In honor of hitting what I consider a milestone in followers, I hosted a poll asking people to choose a type of special feature and what story they'd like it to be from.
The winner was an "Outtake or Deleted Scene" from Something Beautiful.
Traci took another look at the woman just to her left, watched discreetly as the tall brunette struggled not to lose her breakfast on the handsomely manicured shrubbery just off the back step of the small ranch house they'd both been summoned to early this morning.
"Collins, Epstein," Traci called toward the front of the house, "I'm going to head to the morgue for the autopsy. You finish canvasing the neighborhood and let me know what you get."
The chorus of "Got its" let her know that her directions had been received, and so she turned again to the woman at her side with a sigh.
"Helluva thing to see first thing in the morning, hey doc," she commented casually, not wanting her voice to betray the concern in her eyes.
Holly gave a sour chuckle. "The presentation wasn't as bad as the odor," she said wryly, hands on her knees, hunched over and struggling to take in deep, steady breaths of fresh, cool air. Not the humid, heavy air of the tiny bathroom they'd spent the morning crammed in. Them and the crime scene techs and the bathtub full of a gelatinous pile of flesh that used to be one Mr. Arthur Nigel Johns before he somehow got in the way of a bullet and was left to rot. Or, rather, to melt.
Traci couldn't disagree. The smell had been rancid. More than once she'd watched Holly swallow back the urge to gag and run.
Holly of the stomach of steel.
Holly who never flinched.
She'd begun to worry about the woman she now called family. Her sister-in-law. Gail's wife.
Nothing fazed Dr. Stewart. Heck, the woman had married Gail, of all people.
It wasn't until she watched as Holly finally stood after quite a long period of kneeling to examine the corpse that the clues finally clicked into place.
Traci smiled to herself, and followed the doctor out of the bathroom and down the short hallway to the back door, watching every movement the older woman made.
By the time they made it out into the fresh air, welcome despite the chill, Traci was positive she was right.
They stood for a few minutes, waiting for one of the techs to let them know the body had been loaded into the van and was ready for transport. Holly eventually straightened up, her breathing back to normal and her color just a shade or two paler than normal. Traci handed her a bottle of water without a word.
"Thanks," Holly said, taking a small sip and wiping at her brow.
"Doc, we're ready," one of the techs called from the drive on the side of the house.
The brunette took a deep breath before pushing off the wall and calling out a reply.
"Hey," Traci said, "why don't you ride back to the complex with me. The van'll be crowded with the techs and the evidence anyway, and traffic at this time of day will be a mess anyway. Might as well spend the hour we'll be in transit in a car that smells more like french fries than a decomp."
For a second Holly looked like she was going to turn the detective down, but at the last second her nose crinkled and she clutched a little bit at her stomach and before Traci knew what was happening the doctor was at the side of the house telling her techs to go on without her, she'd be riding back with someone from the Fifteen.
Traci's got two young sons and a husband with a personality that's often more juvenile than her three-year-old. She knows how to properly ambush a target. And so even though her quarry is already in her clutches—or, seatbelted into her passenger seat—she waits until they're clearly trapped in a traffic jam before making her move.
"So," she says, drawing the word out just the slightest, "how are things with you and Gail?"
She knows, of course, that things are good. The Peck siblings are a close-knit pair, despite appearances sometimes to the contrary. Their philosophy on life and family seems to be something along the lines of the buddy system. They clutch blindly at each other and hope that between them they'll be able to block most of the metaphorical parental blows. The instinct seems to only have gotten stronger as they've added to their crew—first Traci and Leo, then Ethan, and now Holly. There are game nights and pizza nights and babysitting nights and pre-family dinner strategy meetings.
They're a team, the Peck siblings and their respective families.
So Traci knows that things with Gail and Holly are, generally, good. She knows they've finished renovating the kitchen of the house they bought shortly after getting married, the one with the beautiful porch and the big back yard and the reading nook window in the upstairs office. She knows that they were talking about taking an extended trip up to the cabin this summer, but decided against it in the end. She knows that Gail's in the middle of trying to decide whether to apply for the Detective's exam again now that Krezinski's announced his retirement plans for the end of the year, and that Holly is, but for telling Gail she has every faith in her, staying out of the decision-making process.
