Author's Note: Bonus! I have argued with myself a gazillion times over whether or not to include the first observation room kiss, since the Gail chapters skipped (not so) straight from the Penny to the Great Hair Massacre of 2014 (I totally headcanon Holly, and at a later point Gail too, referring to the event as that) and I feel that it would be strange to write that scene without Gail's POV, since Holly's the one rambling and thus we already know a bit more about what she's thinking. Enough with the rant – I decided to write the scene anyway, and it will be from both girls' perspective. Sorry if it got messy.

Chapter 11 – Gail & Holly

There's something strangely adorable about the way Holly, who is easily the smartest person you've ever met, is incapable of grasping the fairly well-known concept of being a cop equals doing dangerous stuff on the job. You try your best to rid your voice of any possible sarcasm as you correct her, and you think you managed quite well, for being you.

"Oh.. okay. Well, fine.." she stutters, pushing back a lock of hair and pushing her glasses askew in the process. She doesn't straighten them, they remain adorably off-centered. Instead she sets off into another ramble about the girl she was with last night at The Penny.

If you hadn't been so in shock about the whole situation, you would have interrupted her halfway through her first sentence. The last thing you wanna hear about is her and that stupid "someone". Instead you just stand there blinking at her, somewhat confused. The itchy feeling from last night stings under your skin again. Though it really only takes two seconds or so for the itch to transform into a weirdly pleasant bubbly sensation instead.

".. it was a stupid set-up.."

Yes, yes it was! your inner voice loudly agrees and you decide that interrupting her is no longer relevant.

".. we tell each other stuff, right?" and the way she smiles at you right then, it's short but it has the same effect on your brain as R2 stopping the garbage crusher on the original Death Star had on.. well.. the garbage crusher and the persons in it.

Everything goes blank and eerily silent for a second, and then a loud cheer. In your head, that is. There's nothing Star Wars about 15 Division, even though this particular room is kinda dark and Death Star-y. Nevermind.

Stuff makes sense now, perfect sense. A part of your brain is yelling at the rest of it for not realizing sooner, but the rest of your brain is still high on that smile, Holly's smile – that hopeful, gorgeous, uncontrollable smile.

You look at her lips, they're still moving. Rapidly firing off words that your brain is too fuzzy to register properly. Her hands are flailing, accentuating said words. You dare a look in her eyes and you see it, see the nervousness, the care, the worry of maybe having lost something great before it even begun. It should freak you out but it doesn't.

Your gaze moves back to her lips, and really, honestly, what else could you do?

It's soft despite the rush of it, it's soothing like walking in to a quiet room after hours spent working barriers at whatever loud and noisy demonstration. Only a million times better.

Her being that inch or so taller makes her lean down a little when she kisses you back and maybe you've never properly thought about the possibility of you being attracted to her before, but you're sure as hell not gonna argue about it now.

How to turn Gail Peck into a puddle of jelly 101 – a lecture by Dr. Holly Stewart.

It's a good thing you pull back when you do, 'cause something in your knees are definitely on its way to stop working properly.

"Oh my god."

You're not sure if you actually say the words out loud, but you think them. Bold red flashing-in-front-of-your-eyes-letters think them. Your breathing is choppy but your heart is surprisingly not racing, more like pounding heavily, forcing around more blood than usual with each beat and you have a hard time holding her gaze. Not that you should have, the way she looks at you, combined with the determination with which she kissed you back leaves no doubts of how she feels about this sudden development of your friendship.

"I'm sorry, y-you just had to stop talking."

Her reply is a whisper, as if she's afraid a loud noise might ruin this fragile new thing.

"I won't say another word."

You're no fan of the whole butterflies thing, it's one hell of a mushy metaphor, but there's no other way to describe how you're feeling as you both lean in again. Right before her lips brushes yours again you hear, or feel (you're not quite sure) Holly gasp quietly, a broken fluttery intake of breath, and just like that the butterflies are gone, but not forgotten. They just got abruptly replaced but a jolt of heat coursing through your spine and straight into your lower abdomen.

Not switching teams, right. Your therapist will laugh her ass off at this recent development.

She's unharmed, at least physically, and alive. Safe? Maybe not, the footsteps and voices on the other side of the door speak of officers getting ready to hit the streets, setting out to find the lunatic who shot at her mere hours ago. Soon, she'll be out there again and you know you should worry, and you will. But not right now.

Right now you're busy.

You didn't plan for this to happen. Honestly. All you wanted was to see her, take a minute and tell her your concerns, ask her to call you when all this madness is done and over with. Maybe when she'd call, if she'd call, you'd invite her over for takeout and a movie unless it'd been to late.

Maybe that will happen, later. But not right now.

After the initial rush and her stuttered excuse for kissing you so abruptly both of you slowed down. You cherished the stillness and calm of simply kissing, softly, feeling her respond to every tiny touch so blissfully alive and well and not in the hospital with bullets in her body.

The same body who after a little while burst into movement and backed you up against a wall, thus shifting this impromptu make out-session into a whole other gear.

And that's where you are now. Gail's pinning you to the wall with her hips and the way her lips move against yours, the way her tongue is soft and assertive at the same time has erased all the doubts that's been plaguing you lately. She wants you, and the fear of what's waiting for her the second she steps out of this room aside, you're so relieved at that knowledge that you don't know if you wanna laugh or cry. So you do neither. Instead you keep kissing her, letting your fingertips stroke her jaw, her neck, drift down along the collar of her shirt to where the kevlar vest stops you.

