respite doesn’t last long, however.  She’s rubbing her palms up and down against her thighs in a soothing manner when Gus suddenly appears in front of her, sneaking up while Nicole was zoning out.

“Officer Haught.”

Her tone is calm and pointed, and Nicole gulps.

“Y-yes, ma’am?”

“About last night.”  Gus folds her arms across her chest and Nicole feels like she’s about to get grounded.

“I’m s-so sorry, Mrs. McCready.  I d-didn’t mean f—”

“Nonsense,” Gus cuts her off.  She glances back over her shoulder toward the kitchen and then leans forward, her voice low.  “Always appreciate when someone helps take out the trash.”

“Ma’am…?”

“Oh, he’s harmless enough.  And he worked hard for Curtis when he gave him a job after the kid blew his knee out on the rodeo circuit.”  She waves her hand as she looks back at the kitchen again.  “But when it comes to treating Waverly right…”  Gus shakes her head, disgust settling on her weathered features.  “That boy’s a walking menace.”

Nicole’s fingers flex where they are resting on the bar, but she remains silent, simply nodding at Gus in return.  Something seems different about the way the woman is regarding her, and it makes Nicole start fidgeting with her ring again.

There’s something more she’s not saying, Hawk.  What have you gotten yourself into?

She shifts uncomfortably on her barstool as Gus continues to watch her, eyebrow raised as though she’s about to say something more.  Nicole gets that same feeling prickling at the back of her mind that she does when Ruthie gives her the look. 

Thankfully, Waverly comes to her rescue, practically bouncing out of the kitchen with two paper-lined baskets in her hands.  Gus gives Nicole one final pointed look before stepping aside and making room for Waverly.

“Here you go, Officer…  Nicole.”  Waverly goes from bubbly to shy in about two seconds flat.

“Officer Nicole.”  She chuckles at the exasperation on Waverly’s face.  “Well, I suppose that’s a start.”

Waverly makes a strange noise in her throat that has even Gus fighting back a laugh, a blush creeping up from beneath her Shorty’s shirt to settle firmly on her cheeks.  Trying to draw the attention away from herself, she holds up the baskets dramatically.

“Wow.  That was quick,” Nicole says, smiling as she moves her Stetson out of the way, dropping it on the empty barstool next to her.  Waverly carefully places one of the baskets in front of Nicole, mindful not to tip the container with the dipping sauce nestled into one corner.  She keeps the other basket in front of herself.

“Well, it’s not exactly like we’re busy,” Waverly says with a laugh and gestures around the room.  “You seem to be making a habit of that.”

This time, it’s Nicole’s turn to blush.  She can feel her ears turning pink and she rubs at the back of her neck as she remembers that first time they met, when she’d come in before the saloon had even opened.

Bit overeager, weren’t you Hawk?

She coughs awkwardly to cover up her embarrassment, and if Waverly notices, she graciously fails to point it out, choosing instead to slip easily into her natural server mode.

“Sounds like you could use a drink,” she says, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the bar in front of Nicole, which does absolutely nothing to help the coughing.  In fact, it only gets worse.  “What can I get you, Officer?  Coffee?  Water?  More Coke?”  She glances at Gus with a grin.  “I’m sure we could probably sneak you a beer, if you’d prefer.”

Nicole clears her throat a couple of times and tries desperately not to let her eyes wander the woman hunched over directly in front of her.  Especially not with Gus standing right there.

Mind out of the cleavage, Hawk.  Uhhh…  Gutter.  Out of the gutter.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head, still trying to get her voice back to normal.  “I was actually hoping maybe I could get some of your famous lemonade.”

Waverly looks confused for a moment, possibly wondering how Nicole even knew about the lemonade, much less how she knew that it was Waverly’s recipe.  But she’s interrupted before she can say anything.

“Hey!  Didja go an’ ferget about us, darlin’?” one of the men in the corner hollers over the Merle Haggard pouring out of the jukebox next to him. 

“Yeah!  Other people might like a drink, too, sweetheart.”  The other man forcefully taps his empty beer mug on the table. 

Waverly winces and Nicole stiffens at the lilt in their voices on the words darlin’ and sweetheart.

“Hold yer damn horses, Jed!” Gus cuts in, her voice steely.  “That’s not how we treat people ‘round here if ya wanna continue gettin’ served.”

