A/N: Yeah, yeah…I suck at updates. I'm really sorry. I just hope there is still someone reading this hahaha.

A/N2: Next chapter is written and just need a few adjustments. I'll post it between tonight and tomorrow.

A/N3: This is Gail's POV, starting at the end of chapter 9 and going all the way to chapter 10. Since it's been a very long time since I posted those…basically Holly putted all of Gail's things on a box and return it to her on Chapter 9 and at the end of Chapter 10 Chloe knocks on her door holding a beaten up Gail.

Chapter 12 is the one that will pick up from where chapter 10 left off.


Chapter 11

The sound of her door closing still echoes in your mind as you're left standing there, holding a box that appears to grow heavier and heavier the longer you stare at it.

Strangely, though, that is the only thing you're truly feeling.

The weight of a cartoon box bearing all the memories you have been trying to avoid for the past month. The moment it had been deposited on your hands you had been sure this would be the moment when you would crack, the moment when you would have to stop pretending and start to…deal.

But Holly's words had come and gone. Holly had come and gone. And still, as you keep on staring at the, almost daring the emotions to pour out of it – or of you, or of both – you are left with nothing but the aching pain on your fingertips from holding it for too long.

This more than anything is what bothers you the most.

The…nothingness. The void. The emptiness.

When Nick had left you without a word, you had gone through many stages. You had been devastated for a few hours, drinking half a bottle of tequila by yourself before the anger hit and you trashed the other half of it on the mirror of your hotel room.

With Chris is was more of a disappointment, resentment for being thrown in the middle of a situation you hadn't started and ended up taking the blame for it. And annoyance, of course. Especially when you realized that Chris was willingly to forgive Dov than he was to forgive you, but you managed to accepted that that fact after a while.

Round II with Nick left you feeling even more devastated than round I. You hadn't only been kicked aside by him but you had also been ran over by Andy. Nick had been a mistake from day one, you two had a past and if history is anything to go by you were doomed from the start. Part of you knew that, but the other part just really wanted a do-over to prove to yourself you hadn't made a huge mistake the first time. That you two could work out together and be happy, leading the kind of life you had pictured all those years ago when you had said yes to his proposal.

But there was never an inch of you that expected Andy to go behind your back. He cheating on you was one thing – shame on you really for not knowing better giving what he had done the first time –, her allowing that to happen was a whole different history.

Nick's doings had left you boiling with anger at him and at yourself. Andy's, had left you with an annoying ache in your chest and a lump on your throat.

With Holly though…with Holly is different.

You had feared the feelings she would trigger within you. You have been fearing them for quite some time now to be honest, the ones you still didn't knew how to name – was it confusion? Denial? Anxiety? Bewilderment? –, the ones you had to fight to stay at bay – jealousy. Regret. Bitterness. Grief. Missing. – and the ones you hadn't even dare to consider, the raw emotions that had been stirring in your heart but that you hadn't been brave enough to allow yourself to navigate.

That was the reason why you had been avoiding her like the plague.

The moment she set fire to all those feelings that had been sizzling under your skin you would burn down into ashes, and you had no idea if you could recover from that.

You were great at building walls but not so much as rebuilding yourself.

So when the moment finally caught up with you. When you opened your door to see her standing there, you had been able to sense the scent of smoke on her perfume. To see the color of charcoal on her eyes. To hear the flames in her words.

But instead of burning you to the ground as you had prepared for. Instead of unleashing all this feelings and emotions and thought and setting all this upheaval free, you were left with… nothing.

Nothing but the smooth feeling of cartoon on your fingertips, the weight of the box on your palms and the scent of cartoon on your nostrils.

You are not even numb, it isn't the feel of not feeling it was simply…nothing.

When you were a kid, you had had one art class in which you guys had to build a paper disc divided like a pizza and paint each slice with a different color. There was a string that went thought the center of the disc and whenever you twisted the string fast enough the disc would rotate and the colors got blended to for the white color.

At the time you hadn't really care much about it but you found it kinda cool, despite not making sense at all.

Many, many years later, Holly had come to your apartment on a Friday night, after one of your monthly family dinners, to find you laying upside down on your couch listening to The Dark Side of The Moon. She hadn't said a word, simply choosing to sit on the floor and lay her head to rest by the side of yours on the cushions.

After a song or two, she had picked up the CD cover and started to talk to talk to you about optics and how we can only see the color that is reflected back at us. If a leaf is green, it means that it absorbs every other color and only reflects the green you are seeing. If is white, it means it doesn't absorbs any color and all of them are reflected back at you forming the white, much like your disc had.

