Chapter 02: The End of Things
Type: Angst / Hurt/Comfort
Rating: T
This answers the question of what happened to Bill Peck. If you've read the awesome fic 'Re: Stacks' this is a similar idea. While this is angst, I promise Gail and Holly's relationship isn't the angst part. It ends uncomfortably, and it's supposed to.
This story takes place about 5 years after the end of "Out With The Old."
The last time they'd been together and seen their father was at the MOM award. The last time she'd had a word with her father had been angry and in a hallway by her office. The last time Steve had seen the man was in an elevator, where they said nothing at all for ten floors. And now there was nothing that would be said from Bill Peck ever again.
Their father was dead.
They met outside the building, his condo. A renovated church, it was tall and the bricks were clean. It represented everything about gentrification. It was also the closest Gail had been to a church since picking up a shaking Oliver outside of one eons ago. No one had weddings in churches anymore. Chloe and Dov still weren't married, Andy's had been at the station (and she was unlikely to marry Nick at this point), Oliver's was outside, and Steve had succumbed to some odd Peck-ness and had his at a hotel.
"It's a nice building," muttered Steve, his taxi pulling away.
Gail eyed her brother. She'd driven from the station. "Really? That's what you're going to say?"
He shrugged. "What? It's a nice ... Complex. Lofts. I looked at a place here when I was trying to get Trace to move in with me."
They stared up at the building. "It is nice," she allowed. "Like my house better." She tossed her coffee cup into the trash. "Where's your partner?"
Steve shoved his hands in his pocket. "Court. Yours?"
"Told him I was going to lunch."
He nodded at her. "So you lied." She shrugged at her brother and pulled her badge out. "How'd you hear?"
"Luck, from Twenty-Seven."
They both looked at the door to the building again. "Why the hell does he live on their turf?" Steve frowned.
Gail smiled. "It's not like he worked for Fifteen anymore, Ginger."
Grunting, Steve pulled his own badge out. "Thanks for telling me, Garbage Pail."
"Fuck if I'm doing this alone."
Turning her badge over in her hand, Gail sighed and walked into the lobby. It was a nice building. Gail sighed again. Today was going to be epic levels of suck. There was no uniform to stop them, so they just walked up the stairs to the top, leaving their badges on to dissuade neighbors.
As they reached the top floor, Gail held the door open for her brother. "Penthouse," she huh'ed.
Steve smirked. "Really?"
She punched his arm. They were both deflecting and hiding their emotions behind the banter. It was not a fun day. They paused and looked at the wreath on the door. "Didn't see that coming," she said to Steve. "Hey, Rosati," greeted Gail.
Rosati looked surprised. "Damn, bad news travels fast," she muttered.
"We have spies everywhere," Steve drawled.
With a sigh, Rosati waved them in. Gail stepped around and looked at the body on the couch. It was just another body, she told her stomach. She'd seen hundreds before. A human being sans life. Nothing new. "What do we know?"
"Nothing. I just got here."
Of course. Gail looked over at Luck and raised her eyebrows. She'd known Luck for years now, and while her sergeant had been on Elaine's payroll, Luck was on hers. In a manner of speaking. It was the thin rainbow line which prompted Luck to call Gail right after she'd called the detectives. "Neighbor noticed the wreath." Luck flipped open her notebook. "Said he never leaves it up this long. Knocked, no answer. Called the building, they tried to open the door but it's locked and chained. Called us, I pushed it open and saw him on the couch, kicked it open."
Rosati eyed Gail. "How come you're in charge? Didn't I help you pass your exam?"
"The teacher has become the student," replied Gail, smiling thinly. She walked to the couch. "EMTs?"
"He was cold," explained Luck.
"Ain't that the truth," muttered Steve. "You call in forensics?"
"Seriously?" Rosati sounded shocked. "It looks natural-"
Steve snapped, "Call. Forensics." Touching his arm, Gail shook her head. "Just... Call it in." He turned around and walked to the fireplace, slapping the mantle.
Luck cleared her throat. "You sure?"
She stayed by the couch, looking down at the dead man. "Yeah."
"I mean... Gail it's your dad."
"Yes, yes it is," sighed Gail, pushing her hair out of her face. "This is what we do, Luck. We put on the uniform, we wear it until we don't, we die. Make sure he died naturally." She coughed a laugh. "Which is the minority for Pecks, you know."
From the fireplace, Steve laughed. "Franklin. Monroe."
Gail glanced over. "Darryl. Allison. Theo."
"Camilla. Fred."
As one they said the last name. "Harold."
The other police officers stared. "Did ... Were those all the Pecks who died of natural causes?" Luck looked shocked.
"Yep!" Gail popped the P loudly.
"But... There are like a million..." Trailing off, Luck shook her head. "Man, you had some twisted parent-" she froze and stared at Gail.
Gesturing at the man on the couch, Gail sighed. "You don't even know." She shook her head and walked to the window, sitting in it and pulling out her phone. How did someone break this to the family? Closing her eyes, Gail pressed her phone to her forehead and held the home button down. "Call Holly," she said softly and clearly.
Her wife picked up right away. "Hey, honey. Change of lunch plans? Because there's a new food truck you're going to love. Waffle sandwiches."
She could hear the smile in Holly's voice, the happy grin that wheedled Gail into doing anything. "Yeah, no. Can't do lunch. I'm with Steve at the reno'd church on Dovercourt." Gail exhaled loudly.
"What happened? You pick up a case- wait. That's Twenty-Seven's territory …" God, Holly knew her so well. She knew when Gail sounded weird and stressed.
But Gail deflected. "When did you memorize all the division hoods?"
"Around the time you mastered your medical jurisprudence," sassed Holly, laughing. "Cross division case?"
"Not exactly." Gail chewed her lip and Holly waited. "It's my ... It's Bill... It's my dad's address."
There was the briefest of pauses before Holly sucked in air through her teeth. "Oh, honey." Holly was smart. Sharp. She knew exactly what that meant. She'd lived with Gail so long, she was practically a detective herself.
"Yeah. So ... Can you make sure someone good gets this?" She shook her head. "Steve and I are here."
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Honey, of course. Do... I'll tell Viv."
"Thanks. I'll be home after they take him." Gail was quiet for a while. "I'm going to hang up."
"I love you, Gail."
"I know. I love you too." She pressed the disconnect button and exhaled. That was the easy call. Gail tapped her phone app and pressed a number on her recent calls. "Hey, Mom. It's about Dad..."
She and Steve waited until the body was taken away. As next of kin, they signed the papers and took the keys. Nothing looked untoward after all. Luck actually checked to make sure they were okay before leaving, and Gail exhaled, dropping into the easy chair.
"There aren't any photos of us," noted Steve, walking around. "No photo albums, no nothing."
Gail pressed the heels of her hand to her eye sockets. "Why are you surprised?"
There was a clank and Steve laughed. "I'm not." There was a clink of glasses and ice and Gail felt something pressed against her hand. "Drink," suggested Steve.
Moving a hand, Gail looked up at the amber liquor in the glass. She took it and sniffed. "Ah, Dad's stash. Crown Royal?"
"What else? Canadian whiskey or nothing." He sat on the coffee table. "You call Holly?"
"And Mom, yeah." She sipped the whiskey. "I hate this stuff," Gail muttered.
"Helps begin the grieving process." They shared a look and laughed. Bill had gotten drunk off his ass the night Harold died, and their mother called it that. "Traci's coming over."
Translation: Steve was going to get blitzed and make his wife drive him home. "Lucky you." Sipping the drink again, Gail regarded the ice and asked, "Was anything in the fridge?"
