GAIL PLUS ONE
AN: I personally don't think Gail struggled with, or had more-than-friendly feelings towards Holly before the wedding in 4x08. This ficlet is basically the opposite of that.
/
Gail stands in front of the mirror for the umpteenth time, appraising her appearance with a roving eye. She runs her hands along the seams of her dress, smoothing out the shimmering, gold material. "Not bad." She nods.
But then she turns side on, and her hands gravitate towards her belly. "Those last two donuts were probably a mistake though." She sucks in her donut baby and holds her breath. Yeah, like this will work. You'll likely pass out if you keep this up for the next few hours, and that won't impress anyone. She blows out the air trapped in her lungs in a rush and her belly pops back out to it's natural form. "Whatever," she says as an overly smiley Traci strolls into the locker room. Great … a cheery person. It's not like I'm going to see any more of those tonight. Gail rolls her eyes.
"Wow! Look at you, you look great!" Traci makes her way over to her locker and Gail can't help but blush at her compliment. Before she can open her mouth to return it, Traci asks, "Who's the lucky guy?
"Trace, it's a wedding. Tradition dictates that you dress up for these things." Good one.
Busying herself with her earring, Gail whirls around intending to address her friend further, but when Traci makes a sudden detour and heads straight for her, she whirls back around.
"Uh-huh, but you are extra sparkly this evening," Traci points out rather smugly as she appears from behind and flitters her fingers over said sparkly material of Gail's arms. "Officer Thomas told me you've been standing here for the past twenty minutes staring at yourself in the mirror."
Stupid Thomas. "It's called makeup, Trace." Gail holds up her makeup bag. So what if it only took five minutes to apply her makeup and the rest of her time was spent wondering why she was so nervous. It just so happened she was looking in the mirror at the same time. "Thomas needs to get her eyes checked, and mind her own business." (Gail mumbled the last part.)
Smirking, Traci moves to Gail's side and hip checks her, almost toppling the blonde sideways. "C'mon, tell me. Who you all sparkly for? Don't tell me your mother actually picked out a guy worthy of a second date?"
Determined to ignore her, Gail regains her footing and sends Traci an incredulous look in the mirror. She shakes her head, unzips her small, clutch purse and pulls out her lip-gloss for what will be the fifth time in the past thirty minutes.
"Did Superintendent Mom set you up again?" Traci asks more pointedly.
As she carefully applies her lip-gloss, Gail decides it's probably best not to look Traci in the eye, because if she does, who knows what secrets will be revealed. Not that she has any. Seriously, it's not a big deal. She chides herself. Why are you making it one?
"Nothing, it's no one."
You're an idiot, truly. It's not like it's a date, far from it in fact. Besides, she's a woman, and you know… a lesbian, which you are neither. Wait, that's not right … you are a women but you're not a lesbian. That's right. Woman, yes. Lesbian, no. Okay, enough already.
Knowing not to push further, Traci just smiles and walks over to her locker. She was in a rush after all. "Well, I look forward to meeting this no one very shortly."
Gail sighs. That's right, the wedding. Where there will be people. Gathering. Talking. Being happy… Gross. She lolls her head back, turns and leans back against the bench, her hands finding their way to the edge for support. "It's Dr. Stewart."
As Traci pilfers through her locker, looking for the something blue she had forgotten to take over to the venue earlier, she wonders where she knows that name from. She runs down her list of acquaintances in her head but comes up trumps. She eventually finds what was been looking for and closes her locker before making her way back over to Gail who, not so subtly, turns around when she sees her coming. "Dr. Stewart?"
"Yeah, she's my date," Gail fumbles. "Wait, no! I mean she's my plus one. I asked her to be my plus one, and she said yes. So, yeah, we're going to meet at the bar. Probably have a drink. Maybe two. Chat." Okay, you're babbling now. Since when do you babble? Is babbling contagious? Holly babbles like it's her favorite hobby. Getting off point again, Peck. Since when do you only have two drinks? You're going to need a dozen drinks to keep you're head on straight. Gail rolls her eyes. Okay, interesting choice of words, brain but you seriously have to stop thinking. Just, shut it the fuck down already.
Traci scratches her head as she replays Gail's words in her head. Then it clicks. "She? You mean, Holly Stewart?"
Gail nods as she blots her lips. See? Not thinking.
"Tall, smart, funny, forensic pathologist," Traci reels off some of Holly's appealing attributes.
Gail nods again, but this time manages to look Traci in the eye.
"Really beautiful in that obvious, I-hate-you kind of way, that Holly Stewart?"
You noticed that too? "We're kinda friends now, sort of-ish," Gail reveals, quietly. Traci smiles at her, warmly. Knowingly. And of course it irks the shit out of her. Gail frowns. "What? I can have friends, Traci!"
"I know, Gail." Traci laughs. She just wished Gail knew she had more friends than she realized. "So how long have you guys kinda been friends sort of-ish?" Traci knows she should stop teasing, but she can't help it when Gail looks so flummoxed.