On the opposite side of the scale, the black color, is the result of total absorbance and so nothing gets reflected. And since you can only see what is reflected, you can't really see the black, not the absolute pitch black anyway.

That hadn't made much sense for you either.

But now it does.

You had been waiting for the fire to come and leave you with nothing, nothing but the pitch black she had told you about.

But there is simply too much.

Just too much of everything she had ever made you feel coming out of your pores in waves and blending into the nothingness you are feeling now.

The white light.

And so you are left with more waiting.

Waiting for the second everything will stop spinning so fast and the nothingness finally dissolves.

You take a deep breath and pushes you door open once again, dropping the box on the floor of your living room before adjusting your cap and walk towards the stairs.

This definitely doesn't felt like the afterwards of any of your previous break-ups.

Not that there had been anything to break-up with in the first place.


Is funny how these things happen.

It was just an ordinary Sunday. You have been binge watching Star Wars, eating junk food, laying on your couch and taking naps all day. Trying to fight off the boredom that had settled over your day but that had fall short at making you want to do something productive, when your eyes had fell over the brown object that had taken residency in your leaving room.

For days you had skipped over that carton box every time you left your apartment. For a week your door kept on bumping into it every time you came back home.

Blowing little strands of hair away from your forehead you keep eyeing the carton box by your door, squinting your eyes as if trying to x-ray its contents. Not that you care. You most definitely don't.

You may have tripped over it a time of two and had the door swing back your way after opening a little too hard couple of times as well but still, you ignored it without even trying. And it was working just fine! That box was nothing in the great scheme of mess that was your apartment.

It didn't bothered you. Why should it? It was just a carton box full of things you hadn't even realize that were missing yet. Maybe you should just throw it all away or give it to charity, the last option was maybe the better one since there was probably a sweater or two in there if your memory served you right.

The worn out hoodie you had since the academy and the greyish marron knitted sweater you liked to cuddle on when it was particularly cold inside. Oh no, wait that wasn't yours, was it? Was that...Holly's? You quickly search your mind and remember have seen her wear it a few times but very rarely and not for a long time. Maybe she thought it was yours too?

Without noticing you sit up and shake your head. No, that wasn't it.

The hoodie was definitely yours and that didn't seem to stop her from grabbing it every time she could. She always borrowed for quick late night errands she had to do, either trips to the grocery store or to the drug store and that one time you had to drag her to the ER because she had stayed in the rain digging up a body the whole day and ended up with a high fever late at night.

You cringe as you remembered her coughing from across the hall and how you had entered her room to find her shivering like a leaf. You admit it had been a bit scary to try to hold her up as she slumped words that made no sense at all.

That had been the first time after Perik that you had forced yourself to hail a cab and ride with her to the closest ER.

At the time you had been so worried over her state that there had been no time in your mind to worry about the taxi driver and to relieve the utter terror you felt when you had been abducted. Later that night, just before dawn, as you sad beside a much more coherent Holly, you had silently acknowledged what you had done with a proud nod and moved on.

Holly on the other hand had break into a massive grin and pulled you into a bear hug.

You had blamed on the meds but you your almost sure there has been tears in her eyes.

To this day, you still don't take cabs on your own but you know it is an option and that it is something that you can power through if you really need.

But none of that matters now. What matters is you finding out if that knitted sweater is yours or hers, just in case she had place it in the box. You can't have something that belongs to Holly. Not now at least.

The thought startles you and you start to look around your living room.

You can't have something that belongs to Holly now.

Has she ever left anything at your apartment? Do you have anything here that belonged to her? Anything that you would have to get a carton box for?

Why haven't you thought about this before?

What if she had returned all of your things expecting you do to the same? She must have, right?

Have you been keeping her stuff hostage in here?

What if you can't remember? What if you come across something you couldn't remember who it belongs to?

What if you don't find anything?

Now that you look back, Holly has barely spent any time in your place. Even when she is…was…when she was the one knocking on your door it always ended up with the two of you across the hallway back to hers.

Was your place too messy for her? No, no that wasn't it. She wouldn't have minded.

You were the one that always ended up suggesting you should hang out at hers for one reason or other. Sometimes even with no reason at all. You remember now simply snatching the pizza box from her hand before making a bee line back to her door as she trailed behind you.

It always seems a good idea for you, the most obvious decision. But now you couldn't remember why was that.

Did you even knew?

Have you been trying to keep her away? All this time, ever since you met her, have you been keeping her at bay? Never too close and never too far? Have you been pushing her away?