“Aww, now,” the other man speaks up again.  “We was jes’ playin’ around, Gus.”

Gus continues to glare at them and they both shrink back into their chairs, suddenly becoming much smaller under her scolding eye.

“Sorry, Gus,” Waverly mumbles, her head hanging low.  “I’ll go take care of that now.”  She glances back up at Nicole with a longing smile.  “Enjoy your lunch, Nicole.” 

She gathers up the second basket and moves it over to a counter behind the bar, near the refrigerator with the lemonade.  Wiping her hands off on her high-waisted shorts, Waverly starts to make her way around the other end of the bar.

“Wait,” Gus says suddenly, and Waverly spins back to face her, confused.  “You’ve been cleaning and restocking this place all morning.  I can cover the floor for a bit.  Why don’t you take your break now and have some lunch with your… uh… friend here.”

Nicole immediately goes pink again, looking like she spent too much time in the sun.  At least Waverly seems to be glowing with the same intensity this time.

“You don’t have to do that, Gus,” Waverly hurriedly babbles.  “It’s not your job to deal with the pervy old men anymore.”

“Oh, please,” Gus scoffs.  “The day I can no longer handle a couple of old coots like Cecil Wright and Jed Roberts is the day I’m turning up tomatoes next to Curtis.”

Waverly gapes at her, clearly not expecting the good-natured joke about Curtis so soon, but Nicole snorts before she can stop herself.  She tries to cover it with another coughing fit, but judging by the smirk on Gus’s face, she’s unsuccessful in doing so.

“What are you waiting for, kid?  Get your officer some lemonade for that pesky cough of hers,” she says with a wink.  “And then sit down and eat something.  I’ve got this,” she finishes, waving a hand dismissively around the room.

Your officer.

The words were so casual and harmless, but Nicole doesn’t miss the warmth they produce somewhere deep in her chest.

Easy, Hawk.  Just friends.  She said she wants you to be her friend.  You can do this.

“Really?” Waverly asks, surprised and excited and hopeful.

Nicole thinks her smile could light up the dark side of the moon.

“Of course,” Gus laughs, already filling up two beer mugs with the on-tap special.  “Now go on, before I change my mind.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Waverly giggles, yanking open the fridge and grabbing the pitcher of lemonade.  She quickly fills two pub glasses and balances the basket along her forearm with the kind of ease that comes from years of practice.

Gus slides past her and around the end of the bar to go and further scold the old geezers, and Waverly, hands still full, uses her fingertips in an impressive move that flips a Big Rock pub coaster up out of the well running along the inside of the bar so that it lands directly in front of Nicole, right next to the basket holding her sandwich and fries.  She sets Nicole’s glass on it, then grabs a second coaster for herself, finally dropping her basket back onto the bar after she’s deposited her own drink.

“Wow,” Nicole says, wide-eyed at the casual display of precision dexterity.  “Looks like maybe you’ve done that once or twice before.”

“You pick up a few things when you grow up in a bar.”  She reaches into her basket and fishes out a fry, popping it in her mouth with a grin and a shrug.

Nicole takes a drink of her lemonade at long last.  The tang burns her raw throat a little, but the cold is mostly soothing after all of the coughing and difficulty swallowing.  She grabs a fry of her own, and after brief consideration, dunks it in the sauce and gives it a try.

“Holy shit!” she blurts out and then her hand immediately flies to her mouth, covering it sheepishly.  Waverly raises an eyebrow and Nicole scrunches her shoulders up around her neck bashfully.  “This is amazing,” she says with sincerity.

Waverly stands a little taller, pleased and proud and beaming.  “You really like it?”

Nicole picks up half of her sandwich and hurries to dip one of the corners.  She savors the first bite and literally has to fight back a soft moan.  “Oh my god, Wave,” she mumbles around the mouthful of food she’s chewing.  “This is so good!”

Leaning against the counter, Waverly picks through her basket for a few more fries and watches the blissful expression on Nicole’s face as she takes another bite.  When her mouth is finally empty again, she looks at Waverly curiously, cocking her head to the side.

“You know…  You don’t have to stand there the whole time.”  She gestures at the barstool beside her.  “You’ve been on your feet all morning already.  You could come and sit next to me.”  Her tone is playful, but full of hope.

