03.02 - Messy Houses

I should note that Vivian doesn't know about the bomber being Safary yet. She's never really known about it, since it's not her case.


Watching her daughter run an obstacle course was pure entertainment. Holly had sat beside Gail, holding her hand, countless times as Vivian had run her myriad crazy games. She'd watched the girl become a gawky teen and then a surprisingly graceful woman, running up curved walls, across balls, climb cargo nets, and a dozen things Holly was sure would break her neck, or at least her ankle.

Watching her child enjoy life was fulfilling in so many ways. The universe was better, bigger, when it was delighted in, and Vivian's joy was often found in physical, adrenaline junkie, fun.

Holly had not expected to love that part of parenthood.

But just like Holly had not expected to fall in love with a grumpy, acerbic cop, she had indeed gone head over heels for both Gail's smile and Vivian's. There was just something about the way her girls smiled, ear to ear, teeth flashing in the sun.

Gail's unbridled joy was stunning, hitting Holly always in the deepest part of her heart, reminding her of Botticelli and Georgia O'Keefe. The world illuminated itself at Gail's smile, changing shape and color and meaning. Holly's soul felt invigorated and bold and daring in that smile. Anything and everything could happen. But too, she loved the tender smile Gail wore from time to time. That one soothed her heart and told Holly that her wife, after all this time, had eyes for no one else.

In a different way, when Vivian smiled it soothed her worries and doubts of parenting. The soft, almost shy smile Vivian wore at her most honest was like sunshine after the rain. It would creep in like fog, curling around a person, and then suddenly there was warmth where there had been none. Not that Vivian didn't have a grin from her heart as well, but it was so rare that Holly had only caught it on camera once. The academy graduation picture, with Vivian standing between her parents, was the only one in existence with that smile.

So when Holly saw the edges of that smile as her daughter stepped out onto the bomb range, kitted nearly head to toe in the protective gear, she gripped Gail's hand tighter.

"I can't watch," said Gail in a low voice.

"You'll be worse if you don't."

Gail made an annoyed sound and squeezed Holly's hand. "I know it's not real."

It was real enough. Seven other officers, from all the Divisions, were suited up like Vivian. Three were rookies, including Vivian. They'd filed their applications, passed the written tests, and now the original thirty something or another was eight. Eight officers. The last week had been the physical trials, which included a weekend trip to the academy for the extended obstacle course, a van driving exercise, and then a fake building storming. Holly had not watched any of that, though Vivian had sent Gail a video of the van. Apparently their kid drove better than Gail, setting top scores, and yes it pissed Gail off.

But today was the last test. It wasn't a pass/fail, as Holly understood it. In fact, Sue had mentioned she didn't expect anyone to successfully disarm the bomb in the allotted time. And that was the point. The test was to see how they handled the stress and pressure and if they cracked. Holly had asked if the kids knew it was impossible to win and, if so, they could call the test the Kobayashi Maru. Neither Gail nor Sue had found that funny in the slightest.

"Okay, folks, suit up." Sgt. Julian Smith, a tall and muscular man whom Holly had worked with many times, held a clipboard. "I will call your name and a number. Approach the device with the appropriate number. Do not touch the device until I say so, on pain of instant failure. Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The lineup shouted it as one.

It was a little impressive.

"Helmets and googles on."

Holly watched Vivian put on the helmet and goggles. If the girl knew her parents were there, she gave no sign. The names were read off in alphabetical order, Peck falling in the second to last place, and Vivian taking the seventh spot.

"Lucky seven," said Holly, under her breath.

"I'm so telling Celery you said that," Gail said, nearly laughing.

"Shut up." Holly rolled her eyes and squeezed Gail's hand.

Hushing, Gail leaned forward as Sgt. Smith checked each recruit. Then he came back around to the front. "On my mark, you have ninety seconds to disarm your bomb. Should you fail, the bomb will explode. It will be ... Colorful." No one laughed. "On your marks. Get set... Defuse!"