"Cold cuts. Salad, with tomatoes, sorry. Some bread. Usual condiments. Chinese leftovers. Beer and ginger ale." Ah yes, Peck memory training skills.
"Chinese food," announced Gail, putting her drink on the coffee table. "And please tell me Dad had Forty Creek."
"Nope! Gin, Drambui, the Crown, and rum. Lots of rum. No coke though. That's weird."
Gail popped open the fridge and pulled out the Chinese food. She opened the recycling. "Seven... Eight cans in the recyc. Should be four... Ah." Opening the pantry, she found a flat of cokes. "I knew it. He was the one who never restocked the fridge!"
Her brother laughed from the living room. "Split the leftovers?"
"Screw you, you just want to get drunk." She split the food and tossed it into the microwave. "Jesus. Dad's a slob." The sink was piled up with crap. Gail grimaced and loaded the dishwasher.
"Crap taste in movies too. Kinda afraid to check his Netflix queue."
Gail snorted. "That seems unlikely. Dad mastering Netflix?" They sat down with the food and ate quietly, looking at the couch. "Wonder why he was sleeping there."
"Wonder how long he was dead for," countered Steve.
"Wonder what would have happened if it wasn't January."
"Wonder when the hell Dad starting putting up a wreath."
Gail laughed a little. "Bet that has to be from living here." She looked around. "If I was single, man, this would be a sweet place."
Her brother sighed. "What the hell are we going to do with it?" He sounded lost.
"Sell it I guess," muttered Gail. "Or rent it. Or let Leo live here." Steve laughed and suggested Vivian could live there after Leo. "Or keep it till we piss off our wives and end up some sad, sorry, sack of cops, drinking away our lives, working till we're boring white shirts with no future and no family, and we die alone. On our couch. And our kids don't even care."
Steve exhaled. "He hated my wife because she was black."
"Hated mine 'cause she was a wife."
"And brown." Steve lifted his cup. "Can't forget that."
Snorting, Gail leaned back. "She's not brown. She's Mediterranean. I'm just fluorescent."
Her brother laughed. "To the Pale Fails. Long may we reign."
They were still eating when Traci showed up. After making sure Traci was going to take Steve home, Gail took the trash out and went to her car. She knew this feeling. It was almost the same empty, unfeeling she'd had after Perik. She didn't feel anything then and she didn't feel anything now. Just ... Hollowness. By the time she got home, she didn't feel any different. Not about her father, at least.
At home, Holly was sorting out dinner with Vivian, or rather Holly was letting Vivian make meatloaf while she made a salad. "Hey," greeted Holly quietly, her eyes searching Gail's face for something. In that moment, Gail felt a surge of warmth. She felt love and concern. So the dread nothing was only about her father. Gail smiled at her wife and kissed Holly's cheek softly.
"Mom!" Vivian looked worried. At almost thirteen, Vivian had finally caught up to her age group with height, even surpassing Olivia and their friend Matty. She was tall, a little gangly at the moment, and still tan from the summer. Freckles everywhere, which Gail never got. Gail burned. Holly freckled. But Vivian didn't really look like them in her skin or hair. She moved and talked like them, but you couldn't really mistake her for their blood child if you payed attention.
"Hey, Monkey." Gail smiled. "Lemme get this stuff off and I'll help."
She was back downstairs quickly, getting a side eye from Holly. "Traci said Steve's drunk."
"Steven." Gail sighed and airily explained, "My darling brother Steven has begun the grieving process." She leaned on the kitchen island, pillowing her head on her arms. "I, however, had a shot of Crown Royal, which I don't even like, ate the old man's leftovers, and came home."
A hand ran through her hair, brushing her cowlick aside before a pair of warm lips pressed against her forehead. "I see," murmured Holly. "What did you eat?"
"Kung Pao Chicken. Chow mein noodles." The hand in her hair kept up its motion, soothing. "I called my mother."
"Is she coming over?"
"Dunno." Gail exhaled. "I have a headache."
Holly's strong, dexterous fingers moved from her hair to her shoulders, gently applying pressure. "Well. Stress will do that. I asked Carl to do the autopsy tomorrow." Mumbling a thank you, Gail tried to relax her neck.
There was a clink and Gail opened one eye to see a glass with something fizzy and a bottle of beer. "I don't know which one you want," admitted Vivian.
"Ginger ale." Gail slowly stretched her arms out, curving her back until it popped. When Holly moved back, Gail caught her waist and drew her into a hug. The warm arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Holding her safe. Vivian hovered on the edge, concerned and at a loss as to what to do, until Gail held a hand out.
The teenager muttered she was sorry and, for one of the few times ever, hugged Gail and Holly for a length of time. Teenagers were strange creatures. Vivian was no more or less strange than any other, though she'd turned very quiet and introspective over the few years they'd been a family. She held it all in, much like Gail did, but she was far more polite about it, like Holly. No one could tell them Viv wasn't theirs.
Elaine did come over, similarly shell shocked as Gail. It was just not expected. She and Gail sat beside each other on the couch, Holly in the easy chair, Vivian cross-legged on the floor, and told stories about Bill. There were good stories. Gail fondly remembered when he used to take her shooting, when he taught her to swim, and when he taught her to make donuts in a parking lot with the car.
For her part, Elaine finally told the story about how she met Bill. They'd been rookies in different divisions, chasing the same perp, and Bill had tackled the man down. As they'd skidded across the grass, Elaine had leapt over and cuffed the perp, stealing the collar from Bill. It reminded Gail of the time she and Dov had been rookies, chasing Snakeface. So upset with losing out, Bill had transferred to Fifteen out of some odd need to prove his superior skills. Of course, Elaine still had the most collars in their rookie class.
After that, the wine was brought out. Even Vivian, who was not going to school tomorrow, got a glass. They shared the story of Elaine and Bill's wedding, complete with the idiotic Peck Trials. Holly was aghast to learn Elaine had done the same insane hikes as young Gail and Steve had. Since Gail had never told Vivian about them, they had to explain all the various cop games Gail had played. Some of them Vivian knew, like 'quick, where are we?' Only Steve and Gail knew it as 'Quick, you've been shot. Where do we send backup?'
Gail had liked the memory games, she was good at them. Elaine was amused that Gail had repurposed the games, making them fun. Vivian argued they were stupid, even if she was pretty good at memorizing license plates. Naturally Elaine asked if Gail had taken Vivian on the driving course, which she had not, deferring to Holly's complaint that it was dangerous.
Her wife, daughter, and mother quickly engaged in a laughing argument about allowing Vivian to be in the car when Gail drove. They actually agreed that, for her thirteenth birthday next month, Vivian would be allowed to ride with Gail on the training course. Gail smiled and refilled the wine for everyone except Vivian, who didn't complain. Vivian was twelve, Gail reminded herself. She'd finally caught up in more than height, skipping ahead a grade and would be starting high school soon.
And Gail was 39.
She'd been a cop for 15 years.
Her father had died at just over 75. He'd been a police office for 50 years.
It really blew her mind. Unlike her mother, who had retired a decade ago, Bill stuck in his work. He took a transfer out of the city, only coming back in the last few years to work a desk at the main building. Holly had run in to him more than a few times, never talked to him, just nodding and moving on. Except for the one time he'd shown up at Fifteen, Gail had not seen him or spoke with him in years.
He never called.
She'd told him to call her if he wanted to talk. She said she'd answer.
But he never called.
Gail closed her eyes for a moment and felt Holly's hand on her arm. She signed that she was fine and felt the hand squeeze. It was a lot to take in. Gail scooted closer to the end of the couch, holding Holly's hand. When asked what she'd been thinking of, Gail rejoined the discussion by reminding her mother she'd just hit her fifteen year mark on the force, which gave Elaine pause.