Suddenly you find yourself not knowing where to put your hands next. Normally you'd head for her hips, but you can't. There's a duty belt with a gun, a baton, a flashlight, a radio in the way. You feel your hands flailing awkwardly until you settle for a little higher, on the lower part of her ribs. The rough material of her vest is annoying, you want to touch her and it's in the way, but you're grateful for it all the same.

Gail doesn't seem to notice the moments of hesitation, she's busy sneaking a hand under your jacket and caressing your lower back causing you to moan and break the kiss gasping for air.

She looks down then, breathing heavily and leaning her forehead against yours. Your gaze follow hers downward as you feel your body relax against the concrete wall. Her right hand has left the small of your back and now she's slowly tangling her fingers with your left hand.

You lean down and give her lips a swift peck, not unlike the kiss you shared at the wedding, before you move to the right and lean your head against her shoulder. You probably look incredibly awkward doing so, especially since you're a little bit taller than her, but you need to be close to her, to just be still, together for a moment.

Silent seconds float by as you try to focus on the sound of her breathing going back to normal and not on the rest of the world rushing by outside the door, until she speaks to you with a tiny, slightly concerned voice.

"Holly, are you gonna kiss my neck?"

The question confuses you a little, so you lift your head and stand up straight, meeting her unreadable gaze. You reach up to straighten your glasses, it's usually just a nervous habit, but this time they're really lopsided, which doesn't surprise you at all, considering.

"Umm.. I don't know, I mean.."

It's too dark in the room for you to see if she's blushing, but her body language tells you that she is.

"You can't!" she blurts out. "I mean you can, I want.. but not.. I have to work and," she gives up the battle with words with an exasperated sigh, looking everywhere but right at you. You force away the smile threatening to break free, and files away a mental note consisting of "Gail+neck kisses=not in public/almost public= probably good to know".

"Gail," you say softly, stroking her cheek with the hand she's not grasping.

"Mmmh?" she huffs, still avoiding your gaze.

"I can kiss your neck some other time, somewhere more private and less precinct-y, if you want me to. But you're right. Now is not the time. You have a scumbag to catch and I have a cop to worry about."

She looks at you, nodding, and you lean in for a final soft kiss before she backs away.

"I should probably, umm.." she stutters, pointing awkwardly at the door.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea. You police officers gossip like crazy," you laugh. "I'll give you a headstart. But Gail?"

"Yeah," she says, slowly untangling your fingers.

"Be careful, okay? Try to not get shot at again. And please text me or call when you get off shift. Even if it's late."

She gives you a stern nod before slipping out the door.

You lean back against the wall, quickly replaying the events of the last five or so minutes in your head while counting to twenty. It's hard to focus since all your brain wants to do is flash "SHE KISSED YOU!" in bright bold letters in front of your eyes over and over again.

She kissed you. You kissed her. She has to work. She will call you. Later. You will have to deal with whatever happens after that as it comes. Do not overthink, Holly Stewart.

Before you step out you take a second to inspect yourself in the wrong side of the one way mirror. You straighten your jacket, make sure your hair isn't suspiciously messy and force away most of the smile that is currently etched on your face.

The first thing you're met with when you step out in the brightly lit corridor is Officer Shaw, talking to Gail. Fantastic.

You greet him with a "Hi!" and an admittedly dorky wave before quickly walking in the opposite direction of where Gail is going.

An exasperated shout of "The courier was sick, Oliver!" bounces off the walls in the corridor as you head towards the main entrance, and you have a nagging feeling that even if the very perceptive Officer Shaw wasn't suspicious of the two of you exiting the observation room right after each other before, he probably is now. But you also know that he is one of the few colleagues that Gail really likes, and that the affection is mutual. Hopefully he won't interrogate her about it.

It's about an hour later when you get a text from her.

[Oliver may or may not have given me a slightly awkward and thinly veiled reversed coming out-speech earlier, and then tried to make it all about him and Celery.]

Before you can reply you get another message.

[So far so good at the whole "do not get shot at again"-thing by the way. Call you later.]

You've finished up your work for the day and are about to get in the car to head home when you remember. The file. Your crappy excuse. Carelessly flung on the table in the observation room over at 15. And even though you know it's your own worries doing the talking – the part of you that is aching to see Gail again, to know that she's still alive and not out risking her life when a madman's on the loose, you talk yourself into driving over to 15 to get the file. That's the responsible thing to do, right? Gail might not even be there, for all you know she's out on patrol.

Except she isn't, not yet. Her blonde ponytail is like a magnet to your eyes, you find her right away, talking to Diaz and her brother, and no matter how hard the sensible part of your brain is chanting "just say hi as you walk past her, do not stop, just go get the file, she's busy and working and her friends and coworkers are everywhere" the part of your brain that is falling for her (which is pretty much all of your brain to be honest) refuse to listen.

Bad decision. Indeed.

Hot, angry tears are stinging in the corners of your eyes as you drive back to the morgue, stupid file safely retrieved from the observation room. What if you messed it all up now? You feel like a clumsy elephant trying to make its way out of a porcelain store and failing miserably. The seconds you were left standing in the middle of 15, watching her walk away is replaying in your head over and over and over again. The horrible sinking feeling in your stomach won't go away. Fuck.

I know, it's a bit sad right now but I'm gonna end this chapter here. After all, we know what happens later so it's not too mean, amirite? :)
If you feel like it, please let me know what you think.

Until next time.