Until she sees Waverly’s brow furrow.

Shit.  You’re scaring off the frightened calf again, dumbass.  Way to go.

“N-not that you have to!” she stutters in a rush, the words jumbling together.  “I only meant…  Just.  You know.  You could.  I-if you wanted to.”  Her shoulders slump as she trails off quietly.  “Sorry.  Never mind,” she mumbles, defeated.

It looks like Waverly is about to say something when her attention is drawn to the front door instead.  A group of people has just wandered in, signaling the beginning of the midday rush.  Waverly glances over at Gus, who has two empty mugs dangling from one of her hands.

“You want me t—”

Gus waves a hand at her, already walking toward the front door.  “Eat your lunch, Waverly!” she calls out sternly before greeting the new customers.

Waverly looks down at her basket, up at Nicole, over at the empty barstool, and then back up at Nicole again.  Nicole can actually see the hesitation playing across her face, slowly giving way to consideration, and eventually settling into determination.  It’s a stage play for an audience of one, and Nicole is enthralled.

“Okay,” Waverly finally says.

“Okay?” Nicole repeats, surprised.

“Okay.  I’ll come sit with you.”  She shoves her basket and glass of lemonade forward into the empty space on the counter next to Nicole, then marches around the end of the bar.

Nicole hastily grabs up her Stetson, finding an open spot on her other side, near the corner of the polished counter, to drop it with a soft thump.  She scoots the barstool out and holds it steady while Waverly climbs up awkwardly.  She sweeps her tousled hair back over her shoulder, and Nicole snaps her mouth shut to keep from gasping.

Waverly grabs her glass and holds it up in front of her, looking at Nicole expectantly.  Nicole obediently picks up her glass and raises it, as well, quirking an eyebrow at Waverly.

“To friends,” Waverly says shyly and carefully clinks their glasses together.

“To friends,” Nicole whispers and smiles behind the rim of her glass as she takes a drink.

They eat in silence for a bit.  It’s a little awkward, but only mildly so.  Nicole can tell Waverly is nervous, and she doesn’t want to do anything that might stress her out even more.  God knows she’s done enough of that today.  She sticks to complimenting Waverly on the menu suggestion.  And her lemonade.  And her secret sauce.  She teases her about eating a grilled chicken wrap in a saloon, and laughs when Waverly brags about having Paulie wrapped around her little finger.

Waverly Earp, you’ve got everybody wrapped around your little finger.

They’ve finished eating and Nicole is taking a drink when Waverly finally works up the courage to start a little small talk of her own.

Or at least tries to.

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

For the second time in a week, Nicole snorts lemonade out her nose.

“Oh!” Waverly gasps.  “Oh, god…”  She leans over the bar and grabs a handful of napkins from the shelf just below the counter and starts frantically trying to pat down Nicole’s uniform shirt where droplets of the sugary liquid are beginning to soak in. 

Feeling Waverly’s hands all over her chest and arms only makes Nicole’s spluttering worse. 

Especially when her fingers brush against the exposed skin of her throat where her extra button is undone, leaving her collar spread wide open.

She chokes and wheezes, her eyes watering as she tries to pull herself together.  Waverly gently dabs at her face and Nicole’s lungs burn when she forgets to take a breath.

When she has finally gotten the coughing under control enough to attempt speaking again, she clears her throat a few more times and tests it out.

“Waverly Earp, did you just use a pickup line on me?”  Her voice cracks over the words, but they still have their desired effect.  Waverly’s concern fades into self-conscious sarcasm.

“Well, it was better than a wet t-shirt competition,” she grumbles, and Nicole can’t help but laugh, her throat still raw as she playfully bumps her shoulder against Waverly’s.

“Touché,” she grins, feeling the heat rise in her ears like a thermometer.  Waverly smirks and quirks a smug eyebrow.  “I panicked, okay?” Nicole laughs again, holding her hands up in surrender.

A few more people trickle into the bar and Waverly glances around the room, but Gus still seems to have a handle on things so she returns her attention to Nicole.  She takes a sip of her own lemonade and then idly draws patterns on the bar with her finger when she looks back up at the officer.

“That was… uh…  I mean…  It was a bad joke, but…  It was a real question.”  Nicole frowns, a little confused.  “I just meant.  Like.  What brought you all the way out here?  No one ever comes to Purgatory.  People only leave…”

Her voice trails off, and Nicole is pretty sure she understands why.  She wonders if Waverly even realizes what she’s done.  But she doesn’t want to press, and it’s a fair question.

