[ It's nice to see him smile, even though it's gotta hurt his face. ]

Still. Offer's on the table.

[ She's not good at taking care of people the way he is; she is good at raining vengeance down on the deserving.

But that's not what he's asking for; he's asking her to come in, so she does. ]

What the hell happened, anyway? I only got bits and pieces.

Sure.

[ She's had more tea in this place –

Wynonna trails after him into the kitchen, shrugging off her jacket as she does. ]

But you good? Aside from the...

[ She waves a hand over her own nose. ]

... face.

[ She huffs her own breath of a laugh, shaking her head as she leans against a counter and crosses her arms, her jacket slung nearby. ]

There's a chance you might not win 'Prettiest Person in Milton" if someone took a vote right now. But honestly it's probably still a toss-up.

Please. The only way you lose is if Kate stuffs the ballot box with votes for the Mountie.

[ It's her turn to sigh dramatically, and to throw in an eyeroll along with it. ]

You know... red coat, hat? General air of wholesome helpfulness?

[ She shifts against the counting, nudging her hip against it as she turns to look at Jopson. ]

Guy with the wolf? He's a Mountie. Canadian police.

Yeah, he's pretty easy on the eyes. Honestly, I get it. If I were eighteen and... you know, a totally different girl... I'd be into him, too.

[ But much more interesting than Kate's crush is Jopson's reaction, and Wynonna observes the way he glances down with her eyebrows hiking up toward her hairline. Oh, shit. ]

You never know. [ She sidles a little closer, cheerfully insinuating. ] Maybe he thinks you're handsome, too.

[ It's the first time she's seen him anything but wholly self-possessed and she blinks right back at him, bewildered by the staggered words and his suddenly squirrely aura. ]

Relax, Tommy, it's fine.

[ It's whatever, to her, but she realizes belatedly – it takes a second to filter through the mental image of the extremely attractive couple those two would make – that it probably isn't to him. Victorian, right. She keeps her voice airy and just a little sly. ]

Besides, he might not right now, unless he's into broken noses.

[ Look, they have a certain appeal. And no, she's not thinking about how Dolls' nose is slightly crooked in a way that suggests he caught the wrong end of a fight one time. Noooooope. ]

[ It's nice to hear him laugh, and to see him relax a little, and when he calls her a friend she feels a little blooming warmth in her chest, shy and pleased.

She's never had many friends. It's been forever since she's stayed in any place long enough to make some, and she's never really wanted to. But she finds herself wanting to be his friend, to at least try, a whole lot.

He goes to find a can of fruit, and she shifts off the counter to head to the table, bringing her jacket with her. There's something heavy in the pocket that thunks against the back of the chair she slings it over; when she retrieves it, it turns out to be a flask of the terrible pine moonshine she and March had made.

She sets it on the table – who knows, they might need it – and pulls out the chair to take a seat. ]

Sorry for the jumpscare. It's not really like that anymore, when I'm from. I mean, it is, sometimes, when people want to just keep shit to themselves, and there are still assholes out there who'll give people a hard time about it, but it's not weird or anything.

[ She smiles at him, crooked and a little shy, all her edges for the moment tucked away. ]

I like being your friend. And since we are friends...

[ That slyness is back in the way she waggles her eyebrows at him. ]

...what do you like? May as well think about it here. What the hell else are we gonna do, aside from be cold and bored?

God, I hear that.

[ She slouches back against the chair, face scrunching up as she thinks of Champ. All swagger and good looks and nothing underneath. ]

Good for decoration and not much else.

[ It's her turn to cast her glance down at the tabletop, as her own voice filters into her memory. I think I'm better traveling solo. For now.

One passionate encounter doesn't make a relationship. But it's not only Doc she's thinking of when she says: ]

No.

[ She's been here for months, now; longer than she'd been at home before she got pulled into this place. Wynonna looks back up at him, eyebrows canting up. ]

You?

[ Her mouth quirks; she leans forward to unscrew the cap of the flask, pushing it towards him in invitation. May as well have a little something while they're waiting for their tea, right? ]

Kate had me pegged. I can't resist a bad boy.

[ But even as she says it, she relents; he's been honest with her and he doesn't deserve a flippant answer in return. But she doesn't really know how to answer his question... the real question. Surely someone here has caught your eye.

Irritatingly, March isn't the only one that statement brings to mind. She shifts her glance away, toward the stove and the kettle heating on it; her turn to be awkward, to test out her words one at a time before she sets them out into the air. ]

There are some nice faces, yeah. Nice... lots of things.

Yeah I know, [ she says, to the look on his face when he tastes the liquor. It's crap, but hopefully that Fiddleford guy will finish up an actual still sooner rather than later.

That look is familiar. He might as well be Waverly leaning over the diner table, saying hold on, whose truck are you borrowing?

It's fine, Wynonna, just play it cool. ]

Faces. Eyes. Voices...

[ Just normal stuff people notice to a normal amount.

She nods to the flask. ]

Careful with that stuff, by the way. I drank about a gallon and woke up the next morning half-dressed with Holland March on his floor.

... I'm not really sure if that's a warning or a recommendation, but either way, it's strong.