Wynonna wakes up the next morning, head heavy and eyes sore, with her face pressed into an unfamiliar grey pillow. For a moment, she hovers on confusion; and then the events of the previous night come flooding back to her.
For a long moment, she lays there, letting it settle into her like a ton of rocks; and then she drags herself up, padding out into the living room.
Doc and Dolls are on the couch, conversing quietly, and when she enters, they look up. Doc smiles at her gently, and says, "Mornin', sunshine. How are you feeling?"
"Wiped out," Wynonna replies, and then winces at how hoarse her voice sounds. Dolls hums sympathetically and pats the empty space next to her, a clear invitation. She's too tired to resist it.
"What am I going to do?" she mumbles, head on Dolls' shoulder, eyes slipping shut despite her best attempts to keep them open. It's a good thing it's Saturday, because she's pretty sure she'd fall asleep in class if she had to go.
Dolls' hand runs over her hair. "Well," she says, "getting your stuff would probably be a good place to start. Give your sister a call—ask her if it's safe to come back."
"I don't know if I can carry all my stuff on the bus," Wynonna says. "I don't—I mean, I don't have a ton of stuff, but—"
"Darlin'," Doc interrupts, "we'll come with you. You can put your belongings in the trunk—there's plenty of space for them. Did you really think we would make you go alone?" She sounds almost— pained by Wynonna's assumption, but that's ridiculous. Wynonna's probably not reading her tone right.
"You don't have to," Wynonna protests, but it's half-hearted, and she lapses into silence, focusing on the weight of Dolls' fingers running through her hair. The sun's shining through the blinds, warming her skin, and she feels like she could fall back asleep. Instead, though, she forces herself to sit up; shakes her head, and says, "I should probably make something to eat."
"There's bread in the drawer and sandwich stuff in the fridge," Dolls says; and Wynonna can feel the weight of her gaze. It feel less like a hinderance and more like a comforting press of a warm blanket; and Wynonna feels like she could relax into it. "Here, let me get them out for you," Dolls adds, rising from the couch and heading towards the kitchen.
Wynonna hesitates for a moment, and then, when Doc gives her an encouraging nod, follows after. Dolls's got the fridge open, and within a few minutes, cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms, and a package of smoked turkey breast meat are set on the counter. Wynonna manages to find the bread drawer on the second try, and she pulls out two pieces, leaving the heel of the loaf behind, and begins to put her sandwich together, before sticking it in the toaster oven; leans against the counter and digs out her phone, dialling Waverly's number.
She picks up after only two rings. "Wynonna," she says, relief heavy in her tone, "where are you? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Wynonna assures. "I'm staying with some friends. Um—I was wondering if Sam is there? We were going to stop by and grab my stuff, but I don't want to risk it if he's at the house."
"He's out," Waverly replies. "Shouldn't be back until five at the earliest. He said something about celebrating finally getting rid of you. Sorry," she adds, and Wynonna can imagine her grimaces.
"It's fine," she says. "I knew he never liked me. I'll be over in—" she turns to Dolls, questioningly.
"We can leave as soon as you're ready," Dolls says, and when the oven dings, takes a plate out, setting the sandwich on it.
Wynonna nods. "Twenty minutes," she tells Waverly. "I love you, Waves."
"Love you too," Waverly replies; and Wynonna lets her end the call.
She stares at the wall for a moment, and then pockets it, taking the plate, and makes her way back to the couch; ends up between Doc and Dolls. It's...nice; and Wynonna feels guilty about that , because she shouldn't be able to be happy when she's just spent half the previous night in a jail cell.
When she finishes, Doc takes the plate, setting it on the counter; and she and Dolls herd Wynonna out the door and down the stairs. The air is cool, and Wynonna finds herself shivering slightly. "Here," Doc says, and pulls off her coat, draping it over her shoulders; opens the car door for her. Wynonna wants to say something—protest, thank her, a thousand words bubbling up in her throat—but she can't; so she just gets in, leaning against the seat.
It takes her a moment to realise neither of them know where the house is; and then she's rattling off the address, and Dolls is pulling away from the curb, the buildings blending together outside the window.
Someone's turned on the radio, classical rock bleeding through the car quietly, washing over her; and Wynonna lets herself sink into it; tries to ignore the mounting anxiety the closer they get to the house. For a few minutes, here, with Doc and Dolls, everything's okay.
The grey siding of the house comes into view, and Dolls pulls to a stop; turns around to peer at Wynonna. "You sure you're ready?" she asks. "We can always come back some other day."
Wynonna shakes her head. "No, I am." She's not, not really, but her friends are here for her, so she has to be. Slipping her arms into Doc's coat, she opens the door, stepping out onto cracked concrete.
The door's unlocked; and when she enters, Waverly comes barrelling down the stairs; drags her into a crushing embrace. "You're okay," she says, face pressed against Wynonna's shoulder, sounding half like a sob.
"Yeah, babygirl, I'm okay," Wynonna murmurs, holding her tight; closes her eyes for a moment.
When Waverly pulls back, her gaze snaps to Doc and Dolls. "These are your friends?" she asks, curiosity clear.
Wynonna nods. "Yeah. Doc and Dolls."
Doc offers her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she says. "Wynonna speaks of you fondly."
Waverly smiles. "Come on up," she says. "Cathy just went to see the neighbours, so it should be pretty easy to grab everything."
