Holly
"I love fireworks. I like the sound." Gail tells her, leaning her elbows on the counter and staring out the window. "It sounds like explosions"
"Right," Holly smiles, leaning to the side so the waiter can put down her coffee. Just when Gail seems sane, she says something like that. Holly shakes her head. Of course Gail likes fireworks for the noise. Not for the spectacle. Not for the pretty colours. But for the warlike sound of detonation. Typical Gail.
"Well let's go see them," Holly says. "We can walk down to the water after this. There's bound to be a good view from the bay."
"Okay," Gail says, agreeable, sipping her wine.
They are squashed into a small space on a counter in the front window of a restaurant, the only spot they could get without a reservation. The streets outside are packed with people rushing between restaurants and bars and clubs in the light drifting snow, intent on upholding all kinds of plans to meet the New Year.
It's crowded and loud in here, too. But with their backs to the place and the window guarding them from the chaos outside, it's almost cosy.
"God, I am so glad I am here," Gail sighs. "If I was back at home I'd be stuck at my parents' stupid, stuffy party avoiding people and drinking too much too early."
Holly smiles, sympathetic. "That party does sound incredibly un-fun."
They both stare out the window, tucked into a comfortable silence together.
"I can't believe I have only been here a few days." Gail says idly after a minute, staring out the window.
"I know."
"It feels like longer."
"That's a good thing. It will feel like a real break by the time we get back," Holly tells her, watching two young girls trot down the street in their skimpy dresses and heels. They haven't even bothered with jackets, despite the freezing temperatures.
"Idiots," Gail mutters.
"Uh huh," Holly agrees.
"The short one looked like Dana." Gail says, frowning into her glass.
"Who's Dana?"
"You know, the girl? During the undercover job?"
"I don't know." Holly tells her. "You haven't told me anything about it."
"Sorry," Gail frowns. "I guess I just needed to forget about it for a bit."
"You told Mom about it the other day," Holly reminds her, wondering why that still bothers her.
"Only because she asked," Gail tells her turning the wine glass around between her fingers. " And I'd just got here, and I didn't want to be rude."
Holly nods. Fair enough, she thinks, staring down at the polished wood of the counter.
"You know, Holly," Gail says slowly. "All I wanted, all the time, while I was in that apartment was to talk to you and tell you about what was happening."
Holly looks up. Gail is staring at her, her blue eyes as clear as Holly has ever seen them. And they are asking, with a steadfast gaze, for Holly to listen to her now.
So Holly returns the gaze, chin in hand, and says nothing.
"You know, sometimes," Gail continues, smiling, slightly bashful. "This is so sappy. Bad movie sappy," she shakes her head. "But when it got really depressing, I would just pretend in my head at night that you were on the other end of the phone, and I'd tell you what was going on."
Holly doesn't say anything. She can't say anything because a rich, all-consuming tide of warmth is spreading through her body and she cannot believe now that she cared for a second that Gail has taken her time to tell her this. And she does not care for one single second about the sappiness of Gail's admission. Instead it arms her with all she'll ever need to know about Gail and how Gail felt during her absence.
Even though Holly has no doubt Gail missed her, and Gail has told her as much and repeatedly over these last few days, she is glad to know that the feeling was just as acute on her end. That for Gail, like it was for Holly, the missing each other was not just a small fact of a loss the comfort and the desire they feel when in each other's orbit, but a mutual painful lack of the exclusive little things they have now discovered that only they can offer to one another other. Simultaneously they have felt the absence of the ways that they can complete each other's version of the world right now. It seems those three weeks were simply made up of longing matched by longing on either side.
So, in lieu of words that she has momentarily forgotten how to speak, she slips a hand under the counter and squeezes Gail's leg. It is only a moment before Gail's hand joins her down there, a tender slide of fingers against palm.
Eventually, when the feeling fades a little, Holly clears her throat and checks her watch. It's just after 11pm.
"You know what, babe?" she says, nudging Gail's shoulder. "You should tell me about it right now. You've got just under an hour until the New Year. You can tell me." She squeezes Gail hand gently. "And then you can begin again without carrying it with you."
