So, I've never written anything for Rookie Blue, and am relatively new to the fandom. But I got this idea in my head and was surprised that I was able to run with it, as I've found myself a little writer's-block-y for a few months now. Regardless, I pumped this out tonight and thought I would throw it up here. I leave for basic in 4 days (hahahHAHA Haha hah haaaah... hah) so I'll try to get as much up before I leave for that. This first chapter is mostly just fluffy bullshit but once I get in to the story things'll definitely pick up!
Without further delay, here ya go! Enjoy!
Also, side-note, this is moderately unedited (as are most things I post, ooops) so please ignore any grammatical or just plain I'm-an-idiot errors that there may be. If someone doesn't point them out to me, I'm sure I'll notice them eventually. :P
A lot of things have been on Gail's mind lately. With the Ford case, Marlo's untimely dive off the deep end, the shootings, Oliver being kidnapped, Swarek being shot, the fact that her and Nick broke up again, or – you know, the fact that she may be a raging lesbian – she has been at no loss for things to occupy the restless hours between complete exhaustion and actually finding the sleep she so desperately needs.
It's odd to her now, then, that all she can focus on as she lays awake in an unfamiliar room is the steady breathing of the woman next to her, or the warm arm draped gently over her stomach. Staring at the ceiling, Gail actually tries to think about something else; maybe how Chloe is doing, how Dov or Chris are handling themselves, maybe how her brother is probably spreading new s of her newly discovered sexuality or even how she cut off her signature Peck ponytail in Holly's bathroom a few hours ago... but it isn't working. Holly sighs in her sleep, snuggles closer, and every thought that she feels like she should be having escapes and she's thrown back in to this exact moment – damp brunette hair splayed on the pillow next to her, the smell of Holly's borrowed clothes, the sound of water dripping somewhere in the flat.
Despite herself, and despite the fact that she almost – almost – feels guilty about not being more concerned about her friends, Gail smiles to herself, finally closing her eyes and drifting off in a contentedness that can only be brought on by bourbon and (as reluctant as she is to admit it) being in Holly's presence.
Contrary to popular belief (a belief exasperated by her questionable promiscuity in the past), Gail does not often wake up in unfamiliar settings. Not as of late, at least. That is why, when she is lulled out of sleep by a single beam of sunlight settling annoyingly on her face, she doesn't open her eyes at first. Ever the police officer, ever the trained-from-birth Peck that she is, she attempts to take in what she knows about her surroundings without actually seeing them. It doesn't take any large amount of police work, however, to figure out where she is; as soon as she recognizes the familiar scent on the bed beneath her – warm vanilla, with the always present undertone of disinfectant that can only be found on someone that spends far too much time in a dark dingy morgue – she rolls from her side onto her stomach and buries her face into the pillow.
She smiles then, enjoying that moment of blissful ignorance that occurs before one actually gets up and reality hits them like a wall of bricks. Here, in Holly's bed, breathing in a scent that can only be described as Holly, even with the weak vestiges of a headache trying to push their way forward, Gail feels happy.
The moment then passes – too quickly, as always – and she gets out of the bed in search of her mobile, still on the dresser across the room where she left it after Holly dragged her soaked and giggling (and a little drunk) from the bathroom. She sends a quick text to Dov, and responds to the ones from Steve, Traci and Chris that she had pointedly ignored last night. The brick wall of reality upon her in full force now, Gail decides it is probably time to wonder through the flat in search of some much needed coffee.
She finds Holly downstairs in the kitchen, leaning lazily over the island with a cup of tea in one hand while the other flips through the newspaper laid out before her. She doesn't hear Gail at first, so engrossed in whatever news of the day she is reading (probably reports and stories on the shootings, she thinks with a frown), so she takes the opportunity to just watch her. Having mostly seen her in the professional attire of a fancy shmancy forensic pathologist or the many layers of warm clothes required for the blistery winter months in Toronto, Gail is more than happy to have a second to take in the expanse of long, tan legs Holly is always hiding, barely covered by the running shorts she wore to bed last night, and the smooth strip of skin exposed on her lower back where the loose fitting jumper she's wearing is riding up just enough. Gail isn't used to appreciating the body of another woman, she realizes as Holly shifts feet and takes a quiet sip of her tea, but she is secretly (but maybe not as secretly as she thinks) looking forward to discovering every plane and valley, every scar and freckle and inch of smooth, taut skin that this particular woman has to offer – even if the thought of actually doing so fills her with a very uncharacteristic nervousness, bordering on fear.
Shaking her head as if to clear it, she takes a step forward and pads quietly to where Holly is standing, still oblivious, and runs a cool (Holly will later argue, down-right freezing) finger along the skin of her back. Holly just grins into her tea, not looking up from her paper as Gail then pasts her and pours herself a cup of coffee.
"Hi", Holly says pointedly, still smiling, when Gail saunters up to the island across from her, coffee in hand, and extends the other to close the newspaper so that she can no longer read it.
"Hi."
They regard each other for a moment, Gail's hand still covering the paper and Holly's still on the corner of it from when she intended to flip the page. Gail covers Holly's with her own, looking down as Holly intertwines their fingers.
"Hi", Gail breathes out again as she catches brown, empathetic eyes with her own.