“I had never even heard of Purgatory,” Nicole answers honestly.  “But it was the first small town posting that opened up after I graduated the Academy.”

“You actually wanted a small town?”  Nicole nods and Waverly can’t seem to believe it.  “Why?”

“Well,” Nicole starts, shifting in her stool so that she’s facing Waverly now.  “My grandparents owned a cattle ranch in Wyoming.  I lived there when I was little, and I missed it.  The city is great and all, but…” she shrugs.  “When I thought about starting my new life, I wanted it to be someplace like where they were from.”

Waverly’s mouth is open slightly, like she’s trying to process everything Nicole just said and doesn’t know where to begin.  When she finally finds her voice again, the questions spill out faster than Nicole can answer them.

“You lived in the States when you were little?  Why did you move?  How old were you?  Where did you grow up after that?”  Nicole chuckles and Waverly ducks her head sheepishly.  “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.  I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”  Nicole smiles softly.  “Yes, we lived on the ranch when I was born.  My mom grew up there, too.  We lived there until I was six, and then my dad got a new job at a finance firm in Calgary.  He’s from here.”

“Do you still go and visit your grandparents on the ranch?”

Nicole’s smile fades and she stares down at her ring, touching it reverently.  “I, uh…  They’re… “

“I’m sorry,” Waverly whispers softly, reaching out to lay a hand over Nicole’s.  The warmth is comforting, and Nicole finds herself again marveling at how soft Waverly’s skin is.

“It’s…  It’s alright.  We lost Grandaddy when I was a senior in high school.  And Grandmama…”  Waverly gently squeezes her hand.  “It was just this year.  While I was at the Academy.  We were really close.”  Waverly strokes her thumb over the back of Nicole’s hand, and Nicole shakes her head to clear it.  “Sorry.  Sorry.  Umm…  yeah, to answer your question.  I did used to go back and visit.  Every summer from the time I was six.  Even in college.  This year is the first time…  Well, I went back in the early spring for the funeral.  But there was nothing to go back to in the summer.”

They sit in silence for a minute, Waverly still stroking the back of Nicole’s hand and Nicole afraid to move.  Waverly eventually seems to realize what she’s doing and quickly pulls her hand back, nervously running it through her hair.

“So, uh…  You said you grew up in Calgary?  Is that where you went to college, too?” Waverly changes the subject, and Nicole is grateful for it.

“Yeah, my family still lives there.  But I got a scholarship to play basketball at University of British Columbia.”

Waverly’s eyes widen and Nicole swears she can see her swallow hard a couple of times before speaking again.  She does her best to keep from smirking about it.

“You…  You play basketball, too…?” Waverly asks, all amazement and awe and admiration.

“Mmhmm.  I was the captain of our team.  We won two championships while I was there.”  Nicole grins proudly, her dimples on full display.  “I’m a Thunderbird for life.  Hail UBC!” she chants the opening line of the fight song and Waverly giggles, shoving at her shoulder.

“Where did you go to the Academy?”

“I went to the CPC in Chilliwack.  It was a six month program, and I graduated in June.  Then back to Calgary with my parents until I got the call from the placement officer about an opening here.”

“And what do you think about it so far?  Our little slice of…  stuck somewhere between heaven and hell?”  Waverly mumbles the last part, and though Nicole laughs at the joke about the town’s name, she can’t help feeling like there’s something else behind Waverly’s words.

“I like it here.  I’m still getting used to it.  But it’s quiet.  I’m still an outsider…”  Nicole shrugs, but when Waverly frowns, she hurries to continue, “But that’s getting better, too.  Mama Lou is good to me.  And Ruthie is cantankerous, but I think she’s got my back.” 

Waverly huffs out a laugh, nodding in agreement. 

“Nedley’s a bit gruff, but he’s a surprisingly good mentor.  I’m lucky to learn from someone like him.  And he’s secretly a lot softer than he likes to let on.  He’s definitely got the dad gene.”  Waverly seems surprised by this, apparently used to people badmouthing him.  “And I think I’m in with the guys now.  Especially after last night.  Plus…” Nicole adds, knocking their knees together with a grin.  “I made a new friend.  She’s kind of a handful, but I think it’s going to work out.”  Her tone is playful but there’s a vulnerability underneath.

