06.10 - Breaking Up The Band
Sometimes the surest sign of success is letting go. It's time for Vivian to let go and accept the things she can't change. It's time for Gail to let go of the things she can. Holly? Don't worry, she's fine.
While in no way did Vivian share Gail's absolute antipathy towards mornings, and really no one did, she was staring to detest them when they involved people asking her odd questions.
"Who's our landlord? You or your Moms?"
"Technically my parents," she told Christian, eyeing him curiously. "But they're not landlords in that sense. Is something broken in your room?"
"No! No, just ... well. I was thinking, see..." He stopped and fiddled with the spoon in his hand. "So you know I love living here?"
"It's been a few years," said Vivian dryly.
"And you're my best friend, in so many ways."
The shoe dropped. Oh. This was what a breakup sounded like. It began with all the obvious things about being happy and loving the person and then.
So Vivian provided the next word. "But."
She didn't ask it. She just said it. Put it there with the weight that the word deserved. Because 'but' was a big word. It changed direction and meaning of all that preceded it. Which was its point, entirely. The purpose of the word 'but' was that there were facts and reasons to stay. And the reasons not to stay.
Christian's face fell a little. "Yeah." He looked at his hands. "Did Ruby tell you?"
"No. I'm psychic," she said in her most deadpan.
Her friend, one of the few childhood friends she'd made and kept, laughed. True, they were friends because Gail felt guilty about Chris Diaz, and they shared similarly weird trauma in their youth. But.
"You're an asshole," C said, still laughing. "I'm getting my own place. But, uh, I want everyone to feel more comfortable."
Everyone. Meaning men and women. "What's Ruby think?"
He just shrugged. "It's not that, Viv. It's not ... it's not fair to you."
The what? Vivian touched her chest. "Me?"
"Yeah, you... if I didn't... I know now. Y'know? You trust me. Enough to tell me stuff. And I should respect that. Strange people in the house? Of course it's going to freak you the hell out."
"C—"
"No. Viv. You've been a great friend. And ... the only thing you never did for me was hook me up with Matty."
There was a pause, as if they were both picturing that pairing (Vivian knew she was) and then they both laughed. "Oh, god. Matty ... you know, I kinda thought you were actually straight, C."
"Wow, you really have no gaydar," her friend remarked, laughing harder. "If me and Matty are ever single at the same time..."
"You understand I'll take his side, right?"
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
Watching the sun set, Gail sipped the rosé in her hand and felt positively indulgent. Here she was, a successful police inspector, a celebrated detective, a lauded parent, a happy wife, and married to one of the smartest and sexiest people in the universe. And that day she was home, in a house she owned, with her wife, enjoying the end of a day with wine and a roast chicken.
Okay, yes, Gail had made the chicken, but that was hardly the point. No, the point was she had it all. They'd paid off the house ages ago, raised a kid, put her through college, seen her move out, and now. Now.
"I think they'll do better with Christian moving out," said Holly, joining Gail on their back porch.
"And they're not doing good now."
Holly swatted Gail's arm. "I think there's some tension. Vivian is so serious about her job, and Christian being there means they don't really get a lot of ... not cop time."
Swirling her wine for a moment, Gail reflected on the dinner conversation.
Among other things, Vivian had mentioned Christian was planning to move out. It had something to do with his polyamorous relationship with Jamie's former roommate, and her boyfriend. Or possibly just the boyfriend. Gail wasn't entirely clear on the formation of the quadrangle.
But what she did understand was that Christian was moving out and Vivian and Jamie would be in the apartment, alone.
"I'm worried about the times Jamie won't be there," admitted Gail.
Holly leaned into her, resting her head on Gail's shoulder. "Me too, a little. But she's had a few nights alone already here and there." Sipping her wine, Holly added, "We left her alone here for a whole two weeks."
That was true. They'd gone on a two week trip for law enforcement crap to New Zealand. The same trip Gail's parents had been on when she'd been attacked. Not that Vivian had known about it back then, so naturally it was Gail who'd been nervous the whole time.
She sighed and pressed her cheek to Holly's head. "I know. But this is different. Living with your girl, and just your girl, is a huge change."
"Yeah? Was it for you?" Holly sounded amused.