"Good god," muttered Elaine. "Did you get another watch?"
The simplicity of the statement made her laugh.
Her mother spent the night in the guest room, coming with Gail to the station the next day. They both wore their badges the next day, the black band snug around them, taking Holly and Vivian to the station. Because of being a Peck, they had the right to ask any station to host the final call, but Gail said that he'd done most of his work at Fifteen. Truthfully, her support structure was at Fifteen, and she needed them today.
At morning Parade, she walked up to the front. Funny, the speaking in public fear didn't seem like such a big deal in that moment. Steve, hungover, sat at the side with his head down, Traci's hand in his own. The room was filled with White Shirts and Ds, uniforms and retired officers lining the walls and leading out the door.
Everyone knew Bill Peck. Not a damn one of them actually knew him. Neither did Gail.
"You sure, darlin'?" Oliver swallowed, looking nervous.
Gail reached over and flicked on the radio. "Dispatch, 8727. Fifteen standing by."
"Copy 8727," crackled Dispatch. "Attention all officers standby while we patch all sub-fleets for an announcement..."
She looked over at Holly and Vivian, the girl stuck to her mother's hip, tucked under Holly's arm for comfort. Holly had on a black armband, as did Vivian. When Chris had died, Holly came with Gail to his last call because she couldn't cope on her own. This time, Gail didn't need to ask. Her wife and their daughter were coming without question or doubt.
It was different than when her uncle, Bill's brother Gary, had died in the line of duty. Then Grandpa Harold had insisted ten year old Gail stand up straight and on her own. When he, in turn, had died, teenaged Gail stood practically at attention and won a nod from her father. But she was not that kind of Peck anymore. Gail took the three steps to stand with her wife and daughter, taking Holly's hand and resting her other on Vivian's shoulder as Dispatch spoke again.
"Dispatch to 612, 10-90." The room held its breath. "Dispatch to 612, Inspector Peck, 10-90." Silence. "Attention all officers. Inspector Peck, badge 612, is not answering his radio."
The radio crackled again and Oliver held it out to Gail. Steve was crying silently, their mother holding him around the shoulders, awkwardly. If Uncle Al hadn't retired the year before, he would have done this but of everyone, of all the Pecks, it fell on her. Gail pulled her hand off Vivian's shoulder and took the radio. "Dispatch," she said quietly and clearly. "8727. Show Inspector Peck, badge 612, out of service."
"10-4, 8727." There was the briefest pause, as if Dispatch was holding back her own tears. "Inspector Peck, badge 612, is out of service." The radio clicked. "Dispatch to all officers. Please observe a moment of silence for Inspector William Harold Peck, badge 612. Fifty years, three months in service of Toronto." A murmur ran through the room, prefacing the silence. People hadn't realized how long Bill had been an officer, apparently. "Dispatch to all officers. Funeral arrangements will be posted tomorrow. Thank you. Badge 612, retired."
There was a heavier silence as Oliver turned off the radio. Gail kept hold of Holly's hand while people streamed by, expressing condolences and returning to their work. The funeral wasn't until after the autopsy, which meant Gail pushed it back to Saturday. He'd be buried with all the other Pecks, like he always wanted.
"I can stay," offered Oliver.
Gail rolled her eyes. "God, why? As soon as the dog and pony show's over, I'm out of here." To the side, Steve laughed and said he was joining her. "Ollie, no one actually liked Dad. He was just a fixture."
When Oliver opened his mouth, probably to correct her, Elaine chimed in, "He had his moments, but he changed, Oliver."
"Now he's just somebody that we used to know," mused Steve.
"I swear to god, Steve, we will do an out-of-service on your ass if you start singing." Gail's bite wasn't venomous, and while much of the room looked aghast, Steve, Traci, Holly, Elaine, and Vivian all laughed. Her family laughed.
Nick didn't laugh, but he did shake his head ruefully. "Sucks," he said to her.
She nodded. "A bit."
"What's holding up the funeral?"
Gail exhaled. "Autopsy. Later today, I think. So long as nothing horrible crops up, we'll have him under on Saturday."
Wiping his face, Steve joked, "With a stake in his heart. Just in case."
"Steven," groaned Elaine. "That's for my funeral."
They laughed softly, embracing the dark humor. The damned thing was, Elaine would have thought the joke funny. That day in the car when Gail said she would rather be abducted again than with her, when Bill told her not to joke about it. Elaine would have given Gail that droll look that said she wasn't that funny, while her eyes laughed. Gail caught her mother's eyes and smiled tiredly. They shared a nod and started to herd their family out.
It was a surprise to no one that the death was natural. He was over seventy. He wasn't in great health. It was expected. They agreed to box up the apartment, the condo, after the funeral. It was paid off, so no need to do anything in a rush. His own savings would pay for the maintenance for well over a year. They even had two days until the funeral, which gave Gail enough time to actually sort out her eulogy.
"Can't I just say he was an ass, we didn't talk, fuck off?" The kitchen table was littered with scraps of paper that all tried to make Bill Peck sound like a wonderful human being.
"No," laughed Holly. She was busying herself with cleaning the house, a case of displaced stress she explained. "If that's all you can come up with, honey, just don't say anything."
When Holly took the laundry back upstairs, Gail heard her call to Vivian and tell her to take her sheets downstairs. The thudding steps of their daughter in a mood prefaced her arrival in the kitchen. Vivian opened the fridge, sighed, closed it, opened the pantry, sighed again, and closed it.
Gail smiled. "What's wrong, Monkey?"
"Mom, come on. I'm not a child." She opened more cabinets, clearly unsatisfied.
She couldn't help but love that girl. "Too bad, you're always going to be my monkey."
Rolling her eyes, Vivian asked, "Don't we have anything sweet?"
"The mint Girl Guides are in the freezer. I declare today an eat your feelings day." Gail tossed her pen down. "Bring me a sleeve."
With a snort, Vivian brought two sleeves over and sat down. "Are they gonna do that for you?"
Mid-reach for her cookies, Gail frowned. "Do what?"
"The... Final call thing. I thought they only did that if you died in the line of duty." She opened her sleeve and took a cookie.
"He was a Peck," she shrugged. Actually she had argued against it, but her mother pointed out it was fair.
Vivian gestured at Gail with a cookie. "So that means you and Uncle Steve will too."
When Chris had died, five years ago, Gail and Holly listened to the final call in Oliver's office. Vivian had been at school and not told about that. She'd gone to the funeral, but this was her first final call, which made Gail wonder when she'd learned about it at all. Probably TV. Gail looked at her cookies. "Well. Yes. Probably. If we're still on the force when we die."
While Vivian stared at her cookie, Gail ate one. "Did you love him?"
"It's complicated," sighed Gail. "I did. But I'm still mad at him."
"Even though he's dead?" Vivian blinked at this revelation and frowned when Gail nodded. "You don't want to go." The little Monkey (well, not so little anymore) was always perceptive.
Gail sighed. "I don't want to give a eulogy for him. Don't care about going so much." Funerals were somewhat more tolerable than weddings, but both were bastions for fakery. "Everyone's going to be taking fake crap about how much they miss him, and how important he was, and bullshit like that. He was an asshole, he's dead, now Steve and I have to clean up his shit."
In that second, the one right after her word vomit, the mom part of Gail's brain kicked in and reminded her that her daughter once had other parents. A father who'd killed her mother, her sister, and himself, leaving it for a barely six year old to survive. Gail opened her mouth to apologize, but Vivian surprised her. "I'm glad I didn't go to the funeral," she said firmly.
She stared at her daughter. For whatever reason, conversations with Vivian rarely went the way Gail expected. "Viv-"
"No, not like that, Mom." She paused. "Well. Maybe. I don't know."
