A/N: I swear this was going to be up sooner, but fair warning: I've never fired a gun, so this took longer than it was going to...
You're a cutie for waiting so long


"How did they find me here? What do they want from me? All of these vultures hiding right outside my door. I hear them whispering"


"Peck! Hamilton!" Frank's voice boomed across the bullpen as the officers filed out of the parade room.

The stream of blue uniforms halted as heads quickly scanned the bullpen before landing on one of the subjects of Frank's inquiry. Officers finishing up the paperwork after their shift also popped their heads up from their computers and notebooks, looking around the room to gain a clue as what was going on.

Gail spun around, halting her trek to the front desk. It was a routine she was getting used to. Go to parade. Sometimes listen, sometimes not. Go to the front desk. Be awake and almost excited for about half an hour before zoning out. But today Frank was bracing himself on the railing, motioning for her and Officer Hamilton to join him in his office. They had finally scrounged up a suspect for a string of B&E's but were having trouble locating him, so Sam had led parade while Frank had been holed away in his office.

Frank turned and swung the door open, striding back into his glassed off room, when it was clear Gail and Hamilton head received his message. Gail made eye contact with Hamilton briefly as they walked from opposite ends of the bullpen towards the short staircase that lead to the Staff Sergeant's office. Hamilton looked downright horrified. His injuries had been very minimal, and he had been put back on active duty only a week after the crash. Now, his faced had visibly paled, and he looked around the room nervously as he made his way to the short staircase. Gail knew he probably thought they were in trouble, and the look she was giving him probably wasn't all that reassuring, but she'd rather be in trouble than face what she suspected was coming.

Hamilton held the door open as Gail crossed the threshold. She tried to make her face as blank as possible out of respect for Frank, it wasn't his fault. She stopped behind one of the chairs that faced Frank's desk, resting her hands at the top of the chair back, plucking at the fabric with a fingernail.

"Have a seat," Frank leaned forward on his elbows, motioning to the two chairs. His voice was calm and hospitable; she already knew they weren't in trouble. It was something much worse. Gail didn't want to take a seat, she wanted to get this over with. She sat anyways, just like her mother taught her.

"It's good to have you both back," Frank started, "I just got off the phone with HQ and the department wants to thank, and celebrate, you for your service. You're both being awarded with a commendation for your work leading up to the rescue of Evangeline Porter, and the apprehension of her abductor."

Gail bit her lip. She could almost hear Hamilton's skin stretch as his smile struggled to stay on his face. She was less than pleased, more than peeved. Her mother had summoned her and Steve to Sunday dinner only three days ago. Surely Elaine had already known these plans in detail, yet she hadn't mentioned anything at all, setting Frank up to be the bearer, of what Gail was bound to see as bad news. Gail's grip on the armrests tightened as her pulse quickened.

"There's going to be a small ceremony on the eighteenth at city hall. Evangeline and her parents will be there, so only two reporters will be allowed in, but the big brass will be coming, and I think the mayor will be there as well. So!" Frank clasped his hands together as a smile broke out across his face, "dress blues! Look sharp. Be nice. Smile for the camera."

Great, the mayor. As if Gail didn't have enough reason to detest this ceremony as it is.

Looking across the desk Frank quickly became witness to an explicate study in contrast. Hamilton looked positively bubbly. His cheeks were flushed and he had on an expression similar to a winner on The Price is Right. If Gail hadn't already descended into her own black hole she would have pinched him already. Gail was looking the exact opposite. She was paler than usual, if that was possible, and her face was drawn down, close to blank. Not even a hint of a smile escaped. She shook her head tightly, Hamilton didn't know what he was in for.

"So, ah, good," Frank smiled and nodded at Hamilton, excusing him to go out on patrol. He waited until the door clicked shut behind Hamilton before he turned his attention back to Gail, a softer smile on his face, "Peck, how ya doing?" She had been back to work for a little over a week now, and the hint of romance desk duty was able to mask itself with had worn thin. She wanted back on the streets, maybe now more than ever.

"I'm good," she smiled briefly, "it's good to be back, but I'm ready to be off desk, no offense."

"Good, good," Frank nodded slowly, "that makes two of us. What's your doc say?"

"Nothing bad," Gail sighed, "he'll probably send me to the range early next week." She was more than a little tired of this whole 'recovery' thing. Her doctor and her physical therapist had told her that it would be somewhat slow going - at least slower than she would want it to go - and that she would 'feel better' before she actually was better. Holly had supported their outlook. Gail was tired of it, mostly because this whole thing had mostly amounted to a big pile of boredom.