"Yes," she replied bluntly. Gail had never lived on her own. She'd lived with her parents, shacked up with Chris, couch surfed for a while, been kidnapped, moved back home, moved in with Dov, then Dov and Chris, and then Holly. Never once had she actually lived on her own.
Seeming to read Gail's mind, Holly asked, "Didn't you backpack across Europe by yourself?"
Well. Yes. She had. "Not the same thing."
"Why? Did you sleep with handsome men all the way from France to ... where did you end up?"
"Moldavia, and no." Gail rolled her eyes.
Holly snorted. "Moldavia hasn't existed since..."
"1859. And actually it was Montenegro."
Her wife chuckled this time. "Moldavia sounded cooler, though."
"Montenegro is gorgeous. I liked the austereness."
"I can see that." They were silent for a moment. "But you were alone for months, Gail. In foreign lands. Where you didn't speak the language. Which I know, not much of a problem for you. But you did that alone. I think that's more important than moving out of your shared sorority house apartment with Lisa and Rachel and jump right into buying a townhouse."
Gail smiled. "I'm trying to picture you living with Lisa."
"It was a trial. But she paid most of the rent."
"That probably helped you save up for your own place."
"Bit, yeah."
"Was it as bad as the frat house?"
"Oh. Yes." Holly giggled. "It was a shit-hole, because Rachel and I were broke, and insisted we pay half the rent."
"See, I feel like we deprived Vivian of her first shit-hole apartment."
"We also deprived her of arguing parents, cross country moves, and a lot more." Holly finished her wine and put the glass on the railing. "Come here."
With no reason to argue, Gail put her glass down and stepped into Holly's arms. "Are we good parents?"
"I think so." Holly squeezed her close. "We raised a good kid. We are excellent at our careers. We have a house, paid off. Two cars. We've been to Europe multiple times. Face it, Gail. We are the pinnacle of a lesbian success story."
Gail snickered into Holly's shoulder. "No pets, though."
"I didn't say we were perfect." Holly kissed her head. "As good as I will ever get."
"See." Gail leaned back. "That's actually sad. Because I'm not a good person."
"I never wanted a good woman," sassed Holly.
"Good, cause you got a trouble maker."
Her wife rolled her eyes. "Why are you so ... lacking confidence today, baby? That is not your game, and I can talk you up to remind you how fucking awesome you are but... what's really bothering you?"
Gail winced. "So ... remember how I was talking about maybe retiring when you did?"
Letting go of Gail, Holly studied her face. "Yes, I remember."
"How ... how mad will you be if I don't?"
Holly pursed her lips. "Considering in the last 20 months you were held at gunpoint twice—"
"By the same person," interjected Gail.
"Not helping, honey." Holly picked her wine glass up again and toyed with it. "Are you afraid of retiring?"
Damn, the woman always knew. Gail nodded a little. She'd been struggling with it for a few days, months really. Ever since Holly had moved up her plan to retire, Gail had been trying to start her own. And she just couldn't. "I don't know what I am without being a cop, Holly."
Holly looked out onto the lawn, her face thoughtful. She was silent. And Gail waited.
Normally when she waited, it was to coerce someone to fill the silence. Criminals, mostly. Sometimes her daughter, in days gone by. Even the great Elaine Peck would fall to the agony of silence and fill the void with an explanation.
But when she waited with Holly it was different. Like their old use of Parlay to speak their minds without shame or ill judgement, the silence had become something so much more. It was time. It was patience. It was trust. It was its own example of love.
Finally, though, Holly turned to look at Gail. She paused, inhaled, and spoke.
"I don't know either," she said. "But if you're not excited to find that out, then I don't think you should retire just yet."
The brown eyes looked impossibly wise. Like that was the rationale behind why Holly had decided now. That she wanted to see all the things she would be yet.
And Gail looked back on the things she was. A daughter, a fiancé, a runaway, a police officer, a victim, a survivor, a girlfriend, a wife, a mother. And then she looked ahead. She was going to need to not be the Inspector in the Field soon. As in now. She could start with that, as Holly had, reorganizing so she and John were stationed and safe.
Sure, that wouldn't have helped the previous year's drama, but ...
Gail sighed and lightened the mood with a flippant comment.
"How come you're so much cooler than I am?"
Her wife smiled and leaned over to kiss her nose. "Comes with the age, honey." When Gail rolled her eyes, Holly added, "I wouldn't have married you if you weren't at least almost as cool as I am though."
