Winter break is shit, unsurprisingly. Sam has most of it off, which means he's at the house most of the time, which means Wynonna and Waverly spend most of the time walking as lightly as they can so they don't draw his attention. Dinners are mostly shitty take out, with the crowning jewel of Christmas dinner being a Costco turkey, rehydrated mashed potatoes, green beans from a can, and too-sweet cranberry sauce.
When school starts again, it's a relief; and Wynonna finds herself throwing herself into cooking, partially as stress relief and partially because it feels really fucking good to eat non-take out food. Both she and Waverly pack leftovers for lunch most days, which helps to get rid of the evidence.
The second week back, Ms. Cochran assigns them a project consisting of recreating a vintage meal. Lily and Mattie want to do a meal based around 50s jello mould dinners, and Wynonna, outvoted two to one, grudgingly goes along with it, though she does shudder every so often at the ingredients they use together—cream cheese and shrimp have no business being inside jello. Regardless, she reluctantly gives it her best effort, and they get a B+ for the project. Thankfully, they're not actually required to eat any of it—a fact that Wynonna is very glad of when she watches Ms. Cochran's pained and disgusted expressions as she tastes the dishes before pronouncing them passably authentic.
In Construction, they've split from being groups to being pairs, which is significantly more tolerable. They're working on planter boxes, at the end of the planning stage. The boxes are going to be made out of pine, and they're currently creating the pattern for the carving that's going to go on the front.
"I just think it should be more... organic, " her partner, Perry Crofte, says, frowning down at the fifth sketch so far. "More flowy. Maybe flowers, or something, to go with the theme of it being a planter box."
Wynonna scoffs. "Listen, bud, Mrs. Alan didn't say shit about it having to match the theme, or whatever. I think it looks perfectly fine. If you want to redo it, be my guest."
He sighs. "You know, you could be a little less off-putting. Maybe people would like you more if you weren't constantly biting their heads off."
"Oh, trust me, if I'm trying to bite your head off, you'll know it," Wynonna mutters, and starts to draw over the pattern, darkening the lines. Perry sighs again, but doesn't protest, just leans back in his chair and watches her.
Once she's finished, she raises her hand, and Mrs. Alan comes over to check the pattern over. "That's a very... geometric pattern," she says, delicately, looking to Perry. He doesn't say anything, so she purses her lips and says, "You can go on down to the shop. The chisels are on the first table, but remember to draw your pattern out on the wood before you start."
The shop is noisy, the other construction class working on something with the saws, and as she puts on her safety glasses, Wynonna resists the urge to press her hands to her ears in an attempt to block out the noise, instead pulling her hair back into a ponytail and setting her jaw.
The rest of the period is spent mostly on tracing out the pattern, with the last ten minutes devoted to actually putting chisel to wood. Since pine is so soft, they don't actually have to use a hammer, just their upper body strength. They manage to get about a quarter of the pattern carved out before the bell rings.
Wynonna puts her safety gear away, and then makes for the bus stop, checking her phone on the way as usual. There's multiple messages from Waverly, and Wynonna frowns—usually, there's only one or two. There's also two missed phone calls from her.
Unlocking her phone, she hits speed dial, phone pressed against her ear a bare second later. Waverly's barely picked up before Wynonna says, "Babygirl, what happened? Do you need me to come pick you up?"
"Y—yes," Waverly's voice comes through, tremulous and teary. "Wynonna, Champ, he—he—" she bursts into tears, sobbing in a choked off way that means she's trying to force the sound not to leave her throat.
Wynonna's lips thin. "I'll be there in a bit, babygirl, just hang in there. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"
Another set of choked off sobs; and then Wynonna hears someone distantly say, gently, "Hey, Waves, you okay?"
"You don't—you don't need to stay," Waverly manages, the last sound before she hangs up that of the person's voice murmuring comforting phrases between Waverly's sniffles. Wynonna scowls as the sound cutting off, and shoves her phone into her pocket, tucking the ends of her scarf that've started coming loose back in, and marches off in the opposite direction of the bus stop, towards Rays Middle School.
When she gets there, it takes her a bit to find Waverly—she's not at the front, but rather tucked on a bench underneath one of the massive trees behind the school building. As Wynonna gets closer, she makes out her sister's blonde hair, and, next to her, a redhead with her arm around Waverly. When Wynonna gets to the bench, the redhead looks up.
"Waverly," Wynonna says, sitting down next to her. "Hey. What happened?"
Waverly mumbles something unintelligible, face buried in her hands, and the redhead explains. "She found Champ and Chrissy making out behind the bleachers during Gym."
"What a dick, " Wynonna says, and puts her arm around Waverly. "Babygirl, I'm so, so sorry that happened. Champ sucks as. Actually, I'll go kick his ass for you, if you want."