There was not a rush. Everyone was slow and calm and careful. Holly watched her child only, and was pleased to see her hunched so only her eyes could be seen. The goggles were not colored, but Holly could only make out that Vivian was staring at her device intently. Barehanded, as they all were, Vivian carefully took the top off the device and began to do .. well she did something with the wires.

Holly lost track of time, watching the defusing. With steady hands, Vivian snipped a wire, detached another, and unscrewed something or another.

There was a sudden, rather loud, explosion. Series of explosions. They all echoed in a strange, soft way. It reminded Holly of the time Lisa jumped onto a beanbag and had it exploded all over their apartment, sending millions of foam dots all over the place. Weeks and months later, they'd still been picking the damn things out of their hair.

This time it was shiny. Glitter everywhere. All the officers were covered with glitter. The reflective dust settled and Holly smothered a laugh as Vivian's exasperated, eyes closed, expression came into view. She'd had her head hunched down behind the protective collar, and a helmet and goggles covered her face, but as Vivian pulled them off, it was clear that glitter had gotten everywhere.

A camera clicked beside her. Gail, irrepressible as ever, was grinning her widest, most childish, smile.


She felt like melting into the mattress. "Oh my god." The hands on her back were magical. They were taking the twinges and aches away and doing something Vivian hadn't even thought was possible. It wasn't that they were pressing hard, they just found every single painful spot. As the hands stopped, Vivian sighed and then groaned as a hot rock was placed on her lower back.

Celery laughed. "You're far more vocal about this than your mothers."

"That's probably the only time anyone will say that, Aunt Celery." Vivian smiled helplessly, feeling the soothing heat.

"Your aura's more disposed to non-traditional treatment anyway. Half the time Holly's here, I have to convince her to relax. And Gail..." Celery sighed and placed another rock on Vivian's spine.

As much as it might pain her mothers, Vivian was open to the possibility of crystals and chakra and scents as something that might help her. She had slept under one of Celery's dream catchers for years, after all. Believing in magic was different, of course, and Vivian would never go that far. But things with Celery had a way of just being right. She was, like Oliver, special.

When Vivian didn't comment about her mothers' tension, Celery asked. "Is Gail doing alright?"

"Mm hm." Vivian tried not to move too much. "At least I think so."

"It can be hard to tell," said Celery, agreeing. "How does that feel?"

Another hot rock went on the base of her neck and Vivian sighed blissfully. "Best. Birthday present. Ever."

"What have you been doing to get so tense?" Celery picked up one of Vivian's feet and gently pushed into the pressure points.

"ETF tests," said Vivian softly. "Please don't tell Uncle Ollie, he'll worry."

Gail worried. Holly worried. Jamie worried. Jesus, everyone worried. Even Elaine and Lily worried, and frankly Vivian wasn't really sure how the hell Lily had found out anyway. Brian had laughed and told her to kick ass. The odds were that Oliver already knew anyway, but he would just worry. He loved Gail like a daughter and, by logical extension, Vivian was his grandbaby. He'd actually said that more than once. Vivian never minded it.

Oliver was the sweetest person in the world, or at least that Vivian had ever known. Honest, kind, and good. He cared about the world, never cheated on his first wife, never lied, never betrayed anyone. When Vivian met him, he'd been Staff Sgt. Shaw to Gail's mid-rank detective. Before Gail made inspector, Oliver accepted the bump to run all of Fifteen like that, handing over the Staff position to Noelle, who kept Dov as her under-sergeant. Dov swore he didn't mind a long tenure as the lower, second, sergeant.

Inspector Shaw wore terrible suits that first year. Vivian fondly recalled Gail's vocal complaints that he looked like a cheap TV cop. She remembered sitting on the upstairs landing, when she was supposed to be in bed, listening to Gail and Noelle and Oliver go over reports and how Gail would, in her most exasperated tone, shout that Oliver's shitty tie was pissing her off. And Holly would tell them to stop being loud because they'd wake up Vivian, only to have Gail argue that the tie was loud enough to do it on its own.

That was usually when Vivian's giggling would result in Gail letting her sit on the couch with a mug of tea and listen for a little while.