Gail doesn't say anything at first. But then, as the pace quickens in the crowds outside as people begin realising how dramatically close they might be to seeing in the New Year suspended between one place and the next out on the freezing street, she takes her hand back, leans her chin on her palm, and starts to slowly tell Holly about the job. She tells her about Dan, about the people who ran the operation, about Dana and being left with her for Christmas, about the sadness and anger that reigned over the tiny claustrophobic apartment. Holly doesn't say anything. She simply folds her arms over each other, leans on the counter and listens.
"You know," Gail says, tipping her head sideways. "The weird thing is that nothing really bad happened. No one got seriously hurt. No one was in any danger. But it was so awful."
Gail shakes her head, as if she can't find the adequate means to describe what it is she wants to tell.
But she doesn't have to. Holly knows what it is.
"Yes, but it wasn't just about that, was it?" Holly tells her gently, leaning closer to her. "I don't think it was the events that were effecting you in that way. Sure, I think it sounds like having that poor girl left there with you was completely distressing, but I think it was more than that."
"What?" Gail asks, brows furrowed, genuinely curious.
"It was being someone you hated being," Holly tells her, wondering again at how easily Gail can have insight into other people, but never into herself. "Someone who you would never, ever want to be. And doing it for that long? That's got to take its toll."
Gail nods slowly. She turns her face toward Holly, but instead of looking at her, stares down at the counter, frowning. After a minute, she speaks.
"Every time she looked at me or came near me I could feel her hating me, and it was horrible."
Holly frowns, sympathetic. She cannot imagine coping with that, particularly when you are in no position to be able to change the situation.
"You know," she says quietly. "I think it probably just says what a good person you are, that it upset you that much."
Gail just shrugs, running her finger around the edge of the saucer, clearly not ready to give herself that free pass Holly is offering just yet.
"And if you ever do something like this again," Holly says.
"I kind of hope not." Gail says, screwing up her face.
"You say that now." Holly smiles. "Anyway, if you ever do a job like this again, you'll find it easier because you'll know the outcome, the result. That will make it easier to … I don't know," she shrugs. "… compromise your sense of self for the sake of it."
Gail shrugs again. Then she stares downward, worrying at a small scratch in the wooden counter before continuing to speak.
"But the other part— the worse part— was I kept finding myself getting angry at her, blaming her for making me feeling like this." She bites her lip again and Holly can see she is actually actively working at fighting tears. But before she can say anything to rescue her from this place of perdition, Gail speaks again. "And that's shitty, Holly. What kind of selfish asshole feels like that about someone in a position like hers?"
Holly watches Gail struggle to control herself, to not give in to the tears that only Holly would know are threatening from all sides. She drops her hand on Gail's arm and squeezes it.
"You know, babe," she tells her, leaning in so Gail is compelled to look at her. "I bet most people in that situation would feel exactly the same. Some probably wouldn't admit it, but I am willing to bet money they'd feel it."
Gail doesn't say anything. Holly continues. "And that's an awful feeling to have to have. But you know what? I can totally imagine it. It's kind of understandable, I think. Human."
Gail nods slightly, still staring downward, clearly contemplating the absolution she is being handed; the excuse of being human.
"You did a good thing, Gail." Holly says. "A hard, but amazing thing." She presses her fingers harder into Gail's arm to emphasise the firmness of the belief she holds in that last statement. "Know that."
Finally Gail looks up at her. They sit there a long time, fixed into this exchange of looks, a passing back and forward of mutual acknowledgement of something being mended, something being tucked back in to place and sewn up at the seam. Finally, a small smile gathers slowly at the corners of Gail's mouth, and she leans in, in this crowded restaurant and kisses her, punctuating this moment with a soft press of her lips against Holly's. Then she draws back a touch, fixes those brilliant blue eyes on Holly again, brushes a hand across her cheek, and kisses her once more.
Holly
"Let's go in there." Gail points at a club across the road. Music is booming from the building and people are spilling out over the pavements.
They are making their way back from the bay and the fireworks, walking briskly to shake off the bone-chilling cold that set in while they stood among the crowds next to the stretch of icy water watching the fireworks explode over the city in a festive rain of colour.
"Really?" Holly asks, looking across the street, trying to figure out what kind of place it is.
"Yep, I think we need to dance this one out, Holly." Gail tucks her arm under hers, pulling her along the pavement.
