#cheyenne native

The town didn’t know what to make of you. Cracked vintage aviators, a patched leather jacket over deputy-issue pants, and boots that had stomped through more than one town lately. Vic called you “city weird” after your first conversation. Not in a bad way, she rather liked you, but she couldn’t stop seeing you in a big city precinct instead of a small town station like theirs. Ferg just said ‘hi’ a lot, he had grown used to one female deputy to work with, but another made him slightly awkward. 

You didn’t mind. You liked weird, and you liked awkward, because they were a part of the new normal. You liked it here, even on the first day.

What you didn’t like was the way Walt’s best friend Henry looked at you.

Correction, the way he didn’t.

The air shifted when you walked in.

Not just a door creak and footsteps. Not just a gust of dry July air rolling in off the highway. Something deeper, heavier, like the kind of silence that rolls through before a thunderstorm.

You walked in like you belonged. Like you didn’t have to earn the space you took up, or prove yourself to wear the badge on your hip. Pulled back hair, messy in a deliberate kind of way, eyes sharp and completely observing. Your stance said city, maybe Denver, but your boots were dusty enough to earn a second look. Two days in and the countryside is growing on you just fine.

Henry Standing Bear gave you one look. Then another, but then he couldn’t stand to look anymore. The sight of you was enough to make him physically need to take a step back.

His hands went still on the bar towel. For a second, everything else, the hum of the jukebox, the clink of glass, the low murmur of Walt’s voice… they all faded to nothing. Just her.

Amelie.

No. No, that wasn’t right.

But it was her, exactly her.

Walt turned, noticed the silence, and grunted, “There she is, my new rookie. Transferred in from North Metro. Brand new, but sharp as hell.”

“Hi, I’ve heard a lot about you,” you said, to him. You gave a little wave, since you were too far apart to shake hands, but he didn’t respond. 

He didn’t speak. 

His mouth opened, but no words followed. Not even a polite nod. For propriety’s sake and for the sake of his best friend he wanted to give some sort of reply, but he fell short. If it had been anyone else he would have, and should have been able to.

But not someone who has her face.

You were looking at him with a crooked kind of smile. The kind he used to know better than any other. You were polite enough not to say anything snarky, though he’s sure you wanted to in the awkward silence. You just kept the kind expression on your features.

An expression he hadn’t seen in twenty-five years.

He set the towel down, unable to stay in your presence any longer. His heart was beating too fast, and he thought it may burst if he didn’t get out… so he did.

He left.

Out the back door, with no explanation. 

The last thing he heard before the screen door snapped shut was your voice saying, “Did I say something?”

Walt muttered, “No, kid. It wasn’t you.”

It threw you off in a way you hated. Like someone knowing something about you that you didn’t know yourself. You asked Walt what the hell that guy’s deal was the next day at the station.

He gave you a long look. “I think you remind him of someone.”

“Yeah? Who?”

He didn’t know for sure if he had all the right answers, because he hadn’t spoken with Henry about it. Not yet at least.

With that in mind, he only said, “Old story.”

You let it go… kind of. 

It was annoying, how the both of them acted like there was some reason to be weary around you. As if you were a ghost of some sort. Walt didn’t act that way usually, only when Henry came around… Which was a lot. For someone who wasn’t on the police force, he could’ve fooled you. Every other day he was included in some wayat work.

With his background in special forces, he helped in cases whenever the need arose, and more often than not, his skills were better than anyone else in the county.

It also didn’t help that the local go-to spot to hang out on the weekends that everyone frequented was the Red Pony. The options for a good meet up place in a small town were limited, you supposed.

The man avoided you nearly every time he saw you after that first day, and it was getting to be very obvious.

You always saw him, at the Red Pony, at the farmer’s market where he was buying dried sage, at the station, and once on Main Street, where he locked eyes with you across the lot and then turned around before you could wave. You understood that there was probably a reason for his indifferent behavior, but you were starting to think he was just an asshole. 

Nevertheless, you’d gotten on well with Walt, and all his coworkers and colleagues, and even some of his personal friends over the first week of being here, so with that in mind, you were determined to make ground on his closest friend in any way you could. You refused to live in a town where your boss went to a bar after work every day and listened to his best friend rant about you. You’d rather not deal with the awkward glances you’d begun getting from the Sheriff after he had a conversation with Henry. 

It irritated you more than you cared to admit. Not because he owed you anything, but because you were used to being met head-on. You didn’t sneak around emotions, good or bad. You didn’t avoid people, or let them avoid you.

That night, when you showed up at the Red Pony alone, Henry didn’t vanish. You had to bring him a file from Walt, but sitting down at the bar couldn’t hurt much, could it?

He met your gaze with a strong sigh. There was no getting around it. You weren’t some intern that was here on trial to see if the job worked out. This was your life, and you were here to stay. He just needed to get used to it.

He knew he couldn’t keep avoiding you, so he nodded when you sat down.

He even poured you a drink.

And when you sat in silence across the bar from him, neither of you said a word for a while. His eyes were sad when you looked at them, and you felt that maybe the nature of his avoidance hadn’t been rooted in anger or hatred but rather sadness and despair. Maybe he wasn’t an asshole at all, and you just made him sad in a way that couldn’t be explained easily. 

In that moment it felt like something important had passed between you. An understanding of some sort. Or, more like an acknowledgement.

“You are very persistent,” he said, not looking up from the bar glass he was drying.

You leaned against the counter with an attempt at a smile. “You’ve been dodging me like I’m a Jehovah’s Witness, it was starting to feel a little personal.”

Henry set the glass down. The only rational thing that comes to mind is denial.

“I am not dodging you.”

You scoffed, settling your glass down and running your finger around the outside of the glass rim.

“Oh, so you always escape out the back door when attractive deputies say hello?”

He gave you a look, eyebrow raised as if it were funny.

You smiled, more genuinely this time. “What? You don’t think I’m attractive?”

He was honest this time, albeit not giving the whole truth, just the part you needed in order to understand his actions.

“I think you look like someone I used to know.”

You blinked. “Is that your version of a compliment or a threat?”

He narrowed his gaze, another sigh leaving him before he answered, a bit sarcastically.

“I do not know yet.”

You laughed, actually laughed, startled and delighted by the weirdness of it all. Only this morning he couldn’t stand you. “You’re funny… kinda hard to see it when you’re being cryptic and mysterious all the time.”

“Only with people who ask too many questions.”

You snorted playfully. You hadn’t even asked him much, but since he was speaking to you plainly, and not running for the hills, you let it slide. You could admit you did have more questions to be answered.

“Guess we’re in trouble, then,” You replied, sliding the folder across the bar. “Walt said to drop this off. Figured I’d bring it personally. You’re welcome.”

He took it, but didn’t open it. Just looked at you. A long, steady look. He was contemplating something, because he didn’t look fully present at the moment. It was like he was looking straight through you to avoid staring into your eyes.

“I should not have walked away,” he said quietly. 

You understood this was his way of apologizing, so you brushed it off with a wave of your hand.

“Yeah, well… I’ve had worse reactions to people meeting me.”

There was a beat before his lip quirked, almost a smile. The best he can give to someone that wears the face of his most cherished memories.

“You are not what I expected.”

You tilted your head. “What did you expect?”

He didn’t answer, just shook his head like saying he didn’t know. But he did… he just couldn’t tell you. 

You could feel it, some old, invisible thread pulling taut between you, the kind that didn’t belong to strangers. And for a flicker of a second, you felt something familiar in him, too.

Then it passed, and he turned away to serve another customer.

Henry didn’t tell you what he was thinking that night.

But he told Walt.

“I need you to tell me I am not crazy.”

Walt was halfway through a beer when Henry said it, quiet, almost too quiet to hear. The saloon was closed now, music off, just the hum of the cooler and the creak of wood. The moonlight was bleeding through the blinds like it was trying to shed the most gentle of light on the conversation.

Walt looked up, and leaned an elbow on the bar. “You’re not crazy.”

“You did not let me finish…” he trailed, but he didn’t even really start.

“You never say anything crazy unless you’ve thought about it for at least ten years,” Walt replied jokingly, tossing back the rest of his beer.

Henry folded his arms. Then unfolded them. He’s said many more far fetched things to the man in front of him, yet this felt delicate.

“She looked like her.”

Walt didn’t ask who… he didn’t need to.

Instead, he said softly, “I know.”

“Not kind of. Not a resemblance. It was her. I looked up and saw Amelie, just… older. Like she was supposed to be at that age.”

Henry was almost too afraid to meet his friend’s eyes. “I had to leave the room.”

Walt leaned back in his seat in contemplation. He hadn’t seen Amelie in twenty five years, and only looked at pictures far and few between. He knew his Rookie had been familiar to him, but it didn’t click then the way it is now. She does look like Amelie.

“You think it’s some kind of… sign?”

“I do not know what I think,” Henry paused, raking the files of his mind. “I believe in many things. But I do not believe in coincidence.”

And of course, Walt, who never believed any of the native mumbo jumbo he heard, was on the skeptical side.

“You think she’s- what? Some sort of punishment?”

Henry didn’t answer at first. Walt would never tell his friend he was crazy, but he would always deny believing such a thing.

“I think there is a reason for all of this. And I do not think I am ready for what that means,” he poured his own drink, carefully putting the bottle back before draining the glass in one go.

Walt didn’t respond. Normally he would, and wouldn’t have a problem voicing his opinion on the matter, but this was so much more sensitive than the normal topics they discussed. This was something that had apparently haunted Henry for years without anyone knowing. They all thought he moved on, because he was very good at acting like he did. There were so many instances where Walt genuinely thought that he was happy. Knowing that it was all just undone with a single glance at a young rookie was almost disappointing.

Henry didn’t interact with you again until founder’s day. It was a yearly celebration for the town, and almost the only day every year that everyone came together. It often was a bigger party than New Year’s Eve.

He’d been leaning against a tree, completely laid back and trying to enjoy the festivities happening before him. 

You’d been on duty, unfortunately. No rest for the wicked and whatnot… but you spotted him across the town veranda, smiling at a few of his friends participating in the games the event set up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you turned to Vic, giving a smile before taking off. She only responded with a thumbs up as she drank her lemonade.

When Henry saw you coming, he didn’t bolt like he used to, just stiffened slightly in a way you barely could pick up. 

“Hey,” you nodded, letting your eyes fall to the people around you instead of putting pressure on the man beside you. “I should probably apologize for cornering you at the bar the other night. I really did have to drop off that file though.”

“It did not bother me,” he shook his head, giving you a settling glance. 

You didn’t say anything in return yet, just let the moment unfold. If something came to mind you would, but he seemed to be fond of comforting silence, so you let it be.

He was the one who spoke up first, a strange but important question on his words.

“You were born in 1987?” 

You looked at him curiously, and he seemed to be perfectly serious, though it were an odd thing to ask out of the blue.

“Yeah,” you replied. Don’t make it weird, it’s  just a question. “May 6th.”

You blinked, watching his face fall into a sullen expression for only a split second before readjusting to his earlier one. 

“The exact day,” he added under his breath, no context. Almost as if he had confirmed something to himself without you knowing.

It felt like gravity shifted under your feet.

You didn’t say anything, and neither did he. To be quite frank, you were too scared to. What does he mean? What exact day is he talking about? Were you even meant to hear that thought he spoke aloud?

You feel like all these random things probably tie together, but he won’t let you in enough to find out what it is they make up. It bothers you like nothing you’ve ever experienced, but there’s little to nothing you can do about it. Being forceful has gotten you nowhere, and only left you deeper in confusion.

So you continue going to work every morning, and you continue to make progress in the other parts of your life. Some would call them the more important parts. Finding an apartment, making friends both at and outside of work. Learning the roads of the town without directions.

You were helping Walt go through old boxes of case files one morning, trying to find clues to a cold case that should have been closed a decade ago. Apparently new leads came out of the blue. You were elbow-deep in dust when the complaining started.

“It’s bad enough I have to sleep at a motel every night, now I gotta dig through literal dirt to find a case file.”

It was partly a joke, partly not. You were getting tired of the motel. It had been weeks, and all your belongings were piled on the spare queen bed in the room. 

“You still there? Thought you found that place on Mulberry?” He asked, dropping yet another box in front of you. 

You just sighed and ignored the next box as you went through the old one.

“Yeah, well, apparently the landlord only rents out to people he knows in town. It’s complete bullshit, but I can’t really do anything about it.”

Walt tossed over an idea in his head, thinking it over for a total of two seconds before speaking it into the air, unfavorable as it may be.

“Y’know, Henry’s got that spare room he’s always trying to fill above the pony. He’s got an apartment there, it’s kind of an added extension.” 

You dropped the files on the desk, causing a puff of dust to fly up. You stared at Walt through the dirty air for a moment with narrow eyes. 

There’s no way he just suggested that.

“You mean Henry who can’t even seem to hold a conversation with me?” You questioned sarcastically, crossing your arms. “He can’t stand to be in the same room with me for more than a few minutes, I doubt being next door would make him too happy.”

And now Walt felt the need to explain, or at least, give some sort of comfort that it wasn’t anything you did wrong. Just one of those things that couldn’t be helped. In hind sight though, it had been a bad idea to bring up the room situation. 

“Henry told me,” he started on.

You blinked up at him, having just picked up the case file you needed to review. “Told you what?”

“That you remind him of someone.”

You let out a breath. Yeah, the mystery person from the past who seemed to be causing trouble for you. How convenient for them to not be around anymore.

Walt didn’t meet your eyes, just kept flipping through papers.

“Do you know her?” you asked, trying to be casual, though all you wanted was answers at this point. You understood people being guarded, but this is ridiculous.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Since my first year of high school.”

“What’s she like?” 

You didn’t actually care what she was like. You just wanted to know why she was so important, or not important, or just something about why you were being treated differently because of her.

