Authors Note: tbh, I'm really running with this. Not really sure where I'm going with it... but I hope you're enjoying it. I'm trying to keep it short so I'll actually finish it in a reasonable time frame.
if you're wondering if I plan on finishing my other stories, I am. Starting to think about how to conclude Chemistry. Keep you posted!
He finds out that's she's missing from the rookie, 20 and still learning. He knows that he's not supposed to have favorites but something about Nicole makes him think of his daughter. The daughter he longs to bond with but doesn't know how, so instead he plays the father figure to the next best. So when he finds out, the urge to jump in his cruiser to look for her bubbles to the surface.
"Details. Now".
"We don't have anything Sheriff. Just that Mercedes Gardener was seen in her house."
"Grab deputy Mayor and check the place out."
Nedley makes a break to the BBD office after the rookie leaves. Picking the lock in the desk drawer looking for the case files, he quickly scans for the one labeled "The Widows". Finding it, he swipes the contents and walks briskly to his car. Double checking for his weapons, he starts the car up and guns it.
Her hand squeezes a little harder as the visions keep coming. She can feel the cracks in her heart mend a tiny bit every time Nicole looks at Waverly. She can't help but put herself in Waverly's place, taking over her body. She wishes it were real, wishes she had fallen in love with Nicole instead of Sheriff Clootie.
The harder she grips, the more clear the visions get. Her grip gets more forceful, hoping to immerse herself in the love Nicole offers so freely.
She can't figure out why her throat is burning. It's not a sensation she's familiar with; nothing like a cold or strep. It's more like a pressure, a burning, that's starting from the inside. She ignores it, thinks nothing of it. Not when Wesley is laying on her chest napping, not when Waverly is snuggled to her side, her breath tickling her neck. She ignores the pain in favor of sinking deeper into the mattress, of running a hand gently through Wesley's soft curls, of gently drawing patterns on Waverly's lower back underneath her shirt.
