I own nothing. This story This story is written by paradoxicalconverse from /works/16402517

"Waverly Earp, skipping class? Now that's not something I ever thought I'd see."

It's the voice that makes Waverly's ears burn red and a blush to rise in her cheeks, the voice that makes her ball her hands into fists. "I'm not skipping," she mutters. The notebook in her lap nearly slips off as the old bench rickets beneath her, unsteady. Nicole Haught adjusts as she kicks her foot over the backrest and sits herself down, all black skinny jeans and stark red hair colluded.

It's cool enough outside that she's in a leather jacket that reeks of cigarettes and bad decisions, late nights and too much booze. Infuriatingly, it draws Waverly in enough to make her clench her teeth in retaliation of her own hatred for the girl who's currently fishing a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

"Weird. Could've sworn we had third period art history together, which I am ditching right now," Nicole says with a laugh. "Got a light?"

Waverly looks up, almost offended, as Nicole offers the butt end of a cigarette towards her. "No. Get that thing out of my face. And while you're at it, get the hell away from me."

"Hey now," Nicole scoffs playfully as she fishes a lighter out of her pocket and examines Waverly for a moment before returning both back to her leather jacket and folding her arms on her knees. "I'm just trying to make friends here. You're the one being rude."

"That's bullshit."

"This is all bullshit, sweetheart. And I know you have a math test next period, so I assume you're out here studying instead of listening to Del Rey drone on about how art nowadays shouldn't be taken seriously."

"Hmm." Waverly tries to subtly shuffle one of her folders over her math review. "Didn't realize you actually listened to his lectures."

Nicole shrugs and readjusts her jacket so the lapels flap up against the back of her head. If she notices she doesn't seem to care. "He's a jackass with shit morals but he's got an interesting take on things. Infuriating, but interesting."

"I could say the same about you," Waverly snipes.

"You probably could." Nicole's voice goes cold and clipped as she stands from the bench and brushes herself off. "But I'd have a lot of trouble taking it to heart, because you don't know a single thing about me and don't seem to care to before you go off deciding how you're going to feel about people."

Something in Waverly's chest sinks. "You have a good rest of your day, Waverly," Nicole says. She fishes an unlit cigarette out of her pocket and slips it between her teeth while her hands fumble for the lighter and pulls in with her lungs. Smoke seeps out from between her lips and Waverly's stomach flips at the sight of it. "Good luck on your math test." She ducks her head and leaves.

The rocks that kick up as her truck turns on blow holes through Waverly's heart.

Against her better judgement, Waverly ditches third period the next day and finds herself on the same bench against the outskirts of town, fingers twining nervously against her lap as she waits. Maybe Nicole won't show up, she thinks, and it would probably be fair. It was a dick move, to say that. Maybe it was wishful thinking to assume she'd show back up for third period, and maybe it was—

"Waverly?"

Oh, god, this was an awful plan. Her heart sinks so far that it embeds itself in the soil below and causes an earthquake beneath her feet. "Nicole," she squeaks.

A single combat boot kicks over the back of the bench followed by another and Nicole Haught swings herself to sit on the edge of the backrest. "Didn't think I'd find you here again," she muffles. An unlit cigarette dangles between her lips and the lapels of her jacket are still upturned. "Big fan of ditching now?"

Waverly blinks and tries not to think about why she struggles to tear her eyes from Nicole's legs. She couldn't look more punk rock if she tried. The cigarette finds its way between her fingers instead of her lips and she holds it as she regards Waverly.

"No," Waverly says. She shifts, pulls her legs up to cross on the bench. Fidgets a bit more. "I wanted to—you were right. It was a dick move to say that about you when I don't really know you all that well."

"So you're here to…?" The cigarette dangles precariously in her fingers, still unlit.

"To say that you were right." Waverly's thumbs wrestle in her lap for a moment as she eyes her shoes and refuses to make eye contact with Nicole. "And I was a dick about it."

Nicole laughs. "Yeah, there's a word for that. Starts with an A."

"Asshole."

