Chapter Text
Waverly was gettin' too old for this shit.
Well, she was only 27, but workin' at this shitty bar was pressin' on her spirit and makin’ her think of tired clichés like “I’m gettin' too old for this shit.”
Truth is, she can’t remember a time when she felt young. Grew up right quick when her mama left, and her daddy died. She actually loved her mama, so that one had smarted somethin' sorry but she ain’t mind one bit bout her daddy. He went and died on the eve of her 5th birthday. She ain't say it out-loud—cos even then she knew not ta—but him dyin' was one of the better gifts she'd gotten.
Ward dyin' made life easier for his daughters in many ways; they ain't have to tiptoe 'round the homestead no more or endure his drinking and the anger that came with it. But they sure did miss his hands on the farm.
Waverly dropped outta school at 11 to help her struggling sisters work the land. Wynonna was none too pleased; in fact, she was downright pissed, but Waverly had simply shrugged and said it was done, so not to get all up in a twist about it.
"You were my age when you dropped out. And anyway, they ain’t teaching me nothin’ I ain’t already know.”
Wynonna knew her little sister weren’t just bein’ cocky, that was more her speed after all. No, her sister’d been smarter than her teachers for a few years already by that point. Might’ve been a bit of a statement on the quality of Purgatory’s teaching faculty, but Wy knew that it woulda happened eventually, even if they lived somewhere that wasn’t a backwater shithole. Wynonna probably (definitely) coulda used a few more years of schoolin', but Waverly'd be just fine. She was different. Wynonna was mouthy, Willa was cunning, and Waverly was quick as all heck.
And together the three of ‘em could just about keep a farm afloat.
Wynonna had been reluctant to bring her baby sister into their hard days, but she could admit they needed her help to get their heads above water. So she put Waverly to work.
Years later, whenever Wynonna drank gin, this very memory made her weep even as Waverly would remind her it was her own damn decision to drop out. Waverly has since banned gin at the Homestead.
Long days, the three girls would toil under the sun, but they kept on. And at least with daddy gone, they ain’t have to bother with church no more.
They started their own traditions, mostly things they saw people doin' on TV; a bird on Thanksgiving (they ain't have no turkeys so they just cooked up a coupla chooks that had stop layin') and ham on Christmas (Willa would kill the pig herself; the younger two not wantin' to see it done. Waverly would eventually swear off meat altogether after gettin' to caring for their humble stock).
With Waves in charge of the books, they got better at managing the property. Sold a few acres to the neighbors for some pocket change. Nothin' crazy, truthfully, it helped 'em more to release the land's upkeep.
Weren't easy livin', but they had each other, and when one sister got sick of the other, as they were wont to do, the property was big enough to get lost in. And when even that weren't big enough, they went into town.
Waverly went to the library. Wynonna went to the rec center. And Willa went to wherever Willa went. That's where she met Bobo. He was older and a bit of a card, but he weren't half bad. Weren’t long before he was workin' alongside 'em for a place to stay.
About then was when things started slowing down. Willa popped out a few young’ns. Bobo hired a hand. Waverly still kept up the books, but suddenly she weren’t needed for the heavy lifting no more. When she started at Shorty’s, it felt like a vacation in comparison to nearly a decade on the farm.
But that feeling ain’t last long. If she closes her eyes, she reckons she can almost remember the taste.
But right about now, as she stands before two tipsy, on-the-way-to-drunk regulars, the feeling escapes her completely. Makes her miss the muck.
“Hey, Waves, settle an argument for us, will ya, honey?” Bill says.
Picture a small-town hick. That’s Bill.
“Pete’s better looking,” Waverly says instantly.
“Oh, ha ha,” Bill says dryly. Pete looks pleased as punch.
Picture a small-town hick’s friend. That’s Pete.
But Waverly pulls a pleasant smile onto her face as Bill continues. “Now, darlin', I’m tryna tell Pete here that ol’ Wyatt Earp’s middle name was Hank.”
Her eye twitches at his use of a pet name once more.
Pete shakes his head. “No, no, it was Errol.”