Celery jarred her out of her thoughts. "Oliver was the first to tell me you were going to be a cop. When you were fourteen or so?"

"He was?"

"He used to tell me how you'd sit in Gail's office or his office, doing your homework. Except he was sure you were listening to everything everyone was saying."

Vivian smiled. "Not so much Mom, no. She never let me listen in on serious cases."

"She's your mom. It's her job."

"She did a good job."

"I agree." Celery removed a rock and replaced it. Then she asked, "Would hotter be alright?"

"A little. Yeah." Another rock was replaced and Vivian hissed softly. "Oh that's good." It was a little hot, but she could feel the muscles in her back finally relaxing the rest of the way. "Hey, do you still make those dreamcatchers?"

Celery made an affirmative noise. "Did yours break?"

"No." Vivian chewed her lip. "Jamie asked about it."

"Ah. I can make her one, if you'd like."

"Um. Not exactly what..." She trailed off. Conversations with Celery were private. Here she wasn't worried about the Wiccan telling her mothers about the word she was about to say. "You made the one for me. And the, um, problems I have sleeping?" Vivian stopped.

"And?"

Damn it. Celery. "Does it need to be different if two people are there?"

She could fucking well feel Celery smile as her lower legs were massaged.

"I'll need to meet her first," said the older woman, in that tone that reminded Vivian that Celery knew everything. Always.

Ugh. Vivian sighed. "I'll talk to her."

"Oliver said she's very nice."

Vivian felt her face turn red. "I like her."

"Hmm. Good. You deserve some happiness with that. Exhale, please." Obediently, Vivian exhaled and sighed as Celery gently rolled the rocks off her back. "So is this ETF thing why you've got glitter on you? Or are you and Jamie clubbing?"

Still? Damn it, Vivian had been scrubbing that stupid glitter off for days!


Taking a spot in the back of the room, Gail crossed her arms and tried to look stern. A moment later, Seabourn joined her, mimicking her pose. Then Traci and Zettle came in, also trying to look stern.

"Jesus, Zettle, give up," said Gail, under her breath.

Traci snorted a laugh. "Gail."

"I'm sorry, Trace, but look."

They all looked at Zettle, who was still too young and too green to really look like a badass. "Okay, she has a point," said Seabourn, smiling. "Just ... Try to look like your toddler colored on the walls."

Zettle scowled.

"That'll work." Gail nodded and leaned back against the wall.

They were all standing there, brooding, as the officers started to file in. The rookies took notice of the senior staff. Or at least Christian did, and he quickly turned around and ran back.

"Ten bucks says he's warning yours." Seabourn muttered in a low voice.

"No bet." Gail didn't turn and look, though she heard the familiar cadence of Vivian's footsteps.

Vivian took a seat in the second row, pulled out her log book, at sat very still. Beside her, Christian and Lara were elbowing her and talking about something around her. Probably teasing. The brown head of her daughter didn't look up until Andy came in with Sgt. Julian Smith.

"Alright, everyone, I'm sure you're aware of the shuffle. ETF is moving a ready team into Fifteen. A small squad. Starting today, Sgt. Smith will be our liaison." Andy went on, explaining how the set up would work, how many agents would be posted there, and how the squad split would work. "And, finally, some of you will be assigned to work with the squad, as an onboarding process." She cleared her throat. "Assignments will be on the board."

Gail tilted her head. Interesting. They didn't announce the results. She knew her daughter passed the test, as well as anyone would except, and she knew Sue wanted Vivian. But with eight finalists (five after the bomb range) and three spots, it would be tight. Vivian's youth was likely to keep her and the other rookie finalist out.

Once the officers checked the board and filed out, Gail walked to the front and read the board. Volk and Peck were assigned to liaise with ETF. "Julie, what the hell?"

"Don't call me Julie," said the sergeant. "And don't blame me. Personnel said we can't officially take anyone until next quarter. Something about budget shit."

Gail grimaced. "Well hell. I was all set to lose what's left of my natural hair color."

