Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue or any of its characters.
AN: Currently a oneshot. Can't guarantee it will ever be more.
To say that Gail hadn't noticed the newcomer in the teacher's lounge would be a lie. She noticed. She noticed everything. She just wasn't interested enough to bother acknowledging the other woman.
So for the first few days of their shared lunch period, Gail offered disinterested grunts whenever the other woman said hello and sat down at the only other table in the room. And then the two women sat and ate their lunches in silence.
On the third day the woman tried to start a conversation, breaking the silence to ask "is it always so quiet in here?"
Gail looked up from her cold leftover pizza.
"Only a few of us have fourth period free for lunch. It's why I like it. It's quiet."
The other woman must pick up on her meaning, because she leaves Gail alone for the rest of the period, and doesn't try to make conversation the rest of the week either.
On Monday, Gail is in a particularly bad mood. She overslept, she ripped her favorite sweater trying to yank it off its hanger, and she'd left the leftover takeout she'd been planning on having for lunch on the counter in her kitchen. So when she gets to the lounge at lunch and finds her table occupied by some student teachers working on some project their supervising teachers gave them, she doesn't even bother trying to disguise the annoyed look that crosses her face.
She pours herself a cup of coffee and then sits at the other table, glaring across the room at the college students in her space. The new teacher comes in shortly after that, and gives her a surprised hello when she realizes that Gail is now seated at her table. Gail acknowledges her, gesturing over to the other table in explanation, and then goes back to drinking her coffee.
She pretends to read the magazine in front of her while sneaking looks at the dark-haired woman unpacking a bright red lunchbox. She hadn't noticed before, but the woman wasn't much older than she was, maybe a few years, but no more. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a gentle ponytail, and a pair of black-framed glasses perched atop her head held back some of the strands that had gotten loose.
"No lunch today," the woman asks politely.
Gail rolls her eyes, it's pretty clear that she didn't bring anything.
The brunette leans forward with a grin and whispers slyly, "They stole your lunch and your table," glancing over at the giggling student teachers. "Harsh."
Gail can't help but laugh. It gets a crooked smile in return.
"No, Lunchbox," she says, a hint of amusement in her voice, "rough morning."
The brunette seems confused. "Lunchbox?" she asks.
Gail just points to the bag between them.
"Ohhhh," the woman says, and then laughs back at her. "It's Holly, actually, Holly Stewart. Chemistry."
When Gail doesn't say anything in return, the woman—Holly—sighs and prods her a bit.
"You know, most people would probably introduce themselves at this point," she says dryly.
"I think you'll find out rather quickly that I'm not most people," Gail says back to her.
She doesn't hear what Holly mumbles in response, but she's sure it's nothing positive. Maybe she'll stop trying to make conversation and just leave her alone.
It's not until the other woman breaks the silence again that Gail realizes she was hoping the woman wouldn't give up that easily.
"You must be pretty hungry," Holly says, baiting her by taking a big bite out of her sandwich.
Gail shrugs. She is, her stomach's been growling all morning, but she's not going to admit it to this stranger.
But Holly doesn't give up. She picks up her apple and takes bites into it with a crunch.
"I think I packed too much today. I don't know if I'll be able to finish it all."
Gail glances up from her magazine to find Holly looking over at her, eyes glittering with amusement.
"Oh, I don't know," she says to the brunette, "you've got a big mouth, I bet you could fit it all in."
Holly laughs again, and against her will Gail can feel herself start to smile. The woman's laugh has this happy, delicate sound to it, a windchime caught in the first spring breeze.
"Tell you what," Holly says unfazed, "you introduce yourself and I'll give you half my sandwich. Deal?"
"Introduce myself?" Gail asks, eyeing up what looks to be a delicious ham sandwich.
"Yes, you know the routine. Civilized people have been doing it for centuries now. I tell you my name and what I teach—which I did—and then you tell me yours."
She pretends to mull it over for a moment. She's going to give in, the growling of her stomach is reason enough, but Gail never gives in too easily.
"Counter offer," she says. "For the sandwich, you get my name. But if you want to know what I teach it's gonna cost you half your cookies."
There's something about Holly's laugh that Gail could get used to hearing. There's something comforting about it.
"Deal," she says, and extends her hand to shake, and then pushes her lunch to the center of the table to share.
Gail grabs the other half of the sandwich, more than her fair share of cookies, and a handful of grapes for good measure before rising to leave. She's got to pick up some homework she sent to the printer before next period begins.
Holly looks up at her, disbelief and amusement fighting for dominance on her face, but Gail lets her hang until she gets to the door, and then turns around to smirk at the brunette.
"Gail Peck," she says, "and I teach romance languages to anyone misguided enough to sign up. This was fun, Lunchbox, we should do it again."
She salutes Holly with a cookie, and then leaves the lounge with a smile on her face, the other woman's laughter echoing out into the hallway after her.