"You said that already", Holly says, and Gail just shrugs. She looks tired still, Holly notes, drained in every way possible; she wants to ask if she's okay, if she would like to talk about it, but she knows Gail well enough to know that it wouldn't get her anywhere. Instead, she goes with the safest question possible. "Are you hungry?"
Gail shrugs again, but they both know that Gail is always hungry. So Holly gently extracts her fingers before walking around the island, placing a soft kiss to her lips, and recapturing her hand to drag her through the flat to the couch in the living room. She gently pushes the blonde down onto it, but Gail has other plans – she doesn't release Holly's hand when she turns back towards the kitchen, pulling her down on top of her and catching her lips expertly in another kiss. With intentions to turn it heated, Gail immediately begins her hands up and tangles them in Holly's soft hair, not minding at all when Holly moves her lips downwards and onto her neck. She is just about the pull down the collar of the borrowed t-shirt to get better access to the expanse of perfect porcelain skin it's hiding when the tea kettle she put on just before Gail meandered down finally starts screaming. Holly makes to get up, but Gail doesn't remove her hands from the brunette's hair.
"Don't you dare", she says low in her throat, tugging playfully on the locks still in her fingers and rising up to kiss Holly's already swollen lips. "Your damn hot water can wait. I can not."
"If I wasn't so sure that noise would give me a migraine? I would be happy to." Gingerly, and with a final soft kiss to Gail's pout, Holly gets up and turns towards the kitchen to move the kettle off of the burner before her ears start to bleed. She doesn't turn around as she speaks, but Gail can hear that lopsided smile on her voice. "Besides, last I checked? A growing girl like you needs some fuel to continue down that path she was treading."
Since Holly was already up, she decided not to give in to Gail's albeit expert pouting and instead continue to her intended task of whipping them up something for breakfast. Gail is quiet on the couch once she realizes that Holly isn't going to abandon her task, instead settling for picking up one of the books haphazardly collected on the coffee table in front of her. Other than the flipping of pages, and the usual sounds of enthusiastic cooking, the apartment is a peaceful calm. Luckily for Gail, Holly doesn't talk to long to make them something.
"Shall we eat at this table I never use, like civilized adults?"
Gail puts the book down – something completely nerdy and difficult to read and so typically Holly – and lifts her head enough to shoot Holly a look over the back of the couch.
"Have I ever given you the impression that I am civilized?"
"Right", Holly concedes with a grin and a small shake of her head, as if she knew the answer all along. "The couch it is, then."
She walks around the couch and holds the plate in front of Gail just as she sits up; the blonde takes it, eying it skeptically as if she's not sure if it's actually edible or not. The dish before her looks remarkably fancy for someone that probably doesn't spend a great deal of time cooking for herself, with fresh fruit and even that little garnish nice restaurants like to fixate on everything. Holly senses her apprehension and rolls her eyes before taking occupying the space next to her on the couch.
"They're crepes, Gail."
"Crepes", she deadpans, using the fork Holly handed her to gingerly push the admittedly beautiful looking dish around the plate as if to check for boobie-traps. "Like, French flat pancakes?"
Holly laughs with a bite of her breakfast halfway between her mouth and the plate, carefully putting it back down before she makes a mess of herself. Leave it to Gail to turn something as simple as crepes into a spectacle.
"Yes. Like French flat pancakes."
"Well jeez, Holly, way to whip out a five-star breakfast in 15 minutes. Is there another course?" Gail twists dramatically and looks behind her into the kitchen. "Maybe some quiche? An omelet, perhaps?"
"One, I wouldn't waste my time and energy making something you wouldn't eat. Two, you are insane, and I regret making you this beautiful breakfast now."
Gail kind of gapes at her, and Holly celebrates the small victory by finally taking a bite of her own crepes. It isn't often that Gail is without a snarky comeback, so the momentary silence is a reward in itself.
"What do you mean I wouldn't eat it? If you made me something, Holly, I'd eat it."
Holly glances at Gail, still chewing, and is surprised at how serious she looks. Gail is, if nothing else, an emotionally complex creature, and sometimes Holly just isn't quite sure what's going to happen next. In fact, she can honestly say that she never knows what is going to happen next with Gail. She still has her crepes still in hand, an eyebrow raised in question, her blue eyes are fixed on Holly as if she's been waiting for the answer to this questions all morning. Confused herself, Holly places her plate on the coffee table in front of her and turns to face Gail, crossing her legs under her on the couch.
"Well, you hate eggs", Holly says slowly, trying to gauge Gail's reaction. In typical Gail fashion, of course, she is difficult to read if readable at all. "So I don't know why I would go through the effort of making something you don't like."
"You know I don't like eggs." Gail poses the sentence as a statement, but it comes out more like a question.
"Did you hit your head or something yesterday? Of course I know you don't like eggs. But I also know that you do like strawberries, and things that are sweet and generally terrible for you. So pick up your fork and put the food in your mouth, then chew it, and swallow it. Then repeat."
Neither moves for a second, Holly regarding her seriously from across the couch and sitting still, as if moving will startle Gail – the self proclaimed cat in their relationship (if that's the qualifier they're using these days). Then, suddenly, Gail breaks out into an Earth-shattering smile. She leans forward and catches a surprised Holly in a kiss before finally starting on her breakfast without another word. Blushing slighting, and trying to hide her own smile, Holly picks up her own plate and continues eating as well.
Yup, she thinks as she steals another glance at the still smiling blonde next to her. Leave it Gail.