Chapter Text
At 5:30 a.m., the world outside the Earp homestead was cloaked in darkness, the Montana sky still painted deep indigo. The chirping of a few half-awake birds broke the silence, their morning symphony tentative and unsteady. The house stood in stark contrast to the stillness around it, its glowing windows throwing streaks of pale yellow light onto the frostbitten ground outside. Within, chaos reigned.
Wynonna Earp, the older of the two remaining Earp sisters, darted around the cluttered living room like a whirlwind. A lone floor lamp cast a soft amber glow over the room, highlighting the worn fabric of the couch and flickering off a precarious stack of books teetering on the coffee table. Somewhere amidst the familiar chaos, her suitcases had vanished.
Her scalding coffee sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, steam curling lazily into the chill of the morning air. Wynonna muttered to herself as she overturned a couch cushion with one hand and swiped her other through her dark hair in frustration. She had placed the bags by the front door the night before, ready for a business trip meant to begin in less than half an hour. Yet, as she’d stumbled downstairs half-asleep, the space where the bags had been was now conspicuously empty – as if they’d vanished into thin air.
“Waverly!” she called, her voice slicing through the quiet house. “If you moved my stuff, I swear, you’d better—”
A gust of cold wind swept into the house as she flung the front door open, scanning the porch and beyond, eyes narrowing at every shadow. Montana mornings had a peculiar way of feeling endless. And if Wynonna didn’t find her bags soon, this one really might be.
She paused mid-step, running a hand through her messy hair as her breath hitched, her mind racing faster than her heart. Cool air from the slightly cracked window prickled her skin, but she barely noticed. Planting her hands on her hips, she yelled up the narrow staircase, her voice echoing through the homestead.
“Waverly! Big sister down here, having a major crisis!”
Silence. Not a hint of movement upstairs.
Wynonna rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Guess it's too much to ask for help before 9:30 in the morning.”
She took a deep breath and tried again, this time louder.
“Waverly! I swear—get out of bed, or I’m coming up there!”
What Wynonna didn’t know was that Waverly was in the shower, the steady stream of water pounding against the old porcelain tub drowning out any chance of her sister’s desperate calls being heard. Meanwhile, Wynonna spun toward the empty spot near the front door, where her overnight bags were supposed to be. Hands on hips, she cocked her head, her left leg angled forward as the soft glow of the lamp highlighted her furrowed brow.
Her pulse still raced as she stared at the empty spot, the tension in the room as heavy as the cold mountain air just outside. With a frustrated groan, she muttered to herself, “Where the hell are my bags?”
About five minutes after her weak attempt at calling for Waverly, Wynonna hears the faint creak of the bathroom door opening, then closing with an almost hesitant quiet. The soft padding of bare feet whisper down the wooden staircase, cutting through the stillness of the homestead. She leans out from around the doorframe, her eyes adjusting to the soft glow of the living room floor lamp—the only light breaking the dense predawn darkness. Waverly appears at the bottom of the stairs, her hair dripping as she wrestles a towel into place around it. Her movement is slow, and deliberate, the unmistakable exhaustion of someone caught in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness. Wynonna’s piercing stare stops Waverly in her tracks, earning a small, amused chuckle.
“What’s with the look?” Waverly asks, a hint of rasp still clinging to her voice.
Wordlessly, Wynonna points at the door, a silent command hanging heavy in the air. Waverly quirks an eyebrow, then pivots to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister. Both gaze out toward the door, the atmosphere thick with shared curiosity.
“What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?” Waverly asks, her tone a cautious mix of confusion and amusement.
The sisters stand motionless in the dimly lit room, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound filling the quiet emptiness. Outside, the Montana sky remains cloaked in deep blues and purples, the first hints of dawn still hours away. The blank space Wynonna’s finger points toward offers no answers, only a sense of unease.
"What's wrong with this picture? What's missing from it?"
Wynonna's voice cut through the early morning stillness, sharp and insistent. Waverly blinked at her older sister, suppressing the urge to giggle. Sleep deprivation had clearly taken its toll on Wynonna. Was it being a Black Badge agent? A mom? Probably both.
But Wynonna's expression was dead serious, her eyes fixed in an intense glare.
Waverly furrowed her brows, confused. She turned her gaze toward the front door, the place Wynonna was pointing so dramatically, and squinted to try and see what was so terribly wrong. After a moment of utterly fruitless effort, she shrugged.
"Okay," she sighed, still groggy, "I officially have no idea what I’m supposed to be looking at."
"My bags!" Wynonna threw her arms up in frustration, pacing in front of the couch. "I put all my stuff by the door last night, and now—poof! Gone! It’s like they just vanished!"
Waverly couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out now that the mystery was finally explained.
"Oh, right, okay," she began, waving a hand dismissively as her sleep-fogged brain finally caught up. "Xavier already put them in the car."
Wynonna stopped mid-pace, spinning around to face her sister with an incredulous gaze. "He what? When?"