Okay," Holly says, amenable. She doesn't know Montreal any better than Gail does. One place is as good as another, she guesses. Besides, she wants out of this cold. And she might, just might, actually want tequila. Gail has, indeed, been some kind of influence.
They cross the road and approach the entry, manned by two bouncers; one burly and young, one slight and older.
"Sorry ladies, we're full up," the young, burly one says, hands on his hips. "Got to queue now." He points at all the people standing against the wall of the factory next door
Holly looks at where he is pointing. As they'd crossed the road, Holly had thought the crowds were just hanging around outside. Now she sees it is a loosely formed queue of impatient, largely drunk people waiting to get in. Given its length, she decides they might as well go elsewhere. She'd love a drink, and to dance on a sweaty dance floor somewhere with Gail, but she does not want to spend any more time out here in the freezing cold waiting for it to happen. She thinks of those two girls they saw earlier sans coats. She hopes they are safely indoors somewhere.
Gail's got other ideas, though, it seems.
"How long do you think the wait will be?" Gail asks, blinking at him and smiling sweetly. Holly wants to laugh. Gail might as well be batting her eyelids at him.
It's the older one, a thin middle aged man with a crisp white moustache, his hands held stiffly at his sides, who answers.
He shakes his head. "No idea," he tells her, clearly impervious to her flirtation. "A while. Not many people leaving."
Gail nods thoughtfully before turning away, looking like she is about to give up. Then, just as Holly is about to suggest they find some place else, Gail suddenly turns back to the older one, eyeing him up and down.
"Police, right? " she says, clutching her bag to her chest and swinging from side to side as she considers him.
"No, security guard," he tells her.
"But you used to be," she tells him, confident.
Holly stuffs her hands in her pockets and frowns, curious, trying to figure out how Gail knows this just from looking at him.
"Yup. Twenty-two years." He tips his head sideways slightly, intrigued now. "How did you know?"
Gail drops her arms by her sides, holding them out at a slight distance from her hips. Holly is confused for a second, then realises Gail is imitating him.
Gail grins and bounces her arms a little, indicating the space between her arms and her hips. "You leave room for the belt."
He looks down at his own arms and chuckles, like he knows exactly what she means.
"No one but police and body builders stand like that." Gail says, giving him a teasing grin.
"You're right," he nods, still chuckling.
The other guard says nothing, but he is watching the exchange.
"I do the same thing sometimes when I'm not in uniform." Gail tells him.
"You're police?" He cocks an eyebrow.
"Toronto Fifteenth Division."
Holly can see him taking in Gail's heels and make up and bottle blonde hair, dubious.
"Really?"
Gail just shrugs and gives him a hands up gesture, like she is saying believe me or don't, I don't care.
He is quiet for a moment. Holly wonders which way this is going to go.
"10-52," he suddenly says.
Holly frowns. She has zero idea what he means by that. But Gail clearly does. She gives him a grin.
"Request EMT", she says, hand suddenly, cockily, on her hip.
"10-15," he shoots back
"Civil disturbance."
"10-19"
"Return to division." Gail dully replies, changing gears and feigning boredom this time.
Then she gives him a 'come on,' look, holding up her hands again as if to ask how much further proof he needs.
Holly smiles and stuffs her hands in the pocket of her jacket as she watches this exchange. There is no denying it. Gail is hot when she is being a smart ass. Holly is enjoying this immensely.
When it seems like he might be finally spent, he produces another question.
"Where's your radio?" He asks her.
Gail says nothing, just purses her lips and taps a finger on her left hip and then above her left breast, dragging it up to her shoulder. She tips her head sideways, raising her eyebrows, looking at him like he just asked her to recite her ABCs, and then Holly really has to fight the urge to laugh out loud.
They remain in their comic standoff for another moment, Gail waiting to see if he is going to draw again.
He doesn't.
In the end, though, it's the younger bouncer who finally steps aside. He reaches a hand out toward the door, pulling it open. There is an immediate rush of warmth and light and sound spilling out into the night air.
"Oh come on, Ed," he says, turning to the older guard and grinning.
'Ed' chuckles and nods, taking a step backwards in retreat. The young one turns back to Gail and Holly.
"Have a great night, ladies," he grins.