"God," Nicole laughs again and returns the cigarette to her lips before her hands dig in her pockets for her lighter again. "You really are, aren't you?" There's no bite to Nicole's words, which takes Waverly back. "I kinda like you, you know? You're good company."

Waverly blinks. "What?"

"I mean, really." Nicole shrugs and the lapels of her jacket scrape up against her ears, tousle red hair. "I know you're not really my biggest fan."

"You got my sister addicted to drinking and smoking."

"Are you really going to insult me while I'm trying to compliment you? God damn, you Earps are fiery." She shakes her head and cups her fingers around the butt of her cigarette before throwing a glance at Waverly and pocketing her light. The unlit cigarette follows a moment later. "If you would let me finish my damn thought, it's that you have a personality and you stand by it. Like, you're an asshole, but at least you're proud of it."

Waverly scoffs. "You know, I regret coming here, and more than anything I regret talking to you. Enjoy smoking alone."

"Were you planning on joining me originally?"

"No." Waverly huffs as she grabs her backpack and throws it over her shoulder before stomping away.

The unlit cigarette burns a hole through Nicole's jacket and disintegrates when it hits the ground.

"I'm telling you." Chrissy Nedley shakes her head and pulls on her shirt. "Neither you nor Nicole were in art two periods in a row and I know you're not sick. Nicole isn't good news. Like, yeah, okay, she's super fucking hot and all that, but stay away from her."

Waverly blinks as her head snaps to attention from where her fingers had been trying to wrap around her shoelaces for ten minutes while her mind wraps around upturned lapels of a leather jacket. "What did you say?"

Chrissy tsks and shakes her head then slams her gym locker closed. "I said that Haught was bad news."

"Before that." Her fingers still against her laces. Maybe they're shaking, but only a little.

"I said you skipped class and you weren't sick."

"After that." She gives up on her shoelaces and shoves her gym clothes into the locker before swinging her backpack over her shoulder. "You think she's hot?"

Chrissy snorts and shoves the locker room door open with her shoulder. "You don't? I'm straight, not blind. And anyway, if you would let me get to my point, I think we should stick together on Saturday."

Waverly blinks and tries to rack her brain for whatever the hell Chrissy's talking about. "Saturday?"

Chrissy shoots her a look that might be confusion, or maybe it's a question that Waverly can't decipher, but she decides not to think too hard about it. "Saturday? Big party Haught is throwing after the game? C'mon, Waves, we've talked about it for weeks."

The party. Right. Waverly shakes her head in an effort to dislodge the bob of red hair she can't take her mind from.

Maybe her eyeliner is a little heavier than usual and maybe her dress is a little tighter than she would've liked, and maybe it has to do with the fact that it's Nicole Haught's house that she's going to, or maybe it doesn't.

"You look…fancy." Wynonna's eyebrows hit the ceiling from the couch, a bottle of jack hugged against her chest and feet kicked up on the headrest. An old western movie winds itself out on VHS on the tv.

"I'm going out," Waverly says.

Wynonna nods astutely and kisses the bottle of whiskey for a moment. "I can see. Tell Haught I say hi and that her next pack of cigs is on me."

Waverly rolls her eyes and adjusts her dress in the hallway mirror. "I won't be doing that but thanks for the suggestion. Besides, I'm not even going there to see her. I'm going with my friends and I'm going to have a good time." She neglects to mention to part where her heart picks up at the thought of seeing Nicole's house, how it drops through the bottom of her stomach to think about seeing the upturned lapels of a leather jacket against red hair, an unlit cigarette dangling precariously between white teeth so smooth she's sure they could rip her in half.

"Steal me a bottle of whiskey!" Wynonna calls as she slams the door behind her.

Somewhere in between showing up to a rager and having a vodka cran that she hasn't even tasted yet shoved into her hands, Waverly manages to lose Chrissy. Or maybe it's the other way around, but in the end it's Waverly alone up against the banister of a staircase surrounded by drunk guys destined for frats should they progress to a surely illustrious college career.

"Oh, balls," she mutters as she peels herself from the bannister and pushes her way downstairs, shoulder shoving the nearest door open that she can find. "Chrissy, where in the hell—oh."

