Clock_Isnt_Working

“Who goes there?”

Jessie laughs as she fully enters the room, her warm chortles melting the stranger’s cautious demeanor into one of confusion. His eyes flicker between the two ranch hands, the gears turning in his head.

“Didn’ mean to scare ya, big guy!” Jessie soothes, smile big and not nearly as apologetic as her words suggested. She lifts her finger up in front of the man’s face and wiggles it for his attention, “Follow my finger with your eyes, alright mister? Don’t move your head.”

She goes through the usual routine, the stranger silently complying with the request. Woody walks over and places the bowl in his hands down on the nightstand beside the bed before returning to the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“What’s your name?” Jessie asks, letting her hand drop with a nod.

“Buzz Lightyear. Currently serving as special reconnaissance for the United States Air Force. Stationed at Fort Command.” His voice was low and monotonous, reciting the words as if they were a recording to be played upon demand.

“Oh, great,” Woody groans, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Wow, quite the long name you got there,” Jessie teases lightly, flashing a quick but stern glance back at the pouting cowboy. Woody just looks away.

“Guess you know who you are, you know the date Mister Lightyear?” She hums, pulling a small flashlight from her breast pocket and clicking it on. “Gonna shine this in your eyes for a quick moment, hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s standard procedure.” The man, Buzz, keeps himself completely still as his eyes are flashed with the bright light. Woody watches his hands carefully. “Last I checked it was November twenty second, 20XX. But I assume I’ve lost a few days while unconscious.”

“Only two,” Jessie smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners as she clicks the flashlight off, “We needed to pull out the iv drip for ya— I apologize if your arm is a bit sore. I sure do hate findin’ veins.”

“So you’re a medical professional?” Buzz asks her a question in return, blinking to adjust his vision as he glances around the room, “And where am I?”

“Hold on mister, don’t get ahead of yourself.” Jessie chuckles as she pulls the chair by the desk over towards the bed, spinning it around so she can rest her arms across the backrest. “You remember anything before you woke up?”

Buzz pauses and closes his eyes, Woody watching with an unimpressed look as he begins to tap his chin in thought with his good hand.

“Well, I remember flying the helicopter over Zone 4 to gather intel on the status of the area.” He pauses again, but this time out of a brief moment of hesitation, “But the system began to fail suddenly. And before I could stop it, the vehicle became out of control. I remember aiming towards an empty field to try and mitigate damage to the area.”

“Yeah,” Woody speaks up, causing the man to turn to him like he was just realizing he’d been here the whole time. “And that empty field was our pasture.”

“Scared the dickens out of our cows!” Jessie snickers, but Woody’s face doesn’t relax from its hardened glare.

Buzz stares at Woody for a few seconds, unblinking and unreadable, before turning back towards the redheaded woman beside him. “I apologize, I didn’t realize I was so close to civilization. I would have aimed away if I knew.”

“Naw, it’s alright.” Jessie waves the apology off easily. “No one was hurt besides you, Mister Lightyear. I reckon you did everything exactly by the book.”

Buzz nods, and then glances down to assess the damage. The IV beside the bed was pierced into his inner arm, and the other was bandaged tightly and tucked into a sling. He had several cuts across his body, most easily patched, and many blotchy bruises blooming across his skin.

“That arm of yours was real nasty,” Jessie continues, her voice more hushed, “Your real lucky it wasn’t severed in the crash. A blade got ya real good, but I patched it up best I could without proper surgery equipment.”

Buzz remains silent, staring at his bandaged arm. He attempts to move it, but stops when he flinches harshly.

“Thank you,” He mutters, voice filled with genuine gratitude, “For saving it.”

Jessie beams.

“I promise to return your kindness once we return to my base.”

“Hold on, we?” Woody interrupts, a scowl carving deep wrinkles into his face.

“Correct.” Buzz continues, unfazed. “Orders are to take in any uninfected civilians back to the nearest camp for protection under the military.”

Woody laughs at that, a cold, harsh sound that has Buzz narrowing his eyes. Oh, this was just funny.