Waverly rolls her eyes, but bumps their knees together again.  “Yes.  I think it will work out.”

“Oh, do you know my new friend, too?” Nicole pretends to be shocked.  “Extremely opinionated.  Thinks she knows everything.  Scolds me every chance she gets.”

When Waverly scrunches up her face, looking suitably offended, Nicole wonders if it’s possible for a person’s heart to literally burst in their chest.

“Keep that up, Officer, and maybe you will need to look for a new friend.”  Waverly crosses her arms and pouts.

“Oh.  You don’t think Mrs. Brizzard would appreciate my assessment?”

“Wh-h-hat?”   Waverly is laughing, her amusement and confusion making it difficult for her to talk properly.

“Mrs. Brizzard.  The librarian?” Nicole explains innocently.

“Mrs. Brizzard,” Waverly chuckles.  “How do you even know her?”

“Oh, we go way back,” Nicole says matter-of-factly.  “We’re tight.  Got real close when I was hanging out at the library to learn about the town.  She’s definitely my new friend now,” she adds, barely containing a snort.

Waverly’s face lights up and Nicole’s stomach does a backflip.  “You went to the library?  To learn about the town?”

“Well, yeah.”  Nicole rolls one of her shoulders.  “I didn’t know anything about this place when I moved here.  Figured it would be smart to do my homework.”

“I’m impressed,” Waverly says genuinely.  “Most people wouldn’t bother.”

Nicole leans forward and winks.  “I’m not most people, Waverly Earp.”

Waverly inhales sharply at their close proximity and seems to be at a momentary loss for words.  Nicole gets lightheaded from every cinnamon-filled breath she takes.  Then suddenly, Waverly sits bolt upright on her stool and the moment is broken.

“Did you read about the Wainwright Hotel?” she asks, practically wiggling in her seat.

“Uhh…  I don’t th—”

Nicole doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before Waverly is off to the races.

“Martin Forster built the Wainwright in 1908, and it was the focal point of the town at that time.  New settlers, farmers in town for the evening, itinerant doctors, and traveling theatre troupes…  they all stayed at the hotel on their way through Purgatory.”

Waverly is talking animatedly with her hands, and Nicole settles herself against the bar, hanging on her every word.

“There was a big fire in 1929, and the Hotel was nearly destroyed, but the Forster family put everything they had into restoring it.  They even expanded it to include more rooms and added the grand veranda and a beer parlor.  When they rebuilt it, the new architectural style was partially modeled after the Spanish Colonial Revival, but the rise of railroad tourism and the popularity of Hollywood movies also heavily influenced the final design.”

Nicole is mesmerized by the twinkle in Waverly’s eyes.  By the gesticulating of her hands.  By the way she rushes the end of her sentences before having to take a breath.  By the fact that she knows all of these facts off the top of her head. 

Everything about Waverly Earp is bewitching.

“In 1968, the Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada and the Historical Society of Alberta named the Wainwright a historical landmark of the…  of the… the…”  Waverly tails off and tilts her head to the side, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.  “What…  are you looking… at?”

Uh oh, Hawk.  You just got busted for staring at Waverly with hearts in your eyes again.  Very subtle.

Nicole suddenly feels like her face has been placed under a heat lamp.

“N-nothing…” she stammers as Waverly continues to watch her.  “I was, uh...  It’s just…  You know.  It’s interesting.  What you’re saying.”  She’s pretty sure she sees the beginnings of a smile flickering at the corners of Waverly’s lips.

“Uh huh.  Useless facts about a town landmark,” Waverly says, giving Nicole a pointed look that only turns up the heat on the lamp.  “Riveting, I’m sure.”

“Hey,” Nicole returns defensively.  “I mean it.  That was very interesting.  I didn’t know about the fire that swept through the town in the twenties.  Mrs. Brizzard failed to include any of that in the little section on the town’s history,” Nicole jokes.

“Mrs. Brizzard failed to include a lot of things in that sorry excuse for a heritage section,” Waverly mutters, something dark flashing across her face.

“What was that?” Nicole asks, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“Uhh… nothing.  Nothing,” she waves Nicole off.  “So you really were paying attention, then?” she asks instead.