Her throat holds her breath hostage and her feet stop all together as she pushes the door open to the garage. The skinny jeans and combat boots aren't anything new but Nicole Haught stands in the middle of the garage with her shirt tucked into her back pocket like a flag and a black sports bra on and maybe Waverly forgets how to breathe, if only for a moment.

The hint of a messy red bun pokes out from underneath a welder's mask that she pushes over the back of her head and frowns when she sees Waverly, torch dying in her hand. "I thought this was…the bathroom," Waverly says after a moment of awkward silence. She shuffles her feet and flexes her hands over the red solo cup she's carrying.

A bronze amalgam of what Waverly assumes will be a statue eventually sits in front of Nicole, chest height and looming with the promise of unfinished work.

She pretends not to notice the cigarette tucked behind Nicole's ear, because that would also force her to acknowledge how damn good she looks, greasy ponytail and defined biceps and abs, and she's not quite ready to make that distinction.

Nicole blinks for another second and the torch in her hand falls by her side as she stares Waverly down for a second. The hint of a smile pushes against her lips before she clears her throat and averts her eyes "Well," she says after a moment. "It's not."

Her hand moves to drop her helmet back over her face in a form of a dismissal so Waverly shuts the door and steps in closer. "I didn't know you could weld," she breathes after a moment." She can hear Nicole sigh from under the helmet as she pushes it back up. "Is that why you always ditch third, because you don't want to hear Del Rey trash art nowadays? Trash your work? I just thought it was because you were a rebel."

Nicole's eye roll is practically audible. "Well, add that to the list of things that you didn't care enough to find out about me before you went and made assumptions. Bathroom is upstairs, first door on the left."

It's another dismissal, Waverly knows, but she can't make her feet move further away and convinces herself that it has to do with the intrigue of an unfinished art piece and not the drops of sweat that bead down Nicole's collarbones and disappear against a sweat-slicked chest. "Aren't you going to run your own party?"

Nicole snorts and palms the torch again for a second as if debating whether or not she should answer the question or go back to welding. "I saw Rosita Bustillos take a shot out of Mercedes Gardner's stomach an hour ago on the kitchen counter. Pretty sure they don't need me to run anything."

Her hand raises the torch as in answer so Waverly surges ahead again. "So you're just going to hide away in here instead of out there?"

"Are you really trying to tell me what to do in my own house?"

Waverly blinks. The drink in her hands, still untouched, starts to get slippery between her palms.

Nicole sighs and rolls her eyes simultaneously. "Well if you're not going to leave could you at least make yourself useful and hand me that wrench behind you?"

So she does.

"What were you doing in Haught's garage?"

Waverly spins as she shuts the door behind her, eyes wide in surprise to find Chrissy and a small horde of cheerleaders staring her down. Her fingers crush against her cup. "Oh, I was…looking for more beer. You know."

Maybe the redness in her face is due to the alcohol, so she ignores the fact that she has yet to take a single sip.

"Hey."

Nicole glances up from her book and frowns before dogearing it and shoving it into and unkempt backpack. The lack of a cigarette tucked behind her ear is slightly offsetting. "Hi?"

Waverly breathes out through her nose and nods her head, shuffles on her feet for a second, readjusts her hand over her backpack straps. It's awkward to say the least.

"Can I…" Nicole raises her eyebrows for a second. She's got her feet kicked up on a desk before class starts and maybe her leather jacket has been washed because it doesn't smell quite so strongly of cigarettes anymore, but either way she's doing something to Waverly's stomach that she doesn't want to put her finger on. "Can I help you?"

Waverly blinks. "No, no, I just, you know…" Her voice trails off. "Just here to say hi."

The missing cigarette is really throwing her off.

"I see. So we're friends now?"

Whatever feeling Nicole's created in Waverly's stomach seeps up and crushes her heart, squeezes the breath out of her lungs. "Yeah, I—I mean, I saw your artwork, at the party. We hung out for a bit. I handed you, uh." She scratches the back of her head. "I handed you a wrench."

