You level me
Sincerely from the
Centre of you
And it's how I see you
-The Paper Kites, "St. Clarity"
Gail retreats to the rooftop on bad days.
When the wind isn't too bitter and sometimes when it is, she hides. Drinks and thinks and loses herself in a place of reverie four walls and thin wallpaper were never right for, where autumn grits between her teeth in a quiet reminder that time moves on and so should she.
It takes her 12 days to face her demons.
To swallow past her pride and shame, look past the image burned on the inside of her skull. Andy and Nick. Nick and Andy, on her stoop, above her apartment and in each other's minds, constant, questioning, burgeoning something like desire beyond desire. It takes 12 days to stop wondering exactly when she lost him, again.
When she realizes that she can open the door and step onto the rooftop and all she feels is gravel crunching underneath her shoes, Gail walks up and basks in fresh air and the white noise of city life, tries to drown her demons with a bottle of tequila and traffic rumbling below to keep her company and help quiet the storm in her mind.
Sam won't wake up.
Dov is with Chloe, who is with Wes and nothing makes sense to her anymore. Stopped making sense sometime between Blackstone and Ross, when she couldn't look at Chloe without thinking Nick. Couldn't think of Nick without imagining Andy and couldn't imagine Andy without having to rub away the grimace forming hard and hollow on her mouth. She watches Luke at the station sometimes, counts the wrinkles forming above his eyes when he frowns, wonders if she's turning into him. (Maybe they've been the same all along.)
Holly too. She doesn't make sense, just there for her without a single thing asked in return and it scares Gail. Excites and inspires and fucking terrifies her, who only just figured out how to push Ross out of her nightmares again.
She makes sense and she doesn't and Gail can't tell which scares her more.
Best gives the division a day to recover, brings in other shifts to cover the slack and allow the officers of 15 to sleep. Rest and recover and perhaps, prepare.
When it's agreed that everyone hunched over hospital seats with tired eyes and sore limbs would be better off hoping for the best in the sanctity, the safeness of their own homes, Gail lets Holly take her back. Gets into the passenger seat of her truck without a word and she just points, tenses for the impending pep talk.
It doesn't come.
Holly lets a cool silence fall between them and Gail lets her hand slide, slowly, tentatively across, fingers lacing themselves between Holly's, whose grasp is warm and firm, thumb stroking across the back of her hand and the officer only half-fights the smile curving at her lips.
When they reach her door, Gail doesn't move.
She stares through the walls, remembers that the apartment is empty because Dov won't leave the hospital, because Chris can't stay away from his son. With a quiet sigh, she passes her hands over her face, looks at Holly and shakes her head. She takes her hand, palm up, and absentmindedly runs her fingers from Holly's wrist to her fingertips, limbs twitching softly in response. She does it a second time, fingers intertwining and Gail leads her up the flight of stairs to the roof, pushing into an inviting breeze that squeezes under her coat, up her cheeks, into her eyes. She lets go of Holly, crossing her arms in an effort to keep warm, but it only looks like she's trying to hide herself.
"I thought I was going to die today."
Pain flits across Holly's eyes in a quiet response that begins to unravel Gail, gut clenching at the memory fresh in her mind, at Holly, who she can't imagine hurting, ever, that she almost looks away at the thought of it. Holly remains silent, bites into the inside of her lip as her brows draw closer (she sees lines there, too).
"We answered a distress call today without backup and for a moment, I considered the possibility that I...could die. And I thought about you." She sighs, softly kicks at the ground with the tongue of her shoe. "I…"
Gail's mouth remains half-open, closes, and she scoffs, smiling darkly. She shakes her head again, shrugs once as the smile turns into a sharp frown.
"Hey, it's been a long night." Holly offers gently. "You're exhausted. We don't have to do this now."
"I am exhausted. I'm terrified I'm going to lose two more friends today, or tomorrow, or next week and all I want to do is sleep, but I can't. I can't."
"I'm sorry."
"No, Holly, you don't have to be sorry. About anything, ever."
"You know I'm here for you. As a friend. As more. Whatever you need from me, I'm here for you."
"And that's why it can't wait. I need to know what this is between us. I just—I need to know."
Holly nods, smiles cautiously and her face goes soft. "I'm not really sure I know."
"Try."
A pause.
"Back at the bar last night. Were you jealous?"
"No!"
She says it louder than she expects and almost winces as Holly arches an eyebrow, lips pursed into a gentle smile.
"No?"
Gail counts to three in her head, tries again.
"No. I don't know. Yes."
"I'm sorry, so is that a yes?"
"Yes, yeah. I was. I was jealous, okay?"
"Good."
Gail begins to protest, immediately annoyed with the complacence in her reply, but Holly takes a small step forward before she can speak. Inches closer and their hips meet, heart leaping up her throat.
Holly slowly leans in until her mouth just barely grazes Gail's, half-parted with a firm admonition that's long since died on the officer's lips. She hovers for a moment; Gail feels Holly's breath flutter warmly against her teeth and her thighs squeeze together involuntarily. Her eyes slide shut and Holly continues to lean in, slower still as the distance between them closes. A gasp catches in her throat and she tries to breathe, thinks she hears herself yelp instead.
She responds pliantly as Holly tangles a hand in blonde hair, splays another against her back and pulls her closer until there's no light between them. Gail's mouth parts as Holly licks her lips, slips her tongue past her teeth and she feels her knees buckle. Grasps at her hips to keep steady.
She clenches at the fabric of Holly's blouse, swallows past the lump in her throat, but she doesn't know if she wants to stop for air.
The sounds on the roof: cars humming several stories below, Gail's heart pulsing in her ears.
Holly kisses her differently. Than before. Than Nick. Chris. Holly kisses her and she's in control, deft and full. Lithe, and it's like she's never been kissed before.
(A half-truth.)
Holly smiles into Gail, nips at her bottom lip and it catches her off guard, changes the taste of her mouth, sweeter. Gail pulls back first, gathers all the will she has left and takes a step back. Finds her balance and tries to push tousled hair behind her ear, but the strands keep coming loose. She feels too warm for her coat, wants to shed it, wants to kiss her again, and again, and again, and only when she's realized that her eyes have been fixated on Holly's mouth does she remember that she hasn't been answered.
Holly watches her keenly, lower lips caught between her teeth. She doesn't say anything and Gail wonders if there's an answer behind the silence, a goading lapse to which she tries searching beyond, hopes to find anything she can stand on, but Holly's eyes (calm, calm eyes) betray nothing and it's like she's just sitting in a coat closet.
What a feeling, this.
Holly skims her fingers across Gail's jaw, presses her fingertips against the nape of her neck. She kisses her again and this time it's a quiet moan that hums in her throat, lingers.
(It's electric.)