Smiling softly, Gail reached over and covered Vivian's hand with her own. "You're allowed to still be mad at him, Viv."
Her daughter nodded. "I am. I think I'll always be mad at him. But." Vivian stalled. "I don't know what I would have said."
"Oh, kiddo," sighed Gail. "You were six. They don't make kids do this."
"I won't be six when you die, Mom," she noted, grimly.
As morbid as it was, it made Gail feel warmer inside. "You actually like me, you idiot," laughed Gail.
"You liked your dad at my age." The girl was always ahead of the curve. She'd had to learn to process pain early on. Pain and disappointment. Vivian was too old for her own age in so many ways.
And in this moment, the too-old child wasn't right. Gail pressed her lips together. "When I was ten, I came in sixth in a shooting competition. Dad drove me home and didn't say anything the whole ride back. He was just... This wall of disappointment." She picked up a cookie. "When we got home, I threw up and he yelled at me for how bad it was. The shoot, not the puking. Then they canceled my birthday party." She bit her mint cookie and sighed. "So no, honey. At your age I didn't like my dad very much at all."
Her daughter's eyes were wide. "Elaine let him?"
How strange it was for her child to live in a universe where Elaine was nice. "She wasn't always cool, Monkey."
Vivian looked thoughtful and leaned back. She clearly didn't believe that the grandmother who took her to musicals and shopping and shooting would let someone berate her own daughter. It made Gail remember the time the four of them had gone to see a concert and someone had made a snide remark about 'those people' when Gail had kissed Holly. She'd been late, stuck on a case, and swooped in right before curtain. Her mother and daughter had gotten quick hellos; her wife a proper kiss. And the idiot had made his comment.
Ten minutes later, with the concert actually held up, they'd had to move to other seats. The ten minutes had been filled with Elaine reading the man the riot act for being a homophobic Neanderthal, who didn't have an ounce of compassion in his body, and had no business at Vivaldi. Holly found the entire thing hilarious, laughing as they moved, even though Vivian had been mortified by the events. But her world was one where Elaine stood up for her daughter.
Vivian changed the subject. "How come you have to give the eulogy?"
"Steve's still drunk." Steve had been drunk since day one and, according to Traci, his moments of sobriety were few right now. That was why Elaine was over there, helping them out and keeping Steve a little saner.
Her brother had always been given to fits of anger in different ways. He'd taken their father's betrayal harder, more personally. At some point in the last few years, he'd spoken to Bill about things, including the fact that Steve and Traci weren't having children. Gail knew why, and so did Bill. But he'd said it was a good thing not to have a bi-racial child.
Steve's anger had been thrown at Gail, thank god, not anyone else who might not understand the cause. The pain and agony of those words had sliced Steve to the bone, prompting him to lash out at blame Gail. That their father could have held it in if she'd not had to be gay. Except his words had been harsher and vile, intended to break her and bring her to the level he was at, to share his pain. It didn't work. She slapped him as hard as she could, sending him reeling back in shock. And it that was all it took for Steve to be the one who broke, sobbing. For the first time, it was Gail who held her big brother close while he raged and cried. He'd done it for her, more than once, in their youth.
Somehow Gail had gotten older, or wiser, or smarter, or luckier. Somehow in claiming to be dealing with her shit, she'd survived and done so. Somehow she'd made it through to the part of life, the part of existence where the pain other people made in you didn't matter so much. Somehow she'd become someone else. Someone better.
"Mom," whispered Vivian. There must have been something there in the look on her face, prompting Vivian up and over and to hug her.
"See, this is why you're a monkey," sighed Gail, hugging her daughter close. "It's okay, Viv." It was a lie. They both knew it. But they both accepted it.
At night, Holly distracted a quite willing Gail from all the stress and family drama in the most pleasing of ways. Gail smiled, peacefully, while Holly caressed her hair. She loved when Holly played with her hair. Much of why she kept it short was because Holly would run her hands through it, saying it calmed her. It had the same effect on Gail, often soothing her into sleep and making her relax.
She so loved how it felt to be held and touched by Holly. All the things she hated about dating men, about how they smothered and hovered and tried to protect you from yourself, was right and perfect when it was with her wife. Holly had a way of knowing when it was too much and when Gail needed something more. Maybe Holly just listened to her more, believed her more. She certainly trusted her more than Chris had, gave her second chances more than Nick had, and God, let's not think about the other boy toys.
For a moment, though, with Holly's body pressed against her, Gail thought about nothing except how incredibly lucky she was. She had that wonderful moment of blankness that came after an orgasm, where she felt so tense she thought she would snap and then it broke. It broke and she fractured into a million pieces and melted back into place, held back together by Holly's hand in hers.
This part of their life, the sex, was still so easy and so good. There had been a brief span, two years back, of the dreaded lesbian bed death. For six months, following too many cases and too much work and an assassination undercover op that worn Gail thin, they'd been more best friends than spouses. In the end, they'd been saved by Lisa, who convinced them into letting Lisa stay over to babysit Vivian for a long weekend while her moms went to the cabin. It had been very much needed and very much appreciated. The act of getting to the cabin, alone, with no children or schedule or motives other than being with each other had catapulted them back to the place where they really couldn't keep it in their pants.
Gail had sent Lisa a thank you present in the form of phone numbers of single lesbians, including a fireman, an EMT, and a high priced divorce lawyer whom Andy had rescued from an angry client. Gail ended up on the case, spending a very annoying afternoon being hit on, and finally had to tell the woman she was married. The lawyer, Kate, had eventually become Lisa's on-again/off-again quasi-girlfriend. They went out regularly in a bizarre no-strings relationship that made no sense at all to Holly, who could never contemplate more than one person at a time. But Kate stopped hitting on Gail and Lisa was happy.
So was Rachel. She'd gone ahead and adopted a baby, on her own, named Rebecca, just after her forty-third birthday. Her fathers were the epitome of doting grandparents, their hand in every pot to make sure Rebecca lacked for nothing. Gail predicted the child would grow up as the most pampered princess of them all, conspiring with Holly to make sure the girl got to see the real world like camping and cars. Lisa was a fantastic babysitter for both of them, and finally confessed to Gail that she'd been adopted as a child, so it meant a lot to her. Weirdly, Lisa had never told Holly that.
Her partner John had moved on with his life as well, not romantically but he was looking at retirement a little seriously. He was at nineteen years, after all, and the notion of staying a cop until he was fifty was less appealing than it might be. But he did love the job and, just that week, told Gail he'd stay on till at least twenty-five years. He wanted the gold watch. Of course, thinking about that brought the other work things to mind.
"Hey, busy head," murmured Holly. "You're supposed to be asleep." Her breath was warm across Gail's shoulder.
"John's sticking around another five years." The moment she said it, Gail winced.
Holly propped herself up. "Seriously?" Her voice was the dry, wry tone that warned Gail she'd be hearing about this for a while. "You just had mind-blowing sex and you're thinking about your work husband?"
Sighing, Gail looked up at her wife. "It's Lisa's fault." And she explained the thought process, much to Holly's amusement. "I was thinking about sex. The sex was amazing, Holly." She reached up to caress Holly's face. "You are amazing."
With a hum, Holly turned her face into Gail's hand, smiling. "You holding up okay, honey?"
The real reason Gail's head didn't want to turn off was pretty obvious. "I think so."
Holly nodded and kissed Gail's hand before sitting up and pulling her shirt out from under her pillow. Frowning, Gail rolled after her and caught her arm. "Honey, it's late."
"Are you going in tomorrow?"