That gets a soft, watery laugh from Waverly, who peers through her fingers at Wynonna. "Really?"
"I promise," Wynonna says. "Cross my heart and hope to die, put a pickle in my pie."
Waverly pulls her hands away from her face, a hesitant smile on her face. "Thanks, Wynonna," she says. "And thanks, Nicole, for coming to...to talk to me."
"No problem," Nicole says, squeezing her.
Wynonna eyes her. "So you're the infamous Nicole," she says. "Well, if Champ not wanting Waverly to talk to you wasn't a good enough recommendation by itself, you doing your best to comfort Waverly would definitely be a stamp of approval in my book. But if you hurt her, I'll have to kick your ass, too."
" Wynonna, " Waverly whines, hiding her face in her hands again, this time out of embarrassment. "I hate you."
"No you don't," Wynonna says cheerily. "Come on, babygirl. Let's get you back to the house, and we can eat that carton of cookie dough ice-cream I got last week."
"Really?" Waverly asks, perking up, and then adds, "can Nicole come?" She's got that pleading expression on her face, the one where her features manage to do a stunningly accurate impression of a begging puppy.
Wynonna glances at the redhead, quickly checking the date in her head. It's Wednesday, so Sam should be gone until eleven. "She'll have to check with her parents, but...sure."
"I'll call my mom right now," Nicole says, pulling her arm away from Waverly so she can take out her phone. A short phone call later, she's smiling at them. "My mom said it was fine, as long as I'm back by nine," she reports.
"That'll give us enough time to eat ice-cream and watch a movie," Wynonna says, smiling, and pulls Waverly to her feet, Nicole following behind a moment later.
They make their way to the house, Waverly and Nicole jumping on the half-frozen puddles to crack the ice on top, laughing as their boots get splashed with water. Wynonna finds herself glad that she invested in waterproof boots for Waverly, or else they would be soaked through. Wynonna made that mistake a few years ago, and by the time Waverly had gotten back to the house of the Mormon family who they were staying with, she'd been shivering and blue-lipped.
When they get back, they shed their outer garments, and Wynonna goes into the mudroom to pull out the ice-cream, leaving Waverly and Nicole to pick the movie and grab blankets. When she comes into the living room, carton and spoons in hand, Waverly and Nicole are pressed together, talking in hushed tones, one of the blankets over their legs, the selection screen to the Emperor's New Groove on screen.
"Good choice," Wynonna says, sitting down beside them and grabbing the other blanket. "Definitely one of the best Disney films."
"I like it a lot too," Nicole shares, sounding shy, a sharp juxtaposition to her earlier confidence. Wynonna smiles and clicks play, popping the lid off the carton and setting it in Waverly's lap, so that it's in the middle.
A carton of ice-cream and a llama-centric film later, the sun's set beneath the horizon, and Waverly and Nicole are yawning. "I should get back home," Nicole says. "I don't want to worry my mom and dad."
"I can walk you," Wynonna says, standing. "Waves, how about you go get into bed. I'll be back in a bit."
"Okay," Waverly agrees, and then, fixing them with a serious look, "be safe." Some time during the movie, her hand has crept into Nicole's.
"I promise," Nicole says, fiercely, squeezing her hand. Wynonna pretends not to notice, going to the coat rack to grab her scarf, and puts her shoes on, before she digs her gloves out of her pockets. Nicole follows after her a moment later, and they make their way out into the dark night.
"You seem like a really good friend to Waverly," Wynonna comments casually. "I'm glad she has someone like you to be there for her."
"Well, she's my best friend," Nicole says, quietly. "She was one of the only people at Rays who actually was willing to talk to me—the other students all have cliques of their own. Waverly's...she's really special. She's kind, and funny, and smart, and..." she trails off; and when Wynonna glances over to her, her cheeks are tinged redder than they should be with only the mild wind.
She smiles. "Yeah, Waverly's pretty great," she agrees. That seems to put Nicole at ease, and they spend the rest of the walk trading stories about Waverly.
When Wynonna gets back, Waverly's asleep on the couch, head on her arm; and Wynonna shakes her shoulder lightly. "Come on, babygirl, it's time for bed," she murmurs, "you're too heavy for me to carry anymore."
Waverly's eyes flicker open, and she slowly gets up, clearly still half-asleep, and Wynonna herds her up to bed, foregoing reminders of tooth brushing and face washing; helps her into her pyjamas and tucks her into bed and flicks the light off.
The next day, Wynonna wakes up at seven-thirty. Waverly's still snuggled up in bed, looking peaceful. The memory of her face stained with tears floats to Wynonna's mind, and she decides then and there that Waverly could use a day off.