"Uh… right after you went to bed, I think? Or not long after, anyway." Waverly gave Wynonna a sheepish smile, running a hand through her mess of wet hair. "He thought it’d save time this morning…” A teasing smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. “But, you know, clearly not since you’ve wasted, what, twenty-five minutes looking for them?"
Wynonna groaned dramatically, collapsing onto the chair with exasperation. "Remind me to kill him later."
Waverly chuckled, leaning against the back of the couch and rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Add it to the to-do list, sis.”
"Why would he even do that? I mean, I can handle moving a couple of suitcases on my own," Wynonna grumbled as she leaned against the kitchen counter, an empty coffee mug in hand and one eyebrow raised.
"Seriously?" Waverly shot her a pointed look from where she stood, bundled in nothing but a damp towel. "You've been on your own way too long. He did it because he’s your husband, Wynonna. This is the kind of stuff good husbands do. They take initiative, help their wives out... even when their wives are too stubborn to admit they appreciate it."
Waverly smirked teasingly, her eyebrows bouncing with a knowing look as she leaned conspiratorially closer. "You don’t seem to have any complaints when he does other things for you. Or to you."
It took Wynonna a moment, but then the meaning clicked. Her eyes widened slightly before she snorted out a laugh and jabbed a finger toward Waverly. "It’s a good thing you’re in a towel, or you'd be sprinting out of here right about now."
Waverly burst into laughter so loud it seemed to rattle the soft quiet of the room. She threw a hand over her mouth to muffle herself before Wynonna could shush her. Still grinning, Wynonna rifled through the clean laundry pile near the counter and tossed some sweats and a pair of panties at her.
"Here. Spare me the trauma of your near wardrobe malfunction," Wynonna teased.
Waverly fumbled to catch the clothes, nearly dropping her towel in the process. Her face lit up with laughter again as she shuffled into the next room. When she returned a moment later in sweats, she draped her damp towel over the back of a chair and flopped down to pull on her socks. There wasn’t much sound beyond their occasional exchanges, just the creak of the old house settling into the morning and the soft hum of awakening light. But something about the easy banter and the quiet, shared space felt just right—like this small homestead, at this early hour, was their whole world for now.
Wynonna's laughter had just faded when a small, hesitant voice drifted down the staircase, breaking the fragile tranquility.
"Mommy?"
Both Wynonna and Waverly turned toward the sound, poking their heads around the doorway. At the bottom of the stairs stood a tiny figure illuminated by the warm light spilling from the room. It was Alice, a small slip of a child wrapped snugly in her blanket, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her arms. Her sleepy eyes blinked, and she shuffled closer, her expression a mixture of drowsiness and unease.
Wynonna’s heart softened immediately. She crossed the room in a few quick steps, her voice gentle as she approached. “Hey, munchkin. Why are you up so early?”
Alice reached for her mother wordlessly, and Wynonna lifted her effortlessly, settling the little girl onto her hip. The child clung to her, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder as if it were the safest place in the world.
“I got scared, Mama,” Alice murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hearing the tiny quiver in her words, Waverly joined them, her own tone tender as she asked, “Scared of what, sweetheart?”
A sniffle escaped Alice before she answered. “I thought Mommy left without saying bye-bye,” she admitted, her breath hitching as tears welled up in her tired eyes
The statement squeezed Wynonna’s heart. She leaned down to place a soft kiss on her daughter’s head, her hand stroking soothing circles on the child’s back. “No, baby. I’d never do that to you,” she assured her. “If I had to leave, I’d wake you and Papa up before going anywhere. You know that.”
Alice lifted her head just enough to meet her mother’s eyes. “You promise?” she whispered with such earnest sincerity that both women felt their hearts crumble.
“I promise, peanut,” Wynonna said, her voice thick with emotion. A tiny smile formed on her lips. “And you know what? I’m actually glad you’re awake—it means I get to give you a big ol’ squeeze before Papa joins in.”
Alice sniffled again but allowed a small, sleepy smile to curl onto her face. She burrowed deeper into her mother’s chest, her little hand clutching the edge of Wynonna's shirt as the soft glow of the living room light draped over them.
Alice buried her small face into Wynonna’s chest, her voice muffled as she whispered, “I’m gonna miss you, Mommy.”
Wynonna ran her fingers through the little girl’s fine hair, her heart heavy. “I’m gonna miss you too, peanut. But you’re going to have the best time with Auntie Waverly. Isn’t that right?” Her words were soft, trying to mask the ache building in her chest.
Alice peeked over at Waverly, who was crouched beside the couch, her smile warm and inviting. After a moment’s hesitation, Alice nodded hard, her strawberry-blonde curls bouncing with the effort. Wynonna and Waverly exchanged a fleeting glance—a silent promise passing between them. It was a look that said Wynonna knew her sister would do whatever it took to keep Alice happy and safe.
The homestead was quiet, the early Montana morning still cloaked in darkness. Outside, the faint chirping of crickets lingered as the horizon prepared for sunrise. Inside, the living room was cast in a soft, amber glow, thanks to the vintage floor lamp wedged between the couch and the old armchair. It was the kind of light that wrapped the room in warmth, beckoning quiet comfort as the family said their goodbyes.