Nicole looks like she wants to snort. Something unnamed passes over her eyes for a moment as she leans back further in her chair and sucks in a deep breath. "I even said thank you. We make a great team."

The pressure in her lungs bursts and she rushes out an, "Asshole," before turning on her heel and wondering why her eyes hurt so damn much.

"Waves, hey, Waves, wait up!"

Waverly rolls her eyes and tucks her chin into her shoulder but makes no effort to speed up. A warm hand grabs her arm and she wants to sink into it, sink into the feeling. Instead she frowns and stops walking, turning to give Nicole the angriest look she can.

It doesn't help that Nicole tries to hide a smile. "I was trying to find you," Nicole breathes after a second. The hand on Waverly's shoulder burns her bones.

"Well. You found me." Waverly snaps.

"I did," Nicole nods. She takes a gulp and takes her hand from Waverly shoulder, shuffling it against her other. "Listen, I wanted to say that I—" She clears her throat and runs her fingers through her hair for a moment. "I still need—I mean, it wouldn't hurt to have someone around to hand me wrenches all the time."

Waverly blinks and frowns harder. Maybe it has a little less meaning, though. "So you're here to…"

Nicole rolls her eyes and throws a smile Waverly's way that makes her weak in the knees. "Nice try. I'll see you after school, then? Pick you up at the Homestead and take you to mine?"

The blood rushing through Waverly's ears is enough of an answer.

"Whoa there tiger, slow down," Wynonna yells from the kitchen. She appears a moment later with an excuse of a sandwich in hand and a variety of condiments dripping down her shirt. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"

"Homework," Waverly says. Her fingers knead into the straps of her backpack. "And wash your shirt, you got mustard all down the front of it."

"Hmm." Wynonna glances down and frowns. "Damn it. Well, have a good homework date, I'll see you around tonight, babygirl."

Of fucking course Nicole picks her up on a motorcycle.

"Holy shit," Waverly laughs.

"Again, with the vulgar language." Nicole tsks and she pulls her helmet off her head and shakes her hair out. The sight does wonders to Waverly's stomach. "Waverly Earp is a bit more of a bad girl than I thought." She throws a grin Waverly's way and nods her chin to the helmet and seat behind her. "Safety first."

The helmet is big and clunky over her face and it smells like vanilla dipped donuts.

"You scared?" Nicole asks as the motorcycle kicks to life. She guides Waverly's hands around her stomach.

Terrified. "Oh, whatever."

It scares her more that the thrill of it is the best feeling she's ever had.

Nicole's abs are surprisingly firm beneath her hands (though she figures it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise after seeing her shirtless from welding) and her head fits perfectly into the crook between Nicole's shoulder blades, and the realization hits her so quickly she has no time to defend herself from it, but rather embraces it head on.

She has feelings for Nicole Haught.

Nicole Haught, who smokes too much and drinks her water with whiskey, who skips third period because she's sensitive, who welds shirtless when throwing parties at her own house.

Nicole Haught, who made her sister, the only god damn person in this world who cares about her, into an alcoholic with a nicotine addiction to follow.

Something bad lurches in her stomach at the thought of Wynonna so she forces it off and tries to think about the smell of vanilla dipped donuts.

Wynonna's passed out on the couch when she gets home, the bottle of jack now empty and tucked into her arm and Waverly's stomach falls through her feet.

Waverly wants to forget it; she wants to sink into the sight of Nicole shirtless and sweaty welding various pieces of scrap metal together into something that doesn't look anything more like a sculpture than it did the last few times Waverly has seen it. She's beginning to think that it might be Nicole's intention; throw shit together and see what it makes without any process behind it. It would be rather Nicole-esque, really. But the bottle of jack, empty and tucked into the crook of her sister's arm, couldn't linger in her mind more like a bruise if she'd been clocked over the head with it.

"Waves?" Nicole pulls off her mask and tosses her gloves to the side. She's dropped the callous indifference she normally holds for Waverly as she worries her lower lip between her bottom teeth and and regards her.

An unlit cigarette is tucked behind her ear.

Waverly hmphs and crosses her arms over her chest, looking away.

"Waves?" Nicole tries again. "You've been mopey since you got here."