Walt smiled faintly, like a memory came to him. “Bright. Stubborn. Always humming like she heard music the rest of us couldn’t hear. She was a wonderful person.”

Your chest tightened a little. The past tense use of ‘was’ had been your key info that this did not sound like someone who was alive. Meaning that for the last weeks that you’ve been here, you’ve reminded people of a dead person who had a mysterious past with the owner of the Red Pony.

“Do I look like this person?”

Walt finally looked at you. Yeah, Henry was right. It wasn’t even a resemblance. It was just her. 

“You do.” He’d gone home and looked through old photo albums the day that Henry brought it up to him at the bar. He’d been shocked to see how right his friend had been.

You swallowed, hoping that in this moment with no one else around, you might be able to break some answers out of Walt. 

“He’s… he’s acting like it hurts to be near me.”

“Because it does,” Walt said simply. He didn’t even look back up, just kept going through the file. 

You were at work, you still had work to do… that didn’t mean you weren’t trying to figure everything out.

You stayed quiet about it the rest of the day, knowing that it could only be kept from you for so long before it eventually spilled open.

In the days following, Henry thought about how to tell Walt of his findings. Findings that Walt probably already had due to some basic employment paperwork, but he wouldn’t think much of it until there was an explanation that Henry was all too eager to discuss.

It happened in the early morning hours after the bar had closed. They were sitting on the porch behind the Red Pony, a pot of coffee between them, the stars sharp overhead. Walt had to be at the station early, but he lingered because of how quiet Henry had been the entirety of the night.

“She was born the day Amelie died,” Henry began quietly.

Walt didn’t say anything, just turned to listen. There’s more, he knows there is.

“She has her laugh. Her temper. The way she holds her pen, how she opens the door to her car, even just the way she answered the phone when I called the station. It is all Amelie...”

Still, Walt said nothing, instead he placed a hand on his friend’s arm. In comfort, or for grounding, he didn’t know. He just felt like he needed to.

Henry looked away, his eyes following the night sky. “I know what it sounds like.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Walt replied hastily. This was all so hard to deal with, and he understood. 

“I am not crazy.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Henry ran a hand down his face. “You have to know that it is not just how she looks. It was at first, but now... She walks into the room and I feel like I have been waiting for her since she left me.”

Walt leaned back. This was a hard pill to swallow but he tries to take it for Henry’s sake. He has been without Amelie for so many years, twenty-five to be exact, and though he’s seemed to be happy, clearly that wasn’t the case. It bothers him so tremendously now to see her face again, knowing what happened to take it away in the first place. 

“So… You think she’s Amelie reincarnated?”

Though he never believed the spiritual things that Henry believed in, he could undoubtedly understand the comfort in such a concept.

Henry’s silence was louder than any answer.

Walt stared at him. “You really believe that.”

“I do.”

The sheriff exhaled slowly, a breath that was ever so slightly shaking. He didn’t know why. Maybe he was tired, maybe he was nervous for how all of this would play out… he didn’t really know. He could very easily say, however, that the certainty in Henry’s voice, and the spark in his eyes that there might be something coming, had convinced him that no matter what was true, Henry needed this. 

 “I’ve never been one for… fate. Never been one for any of that spirit guide nonsense... But I’ve seen you. You’re more hopeful right now than you have been since she got here. If that’s what this is doing to you… I’m not going to argue with it.”

Henry turned his head. “You think I am wrong.”

“I think it doesn’t matter,” Walt countered. None of it mattered, because no matter what either of them believed, something in all of this was real. It could just be a coincidence, but Walt knew you looked like Amelie, and acted like her, too. “Because you’re hopeful. And I can’t take that away from you.”

After that day came the little things.

A wind chime outside the bar. You said you liked the sound of it once in passing. Two days later, it had been fixed, hung higher, clearer, like someone wanted you to hear it better.

A burned coffee pot in the station. You muttered under your breath to Walt about how the city had better coffee in dumpsters. Of course, Walt was never much one for gossip, but he did tell his best friend nearly every detail of the day since his own wife had died. That same evening, you found a bag of ground espresso in your drawer, no note.

A sandwich that Walt let you take a bite of one day that you really liked, that you knew he didn’t make himself. The next day he brought in two sandwiches and said the other one was made for you.

The cracked aviators you always wore that went missing one day on duty out on the forest, and you started complaining about it to anyone who could hear. Drinking with Vic one night at the Red Pony you got a little louder than usual because of the sentimental value they held. ‘Had them since high school’ was your complaint, heard by probably everyone in the establishment. When you arrived at work the following Monday, a brand new pair was sitting on your desk. No one in the station claimed to have gotten them for you.

You knew who had been doing all of these little things, and you really appreciated them, but couldn’t for the life of you confront the man over it. It felt like maybe if you did he’d just stop and revert back to ignoring you completely. Or maybe this was his way of making up for all the avoidances… but if that were the case, why does he still keep his distance?

There was a night after patrol that you couldn’t sleep. You sat on your motel bed, going on a month since you couldn’t find an apartment yet, legs crossed, phone in hand, screen blank.

You wanted to text Henry, to ask if there was a day that you both could just talk everything out, to tell him you were thankful for the small gestures that you knew were left by him somehow. You only had his number because Walt had you call him on the road one day. Him not having a phone of his own had caused many problems, but this one you didn’t mind.

You toll it over in your mind a few times but it doesn’t seem like the best option right now, so you drop your phone and go to bed. 

You honestly have no idea why you care so much. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never had a situation like this before and it bothers you, or maybe it’s just how drawn you are to him, and can’t stand the weird communication or lack thereof that keeps happening. 

You gave it a few days, trying to fall deeper into work and not worry so much about Henry. The thing about that, is your boss keeps him in your mind whenever he casually mentions his name at the station. Or anytime at all. You try and block it out, tending to the paperwork in the slow hours.

Still, the questions kept circling.

Why couldn’t he speak to you?

What was his motive for doing all these kind gestures?

And what exactly had this person you looked like meant to him?

The shift happened on a Thursday.

Henry came into the station to drop off some evidence he’d found when visiting a crime scene that Walt asked him to take a closer look at.

You were the only one there with Ruby at the time, who was taking a call from another witness in the case. His only other option was to speak with you, which you thought would make him uneasy… except for it didn’t this time. He didn't hesitate, just walked up to your desk like he hadn’t been trying to stay out of your vicinity recently.

You didn’t look up at first. You were flipping through case notes, pretending to care about tire impressions when all you could think about was the fact that you hadn’t spoken to him in person in nearly two weeks. You took a call for him once, but just to get Walt on the phone.

His voice, calm, low, and even, cut through the room.

“Walt around?”

You lifted your eyes. “Out. Took a call west of Durant.”

Henry nodded. “Radio off?”

“Seems like it.”

He stood there for a second too long, like he didn’t know whether to stay or leave. Then he held out a small, ziplocked bag.

“Found this off the highway, east side of the crash. Matches the VIN you guys were looking for.”

You hesitated before taking it, marking the outside of the bag and adding it to the pile that was being collected on your desk. “Thanks.”

Henry didn’t move. Just looked at you like he wanted to say something still. It was strange, the way he all of a sudden took up space near you on purpose. You thought he would have cleared out as soon as the evidence was dropped off.

“You want a ride out to the car? It is still there, but there were a few things I noticed that had not been in the file.”

Your head tilted slightly. “You’re offering to drive me?”

“Unless you have a better set of wheels than I do,” he said, eyes soft but unreadable. He seemed so, for lack of a better word, unbothered. So normal, like you were one of the other deputies he’d known for a while.

You narrowed your stare. You couldn’t just move on and not say something about it. You liked to deal with things head on, so you did.

 “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I have not.” His defense was quick, like we was expecting you to say it…

“Yes, you have. I have eye witnesses,” you joked, though it was truthful that many people saw him actively avoid you.

“Witnesses?” He cracked a smile, slanted and skeptical but still there.

“Yep. Vic, Branch, your good buddy Walt.”

He didn’t want to get into the whole conversation right now. There was time for that. Time for explanation in further detail about his actions, and time to make it up to you.

“Do you want a ride to the car or not?” 

You hesitated for half a second, then grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair.

“Fine,” you said, unsure of this interaction but not weary of it.

He raised a brow, as if he didn’t expect you to actually take him up on it. He just went ahead of you and held the door open like it was something he’d done a hundred times.

The drive started quiet.

You fiddled with the cuff of your jacket, replaying in your own head what you weren’t saying. Henry didn’t fill the silence, not like you used to try to do for him. But the quiet didn’t feel heavy, it just… was.

Fifteen minutes in, you finally glanced over. 

“So were you avoiding me because I reminded you of someone, or just because I talk too much?”

You knew it was the former, but that was the only way you could think of to raise the conversation without it being too awkward. It’s hard to confront someone that was avoiding you, especially when now they are actively next to you and giving you a ride to a crime scene.

He didn’t look away from the road. “Maybe I missed hearing you talk.”

You blinked, the answer completely baffling you. 

“That’s new,” you muttered, eyes locked on his profile as he turned down another street.

Henry smiled to himself. “Things change.”

You watched the trees roll by, and thought about asking what exactly it was that had changed, but didn’t. If this was how it was going to be, you wouldn’t complain. It was significantly better than it had been before.

Instead, you let the window down and breathed in the Wyoming air.

The car was exactly where he said it’d be - half-buried in brush, driver’s side crumpled, door swinging open like a jaw unhinged.

You ducked under the police tape and surveyed the area, squinting at the patch of gravel beside the tree line. There was indeed something new about the scene. 

New prints.

“Looks like someone walked off from here,” you muttered.

“Bare footprints,” Henry added, crouching beside you. “They curve back. Whoever it was came back to the car.”

“Why?”

You stood together, eyes scanning the edge of the woods.

That’s when you heard it.

A branch snapped. You saw a figure as soon as you turned around, crouching behind some foliage.

“Hands up!” you shouted, pulling your weapon instinctively.

A man stepped out, and he looked sunburned,  and ragged, holding something in one hand.

“Hey,” you called again. “Drop it.”

But he didn’t.

Henry moved slightly in front of you, tension winding through him like a live wire. His voice dropped low. “He is not listening.”

His gut turned. This would not unfold for him a second time, he would make sure of it. Even without a weapon to defend himself, he was in the line of fire, protecting you as a human shield from any bullet that may get fired. 

Something about the man’s stare, feral, far gone, said he wasn’t here to run. He was here to cause a scene. He clearly was a part of the case, whether he be the person they were looking for or just an accomplice.

The glint of metal in his hand caught the sun, and Henry’s whole body tensed. He cocked the gun and started to pull the trigger…

Gun raised, you didn’t hesitate.

BANG.

The shot cracked through the trees, and the man dropped, weapon flying from his grip.

Henry turned to you, his expression not in judgment, but in shock. He had not seen even one of Walt’s deputies shoot a man so fast, without even a second thought or a moment to calibrate how his life could be spared. You picked up on his thought trail through the look in his face.

You were breathing hard. “He was gonna shoot you.”

Henry blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “I know.”

His voice was quiet, and almost sounded scared.

You bent to check the guy’s vitals. He was alive, just barely. You almost hoped he wasn’t, because now you have to call someone to come and get him. At least you won’t have to deal with an angry sheriff complaining about killing the only new lead. He’d probably be at the hospital to question him in no time.

When you stood again, calling an ambulance, Henry hadn’t moved.

He was staring at the spot where the man had fallen. Not like he was looking at him, but like he was seeing something else entirely.

You realized, slowly, what that was. The missing puzzle piece to everything that you had endured. 

The last time someone pulled a gun on someone he cared about, and he wasn’t fast enough to do anything about it.

But this time… it hadn’t ended the same.

You asked him about it on the way back to the station, gently as you possibly could. 

“She got shot, didn’t she?” You turned to look at him, his profile on display but still showing when his face changed. “The girl I remind you of?”

He sighed. It felt like the ghost of Amelie was asking how she herself had been killed. He did not dare answer plainly, as he often didn’t when being questioned about that night. 

“It is a long story that I do not care to tell these days…” 

You could understand him perfectly. Obviously he still carries the weight of losing this girl, whoever she was. She could have been a stranger to him for all you know, but he carries the weight and burden of not being able to prevent her passing. You don’t know, really, but you still understand. You carry that weight, too.

“I’m sorry,” you told him instead. It doesn’t help, and you have experienced the lackluster effects of condolences first hand, but it’s all you can offer. “I get it, y’know?” 

He didn’t respond, just waited to hear more. He’s sure that whatever you endured cannot possibly compare, but he would never tell you that. He doesn’t want to hurt you like he hurts. You’ve become more important to him than you could ever know… so with that in mind, he listens.

“Before I came here I was a rookie in Denver. Four months out of the academy, I thought I was some big city hot shot…” you trailed, remembering the time that already felt forever ago. “I had a partner I really liked. He was older, told bad jokes, and hated straying from tradition… but he was a really good man. Had a family, and a lot of people who depended on him, myself included. I never knew my dad, so working with him became like the closest thing I was gonna get.” 

Henry’s heart softens at hearing this. The way you describe this man, and how you seem to feel talking about him. Like he already knows you are building up to a tragedy. 

“I made a bad slip one night. We were trying to stop a guy in the street who we knew was armed and had already shot someone… I had my gun up, but I hesitated.” 

For the first time since leaving the scene, Henry looked at you. It wasn’t a look of pity, or of condolences. Just genuine concern and empathy, like he wanted to shield you from the heartache. 

“He died in the hospital, they had called his wife to be with him. I waited outside… I had to tell her it was my fault.” 

“Someone else shooting your partner is not your fault,” he said, eyes switching between you and the road, which was mostly empty this far out.

“Doing nothing about it was my fault. He’d saved my ass several times, the least I could’ve done was kill the bastard who shot him.”