Over the four years of Alice’s life, Waverly had become more than just an aunt—she was Alice’s unwavering shadow, her constant companion. No matter how inseparable Wynonna and Alice seemed, Waverly had formed her own unique bond with the little girl. Back when Alice had just been born, Waverly had moved out of the homestead temporarily, giving Wynonna and Xavier space to settle into married life with a newborn. But after a year and a half, Wynonna had shamelessly pleaded for her sister to come home. Waverly, never one to say no to family, came back in a heartbeat, and since then, the four of them had built their own rhythm here.
Alice wriggled out of Wynonna’s arms, eager to get her feet back on the ground. The click of the front door opening caught their attention as Xavier stepped through, the cool morning air clinging to his denim jacket. His footsteps shifted from the creak of the wooden porch to the softer patter of the laminate floor.
“Do I hear my little princess?” His voice carried warmth, a playful grin evident even before he stepped into view. Alice’s eyes lit up at the sound, and she abandoned her blanket in an instant—a movement so swift that Waverly barely managed to snatch it mid-fall. Alice bolted toward her “Papa,” barreling into his arms with enough force to rock his footing.
“Whoa there, easy now!” Xavier laughed, sweeping her into his arms. “There she is! Is it Papa’s turn for hugs now?” He held her close, his grip both protective and tender.
From across the room, Wynonna watched the interaction, leaning back against the armchair beside Waverly. Here was one of her favorite moments to witness—the effortless harmony between Xavier and Alice. Xavier had never pressured Alice to call him "daddy." That title belonged to Doc, as Alice had firmly declared when the matter first came up. But one night, over cookies and milk, they’d come up with a new title together, and “Papa” had stuck. The joy she saw in Xavier’s eyes whenever Alice used it was enough to fill Wynonna’s heart.
“I’m gonna miss you so much, princess,” Xavier said, his voice softening into a murmur.
“I’m gonna miss you too, Papa…” Alice replied, her tiny arms wrapping as tightly as they could around his neck before darting back to Waverly, hiding her face against her aunt’s knees.
Xavier sighed, meeting Wynonna’s gaze. “We’d better get going. It’s a long drive, and the road closures aren’t going to make it any easier.”
Wynonna nodded, stealing one last moment to tuck an unruly strand of Alice’s hair behind her ear before standing straight. They each gave Alice one final hug before Xavier returned outside to start the truck. Calloused hands rubbed against the morning chill as the sound of the engine cut through the still air.
Wynonna turned to Waverly, her voice tighter now. “Take care of her,” she murmured.
Waverly pulled her sister into a firm hug, pressing her forehead gently against Wynonna’s as a sign of unwavering assurance. “You know I’ve got her.” The words carried weight, not just as a promise, but as truth.
The soft hum of the truck idling outside reminded Wynonna it was time to go. Wynonna whispered softly as she leaned close, her voice barely audible over the creaks of the old Montana homestead.
She rested her hand gently on Waverly's shoulder. They’d been inseparable since childhood, bound not just by blood, but by the tragedies they'd endured together—losing their father and sister, then watching their mother disappear into the cold cell of a prison. Wynonna had been forced to grow up too fast, raising Waverly while she was barely out of being a kid herself. That unshakable bond of survival forged them closer than words could explain.
Wynonna closed her eyes briefly, pressing a featherlight kiss to Waverly's forehead. "Love you, Waves," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of too many goodbyes.
Waverly tried to keep her composure, forcing a chuckle to break through the tightening in her throat. “I love you too. Now go, Wynonna.” Her voice wobbled just enough to betray her. No matter how many times Wynonna left for a case, it never got easier, knowing there was always a chance she might not come back.
Wynonna gave her one last soft smile, a nod that said everything she couldn’t, before bending down to kiss little Alice’s cheek. The toddler, bundled up in her warm blanket, barely stirred as Wynonna turned and walked out into the cool predawn air.
Waverly followed to the door, cradling Alice against her hip, watching with a mix of pride and anxiety as Wynonna’s car kicked up a cloud of gravel on the dirt path. She waved until the red taillights disappeared entirely down the main road and the silence of the homestead settled back around them like an old, familiar cloak.
Waverly sighed and hugged Alice closer as the little girl’s head drooped back onto her shoulder, already half-asleep. She turned and shut the door behind them, locking it out of habit as the weight of the empty house began to press against her.
Carrying Alice upstairs, she moved quietly, the creak of the old wooden steps echoing faintly. She tucked her niece back into her small bed, the soft teddy bear clutched tightly in Alice’s tiny hands. Pulling the blanket snug around the girl, Waverly brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead before tiptoeing out, leaving the door ajar just enough to let the faint amber light from the hallway spill in.
By the time she crawled into her own bed, the chill of the sheets forced her to pull the covers tightly around herself. She set an alarm for 7:30 a.m., ignoring the tiny ache thrumming in her chest. She silently prayed to the darkness that Wynonna would be okay, then closed her eyes and fell into the deep pull of exhaustion.