"I'm fine," Waverly mutters. She scrunches her nose.

Nicole scoffs. "Yeah, clearly."

"Look, just forget about it, okay?"

"Jesus, did you get a stick up your ass this morning?" Nicole slaps the wrench she's holding down onto the table and turns to face Waverly. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, so now we're friends?" Waverly snaps back. She pushes herself from the beanbag and marches up to Nicole.

"I'm not asking you to be here. You want to leave, then leave."

She stares Nicole down for an unholy amount of time, eyes glinting with a fire Nicole's not entirely unsure she hates.

She's not sure who grabs who or who makes the first move, but suddenly her arms are around Waverly's hips and she's wrapping her legs around Nicole's waist and kisses bruises into Nicole's lips. Fingers twine through Nicole's hair and yank, hard, to pull her head back.

Teeth sink into the base of Nicole's neck and a primal groan flits from between her lips as her feet carry her backwards. Her back connects with the cool metal of the table where all her tools sit, tools that sound like gunshots as Waverly's using her feet to shove them to the floor.

And maybe Nicole would feel bad for Waverly, for setting her back down on a surface almost as cold as her heart, as Waverly arches against it to escape the chill, but that's really, really , not what's going through her mind as hands claw at any available skin they can find between the two. Somewhere in the mess Waverly's delved herself of her shirt and her pants are dangerously close to dropping from her hips.

Nicole takes a moment to stand back and regard Waverly beneath her, spread out on a metal work table in her garage with flushed cheeks and swollen lips and eyes blown wide with something she can't classify as anything more than pure, unfiltered lust.

She wants to take a moment to capture the snapshot of it all; but Waverly's not a patient person, god, not at all, and her ankles tug on Nicole's hips to force her forwards onto the table above her. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," Waverly hisses. Her fingers dig into Nicole's shoulders to pull her down to her elbows above her. And maybe Nicole would retort, but their mouths are together and Waverly's doing something with her tongue that makes Nicole see stars behind her eyelids.

Their hips slot together and grind and it's desperate as Nicole's teeth scrape against the side of Waverly's lips before traveling down and latch onto the apex of Waverly's jaw. Her hands snake their way under Waverly's bra and rolls hardened nipples between her fingers and Waverly arches up, up into her, desperate.

Her hips roll up against Nicole's for a second, desperate for friction, and she grunts in frustration when they don't find what they're looking for. "Well?" She snarls. Her fingernails drag down Nicole's back; the striations are clean and will no doubt last for at least a week. Thank god. "Are you going to fuck me or not?"

Nicole's lips pop from the hickey she'd been sucking into Waverly's jaw and she pinches a nipple in return, revels in the spasm Waverly's hips have and the way her eyes roll into the back of her head. "God, you're impatient."

This isn't love, Nicole knows. This is a dumb fuck, this doesn't mean anything, this is a transfer of feelings and anger and hatred and something unnamed on the tip of her tongue that she chokes on when she tries to swallow down, but it's enough of whatever it is right now.

It's a bitch to convince herself of that, anyway.

"Fuck you," Waverly snaps. Her hand wraps around the wrist teasing with her nipple and squeezes hard enough that there damn well may be bruises encircling the base of her hand the next morning and push it down until they find the hemline of Waverly's jeans.

Nicole damn well does not need to be told twice.

Experienced hands pop the button and Waverly's hips wriggle to help slide them off until they dangle on her knees. Waverly's soaked, even through boyshorts, which, fuck , frankly, when Nicole feels them.

"Mouth," Waverly begs, and her hands work to push Nicole's head down to where she wants it.

"Fuck you," Nicole snarls, and dips her head back down to the hickey in an attempt to finish what she'd started. Her other hand snakes under the hemline of the boyshorts and Waverly's neck arches as she bows her head back in ecstasy.

"Fuck, yes, Nic, so good—"

"God," Nicole snaps. "The only time you'll be nice to me is when I'm fucking you? Is that it?"

Either Waverly hears her or she doesn't but she moans and doesn't answer the question.