"That's great," Frank smiled bigger, rubbing at his chin as he seemed to ponder what he was going to say next. Frank had watched both Steve and Gail come up through Fifteen as rookies. He noticed how differently they handled all that came along with the 'Peck' name. Frank knew that Gail was hyper aware of how it made others perceive her. He was far from oblivious, and had noticed the tension it created between her and some of the other rookies when they first started. He knew she had excellent potential as a police officer, but he also noticed she shied away from shining, so to speak. He guessed it was out of fear of what doubts would be cast on the authenticity of any accolades that may come her way. "You know this, the commendation, has nothing to do with your parents, or your name, right?"

"I know," Gail nodded, smiling slyly. Of course she knew anyone with half a brain who rescues an abducted child was bound to get recognized somehow. She knew it wasn't because of her brother, or her father, or her mother, or her godfather, or that her last name happened to be 'Peck.' It didn't, however, mean she felt she deserved it, or that it was as big a deal as it was made out to be. It was a public relations stunt. Good press for the department, and the city as a whole. It stretched out how long the story was in the news; it made people remember what a good thing had happened just a little while after they had forgotten. And Gail didn't want to be a part of it. She hated being the center of attention, and she hated it even more when the audience was larger than three people. But she also knew there was nothing she could do about it. She was along for the ride. Her dad had said it himself in the hospital, 'it's best to just ride the waves with this.' Frank said a few more things and Gail forced a smile as she was excused, striding off to the desk, where, with her luck, nothing would get in the way of her mind replaying the conversation over and over, as dread built up inside her like a lead weight, slowing growing in size, anchoring her down into a dreary outlook.


Gail pushed the door open, sucking in a breath as she did. Her eyes darted around as she tried to keep her outward appearance calm and assured, yet casual. It was no biggie; she'd done this a million times or more, and today was no different. Gail signed in at the desk and engaged in minimal small talk with the officer stationed there as she did. Just as she had feared, she was unable to escape the 'haven't see you around in a while' comment that was really just a thinly veiled question. 'A while' was really closer to a month, and she was sure that Patrick knew exactly why he hadn't seen her in as long. She flashed a smile and threw a "you missed me" over her shoulder as she passed the desk and pushed the door open as he buzzed her through. Even with her ear protection on the sound was unescapable. Even though it was late on a Tuesday morning it was still busy. Police officers have random schedules and the range was almost always busy. Patrick had given her lane seven and she tried to approach it like she had been, for at least, the past ten years.

Gail put her bag down like she always did, and started unloading her gun and ammunition, laying it out on the waist high bench like her father had taught her all those years ago. She tried to think back to the first time her dad had brought her to the range as she flicked the switch to call the target towards her. In a lot of ways her dad was the cool shade to her mother's sometimes burning rays. Gail taped the fresh target down to the backing, smoothing it down, checking that it was straight and true. She flipped the switch again, sending the freshly hung target away, humming along the track. She drummed her fingers along the bench as she waited, being splashed with an icy case of déjà vu. It was the same feeling she'd been chilled with when her dad took her for the first time; uneasiness, apprehension, fear of the unknown. Except this time she knew what should happen. Gail was afraid of what might happen that wasn't supposed to happen. What if the recoil of the first shot sent her arm flying clear off, through the wall, and onto Patrick's desk? Okay, that was next to impossible. But you never know. If she couldn't shoot anymore, then she couldn't be a cop anymore. Not one that got to do anything remotely worth it, anyways. The thought made her sick. The target clicked into place, bringing her out of her tailspinning thoughts, and Gail decided to stretch her shoulder out a little more. It couldn't hurt, right? It wasn't a stall tactic; she was being cautious, smart.

Her dad hadn't just taught her how to fire a gun, he had taught her how to behave at the gun range. Gail thought through the steps as she did her safety check and loaded the ammunition into the magazine. Her father's voice echoed in her head, guiding her through the steps that had become second nature over a decade ago. The last time she had so much as looked at her gun was the morning of the accident. Frank had brought it, along with her duty belt and notebook, back to the station from the hospital, and it had stayed in it's small square locker for weeks.

Enough dilly dallying.

