How The Light Gets In: Chapter Ten

I don't own Rookie Blue.

Please enjoy. (Vulgarity ahoy.)

A daughter is a mother's gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of herself. And mothers are their daughters' role model, their biological and emotional road map, the arbiter of all their relationships.—Secunda

It wouldn't surprise one to know that in a less busy period of Elaine Peck's life – before, indeed, she was a Peck – she enjoyed gardening. She enjoyed carving out a slice of area with an idea in mind. Breaking it down into neat rows, ordered and labelled, and planting and nurturing it with everything it needed, which was only sunlight and water and perhaps a touch of additional fertilizer when necessary. She liked the methodical movement of erecting fences and the smooth glide of a gate that let her and only her into that space that she had built. She liked to see her ideas and her care yield results.

And so this conversation was one that she didn't being straight away. She straightened the papers on her desk and slotted them into Important and For Later. She placed her pen in its holder. Then she slid the glasses from her nose, folded its arms flat, and returned them to their case. Desk cleared, prepared, thoughts then meticulously in order, Elaine folded her hands in front of her and appraised her daughter with cautious eyes.

Anytime now, Gail couldn't help but think. And swallowed the words before they could even start to form because her mother's frown was stamped like a hieroglyph on her forehead and the atmosphere, though not heavy or dangerous or sparking between them as it sometimes could, was weighted. Waiting.

"I have been thinking," Elaine began. "I have raised you to be an intelligent, capable, strong young woman and I am proud of that."

She raised a hand, halting Gail's words before they came tumbling out. Her expression – still stern yet yielding, perhaps, in some way that Gail wasn't familiar with – asked for time. Just a little, it said. Just a little time to plot out my thoughts so that I might show them to you, so that you and I can walk the path together and you can understand my position. Understand it my way. Let show you.

"I am proud," she said, "of you. But I can also see," and here she nodded to herself and wet her lips, "how I may have erred. How I did err."

Gail released the breath she was holding tight in her lungs and let it whisper out, and her hands twisted together in her lap unclenched and brushed flat, sweaty palms along denim-clad thighs. She tried not to disturb this dreamlike state she felt she was drifting within because, if she was not very much mistaken and a pinch to her own arm made her think that she was not, her mother was apologising to her. Or making some speech to that effect.

"There are things I have expected of you beyond that of what may have been strictly reasonable." And yes, Elaine wasn't wholly comfortable with coming outright and saying 'I was stupid' or 'yep, I made a mistake' but Gail had been taught to read between the lines since she could see lines let alone read and these were some thick lines her mother was laying down and they were each and every one of them caging in that same feeling of she's sorry she's sorry keep listening but she's sorry. "I have treated you too much like an adult," she said. She paused, making eye contact with Gail that was steady but also a question – could she stop yet? Did Gail understand?

But Gail was in no hurry to stop her or interject – she wanted to hear more, actually, so she just inclined her head slightly in a go on nod.

"You are not a child anymore but I have treated you as an adult long before I should have and, while I thought it was confidence in you, a testament to your abilities and my faith in your readiness to tackle any situation, I understand that it may have seemed to lack a certain feeling, a certain softness that is expected toward children. I could have assisted you more. I should have expected you to be able to care for yourself entirely – that was not your job but rather it was mine. And I should…I should have taken more time to understand what it was that you wanted.

Gail blinked steadily back at her mother and kept her face still.

She hoped that she hid it well. Hoped that she was convincing in pretending like the words weren't slamming into her and gouging great gashes into her, like she wasn't afraid of going into shock. Like she wasn't afraid of having all of her slip out from the cracks being split open; she was slipping out though and flooding the room with herself or so it felt and her mother was right there and was she blind to it or could she see it all was that exactly what she wanted? To burrow under the guard Gail had built up long ago – apparently ineffective – against her mother's words, and to step into or over everything that was Gail Peck. No. Maybe? No. No. But regardless, Gail's skin was paper and these words were bricks thrown haphazard and landing with rips and tears and she just had to breathe and hold on a little longer. Her mother continued.

"What you said to me at the station." A breath. "It was well deserved," Elaine admitted. Her eyes fell to her desk and she touched with one reaching finger a crooked edge of paper. Gail watched it carefully because that right there was fidgeting and her mother did not fidget. "Some of the things I have said in the past were unkind. And untrue." Her finger tapped at that crooked edge. "I…you are a Peck, Gail. And I am very proud of you. I always have been."

