Woody should be working on his to-do list. Instead, he was drawing Buzz.
In his defence, he'd finished most of the list already. Just needed to outline the next staff meeting, and that wouldn't be until the following week anyway. Besides, he could do little else, devoted as he was to keeping watch over his partner while he slept. "Buzz Lightyear" and "afternoon nap" didn't fit together, but the space toy wasn't taking one by choice. As it so happened every couple months, his batteries were running low.
(Not dying. Woody didn't like that word anywhere near Buzz, even regarding an entirely separate part.)
Now from what he'd learned, low batteries didn't cause Buzz any pain. They did, however, make him drag his boots with increasing lethargy the longer they weren't replaced. Initially, he would manage to hide his exhaustion from most toys in the room, but not Woody—not after years of learning his subtle tells and body language. Which then led to Woody trying to do everything for him, much to Buzz's irritation.
("Just because my batteries aren't at full charge does not mean I am suddenly incapable of doing anything."
"I know that."
"Then please stop acting like it.")
Easier said than done: seeing his partner unwell raised every internal alarm demanding he fix fix fix. But the last thing he wanted was to put more stress on him during these times, so, reluctantly, he'd learned to give him some space and hover from afar. The others seemed to understand by now not to interrupt his low-battery naps, but it never hurt to keep an eye, as well as monitor the overall noise level of the room, just in case. With these toys, the threat of chaos breaking out at the drop of hat always lingered.
Woody didn't intend to draw him. He'd been working in his notepad, focused as could be, when he tossed Buzz a glance, just to check on him. Then, hardly realizing it, flipped over a new page and began sketching an outline of the still figure. But who could blame him? Buzz was always a delight to look at—the bright blue eyes, the chiselled jawline—but observing him asleep offered a different angle of that beauty.
Buzz was not an actual space ranger. Woody knew that, Buzz knew that, they all knew that. Even so, some of that persona seemed to just be a part of who he was no matter how much time passed. He didn't look tense per se, but retained a certain air of constant vigilance and situational awareness regardless of location, the readiness only a trained soldier possessed. Not stoic but composed, calm over relaxed, easygoing yet alert, an assured baseline of measuredness you could always count on. Confident, steady, on-duty: that was the Buzz Lightyear he knew and loved.
Oh, Woody loved this version too, but he only knew him in the transition between days, in lax arms around him, in tender sleepiness half-remembered come morning. To see it here in broad daylight, awake to truly appreciate it, was something special. So of course he felt compelled to capture the moment on paper. Toys couldn't risk cameras, but they could risk art. He'd risked much more for Buzz anyway.
Despite the toys' insistence he take Andy's bed or at least the toy box for himself, Buzz chose to rest against the back wall, tucked beside the dresser, something Woody didn't understand. He suspected Buzz felt somewhat vulnerable in this low-power state and would rather stay out of sight until back up to snuff, so while resting on their kid's bed would be too conspicuous, the toy box seemed like a great option. Maybe he wanted to be ready to go in case of an emergency? Not like he even could really go if anything happened...
(The family was currently out shopping. Woody prayed they didn't forget the batteries on the list.)
Whatever the reason, it at least gave him a good viewing angle of the space toy. Buzz sat with his back to the wall and his legs drawn up, arms lying limp on the floor, chin dipped down. Despite his clear exhaustion, he looked peaceful enough. Woody took extra care drawing the chest piece of his suit, easily the most complicated part of his design, a bulky section of precise angles and various buttons and decals. In fact much of his body was like that, the irritating complexity of a fancy action figure. The wording on some of his stickers were another detail demanding close attention. Woody knew it would be no masterpiece, he didn't have any actual artistic education, but he would try his best. Buzz deserved the effort.
This would be easier if he could take longer looks than quick, discrete glances at his subject, not wishing to draw the attention of the rest of the room. Whenever someone came too close, he flipped back to his checklist and pretended to ponder, turning back as they passed by. Woody knew he'd never hear the end of it if the other toys (okay, Hamm and Potato Head) caught him sketching his snoozing beloved. And surely they would inform Buzz too...
No, he would just have to be careful. Thankfully, Woody didn't get too many toys vying for his attention that afternoon, so there was plenty of time to work in peace, most of which he spent drawing the body. The strong arms and lax fingers, the agile legs and "ANDY" bedazzled boot... Sometimes he caught himself staring more than drawing and shook his head. Though he tried to capture each detail as best possible, without the eye-catching shocks of colour that truly defined a Buzz Lightyear figure you only got half the picture. Not for the first time he envied his kid's access to markers and crayons.
