Summary: In as few words as possible. We start at the moment Holly leaves Toronto. You know that letter you write, that honest, no holds bar letter where you lay it all out but you never send it? This is kind of like that, only with texting. Eventually, the texts will be unintentionally received, but months and months later, and its not Gail who ultimately sends them. That's the best I can do for a description.

Notes: This first chapter is short because I would really like some feedback on whether this idea can work. And I am not entirely sure my 'new to fandom' writing skills can do it justice. Excerpts from a song begin each chapter, because music helps me reflect and process and really, that's what this story is meant to be about. I intend to have both characters POV, but mostly, it will be from Gail's side. I also warn you in advance, that my music tastes are all over the place! I do not own either of these 2 lovely ladies because Rookie Blue does. No betas for me, so mistakes are all mine.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

The Coward Texts

Chapter 1: Like We Meant Nothing At All Chapter Text

How could we quit something we never even tried,

Well you still can't tell me why.

We built it up,

To watch it fall.

Like we meant nothing at all.

Nick Lachey

Gail POV

The white noise helps you fade into the crowd. She doesn't know you're there, watching her leave. You just had to see her one last time. What a mess the two of you made. You lean against a nearby post and watch her fidget with her ticket and carry on. You aren't suppose to be in the section reserved for ticket holders only, but what's the use in having a badge if you can't whip it out for personal use now and then? You are paying too much attention to her elegant fingers pushing her adorable glasses back onto her face to notice her suddenly look up. For a moment, you stop breathing, like somehow that will make you invisible. You don't want Holly to see you unless it will change her mind. If Holly sees you here, saying goodbye in silence, and still leaves, it will confirm every insecurity you hold deep inside your protected heart. You are not enough, were never enough. Cowards can't face rejection. And you, are a coward.

You wrap your arms around yourself, stopping your hands from reaching out, until she hands over her boarding pass and steps into the tarmac tunnel. And then you are gasping for air, tears from nowhere are soaking your face. Damn you Holly. Is this the last time you will ever see her?

Its a reflex. You pull out your phone and start texting her.

'Damn you Stewart. I am a mess! You really should see the public spectacle I am making of myself on your account.'

'Even I am starting to laugh.'

'The ticket taker thinks I'm crazy. If I don't show my badge soon, I think someone is going to call security.'

And that's how it began. Texting Holly. Whenever the urge strikes, you text. As if her beautiful, nerdy self, were still a resident in your life. You just don't send them anymore. Its a growing number of random words and thoughts taking up room on your phone. You could send them, you have her new number because she stealthily programmed it into your phone before she left. You still have no idea when. There are things to say, but all of them are about the tragic end to your almost relationship and your heart just won't stand up to another beating today.

Its dark out when you finally drag your sorry, broken self from the airport. The last place Holly stood. You have no idea where to take your battered heart. But you are a creature of habit. You drink. It doesn't matter if you are happy or mad or celebrating or, in this case, emotionally devastated, you drink...and then you text.

Day 0 into Day 1

'You looked so pretty today.'

'I love your galsses. Sexy nerd.'

'You have the most kissa kissbl kissing'

'I like kissing you.'

'Bar kep sayz there is no more whiskey, or is it that I can't hvaeany more whiskey. I hvae no iade.'

'I mess u. I am flew far aawy on a Plane. I watched.'

#####

It is well into the afternoon before your eyes open to the harsh daylight. Motherfucker, did I get shot? It takes 17 seconds for your alcohol infused brain to remember that she's gone. Another 10 before the pain of the headache takes over and you coil your body back under the warmth of your blankets. You don't want to move. Ever. Much later, when you brave sticking your head out again, you note the Ibuprofen and water on your nightstand. Chris. That might fix the knot in your back from that airport torture device trying to pass for a chair, but not the relentless aching of your battered ego.

Uninvited conversations echo through your hazy head...

G: 'Look, I'm really serious about Holly, and I kind of think the only person that needs to know that is Holly.
D: Do you really like her?
G: Yes.
D: 'Cause you never talk about her.
G: Okay, well she's great. I mean, she's, like the smartest person I've ever met, in a kind of sexy-librarian sort of way, which who knew that's that's my thing? But we don't really have anything in common, but it actually gives us a lot more to talk about.
G: And we don't even fight, which is that's new for me.
G: It's just different.
G: I'm different.
I'm better, maybe.'

G: Life.
H: I know, right? Who needs it? I mean, you can plan, plan, and prepare it doesn't really matter, 'cause things just go - where they want to go.
G: Yep.
H: Sort of like this cowlick.
G: I'm sitting in a bathtub waiting to hear if my friends are still alive drinking bourbon with the coolest chick ever.
G: And I have no hair.
H: Not exactly a fairy tale.
G: No.
H: Hmm.
H: Still kinda beautiful, though.
G: Oh, really?
H: Yeah.

That night, you were the very definition of a senseless, emotional basket-case, and Holly had treated you with unconstrained tenderness and understanding and looked at you with such unbridled affection. How did you miss it? How had Lisa's words ever made you run? You were accepted, maybe even on your way to being loved. Holly was your person. And I just walked out and ignored her for weeks because of my screwed up sense of worth. You scream into your pillow at the absurdity of it all.

Your whole body feels cold. You realize with shocking clarity that Holly was your warmth. Her ability to touch you so effortlessly in places no one ever reached. Places other people talked about but you never quite understood. The moment she marched onto your crime scene with her red lunchbox, like she owned the place, you never stood a chance.

You pick up your phone.

'Hey Nerd. Did they give you a new lunchbox?'

'What colour is it?'

#####

5 days ago you walked out of Pearson a shattered shell, but today, today you wake up furious.

'I am so fucking mad at you.'

'Come with you? Just pick up my life here and run off to San Francisco with you?'

'Like my job doesn't matter to me. I'm just a beat cop right?'

'You elitist ass.'

Later

'Okay, so angry, immature Gail has calmed down. Perhaps I was a little harsh before.'

'But why did you come to me that day? You must have known about the job. You came to get me back so you could leave?'

'And come with you? We weren't even officially back together and you were going to ask me to move 4247.17 km away (I mapquested) where we would be the only 2 people we knew?'

'Immersion relationship therapy?'

'Jesus Christ Holly, what were you thinking?'

Even later

'okay, so maybe a little hypocriticism going on here. I mean I am trying to adopt a little girl and all.'

'But had you and I been together, we would have talked about it. You would have gone through that life-changing case with me. You came with your grandiose 'I miss you' when you already knew about San Francisco. I just don't understand. I never took you for cruel.'

You abruptly flick your screen off and toss your phone a few feet in front of you, mostly out of frustration, but also to remove the temptation of deleting your words. You vow to keep all of them until you are past this, past Holly. You are proud of yourself for creating your own brand of therapy. You can be honest with your texts, because no one will ever read them. You are not a coward in your texts. You, Gail Peck, are a healthy coward.

So enough for today. Enough.

Notes: Any and all comments, suggestions, etc. welcome. In my head, the ending to this story came first, just trying to create the journey. I prefer blunt honesty, so fire away.