He didn’t answer this time, but he did something that you didn’t expect. He grabbed your hand that rested on the center console and gave it a tight squeeze before returning his own hand to the steering wheel. 

Your heart had jumped at the gentle motion, and even after it happened you kept your eyes on your hand, still feeling the warmth that had enveloped it so easily. 

When he dropped you off at the station, he didn’t come inside, saying that he left his establishment unattended for too long. He did however ask you if you would be attending rodeo night on the following evening. You honestly had to laugh for a moment, because the invitation was so warm and hopeful that you would attend. Something so stark of a contrast to how he’d been to you for almost a month. Of course, you agreed to come, knowing that it would be a fun way to blow off some steam from the case. It was yours and Branch’s night off, and even though he wasn’t your favorite coworker, he could be fun outside of work.

Little did you know that upstairs sat at her desk by the window, Vic was all too happily watching the interaction, finding it suspicious how long you lingered by the window of his truck, at one point laughing like he’d said the funniest joke you ever heard. She narrowed her eyes, watching in the same manner how Henry seemed to light up just looking at you. Her confusion had rivaled yours in the days before, not understanding why he’d been so cold to you. But apparently that was all over now. 

She asked you about it when you came up, knowing that Walt and the others were heading out to question another witness of the crash.

“Since when do you go on calls with Henry?” She leaned back in her chair with a smirk on her face and her arms crossed. She noted your huge smile still lingering and continued. “And since when are you so happy about it?” 

You bit your lips together to try and stop the spread of your cheeks from getting out of hand. It was time to go back to work… but you unfortunately were still smiling. 

“Shut up,” you said, going into Walt’s office and grabbing an incident form from the drawer. You knew it was better to get it done and out of the way, what with you having shot someone and all. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, spinning her chair around.

“Incidident report… shot a guy.”

She nearly choked on the air around her, her eyes bulging out of her head when you said it as if it were nothing.

“You seem very excited for someone who just shot a guy… would rodeo night have anything to do with that?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You shot back, the smile still prominent and unfading. 

She giggled relentlessly just at the look on your face, and you had to shake your head and ignore it. What on earth could have made this switch up so quickly? You swore the man was an asshole. You dedicated endless amounts of time to finding out reasons that he hated you. You even dealt with the cold glares and short attitude when he was around. Now you’re sitting at your desk, filing an incident report while smiling your ass off over an invitation to his bar for an event night.

Vic spoke to Branch later in the day, and asked if there was any way on earth he would switch shifts with her for the Friday evening, and he agreed on the one condition that he would get to drive her patrol vehicle for the next week, since hers was brand new and his was practically falling apart. It was an easy sacrifice for her to make on account of rodeo night, which she often missed each month for work. 

The bar was filled with rowdy cowboys in town for the weekend, some who had competed in events only earlier that day, but were now drunk off their asses and completely out of their minds. Boys who were standing on tables and pretending to throw a lasso around girls standing at the bar. They were all so crazy and wild compared to the regulars at the Red Pony… but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. You were having just as good a time as they were. 

Vic had found just about the only free standing table when you both walked in, and it’s where you’d been standing since you got your first drink.

The lights seem to be dimmer than usual, and you can’t help but wonder if it was purposely for the atmosphere, or if things got out of hand, and a few bulbs were broken.

“Want another one?” You asked Vic, who was nearing the bottom of her beer. You still had about half left in yours, and she noticed it right away. 

“You just want a reason to go back to the bar,” she assumed, narrowing her eyes in your direction. You didn’t say anything, just raised your brows and took another drink. She sighed, rolling her eyes and slamming back the rest of her beer in one go. “Go ahead.”

You practically leapt from where you were standing, turning heel and going up to the bar, but when you got to the corner of the establishment, Henry was preoccupied with someone. Probably five years older than you, and very beautiful. 

You hadn’t seen her before, but you weren’t going to back down. Vic needed a drink. 

You didn’t even have to interrupt whatever interaction was happening, because as soon as you were in sight of him, he paused and turned to you. 

“Hey,” you smiled, knocking once on the counter before resting a hand on it.

“Another one already? That was fast…” he says with a slanted smile, but before you can respond, the woman beside him pipes up. 

“Henry, who’s this?” She asked, looking you up and down with a smile. Not anything malicious, and actually, you could probably call it flirtatious if you wanted to. 

“This,” he said, beginning with a grandiose introductory tone, “is Walt’s new rookie. Only been here about a month and she’s already cracked open two cases.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. You appreciated the sentiment, but honestly, you hated talking about work outside of work. You let it slide just this once, since he seemed so happy to bring it up. 

“Wow, big hotshot,” she commented, her smile widening. You couldn’t actually tell it if was fake or not, and to quite frank, you didn’t actually care. 

“Not really, I lucked into it both times,” you brushed it off with a blushing grin, hoping to move onto something else, like possibly getting the drink you came to the counter for in the first place. 

“She is just adorable…” the woman trailed off, her tone of voice not condescending, but still feeling superior somehow. “Isn’t she adorable, Henry?” 

When she turned back to look at him, hands on his side of the counter where he leaned, eyes on you like they had been the whole time, she took a sharp inhale. 

Henry didn’t respond, just kept looking at you like he was waiting for what you came to ask. It had been a blessing, because you didn’t want to hear his answer. Either way it would feel weird. 

You took an awkward breath of your own, changing the subject, finally.

“Vic needs another beer,” you let out, tapping your fingers on the counter nervously. 

He nodded to you, turning around to get the drink. His back would only be turned for a few seconds at most, so the woman didn’t dare ask anything too over the top. She just settled for:

“How old are you?” 

You could tell she had been hesitant to ask, but she did anyway, so you unashamedly answered her without question. 

“Twenty five.” 

She hummed. For some reason you seemed younger, but she didn’t hassle you about it. Maybe she had just seen your face before. Not in person, she knows that. But you looked familiar. Perhaps in photos, perhaps in the newspaper. She doesn’t know. 

When Henry handed back over the drink, you gave him a smile with a tilt of your head, then turned to leave with a playful promise of “don’t worry, I’ll be back.” 

Heading back to the table, your smile dropped, and Vic was now looking behind you instead of at you. 

“I see you met Dina,” she grabbed the fresh drink you brought, taking a swig and setting it back down. 

Your demeanor had completely changed since your little visit to the counter, and she knew why. 

“Please tell me he’s not into her,” you let out. You didn’t even know if you fully wanted to know the answer but she gave it to you anyway.

“I think he used to be, a while ago. She comes around every so often but she never stays, and he never seems to care.” 

“She seems like a bitch,” you said quickly, chugging your beer until there was just a little at the bottom. The drinks out here tasted better than in the city. It was one of the first things you noticed when moving here. Everything was richer, more potent. 

“What the hell happened over there?” 

You squinted your eyes and scrunched up your face. “She thinks I’m just adorable.” 

Vic had to laugh at your tone and expression, because clearly there was more that was said, and clearly, it bothered you immensely. 

“I mean seriously? C’mon, she’s young enough to be my sister but she’s patronizing me as if I’m some kid in high school.”

“She’s probably jealous that she doesn’t have all of Henry’s attention anymore,” she suggested, raising her brows and looking between you and back over to the bar where Dina still stood, trying to keep the eyes of the bartender on her. 

“Yeah, I’m sure… because he’s just all over me,” you rolled your eyes, finishing the last of your beer. 

You shook your head, listening to the loud music for about ten seconds before you reached back in front of you and started taking drinks of Vic’s new beer. She smirked at you, a knowing look crossing her face as she gingerly took the glass from your hand and set it back down on the table. 

“Maybe Dina’s not the jealous one, here.” 

You looked at her incredulously. “I’m not jealous.” 

“You sure about that?” She flashed a small smile. There was no harm in it, but it was obvious that she was teasing you. 

You sighed and threw a glance over your shoulder back to the bar. Dina was laughing hysterically at something Henry said, but the look on his face told you whatever it was could not have been that comical. 

“They clearly have a history, and I just got here a month ago. I have nothing to be jealous about.” 

She let you keep taking drinks of the beer that was meant for her, thinking that maybe if you could get it in your system then you would loosen up a little. 

“Alright, let’s say I believe you,” she paused, her face becoming less teasing and more sympathetic. “If you’re not jealous, then why are you bothered?” 

You stared at her for a moment, thinking of something to say. When your eyes drifted over the crowd, having fun, being rowdy, you found the words. 

“Can’t I just say she’s a bitch and call it a day?” 

Vic laughed, quick and snarky. “No.”

You didn’t want to say anything that made you look desperate, but this whole situation was frustrating. You had worked so hard just to get this man to acknowledge your existence, and when he finally did, you couldn’t help but feel some kind of spark. 

The way he teased you and you were able to banter back so effortlessly, even after weeks of silence and the cold shoulder. It felt natural in a way you couldn’t have compared to any past relationship you’ve had before. You didn’t know why it was so easy, but it was. 

Now, you feel like those weeks of hard work have been undone and completely wasted by a woman named Dina who was apparently here first, and was very adamant to show you that fact. Almost like she was saying ‘get lost, kid. I found this one a while ago.’ 

You finished the beer and set the empty glass down on the table. 

“I’m still too sober to be talking about this,” you replied, grouping the empty glasses together on the table and making room for the next one. 

“I suppose it’s my turn, huh?” She assumed, since you were in no state to go back to the counter. 

When she left, she found that Dina was at the speaker, changing the song and queueing more for after. Kept busy just long enough for Vic to catch Henry unattended. 

“Gonna need two more,” she told him, watching his head tilt as though she were crazy. He knew she could throw some back, but it was becoming excessive.

“After this, I am taking your keys,” he let out, rolling his eyes and moving to fill up two more glasses anyways. He stopped when she spoke again. 

“They’re not for me,” she corrected, her eyebrows raised as she leaned on the bar with a telling expression. 

Henry looked back over to your table, watching as some poor cowboy made an awkward and drunken attempt to speak with you. He could see the tipsy smile on your face, but knew according to the boy’s reaction what your response had been. A kind rejection. 

“Then I am taking her keys.” 

Vic smiled, “don’t threaten her with a good time, Henry.”

He rolled his eyes and fulfilled the request anyways, a quiet smile on his lips that no one else could see. 

On her way back to the table, Vic saw the cowboy walk away, defeated temporarily until he found another pretty girl to talk to. 

“Who was that?” Vic chided, setting down the two additional beers on the table. 

“An unfortunate victim of my poor attitude.” Your response was short lived, because as soon as you took a drink, she was back on you. 

“I got you enough beer to drown in, you better start talking.” 

Yes, she did, and that had been your request.

“I feel crazy.” 

“You’ve downed two beers in the last eight minutes and you’re on your third, I’d say crazy is on its way.” 

You laughed, nodding in agreement and looking in the direction of the speakers, the country having been changed to some God awful early 2000s Indy music. 

“I think I like him,” you said plainly, with no change in your tone or facial expression. “And I worked really hard to get on good terms with him.”

She understands that you’re probably under the impression that Dina is of any importance, but the truth is, she’s just a consistent fling. 

“You seem on pretty good terms, still. He keeps looking over here,” she told you, nodding over your shoulder. 

You refused to turn around again, and only kept drinking until you were on the last glass of beer. There was no chance you were driving home later. 

“I just wish she weren’t part of it. It would make things easier,” you explained, sliding around the glasses to keep things tidy, although this much drinking could result in a messy scene regardless. “I feel like I know him… or like I knew him, or something. And if he has a girlfriend, good for him. Doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed about it.”

She whistled out lowly, her following words that of hope. “Well, I wouldn’t give up yet, he’s coming over here.” 

You still didn’t turn around, just took a deep breath and started chugging the last beer on the table. Vic had taken a sip or two of it, but the glass was mostly full. When Henry came to stand beside the table, hands on his hips and eyes focused on you, you didn’t budge. Just kept drinking until you could see the bottom of your glass clearly. 

He did not seem impressed but rather slightly annoyed by the action. When you set your glass down, you turned to him with a fake and cheery smile.

“Looks like I’ve run dry,” you joked, the sarcasm spilling over your words without a filter because of the alcohol flooding through you. 

“You most definitely have. I am cutting you off,” he responded confidently with a satisfied smile. Ever since you came to the counter he’d been watching you, and just how much you’d consumed. He didn’t understand the reason for it, you never drank that much on previous evenings. He assumed it had something to do with his present company, Dina. Whom he did not invite, nor did he care for the presence of on this particular night. 

“I’m not even drunk… yet,” you teased, your smile turning more genuine. A laugh escaped you, but you stopped it short when he took a step closer.

The looks you were giving him were borderline dangerous, and Vic had to bite her tongue from saying something snarky.

“Give me your keys.” 

You stared him down, a narrow look in your eye. You hadn’t broken eye contact once since he came over, and you weren’t planning on backing down now. He stood taller than you, normally something intimidating, but not now. It gave you all the more reason to give him that expression in your eyes. It was messy, and drunk, and full of tension that was thick and could be cut with a knife.

You titled your head to see if he would break, but he didn’t, so without looking away, you fished in your pocket to pull out your keys, holding them up for him to take. 

He had the audacity to smirk at you before taking them and walking back to the bar where Dina was waiting. 

You turned to face the table sideways so you could glance in his direction. The woman standing before him tried hard to keep his attention, but every time you looked up, he was already looking back at you. 

“Dina’s in deep shit,” Vic said, leaning forward to whisper softly. Not like anyone else could hear, but still. 

You’d taken away all that woman’s power without her being able to do a single thing about it. 

“Who’s adorable now?” You muttered in a joking tone. 

Vic threw her head back in a laugh while the rest of the night unfolded. 

More drinks were dished out, however none were consumed by you, as made sure of by Henry. 