“We don’t need any military protection,” Woody sniffs, adjusting his cow hide vest causing his sheriff badge to glint in the low light. “We’ve been just fine on our own. Better than some of your so-called protection camps even.”

Buzz raises a skeptical brow, tilting his chin up in defiance, “I see. Well, I suppose two civilians are less of a target than a large base operation.”

Jessie snorts at the look on Woody’s face, which he pointedly ignores.

“For your information, mister crash landing, we’re a whole town out here. And this ranch you made your landin’ pad is what makes it possible to go on like normal even without outside help.”

Buzz looks genuinely surprised by this, and turns his head towards the window to see for himself. Though not much of value could be seen from his angle on the bed.

“And I doubt you’ll be of much help right now with that injured arm of yours.” Woody smirks, gesturing towards said injury, “So you’ll be under my protection while you recover.”

Jessie shakes her head with a fond roll of her eyes. She leans over to grab the now cooled bowl of soup Woody had left and places it in Buzz’s lap, who thanks her quietly. But he doesn’t break the glare-down between himself and Woody just yet.

“Alright Woody, I’m goin’ to check on the cattle,” Jessie sighs, standing from the chair with a stretch of her back. Buzz’s eyes flick between both ranchers until he finally grabs his spoon to eat. Woody simply grunts in reply.

“Behave yourself in front of our guest now, ya’hear?” Her voice lilts with the tease, and it’s all the warning Woody gets before she grapples his neck with her elbow. Dragging his head down to comfortably give him a noogie while he squirms to fight her off.

“Alright, alright! Jess, my hair!” Jessie pulls away with a mischievous cackle, turning towards the door as Woody grumbles swiping his fallen hat from the floor.

“Bye boys!”

And with that she skips out the door, leaving the room in an uncomfortable silence. Buzz’s spoon clinks as he scoops a few chunks of chicken and noodle into his mouth. Woody wipes at his hat to remove the bits of dust from the floor.

Taking Jessie’s chair and spinning it to face forwards Woody sits himself a bit further from the bed. He rests his hat on the nightstand beside him, taking a moment to observe Buzz. He seemed better— certainly better than how they found him in that wreck. Something curled in his gut that makes him want to grimace. He had looked truly awful.

The injured man clears his throat, and Woody resists the overwhelming urge to sigh. Instead he simply glances up at his face.

“So…” Buzz leads, irritatingly trying to start a conversation, “This is your ranch?”

Woody‘s shoulders relaxed a bit at the question.

“My family’s ranch, yes,” He clarifies, leaning his back against the chair and swinging one leg atop his knee. “Been here for generations. Since before this was even U.S. soil.”

Buzz looks intrigued, and Woody can’t suppress the entirety of his smile. Shown in the slight twitch of the corner of his mouth.

“Impressive,” The man commends, taking a second glance around the room as if to truly soak in its presence now knowing its age. “And it’s just you and..?”

“Jessie, my sister,” Woody helpfully supplies, almost able to physically see Buzz slotting it into his memory. “My father lives on the land too, but he has a separate house closer towards the stables.”

“I see. Rather large land to maintain with so little people.”

“We had some other workers that helped. Some left before shit really hit, but now the whole town pitches in to make sure things are stable,” Woody hums, foot bouncing mindlessly in the air as he talks, “‘Course, us Pride’s help them learn their way around good honest work.”

Buzz snorts, and any good will he had been building with the sheriff crumbled to dust.

“What.” Woody’s eyes narrow and his arms cross against his chest.

“‘You Pride’s’?” The man raises a brow, and Woody can tell there’s much more he wants to say but he bites his words back behind those infuriatingly perfect teeth.

“It’s our last name, smart guy.”

Woody can feel his jaw clenching when Buzz looks all too amused by his answer.

“Woody Pride,” He snickers, like his name was the punchline to a bad joke. “The name suits you, sheriff.”

“It’s Woodrow to you.”

His leg swings down to the floor like a hammer. Woody grabs his hat off of the side table and pushes it back onto his head, lips drawn tight into a deep scowl as he stands and leaves the room.