"Not that anyone would know," said Traci, teasingly. "Come on, Julian. How'd she do?"

The big man sighed. "First reserve. If anyone else flubs their trial, she's in."

"Too young, huh?" Seabourn didn't look happy. "Much as I hate it, we're gonna lose those two to specialist real fast."

"Two?" Julian looked lost.

"Volk." Andy explained it. "She's applied to the D's. Homicide. One of the best exams we've seen in five years."

Zettle beamed. "I get her come spring."

"Well that's when I get Peck. I hope." Julian shrugged. "Being one of our patrol buddies will work, though. Get her, and some of your other guys involved. Make us all a more cohesive unit."

Gail snorted. "You sound like a PR dispatch." She pulled her phone out. "Why didn't we get notified of the delay?"

"Happened this morning," said Andy. "Like five minutes ago. Superintendent is coming by to talk to us about it."

Waving a finger, Gail turned to Andy and spoke firmly. "Fifteen first. Shit like this, McNally, your job is to tell this idiot ASAFP. Can't find him, get me, then go for Traci. We're your rankers, but you cut us out like this, you're fucked."

Andy hung her head. "I don't like any of this."

That had been Andy's ongoing issue with the whole set of changes. She didn't want ETF moving in, she didn't want to give up an officer (or two), and she didn't want to have anything to do with any of it.

Gail felt it was a positively dumb ass windmill to tilt at, but that was McNally's beef.

She sighed. It was her beef too, like it or not.

Traci spoke up. "Are we a team or not, Andy?"

The brunette blinked at her friend. "We. We are."

"Don't sound so sure," said Traci, amused and dry. "Gail's right, Andy. Part of being in charge is using your team." Slinging her arm around Andy's shoulder, Traci gave Gail a slight nod. "Come on, let's get some coffee."

They left, and the three men all stared at Gail. God, men were annoying. She turned to them with her favorite snarl. "What?"

Seabourn held up his hands. "Can Peck... Traci ... Fuck what am I supposed to call her?"

Biting back a smile, Gail replied. "Oliver called her Nash Peck."

"Good fine. Can Nash Peck talk McNally off a ledge?"

"If she can't, no one can." Gail eyed her empty mug. "I'm going back to work. Seabourn, you need to figure out who pulled the rug out on our reorg. And why they didn't give anyone a heads up."

Zeke looked startled. "Me?"

"You. Inspector." Gail canted her head to the side. For the first time, Zeke looked impossibly young. He was only five years younger than Gail, as she recalled. "Zeke."

He nodded, so hard his hair flopped around. "No, no. Yes. Yes, you're right. Um. I should... Ask ... Epstein?" Gail gave him a slight nod. "Right! Epstein!" And he all but ran.

As much as Gail wanted to make a snide remark about the deplorable state of affairs, she was aware that two younger officers stood by her. "That means you go to work too, Dumb and Dumber." Zettle was first to move, having known Gail longer, and Smith followed him.

Then and only then did Gail allow herself a sigh.


The smell of wet fires were not appealing. Wet wool, for some reason, was soothing. The acridity of the fire and the chemicals and the, well, people though. No. Not even after twenty five years in the business. Holly sneezed and sighed.

She wiped her nose and flashed her ID at the cop at the line. "Where's Detective Anderson?"

"Uh... By the firefighters?"

Holly narrowed her eyes at the young man. "You sure about that?"

He fidgeted and then shook his head. "No ma'am."

At least he was honest. Holly sighed and pointed at his shoulder. "Two things. I am Chief Medical Examiner, Dr. Stewart. Use your radio to find out where Anderson is." He hesitated and then reached for his radio.

Throwing her weight around was not something Holly enjoyed doing. Of course Gail reveled in it, but Gail was on a bit of a power trip. Her nagging self doubt kept the detective humble. Holly couldn't claim the same. She knew she was damn good, not just in general. The youngest in her position in the history of Toronto. Even Gail didn't have that claim to fame (she missed out on being the youngest inspector by 8 months, rolling in fifth youngest for a Peck, and settling for being the first female head of OC).