The music kept blaring throughout the Red Pony, and the ambience only seemed to intensify the longer the alcohol stayed in your blood. It started to get fuzzy, but not in a way that you couldn’t handle. You were a tough city girl, a few beers was nothing. Four beers, though, that was just a bit different. 

The turn of events began when Vic got called away, completely sober, to a situation that was called in. Walt apologized for impeding her night off, but the truth of the matter was that two deputies being gone during a breakthrough in the case was not ideal. 

That means you were left in the capable hands of Henry, who was about to clean up shop for the night. The bar closed ten minutes ago, and now he was just waiting for the patrons to clear out. 

Since the undesirable Dina had gone home not long ago, you were finally able to approach Henry without worrying about a chance encounter with the bitch you decided drunkenly to despise for the rest of your life. 

You saddled up on a barstool when only four people remained, leaning on your hands, elbows on the countertop. 

He turned to you, seeing your slightly dazed expression, and heaved a small sigh. “You are not getting your keys.” 

“Mind calling me a cab then? Otherwise I’m stuck here, and you’re supposed to be closing up.”

“In this town, I would not advise a young, drunk woman to ride home in a cab by herself,” he explained, continuing to wipe down the glasses as he spoke. 

If you couldn’t drive, and couldn’t take a cab, then you were stuck here indefinitely. It wasn’t the worst outcome for a night like this, but it most definitely was inconvenient, given that you’d probably be called into the station in the morning. The case breaking was a sure indication that all hands would be needed on deck. 

“Looks like you’re stuck with one last customer, then,” you looked around, seeing that the last stragglers had cleared out nearly the moment you sat down. 

He smirked, throwing the towel onto the counter before rounding it and coming to stand beside you. 

“You have two options,” he said calmly, mindful of how drunk you still were. “You can either wait for me to finish up here, and I will drive you home… or, I have a spare studio upstairs where you can stay for the night.”

You smiled sweetly, moving to hop off the stool, but being wobbly on your feet. He caught you before you could collapse into the bar, and you steadied yourself with an awkward clearing of your throat. 

“Are you alright?” He laughed, watching you tip back and forth on your feet, but managing to stay upright. 

“Better now that Dina’s gone.” You mumbled in a laugh, though he barely heard it. He wasn’t actually meant to in the first place, but your drunken stupidity just seemed to be on a roll tonight. 

He sighed with a smirk, looking back to you and handing over a key from his own pocket. 

“Upstairs, first door on the left,” he spoke evenly, taking a step back when he saw you were steady without him. “Unless you do not think you can make it up the stairs.” 

You scoffed, walking in the direction of his office before turning down the hall. Literally on the very first step, your foot caught in the step, and you tripped. You didn’t fall, hands going straight for the wooden rail on the wall, but the noise that sounded alerted him that you were struggling. 

“Need some help?” He called from the taps, wiping everything down for the next day. 

“Nope, all good…” you giggled, managing to get your footing.

And that was the last you saw of him for the evening. 

The room he let you crash in was nice. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, but it was nice. The decor looked like that of a younger boy, maybe a teenager. Maybe a college kid. You didn’t know. It was cozy nonetheless. There were picture frames set face down on each surface, and though you were curious about them, you didn’t want to cross a line by snooping. You were tired, and the bed looked comfy, so you collapsed into it, passing out within seconds, barely managing to get your boots off first. 

Your cell phone had been the reason for waking up the next morning, otherwise, you’d still be in this room until sunset. Your head ached when you took the call, and it started pounding even more when Walt said you had to come in and hold down the fort while the others were out making another arrest. Turns out the single car crash that happened off the road was just the center of a giant conspiracy, linked to both thievery and murder. 

You groaned when you got off the phone, your hangover dragging you through the ringer as you somehow managed to get downstairs without falling. You were so dizzy from your headache, you knew you wouldn’t be able to drive. 

“You do not look so good,” came a voice from across the room, watching how you squinted your eyes, and grabbed the wall for dear life. 

“If I look how I feel, I can imagine it’s pretty shitty,” you responded, falling into the nearest chair you could find. “I haven’t been that drunk since college.”

He laughed at you, stepping out of his office doorway and looking at how disheveled you were. He didn’t care in the slightest, because it made him smile. 

He went ahead and got you a glass of water, making you drink it to help with the headache. You knew that Walt was waiting on you, but you were thoroughly trashed, and would crash from the lack of clarity in your vision if you tried to get behind a wheel. 

“Would you be mad if I asked you a favor?” 

He lifted a brow. You were asking if he’d be mad, as if he didn’t let you crash at his establishment last night, drunk and in a fit of giggles and jealousy.

“I would not,” he replied, crossing his arms and waiting.

You hesitated slightly at his gentle annoyance before asking. “Do you think you could drop me off at the station? Walt called us all in, but I don’t think I should be driving right now.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, watching you take a deep breath after using your hand to block out the sun from the window. 

Clearly you were in terrible shape. He didn’t find that funny… but you were still going into work in your condition, which was slightly comical. That stubbornness, and determination, so familiar to him. 

“I will drive you,” he said, going behind the counter to grab his keys, grabbing yours too so you could come back and get your car at the earliest convenience. “You might want to take a look in the mirror, first.” 

It was just a joke, meant to be harmless, but you spent several minutes cursing at yourself in the reflection, trying to make yourself look more human. It didn’t help that your headache refused to cease. 

The drive was almost completely silent, but just before getting to the station, Henry decided to throw some knowledge into the wind for you to catch onto. 

“I hope it will please you to know that Dina left town this morning. She will not be back for a few weeks maybe longer.”

You didn’t respond, just looked over at him. He met your eyes for a moment before letting them go back to the road. The expression was soft, genuine. Like he wanted you to know it so you could be at ease around him again. 

When he pulled into the front of the station, you got out and went around the car to the sidewalk. He watched to make sure you got inside before pulling out onto the street again. 

How fortunate for Vic to have a seat by the window, able to see all through her little portal into the world. When you walked in, looking exactly how she left you at the bar, she laughed under her breath, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she teased playfully. “And are those the same clothes from last night?” 

You gave her a glare, not so giggly as when this happened on Thursday. 

“Vic,” you sighed out, going to your desk and rooting through the drawers for an aspirin. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” 

Ferg looked at you, then at Vic again, his brows furrowed. 

“Paradise? She looks like she got beat up,” he replied, voice full of concern and confusion as the jokes clearly went over his head. 

You have Vic another long glare, talking a drink of water to flush down the pills. 

When Walt walked in, closely followed by Ruby, they both stopped to get a look at you. Walt didn’t wanna say anything at first, but when he saw Vic trying to hide a snickering grin, he looked back at you, a bit concerned about your appearance. 

“Rough night?” 

You looked at him with a sigh, giving a sarcastic smile and thumbs up. 

“Just ask Henry, he’ll tell you,” Vic piped up to her boss, relentlessly teasing you every chance she could get. “He just dropped her off.”

Walt stood still for a moment, wondering if anything had transpired between the two. His last conversation with Henry lead him to believe that there may be some kind of pursuit, he just didn’t think it would happen this fast. 

“Never mind that, we have work to do,” he turned to you again, giving direct instruction. “Stay here with the witness. If he talks, write it down. Everyone else comes with me.” 

And so they all followed. 

You eventually went into the locker, grabbing a change of clothes and running a brush through your hair as best you could. 

The rest of the day was a blur, and so was the week. It wasn’t until one morning, just outside of Durant on a house call, that something in all the blur began to change. You saw a billboard for the Sheriff’s election, and Branch was campaigning. You didn’t mind Branch as a coworker, but you couldn’t stand the thought of him as your boss.

After that day, it seemed like there was a new case every day, something worse than the last. You, along with the rest of the deputies did not have the luxury of nights out on the town anymore. Visits to the Red Pony were less frequent, and when they happened it was usually on business for a case. 

That didn’t stop Henry from sending you messages whenever he thought of you. Making jokes about rodeo night, talking about if you’d settled into your new apartment yet, and even just sending photos of the land near the bar when the sunset was pretty. It surprised you how tech savvy he was, considering Walt couldn’t have been much older, and didn’t even carry a cellphone. 

You appreciated the attempts at staying close, especially since you worked so hard just to get there. 

One morning while sitting on the highway and running the radar, you got a call from Walt asking you to stop what you were doing and pick Henry up. 

“From the Red Pony?” You asked, confused as to why he couldn’t use his own car.

“No… he uh,” Walt paused, a clearing of his throat before he continued. “He was caught trespassing on the Newett Energy property.” 

“Trespassing? Henry? Why?” 

You didn’t even wait for an answer, just pulled out onto the road. 

“Because I asked him to.” He admitted it timidly, scratching his face on the other line. “Just make sure they don’t press charges.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

And you did. When you showed up, you put up a fight just to get him released into your custody, which was not an easy task given the anger of the situation and the fact that Henry had apparently assaulted two security guards. You didn’t think he had it in him, if you were being honest. 

You swore to yourself that you’d give him a piece of your mind when you drove him home, that you would make him feel the wrath you felt when arguing with the idiots in charge of holding him… but as soon as he came waltzing out of the detaining office, giving you a crooked smile, suddenly all that anger melted away. 

“Let’s go,” you nodded to the car outside, making sure he was following closely so that the security guards didn’t jump on your ass about it. 

Once in the car, you sighed. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

He just kept his stare on the window in front of him. 

“It is good to see you too.” 

You dropped him off at the Red Pony, where Walt was waiting with a judge to try and speed along the case this had all been for, but you didn’t get to be a part of that meeting, just went back to the highway, as was your post for the day.

But then, suddenly the contact went flat again. Henry would send you the occasional, “my view this morning” photo of the sky from his apartment balcony, and you would send a snarky reply of your own view, usually Ferg sipping on a cup of coffee. He always thought it was comical, but he didn’t check in as much as before the day you had to pick him up. Maybe he was scared you’d bring it up, but to be honest, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to talk to him again. Really talk, not just send a ‘what you up to’ text.

One particular day, a few weeks before the election, there had been a problem in front of the station. Not really a problem so much as a tragedy unfolding. 

Walt was cornered by a Denver investigator, telling him that they found his wife’s murderer. 

His wife. 

Whom everyone was under the impression that she died of cancer… was killed?

You didn’t say anything, just stood by him as he looked you up and down with a begging expression. 

When the interaction was over, you speedily walked to the station door. He put his hand on the handle to prevent you from entering, the same pleading stare still in his eyes. 

“Would you keep quiet about this?” He asked softly, and with great discretion. 

You’d not even been here a full year, it was not up to you to make any comment or spread the word about his wife, who apparently died differently than everyone thought she did. You wondered if his daughter knew. 

“It’s none of my business…” you trailed, nodding to him and going inside quickly. You kept your promise, and didn’t utter a word about it to anyone again. 

Not for a long time, at least. 

It was a week, nay, nine days before the election, when you found yourself in a hole you couldn’t so easily climb out of. There were two cases, one a murder, and one a minor theft. The minor theft seemed like something easy, so it was a case you’d taken the lead on, since it seemed more like an inconvenience than anything. But you were wrong, of course you were. 

It was eleven o'clock at night, and Ferg was still at his desk, raking through files for Walt to find a criminal record on a person of interest. He got a knock at the door, and was surprised to see Henry so late at night. 

He’d looked a little unsettled, and like he had something important to discuss, but after looking around, it seemed Ferg was the only one here.

“Is Walt around?”

Ferg shook his head, hands on his hips and a sigh on his mouth. “Unfortunately, no. He and everyone else are out on two different cases right now.”

“That is alright, I will bother him tomorrow, nice and early,” Henry let out, ready to turn heel and leave when a transmission came over the radio.

“Hey! Is anybody there?!” Your crackling voice came over the speaker, seemingly in distress and very annoyed. Almost like you’d been trying to get through for longer than a few seconds. “Branch? Ferg? Anybody?!” 

Your tone of voice was in an angry peril, but still had that sharp sarcastic drip to it. Like even if this was a life or death situation, something about it had to feel comical to prevent you from panicking too much. 

“Hey, I can hear you,” Ferg picked up the radio, Henry close behind him and listening over his shoulder. “I can hear you, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” you spat, probably more dramatically than you meant to, but given the circumstances you figured it was earned. “I’m shot… dropped my gun. Got no way out of here.” 

Henry tensed at hearing this, already moving towards Walt’s office to grab a gun he could borrow. No, he didn’t have the right to, and yes, he’d probably get reprimanded for it later. 

“Where is here?” Ferg rushed, a pad and paper in his hands to jot down any details. 

“Holed up in a back room. The old Marshall place you looked up for me earlier,” you responded quickly, a breath of pain escaping you for the first time since you transmissioned in. “If I don’t get some back up by the time they get that door unblocked, I’m toast.” 

“Vic and Branch are both with Walt,” Ferg responded, stuttering a bit as if he didn’t expect to be called into the line of fire tonight. “But I’m on my way.” 

“Just hurry your ass up and don’t get killed on the way in here,” you replied, another low groan at the pain in your gunshot wound, no doubt. 

Henry took the radio as Ferg was holstering his guns and grabbing the address he’d gotten you a few hours ago.

“This is Henry, I am going with Ferg. Is there anything you can tell me about the person who shot you?” 

“Henry?” You seemed almost shocked to hear his voice after this long without it, but you didn’t linger on it for too long, just answered his question. “He’s a six foot male, tattoo sleeves on both arms… I don’t know much else, I didn’t get a good look.”

“We are on our way, stay where you are.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice. Sitting against an old credenza in a storage room, you chanced a look over your shoulder. The blockade of a full armoire you managed to get in front of the door seemed to be holding, but the single bullet hole in the middle of it was like a peephole inside. 

As long as you stay behind your cover, you should be fine… or at least, you’ll be fine until you bleed out. 