Bill laughs. “Wyatt Errol Earp? Can’t you hear how stupid that sounds?”
“Watch who ya callin’ stupid,” Pete grumbles.
Now this might’ve made Waverly laugh once. The simplicity. The banter. But remember now, she’s 27 years old.
And anyway, they’re both wrong (a regular occurrence).
Waverly’s been around long enough to know that Pete ain’t like to be wrong. Around about the time someone points it out, he drinks quicker and quicker until he gets into a fight.
And Bill ain’t like to be wrong neither. He gets to huffin’ and puffin’ and usually leaves without givin’ Waverly a tip.
Waverly ain’t wanna break up a fight, and she certainly ain’t wanna sacrifice her shitty tip neither. So she bats her eyelashes and lies through her teeth. You see, she knows that if they’re both the right kind of wrong, there won’t be no disbalance of egos. She's seen Willa do this same thing with her niece and nephew.
She smiles. “He ain’t have a middle name. Wyatt and Earp is all there was.”
“Well, huh,” they both say. “Thanks, Waves.”
“Happy to be of service, gentlemen.”
The men return to their beers, none the wiser. Bill grins at Pete. "Looks like we're stupid together." And Pete takes that for the apology it is, raising his own glass. "To Wyatt. Earp."
Waverly’s back behind the till when a voice at the bar pipes up. “Now that was expertly handled. Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?”
Waverly scoffs. She looks up to see the new Sheriff’s deputy who arrived in town last month. Haught's her name. She only ever has one beer, and she only ever drinks alone.
“What? Deescalation is a big part of the job,” Nicole continues with a smile.
Waverly smirks. “Or maybe you should try your hand at barkeeping?”
Waverly expects a derisive chuckle or maybe an offended scoff. But the stranger just smiles brightly. “Not sure I’d look so good in a crop top.” She almost said look as good as you in a crop top but she stopped herself just in time. She’s still only new in town after all, and she isn't trying to gain a reputation.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s a requirement," Waverly replies.
The Deputy grins. She wants to say I see that but again, she holds her tongue.
Nicole finishes her final mouthful and stands. “I’ll see you around, Miss Earp.”
She tips her hat, and Waverly watches her go.
Nicole was getting too old for this shit.
She wasn’t a rookie beat cop anymore. She’d done her time, she had the scars to prove it, but this Purgatory posting, which was meant to be a nice change of pace, was really testing her. She knew she’d have to earn the trust of the community, and in a place like this, they wouldn’t make it easy on her, but she’d underestimated how many sexist pigs inhabited this small town.
And my god, were they trying her patience.
It was like high school all over again. But once was enough for being in the closet, and she wasn’t about to hide herself for the approval of the (not so) fine people of Purgatory. They’d take her as she was or not at all.
Anyway, that all sounded good and noble and empowering until she got herself a black eye for calling some toothless prick a 'mouth-breathing troglodyte.' She should’ve seen the blow coming; she’s better than that, but apparently, she’s getting slow.
And maybe a pretty girl was walking past at the time.
God dammit.
She’s holding an ice pack to her face when the pretty girl approaches.
“He got ya good,” Waverly comments.
Nicole cringes. “You saw that?”
Waverly nods. “‘fraid so.”
“Any chance it looked cool?”
Waverly’s silence says it all.
“Great,” Nic grumbles. She shifts and winces.
Waverly feels sorry for the girl. “Ain’t easy bein’ new in a town like this.”
Nic huffs. “Yeah, I’m figuring that out. Any tips?”
“Duck, next time.”
“Gee, thanks.”
This time, it’s Nic watching her go. She hopes it won’t always hurt.
Nic hops out of her vehicle to see Waverly standing on the porch, mug in hand, and staring right at her. She had driven quiet roads surrounded by rolling plains, and she was worried she'd taken a wrong turn.
“Am I at the right place?” Nic calls.
“That depends,” Waverly replies. “Where you tryna be?”
“Uh, I’m looking for a Wynonna. She’s meant to be selling a bike?”
Wynonna bursts through the front door, then, pushing past Waverly and almost causing her to drop her favorite mug. She frowns at her older sister.
