Chapter Text
Peace, Nicole Haught had learned, was not the absence of noise. It was the absence of fear.
Morning sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, soft gold stretching lazily across the bedroom. The Ghost River Triangle looked deceptively harmless in the daylight. Frost-tipped grass, pale sky, the distant outline of mountains like silent guardians.
Nicole woke gradually, her body still carrying the muscle memory of years spent sleeping lightly. Even now, with demons quieter and the world more intact, part of her remained tuned for danger.
But, instead of tension; warmth, weight, Waverly.
Nicole’s lips curved before her eyes even opened.
Waverly Earp was half-draped over her like a human blanket with absolutely no regard for personal space. One arm hooked possessively around Nicole’s waist, cheek pressed against Nicole’s shoulder, hair an unruly halo of soft brown waves.
Nicole didn’t move. She just watched.
There were still moments, rare, breathtaking, when Nicole couldn’t quite believe this was her life. Not just surviving. Living. Loving. Belonging.
Waverly’s nose scrunched.
“You’re doing it again,” she mumbled.
Nicole smiled. “Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I hung the moon.”
Nicole brushed a strand from Waverly’s face. “You absolutely did.”
Waverly cracked open one eye, suspicious. “Flattery this early means you want something.”
Nicole quietly chuckled, “Maybe I just like waking up next to my wife.”
Waverly’s expression melted into something impossibly soft. God, Nicole loved that look.
The world could burn down around them and Nicole would still chase that exact smile.
They stayed tangled together, the quiet stretching comfortably between them. No alarms. No gunfire. No frantic cling at the door. Just breath, heartbeat, and home.
Then Waverly spoke, her voice gentle in a way that made Nicole instantly attentive.
“Nic?”
Nicole hummed.
“Do you ever think about the future?” Waverly asked, hesitantly.
Nicole hesitated.
Because Nicole always thought about the future. But cautiously. Like it might vanish if she looked at it too directly.
“I think about you in it,” Nicole said honestly.
Waverly lifted her head, chin resting lightly on Nicole’s chest.
“I mean like… really future.”
Nicole’s chest tightened. Waverly traced slow, absent circles against Nicole’s shirt, gaze drifting somewhere distant.
“For so long,” Waverly said quietly, “my entire life was about survival. Wynonna surviving. The town surviving.” She swallowed. “I never really pictured anything beyond that.”
Nicole’s hand slid up Waverly’s back.
“But now?” Nicole asked softly.
Waverly’s eyes flicked back to hers.
“Now I can’t stop picturing things.”
Nicole’s heart began to race. Not from dread, but from anticipation.
“What kind of things?”
Waverly smiled, but it was fragile. Vulnerable.
“A kitchen that’s too small because someone keeps leaving toys everywhere.”
Nicole’s breath hitched.
“A fridge covered in drawings that are mostly scribbles but we keep anyway.”
Nicole blinked.
“And maybe…” Waverly whispered, “someone tiny running down the hallway calling for you.”
Nicole’s throat closed because the image bloomed instantly; vivid, impossible, beautiful.
A child.
Their child.
Nicole’s fingers trembled slightly against Waverly’s back.
“You’ve really thought about this,” Nicole murmured.
Waverly nodded, eyes shining now.
“I’ve thought about a little human with your kindness.”
Nicole let out a shaky breath.
“And your stubbornness,” Waverly added.
Nicole laughed weakly, “That’s a dangerous combination.”
Waverly’s voice softened further.
“I’ve thought about a family Nicole.”
Nicole felt something crack open in her chest. Not fear. Not panic. But something raw and aching and full of light.
“I didn’t know if you wanted that,” Waverly admitted.
Nicole didn’t answer with words. She pulled Waverly down into a kiss. Slow. Deep. Overflowing. When they parted, Nicole rested her forehead against Waverly’s.
“I want every future that has you in it,” Nicole whispered.
Waverly’s breath hitched.
“Even the loud, messy, terrifying ones?”
Nicole smiled, tears stinging unexpectedly.
“Especially those.”