"Oh good, my ego likes that."
"And god help us if your ego feels diminished." Holly laughed. "Come on. No more deep thoughts about the future. Let's go to bed."
It was a small step, but it was one that was easy to take.
Holly was thankful for many things. She was thankful for her mind and abilities. She was thankful for a loving and supportive wife. She was thankful for her caring daughter. And right now she was thankful for her father.
"Four books though," said Brian Stewart, sounding worried. "That's a lot, Holl. And now two more?"
"I know, but I think I can do it."
"And that last one..."
"Just... keep that to yourself, okay? It's a maybe anyway."
Her father made a grumbling noise. "Okay. Let's be real, here. The big book is going to be the one about your headbashers. I think the first should be about the work you did for the Moonies."
"They're humans, Dad," she said, and laughed. The Moon colony was still incredibly young, too.
"Still. You saved his arm."
"It was just a matter of accounting for bone friability. The osteo doc did the most of it."
Her father huffed. "You think that murder sells better."
"I know it does," she said tersely.
Brian was quiet for a moment. "What's bothering you?"
Putting down her pen, Holly looked at the window. She couldn't see Fifteen from her desk. She could barely see it from the couch, unless she turned just right and knew where to look. Which of course she did. So it was impossible to see Gail just then. Especially since her office was facing a different direction. And yet.
"Gail's ... scared."
"About...?"
"Retiring."
"Oh. You or her?"
"Her."
Her father sucked in a thoughtful breath. "So you're avoiding tell her you want to write a fiction book because ... it'll stress her out?"
"No, she'll try to help."
Sarcastically, Brian muttered, "God forbid."
Holly sighed. How could she explain that her wife, while wonderful and wise and intelligent, was absolutely not a creative thinker like that. She enjoyed reading fiction, but Gail never made up stories. Holly had asked about it a few times, like did Gail make up stories to entertain herself on road trips.
No, Gail had been quizzed by her parents. She memorized the route, the roads, the cars. She was trained, from day one.
That was why Gail loved the books. They were an intellectual escape. Reading in a different language, or even in English, taught her critical thinking. It broadened her mind. It let her understand the people she was taught to suspect.
And that was why, more than books, Gail loved to look at art. It fascinated her, a world she herself couldn't envision. People saw a brighter future, a deeper reality, a darker truth. Gail, herself, couldn't imagine any of that, as she told Holly. She was too grounded in reality. So she liked the art that somehow managed to show what she felt, but couldn't begin to possibly express.
Gail was a bit dark, even on her best days.
If Holly asked Gail to help with a book, it would be miles and days of jokes and dark puns. Gail would nitpick the crime as not real enough, or worse. And god, Holly would want to kill her wife. The woman lacked patience when it came to creating or discovering the unknown.
So she wasn't going to tell her wife until the first draft was out. Then Gail would have the distance to understand what it was and be actually helpful.
But she didn't tell her father all of that.
"Dad, I know Gail better than you do, okay?"
Brian, thankfully, made a snort of understanding. "Well. That's true. Okay. Okay. So we're discussing the order." Good. They were back on the same page again.
"I think the first one should be a rehash of my papers," she replied.
"Yes. You have the rights?"
"Of course. Lily's rule one of publishing, right?"
Her father laughed. "Damn right. Keep the rights. Any idea of how to humanize them?"
"You mean put 'em in English?" She grinned, remembering Gail's admonishment about that from decades ago. "Yeah, I already started in on that. Want to hear about it?"
"You know I do, Holls."
She could hear her father smiling, the pride in his voice, as he said it. That Brian was happy. That he was delighted to see the success his daughter had become.
Holly smiled ear to ear, and started to read from her first attempt. "In the autumn of 2004, a young man named Robert Robbins was killed. This death came following sixteen years abuse at the hand of his father. But it wasn't his father who killed him, but in fact a much more sordid and tragic reality."
There were always days that Vivian wanted to undo. To not ever live through in the first place, let alone the nightmares that were sure to come. She had a lot for her life, too. There was the recurring nightmare of life with her biological parents. The one of her biological father's death.