Sneaking downstairs and grabbing Cathy's phone is easy, and impersonating her to Rays and P-Hi is even easier, since it's actually always been Wynonna calling them, so they don't have any true frame of reference. Once she's done, she deletes the call from the phone's history and turns it off, returning it to its place in the rack above the key hooks on the side of the fridge.
That done, she makes her way back upstairs, stopping to adjust Waverly's blankets so she doesn't get cold, writes a quick message for Waverly on a post-it and sticks it on the door, before she slips back into her own bed.
When she wakes up again, it's around nine. Waverly's up, sitting against the headboard, a plate on top of the four blankets disguising her lap, a magazine in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. When Wynonna shoves back the sheets, sitting up and stretching, she turns to her. "You didn't have to do that, you know—call me in sick, protect me. I'm not some little kid, I can deal with things that hurt me."
"I know," Wynonna says, wants to say, Babygirl, to me you'll always be someone I want to protect , but she knows better than to—she does know tact sometimes . "I called us in sick because I thought we could use a little Earp sisters day. Fancy breakfast, lazing around in pyjamas, you telling me about all the latest celebrity gossip..."
"And yet, no fancy breakfast is to be seen," Waverly says, drily.
Wynonna flaps her hand dismissively. "I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it."
She makes crepes, and they eat them with the expensive jam Wynonna splurged on months ago and stuck in the freezer for later, the kind made only of fruit and sugar, and it leaks out the ends of the crepes and gets all over their fingers. She can't bring herself to care though, not when it makes Waverly look so happy.
After that, they stick their plates in the dishwasher and wash their sticky hands, and then Waverly gets her newest celebrity magazines, hot off the hands of one of her friends, and they huddle together underneath blankets on her bed, Waverly explaining to Wynonna the current state of the web of celebrity relationships. She mentions Doc in passing, and Wynonna almost tells her she's met her, but then she stops, and doesn't—she wants to hold this close to her chest, a secret just for her.
Around one, they exhaust that line of thought, and Waverly pulls out her phone, digging her earbuds out from under her pillow and plugging them in, a clear sign that she needs a bit of space, so Wynonna retreats to her own bed. She pulls out the book they're reading in English, and makes it through a few chapters, taking notes as she goes—a habit that's foreign to her, honestly, but Dolls suggested it when Wynonna almost cried about a bad grade she got on an analysis essay during a tutoring session—admittedly not her finest hour—, and if Dolls is suggesting it, it probably has merit—, before the sound of her phone buzzing jerks her out of her concentration.
When she finally manages to grab it, the call's gone to voicemail, and there's a few texts—all from Doc, enquiring after her health. Didn't see you in class yesterday, one says. Let me know if you're doing alright. And then, a moment later, I can make chicken soup for the next time I see you.
Warmth flares in Wynonna's chest; and she finds herself smiling at the blocky white letters. I'm fine , she types back, just a little under the weather. Be back by Monday. I'll take you up on the soup. And then, after a moment of deliberation, she adds a smiley-face.
Noted :) , comes Doc's reply; and Wynonna drops the phone to bury her face in her pillow, screaming silently against it with the force of emotion.
"New crush?" comes Waverly's voice, and Wynonna flips her off without looking, eliciting a gale of laughter.
Monday comes before she knows it, and soon enough, she's sitting in the room off the student resources desk, notebook and pencil and highlighter spread before her. Dolls hasn't come in yet, but that's probably because, for once, Wynonna's early—she set her watch ten minutes fast on Saturday in an attempt to start being on time to things, and given she's four minutes early, it seems to be working.
The door opens, and Dolls enters, bag slung over her shoulder and a cup in one hand, a brown bag in the other. "Swung by the bakery to pick something up for you," she says, holding out the bag. "Friend of mine told you came down with something."
As soon as Wynonna takes the bag, which is slightly warm, the other pulls off her gloves, hat, scarf, and coat, draping them over the back of her chair. She's wearing a nice, pale blue sweater over a striped button-up, and she looks as gorgeous as ever, thick black eyelashes fanning across her cheeks as she blinks, a light flush across her features from moving around.
Wynonna forces her thoughts to stop sounding like a long train of oh god oh god oh god and says, instead, "You know Doc?"
"Holliday?" Dolls' lips twitch. "We're acquainted."
"Right," says Wynonna, and opens the bag, peering into it. "Well, thanks for the cookie."
"I'd eat it while it's still warm," Dolls says. "Now, today's topic—discontinuities..."
As Wynonna eats her cookie, asking questions in between bites and writing down summarised versions of Dolls' answers, she considers that she chose two really good crushes—and maybe even friends. And doesn't that thought just make her feel fuzzy.