But in a moment where a young officer was being an idiot, of course Holly would lean on her name and her title and put the fear of God in him.

While she waited, a handful of the young firemen started to pass by. Much to her surprise, she knew one by the body type alone. The shortest firefighter of the lot. "Hello, Jamie," she said, starling the sooty firefighter.

Jamie jumped a little and blinked at Holly for a moment. "Oh! Dr. Stewart. Um. Ma'am. Hello."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Holly smiled. "It hasn't been that long, has it?" While Jamie sometimes came over for dinner with Vivian, the last month she'd been working.

"Well. No. No, but we're at work. And, you know Vivian does. So."

"Don't feel the need to mimic anyone. Though if you'd rather, I can certainly call you McGann here."

Jamie sighed. "I think so? This is weird." And she pulled her helmet off.

Now it was Holly's turn to be startled. Jamie's hair was as short as Gail's had been after her little moment of insanity with the scissors. "Oh. That's new."

Self-conscious, Jamie touched her head. "I lost a bet." When Holly, patiently, arched an eyebrow, the mom look, it worked. "How many chili dogs can Kip eat in 30 minutes. I underestimated."

"Oh, those were the days," said Holly, trying not to laugh. "Do me a favor. Wear a hat when you come for dinner and scare the shit out of my wife, would you?"

Jamie looked perplexed. "Sure?" Clearly she wasn't yet up to speed with the shenanigans of Pecks.

"Thank you." Holly glanced past Jamie. "You should get on your truck." Jamie nodded and hustled over to the fire truck, swinging on with an apology to someone there.

"You done scaring the kiddies?" Frankie Anderson sounded close to laughter.

"Oh good, the infant found you." Holly hitched her lunchbox (kit! Gail!) to her shoulder.

Frankie rolled her eyes. "McGann is way too young for you."

"Ew. First of all, married. Also she's dating my daughter."

Gratifyingly, Frankie did a double take. "Your daughter? A fireman? Jesus, does Gail know?"

Now Holly rolled her eyes. "They've been going out since last summer. Jamie spent Christmas with us. You still underestimate her, after all these years."

With a head shake, Frankie shoved her hands in her pockets. "I've seen Gail giving Shay crap for years."

"Well. Her cousin is her personal plaything."

"Chew toy."

"That too," agreed Holly. "Do you have a dead body for me?"

"I do! Right this way." Frankie started off to the back of the house.

To Holly's surprise, they did not go into the house. "The death isn't related to the fire?"

"Oh it is..." The detective opened the gate and let Holly in to the backyard where a damp, burnt, human lay on the grass on their stomach. Quite clearly dead.

"Ah." Holly sighed and shook her head. She could paint a story already. Putting down her kit, Holly pulled on her gloves. "Did the firemen move the body?"

"Afraid so. They had to check if he was dead."

Holly scoffed. "The body was on fire when they found it."

"I'd ask how you knew that," said Frankie under her breath. "His name is Kettler. Gray Kettler." When Holly glanced up, she saw Frankie reading from her notebook. "Go ahead and poke. CSU has been and gone."

With the ease of long practice, Holly set up her equipment. "How did they ID?"

"Driver's license."

"May not be him." She pulled out her scanner. It had an official name, but the day it had shown up in her lab, everyone announced it to be a tricorder, and that was what they called it since. It could scan finger prints, record bloodwork, and perform a handful of basic tasks. She still needed a MassSpec to do the actual work, but for field tests, it did everything the millions of tiny tests had done before. No more blood tests for human, she could even get ABO results.

She thumbed the name (checking spelling with Frankie) into her handheld, which pulled in his driver information. Then she printed his fingers. Some of them. Not all were usable. They'd need some work to become viable. "No prints on record," she told Frankie. Pushing the eyelids back, she photographed the eyes carefully. There weren't a lot of chances to check retinal scans, but just in case, getting them as early as possible mattered. "Eye color matches..."

The detective sighed. "You won't confirm until you can match dentals, will you?"