“Of course I was,” Nicole replies simply, as if any other answer would be out of the question.  “That bit about the beer parlor really caught my interest,” she adds with a wink.

Waverly laughs and swats her shoulder.

“Umm…  Anyway.  Sorry for rambling like that.”  Waverly ducks her head and fidgets with her empty basket.  “I can usually catch myself before I get so carried away.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Nicole asks with complete sincerity, and the blush on Waverly’s cheeks deepens and spreads.

“Most people get annoyed when I start talking about stuff like that,” Waverly mumbles, her eyes still downcast. 

“Well, I think we’ve already established…”  Nicole reaches out and touches her on the shoulder.  “I’m not most people, Waverly Earp.”

That draws out a huffed laugh and Nicole’s heart trips and stutters in her chest.

“I love to learn new things, Wave,” Nicole continues, squeezing her shoulder gently.  “You can give me a rambling history lesson any time you feel like it.  As long as it’s alright for me to interrupt with questions sometimes,” she grins.

Waverly rolls her eyes again, but she does peek up at Nicole and nods.

“I might hold you to that, Officer,” she says, smiling shyly.

“I hope you do.”  Nicole winks and squeezes her shoulder one last time before dropping her hand back to her lap.

Another group of people enters the bar, and the two of them realize for the first time that there’s quite a bit of chatter around them now.  Waverly chews on her lip as she surveys the room, but she doesn’t get a chance to say anything about it.

“You about done with your lunch, Haught?”  Nicole’s radio crackles to life on her shoulder.  Nicole pulls a face at Waverly and it makes her giggle.

“Yes, Ruthie.  Just finishing up now.”  She shrugs apologetically at Waverly, who responds with a shrug and a smile of her own.

“Good.  ‘Cause I just got a call about a cow out on Hickory Ridge Road.  Probably belongs to old man Weller.”

Nicole slaps her palm to her forehead and Waverly giggles again.

“I bet you wouldn’t have gotten those kinds of calls in Calgary.”

“You’d be surprised,” Nicole chuckles.  “One time when I was in high school, half of the school was late when traffic was backed up because a horse was trotting right down the middle of one of the main streets.”

“I call bullshit,” Waverly scoffs, swatting at Nicole’s arm again.

“I shit you not, Wave.  It had gotten out of one of the city’s stables.  It was police horse.  Just out for an early morning stroll.”

They both laugh until Ruthie’s voice comes through again.

“Did you copy Haught?” she asks impatiently.

Waverly runs one of her index fingers over her other one in a shame, shame, shame motion.  Nicole flips her off and she gasps dramatically.

“Yes, Ruthie.  Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll let you know when I’m 10-8 and en route.”

“10-4 Haught.  And tell Waverly I said hello.”

Nicole is pretty sure there was something that sounded an awful lot like cackling at the very end, just before the radio cut out.  Her face is turning pink again, but she feels a little bit better when she sees that Waverly is also gaping at her radio. 

“Uhhh…  Ruthie says hello?” she says innocently and Waverly snorts.

They both linger and stall, Waverly tracing patterns on the bar again while Nicole spins her ring, neither of them wanting their time together to end.  Gus comes bustling out of the kitchen, baskets of food balanced up both of her arms, and that seems to spur Waverly into action.

“Oooh…  I guess I’d better be…” she gestures at the room with her hand.

“Yeah…  Yeah, I’d best be going, too.  Apparently old man Weller’s cow has my name on it.”

“Buttercup.”

Nicole blinks several times.  “…What?”

“Buttercup.  Floyd Weller’s cow’s name is Buttercup.”

“Okay, now I’m the one that’s calling bullshit,” Nicole laughs.  “You’re just messing with me.”

“I’m really not,” Waverly deadpans with a straight face.  “His granddaughter named it when she was little, and it stuck.”

“Uhhh…  Okay.  Well.  I guess I’ve got a date with Buttercup, then.”

Nicole slides from her stool and reaches for her wallet.  Waverly hops down next to her, laying a hand on Nicole’s forearm.

“Don’t.  It’s on me today.”

“No, Waverly,” Nicole protests.  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask,” she responds.  “I’m telling you.”  Nicole opens her mouth, but Waverly doesn’t let her say anything.  “I asked you to join today me, Officer.  I’m just glad you came.”  She squeezes Nicole’s arm before letting her hand fall back to her side.  “Thank you, Nicole.”