"So why?" Gail stamped out. That was her contribution, her boundary, stamped firm into the room. No backing down. Answer-me-that eyes stared resolutely back into forgive-me blues. "Because I don't feel like you're proud when you hold me up against Steve and tell me in detail all the ways I've failed to live up to those soaring standards you have for me." Elaine's mouth tightened. Anger or hurt? "And I don't feel that you are proud when you ignore me or leave me in the wilderness to find my way home or next to a crack house," Gail's voice whipped out, harsh. She hoped it left marks.

Elaine nodded. "I am sorry."

Gail bit her lip. "I'm not a cadet, mother." She looked down at her hands, knuckles white as they clenched tight. "I'm not a soldier or an employee or a rookie," she continued. "I'm your daughter. The other kids I know? They don't have to deal with this stuff. They don't even have to go running in the mornings if they don't want to. And, you know," she blurted out because she had been surprised to learn this, "discussing the surprise twelve mile run isn't part of their family monthly dinners. And they eat dinner together a lot, actually. Some of them every night. Most of them don't have to schedule a dinner to eat together. Oh and some people? They cook together and then they sit down and talk about their day and what they want to do on the weekend and I don't know about any of that stuff because I basically haven't seen you at dinner since we moved here." Gail let out a small, soft laugh that sounded confused and she wanted to say 'how crazy is that' but she knew that she was the outlier and it made her laugh stop and her eyes return to her hands and her mouth close because maybe she'd said too much and pushed too far. Her mother frowned.

"It will change, Gail."

She stood then, carefully and slowly, like Gail was liable to jump up and sprint out if she moved too fast she didn't want to spook her – and who knew? maybe Gail would run out. She moved around her desk and sat in the second chair, next to Gail. She was still straight-backed and square-shouldered but she did reach out tentatively into the space between them and, when Gail just looked at the offered hand, let it fall limp into her lap.

"I would…if you are willing to hear it, that is, I would like to talk to you about something. It is related. I hope that it will help you to understand, to understand." There was a small aborted gesture that Elaine made with her hand that Gail understood as 'help you to understand me' and, though the idea of promises drenched in guilt and maybe minor self-flagellation sounded nice, Gail knew she should hear her out.

Gail shrugged. It was a gesture that had, in the past, irked Elaine and she wanted to see how much she could get away with. It did nothing but make the elder eyes tighten very slightly, almost imperceptibly, crinkling at the edges.

"Thank you," she said with a grateful dip of her head. "As you know, I came from a family of six children. All of them boys, except for me." Gail nodded. "My mother was hard on us. And rightfully so. My father died when I was seven and god knows my brothers were unruly enough." She chuckled a little and Gail started with surprise because, and how sad was that she thought to herself, she wasn't sure that she had heard her mother laugh before. Or at least not like that. Genuinely. Like it came from her chest, her belly, where those organic feelings grew, rather than her nose or head where they were cultured and made to impress or charm.

She spoke for a time about her brothers – Jackson, who fought, and Bobby who drank, and Theodore who died when she was sixteen, and Zach who joined the army, and Hank and Hugo who were as alike as brothers could be and who followed the same happy paths into marriage and fatherhood.

"She tried her best," is what she told Gail. "My mother was stern and tough and life wasn't always kind but we always had enough to eat and we always knew what needed to be done and what was expected and it was up to each of us to reach those marks or not." Elaine spread her hands slightly, encouraging Gail to see where she was coming from. "I saw how she kept my brothers in line so I knew how to handle Steve," is what she said. "I knew that he needed to be fed and watered and let loose and he would grow. And he did."

Thoughtful eyes settled on Gail's face and she tried not to let it bother her, she did, but even with these new and rather terrifying words her mother was saying, those eyes felt the same. Counting. Calculating. A whirring mind locked behind the blue and Gail felt herself taking a step back away from all of this because there was something…something out of reach and she didn't know what but all of this was so much – she couldn't remember the last time she had learnt something about her mother that wasn't the date of an award or the details of an arrest – and she was trying to sort it into the right boxes in her mind.

"But then you came around and I didn't know what to do. You were, you are, so different, Gail. To me, to your brother, and I never had a model for that. To show me what to do. And I'm afraid that I never did very well with my attempts at helping you." She looked down and nodded to herself. Gail thought it rather looked like her mother was giving herself a pep talk. "I would like to apologise. I understand now how it must have seemed. I will try to do better, to be better. For you." The words were coming slowly and stilted. But they were coming. "I saw my actions as help, as guidance, as my mother did. You are my daughter and I…this is the only way I know how to be a mother. I don't want to waste your potential. But if you feel like it is hurting you then it isn't right, I understand that. I will try to learn with you, if that would be acceptable?"