Her device beeped. "We don't have anything to compare to, Frankie." Holly checked. The blood was human, and she had the typing, but as she'd said, nothing to compare it to. "Why are you in such a rush?"

"Gray Kettler." Frankie said the name like she was sure Holly knew it and was playing dumb.

Holly looked up and frowned. It wasn't the name of an athlete nor a politician. She knew most of the former by interest and the latter by necessity. He wasn't a scientist of renown, or at least not one in her field.

Scientist.

"The CSA ... Oh my god." Holly stared at Frankie. "Assistant Director Kettler? The astronaut?" The detective nodded. "Jesus fuck," said Holly, borrowing one of her wife's more amusing expressions. "Kicking this up to OC?"

Frankie smiled a deliciously evil smile. "Nope. Apparently it's not big enough."

Holly tilted her head and tried to process the smile when combined with the words. The fact that Frankie was now the last member of her graduating class to still be on the force struck Holly all of the sudden. Was this, then, Frankie's grab for rank? No, she was a Detective Sergeant. Next was Inspector, and that came with some serious added responsibility.

No. If Frankie was doing something, it would be ...

"Oh ho ho. Steve offered you a job?"

The detective looked horrified and then crestfallen. "Fucking fuck, how did you do that?"

Holly smirked. "You're incredibly transparent, Frankie. Does Gail know?"

Frankie huffed. "Yes. I talked to her and Steve this morning. I left when she threatened him."

That sounded like Gail. "I'll bet she accused him of poaching, and told him to leave Traci the fuck alone." When Frankie said nothing, Holly laughed and continued her work. Really it wasn't a shock. Frankie was practically her age, after all, and Holly was going to be 60 soon enough.

Sixty.

Huh.

The dead man in front of her, Dr. Kettler, was only forty and some.

Sitting on her haunches, Holly looked up at the house and the back door. The door was smashed in, by the firemen no doubt, and the lawn was a soggy, February mess. The body had not been rolled over, which meant they'd simply checked for a pulse before bursting in and looking for more people and handling the fire.

Holly looked at the feet and frowned.

"Hey, Frankie..."

"Yeah?"

"Come here a second." Holly waited until Frankie walked over. "Look at his feet."

Frankie blinked. "They're dirty. Which... He ran out of the house in his shorts, Doc."

"His heels are dirty," said Holly, correcting the detective. "His heels have caked on dirt." She glanced up as Frankie pantomimed running for a moment. Before the other woman could speak, Holly explained. "Most people tend to be heel strikers, that is we walk heel-toe. The same goes for runners, though studies have been done to show how long distance heel strikers are more likely to experience accidents and injury." Holly mimed the action with one hand. "On the other hand, toe first encourages us to lean forward, so it's more common in sprinting."

"I assume there's a point to all this?"

"If your house was on fire, you'd sprint. Even if he was a dedicated heel striker, his bare toes would still dig into the ground." Holly watched Frankie process this and then lean in again.

"Toes are practically clean," said Frankie, her voice flat.

"Dirt is on the back of the heel and ankle."

They shared a look. "Well shit," muttered Frankie. "Someone dragged him out... Rolled him over onto his front, and left?" She looked at the ground, trampled well and good by the firefighters. Then Frankie studied the building. "Security camera," she said, with a tone of suspicion. "This better not be a murder."

Holly held up her hands. "I'm just here to give you cause of death. You find the meaning."

Frankie rolled her eyes, but the glimmer in them told Holly that maybe, just maybe, the irrepressible Frankie Anderson would miss this part of her job.

Holly would have to suggest that Frankie use the offer as leverage for a pay bump and maybe more cases.


Covering her mouth, Vivian lost at holding back a yawn.

"Late night?" Her buddy Duane poked her shoulder.

"You're just real boring."

Truth was it had been a late night, chatting with Jamie on the phone. A lot of nights were spent like that, much to Vivian's annoyance. Then again, it had helped keep their relationship going for longer than any other one she'd had, so maybe this was the right way to do things. When Vivian had mentioned it to Holly, her mother had admitted that those early days with Gail had mostly been spent despairing over Gail's heterosexuality.