Your jeans were fully drenched in blood from your mid thigh where the bullet entered, a makeshift belt tourniquet doing little to actually help you keep the red liquid inside of your body. 

You waited for what felt like hours, your consciousness thinning until you heard the sound of gunshots in the next room. You jumped in place when the pounding against the door started, and it made you anxious the louder it got, until someone finally bust through. 

Your adrenaline had spiked, waiting for the perp who shot you, until you saw that it was Ferg and Henry coming to the rescue. Ferg kept his eye out for anything else that might be lurking, and Henry knelt down beside you. 

“There is an ambulance on its way here,” he told you, blinking rapidly to assess how bad the situation was. When he saw where you were shot, he almost breathed a sigh of relief. No major arteries were hit, and your self made tourniquet seemed to prevent excessive bleeding. 

“Oh good, I’m not gonna die,” you managed to joke, though it was half hearted from drowsiness. He moved to pick you up, and you groaned slightly. “Sorry in advance.”

“For what?” 

“Getting blood on you,” you let out, a little smirk on the edge of your lips. 

He hated how you were so unbothered by your injury, and making jokes about it. If you’d been hit worse, you’d probably not be so lighthearted, but in the moment, as annoying as it was, he was almost set at ease. 

“I did not like this shirt, anyway.” 

The ambulance ride was longer than you’d like, and the operation to remove the bullet in your leg after that was even longer. 

The only upside in all of this was the painkillers they gave you to numb your body. Your brain felt like mush, but you slept most of it off that night. 

It was early the next morning that Walt and Branch came to alert you that the two cases the station had taken on had been interconnected. The shooter who had managed to make a mess of your leg, was a main conspirator in the murder they had been looking into. Turns out his brother was the killer, and Mr tattoo sleeves had just been trying to keep the police off his back. Unfortunately, it cost you several ounces of blood, but the case had been solved. 

You smiled when Vic popped her head in later in the day, and even when Ruby left you flowers, but at the end of the day, it was clear by the look on your face who your favorite visitor was. 

“There’s my knight in shining armor,” you smiled, turning off the hospital tv and doing your best to sit upright. 

Henry smiled as best he could in turn and sat down beside you, his expression just mildly dimmer than usual. 

“You okay?” You asked, reaching a hand out to him in hopes of easing his mind. The muscles in his arm tensed before relaxing in your hold. 

“I believe I am, now,” he partially lied, knowing the root of his struggles was still at large. His immediate attention however, was now focused on your well being, and how you were safe and alive and seemingly comfortable. “You had me worried, you know.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said with concern. You’d been feeling bad about his involvement at all, but you owe him for it. “I know it was probably hard… and I know that with me reminding you of someone who died like that-“

“It was not easy,” he cut you off before hearing anything more. He understood your meaning, but never wanted you to feel responsible. “But you should never apologize for doing your job.” 

“I should’ve been more careful,” you said in turn. “But at least I’m still here. I have you to thank for that.” 

He looked at you sweetly, his hand still in yours as neither of you knew what to say. He didn’t want to accept the thanks you gave him, just wanted to stay beside you and revel in the fact that you were here. 

His feelings had started out strong, when he finally accepted that you were his lost love returned to him. Then there had been a lull, and the town’s cases seemed to triple overnight. You subconsciously blamed Branch for it all, having seen that billboard one morning before it all went to shit… but it was nothing either of you could help. 

Now he feels like things are back on track, and whatever comes, he’s ready to roll with the punches. One thing he knows for sure, is he won’t lose you. Even if it means that things never go further than where they are. He won’t push, and he won’t try to make you feel a certain way… he’ll just be there if you ever need him, and do his best to keep you safe. You, however, have looked at him a particular way since the beginning, even when he was avoiding you. He was a puzzle you had to solve, and a question you needed answered. 

When you get out of the hospital, he’s the first face you want to see…

But on that very day, Dina shows back up in town. Just for a few days, she says, but it ends up being until the election. You’d been frequenting the Red Pony in your off days, not yet ready to be running around on your injured leg so soon. You’re trying your best one night, to not roll your eyes every time you see her come back to the bar, but this time around, with her being back, you have an advantage. Henry can’t pay attention to anything but you… and it’s easy to tell that it ticks her off. 

Every drink she asks him for, he serves her reluctantly, coming back to hear what you were saying. It gets to the point where she has to crank up the music loud enough that you can’t hear yourself speak. She acts like a jealous teenager. It’s quite ridiculous, and embarrassing on her behalf. Henry questions his own sanity in everything she does, now. At least when you were showing signs of jealousy, all you did was get drunk. She has to make it a giant production. 

Eventually she reached her last straw, making a show of leaving with one of the other patrons while he was looking. He sighed, and you turned back to him with a teasing grin. 

“You gonna let your girlfriend leave with another guy?” You remarked, the smirk heavy on your features. 

“She is not my girlfriend anymore, and has not been for some time.” 

His answer made you scoff. It really was comical, the whole situation. 

“Oh really… Does she know that?” You giggled, still nursing your first drink.

“Glad to see that gunshot did not take away your sense of humor,” he said with a roll of his eyes, going further down the counter to wipe down a small spill. 

“I could lose everything else and still be funny,” you said, raising your glass. He smiled, shaking his head. “What is the deal with her, anyway? She doesn’t seem like your type.” 

“And how would you know my type?” He asked, not seriously or accusatory, but genuinely. 

“Wild guess.” 

He raised his brows, nodding. Fair, he supposed. He’d shown interest to you before, so he assumes that you think of yourself in the situation. Also fair. You are exactly his type, for more reasons than one.

“She wandered in that door about five years ago, and I served her a drink. She had about seven men approach her throughout the night and she ignored all of them in my favor…” he trailed, the story being short and sweet, though you felt more teasing was necessary. 

“Made you feel special, huh?” You leaned forward on the counter, eyes glazed with something he hadn’t seen in them before. Not your eyes, anyway. Hers, maybe... A long time ago.

“Something like that,” he nodded, pouring you a second drink after you finally finished the first one. “I hadn’t dated anyone seriously since I was in high school, figured I’d give it another shot.” 

“High school, huh? Bad heartbreak?” You asked, taking a small sip of the new drink, nice and cold compared to the last one that sat on the counter for a while. 

He stood still, presumably deep in thought while looking at you sincerely. “Yes…” 

You were beginning to put the pieces together. The girl you remind him of, the one who died… she meant a lot to him, probably was everything in the world to him as a boy that age. She died… was shot dead, and he never got over it. It is why he avoided you like the plague on your first month here. It is why even now, he shows hesitation towards getting too close, and it is most certainly why he has not stopped staring at you like you’ve known each other all your lives.

You drop your head to face the counter for a second, looking for words to say in reply. 

“I’m sorry…” you didn’t add any other condolences, knowing that the apology was reminder enough. 

“Do not be. It was a long time ago,” he offered, pouring himself a drink before another patron sat down at the counter. Someone he’d not wanted to run into based on description alone. 

He gave you a solemn glance before going down the bar and serving the customer. You didn’t mean to be tangled in his affairs, but you’d seen the man before. Just over a week ago, and in front of the Sheriff station. 

The man that came about Walt’s wife. Who was murdered. And her killer, who was also found murdered. The way he seemed to be questioning Henry was not how it went with Walt.

You did your best to ignore the conversation, but it simply couldn’t be avoided at only a few feet away. You heard most of it, including the fact that Henry was a person of interest. Your mind swirled with thoughts of the matter, and the ongoing case that you had heard bits and pieces of. 

If there was anyone in the world who could do something like that for Walt, it would be Henry. The man’s neck was found broken, the investigator said, and he was buried with the murder weapon of Walt’s wife.

Henry did a great job of remaining calm and collected, not allowing too much information to slip into the air without having a reason for it to. He is very clearly good under pressure, which you have seen time and again, but this time, when the investigator leaves, he looks tired, and worn. Like the conversation took it out of him. 

When he saw the look on your face, he leaned forward on the counter and stopped what he was doing. 

“You know what that was about,” he assumed, given your silent response. 

“I do,” you nodded, letting out a breath that felt heavy. “And I know that regardless of if you did something or not that there was a good reason.” 

His features softened, almost as if he didn’t expect that kind of statement. He was grateful for it. 

“If I’d ever had a friend that was as close to me as you are to Walt, I’d have done worse,” you admitted, and just based on personality alone, he knew that it was probably true. It’s a good thing you’ll never have to find out. Not right now at least.

“It should probably go without saying that I cannot let you get involved,” he tried to explain, but you’d already made up your mind. 

“Too late… you saved my life last week, I kinda owe you.” 

He didn’t argue with you, just sighed and poured himself another drink, along with you. 

“Cheers,” you tapped his glass comically, as if any of this were funny. It could be, just for right now. Anything bad about it, or even slightly inconvenient would have to wait till tomorrow.

In a few days, Walt won the election… but not before Cady was hit by a drunk driver with an old car that he didn’t own. 

It took you all days to track him down, but you did. It turned out to be just a kid, picking up his dad from the bar… except for he never made it to the bar. 

There was a key detail about the whole thing that didn’t quite fit with the whole picture, which was why Cady had been outside of her car that day. A car jack and bolts on the ground were evidence of a tire change, but Branch didn’t seem to think it was coincidental, and it wasn’t. A man named David Ridges had sabotaged Cady’s car to prevent her from bringing anyone off the reservation to vote for her father. 

It seemed for a day like things were finally turning around. You’d been cleared by the doctors for regular duty, Cady’s hit and runner had been caught, and Walt was officially renewed for another term… but then everything went even worse into deep, deep shit.

Branch was shot, and drugged, accusing the same man who flattened Cady’s tire. Only problem with that, was that he’s supposedly dead. Then, Vic told you about a man who was stalking her from her old city, a creep with a bad reputation and far too much information on what she’s currently doing in her life. Lastly, the worst part of everything, Henry was arrested right out of the Red Pony, right after search warrants turned up some evidence in the case of Walt’s wife. Her killer, a robber, an addict, and a degenerate in all aspects, was going to be justified by whoever this asshole investigator from Denver was. 

You’d pulled up outside of the Red Pony as soon as you’d heard word of it over the radio. You generally had nothing against Mathias, the acting chief of the reservation police, but on this particular day you would put up a fight. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You stomped up to him as he actively put cuffs on Henry, who didn’t seem to care much. Like he knew it was coming. 

“Following the law. These men came to me with a warrant for Standing Bear’s arrest, I have no reason not to comply.” 

You could’ve punched him, but you refrained. It wouldn’t bode well for you to act out in a matter this intense. “Like shit, you don’t. He’s outside the res, under our jurisdiction.” 

Henry didn’t speak, just gave you a look. It told you a few things. One, that he was alright, even if he didn’t seem so. Two, you needed to stay out of this, lest they drag you in as a potential conspirator to protecting a murder suspect. 

“The judge thought it would be a conflict of interest to allow Walt the warrant,” Mathias spoke evenly, and though he had a few grievances with Walt, you personally weren’t so bad. Right now you were worried about a man in which he knew was in good standing, so he gave you a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

You kept the emotions at bay as best you could, eyes filling with tears that you wouldn’t let fall. “Yeah, I’m sure you are.”

You gave Henry one last look, and went back to your car, waiting to follow Mathias when he inevitably made the drive to county. You might have to let someone else take him in, but you’ll be damned if you don’t follow along. There is nothing against the law in backing up a res officer while he makes a drop off.

The next week was a terrible one. Filled with sleepless nights and more problems than you can handle. All hands were on deck, and everyone did their fair share… but there were not enough hands to go around. You were single handedly keeping the Red Pony open in Henry’s absence, while also attempting to keep your job in the station. 

It was a good thing that Walt was your boss, because if he wasn’t, you’d have been fired ten times over. 

“You should go see him,” he suggested to you one night, watching as you hastily wiped down the bar and reached for another glass. 

Henry always made this look so easy, it was a testament to his years in service. Just pouring the drinks had you stressed, not to mention every other aspect of the job… but you refused to complain while the owner of the bar is wrongfully behind bars. 

You shot Walt a look, continuing on with the job in front of you. “I’ll see him when he makes bail.” 

Which was exactly the bad news that he came to deliver. 

“He may not make bail… I think you ought to see him. It would do him some good,” he added, his head hanging low in a small defeat. 

You couldn’t stand to think that he wouldn’t fit the bill for the judge to qualify him. Of every person in Absoroka County, he was easily the one with the best character. Someone with enough witnesses to keep him out of that hell hole the rest of his life if need be. But you supposed an old white judge with an old white way of thinking could just as easily prevent an innocent man from walking free. 

You didn’t want to go. 

You told yourself that this was all temporary, but it was starting to feel more permanent with every passing day. 

You put on your jacket and boots, ready to begin your day by driving to the bar you’d gotten all too familiar with… but you turned onto the highway at the last second, screwing your day over. You shot a text to Ferg, asking him to cover for you for a few hours. Ever the sweet and gentle coworker, he agreed. 

You’d had to wait for over an hour to get the visitation request processed, which was probably just some stupid way of the county officials stalling. You hoped for the best when you sat down in one of the blocks, a metal table reflecting the light that hung directly above it. 

You tapped your fingers impatiently over the surface until the door across from you opened. You looked up from the table immediately, ready to smile at him, but the sight hurt your eyes and your mind from the moment he stepped in. Half his hair was covering his forehead, which had bruises thickly littered across his skin. He had a black eye and a bust up bottom lip, and when he saw you staring back at him, he couldn’t do anything to hide it from you. 

He sat down, not saying anything for a moment, waiting for you to settle. You were still looking at his injuries, no doubt caused by inmates who didn’t know what they were doing. 

“Walt has told me the Red Pony is still open,” he began, but you immediately started in. 

“Who did this?” You leaned forward, your face far fallen from what it had been when you came in here. “I want names.” 

“And you will not get any.” 