Elaine looked up then and Gail felt the full force of her eyes – blue like hers, like hers, mother to daughter a bond she couldn't break did she want to break it? – and felt the weight of the decision resting with her, on her shoulders and chest and stomach and head and neck all at once and then shifting, pushing her off balance. There was that tightening in her chest. The churning stomach. Oh so familiar and terrible. That expectation. The choice, branching roads – delay, accept, reject, confront – leading down paths equally murky and non particularly tempting. She blinked. Tore her eyes away from her mother's. Those eyes weren't pleading. Elaine wasn't a woman to plead least of all to her daughter. But they were expectant as always and Gail could feel her teeth grinding – indecision, worry, stress, eating at her, grinding her down.

There was an answer. It sat on her tongue. She should say it. She wanted to say it. And she didn't.

She wanted to say it because that PECK blue tattoo was important to her, it always had been. She wasn't blind to the honour it awarded her family.

But she didn't want to say it. It felt so much like she was giving herself back gift wrapped a pretty red bow on top handing herself back to her mother and then the choice wasn't hers anymore, it was her mothers. And her mother's choice was simple: accept or reject. Her. Accept or reject her. Gail.

She turned away that thought because now, finally, bond acknowledged mother to daughter, she had to be accepted. All she had to do was say it.

"Okay."

Elaine let out a small breath. A sigh, really. Relief. Gail smiled when she smiled. Stood when she stood.

"Thank you, Gail."

And that was that. They stood awkwardly until Elaine returned to her desk and Gail returned to her room and she didn't know what her mother was doing – feeling a burst of warmth, perhaps, at a victory – but she was standing in the centre of her room and hating herself.

There was a drawing, Lucy's drawing, sitting in her hand and Gail looked at it and wished. Wished that she had said other things.

Things like:

I'm important too. Me. As a person.

Not just potential.

I want to have friends. I want to spend time with them and feel like I'm good enough for once so I can relax, so I can laugh and fight and let myself feel that tickle that sits in my throat when affection comes calling and I want to save him and I want to open up and not worry that I'm dark that I'm bad that I'm a failure that I can do things and those things will be appreciated not only for the success but for the action the attempt.

I want to be me and I want that to be enough for you.

But her mother had said, caution gone from her tone, "Close the door, won't you, Gail?" and she had. The moment had passed, it was gone. And Gail felt like she had dropped the ball and it was rolling, it was rolling faster (she had to sit down her head was spinning) and maybe it was going in a good direction? But maybe her mother would stop it with a booted foot. She didn't know. She just knew that she had missed an opportunity to throw it – and sure, the ball could have hit a glass window and shattered into unsalvageable and cutting pieces and she could have torn herself up on those, but it could have fallen safe into waiting hands and lobbed back and forth confidently and the game could have gone on.

Gail rested her hands on her bed. She stared at the wall opposite her. Then she tucked Lucy's drawing into her bedside table, safe. Then lay down. Then drew her blanket over herself, over her head, and urged her eyes to close in the dark and to sink down into sweet slumber because then tomorrow would come faster and then she would be put out of her misery and she would know what the outcome of tonight had been.

She hoped it was good.

Sunday morning came around and no one was home. But there was milk in the fridge and a note underneath a magnet someone had found somewhere.

After consideration, you may return to 6m run.

She supposed she should be grateful. No more eight mile runs.

That was something.

She should be grateful because breakfast wasn't a scrambled semblance of a meal and she could actually make cereal with the milk.

She should be grateful because she had been left a note and she had been on her mother's mind and that was good. Right?

But then she couldn't understand why, then, her chest felt so low and strange and her shoulders dipped and feet dragged so much so that she was looking out on the words and the oddest things felt familiar like grey clouds sitting squat in the distance and drooping leaves and a letterbox sitting askew on its pole and—she shook her hair out. Retied it. Pulled on her running shoes.

Fuck. Fuck the six mile run. Fuck the course her mother had chosen. The vulgarity made her feel better – more so because she actually meant it. Fuck grey clouds. Fuck you, pain in the knees and fuck you danger of falling on gravel and an especially big fuck you to that dog that was easily bigger than she was and whose teeth were the size of her whole palm but who thought it was a great fun game to chase her down the street when she ran past and slobber at her heels and send her heart rate skyrocketing until she reached the safety of her home, making her want to cry more than she already had that morning.

Right. Fuck you, failure of a run. Didn't cheer her up in the slightest.