"For a bit." Holly was the Chief Medical Examiner, having stepped into the role just over a year before with panache and delight. She had a lot more busy work, but it was the job she'd wanted for years and it was position she'd groomed herself to be ready for and achieve. "Is that okay?"
With a hmm, Gail nodded. She sat up and slid an arm around Holly's waist, kissing the back of Holly's shoulder. "Thank you," she said into Holly's neck.
"Gail," sighed Holly, but she leaned back, pressing her back against Gail and giving up a little more access.
Smiling, Gail whispered, "Let me." It didn't take any more convincing. Losing herself for a while in Holly was not an antidote or palliative. It wasn't even an avoidance. In those moments it was a reminder of what they had and what they were. Gail breathed in the smell of Holly's skin and sweat. Why was someone's sweat attractive? Why was the flavor so appealing and desirable?
Strangely enough it the was giving, not receiving, that quieted Gail's thoughts. Curled up against Holly, feeling their bare skin against each others, was calming. And as she listened to Holly's heart beat, it sent her into a pleased, blissful, dreamless sleep.
The next night, the night before the funeral, she didn't sleep well at all. She spent the day working with Oliver, trying to write a eulogy, distracted by friends who came by to bring food, and she'd rather have been doing anything else. Finally Gail managed to write something that didn't epically suck, just before Holly got back, and convinced her family that a nice, quiet, night was in order, early to bed.
If only that had worked. Gail had thumped into bed and fallen asleep fairly quickly. She remembered the dream that woke her. In the dream, she'd been in the car with her father, telling him she'd rather be abducted again, and he'd turned to her with an grin and said she'd deserve it. Before Dream-Gail could reply, her father morphed into Perik, who told her he'd been watching her. She turned for the door, reaching for the locks, only to find them sawed off, and shouted, rattling the door handle.
The act of the dream shout woke her. It was like when you had a dream that you were falling and woke up with the shake of the impact. She knew she made a strangled noise, feeling the yell die in her throat, but she was awake. Awesome. Gail groaned and sat up, her hands shaking a little. Careful not to wake Holly, she slipped out of bed and into the bathroom, washing her face off.
When she went back into the bedroom, she smiled at Holly. Twelve years, more or less, and the woman still would sleep in the middle of the bed. They'd ended up getting a king sized bed even before adopting Viv, in order to leave Gail some actual room in the bed, since Holly would starfish right over her half and more. In the dim light from the outside world, Gail could make out her wife's tan skin against the white sheets, and her dark hair splayed across the pillows.
There was white in her hair now, visible for everyone to see. Gail grinned, remembering the first serious grey hairs Holly had found. Now she had some sharp white showing when she had her hair back in a pony tail, and it was all over but the crying. There were more wrinkles too, laugh lines that made her even more beautiful. It was still undefinable, what drew her to Holly, but certainly the fact that she was so gorgeous did not hurt. Holly aged gracefully, psychically and mentally. She was still brilliant and nerdy and a little bit of a babbler when nervous.
Gail knew she was holding on to her youthful looks with pure luck. Her mother had a bit of plastic assistance (not as much as her creepy twin, Betty Rogers did, thank god), but Elaine had stopped dying her hair finally, letting it go grey gilt with savior-faire. Gail's hair was still dyed some shade of blonde, though the last dye job had been as part of an undercover op. She still bleached it blonde once in a while. She probably would again soon.
With a sigh, Gail collected her iPad and went downstairs to the couch. Her brain was awake and she had the feeling that any attempt to sleep again would just fall back into the nightmare cycle. She took time to type up her dream in the stupid journal. That she still kept, even though she had a new therapist who didn't think it was all that helpful. The new head doc was pretty good, however, being a little more attuned to cops and their family drama. The PTSD was as much under control as it would ever be, so keeping the family happy was more important. Using her words was important.
She wasn't surprised when was Vivian who grumbled from the stairs, "Would it kill you to turn on a light, Mom?"
"Yes, it would kill any hope of Holly sleeping." She reached up and flicked on a light. "Why are you up?"
Vivian headed straight to the kitchen, pulling out milk and cream. "Because I knew you'd be."
Frowning, Gail turned to watch her daughter. "Did you...?"
"No." Vivian shook her head firmly. Her daughter's nightmares had faded away over time, though she still hated sleepovers and tended towards mild panic attacks when she was away overnight. At her last school camping trip, Vivian had called to check in every night and morning, and clearly had not slept well while away. Gail wasn't sure she'd slept at all, the way Vivian snored for 16 hours straight after getting home. But the nightmares themselves were gone and the girl just had regular insomnia.
Gail exhaled, a little relieved, and placed her iPad on the coffee table before walking into the kitchen. "Jesus, how much food did everyone bring?"
"They know you," teased Vivian, mixing up the cocoa. "Need a shot?"
"Nah," she sighed. "God, I hope Steve sobered up. Otherwise today is going to be epic."
Snorting, Vivian put the milk away as the saucepan heated up. "I didn't think Steve drank that much."
"Well … neither did our dad," admitted Gail. She'd been the lush for the longest time. "But when his dad died, he got blitzed for days. Mother called it the, ah, grieving process." It had made Gail laugh, just a little. Her daughter rolled her eyes but mixed up their drinks.
They quietly drank the cocoa, huddled in the slightly chilly kitchen. "Why doesn't Mom get up with you when you have a nightmare?" Vivian looked thoughtful as she asked.
"She usually sleeps through them." It had been a while, probably a few years, since Gail had woken up Holly with her nightmares. Sometimes she'd have them when Holly was still awake, but the violent, thrashing dreams had subsided. She could probably go through her little dream journal app and find out the last time. The app was a clever thing, hooked into the sleep monitor thingy in her watch.
"I hate that you still have 'em," grumbled Vivian.
Gail hesitated. "It's from the drugs, Viv." Her daughter looked up, surprised. "Perik shot me full of some pretty amazing psychotropics. Instead of melting a hole in my brain, they locked in part of the memory. That's the theory at least. Your Mom'd say it's hard to know for sure." There was actual damage though, visible on the brain scans. And yes, that had terrified Gail at first.
"Oh. You ... Why didn't you tell me about the drugs before?" Vivian's face was screwed up into one of thoughtful anguish.
Loading up the dishwasher, Gail shrugged. "You were six when I told you the first time, kid. And you haven't really asked about it since yours went away."
When she turned back, she found her daughter studying her face, looking for something. "So it'll never go away?"
"Hasn't yet." Gail leaned back on the counter and tilted her head. "It's gotten a lot better. They used to be any time I got stressed and messed up my sleep schedule."
Vivian nodded. "Routines help," she agreed. "I don't know if I'd rather have mine or yours..."
"I'd rather have neither. At least your mom is getting some rest," sighed Gail. "Does it ... Does it scare you?"
Quickly, the girl shook her head. "No! No, it's not that. I just feel bad and I wish I could make it better."
It was impossible not to smile. "You do, Viv. You and Holly and, God don't tell him, Steve. Everyone does help." Her daughter smiled back. "Come on, let's get some sleep." She draped an arm around Vivian's shoulders as the headed to the stairs.
Vivian sighed and leaned into her as they went back upstairs. "You know I love you, Mom. Right?"
"I know, Monkey," smiled Gail, kissing her kid's forehead. "Get some sleep. We'll do pancakes in the morning."
Vivian nodded, giving Gail one more squeeze, before heading to her own bedroom. No on in the house slept with a nightlight anymore, which was a strange thought. There wasn't any magic to it either, it was just something they'd both gotten through one day. Gail did leave a nightlight on in the office, so she could easily get to the guns in an emergency, but that was just a neurotic cop's paranoia.
When she stepped into the master bedroom, Holly blearily looked up. "You okay?"