He was smart. He knew that whatever trouble you could cause for the men who did this, would be returned to him tenfold. He’d rather cut out the middle man and just endure whatever was currently happening. 

You understood that he was trying to be brave about all this, but it cut you so deeply that a man who is innocent is going through these trials of a guilty man. He is one of, if not the best man you know, and none of this is right. It feels like a conspiracy to let a good man take the fall for another’s transgressions. 

“How are things at the Red Pony?” He asks, attempting for a second time to hear about his business. 

You nodded, holding back tears and wiping your eyes to rid yourself of the evidence that they ever existed. “Good, things are good… or as good as you can imagine they would be with me behind the wheel.” 

“You do not know how grateful I am for your help during all of this,” he says, reaching across the table to grab your hand. You allow yourself to take it, squeezing tightly so that even later you can feel how your hands fit together so well. 

“I owed you…” you shook it off, but really there was more to it. 

“You owe me nothing,” he let out, his voice starting to fail him for his emotions. 

By the end of the visit, you’d barely managed not to cry, and the anger that was built within you when you saw how harsh the guards were with him made your stomach turn. They were not gentle with him like he had been with so many others, pushing him around like he’d personally offended them. You understand he has a past, but he also has morals, and you know for certain that he had nothing to do with what they are accusing him of. 

You went to the Red Pony and relieved Ferg of his duties, and pretty much shut the place down, closing early on a Friday for the fact that you were in need of peace and quiet. And some whiskey. You needed to think. Think about how you could help. Think about what you could say or do to ease Henry the next time you see him. Think about why you never admitted to him the things you were feeling before any of this happened. There was a lot to say, and you don’t even know if you’ll get the chance to let it out. 

You were nursing your third whiskey when the door to the Pony opened, the bell ringing above it.

“We’re closed,” you muttered, throwing back the rest of your drink before turning around. 

“Closed on a Friday is bad for business, especially for a popular place like this,” Walt said, setting his hat down on the counter top. 

“I went to see him, like you told me to…”

“I figured.” His reply came with a gentle breath, as he went to pour himself a drink of his own. With the drowning of sorrows, you all would be the ones to drink Henry out of business. 

“Why didn’t you tell me they beat him?” You looked up, eyes still glossy, like they had been most of the day. You’d full on cried on the drive back here, unable to keep it holed up for so long. 

Walt didn’t quite know how to defend himself, so instead he appealed to your softer nature, the side that cared more about Henry than what he did or didn’t tell you. 

“I just wanted him to be able to see you. He asked me how you were…” he trailed, saddling up next to you at the bar. He was still technically on duty, but so were you, and times were hard. That meant a lot of uncertainty and hours of contemplation. With alcohol.

“I just want him to be okay,” you choked out, the tears coming back to you. You didn’t hold them back, you couldn’t bear to. 

“He will be… I’m gonna do whatever it takes.” 

You nodded, turning to him.

“If you ever need help, let me know.”

He held you to it… but there hadn’t been any real need for your assistance in Henry’s case. You almost wished there was, that way you could go out and pound the pavement, do real police work again. Do it for someone whose life mattered. Hell, you’d have driven down to Denver if you needed to, maybe even make a few calls to people you knew. 

Cady took on Henry as her client, after multiple public defenders snubbed him. She was highly educated and even had a friend that was willing to help her out on the case. She didn’t care if she got paid, and neither did anyone else who was involved with helping. Henry was beloved, and having heard that the death penalty was on the line, no one slept for days. Everyone worked tirelessly, and you were no different. You just didn’t want anything to happen to him. 

The day they posted bail, set at $1 million, you practically begged Branch to put up the money. You told him you would do anything he needed in return, but he decided to decline your offer, putting up the money anyway as a gesture to Cady. You’d not known much about their relationship, minus what you heard after the accident she was in, but with all the factors involved in the case, you decided to ignore anything that was not relevant. 

You were speeding on the highway, and you knew it, but given that you hadn’t slept in a good forty eight hours, last night was the first that you were able to crash and not worry about making bail or Henry getting the death penalty. He’s going to be out today, and you’ll get to personally see to it that he has everything he needs during this time, just as long as you aren’t late. Hence the speeding.

Walt is the one to meet him at the front gate, watching as he made his way through with his boots tucked under his arm. He looks different from when Walt saw him last, but it’s not a bad comparison. His bruises look to be more healed than they were. He stands more confidently, but there’s still a sag to his shoulders that was never there before any of this happened. 

“You’re never going back in there,” Walt told him, a determined look in his eye.

Henry sighed, “You should not make promises that you cannot keep,” he let out, managing a smile for Walt. “My freedom is temporary, and it has limits.”

Walt knew that by the ankle monitor he was forced to wear, that his life would still be under constant supervision. It wasn’t a perfect compromise, but for an innocent man that looks guilty, it’s the best they can do at the moment. 

“No matter what happens, you’re never going back.” 

Henry didn’t argue with Walt this time, just accepted that his heart was in the right place, no matter the stakes. He kept walking towards Walt’s squad car, but stopped when he realized Walt wasn’t following him. 

“I wanted to be here when you got out, but I can’t drive you home,” Walt explained, a cheeky grin on his face. “I’m too busy chasing leads to prove your innocence.” 

Though he was happy to be out of jail, Henry did not think that there was anything comical about the situation. Walt nodded in the direction of the parking lot, weaving through a few cars before he stopped and stared ahead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t mind my deputy taking you.” 

Henry paused, seeing you leaning, arms crossed, against his truck in the corner of the lot. The smile on your face broadened when he came into your view. He looked different than last you saw him, and you can’t complain. 

He gave Walt a look, trying his best not to smile at the gesture, before taking calculated steps toward you and the truck. Your face was beaming, something you could not even help.

“You seem happy to see me,” he teased, eyebrow raised. 

You rolled your eyes, but your expression betrayed you ten times over and again. “Maybe I just missed hearing you talk.” 

You took a step forward and wrapped your arms around him, without even giving him a chance to realize that’s what you were doing. He froze for a moment, not expecting a hug like this, but relaxing a moment later in gratitude for it. 

He dropped his boots on the ground, letting them hit the dirt in favor of having both arms to hold you in. He hadn’t hugged you like this before, not that he can remember. Always side hugs, in greeting and in passing. Always casual, like how he’d hug Vic when she visited. Never like this. Never so close, so soft and gentle. It felt just the same as in high school. He nearly compared himself to a teenage boy again.

You were the first to pull away, head coming off his shoulder to take a look at him. Your smile widened when you saw more subtle differences. You ran your fingers over the side of his head, a small gasp at your findings. 

“You cut your hair…” you trailed, not in dismay but just in surprise. “It looks good.” 

“You like it?” He asked, brows raised. He didn’t think much of the change at the time, but seeing your reaction, he’d do it again and again. 

“I love it.” 

The drive back to the Red Pony was spent in a gentle lull of quiet conversation. Nothing expectant and nothing said about the upcoming trial. Just updates on the regulars at the bar, or questions about what the food had been like in jail. It was all so mundane and yet so important to you. To not focus on the dread and fear that lie ahead in the weeks to come, but to just enjoy the moments you had while you had them. 

You would not rest until he was free and clear. Regardless of what he meant to you, his innocence was important. He was important. His exoneration was not something you would take lightly, even if he were a completely different person.

Over the next few days, you’d been sent back to the Red Pony to check up on him, making sure he didn’t cross the lines that were given to him by way of ankle monitor. You could tell he was distressed over it. The way he seemed to show annoyance every time someone mentioned him being able to leave the establishment. He had a one mile radius, and for Henry, that wasn’t enough. 

You knew he liked to take walks, to go through nature and enjoy it to the fullest. But now even his simple pleasures were taken away from him. 

You tried to call him as often as you could, just to give an interruption to the mundane repetitive tasks of the day, but even you could tell they were falling on deaf ears the past few days. 

It wasn’t until Cady called you one afternoon that you started to panic. 

Henry was supposed to have a meeting with Cady at the bar, but when she got there, he was missing, his ankle monitor broken and laid on his desk for her to find. 

“I don’t know where he is, I’ve called him about ten times,” Cady rushed, wiping the sweat from her forehead while pacing back and forth. “Do you think he ran?” 

“No,” you said solidly, shaking your head even though she couldn’t see. You pulled on your jacket and headed for the door. “If he left, there’s gotta be a reason, he wouldn’t just bolt.”

“I just can’t get a hold of him.” 

“I know, just…” you trailed, keeping her on the line as you practically ran for your squad car. “I’ll be there in a minute, we’ll figure it out.” 

But even when you got there, you were clueless. There was no sign of a struggle in the bar, other than the entry point where Cady climbed through the window after she realized Henry wasn’t there. 

Cady had called in her assistant counsel, who was frazzled mostly by the fact that a cop was now involved. It took exactly eight seconds for him to realize that you were probably more concerned than they were. 

“Did he say anything to you? I thought you talked to him this morning?” You questioned rapidly, searching around his office but not finding anything of use, just that stupid broken ankle monitor on his desk. 

“No, he seemed fine…” she fell back into a chair, trying to retrace her steps and remember the conversation. “We agreed on meeting about a half hour ago.”

“He didn’t say anything about leaving?” You asked, your voice raised slightly even though you tried to keep it from escalating. 

You didn’t want to believe the worst, that he’d possibly been taken, but right now it looked like that was the most likely option. 

“I’m gonna check out a few places he might be, find your dad and tell him what’s going on. If you hear from Henry, call me,” you instructed, grabbing your keys and walking speedily to the squad car, ready to tear down every building in Wyoming single handedly in order to find the owner of the Red Pony.

He didn’t realize how big of an issue he had caused. He thought that he would only be out for an hour or two and then back before anyone could get in trouble, most of all himself. But he forgot about his meeting with Cady, and he saw an opportunity to find some dirt on the people he suspected of incriminating him…

But something he did not plan on was Dina. He hadn’t seen her since before the election. She skipped town after the ordeal of leaving the bar with another guy, in which Henry didn’t seem to care. 

It was a complete surprise to find that while he was tailing one of the suspects that she would somehow be connected to it all. He had hoped he was just seeing it wrong, and that if he confronted her that she would be able to explain it away. 

She couldn’t. 

Actually more than that, she basically confessed to helping them. He couldn’t believe he ever entertained someone for so long who could just give him up at the drop of a hat. He couldn’t believe that he in his right mind could have made such a mistake in letting her get too close. 

All at once on his drive home, there was clarity. It doesn’t matter if he lives or dies, or if he’s pronounced guilty or innocent. It does not even matter if he serves out the last of his days in prison. He feels it within him like a lightning strike. He won’t waste the days he has with the people he loves. Walt, Cady, his tribe members, and you. 

When he reaches the Red Pony, there’s practically an entire congregation waiting for his return, including the monitor agent, who was sent to fix his ankle monitor after he’d snapped it so easily. 

Walt had questions, and of course he did, but Henry had an order of explanation, and would not be interrupted. 

“You will be happy to know that I broke things off with Dina,” he sighed out, changing the rigging on one of his wall decorations. “For good.” 

Walt was surprised that he’d even seen her, and more so when he told him of her involvement with the situation. He never liked her, and he was glad she was out of the picture. Of course, Walt knew Dina hadn’t really been in the picture since you arrived over a year ago.

Speak of the devil, Henry’s answers are interrupted by a slam of the front door, and angry footsteps that follow. 

“You son of a bitch,” you began, already hot and ready to explode. Cady had called you a few minutes ago to let you know he was safe. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

He didn’t say anything in reply, just watched you for a moment. 

“I have been driving back and forth from here all the way to the res, trying to catch you on your little joy ride!” Your anger was not misplaced, but it was definitely misrepresented. You were mad at him, but not because he left. Because he endangered himself by doing so. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” 

His eyes softened and he couldn’t help but tilt his lip in a smile, just slightly. 

Fighting with you is a battle he knows he will lose, so he doesn’t. He’s already made his mind up anyway. The things that matter…

He takes a few steps, closing the gap to you, slowly and gently wrapping his arms around you like he hadn’t seen you in weeks. He tucked his head against your shoulder, breathing you in and feeling that sense of comfort and peace that only you could bring. That only she could bring. 

You were shocked by his initial response to being yelled at, but you didn’t hold back your affections. You reciprocated his hold, keeping him close to you and making sure that he didn’t let go yet. Not that he was going to.

“Amelie…” he whispered, under his breath so you could not hear it.

No one felt like you did. Not Dina, and not any of his other flings. Nothing felt so secure and intimate while just being a simple hug in the presence of others. 

“I was scared you weren’t coming back…” you trailed, your voice now full of concern instead of anger. 

“I would not leave,” he assured, his hand resting against the back of your head. “I would have missed hearing you talk.”

The next few weeks settled into a rhythm that felt like pretending not to fall in love.

After the owner of the Red Pony was exonerated, free and clear, you had a lot more free time to just be near him.

You teased Henry. He didn’t always smile, but you could see it in his eyes. The tension between you stopped being sharp and started feeling… suspended. Like the kind of silence that held comfortability. 

He didn’t say anything, not at first. But he watched you differently now. Not like you were a stranger, or even a friend, but like you were a page he’d already read, trying to remember the ending.

It was little things, like the way you continued to help out at the Red Pony even though he more than had everything under control.

Back when his parents owned the establishment, he and Amelie worked shifts there during the summertime. This was beginning to feel a lot like that. He didn’t actually say anything to you, or at least not directly, but he couldn’t help from slipping little phrases from time to time.

You wiped the counter at the Red Pony with your sleeve one night, grumbling under your breath, and he said, “You always did that.”

You looked up. “What?”

He blinked, as if catching himself. “Sorry. You just reminded me...”

Of her. Again. It didn’t bother you, but you didn’t always know how to respond to it.