The head he saved for last, considering it the easiest part... and likely the most distracting. Woody tried not to look too infatuated observing his slumbering face. Not an easy task. How could he not get lost in the curve of his brow and dip of his chin as he committed them to paper? How had any famous artist managed to capture a muse that captured their heart?
There you go, Woody, he thought, comparing your scribbles to da Vinci.
Thankfully, even if he did get sidetracked by affection, it was a small section and didn't take long. Buzz did stir at one point, closed eyes twitching, and Woody had stilled like a hunter in wait, ready to pounce the moment discomfort or distress appeared; yet none did and he relaxed once more, stretching out his right leg with a gentle sigh. Of course Buzz would be a lousy model, moving during the process like that. At least he'd already drawn the lower body...
There. Woody held the notepad out to inspect his work. Decent, if he said so himself. He still needed to add some shading, but the pencil was getting blunt and sharpening anything at his height was a pain. Maybe tonight he could—
A very vase-like crash sounded from another room, followed by a burst of voices.
"Ugh, you lizard brain!"
"Now you've done it, Rexie boy."
"Not my fault! Who put this priceless China right next to my long unwieldy tail?!"
Woody counted to ten. Couldn't he have one afternoon without something going wrong? He was a decent toy now, wasn't he? At least the noise hadn't woken Buzz. With a resigned sigh, he flipped back to his to-do list and got to his feet. Duty called.
Roughly one hour (and dozens of shattered pieces shoved hastily behind a cabinet) later, the family returned from their shopping trip. Sadly, it would be hours yet until Buzz finally got his batteries. Between preparing and serving dinner, a movie in the living room, and Andy's shower, it was well into the evening by the time their kid entered his room, leaving Woody at just about his wit's end.
But they remembered the batteries and that was what mattered most. Watching Andy pluck Buzz from his resting spot beside him against the pillow, pop open his back, and exchange the old for the new ones gave Woody a similar surge of rejuvenation. Andy pressed one of the buttons on his chest—
"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!"
—and a wide grin broke across his face. Frozen in place, Woody felt much the same.
Playtime quickly morphed into an early bedtime—Sunday night, a school night—but the relief of Buzz's well-being satisfied him in lieu of a short play session. Snuggled in his kid's arms with his space ranger pressed against him, the tension squeezing his voice box all day finally loosened its vice grip, and sleep claimed him without resistance.
Morning saw Andy off bright and early, his mother and sister following soon after for an excursion to the park, leaving the house to the toys. Half-asleep, Woody recalled the faint sensation of lips on his cheek, but by the time he'd truly awoken, found himself alone on the bed. He crawled towards the edge to survey the room. Spotting Buzz up and about chatting with the other toys, laughing, walking with purposeful, energized steps, he watched the scene with absolute fondness on his face.
There's the toy I know best.
Resisting the urge to jump off and rush over, Woody carefully scaled down the side of the mattress, trying to draw as little attention as possible. He didn't want to just interrupt... mostly because he preferred his shows of affection with less eyes on him, and he sure had a lot of affection to show today. So he slinked off to the closet to retrieve his supplies. Might as well get some work done in the meantime.
He kept his notepad and pencil concealed under a corner of torn rug Andy held down with a pile of outgrown children's books; a bit of a pain to move and put back, but you took the secret spots you could. Woody picked up the pencil and was about to take the notepad when he detected movement in the corner of his vision. Spinning around, he yelped as a figure scooped him around the waist in a bear hug and hoisted him off his feet.
"Howdy."
"Buzz!" Woody laughed, severely undermining his weak glare. "You nearly made me jump out of my stuffing!"
"Sorry, Sheriff." That cocky grin said otherwise. Buzz kissed him and—oh, Woody supposed he could be forgiven after all. "But when my cowboy goes off to hide, I can't help but investigate."
His cowboy made him warm, just like his embrace and kiss, just like seeing him full of life again, just like being with Buzz always did. Fortunately, there was no blood to rush to his face. Setting his hands on his shoulders, Woody shook his head. "I wasn't hiding," he emphasized. "I was just getting my notepad."
"Oh, of course," Buzz chuckled. "My mistake. Forget coming to say good morning."
Woody squirmed. "Look, I just—wanted some privacy when we..."
Abruptly, Buzz tightened his hold and spun around to dip him, face-to-face. "It's okay," he murmured, "I wanted some privacy, too." He kissed him again, lingering there, and Woody slid his hands from his shoulders to wrap around his back and returned it, and wow did he need to get Buzz fresh batteries more often because. Well. Wow.
When at last they parted, they stared at each other, until Woody couldn't help a giddy little giggle that broke the moment. Buzz set him back on his feet, but Woody didn't let go immediately. Instead, he pressed closer for a proper hug, drawing the space toy against him, so grateful it ached. "I'm glad you're back," Woody intoned.