Sometimes she dreamt of Gail being shot. A few times of a man in wingtips, sticking Gail with a syringe. Really, Vivian never should have read that file. Gail had enough trauma for four people, just from one night. Same as Vivian. That was why they were so alike, maybe. They fractured but did not shatter.
Though sometimes Vivian was sure the only reason she remained intact were her mothers. And that meant she worried about them both. Thankfully far less frequent were the times she dreamed of horrors being inflicted on Holly. Maybe her brain just refused to accept that as a possibility. That would be nice. Of course it meant that any time Vivian did have a nightmare concerning Holly, it was a doozy.
More recently, she'd woken up with the mental image of her sister's face and body, dead. That bizarre nightmare drove her to her parents' house when she knew her mothers were out at the opera. A small raid on the office and Vivian was bewildered by the fact that the picture in her head matched the one in the packet Gail had kept. Apparently she had seen her dead sister.
Dr. Copper, her therapist, had been surprised to hear Vivian could remember visuals while lacking the ability to create them herself. That had been a less than fun series of tests and sessions. At least Jamie had found it interesting, and hadn't teased her at all.
But speaking of Jamie, ever since the house falling on her, nightmares about the firefighter had entered Vivian's repertoire. Crushed by falling objects, set on fire, run over. Once there was a weird dream about ninjas attacking Jamie while she was in full kit, though that was probably from the shitty movie they'd seen.
And in all that, never once had Vivian imagined a plane crash being involved.
Certainly not at 9 in the morning.
She and Rich stared at the news. "Mother of god," he muttered.
"That ain't good," she replied.
Nick barrelled up to the front desk. "Peck! You're off desk. Move it, ETF rollout in five."
"Copy that, Collins." She tossed the remote to Rich. "Be safe, Richey."
"Ain't that my line, Viv?"
"Don't call me that," she joked, and hustled to switch from patrol officer Peck to ETF officer Peck.
As she jammed her earpiece in, she caught up on the conversation and felt her breakfast turn to lead. Stations 4 and 17 were on site. Her face must have shown the flash of anxiety, as Mel touched her arm. "It'll be okay," she said. "Those hose monkeys know what they're doing."
"Yeah but we're not there to safe the place." Vivian tugged the last bit of her gear into place.
"Uh, y'know, it's an airplane. Pretty sure it's not a mad bomber," pointed out Mel.
Vivian had to crack a smile. Okay fine, that was a fair point. "True. Not much to safe on it."
In fact, that begged the question of why send ETF at all? The logical answer was there had to be a suspect or a cache or something of that ilk at the scene. Vivian reviewed everything she could think of in the area, but came up empty. There was nothing notable about that part of town.
Beside her, one of the other officers made a flippant comment. "What if the plane went down because of a bomb, though, huh?"
Everyone in the van stared at Ivan.
"Asshole," declared Mel, and she punched his shoulder. Hard. It echoed.
Vivian quirked a smile by reflex. "Who's plane was it?"
"Curtis Mayfair," said Mel. And she looked at Vivian expectantly.
Ever since the art case and the recent Rose fiasco, ETF had sussed out Vivian's relational trajectory to the Armstrongs and, thus, the upper class world. They clearly expected her to know everyone of money in Toronto.
"Never heard of him," she remarked.
"Well you wouldn't," said Sabrina. "He's from Detroit."
Ivan muttered, "Rich people live in Detroit?" Everyone ignored him.
"Oh god," said Mel. "International death?"
"FBI are on their way in." Sabrina confirmed everyone's thought. A cross-border case. No fun at all. "Inspector Stroup from Twenty-Seven is coordinating."
Vivian blinked. Not Gail? Her mother always took point on those cases. And Stroup was okay, but no one to write home about. How weird. Something was going on with Gail and work, and Vivian was clearly going to have to ask about it later.
This was not the time. She took a deep breath for two seconds. She held it for three. She exhaled for two. Seven seconds. Seven times. Her heart rate went down. Probably her blood pressure. Relax.
Before too long, they were on scene. Thirty minutes from rollout. An hour, tops, from plane impact. The building was still being evacuated. A cheap ass high rise. The plane had hit the upper third.
Turning on her HUD, Vivian ignored most of the data flying at her. She filed away keywords, like the low number of survivors and the high possibility of a fire breaking out. And she picked out her assignment, figure out if the sprinklers not running was hardware or software. Beside her every step of the way was Mel, who complained that the only good thing was the fact that the building was made post 2020, so there was nothing likely to be toxic in the materials.