"About six days," the reply spills out, all too quickly for Gail's liking.
"Not that you've been counting." Traci smirks.
Gail squints at her, "Don't you look at me like that," she points her finger.
Traci holds up her hands. "I'm not looking at you like anything," she says calmly. "You do know she is a lesbian, right? Not that I'm insinuating anything or that it even matters. Just throwing it out there."
"Yes, I am well aware of that fact, Traci, thank you." Gail scoffs. "But it's- it's not like that," Gail adds, barely above a whisper.
Right… Traci studies her friends face and a small smile pulls at the corner of Gail's mouth. But when she sees Gail mentally check herself in the mirror, that smile disappears. Gail likes her, Traci realizes. She's just not sure in what capacity. "I never said it was."
From the look on Gail's face, Traci knows she has taken this far enough. Her best option would be to leave now before Gail self-combusts. Or worse, reapplies her lip-gloss again, because, Jesus, how moist does a girls lips have to be? Unless Gail thinks there will be kissing in her immediate future, Traci muses as she fights back a smirk. She holds up Noelle's something blue and makes her way towards the exit. "I've got to get this to Noelle before she has a chance to freak out about something else."
Gail eyes Traci as she leaves. "I have a date on Friday anyway," she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
Traci pauses inside the doorway. "That's great, Gail," she placates her.
"I know, it is great," Gail lies, all too cheerily. Stop acting like Chloe, she chastizes herself. "And if you're lucky, I will let you pick out my sex clothes."
"I am so looking forward to that." Traci laughs, now ready to make a move. "I'll see you and your plus one soon. And be nice."
"I'm always nice," Gail replies simply and this time it's Traci who gives the incredulous look. "Nice-ish?" Gail tries again, flashing Traci a cheeky grin.
"Just be your charming self, Gail, and you'll be fine." Traci turns on her heel and disappears without another word, leaving Gail alone and free to stare at herself in the mirror some more.
"I can be myself," Gail scoffs. "See?" She waves her hands around like a lunatic, "This is me being myself." She pokes out her tongue and pulls a ridiculous face. My god, what is wrong with you? Before she can answer her brain, she hears a buzzing noise from inside her clutch. She picks its up and pulls out her phone. It's a message from Holly.
Lunchbox: I hope you've been lifting weights, because you might be holding me up all night.
Gail smiles, despite herself, and quickly types out a reply, "Already drunk before the wedding. Nice, Lunchbox. I didn't take you for a pre-party drinker, that's usually my go-to move." Crap, I knew forgot to do something.
As Gail waits for a reply, she packs up her makeup and throws the bag into her locker. She slips on the brown coat she brought with her this morning before returning to her buzzing phone.
Lunchbox: Sadly, no. If I were drunk right now, at least I wouldn't be able to feel my feet. Heels are sexy but I haven't worn any in eight months. Is this what torture feels like?
Gail's fingers take on a mind of their own as they type out words her mind is yet to fully comprehend. "Don't worry, you won't be wearing them long." She taps send before reading it over. It's not long before her cheeks are turning bright red, suddenly aware of how her message must sound. But before she can even smack herself in the forehead, Holly replies.
Lunchbox: Either you are quite confident in your abilities to get me naked, or you plan on us not staying there long.
Christ. "The second one," Gail replies, just as quick, if not quicker than Holly had.
Lunchbox: What a pity ;) I'll see you soon.
Great… Now Holly thinks that I'm an idiot. She grabs her lip-gloss out of her clutch purse and takes the cap off. Unsurprisingly, it has been worn down to a nub after her numerous applications. In her frustration, Gail throws it towards the garbage can, missing it completely. Perfect! Just… perfect! You can't do anything right.
Gail looks at her face in the mirror and takes in her grim expression. Why am I freaking out about this? I bet Holly is calm and cool like always, she ponders, smoothing out her dress for the umpteenth time, and pulling a stray thread loose.
I wonder if Holly is wearing a dress? Is she even the type of lesbian who wears dresses, or does she shy away from them? Gail shakes her head. It doesn't really matter. She would look great in a burlap sack. I bet she is wearing something form fitting, something to show off her amazing legs. Whoa! Gail's eyes widen and she leans in closer to the mirror. No more noticing your friend's legs! You can admire her fashion sense but definitely not how her pants cup her ass. She bangs her head lightly against the glass as the current number one on her shit list, Officer Thomas, enters the locker room.
Knowing next to nothing about the officer, except that she is friends with Chloe, Gail figures it's enough to warrant her wrath. She picks up her purse and is about to open her mouth when…
"You look nice, Officer Peck…" The younger officer smiles, but is stopped short by an icy glare.
"Shut Up, Thomas! It's not a date," Gail protests a bit loudly and past the confused rookie on her way out the door. "It's a plus one."