And her phone! Fuck that. She wanted to text Holly, to spend time with Holly, to sit in a stupid store with the girl who despite being an enormous fucking nerd was stupidly pretty and had the nicest voice ever and she just wanted to sit there and she couldn't because Holly was away and she was at here home and since when did she rely on other people anyway?

She paced up and down the hallway, heart still jackhammering her ribs from the fright of that monstrous dog, and shook her hands out from their clenched fists.

She slammed some doors. It made her feel better.

She considered texting someone else, then. They were a distant afterthought to Holly – who, and Gail didn't know how exactly she had done it, had pulled out way ahead of the pack in terms of 'people Gail reluctantly dubbed friends'. Could she message Chloe? No. Dov? No. He'd be attached to Chloe by the hand or lips or something equally disgusting. Chris?

Chris. Maybe. But Chris had issues of his own and she did not want to bowl him over with hers – and hers weren't even issues anyway, they were just sad thoughts and pessimistic thinking and really truly not worth considering issues at all, right? – when she should be helping him.

So Gail found she was doing nothing at all. She stood under the shower for a time, trying to drown out yammering thoughts, and it was only the trill of her phone that dragged her out from underneath.

Gail, it's Traci Nash, the unknown number's message read. Gail lowered her phone to her bed again and thought about answering as she shucked her towel and dressed. Then she sat cross-legged on her bed and stared at her phone again.

She hadn't said officer, so Gail probably wasn't in trouble. Maybe she needed something though.

Hey, Gail replied.

Would it be all right if I picked you up? Traci's response was almost instant and Gail shrugged until she remembered that it was a message and Traci couldn't see her.

Why?

I wanted to show you something. If that's okay?

Fine. And she included her address, though Traci could have filched it from her file, and sat on the front steps of her house because an empty house was something she particularly didn't want to think about for at least a little while.

"Hey!" the woman called out from her car. "Were you waiting long?" Gail shook her head no, standing, and with hands shoved deep into her pockets, she moved to slide into the passenger seat. "I just got off morning shift and there is…" Traci took in a deep breath. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I had to apologise to you," she breathed out, wide eyes beseeching. "I'm really sorry about yesterday and you totally didn't deserve the way I snapped at you. I was nervous about Jerry meeting Leo and, ugh, my head was just a mess."

"It's fine," Gail said.

"No. It isn't. Which is why," she said, excited, "I thought maybe you'd like to come with me and Leo to the park." Gail frowned. "I want to hang out with my little man and my favourite intern." Gail managed a smile and Traci frowned. Her hand moved over to touch Gail's shoulder. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah," she said a second time, slightly more convincing. "Just working some stuff out." She shrugged the hand off as politely as she could and leant back into the seat. "Which park?"

"You know," Traci said thoughtfully, throwing the car into drive, "I don't know if it even has a name? Leo and I just call it the park. It's just down the street from our apartment so it's our park."

Gail nodded. "Does it have swings?"

"Yep. And a slide and a sandpit and monkey bars." Traci grinned over at the girl. "Good enough for you?"

"We'll see."

They parked opposite the playground and Gail slipped out, following Traci over to the play area. A small boy of about nine or ten immediately sprinted over and threw his arms around Traci's legs and she dropped into a crouch and hugged him tight.

"Ugh," she grunted, "I missed you so much, baby." He feigned disgust and started to pull away. Then he noticed Gail and flung himself back into his mother's arms to whisper in her ear, no doubt about the staring, pale woman. Traci waved Gail closer.

"Leo, this is my friend Gail. Gail, my son Leo."

Gail stuffed her hands in her pockets before realising that looking like the most anti-social version of herself wouldn't win a kid over. She tried out a smile. "Hey."

"Hey," he said back. "How old are you?"

"How old are you?"

"I asked you first." His childish frown said everything: I asked you first, you have to answer me, those are the rules.

"Seventeen. You?"

"I'm almost ten."

"So, you're nine."

"I'm almost ten."

"No," she corrected, grinning, "you are almost ten. Which means that you are nine." Leo crossed his arms and his brows dipped in a frown. Gail, not one to back down from a child, crossed her arms and smirked.

"Are you a cop?"

"No. Are you?"

"No. My mom is though. And she's going to be a detective and catch all the bad guys."

Gail nodded. She had heard Traci was up for rotation. "Cool. Do you want the swings or the slide?"

Leo turned and, lips scrunching thoughtfully to the side, said "slide" even as he was running over to it.

"Dirty cheater," Gail mumbled, and slunk over to the swings. Traci laughed and joined her.

"You're good with children," she noted.

"It helps when I'm basically a child myself." She kicked at the ground. "Plus, you know, he's cool."