But one hour was a lot of time. It was a lot of stress for a building to be under. Physics was an unrelenting mistress. No matter how much a person wished it would do a thing, wishing didn't change reality. Science was science. So much pressure, so much weight, so much tension.
Similarly, airplanes flew because of science. They needed the energy, the speed, to stay aloft. Fighter jets didn't glide anymore, which made it a little terrifying to think about. Thankfully commercial airplanes absolutely could glide for an incredible amount of time. A Boeing 777 could glide for 210 kilometres, with no engine power at all, and still land safely.
So why did a small, amateur sized plane, crash into a mediocre high rise? And why were the sprinkler off?
Vivian stared at the system, spotting the access port, and jacked in. And she did not like what she got. "Uh, can someone confirm this building is hooked up to the city?"
"Copy that Peck," said someone from the main office. "City water, city electric, city gas."
"What do you see, Peck?" That was Sue. Of course it was.
"Nothing looks wrong from the connection end. Everything's green. Even shows ... hang on." She turned to Mel. "Can you try that blue spigot?"
Her partner flashed a thumbs up and turned the spigot. "I got water."
"Okay, we've got everything going into the control box, but nothing going out," said Vivian. "How much time do I have to check hardware?"
"Building Inspector says you're probably safe, but they want a scan on the base. I'm sending Meachum to do that."
"Copy that, boss," said Vivian and she gestured to Mel. "How good are you at plumbing?"
"I am not going in a sewer," cautioned Mel. "City water is running to the building. Pipe check here is accessible and functional."
"Computer system claims water is running, but hose monkeys say it's dry."
"You call your girl that?"
"Not to her face." Vivian tapped back into the computer. "So either there's a hardware issue where the water's diverted..."
"Or a software bug and its lying to you about access," concluded Mel. "Okay, girl genius. You look at the software for a bug. I'll follow the pipe."
It was far too easy to lose track of time doing work like that. Normally that was okay, since Mel and her team watched her back. Today, though, Vivian was inside the hot zone without a clear time window to know when to get out. Debugging code was not something a person did well under stress.
So Vivian used her brains. What were computers good at? What were humans good at? She accessed the database from the city, where copies of source code from control boxes like this were stored, and started a comparison check. The computer would be good at finding the right system to compare it to, and then any differences between the code bases.
While that ran, she downloaded the access logs and had the computer spit out any logins that didn't match scheduled checks from the city. Finally she took that output and had the police tools backtrack the IP address and paths. Which was not fast. It was a lot of data, since the city ran automated checks weekly. That was a massive amount of data.
Well. That was why there was a computer forensics team. They received copies of Vivian's data and would be running through it with the human eye to inconsistencies and idiosyncratic moments. They'd make sense of it, and if there was code edited by hand, they'd find it.
And that left Vivian to find something that was different. Software. Hardware. Firmware. USB jacking. Dongles that recorded data, like keystroke loggers. If she was going to fix a system to not use the sprinklers, that's what she'd do. Something that didn't sit between the box and the city, but the box and the building.
It couldn't be on the box itself, or the once a quarter physical inspection, required for all buildings that accepted low income families, would have found the hypothetical device. That law was created after Doug Ford was punted from office, as a reaction to the horrific fire in the UK.
She stared at the box, putting the wire and pipe overlay from the architectural drawings on an overlay. God bless her HUD. "Hey, Mel. There's a junction box by you, right?"
"Yeah. Want me to open it?"
"No. Follow the output though, would you?"
Mel didn't ask why, and a moment later whistled. "I got an unknown."
"Eyes on?"
"Who're you talking to?" Mel scoffed and walked along the wall. "Hey, what's this access panel for? It's right below the cable."
Panel. Vivian walked over and put her overlay on the wall. "You mean the one that isn't documented? Yeah." She shook her head and popped it open, breaking the lock fast enough to make Gail proud. It was a down and dirty hole in the wall, with a small blue box clipped onto a wire. Because the asshole had drilled into the cable cover, drawn the wires down, and attached.
"Right, bag and tag and let's get out, Peck," said Mel firmly. "Tran wants us clear."
"That bad?" Vivian looked up. They were in the basement, which was relatively safest.