The first shot went off with a 'POP.' The noise was muffled by the earmuffs secured around her head, but she felt the kickback reverberate through her arms, down her back and legs. Surprisingly, though, it felt more familiar than she had feared, and relief washed over her. It felt normal, it felt right; just the way it had for nearly the past fifteen odd years. The closer she got to emptying the clip the more her anxiety washed away; tension and apprehension she didn't even know she'd been feeling melted away.

Gail let out a deep breath and took a step back before starting on loading another magazine. She smiled politely and nodded as the guy in the next lane grabbed his packed bag off the bench and waved goodbye. He looked vaguely familiar, he might work the same shift as her over at Twenty-Seven Division. She wasn't normally a 'smile and nod' person, but her father had stressed the etiquette of the gun range since before her first trip. Anyways, now there was less of an audience, and that couldn't be anything but good. Her aim had been less than it's best, and even though that was to be expected it wasn't something Gail was willing to accept.

Her father always told her that shooting was just like any other skill, and that no one could ever be perfect, but practice could make you very very good. Just like anything else, Gail wouldn't allow herself to be shy of excellent. She practiced religiously for years, and she still logged more hours at the range than most officers. Gail would never deny liking the upper hand carrying a gun gave her, but she was anything but trigger happy. Shooting a person, an animal, anything that was alive really, wasn't anything Gail ever wanted to do. She had been trained to if need be. She didn't want to though. Her parents had instilled a deep respect for firearms in her and Steve, always emphasizing the damage they could do to someone, yourself included, if handled carelessly or improperly. A Peck never took the possibilities guns opened up lightly. They never treated it as sport, but as responsibility. It wasn't a game, it was a skill. Maybe that's why Gail hadn't come nearly as close to peeing her pants as Dov had when they were issued their guns as rookies. She felt a little secondhand embarrassment when he asked Boyko if he could take his gun home at night. What was he going to do? Cuddle it?

Nevertheless, Gail had always felt a sense of calm at the shooting range. If the batting cages were cathartic for Holly, this was cathartic for Gail. It was a skill that could never be perfected. You could hit your target square on, maybe you could even do it a couple times in a row if you're really good, but no one could shoot for an hour and still be perfect. That's what Gail liked, instant feedback; practice rewarded with improvement. It didn't hurt that her mother had always been pleased when she heard Gail was going to the range to practice. All through her teenage years, ever since she was able to make plans for herself really, her mother would always come up with little nibbling comments, no matter whose house Gail announced she was off too. The gun range, apparently, was a perfect friend however. No matter what activity Gail told her mother she was out to do Elaine would undoubtedly click her tongue, showing her disapproval even if she allowed it. Not the gun range, though. Of course there were a few times Gail told her parents she was making Steve take her to the range when she really slinked off to the movies with her friends, or snuck over to her boyfriend Connor's house when his parents weren't home. But mostly she did go, and she liked it, and not just because it was an escape from her mother's hovering.

A couple more clips in, and Gail was feeling really good. Her aim was quickly improving, and it was all becoming more and more familiar. She was mid-shot when she noticed a figure glide into the vacated lane next door. She didn't bat an eye, just finished off her clip before setting her gun down to inspect her performance. It was when she turned slightly to reach for more ammunition that she noticed how familiar her new neighbor looked. Definitely more familiar than the guy who might have been from Twenty-Seven Division. Gail let herself look up at the person. Realization hit her like a lightning strike. She knew that strawberry blonde hair. She knew that twinkling half smirk. She owned those eyes; that nose sat above her own mouth. The occupant of lane six was none other than Elaine Peck. Of course.


"How did they find me here? What do they want from me? All of these vultures hiding right outside my door. I hear them whispering"
- John Mayer "Vultures"


A/N: Sincerely, thank you to everyone who keeps on reading, reviewing. And to those of you are just hopping on the bandwagon, welcome!

I love those of you who leave me little notes and reviews! That being said...just a word to the wise, commenting and urging me to update doesn't actually make me go any faster :( I wish it did. If you'd like to know when you can expect an update/you're wondering if I've tripped over the mess that is my room and broken my neck, I'd be glad to let you know! But to get an answer you'll have to either P.M. me here, or send an ask on my tumblr. I'm really glad to let you know where I am with the next chapter, but leaving guest reviews on asking doesn't really give me an outlet to respond to you :(

Anywho...I hope you all had a delightful Monday!

p.s. you guys might want to actually chip in to get me a "life-alert"...my room is a mess