But she was your best friend, why would you do that?

Why...why have you done that?

Why have you shut Holly out like that?

Because of Taylor?

Because she nearly kissed you?

Because of your feelings?

What...? What feelings? What are these feelings you have for her?

Was it Taylor that caused them? Was it born out of thin air? Out of jealousy for having your best friend stolen from you? Was it...a crush? Was is simple attraction? Something more? If so, what?

Have you been falling for Holly all this time? But you're not gay. You have many hook ups to prove that. You have had many boyfriends to prove that.

Why do you need to prove your sexuality to anyone?

Why does it even matter? Does it, even matter?

Would it change anything? You don't have Holly anymore. You ran away from her and now all you have is a stupid carton box with things that you don't even miss. Things that don't have any meaning to you. Any meaning that doesn't includes Holly and you can't have anything of hers now.

Not now.

Now that you blew it. Was there anything to blew?

Did you ever had a chance? A chance of what? Of having her? She (is) was your best friend. Of...loving her?

Do you? Love her? Could you?

You can feel yourself panting as the questions hit you one after the other in a tidal wave that threatens to drawn you. The sound of your TV have faded to a background noise that have been muffled by the pressure in your head. By the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Why can't you make sense of all this?

Gripping your head you close your eyes and try to fight the tears.

Why can't you just allow yourself to make sense of all this? Why don't you wanna see what has been right in front of you for so long?

Were you afraid of the pain? Aren't you suffering already?

Were you afraid of getting hurt? Haven't you hurt yourself?

You thought you wouldn't be able to? Wouldn't be enough? Have you ever gave yourself the chance?

Why haven't you given the two of you a chance?

Were you afraid of rejection? Weren't you the one that rejected?

A sob finally fills the air of your apartment as the tears run over your cheeks, tickling your skin as they go.

Why haven't you given her a chance? Why haven't you asked for a chance? Why haven't you realized before the night of the blackout? Why have you denied for so long afterwards?

You can't tell for how long you have been crying, but when your eyes are puffy and your cheeks are sticky, your neck is stiff from being with a lowered head for so long and your throat is soar, you know for sure that the whiteness has been washed away. All the emotions and feelings that have been swirling inside your mind decided to break free and now you wait for the darkness.

You long for the nothingness. For the absence.

But it still hasn't come.

Running the back of your hand over your nose, you manage to stand up and stumble your way to the kitchen, opening the highest door of your cabinet and retrieving a bottle of scotch.

If the blackness won't come to take all this pain away, you will create darkness yourself.

Why did you had to love her?

How could you not?

The scotch had worked to make you pass out on that night just like pure exhaustion had worked on every other night after that.

During your shifts you could switch your mind off and just 'play Peck' for a while. You did what you had to do and moved on to your next task, you probably were crankier than usual but that didn't mean much coming from you.

All you had to do was avoid some people like Trace and Oliver and everything was just fine.

When the night came and it was time for you to leave, you would just walk to the gym armed with the excuse of preparing the new Rookie for the infamous 'fight night'. People had stared at you wide eyed when you had offered to be its trainer afterhours, you weren't the one known for liking physical activities after all and you most surely was NOT the one known for wanting to make Rookies feel welcome, but once the boy had come to work on the next day smelling like menthol and pain people had stopped questioning your motives.

Thanks to Gerald you had managed to punch and kick your way into oblivion, leaving the gym with sore muscles and a numb mind. After you got home you were far too exhausted to do anything besides fall head first into bed.

One could argue this wasn't the heathiest way to deal with all of what was happening. But you could also argue you were never the heathiest person to start with.

Or even the most rational one.

So is quite obvious that now that Gerald is freaking out over his fight, you don't think twice about grabbing the cloves from his hands and climb on the ring. Just like you don't think twice before you start to throw punches at the guy standing there with you.

For a while he just stands there blocking your moves and dodging your blows as your friends scream at you to stop. On the back of your mind there is something that sounds much like Holly's voice telling you to get off the rig as well.

But you simply ignore them, you ignore everything, and tell the guy to fight you back.

You are all cops here, all trained. If they trust you to face criminals on the streets they can't tell you not to fight just because your opponent is a man. Shame on Jerry for backing out, shame on them for not putting their faith on you, shame on him for thinking he can actually beat you on a fist fight.

After a particularly hard blow to his ribs, the guy takes a more offensive position and fight night really begins.

You allow a small smirk to form on your lips before his fist find its way to your blocking. But once the pain settles on your arm, you reach the conclusion you haven't really thought about this at all.