You tried to laugh it off. “She had a sleeve, too, huh?”

He didn’t answer, just shook his head, a sad smile on his face.

And suddenly you weren’t in the mood to keep laughing. It made you sad to think that he was still affected by the death of this mysterious girl you reminded him of. You only hoped that the way you made him smile and occasionally laugh helped to make up for that. You were too far gone to back away at this point, regardless of who you looked like. 

He’d been completely entwined into your life and you weren’t going to let him go now.

The next day after work, you asked Henry if he wanted to go for a walk. You knew that now without his ankle monitor he’d be happy to enjoy his strolls like he used to. He’d closed up early on a Tuesday, and it was a beautiful night with weather that wasn’t too hot or too cold.

“I’ve been thinking…” you trailed, apparently not sounding serious enough.

“A dangerous thing,” he teased, but knew you were trying to be serious, so he listened. “Go on.”

“When you came back the other day… you called me Amelie.”

His smile dropped, and he recalled the moment vividly. He’d hoped that in the spur of the moment you would be able to forget about the small slip up, but now it had come to light. He just couldn’t help himself. The rush of excitement and adrenaline of what he had done, but also to be held in your arms. So tightly, like he’d never left them for twenty five years.

“That was her name,” he finally admitted to you, after keeping it pent up for so long. He wonders if tonight is the night he tells you. Of his belief, of his solitude since finding out, and of his love that has undoubtedly formed because of those two things. A love that always was and never went away.

Halfway down the trail, when the world was quiet and the wind made your jacket flap, you said softly, “You never told me what happened. Just that she was shot…”

He didn’t answer at first.

He just looked at you, long and searching, and said, “She died in my arms.”

You stopped walking, and Henry, for the first time since before jail, looked scared.

You didn’t speak. The words sat between you like a fire neither of you wanted to touch.

You stared at him. “She died in your arms.”

Henry nodded.

Your mouth was dry, and your eyes started to wet… “What happened?”

But he hesitated. And something about the way he looked at you, like he was trying to hold back the tide, made your chest tighten.

He didn’t answer you… he couldn’t. He hadn’t recalled that story to anyone at all since it had happened. The last person to hear it from his lips had been the police officer that took his statement that night. 

Instead of diving in where he knows he cannot go, he reaches for the nearest thing. His truth, the one he believes whole heartedly about you…

“I think you are her,” he said quietly, his words falling off towards the end.

You blinked, sure that you hadn’t heard him right. “What?”

“I think you’re Amelie. Reborn. Come back to me,” he explained, but it only made you more weary. 

Yes, you’d heard him correctly, and no, you didn’t want to hear anymore. Just the utter thought of it was insane, and you tensed up at the prospect of such a belief. You knew Henry was rather spiritually invested in Cheyenne tradition, but this was just crazy. You are not this girl, you are yourself. 

The world tilted on its axis with only his words, and you shook your head, stepping back. 

“Henry-”

“I know how it sounds,” he said quickly. He could see where this was going and now he regrets saying it out loud. “But it is not just your face. It is everything. The way you talk, The way you think, The way you look at me like you have known me your whole life.”

“Because I have known you for over a year now-!”

“No. No, it is more than that,” he insisted. He’s already spoken it to the air, so he will do his best to make you understand him. “I did not want to say anything. I tried to stay away at first, but I know it now, and I have for a long time. I know it like I know my own name.”

You shook your head, your voice rising. “Henry, this is insane.”

“It is not.” His defense just solidifies your belief in his insanity.

“You think I’m your dead girlfriend-” you tried to make him hear the delusion in how it sounded, but more than anything it just sounded sad.

“You were born the day she died,” he caught you off guard with that one, and you stopped for a moment, thinking over your answer. It is a stunning coincidence, but that’s all it is. It has to be.

“Henry, thousands of kids were born the day she died, that’s not a reason to say that I’m her.”

Henry stepped forward. You stopped backing away for only a moment, your eyes wet with tears for how this was all falling apart. You swore you were falling in love with him, ready to jump into his arms and stay there for as long as you could… but that vision looked more bleak in your mind’s eye with every passing second. Why did he have to ruin this? 

You’d wanted it to be something normal, something good, but this just took it all away and smashed it in front of you. 

“I’m just me, Henry. And we only know each other because I work for your best friend. That’s all it is…”

He shook his head again, so defiantly. He knows it in his heart, and he wants you to see it, too. Wants you to feel what he feels. The peace of having you back, the ache that has slowly dwindled away because you’re here again. All of it leading back to you being the love he lost all those years ago.

“Tell me it does not feel like something more.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

‘You remind me of someone’ had just turned into ‘you are someone’- and that was a line you didn’t know how to cross. So you didn’t.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, turning and walking speedily back to your car in the Red Pony’s lot.

You’d never know that he shed tears that night, and he’d never know that you cried yourself to sleep when you got home. He swore above everything that he would not lose you, and now it was starting to feel like he was. And by his own hand. 

He called.

You didn’t answer.

He texted.

You left them unread.

You avoided the Red Pony.

You skipped the routes where you might see his truck. You stayed late at the station, picked up shifts no one wanted. Even Vic stopped teasing you when you said you were “just tired.”

But Walt noticed. 

Of course he did. He didn’t just notice it on you, he noticed it on Henry. His laid back and nonchalant demeanor was somber, and distracted.

It came to a head on a slow night. The station was quiet, and you were scribbling in a report, jaw clenched, when Walt said, “You and Henry aren’t speaking.”

You paused, pen in midair. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I’ve known Henry longer than you’ve been alive, and I can tell that you aren’t talking to him, even if he won’t say so.”

You paused what you were doing, taking a deep breath. Clearly you were going to have to rehash that last conversation now, even though you didn’t want to. It still made you angry to think about.

You swallowed, and set the pen down. “He told me something.”

Walt nodded like he already knew.

“He thinks I’m his dead girlfriend,” you said, trying to make it sound ridiculous, if not to him, then confirming it to yourself so you could feel justified about your actions. “I mean… that’s crazy, right?”

Walt leaned back in his chair. “Crazy’s a strong word.”

You scoffed, but waited anyway.

“He’s been through a lot over the years concerning her,” Walt continued. “And I think you were finally able to allow him closure.”

You furrowed your brows and shook your head. “It’s been twenty-five years. He still doesn’t have closure?”

“I used to think he did,” Walt admitted. “He dated here and there, but… no one ever stuck. No one ever came close. Dina was the longest fling, I suppose… He smiled, he worked, he laughed sometimes. I thought that meant he was fine. But now… now I think he was pretending.”

That hurt more than you expected. This Amelie they keep telling you about. She meant more to him than anyone could ever know… and he lost her. You understand wanting to find peace with loss, but you couldn’t understand acknowledging something so far fetched and out of reach. 

You looked down at your hands with a sullen sigh. “I just don’t know… I mean, I was really falling for him, y’know? But I don’t want to live under an expectation to be someone else. It’s already like he didn’t really want me at all. Just her…”

“Has he ever made you feel that way?” Walt asked gently. “At any point?”

“No.” You hesitated. “But… I guess I’m scared that he will.”

Walt studied you for a moment. “Coming from someone who’s known him forever, he wouldn’t do that to you. He would never hurt you.”

You blinked back something stinging at your eyes. You had to pretend like it didn’t twist your gut to hear something like this, like you hadn’t hoped secretly that all these things were true, even though your mind was telling you other things.

You reached for your water bottle, pausing before you could take a drink. Your voice came out quieter. “When she died… what happened?”

Walt exhaled. “You need to ask him that.”

He says it with so much weight. You’ve had your suspicions for a long time now about what had occurred to possibly make them both so cryptic about the past situation. Almost like Walt has carried it alongside Henry as a firsthand witness. If being a cop has taught you anything, it’s that you need to look for signs.

“Were you there?”

He nodded, just once. His eyes changed, like he was recalling the events. You wished you could see it for yourself. You wanted so badly to understand it all. “Yes.”

You didn’t ask more.

And he didn’t offer anything else. He didn’t have it in him to speak about something that wasn’t his right to. 

You didn’t sleep that night.

The conversation with Walt rolled over and over in your head until your ribs felt tight and your lungs forgot how to breathe properly. Somewhere around 3:00 a.m., you threw on jeans and boots and left your apartment, driving to the only place that you knew could bring you peace.

You didn’t know if he’d be awake, or if he wanted to see you. You knew that after how you’d left him the other night that it would be hard to speak again. Regardless of how crazy he sounded, you could acknowledge that he was trying to find peace, and you probably hurt him by saying the things that you did.

You didn’t know if he’d even let you in.

But when you knocked, Henry opened the door like he’d been waiting, and subconsciously, he had been.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and waited for you to enter the doors of the now closed Red Pony. The two of you the only occupants. The lights were low, and it felt like entering a memory. Several memories.

There hadn’t been any pleasantries, and he understood that maybe you had something else to say, or to ask. Or maybe even something else to do by being here. He just waited for you to make a move, not rushing anything that may happen.

Even if you’d just wanted to come back and yell at him for being insane, and scaring the shit out of you for telling you something so crazy, he’d sit and endure it. He didn’t care, as long as you were here again, talking to him.

How the tables had turned, to go from ignoring someone so coldly at the moment of their arrival, to needing them in your life so badly that you would endure them hurting you with their words. It’s been a year, or more, now, and he knows it. That he needs you in his life. Because you are the continuation he’d been waiting for since May 6th, 1987.

You turned to him, and the look you gave him was insistent, like you wouldn’t leave until you’d heard this from him first hand. “Tell me how she died.”

Henry froze.

His jaw worked, but no words came at first. This would be the first time he’s had to retell this story. It’s been over two decades and he’s somehow avoided going into detail about it, but he knows… he can’t avoid telling you. Even if it hurts, you deserve to know, especially after what he put you through the last time you spoke to him.

You waited, wondering if he’d refuse, or if he’d find a way to drop a few details then have you leave. 

But then, quietly, he sat down at one of the tables, leaning over with a hand on his knee, and said, “We were seventeen.”

May 6th 1987

The night air was heavy with the threat of a storm.

Henry, Walt, and their girlfriends - Amelie and Emma - had been out at a movie, then burgers, then ice cream. It was late. Too late for kids who were not yet graduated from high school.

Amelie had been laughing all night, and Henry couldn’t stop watching her. Just the usual, very typical for a Friday night.

But a man had followed them. A stranger. Drunk. White. Angry.

He yelled things. Slurs. Ugly things about Henry and “stealing” Amelie from her kind. He’d dealt with nasty things like that since they started dating. Dealt with the discrimination all his life, actually.

He’d asked her a few times if it bothered her and she always told him she didn’t care what stupid people thought. She just knew that she loved him and never gave a second thought to old fashioned assholes.

They tried to ignore this man in particular the whole night.

They moved from place to place, never once giving him the time of day, but becoming a little bit more uncomfortable by his presence each time he followed.

It was in the parking lot outside the diner, he appeared again, this time with a gun. They all stepped back and were trying to diffuse the situation. There were onlookers around that were also scared by the deranged man, clearly intoxicated far more than the legal amount to have been driving around all night.

He screamed at Henry. Called him filth. Called Amelie a traitor for ‘dating a redskin’. Called them both things that didn’t make sense through the fog of alcohol and hate.

And then he raised the gun, just as someone who had run inside the diner to call 911 had reached an operator. 

Henry moved, but Amelie moved faster.

She stepped in front of him, grabbing onto his shoulder and putting herself in complete danger.

The shot rang out, louder than anything they’d ever heard. It may not have been so loud had the anticipation not made it so.

She collapsed against him, the pain of the shot in her side taking her legs from under her.

Henry’s voice was steady as he told you. But his eyes were far away.

“I held her while she bled out. I begged her to stay with me… She looked at me… and she smiled, and told me she loved me.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he looked at you and frowned. He knew that hearing it was hard. Recalling it was just as much so. 

You couldn’t imagine the toll it took on him to even look at you right now, especially if you looked as much like her as everyone swore you did.

“I did not mean to make you carry this,” he said quietly, leaning again on his knee while the other hand clenched into a first on the table.

But you reached across the wooden surface, and grabbed his hand tightly. Just like how you’d done so while walking with him just a few days ago. With intention, with care.

You held on, this time, and wouldn’t let go.

This was all so heavy, and if you could help take the weight off his shoulders even slightly, you would do it. Even if you had to be okay with him thinking you were her, reincarnated and brought back to this earth. You would do it.

After a long silence, you said, “Can I see her?”

Henry blinked, not sure of your meaning. “See…?”

“Pictures. Of Amelie.”

He had so many. They still littered his apartment upstairs, in the frames on the walls and in photo albums kept under his bed. The little one on the mantel of them at his parents old cabin was the one that came to mind first.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Wait here.”

When he stood up, you took the opportunity to wipe your eyes of the tears that had gathered there.

He returned from upstairs a few minutes later with a small, worn photo album. The leather was cracked, and the corners were very bent. It had been opened and closed many times over the years, and been cherished by the man whose hands held it now. He laid it on the table like it was sacred.

You opened it, and within a moment you stopped breathing. Completely caught in your lungs, the air could not seem to escape you for a moment. 

She was you.

Or you were her. Which is what he’d been saying this whole time. It was literally unbelievable…

Not just in the general way people resemble strangers. This was exact. Her hair, swept behind one ear. Her eyes, your eyes, laughing at something off-camera. The slope of her cheek, the tiny dimple in her cheeks. It was uncanny. Unreal.

You looked up at Henry with furrowed brows. The question was already out before you could stop yourself. “Are these… edited?”

He didn’t answer.

Because you already knew they weren’t. It just seemed so impossible that you couldn’t believe it was a different person.

You looked down again, and with every photo you browsed over, you could tell you’d been too harsh to him in calling him crazy. Hell, you couldn’t even understand how this girl had your face and smile and hair and everything about you. 