Arms engulfed him and squeezed. "I'm glad to be back."
They parted properly. Woody adjusted his hat and bandana, feeling dishevelled after all that. "When did you get to be such a Casanova, huh?" he asked.
Buzz winked. "Only for you."
Oh yeah, that was definitely the new batteries talking. Woody rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. "Yeah yeah, settle down already, hotshot." He went to step out of the closet, but paused in the door frame, glancing back. "Oh hey, I forgot my notepad, could you—?"
"Sure."
Woody continued forward, using the pencil as a walking stick eraser-end down. "Okay, so I had planned the staff meeting for next week, but last night I overheard Mom mention something about a yard sale," he began rattling off, as he often did, with the expectation that Buzz was right by his side listening intently. "Nothing to worry about, she's been meaning to sell some old linens and clothing for a while and I don't see this extending to include us. But you know how fast rumours spread and it's probably better to move the meeting up sooner and calm any hysteria before it can start. I was thinking..." He stopped, looked beside him. No Buzz listening intently. "Buzz?"
Turning around, Woody froze. Because Buzz had grabbed his notepad all right, but he remained standing inside the closet examining it... with a page turned over.
Oh no.
If the floor felt like opening and swallowing him whole, that would be just fantastic. Woody could smack himself. What was he thinking, asking Buzz of all toys to hand him the notepad knowing what was in it? But it wasn't like the space toy had snooped through his notes before! He sure picked a day to indulge his curiosity. Ugh, now he would probably be annoyed with him for watching over him like a babysitter, or uncomfortable knowing he'd been sleeping with eyes on him, or...
Guess he had to face the music sometime. Groaning, Woody headed back towards the closet. As he got closer, he noticed Buzz didn't appear irritated at the very least. Actually, his expression was one of quiet surprise. He didn't look up immediately once Woody stood before him, which only made him antsier. The cowboy rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, before you get upset, I just want to say—"
Lowering the page, Buzz regarded him thoughtfully. "You drew this?"
"Uh, yeah. Like I was saying—"
"It's good."
Well that stopped him in his tracks. Woody blinked at him, wide-eyed. "Huh?"
"It's good," he repeated.
Woody blew out a breath of air. "You don't have to make fun of me," he grumbled.
Buzz shook his head, eyes falling back to the page. "I'm not. This is good. It's really good."
A fluttering sensation rushed through his chest up his throat. "I—really?" Woody stammered. "You like it?"
"It's fantastic," Buzz muttered in the soft, serious tone he used when he found something truly impressive. "I thought Etch was the only one with any artistic talent around here..." He lifted his gaze. "Where on Earth did you learn to draw like this?"
This certainly wasn't going like he expected. Woody didn't know how to respond to this onslaught of praise—so he downplayed it, shied away. "I just kinda... picked it up over the years I guess," he offered, unable to meet those intense blue eyes for long. "A lot of practice, but, it's nothing much really, I'm sure I botched some details on the chest, and..."
His next rambling line never came as Buzz dropped the pad and surged forward, gently tugging his bandana to pull him down and plant a kiss on his cheek. Woody floundered. "B-Buzz? What are you—"
"As always, you're too hard on yourself," Buzz said, smiling crookedly. "I love it, Woody."
Gosh was he one lucky toy. And one absolutely smitten, happy fool. Woody tried not to melt on the spot—difficult when your cotton had been swapped for fire. "W-Well!" Loud clearing of the throat. "That's—that's good then. I'm, uh, glad. Heh."
"Maybe you can teach me sometime. So I can return the favour."
He raised a brow. "You want to draw me?"
"Maybe not right away," Buzz conceded sheepishly. "I probably have a lot to learn before I could even attempt it. But one day, yes, of course."
Taking both his hands, Woody gave him a warm smile. "Well why not," he said. "We'll make it a date." He figured he would promise Buzz anything if it meant receiving that delighted grin back.
But then, before the other could reply—
Crash!
"Are you serious?! Again?"
"Ah, I'm sorry! Please don't tell Woody!"
"Sadly, I'm pretty sure the whole house heard that one, buddy." Followed by a despairing wail.
Woody sure could go for one of those himself. But he retained some dignity by simply hanging his head with a long groan. "It's my fault," he griped. "I dared to leave them unsupervised for five minutes..."
"Come on, partner," Buzz chuckled. "Duty calls." He tipped Woody's chin up for one last kiss, patted his shoulder, then walked off.
Efficient as ever in drawing him from a funk. Woody touched his lips as if he could physically grasp the tingling sensation to hold in his hand. He made sure to wipe the stupid smile from his face before racing after the other.