"Yes. Yes he is. Though," she admitted, "I am a little biased. Being his mother and all that." Traci waved when Leo waved excitedly from the top of the slide. She watched him like a hawk as he slid down and then climbed up the structure again. "Gail? Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" She pushed with her feet and set her swing into motion.

"Yesterday? With your mother?"

"Nope." She popped the 'p' loudly and dragged her boots along the ground, enjoying the sound and feel and look of the dirt scattering under her.

"Okay." The chains clinked as Traci turned her swing to face Gail a little and she nudged the girl's ankle. "But hey, if you do?" She waited until Gail looked up. "There's me and there's Ollie and there's Andy."

"Andy's a bitch."

"You love her."

"Eh." Gail shrugged.

"We'll listen. If you want to talk." Traci turned away then and, seeing Leo beckoning her, moved to his side to play. Gail was grateful for that because a lump the size of Jupiter had lodged in her throat and she had to kick at the ground for a while and swallow roughly a few dozen times before it dislodged and she was able to breathe properly again.

"Hey, Gail!" Leo jogged up in front of her. "Do you like Halo?" he asked. And running and playing had made his eyes even brighter and he looked so happy and energetic that Gail couldn't help the small, happy smile she sent back when she nodded.

"Yeah. But I'm amazing at it so I'll whoop your butt." She jumped off the swing and stuffed hands in pockets. "I hope you got cushions because you'll need them by the time I'm done with you."

Leo laughed loudly and he grabbed her wrist. "Come on. Let's play." He turned back and yelled over his shoulder. "MOM!" Traci came running. "Gail and I are going to play Halo."

"Uh-oh. Go easy on her, kid," she warned, carding fingers through his hair. Her eyes, however, said 'go easy on my son' to Gail, who ignored it. She was amazing. He would learn.

And he did. She killed him again and again and again and then when he got his first headshot as she rolled from behind a barrel, she paused the game, high-fived him, and Traci watched with wide-eyes as her son fell more and more in friendship with the prickly girl, returning her high-five and learning trash talk and sharing his chips with her.

"I really am sorry," she said again as she dropped Gail home late that afternoon. "For yesterday."

"Whatever." Gail shrugged. It was long forgotten. She peered out the car window at her house – the windows were all dark even as the shadows lengthened – and stifled a sigh. Empty. "Hey," Gail said, lengthing the time that passed before she had to leave. "If you need, I don't know, a sitter or whatever?" She shrugged again. "Leo isn't terrible. As kids go, he's mediocre. Okay he's cool," she admitted when Traci raised her brows and the ease with which she admitted it made Traci laugh.

"He is. And he likes you too so I will keep that in mind." Traci looked at the darkened house as well and she pursed her lips. "Are you going to be okay?"

Gail wondered whether Traci could read minds. It seemed like a skill mother's were or should be given when their children are born. She nodded. "Yeah."

"I can stay, if you want?"

"No. No way. You have to get back to Leo."

"He's with my mom and he'll understand." Traci looked again at the house and sighed. "I'm just worried, Gail."

"Yeah. I know. But it's not a big deal." She was stepping out of the car then and shaking her head when Traci made to go with her because she didn't need help, it wasn't necessary, and she would be fine. "You're, um, you're a good mom. Really good," Gail said quietly. Because Traci had been worrying and she'd been tormented for being a teen mom and maybe that was something that mothers wanted to hear from time to time. And it was true. Gail had watched the two – Traci and Leo – interact all day and couldn't drag her eyes away because it was unfamiliar and delicate and it felt like it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort of love but it looked so easy on Traci and Leo and natural. Plus, Gail was a bit of a masochist and there was nothing like being reminded of what a mother-child relationship ought to look like when you weren't sure about whether your own mother cared at all.

She patted the car in goodbye and entered her home. She checked all the empty rooms out of habit. Dinner was cereal – it was still only milk that held a coveted spot in the fridge.

How is your aunt? Gail sent to Holly, curled up tight under her blankets. She sent it before she could think about the fact that, what the hell? She didn't send nice texts to anyone. Ever. About anything. Or questions that didn't revolve around her. For instance, 'when will you be bringing me donuts?' She clutched her phone tight in her hand and, when it didn't beep immediately in reply, chucked it down to the foot of her bed where her bag was waiting for school and Monday.

I'm not sure about this one. I really super didn't want to screw it up because I know a bunch of people were looking forward to it. So, if you didn't like it let me know and I'll go back and edit it. And if you did like it let me know so that I can sleep. Happy reading, readers :)