You had to carry Nick into the bedroom and throw him onto the mattress like a log that weighs a tonne, your fellow undercover cop is drunk off his ass tonight. That's what you get for drinking with the Russian mob. You had a few shots of vodka yourself, but not enough to be slurring your words or make your legs feel as heavy as lead.
Closing the bedroom door behind you, you head for the kitchen, finding the last bottle of beer in the rather empty and pathetic refrigerator. Taking the first sip of the cold beverage, you scan around the tiny kitchen and living room. It's a shitty place, cracked ceilings and stained walls, and the radiators in the living room and Nick's bedroom tend to stop working for a couple of hours every day. Like right now, in the middle of a cold winter night. You're grateful for the effects of the alcohol that are coursing through your body, your cheeks are warm and you're not shivering from the cold as much as you're supposed to.
You have to call Sam for your check ins – it doesn't matter who makes the calls, as long as he knows the both of you are still alive and the operation has not yet been compromised – but as you take a seat on the sofa, you decided that Sam can wait for a few more minutes. You try not to move too much, the squeaking of the leather cushions are loud enough to wake a whole building on a silent December night. Sitting on the right side of the sofa and taking another sip of your beer, you stare at the wall and at the ticking clock, something you've been doing since day one of being undercover.
It's been a daily routine, Nick already in bed while you sit in the living room pondering about the life you left back in the city. Every night, you give yourself five minutes. Five minutes to be Gail, not a low life criminal trying to climb the ranks and become Mikhail's right hand man. Nick doesn't question or comment about it every time he says his goodnights, he doesn't question you because he understands.
It seems like you'll be spending Christmas and the New Year with Nick and the Russian mob. You're not at all disappointed (well, maybe a little. You're sick of drinking Russian vodka and pretty sure your liver would be extremely grateful if you'd stop drinking for a while) at the prospect of spending the holidays with criminals and away from home. Going into the operation, the two of you knew there's a possibility that it might stretch into the New Year, you're just disappointed that you'll miss seeing Holly in her ridiculously ugly Christmas sweater that lights up and listening to her singing incredibly off-key to Mariah Carey. And you'll certainly miss the famous Stewart family eggnog. One thing you won't miss, though, is the annual Peck Christmas dinner along with the city's politicians and influential people.
You remember the last time you went undercover. It was a hasty decision made in the midst of one of the worst fights you've had with Holly. You remember how a three week operation became two months, and how you'd returned home to a seething brunette that wouldn't speak to you for almost a week. You remember the heartbroken look on Holly's face when she first saw you in two months, the relief that you were alive and safe and back home and the anger and disappointment in her eyes that left your heart clenching in disdain of yourself for leaving without even a note.
The undercover operation was a great success in everyone's books, but it almost tore your relationship with Holly into pieces. And then there was Perik before that. So it is safe to say that undercover operations and Gail Peck do not go well together. But you sure hope that this time it would be different – you pray every day and thank God every night that you and Nick are still alive.
This time, you didn't have a choice. You're the only female cop in 15 who knows how to speak Russian and not sound like a tourist trying to ask for directions. You didn't run like the last time, instead you went to Holly and the both of you had a long, steamy goodbye before you left the city.
This time, you were the one who didn't want to leave, because you had bought a ring and you were going to propose to Holly.
You close your eyes – but you can still see the brightness of the flickering bathroom light spilling into the hallway and living room, you can still hear the tick-tock of the clock and you can smell the cold and snow even though you're indoors – and you think about the ring that is currently kept in your locker back at the precinct. You silently pray this operation will go off without a hitch so you can go back home and back to Holly.
You close your eyes and you imagine the beautiful ring on Holly.
You're not even back for five hours yet but you're not going to lie, the Christmas lights all over Toronto and the snow covering the city you call home in a beautiful white blanket already got you into the holiday mood. Not to mention you're freezing your ass off and you're pretty sure your legs are numb from the cold. It's truly a Christmas miracle that you and Nick manage to return home safe and sound on Christmas Eve. Who knew criminals work hard on holidays too? After the arrest and hours of debrief and tying up loose ends, you're finally arriving home, to the townhouse where you and Holly live.
Standing on the opposite sidewalk and looking up, you can see part of the Christmas tree glowing in the dark living room. What you didn't expect to see, is a dark figure sitting by the window with hands wrapped around a mug. It's almost three in the morning and you're surprised to see that Holly's still awake.
Your heart is beating much faster now, a blush rising up to your cheeks, your body no longer shivering from the cold but from excitement. You've missed her dearly, and you can see from your position on the sidewalk that Holly is wearing your sweater. A smile pulls at the corners of your lips, a genuine and warm smile that's been missing for a while. A smile reserved for Holly. Your hand reaches into your bag to retrieve the tiny box and you run your fingers over the velvet material of the box. You were waiting for the right time to propose, but now you've learned that that there is no such thing as the right time. Which is foolish of you, considering the line of work you're in.
Hands around the white mug pause mid-air, and from a distance away you can almost see Holly's eyes bulging out at the sight of you standing on the sidewalk. Even though your hair is longer now and dyed black, you know she recognizes you because she's putting down her mug and moving away from the window the second her eyes meet yours.
Your hand clenches around the box one last time that night, your mind made up and your heart ready to commit to a lifetime of cheesy sweaters, eggnog and presents under the tree.
You jog across the empty street and by the time you're at the bottom of the steps, you're being greeted by your girlfriend in your police department sweater and a pair of fleece pyjamas pants. A gust of cold wind sends Holly shivering fiercely, and within half a second you've swept her up into a long overdue hug. Closing your eyes at the feeling of Holly's arms around you, it feels like coming home.
"You're back," Holly whispers into your ear and you squeeze her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of Holly's shampoo. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too."
"I love you. Even with jet black hair."
You laugh for the first time in months, and you whisper you love her too. And when she kisses you, Holly shivers at the first contact of your chapped lips against hers and you're pretty sure it's not from the cold.
The after taste of months of vodka on your lips gone, your lungs healing from the cigarettes and cigars and the heaviness in your chest is slowly lifting up towards the night sky, dispersing into nothing. The faint taste of Holly's favourite tea has you leaning in for a much deeper and fuller kiss, earning a soft moan from the brunette that reverberates through your body – through your soul. You feel snowflakes falling onto your cheeks and your eyelids, but you don't care, not when Holly's touches are keeping you warm and her lips against yours is helping to forget the appalling things you've witnessed during your brief time in the mob.
Holly whispers against your lips and in between kisses, whispers to God, whispers to the stars and the universe how grateful she is for having you back in her arms at 3am on Christmas morning.
You're not sure how long the two of you have been standing there, but you're in a daze after the kiss, and you let yourself be led into the townhouse with the promise of Holly's famous eggnog and a warm bath.
You close the door behind you and let the smell of Christmas fill your senses and the warmth of your home envelop you. Maybe you'll propose after some eggnog.
Merry Christmas, peeps. Cheers.