They were moving slowly. That suited Vivian more than she'd realized. She hadn't known that she liked the talking and the hanging out without sex. Of course Vivian liked the sex, it was great. But so was sitting on the couch watching a movie, or reading the news while Jamie read a book.

Maybe it was because they didn't cuddle. Everyone else had wanted to be all up in Vivian's personal space, and Jamie was totally okay with not. Sometimes, at night, Vivian would wake up with Jamie curled up against her, but come full morning they'd always drift apart. It was the opposite of her parents. Vivian had watched them fall asleep, always touching, she'd seen them drifted apart in the middle of the night when a bedroom door had been left over, only a stray hand or foot checking on the other. And every morning she'd crept home late, the door left open on purpose, Vivian saw them together.

She did kind of want that. But whatever she was with Jamie, she liked it. And if that meant staying up talking and texting, then she was fine with that too.

None of which was Duane's business.

And right now, being support for ETF was boring.

"Hey, I was promised Fifteen was a hotbed of homicide!" Duane huffed.

"I didn't know 'Emergency' meant 'Homicide,' Duane." Vivian smirked at him. "It's February. Usually this is suicide month, so fuck off."

Her friend sighed. "True. True." He leaned back and propped his feet up. "I can't believe they had the fucking exams and then said 'maybe later.' That's such bullshit."

"Probably money." Vivian was pissed about that as well, especially when she'd used a little Peck Power to wheedle her scores from a cousin who was in ops. Seeing her own name at the top (second place overall!) for scores but listed as 'first alternate' was infuriating. Having everyone's transfer be put on hold made it a little more tolerable. But for fuck's sake, why'd they had everyone do all that shit without a pay off?

"Maybe it's the low turn out? Did you see the news about the last graduating class? Record lows."

That too. Vivian sighed. "We need to recruit. Go pose with your shirt off."

Duane snorted. "You first."

Before Vivian could harass him back, Andy's annoyed voice cut into their conversation. "Peck! Where's your partner?"

"Filing her notes from the Harrington robbery, ma'am."

"Go get her. I need you to check out a break in at a storage facility. Check your app."

Vivian arched her eyebrows and glanced at Duane and the other ETF agents. "Yes, ma'am," she replied, and got up, but Andy was already gone. "Duane... You'd tell me if you had an affair with my sarge, right?"

"Fuck, I was going to ask you..."

"Nuh uh. I mean, I know Lt. Tran and Sgt— Inspector Epstein went out, a billion years ago, but that was like when they were my age." She got up and picked up her coffee.

"Oh yeah, that's the other thing they warned us. Everyone sleeps with coworkers at Fifteen."

Vivian just smiled, not confirming anything, and headed out. For some reason, McNally hated the idea of ETF in the building, and while she hadn't actually done anything to block them, she hadn't been friendly about any of it. And for Girl Guide Andy McNally, the perfect, honest, good girl, it was just weird.

When pressed, her mothers had been just as in the dark. Well. Holly was. Gail probably knew something. Gail also would keep McNally's secrets, as they were friends. Even Gail admitted to that these days. Holly didn't even need to twist her arm that much.

"Volk, wrap it up. Sarge wants us to check out some storage facility."

Lara looked up. "Aren't we on ETF watch?"

"McNally trumps. We're short handed." Vivian went to the locker room to get her vest, jacket and a hat. It was still too cold out there to want to be bareheaded. She shoved gloves in her pocket and went to switch her phone on silent when she was reminded of something her mother did.

Headed out on patrol.

She pressed send and exhaled. Why did that feel so monumental? She was just telling her girlfriend she was headed out. That was normal.

Or was it weird. Ugh. Vivian put her phone away and went to get the car. She'd just adjusted the seat for her legs when Lara hopped in.

"You're brooding. What's wrong? Trouble in lesbian paradise?"

"We're not talking about this," said Vivian, warningly, and she tapped up the address up on the computer. "At least it's climate controlled," she added, reading the address and recognizing it.

"What? Oh, the storage..." Lara make a clucking noise. "You're deflecting."