Wynonna scrambles. “Shit. Nicole Haught? For the bike?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Wynonna stops in her tracks. “Oh god, you ma’amed me. Can you tell I’m pregnant?”
The middle Earp sister is unmistakably pregnant, probably in her third trimester, yet behind her, Waverly shakes her head in warning. Thankfully, Nic sees it.
“Uh, no, ma’am- Uh, Miss? Mrs?”
Waverly grimaces.
“Oh god, you think I’m shacked up too? Christ, everything’s goin’ to Hell. That's it, I ain’t selling her.” Wynonna makes to turn around.
“Yes, you are, Wy," Waverly demands. "Show her the damn bike.”
Wynonna pouts but reluctantly leads Nic to the barn.
Nic asks questions and Wynonna answers without her usual bluster, already mourning the sale of her beloved steed.
Nic takes it for a test drive, and Wynonna watches her go with longing. Waverly, still on the porch for some reason, watches with somethin’ else entirely.
Nic knew she was gonna buy it the second she saw it. Wynonna’s a good bike owner. She could tell it was looked after, loved. And the price was high but fair.
“I’ll take it,” Nic says upon her return as she swaps the helmet for her stetson.
Wynonna looks like she’s gonna burst into tears.
Nic falters, backtracks. “But if you need more time...”
Waverly looks up from her book then. See, despite the cold, she had decided to make herself comfortable on the porch (and don’t think Wynonna ain’t notice). “No! She ain’t need more time. She’ll take your money if it’s good.”
Nic isn’t offended. Finds she quite likes being tested by Waverly. “It’s good.”
“Good.” Waverly returns to the page.
Nic hands over the cash, puts the bike on the back of her truck, and heads home.
Nic needs a hobby. She’s been in Purgatory for months, and she’s got no friends and nothing to do.
Was easy back in Big City; you’d join a league, play some pretty average softball, and get drunk at a bar after.
Purgatory’s options are a bit different. She’s not even sure there are women who play softball here.
Nic knew she was being dramatic; they're lesbians, not unicorns after all, but her gaydar was way off lately.
She had recently invented a game she called “Farmer or Lesbian”. It’s hard when the fashions and aesthetics of queerness cross over so closely with small-town sensibilities. So much flannel lines the wardrobes of straight women in this town, it should be criminal. Nicole had to remember that these girls were not only heterosexual but probably a little homophobic, too. She didn't even want to think about who they voted for in the election.
Nic sighs. She was long-divorced and spending the last years of her prime in a place without a Starbucks.
And then she had a stunning realisation. Lonnie was her best friend.
Oh, that will not do.
Nicole is sitting once more at the bar, her beer only just poured. “So here’s the thing.”
Waverly looks up from the lemons she's cutting. She’d asked Gus if they could get limes, but after they’d looked at the prices online together, they decided to settle for lemons instead. They ain’t tryna get ahead of themselves now.
So far, people have been enjoying adding a wedge to their drinks at their leisure. Only a few seemed perturbed, but not enough to leave their seats. Waverly had called that a resounding success.
“You talking to me?” she asks.
Nic nods and continues. “So, I’ve been here two months.”
Waverly nods.
“And I've got no friends.”
“Pete and Bill won’t let you sit with them?”
Nic smiles. “Those two soulmates don’t need a hanger-on.”
Waverly laughs. She’s probably right about that.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee sometime?”
Waverly narrows her eyes. Doesn’t know what to make of the new Deputy, who only ever drinks alone and only ever has one.
Nicole raises her hands. “Hey, no pressure. I’m really just looking for a friend.” She smiles that charming smile, and Waverly loosens up. She ain’t really had a friend since Chrissy in fifth grade. And that friendship ain’t survive after Waverly had to keep blowin’ her off in favor of finishin’ her chores on the farm.
She’s sure she mourned it at the time, but it was so long ago, she can’t really recall. She had her sisters, had her niece and nephew. That was enough for her. Well, so she had thought. But something about Nicole’s question lit a tiny flame in her chest, and she found she wanted to keep it burnin'.
Waverly smiles. “I’d like that.”