“It was my pleasure, Waverly Earp,” Nicole says, flashing her dimples before reaching for her Stetson on the corner of the counter.  “And, uh…  Now that you have my number, you can… you know… text me any time you want.”  She fiddles with the hat in her hands, turning it in circles.  “Even if it’s just to tell me a random landmark fact.”  She dips her head and smiles up at Waverly through her lashes.

“I…  um.  I…” Waverly tries to answer but she seems to be having trouble catching her breath.  She sways back and forth from one foot to the other a couple of times and tries again.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”  She stares at Nicole for a few more moments and the bashful smile she’s trying to fight adds five years to Nicole’s life.  “Now run along, Officer,” she says, shooing Nicole toward the door.  “Buttercup is waiting for you,” she says with a giggle.

Nicole laughs, carefully placing her Stetson on her head and tipping it as she goes.  “You have a good day now, Miss Earp.”  She almost makes it to the door when she hears Gus’s voice carrying over the crowd that had slowly formed while she and Waverly were in their own little world.

“Don’t be a stranger ‘round here, Officer Haught!” she calls out, waving from one of the tables near the jukebox.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” Nicole replies, tipping her hat again.

Gus glances over at Waverly where she’s clearing away their empty baskets from the bar and collecting her order pad, and then back to Nicole.  “You’d better,” she says with a pointed look.

Nicole briefly wonders if this is what it’s like to stare down the barrel of a gun.

“Y-yes, ma’am…” she stutters and then turns to scurry out the door.

Glancing back over her shoulder for one last look at Waverly just as she’s opening the door, she ends up running right into… a cowboy?  An honest to god cowboy.  He’s dressed in old-fashioned britches and a dark blue thermal shirt with more buttons undone than hers.  A grey woolen vest hangs open over the shirt and Nicole definitely does not miss the western style gun belt it drapes over, nor the twin pistols he wears on his hips. 

She looks up, intent on apologizing, but the words stall in her throat.  He’s wearing a hat that looks like it belonged to an old-west lawman, but more importantly, it looks like he’s got a dead squirrel on his face.  The mustache is long and full and bushy and accented by an equally impressive patch of hair just below his lip.  Nicole has never seen anything like it in person, and does her best not to laugh.

“Well, now…”   His voice is raspy and thick with a heavy southern drawl even more prominent than her own.  “My apologies, ma’am,” he says as he looks her up and down.

“Uhh…  It was my fault, sir,” Nicole answers, not sure how else to respond. 

“Sir, indeed,” he laughs.  “You have a good day now, Miss,” he says, tipping his hat at her with a twinkle in his eye.

“You, too,” she replies awkwardly, mirroring his gesture.

He carries on into the bar, sauntering as he goes.  She remains rooted in the doorway for a moment, still holding it open, before finally shaking her head to snap out of it and crossing the street to her squad car.

“I’m 10-8, Ruthie,” she says, using the radio in her center console.  “Mark me en route to Hickory Ridge Road.”

“10-4 Haught.  Have fun.”

“…Thanks.”

Nicole takes a minute to gather herself before pulling out onto the road.  She stares at the steering wheel in front of her while her cruiser idles, and allows a movie to flicker through her mind of everything that just happened.

After nearly destroying any chance she had at having Waverly Earp in her life, by some miracle, she’d walked out of the bar with the privilege of calling her a friend.  Waverly hadn’t really opened up to her, carefully steering the conversation to make it all about Nicole, but she hadn’t minded.  She meant what she’d said.  Waverly could ask her anything she liked.  She would tell her anything she wanted to know.  And if the conversations had to stay a bit one-sided like that for now until Waverly could trust her enough to talk about herself?  Well, Nicole didn’t mind that either.  She’d do whatever it took to make Waverly feel comfortable with her.

Friends.

It’s more than you ever thought you’d be getting, Hawk.

Nicole smiles at the thought.

Friends with Waverly Earp.

She can definitely live with that.

A car door slams somewhere nearby and pulls Nicole out of her thoughts.  She can’t dwell on this all day.  She’s got a cow to wrangle.  Just another day in the small town life. 

But she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Let’s go, Hawk.  Buttercup awaits.