"Mm hmmm," assured Gail, slipping back into the bed.
"Cold." Holly scowled and wrapped herself around Gail to warm her up. She hated being cold in bed and felt the best way to warm it up again was body heat. It more than made up for the starfish thing.
Gail took the little spoon spot and yawned. "Sleep, baby. I love you."
A few moments later, Holly was snoring, the sound soothing Gail to a doze. She was used to the sound and feel of her wife beside her. It was one of the most wonderful things, having this beautiful woman in her life who wanted her for who she was. Smiling, Gail drifted off with that thought. The thought of being loved for being herself.
Come the morning, Gail made and ate breakfast before getting dressed in her dress uniform. Holly smoothed down her lapels, adjusting Gail's row of medals, before asking, "Is Elaine coming in uniform?"
"Probably." Gail looked at her one and a half rows of stupid medals. Thank god no one had followed up that stupid MOM award with another, but she could see it happening again. She was a Peck and their names were always shortlisted. One day she'd make an Inspector and then it would be a parade of useless awards. "Monkey, go get dressed."
Grumbling, as it was early, Vivian came back upstairs, hair in disarray and still in her sweatpants and shirt. "Moms, I need a haircut," she complained and closed her bedroom door to Gail's smirk.
"You sure it's okay for me to wear pants?" Holly hesitated at their closet. She had on some black, dress slacks, the sort she wore to court, and a dark shirt, but was dithering over the jacket. "It's just that it's a big funeral. And it will have everyone there from all the Divisions. And I know you don't care, but there's propriety and a sense of obligation to the force. They've done a lot for you. Us. All of us-"
The rambling was going to go on, so Gail leaned over to kiss her wife softly. "Calm down," she advised. Gail dusted off her hat and put it on, checking herself in the mirror. The gloves would come later. "Holly Stewart, you don't even own a dress," she teased. It wasn't true, it was just that Holly rarely wore dresses or skirts, not even to the opera. "The black suit is fine. No heels. You don't have to wear a hat." She kissed Holly again and went to check on their daughter.
Opening the door on the first knock, Vivian scowled. "Can I wear pants?"
"Sure." With Gail in uniform, all three wore slacks that day. Six, if you counted Steve, Traci, and Elaine. Seven when you added in Leo. Gail ran her hand along the painted border on the wall. Dinosaurs with capes, masks, tiaras, and a couple with cowboy hats. "You know you can repaint the room."
Vivian rustled in her closet. "Nah, I like it." There was more rustling and then she asked, "These pants okay?"
Glancing over, Gail nodded. Black slacks from something or another. "A white shirt is fine too." The girl had on a white t-shirt, but pulled on her white button down from school. They sorted out shoes, opting for black sneakers, and Gail brushed Vivian's chin length hair, clipping it out of her face.
She looked down at her daughter, studying her face thoughtfully. "You're creeping me out, Mom."
"When I'm 73, you'll be 45. That's older than I am now," she sighed.
"Not older than Mom, or Steve." Vivian looked up at her mother. If they were other people, they'd hug now. "You're not old."
"I'm almost forty, kid," laughed Gail. She took her hat off and put it on Vivian's head. "I feel old right now."
Vivian took the hat off and reached up to put it back on Gail's head. "So you're old." She tapped the badge on Gail's jacket. "You always come home, you're always safe. And, in like a million years, when you and Holly die, I'll make sure you're in some weird, biodegradable urn with a seed, plant you up by the cabin, and tell my kids about how you called her lunchbox and tried to arrest her."
It was sweet. "Maybe we didn't screw you up too much," smiled Gail, resisting the urge to ruffle her kid's hair.
"Nah, I came this way." Vivian grinned and nudged Gail out of her room. "Come on, I know you want the good coffee."
"You know me way too well, mini-human."
They met everyone else at the viewing. It was a media circus. You didn't get that many LEOs this old dying in service, not even Pecks, who tended to muster out at 40 years if they made it that long. Gail tried to think of herself at sixty-four, still a detective one might hope, serving the city. Maybe she'd be an Inspector and have Oliver's job, Inspector of Fifteen. He was handling that job wonderfully, even if he refused to wear a suit. What did people who were retired do? Her mother had found a second career, volunteering and advocating for children. But Elaine's dream of political success had never happened.
She looked over at her mother, standing with her arm around Leo's shoulders. The boy was as tall as Steve now, and at nineteen (nearly twenty), he was technically a man. Leo was studying computer engineering at UoT and building robots, much to all his parents pleasure. Even Dex, who was finally clean and stable, was involved in his life now, but it was Steve whom Leo called 'Dad.'
A hand caught her left, sliding into her grip easily. Gail knew from the touch it was Holly, the distinct calluses and grooves in her fingers were from the scalpel and other tools she used daily. She squeezed the hand and reached up to adjust her hat. As much as Gail tried to forget and ignore every funeral, this was still a process she was familiar with.
You could easily follow the rote. Someone had guarded the casket since it was set out, through the wake and viewing. They'd had an open casket, which Gail had avoided because it was fucking creepy. Of course having pallbearers she hardly knew and an armed guard and color guard with flags and everything was just over the top and disturbing. Thank god none of her friends were in the procession. They all waited at the graveside, silent, watching Gail and Steve follow behind the casket.
Steve leaned in, "Finally. Everyone's watching him."
Gail smothered her smirk. "Shut up."
They managed to get to their seats, where wives and children waited. Gail sat beside Holly, who took her hand again, her brother on the other side, and listened to the chief of police talk about her father in words that could have applied to anyone. The chief barely knew her father. But he talked all the same, about Bill's devotion and dedication and loyalty.
It was hard not to snort. The words could have been said about anyone. It was practically a Mad Libs of eulogies, just fill in the blanks and pretend you're talking deeply about someone. Possibly sensing her mood, Holly squeezed Gail's hand and leaned in, her shoulder bumping Gail's slightly. With a sigh, Gail slouched a little. This had nothing to do with her father at all. All the pomp and circumstance was greater than it had been for Jerry or Chris, which was just plain idiotic.
Her father hadn't died in the line of duty. He'd not died as a result from the two times he'd been shot. He'd died because he was in poor health, didn't watch his cholesterol, and had a heart attack. The end. But they had all the bells and whistles and media ... Gail had put her foot down on two things: firstly there was no singer, secondly there were no media morons in the area. They were allowed the long shots, but no one was going to record this procession. Sure as hell, no one was going to record her talking.
There was no way Steve was going to talk. His face was red, the unresolved anger barely in check, and the pain front and center. Gail was better at lying about her feelings. Her brother, the people person, wore his emotions on his sleeve when they overwhelmed him. She swallowed them and pretended they didn't exist.
They watched the mayor, the new mayor, talk about devotion and service. About how Bill represented policing in Toronto. About how he was a benchmark that may never be met again. Gail was pretty sure the mayor had never met him. Hell, she'd only met the current mayor once, at a Police Pride dinner. She hated those. One of Uncle Al's last actions, before retiring, was appointing her in charge of representation of LGBT on the force. It was her least favorite job, but there was a degree of glee she found in making all the other, stuck up, Pecks uncomfortable.
Finally it was Gail's turn.
When Gail stood up to the podium, she glanced at the people lined up in neat rows. Bill would have liked that, she realized. Reaching into her pocket, Gail felt for the folded papers and sighed. There was the one she'd written and shown Holly and Oliver, and then there was the one she hadn't written down but knew all the same. Everyone told her not to use this as a soapbox for her drama with her father, and she knew that was right. But she could just lie.
Carefully she smoothed out the paper and looked down.