Gail turns, triumphant and smiling. She beckons to Holly, giving her a flirtatious look like she is telling her that this little show has been all for her. When Holly fails to react quickly enough— only because she is trying to decide if she wouldn't rather get Gail home and to a bed right now— Gail snatches her wrist, dragging her hand from her pocket, pulling her toward the door. And there is no way in hell Holly is not going to follow this human firecracker of a girl anywhere she wants to go now.
"Happy New Year," Gail tells the two men cheekily as she passes through the door. Holly just laughs and follows Gail into the belly of the beast.
They dump their layers at the coat check and head straight for the bar, waiting behind throngs of sweaty, happy people all intent on the same outcome: loss of sobriety and that five minutes on the dance floor with the perfect song.
"I think I had better buy you a drink after that spectacular performance," Holly says loudly in Gail's ear as they finally make it within reach of the bar. Gail just smiles and nods, flicking back her hair.
Holly grins, taking in the dress she forgot Gail was wearing under those layers; the dress she put on after making Holly leave the spare room while she got ready. When Gail emerged into the kitchen, where Holly and her parents were drinking a celebratory champagne before parting ways, she was already wrapped in her jacket. The only evidence of her efforts was the slash of bright lipstick and her heels, so Holly wasn't treated to the full effect until they got to the restaurant and Gail shrugged off her coat at the door. Gail is so effortlessly sexy anyway, so when she makes an effort, the effect is ridiculous. It's almost too much. Sure, Holly has dated attractive women, but not someone so classically hot, someone who so overtly plays up to being a beauty of the bombshell variety. And as they waited for their table Holly couldn't help smiling to herself as she looked at her, at the fit of the dress, and at the stretches of porcelain skin Gail so often keeps covered. And she couldn't help being a little bit enamoured with the ego-stroking knowledge that this is an effort made just for her.
"What do you want to drink?" Holly asks her, leaning against Gail as someone behind her tries to elbow their way past.
She looks at Holly with one eyebrow raised.
"What do you think I want, Holly?" she asks, grinning.
Holly just grins and slides in front of her to stake her claim over a patch of bar and wait for service, enjoying the way Gail places a possessive hand on the small of her back as she does. When one of the bartenders finally comes over to her, she orders two shots of tequila.
"Make that four," Gail says loudly from behind her, resting her chin on Holly's shoulder briefly. Holly turns and looks at her. Four? Before she can even ask, Gail just lifts her shoulders to her ears and grins.
The bartender lines up the four shots, takes Holly's money and moves on. Gail squeezes in next to Holly at the bar, leaning her elbow on its surface. She picks up a shot, passes it to Holly and picks up another for herself. She holds it up, looking at Holly, her eyes shining.
"To last year," she says.
"To last year," Holly echoes, smiling, remembering the night of Sam and Chloe's shootings, the day that Gail kissed her, how Gail had cleansed the horrors of that awful day with a similar tequila-punctuated ritual among friends. They clink glasses carefully, look each other in the eye and tip back their drinks. And before Holly has even recovered from the quick burn of that first shot, Gail has picked up the second glass.
"Hey," The guy standing behind them leans in to their little circle, arms crossed over his chest, "D'you think you could get out of the way so someone else can order a freaking drink?"
Holly watches as Gail turns her head slightly in his direction. She doesn't even deign to look at him. Instead she stares into the air somewhere near him, an incredulous, snooty look on her face as if to ask how he dare so much as call her attention to his existence in her presence. And that's all it takes for him to take a half step backwards and shut up. Holly grins and is thankful— not for the first time— that she is on the same side as Gail.
Nope, it seems nothing is getting in the way of Gail saying goodbye to the year passing in the way that she wishes to honour its demise. And Holly fully supports that. So much so that before Gail can even speak, Holly picks up her second drink and touches her glass against Gail's.
"Now, to this year," she tells her, smiling and looking into Gail's eyes, sealing into this toast a silent promise that this year will be something else entirely— at least while she has a say in it.
"To this year," Gail agrees, leaning forward and kissing Holly quickly before drinking down the shot and dropping the glass onto the bar. She waits for Holly to do the same, kisses her again, and then grasps her hand, pulling her away from the bar and back through the sweaty, milling crowds in search of the dance floor.