Nicole slides in two fingers without hesitation and Waverly's jaw goes slack.

This isn't love, Nicole knows. Waverly's bowed under her with her eyes shut in elation and hips arching as they crave more, and it's not love. But it's something as Nicole curls her fingers inside Waverly, who lets out a gasp that burrows itself somewhere into the far corner of her mind.

She shifts the weight to her left elbow over Waverly to thrust harder with her hand, gets her hips involved to push and Waverly whole body clenches, like someone wound her in string and pulled her taught. "Nic," she gasps, fingers scraping haphazardly against Nicole's back in a desperate attempt to ground herself. "I'm going—to come, I—"

"Come for me," she says and Waverly has enough time to open her eyes and for anger to flash through them at the thought of giving her orgasm over but then the tip of Nicole's finger brushes over the spot inside Waverly that makes her want to snap in half and the last thought in her mind is coming for Nicole as heat spirals from between her legs and curls her toes.

Her back falls flat against the table, no longer cold with the heat of a body pressed up against it, and she pants as her legs quiver with the aftershock of an orgasm. "Give me a minute."

"Huh." Nicole gets her knees from under her and rises up to straddle waverly's hips, grinds down against her. "Guess cheerleading isn't as taxing as you'd think. Not that good of stamina, Earp."

Waverly blinks, breathes once, then bares her teeth in a snarl as her hands wrap Nicole's hips and twist her onto the table. "Stamina enough for you?"

"Pitiful," Nicole replies as she kicks off her boots and unbuttons her jeans on her own. She doesn't need Waverly, really, because this isn't love. Her hips drag to the end of the table and Waverly slips off to stand before her. "On your knees."

She expects Waverly to retaliate or snark something in reply, but instead she does just that. Her eyes flash and she sinks to her knees, fingers palming into the burning skin of Nicole's thigh as she waits. "So submissive," Nicole purrs, and earns a nip to her inner thigh for her lip.

Waverly waits another moment as if for another direction, so Nicole snakes her fingers through Waverly's hair and pulls her face forward at the same time her hips grind down. She hesitates, if only for a moment, until something in her clicks as she leans in, lets her head be controlled by the callused hands wrapped around her hair, and sucks Nicole's clit in between her teeth.

The grunt that slips between her lips is a bit too late to disguise.

There will be fingerprint bruises that cover her thighs tomorrow morning, a pink mark where Waverly's teeth had sunk into her inner thigh, and none of it will compare to the hole that burns its way through her heart, because this isn't love, no matter how badly she wants it to be.

She comes with her thighs clenching over Waverly's head and her hands fisting into Waverly's hair, and over anything else, this isn't love.

Somewhere between kissing her come from Waverly's lips and throwing snarky remarks at each other, they've migrated to the couch on the other end of the garage, clothes strewn across the floor with reckless abandon and legs entwined. Nicole wants to stay awake to revel in it, to sink into the fact that Waverly fucking Earp is sleeping against her chest, but her own eyes close before she can, and maybe Waverly fucking Earp is sleeping against her chest, but it would be fair to say that Nicole fucking Haught was sleeping under Waverly Earp, too.

An elbow to the face greets Nicole sometime well before the day has begun. "Shit," Waverly grumbles as she tries to roll her body from the couch. "Fuck, sorry—"

"Good morning," Nicole slurs. Her body screams for the warmth that Waverly provided.

Waverly, who's now hastily pulling on her jeans and trying to run her fingers through her hair in a desperate attempt to un-fuck herself. She pauses and turns to Nicole for a moment. "You snore," is all she says.

"Bench at third?" Nicole asks. She blinks to try to clear the fog from her mind, but it's a fruitless act at best.

Waverly scoffs, and it's the last she sees of her that morning.

"Hey!"

Waverly flinches and ducks her head into her chin in an attempt to disguise herself with the lockers she's next to.

"Hey!" Chrissy shouts again from down the hallway. "You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, Waves," she continues as she catches pace and throws a hand over Waverly's shoulder to keep her from slouching away. "First, you miss practice and then Wynonna says you're out with Haught when I ask where you are, and jesus, Waves, have you taken a shower in the past year? Didn't you wear that yesterday?"