It was always harder for those left behind. The ones who remain standing, wondering what was real and what was not. They picked up the pieces and moved on, because that's what we have to do. There isn't another choice, Gail knew. As Lily had told her once, you just kept moving forward. She swallowed and glanced at Holly, who nodded slightly.
"You knew Inspector Peck. So did I. He drove me to the station every day for the first year I was on the force. Peck Force One." There was a ripple of laughter. "He liked his world the way it was, the way it should be, the way it was supposed to be. And maybe that's why he never moved beyond Inspector. Or maybe he didn't want to. I don't know. I do know that today he joins his brother, his father, and his mother here." She glanced back at the row of headstones. "Today we bury a Peck who served Toronto to the best of his ability for fifty years. We bury my father and we're left standing."
And she lied. She left out the man she knew, or thought she knew. She talked about his career, his dedication to his job, his dedication to Toronto. But the man who stepped away from his family, who chose not to call her, who never knew her wife or their daughter, who never knew his son's wife or son... That man was not spoken about. Not here. Not today.
Then they watched as the hordes streamed by to pay respects, to salute one final time. Their friends paused only the briefest of moments, choosing instead to give their sympathy to Gail and Steve. They were the ones who would come by Gail and Holly's afterwards, for drinks and conversation.
"How did our place become the party zone?" Gail grumbled as she realized just how many people were coming by.
Holly slipped her arm through Gail's, squeezing it. "Steve and Traci have a tiny apartment, your mom has that condo and no one in their right mind would have picked that anyway, and your dad never went to the Penny."
She sighed. "For a borderline alcoholic, he sure kept his drinking at home."
A group of retired officers started making their way towards Gail. "McNally?" Holly's whisper was a surprise.
"Mmm. Yeah." Gail forced herself not to frown. "Thanks for coming," she said to Tommy McNally, pushing the lie that she actually gave a shit who came. He tossed out some equally false words of sympathy, or thereabouts, and they shook hands. "Speaking of alcoholics," she muttered to Holly once he was out of earshot.
But her wife had that thoughtful scientist face on. "I met her mom, right?"
"Andy's mom? Uh, yeah, Claire. You met her at the McSwarek wedding." From Gail's point of view, Claire wasn't half-bad a person. She was also opposed to the marriage, which had failed anyway. Tommy McNally had come to the ceremony but Gail didn't remember seeing him at the dinner.
"She had light eyes."
Gail blinked. "What?"
"Claire's eyes are hazel. That man's are blue. Andy's are brown." Holly was frowning in thought. "The odds are … 25% for that happening. And she looks nothing like him. Now, it's not like eye color is the most reliable factor, since there are strong and weak colors, and some brown aspects can be recessive, but …" Turning to look at Gail, Holly asked, "Didn't you do Punnett squares in school?"
Shaking her head, Gail laughed softly, "Holly, some of us don't use our biology classes daily."
Holly was a little exasperated. "Vivian did, just last year. With the beans? Gregor Mendel?"
"And you helped her with her homework, not me," pointed out Gail, amused. "Are you trying to say that Andy's dad isn't her dad?"
Predictably, Holly gnawed on her lip. "Maybe. He was a cop?"
Oh fuck no. "Hey, nerd, if you're thinking about using our database to check her short-tandem repeats or something, take a pass. Not your business. McNally's had enough shit." Holly opened her mouth and Gail made a 'zip it' sound.
There was something incredibly comforting about her nerdy wife, though. Small moments of normal in the middle of a drama. Her brain always did that, and Gail adored her for it. "Fine," sighed Holly, looking a little embarrassed that her brain had run off like that anyway.
As the circus wrapped up, Steve took the flag and they stood, looking down at the lump of fresh earth covering their father. "He's so … peaceful," muttered Steve.
"He's six feet under," Gail pointed out.
Elaine sighed loudly. "How come Steve has the flag?"
"He lost rock-paper-scissors this morning." Gail reached up to loosen her tie, only to have her mother cough loudly. Following Elaine's gaze, she spotted the news reporters. "God I hope they don't have a directional mic…"
That brought some laughter from her immediate family. All the spouses had decided to give the three Pecks some time at the grave alone. "Any reporter with half a brain would know you didn't like him, sweetheart," Elaine said, accurately. "And I divorced him."
Steve looked thoughtful. "Did anyone talk to him?" When no one answered, they laughed again. "God, I keep feeling like I'm supposed to feel bad, but I just feel … relieved. Like I don't have to worry about bumping into him and having the world's most awkward elevator ride."
Gail snorted. "Ask Holly about that. They worked in the same building the last couple years." She looked over at the car, at her wife and daughter, and exhaled. "It's weird, but I just don't care about this."
"Sweetheart," whispered Elaine. "It's just overwhelming."
"No, no, Mom, I know this. Look, I didn't feel ... I didn't feel anything for like a year after Perik. This isn't the same thing. This is just empty and painless." Gail slowly looked back at the grave. "He never called. He didn't even try. Not once."
Her mother touched her arm, silently apologizing for the years. Steve looked somewhat horrified. "Gail..."
"I'm just saying, Steve, I'm kinda an expert about not feeling things." Gail gestured at the grave. "When did you know, Mom?"
"After the dinner. He said... Well. It hardly matters." With a loud sigh, Elaine looked at the grave. "I looked at him and I didn't see the man I married. He wasn't the man who fought to be first, to succeed. He was ... A pale shadow of his father."
Both Steve and Gail snickered, reflexively. When their mother looked up with a question in her eyes, they said as one, "Pale Fails."
Elaine rolled her eyes. "God damn, Harold," she snarled, and it was with actual vehemence. It surprised Gail to see her mother so angry about the mess, but a little also to hear her blame their grandfather... That did make a great deal of sense. Grandpa Harold had started the whole Pale Fail thing, saying it after teenager Steve and single digits Gail had not demonstrated any great useful talent. That was not long after the stupid French incident, come to think of it.
"Boring monolingual assholes," announced Gail.
"That would be more effective if you said it in Swahilli," teased Steve.
Gail narrowed her eyes and Italian came to mind. "Non ti preoccupare la competenza non è una delle tue qualità professionali."
There was a brief pause before her mother laughed. "Steven, give up."
At least Steve laughed too. "I'm sure she just called me an idiot."
"Incompetent," corrected Gail. It wasn't really a horrible comment in Italian, but it wasn't nice.
Elaine was smiling, "I'm so very proud you two don't do that seriously."
Shaking her head, Gail said firmly, "I'm a different Peck. We are different Pecks. Right, Ginger?"
"Me and you against the world, Garbage Pail." Steve extended his fist and Gail tapped her's against it. "Come on. Let's go let our friends tell us about how they're sorry."
The wake at Casa Green/Peck/Stewart (alphabetical damn it) was quiet and subdued. Most of Gail's rookie class was there, as well as their TOs. Swarek did not come. He wasn't invited. Sometimes Gail wondered if he'd leave Fifteen after everything or if he'd linger as a gargoyle, looming over everyone.
Oliver talked about how it was a changing of the guards. "Out with the old, as they say. Pricesteins are parents. McCollins are doing whatever they're doing. And ... Golly are all grown up and mature."
Gail smirked. "Only if you're comparing me to Dov am I mature," she joked. Except Dov had filled the place of Frank when they were new and, when Oliver had stepped up to be the Division Inspector, Dov was his sergeant. The official promotion to Staff Sergeant Epstein happened the same day Chloe made full detective. It was weird to see Dov in a white shirt every day.
"Little Chris is more mature than his daddy," laughed Chloe. Chloe was still taking undercover assignments, but mostly as the op runner. She was as good at that as she'd been at being undercover and everyone expected her to be point for UC in the coming years.