One photo showed her leaning on a truck, arms folded, boots crossed at the ankle. Her smile was cocky. Sharp.

Your smile.

You pressed your fingers to your lips. The exact ones shown in the paper, well preserved. 

The photo that caught your eye the fastest was the Polaroid of them both together. Henry looked so young. Still like himself, but his eyes were brighter, and he had an innocence about him that doesn’t seem to be there anymore. They were laying in the back of his truck, a different truck than the one he had now. His arms were tight around her and she was smiling at him, so happy to be wrapped up in his embrace.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered.

“You do not have to believe it,” Henry said softly. “But I do.”

You looked at him. His face wasn’t desperate, it wasn’t pleading, and it was just… honest.

Solid, and Rooted. Like he’d made peace with it and was offering it to you now, with no expectations.

Tears burned behind your eyes again, but not from sadness this time. Just from knowing how long he’d waited to feel like this again, to see her again. To have her back in his arms like how you’ve offered to be recently.

And maybe… maybe part of you believed it, too.

You didn’t remember the drive home, or even leaving the Red Pony at all. You just know that you did.

You didn’t remember brushing your teeth or locking the door or changing into an old band shirt that smelled faintly of motel soap and cinnamon. 

But you remembered lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, heart racing. The pictures he had shown you haunted you - but not in a bad way. Just in a heavy way. Like you’d turned a corner in your own life without meaning to. You weren’t sure what to make of all this…

You hadn’t meant to be someone’s closure.

You hadn’t meant to carry someone else’s face, someone else’s laughter, someone else’s last memory. You had been yourself your whole life, and maybe that was the point. You’d lived the way she had without even knowing, without having been given that knowledge, because if you had, you might have turned out differently. 

But here you were.

And somehow, strangely, it didn’t make you feel smaller. It didn’t make you feel like a replacement, or a stand in.

It made you feel seen. Like you were picking up where her story ended and making it your own with every action you took.

The next time you saw Henry, you didn’t flinch.

You smiled.

And when he opened the door, surprised to see you standing there with two coffees and a box of warm pastries, you said, “You gonna let me in, or am I gonna have to share this with Ferg at the station?”

He didn’t laugh, just smiled softly. You’d left so abruptly the other night, he wasn’t sure what to make of your appearance, now.

But he stepped back, and you walked in.

The first thing you noticed was that he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept since you left. You didn’t ask if he’d slept. You just handed him the coffee and leaned against the bar.

He stared at you for a long time before he said, “You came back.”

You shrugged, even though your chest ached a little. “Where else would I go? Can’t really talk about it with anyone else…”

And then - slowly, like someone testing the feel of joy - he smiled.

It was small.

But it was real.

And it was yours.

You’d spent the day with him, figuring things out and trying to mend the dynamics that had been thrown aside in the last few days. He even offered to cook for you, which was wonderful, since you didn’t want to leave.

You offered to help with the dishes at the end, and he said no.

You argued.

Of course you did.

“You cooked, I clean,” you insisted, reaching past him for the sponge. He smirked, grabbing it himself.

Henry stepped in front of the sink. “You are a guest.”

You bumped into him on purpose. “I’m not a guest, I’m your - what, reincarnated girlfriend? C’mon, let me scrub a plate.”

He raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile or laugh, given he was trying to keep you from helping him. “You are ridiculous.”

“I am trying to be helpful.”

He didn’t answer.

So you grabbed the sponge again, aiming a soapy flick of water toward his arm.

It missed, just barely, but when you tried again he moved, catching your wrist quickly and efficiently.

You gasped, half-laughing. “You’re stronger than you look.”

Henry didn’t let go, but he kept his hold on you gentle. 

Instead, he turned, fluid, certain, and suddenly you were the one pinned lightly against the edge of the counter. His hand on your wrist, his body just inches from yours.

You looked up at him.

And for the first time, really saw it, just how long he’d been holding back. How tightly he’d coiled everything. It was bound up within him for a year, and plagued his every thought at night.

And now… he wasn’t going to hold back anymore.

He let go of your wrist, both hands coming to the side of your face to test the waters as he leaned in and kissed you. 

Firm, quiet, and grounded.

Like coming home after a long and difficult day. It was hard to explain the familiarity of it all, how this was your first kiss with him and yet it felt like he’d done it a hundred times over. 

You melted into it before your brain could catch up. You kissed him back, and it was sweet and aching and worth every second that led up to it.

When he finally pulled back, he whispered, “Sorry.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be.”

Then you kissed him again, And this time, neither of you let go.

People started to notice.

You didn’t make a big deal out of it. You weren’t holding hands across town or whispering at the bar. But it was in the way you stood a little closer. The way Henry glanced at you when you laughed. The way you brought him coffee without being asked, and how he always saved the last slice of pie.

Ferg figured it out first, which was funny considering he was usually the last one to know things. His eyebrows did a thing, and he muttered “huh” under his breath before walking off.

Vic teased you relentlessly. When she finally figured out you both had bitten the bullet, she couldn’t stop talking about it.

“So,” she said one morning at the station. “Where’s Tall, Dark, and Broody?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing she probably saw him drop you off at work. “Keep it professional, Deputy.”

“Oh, I am. I’m just professionally nosy.”

Even Walt gave you one of his rare, half-smirking nods of approval when he passed Henry picking you up at work. 

But not everyone approved.

You overheard a call one day that you hadn’t meant to. You wished you hadn’t heard it at all, but while driving in your squad car, you heard the crackle of Ruby’s voice.

It came through dispatch. Someone complaining.

“That little white girl deputy’s been seen around town with him. That redskin that owns the bar.”

There was a tone in the man’s voice. Something old and ugly, and you went to reach for the radio to silence it, but the man kept on, despite Ruby’s protests. She took strange and meaningless calls all the time, but not usually were there racist complaints filed against people working at the station.

“She’s too young for him… too white, n’ too proper. Doesn’t belong with his kind, ya hear?”

You pulled the car over, tears backing your eyes and making it hard to see the road. You hit the steering wheel as hard as you could, trying to take the anger out on something other than the job you were about to go and do.

You told Henry about it at dinner.

He didn’t react at first, just nodded once. Like it was something he was waiting to happen. “It was always like that with us,” he said. You’ve grown to understand when he speaks that way, he means Amelie, and you. You’re a continuation, the same person… so he treats it like that.

You looked at him, unsure of how he could be so calm in the face of hated and bigotry. “Does it scare you at all?”

He was quiet for a moment. Maybe it does, but he can’t admit it. 

So instead, gently: “It used to.”

You waited, scooting closer to him on the couch and tucking your feet underneath you for comfort.

“But fear did not save what I had back then, and it will not now.”

Your throat tightened. You leaned your head on his shoulder, a habit of sitting in the couch, now.

“I am not afraid now,” he added, wrapping an arm around you and pulling “Not when I have you with me.”

It still bothered you, and the dirty looks from old white folk in the grocery store didn’t help… but you did your best to ignore them. Yes, you hated that someone you cared so deeply for was the object of hatred because of you, but you weren’t going to let them have the satisfaction of breaking you up. That’s exactly what they want. You are too proud of being with him, and too happy with him to let anyone influence your actions.

It hit you in the locker room one afternoon, having to change your shirt because some moron in a gas station got blood all over it. Vic was still laughing about the comical way the man fell, his arms flailing and legs being swept from underneath him. 

You were completely caught up in thinking about dinner after work. The hours were dwindling down but you still had to wait to clock out. 

“Must be nice to have a guy that makes food for you,” she said with a smirk, having heard all about Henry’s domestic abilities.

“I swear, he’s a better cook than my mom,” You flopped onto the bench and muttered, half to yourself, “God, I love him.”

Vic’s head snapped toward you. “What?”

You blinked, having just caught up on what you said. “What?”

She grinned. “Oh please. You just said-”

“No I didn’t.” Your quick reply had cut her off but you couldn’t very easily deny the words that you’d let slip.

“You did.”

“Fine,” you huffed, wiping the specks of dry blood from your boot. “If you tell anyone, Walt is gonna have to arrest me for the murder of Victoria Morretti.”

She cackled.

You wanted to find a way to tell him casually, in a way that didn’t make it too big of a deal. You were pretty sure he loved you, given the connection to Amelie, but this was different. This was putting it into words. This was speaking it into the air and letting it be a known fact that surrounded you.

You didn’t tell him later that night, but you stayed at his place. Wrapped up and slept in his bed, curled into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat like it was a song from a past life. You didn’t speak much, because you didn’t need to, but when you woke up the next morning, barefoot, bare-faced, and half tangled in the sheet, he was already making breakfast.

And he looked at you like he’d been waiting forever to see that exact version of you, padding into the kitchen in the shirt he was wearing last night, hung loosely around your figure as you squinted against the window light. 

“You always get up before me?” you teased, padding over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head against his shoulder blade.

“I didn’t sleep much,” he replied, his honesty showing through. It wasn’t a bad thing, you knew it… but you could tell he’d been thinking.

You touched his arm, softly caressing up and down his golden skin. “What were you thinking about?”

He glanced at you. “The future.”

Your breath caught for a moment. You wondered if this was when it would all come to the surface. You love him, you love him, you love him. 

He set down his cup. “I want to make plans.”

You blinked with a smile, tilting your head. “Like what?”

He looked down, almost sheepish. There were so many things left unsaid, but maybe these words would help convey them. “You moving in here, taking trips, other things I thought I’d never have again. With you.”

You didn’t speak, you couldn’t barely breathe. It was all so much and yet you didn’t feel overwhelmed, just very emotional at the prospect of having someone adore you that much. He wants you to be the main focus of his life. He wants to share it with you… everything that he didn’t have before.

You just stepped closer and kissed him once on the cheek, then softly on his jaw… then slowly and deeply on the corner of his mouth until it became a real kiss. 

Soft and sure and full of something that had been building up for so long. Longer than you could have known it existed. 

You found the old photo album again the next evening.

He’d left it out - not accidentally, you guessed. Open on the coffee table, turned to a page you hadn’t seen before. Amelie was there, barefoot on a lakeshore, sun cutting through her hair like fire through glass. She was like the version of you that you had always wanted to be. Fearless, cunning, beautiful… It was so weird to think that those are the ways that Henry saw you. In your most exceptional form.

You stared at it a long time.

And when you turned around, Henry was already watching you from the kitchen doorway, towel over his shoulder and gaze gentle.

You asked, “Tell me about her again.”

He didn’t answer right away. He knew that you were coming to terms with his beliefs, and maybe even adopting your own form of them. Not to the extent that he held them, but in a way that made it easier to understand and accept. 

“She was fire,” he said at last. “Bright, and fast, and warm. She laughed too loud and picked fights with people twice her size. She was the kind of person you could not forget even if you tried.”

You said nothing. He looked at you like everything still applied, even though you’re sure in some ways you probably still don’t measure up. Him seeing you in her light, though. It helped your confidence. Helped you to believe in yourself as more than what everyone always told you.

“And I know it is hard to believe,” he added quietly. “But you… feel like home to me. The same way that she did.”

Your chest ached.

Henry walked closer.

“I would like to show it to you, in the way it was taught to me,” he said, eyes still stuck on you and the sweet way that you held onto his every word. 

He disappeared for a moment, rummaging through and old drawer until he found a few pieces of string from old clothing. 

He sat down, nodding for you to do the same as he began sorting everything out. He held up three different colors of string in front of you, already sure he knows which one you’ll choose. 

“Pick a color,” he instructed, watching with certainty as you tapped the dark green thread hanging over his fingers. He already knew. 

He set that thread aside, holding up a blue and a red one, now. 

“These are our lifelines. Most often, they have a certain length, a certain journey that is meant to be completed… when it is done, it proceeds to the afterlife. Eternal rest,” he explained, showing the lengths of the string matched each other. “But sometimes, a tragedy happens. It can disrupt the completion of a soul’s journey.” 

“Amelie,” you whispered, and he nodded. 

He took a pair of scissors and cut the blue string, leaving it at a quarter of the length that the red string was. 

“So instead of letting the soul pass through to the afterlife, it is sent back to complete the journey it was meant for.” 

He tied the green string to the bottom of the blue one, making it match the same length as the red thread that he dangled beside it. 

“Me,” you closed you eyes, bowing your head. You understand it now. Or at least, you think you do. You don’t know how much is actually true, because you’ve always been a skeptic, but the man you love wholeheartedly holds this belief, and it is the reason why you are so dear to him… so you don’t reject it. Instead you come to terms with the possibility of being someone that was lost, but now returned. 

You opened your eyes to meet his, full of emotion, and certainty.

“I do not need you to believe anything,” he said, voice shaking now with the tremors of the tears backing his eyes. “I just need you.”

Your throat burned, the tears in your own eyes beginning to betray you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

He touched your face, gently. Reverently. “You swear?”

You nodded. “I love you, Henry...”

He smiled.

And then you both moved at once, meeting in the middle with arms grabbing at anything they can hold.

The kiss was soft, slow, and deeply intwined. A thread pulling through lifetimes, red and green and blue and invisible, tying everything together.

You stayed, of course you did.

You moved in.

People still whispered, and the hatred still bloomed outside of your lives, but the two of you didn’t care. The world had a lot to say, and your story was already older than that. 

One night, months later, Henry replaced the picture on the mantel of him and Amelie, putting in its place one of you and him on Rodeo night. You were wearing his hat, smiling brightly at the camera, and he was looking at you, stuck in awe and wonder. 

Looking at this photo, you saw her. Amelie. The version of yourself that was supposed to be better, and more vibrant. He’s the one that brought it out of you, because he was the soul that yours was made for. Forever intwined…

You stood beside him, fingers laced in his.

Right now, you felt no fear. No confusion… Just peace.

Love never dies, sometimes it just… waits.

-