They go upstairs. With four people in the room, it seems tiny; crushingly so; but also, despite Waverly's best attempts to bring a bit of personality to the room, incredibly Spartan—a theme that pervades the entire house. Having seen Dolls and Doc's apartment, with its lived-in atmosphere, it feels incredibly sad.
She doesn't have much stuff, so it only takes two trips to grab everything between the three of them. Wynonna's just about to take the last few pieces of clothing and the set of jewellery her mother left her when she finds the door blocked by Cathy.
"You're not supposed to be here," she says, eyes narrowing. She looks sober—but, going by the way her posture is a little off, probably hungover.
"I'm just getting my stuff," Wynonna says, raising her hands in an attempt to placate. It doesn't work—Cathy takes a step forward, backing her against the stairwell, hand going to her phone. Fear jolts through Wynonna as she realises what she's about to do.
"Madam," comes Doc's voice, sharp and lacking its usual easygoing humour, "I'm going to ask you to step away from Wynonna."
Cathy turns, sneering. "She's my daughter," she snaps, "I can do whatever the fuck I want."
"Actually," Dolls says, coming up the steps to Doc's side, "she's eighteen, so you don't have any say in what she does. Now, move."
Cathy hesitates; and Dolls' posture goes taut, eyes flinty; and, finally, she steps back, letting Wynonna pass. Waverly, who's been standing on the stairs, gives Wynonna an encouraging nod; cut off as Cathy slams the door shut.
Wynonna's shoulders slump; and she lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. Doc and Dolls take either side, flanking her back to the car, like guards—an action that would normally have Wynonna bristling, but now, she just finds it incredibly comforting.
They help her carry the stuff back inside, and then Dolls leaves to get to her job on campus—which, for months, Wynonna had assumed was tutoring, but that's what she does in her free time, and her main job actually has something to do with dealing with financial stuff for the CC.
That just leaves Doc and Wynonna, and they get everything put away in short order. Wynonna stands back to take it in; finds the sight of the room, small as it is, more welcoming than the room at the Johnsons' ever was. The origami cranes she saved from when she was obsessed with making them as a kid sit on top of the dresser, and Doc's helped her hang up her signed Inception poster that spent years rolled in a tube after she found it at a flea market.
Doc clears her throat. "Dolls brought to my attention that it was your birthday yesterday. I am sorry for not doing anything for you."
"Don't be," Wynonna says, firmly. "Letting me stay here is gift enough. And, anyway, I'm not super big on birthday celebrations. Bad associations," she explains; leaving it at that; not sure how to broach the 'my father and sister were taken by a gang on my twelfth birthday and I accidentally shot my father while trying to save him' conversation.
Doc doesn't push; just says, "That's because you're a dear friend."
Something about the way she says it warms Wynonna's chest; like a match struck beneath her ribs; and she says, "Thanks." And then: "Do you mind if I cook something? I...I need to distract myself."
The other nods. "Of course," she says. "Actually, I was about to make a cake. Would you mind sharing the kitchen?"
It's her kitchen, so it's a bit of a silly question; but Wynonna appreciates the sentiment behind it; the unspoken I'll give you space if that's what you need. It makes her want to draw Doc into a hug and press her face against her shirt; draw in the faint scent of flour and sugar that hangs on her like gossamer thread. Instead, she says, "Yeah, that's fine."
She's still wearing Doc's coat; and it's getting a bit warm, so she reluctantly takes it off and hands it to Doc; follows her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
It's surprisingly easy to work around each other; and they fall into a rhythm, occasionally requesting items if the other is closer to it than them; and Wynonna finds that not only is the stress bleeding away, comfortable contentment is seeping in.
"There," says Doc, adding the last layer of crumble to the coffee cake she's making, and sets the bowl down. Wynonna finds herself turning to look; taking in the sight of Doc, flour smears on her arms and neck, grinning widely. She's standing with her back to the window, and the sun is streaming in, lighting her like some sort of painting. She looks—breathtaking.
Wynonna jerks her gaze back to the casserole dish before her; tries to banish the creeping desire to stick her hands in Doc's hair, knock her hat off and drag her in for a kiss. If she's going to be staying with Doc and Dolls for any amount of time, she's going to have to get her infatuation with them under control.
The oven beeps, and Doc opens it, letting Wynonna stick the casserole dish in before she slides the cake pan onto the upper rack; lets the door fall shut with a soft clang of metal on metal. "I do believe we've earned ourselves a break," she says. "How do you feel about cookies and a smoothie?"
"You know what a smoothie is?" Wynonna teases. "I thought you stepped out of the Old West. You're definitely geriatric enough."
Doc scowls at her playfully. "Hold your tongue, woman," she says, and takes out the frozen berries and the yogurt. "Or else there will be no smoothies for you."
"Well, with a threat like that, I guess I have to," Wynonna says, grinning.
They have their smoothies; eat half a box of cookies, stopped only by the door opening and Dolls' disapproving expression cowing them. After they put the cookies away, Doc convinces them to play a game of poker with her, which she wins at soundly. By then, the casserole is done, so Wynonna employs them to help her set the table and serve the plates.
Conversation flows smoothly between bites, and Wynonna finds herself relaxing, despite the worries for Waverly at the back of her mind.
It's—nice. Really nice