Looking at her now, watching Chloe hold her sleeping four year old son, Gail barely remembered the annoying Chloe she'd met. "Low bar, Princess," grinned Gail.
Chloe returned the smile in the spirit with which it was given. Most of the conversations went that way. Jokes and barbs and snide remarks. They were the ways Gail felt most comfortable with the world and her friends understood that. They were people she'd known and worked with for a decade or more. People who'd had children who were now adults or, in the case of Oliver and Celery, a surprise child whom they doted on. Four year old Jerry, only weeks younger than Little Chris, was struggling to stay awake on the couch.
Of course, Oliver was as proud of Izzy, who had her first art show. His middle daughter was about to graduate university with a degree in geology and a job offer to work in the natural gas industry. His youngest girl was 20 and had a basketball scholarship to Duke on the States. Of course, thinking about Winnie made Gail think about Sophie, also 20, and studying law at Berkley. God, the kids were growing up. She looked over at her own kid, almost thirteen and currently hanging out with Olivia, excuse me, Liv by the TV.
Why Gail never looked at Olivia and thought about Jerry was a mystery. They were just separate events for her. Gail sipped her beer thoughtfully. She could be more dispassionate, more distanced from all that now.
"Gail... Do you have a minute?" Her boss, David Butler, cleared his throat. She nodded and he looked around. "Can we...?" He gestured at the back door and Gail nodded again. Once they stepped outside, he cleared his throat again. "Listen," her boss muttered. "I know this is a bad time..."
Gail tilted her head. "Everyone knows you're retiring, David."
He looked amused. "You always know. Damn Peck spies." She smiled and sipped her beer. "I want you to take over."
That she had not anticipated. "Me?"
Butler nodded. "You. You're young enough, smart, driven. It'll be a good stepping stone for Inspector and head of Organized Crime."
It was a lot to take in. "I don't know what ... I'm not remotely ready!"
But her boss patted her shoulder. "I know. None of us are." He drained his beer. "When you get back, we'll do the formal interview. But you're who I want, Peck." And he left her to process that on the back porch.
What a fucked up and weird week, decided Gail. She sat down on the back steps to contemplate that, looking over the snow in the backyard. Detective Peck, head of Major Cases for Organized Crime... Major Cases at Fifteen. Which meant one day the three division area, including Twenty-Seven. That would be interesting. That was really daunting. Would Steve be upset that she was promoted over him or proud? That was scarier. Gail didn't want to lose the closeness she had with her brother.
The back door opened and closed and she heard footsteps. The step was familiar, a rhythm she heard daily. A moment later, a jacket was draped over her shoulders. "What did your boss want?" Holly. Of course.
Looking at her wife, she said, "To recommend me for a promotion. Head of major case squad." Holly looked stunned. "Yeah," exhaled Gail.
After some processing time, Holly voiced her opinion. "I think you could do it."
"I guess," sighed Gail, leaning against the column. "I didn't expect it. I may not get it."
"You will." Holly was smiling.
Gail snorted. "You're biased."
"Well." Holly didn't argue that at all. "Can I be a bad person?" Holly moved out onto the steps.
"Please. Bad person land is very lonely right now."
There was a laugh and Holly sat down next to Gail. "I'm glad it was Bill first."
Gail blinked. "Yeah, you know... Me too." Bill was the easy death, for all that his passing left Gail with angst and tension. Unresolved pain was more palatable than the yet unhealed agony that would be Elaine, or the heart hollowing that might be Lily or Brian. Of all their parents, Bill would be missed, but not terribly so.
"How does it feel?"
Leaning against Holly, Gail sighed. "I miss him," she told her wife quietly.
Holly's hand rested on her thigh. "What do you miss?"
"I miss... I miss my Dad. The guy who taught me to ride a bike and swim. He ... You know, he taught me cool stuff, like shooting and driving and ... I miss that, Holly." The tears that had been nowhere in sight for a week finally came, leaking down her face. "I miss my old Dad. He used to drive me to work, that whole first year. Every day he smiled at me and was happy to see me be a cop."
Gail wiped her face and leaned into Holly's shoulder. "So remember that, honey," suggested Holly, her voice calming and gentle.
"I can't, Holly... I remember that and I just... I remember him telling me he did something wrong, that I was wrong. I ... I told him once, I'd rather be kidnapped again than work with my mom." Gratifyingly, Holly laughed darkly. She understood Gail's meaning. She always did. "I think that was the end. That was the last time..."
Her shoulders started to shake and Holly wrapped an arm around them, pulling her in close. She didn't say anything to Gail, she just held her close. There wasn't anything to say, really, and Holly seemed to know that. That was the last honest conversation with her father. How horrifying was that?
Finally Gail sighed and the tears slowed. "I'm sorry, honey," Holly whispered. And she was. She was sincere and supportive. That was much of why Gail loved her as much as she did.
"I miss him, Holly. The good him."
Holly sighed softly and nodded. "I wish I'd met that Bill."
"I wonder if I ever really knew him," whispered Gail.
"Do we ever know anyone?"
Gail coughed a laugh. "God I hope I know you."
With a matching laugh, Holly squeezed her close. "You do. That's why we can't play two truths and a lie," she teased.
"No, we can't because that game is lame, McNally," sassed Gail. "And I'm a good detective."
"Great detective."
"Thank you," Gail smiled.
"And you'll be an awesome head of Major Cases."
Sighing, Gail tugged her jacket a little tighter, hunching into it. She looked over the backyard. A house Bill had never seen. A life he'd never been involved in. A family he had no place in. Gail shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. "I don't want to be a lonely old man living in an apartment and no one knows I died."
Holly rested her head on Gail's shoulder. "You won't be. You aren't up a tree, making emergency situations, or hurting me to push me away."
That was true. "I'm scared to death. I don't know what I'm doing." She sighed softly.
"I have an Andy quote." When Gail didn't say anything, Holly went on. "Fake it till you make it."
Now Gail laughed and quoted her mother instead. "90% luck, 10% timing. Though I'm not entirely sure the timing on this was the best."
Huffing loudly, Holly's breath was warm on Gail's neck. "Our timing's always been a little off, honey. But we make it work." They both giggled.
"Shut up, Tim Gunn." She smiled, feeling safer. There was something about being with Holly that was comfortable and safe. "I always want to come home to you, Holly."
Kissing her cheek, Holly smiled back. "Then I will always be here." Holly tugged Gail's arm as she stood up. "Come on inside, honey. It's cold."
Gail looked up at her wife and smiled. She took Holly's hand and stood up, looking into the warm brown eyes. Cupping Holly's face with one hand, Gail brushed her thumb over Holly's cheekbone and lip. They kissed softly. "Okay," she sighed, resting her forehead to Holly's and breathing in her nearness for a moment longer before going inside.
There had been a hole in her heart for years.
Bill had ripped out a piece of it in the parking lot years ago. So had her mother, when they sat across a long table, talking to IA in dress uniforms. But it had started long before then, poisoning her and Steve with doubts and self-loathing. Somehow they'd managed to heal and survive as much as possible. More than one might expect. They had Traci and Holly and their friends to thank for that.
Still, in contrast to Bill, Elaine had reached out, apologized, and changed. The scar tissue was still there, the pain of distrust from her parents and what they'd done. And now with Bill gone it would never really heal. For the rest of her life, she'd wonder why her father did what he did.
But she would never know.
I wrote this after a friend and mentor of mine passed away in her sleep. It was days before anyone found her. While she was loved and we all knew she loved us too, it gave me an idea for what happened to Bill in the end. What happens when someone dies alone.
This was meant to end on an uncomfortable note (I did say it was angst and I rarely I write that). Gail's feelings for this entire mess are unresolved and are likely to remain that way.