Waverly makes a face similar to an angry puppy.

"And third—" Her eyes drift down to the hickey Nicole had sucked into Waverly's neck. "Oh, no. Fucking. Way."

"It's not what it looks like," Waverly says as her hands slaps up to her jaw to cover it.

"Really? Because it looks like you skipped practice to fuck Haught."

Waverly frowns. "Okay, yeah, it's a little bit what it looks like."

Chrissy squeals and drags Waverly into the nearest bathroom that she can, immediately digging into her bag and pulling out some makeup wipes and concealer. "Tell me everything," she says as she tips Waverly's head to the side and gets to work covering the hicket. "Was it good?"

Waverly harrumphs.

"Oh, it was," Chrissy laughs.

And maybe it was, Waverly supposes, but it doesn't matter, because it wasn't love.

An unlit cigarette sits between Nicole's teeth as time wastes by on the bench during third period. Waverly's not coming. The cigarette bounces against the bench as Nicole spits it from her lips and leaves.

Waverly slams the door uncharacteristically hard when she gets home that night; the makeup on her jaw had been scrubbed off for a reason she can't put word to and sits a heavy purple on her neck.

"Hey Wynonna, I—" Her hearts thuds against her ribcage and falls to a halt as she steps in the kitchen and Nicole's there, carrying a glass of pale whiskey on her way out to where Wynonna sits on the couch. "Oh, jesus." She rolls her eyes and changes track, bounds her way up the staircase and blindly feels the way to her room.

Nicole's already up there with her, eyes wide and pleading as she stands in the door frame and watches as Waverly storms around her room. "Waverly," she says.

"We can talk after you're done getting my sister drunk again," Waverly snarls.

"Waverly, you need to understand something," Nicole tries again.

Waverly whirls on her feet. Her eyes are dangerous. "Saw all I needed to see, Haught. I tell you that you got my sister addicted to drinking and smoking and I come home and you're refilling her fucking glass of whiskey, you're—"

"It's water!" Nicole shrieks.

Waverly freezes. "What?"

"It's water." Nicole's voice drops back down to a whisper and she fists her fingers through her hair. "Jesus, Waves, I—" She shakes her head. "You really don't know, do you?"

Waverly stares at her and tries to swallow down the lump in her throat.

"It's water," she says one more time. "Every time she wants more I say I'll refill for her, but I just add water, and she doesn't notice. It's water, it's always been water. I didn't—I didn't get her addicted to drinking. I was the one who always told her not to, I kept her from going too hard. It was never me who did that."

It's water and Waverly is drowning in the realization.

"Or smoking, either. She was the one who got me addicted to it. She smoked before we even met, she just hid it, it was just harder to hide it when your best friend…" She choked up over her words for a second and shook her head again as if to clear her thought. "It's really hard to hide that when all you do is hang out with your best friend, and your best friend is in love with your little sister."

The floor falls out from beneath Waverly's feet. "What?"

"I knew that you needed Wynonna—ever since your mom left and your dad, he…you needed her. So I took the blame. I let you hate me for something I didn't do because you needed to love Wynonna, you needed to see her as the big sister who made mistakes."

"Fuck you," Waverly whispers after a moment.

"Waves—," Nicole tries.

"No, no! Fuck you." The lump in her throat is suffocating. "So that's your trick, then? You sleep with a girl, you make her fall in love with you, and then you break her heart? Is that how the notorious Nicole Haught puts a notch on her bed post?"

"Waverly, no, I was trying to protect you this whole time—you needed someone to look up to, and I knew that was Wynonna, I—"

"Because you love me, is that it?" Waverly snarls. Her hands ball into fists by her side.

Nicole's whole demeanor falls, her shoulders drop. "Yes," she whispers. "Waverly—"

"Save it." Waverly shakes her head, pushes through a limp Nicole in the doorway, and disappears out the front door.

The bench is covered in mist reminiscent of all the tears Waverly did not cry, because it wasn't love, not at first. She's not so sure anymore.

An unlit cigarette sits on the bench next to her.