But the question isn't about finding out what's going on in the life of her sisters-in-law, the question is about finding out how Holly chooses to answer.
It's not surprising, not at all, when Holly just "hmmms" and answers with a "oh, everything is good," not taking the topic any further.
Traci smiles, and nods politely, continuing to keep up her end of the kind of small talk that usually happens in cars—the weather, the last time they all had dinner together—until she's absolutely sure that Holly's only half-paying attention.
And then she strikes.
"You know," she starts, "I don't know how you're doing it, but you've got to tell me the secret. Both my pregnancies, horrible morning sickness. I never could have sat next to that body for almost an hour and held my stomach."
"It's not so bad anymore," Holly answers before she's even really processed what she's saying, "the exhaustion's the wors—"
If Traci hears the tiny curse, she chooses to ignore it.
Instead she waits, traffic stopped for at least a mile ahead, and waits for Holly to be ready to talk.
"How did you know," the doctor asks, finally breaking the silence.
Traci looks at her. "You did the first trimester dance," she says, a laugh bubbling up from deep inside.
"The first trimester dance," Holly repeats, not at all sure what Traci means.
"You stood up, adjusted your breasts and the bra that's definitely no longer gonna be able to do it's job after this week, grimaced when the sudden movement of standing set your stomach rolling, and then put a hand on the small of your back and stretched out the sore muscles there."
When older woman doesn't say anything, Traci continues.
"I've been pregnant twice now, and while I don't remember everything annoying part of it, I do remember the boob pain, the nauseua, and the literal pain in my back every time I moved. Which, by the way, never goes away, it just expands to every part of your body and every waking moment."
"You know," Holly says with a loud sigh, "sometimes it is just so annoying to be surrounded by cops all the time."
"So," Traci prompts.
"So, yes, I'm pregnant. We're pregnant, Gail and I. Due in July, so not quite past the twelve-week mark yet. Which is why," Holly says with a pointed look at her friend and sister-in-law, "we haven't told anyone yet."
"Well, then let me be the first to say congratulations, Holly," Traci says, her smile wide and genuine, "You and Gail must be very excited."
Holly smiles and nods, "We are. And getting kind of anxious to tell people. It's been over a month since we found out and you know how Gail is with this sort of thing. She's being really kind and thoughtful, but she's starting to border on the obsessive with asking how I feel and making tea and wondering if maybe I wouldn't like to sit down. The other day she asked me if maybe she shouldn't go out and get some diapers to have on hand, just in case. Just in case, Traci."
Traci struggles not to chuckle, but that's the damned cutest thing she's ever heard. Little Gail Peck all grown up and about becoming a mother. Wonders really do never cease.
"I'm sure it's just the stress of nerves and not being able to tell anyone yet," Traci tells the doctor, "when you start telling people she'll calm down. And if she doesn't, we'll have Steve talk to her."
Though, if her memory serves her right, Traci thinks, Steve had been pretty ridiculous in the first weeks and months of her pregnancy with Ethan. Two days after she told him she found him sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of the night drawing diagrams of how they could fit a crib and a changing table into Leo's already pretty crowded room. "We can't have a baby, Traci," he'd said, all panicked, "I can't make it fit."
"And if he can't talk any sense into her," she continues, "we'll let Elaine do it."
Holly groans and laughs, her head rolling lazily against the head rest. "Oh, God," she says, "don't even remind me. We still haven't decided how we're going to bring the topic up at dinner next weekend. Gail's hoping she'll come down with the flu and we won't have to go."
Traci smiles wickedly. "What's a sister-in-law for," she teases, "but to help broach delicate topics with the in-laws. Don't worry, I'll just ask if you're feeling tired and then Elaine will take a good look at you and ask if you've put on some weight recently and there you go. Gail will get defensive and then there you go, a perfect opportunity to spill the beans about the bean."
They both laugh; it'll actually probably happen exactly like that.
"Don't worry," Traci says, reaching over to pat gently at Holly's knee as traffic begins to pick up in front of them, "Elaine'll be fine. It'll probably go even easier than when we told them about Ethan. I mean," she says with a sly grin, "at least you two are married."