"Firefighters cleared a lot, but there are families above the break line and they want to get them out."
Time to hustle then, agreed Vivian, and she ran through the disconnection and safe-ing as fast as possible. They exited as the truck and ladder pulled up and Vivian recognized a familiar unit rushing up it.
"Can you tell if that's your girl in all that?"
"Only because she's the shortest." And, as hard as it was, she turned away from her girlfriend's truck running into a fire. That was Jamie's job. She was kind of soul who ran towards danger. At least for now.
That was the change Vivian was seeing with her parents. That was why Stroup was working and not Gail. The running towards danger, the insatiable drive to correct course... Maybe it was satiable after all. Or maybe they'd outgrown the need. Worked out the same way.
"So this is a whole mess of what the fuck," said Sabrina. "Stroup says the plane crash sounded like the pilot had a heart attack."
"Did they get the body out?"
"Not yet. They're working on any families above the line, now that it's as stable as it's getting."
That seemed odd to Vivian, to only tackle the upstairs after almost two hours. But there wasn't much of a fire, and while Vivian had been inside, the fire department had stabilized things a great deal.
"Don't say it," cautioned Vivian.
Mel looked confused. "What? Things are looking like it's gonna be okay."
Everyone winced.
Within ten minutes, there was a fire blowout, sending glass over the surrounding area. Vivian and Mel and the rest of ETF were pushed back behind the safety line. While she worried a little about Jamie, Vivian trusted. She had to.
Besides, she had a lot to do. There was evidence to process, from the plane as well as the building. Why did the plane fly into the building? Shouldn't autopilot have stopped that? Well they needed the black box to know for sure what had happened. Hell of a way to suicide, if it was that. Heart attack plus flailing and hit the emergency controls...
That would be a headache for Stroup and probably Frankie Anderson. Speaking of people who kept running into fires.
Vivian's work was to catalogue everything that came through and identify it properly for the lab to figure out what was what. So by the time the building collapsed, as it was going to, she'd lost complete track of where her girlfriend might be.
It wasn't until they were packing up to leave that she spotted Jamie, across the parking lot, sitting on a gurney. From the distance, Vivian could see Jamie had an oxygen mask on her sooty face, and the EMTs were arguing with her about something. Or Jamie was arguing with them. "Hey, Barrows," she said to the EMT nearest her. "What's going on?"
"Oh, hey Peck. Apparently they pulled some baby out of the building."
Baby? Vivian glanced at the building. There were few survivors, though that made sense given the shitty condition of the building. Low rent, low quality, and full of transient residents. Which was to say, undocumented immigrants. And of course no fucking water running to the sprinklers.
"What's that got to do with McGann being snippy?" Grabbing a baby and running out of a building was par for the course.
"Kid keeps crying. Dunno." He gave Vivian a once over. "You sure you're okay?"
"I was out before she went in," she pointed out.
Barrow grunted an acceptance of the fact and went to his rig, leaving Vivian alone to watch her girlfriend point at another EMT. Mac. Of course. And Shay was there too. Something small was handed to Jamie and they were both loaded into the rig.
How odd.
She watched the last ambulance as it drove off and Vivian pulled her helmet off. The cool breeze was a welcome respite to the waves of heat from the building behind her. The rest of the crew had the fire under control. Those who could be saved were out. The arson experts would handle the rest.
There had been absolutely no need for her, or ETF, to be there at all. But that was how it went sometimes. They'd helped the firemen, they'd worked the debris. Vivian had even found the black box (an orange box) and tagged it before the fire got bad.
"Jesus, that was fucking insane," said Mel, her own helmet tucked under one arm. "You okay?"
"I think so," replied Vivian.
Except for the part when Jamie and a goddamned baby were off to the hospital. And she was still really confused about that. What exactly had happened?
"Yeah? Cause your girl is a goddamned hero."
Vivian struggled for a reply to that. She was saved by her cousin shouting at her.
"Hey, I need your Peck."
"Scoot," said Mel.
She excused herself from Mel and trotted over to Shay Peck, sooty and tired. "What's wrong, ma'am?"
"We need to talk about McGann."
Her blood went cold. Like actually cold. Vivian felt like the world tilted. "I thought she just got a lung full..."
"She did. And you ... You have a problem."
To be concluded.