"Remind me why you think this is appropriate?" Vivian started the car and pulled out.

Her partner laughed. "Because. I have had movie night with you and your roomie and your girl. This crosses the line of work and friendship and grants me the privilege to pry."

"I take back everything nice I ever said about you."

"Girl talk, Peck!"

Vivian grunted. "No way. I'm not twirling my hair around my finger and asking if what's his ass kisses."

"I dumped him."

"What?" Vivian snapped her head around to look. "The bartender? Since when?"

"Since the sex got boring. He's cute and all, but it wasn't going anywhere. Not that I want to." Lara shrugged. "I'm too young to settle down."

"You're my age," Vivian said, scoldingly.

"So you're thinking of moving in with fire girl!"

Jesus. Vivian rolled her eyes. "No I'm not! And stop calling her that."

She hadn't been at least. And now she was. Damn it.

"I thought lesbians moved in after two dates."

"We don't. I don't. Moms didn't... Not the point. You're old enough to ... Y'know, be serious."

Cannily, Lara asked, "And are you?"

Damn it. "I need stupider friends."

Lara laughed, clearly delighted. "You don't talk about her, that's all."

"Well... I am serious about her. But the only person who needs to know that is Jamie."

"Does she?"

Vivian paused for a moment. "Yes." Did she? That was an odd thought.

And damn it all, Lara knew her well enough to read that pause. "You should tell her you're serious about her."

"Just because our seniors are known for screwing around with personal and private and work, doesn't mean we have to." She tried to pitch her voice like Gail, a little snippy and snide and caustic.

It didn't work. "Wait, there's more than everyone meeting their partners at work?"

Oh god, there was so, so much more. There was Andy and Sam, everywhere. Gail and Holly in interrogation. Dov and Chloe at the Penny (arguably she wasn't supposed to know about that, but Chloe had mentioned in passing that sex in public was gross). Gail and Chris in 1504. Come to think of it, Gail and Nick in evidence...

Her mom was a kind of horny bastard.

Though the interrogation rooms were partly Holly's fault.

None of that was information for Lara just yet. And if it ever was, it was someone else's story to tell.

"Lots more. Always is."

Lara made a noise. "Is Duane single?"

They pulled up at a red light. Slowly, Vivian turned to look at Lara. "This is how it starts," she said grimly. "First you date a fellow cop, then in twenty years the rookies laugh at you."

"Fact check, Peck. Your girl hit on you at an arson."

"Fact check, Volk. My grandparents met over an arrest, arguing who got the collar."

Lara burst out laughing. "Seriously? Who won?"

"Elaine. She sniped the collar. Bill got so pissed off, he transferred to Fifteen to make her life hell."

"When you put it that way, it sounds like a TV show."

Vivian smiled. "Remember to wave at the camera." She pulled into the parking lot and stretched as she got out of the car. "Alright. Let's go check out this break in."

The owner was waiting for them. After checking at he hadn't gone in and he had tried to call the renter, but the number was disconnected. Lara called that in, getting a quick response that it had never been a real number. The owner was astounded, since he'd received calls from it. Vivian had to explain how one could fake numbers when calling out, and that it wasn't that hard. But finally they went down to the unit, leaving the owner in his office.

"Where did you learn all that with phones? Is that a Peck thing?"

"Nah, college." Vivian counted the units as they walked down the hall. "I studied engineering and criminalistics. The phone systems was part of a computer elective in ethical hacking." She paused at the crossways and turned left. "Which is a fancy name for leaning how to break things. It's weirdly gotten easier to make fake phone numbers since we switched to the automated system. No one knows how many numbers we have or what's real anymore. So you can grab numbers that can't exist, and no one really notices."

Lara huffed. "It's creepy when you do that. The whole, surprise genius shit."

"Sorry?"

"Engineering? Really?"

Vivian grinned. "Really."

"So that's why you're all hip on ETF."

"I like things that go boom." She stopped at the door. The broken door. "Well that ain't obvious or nothing."

Lara put a hand on her gun and pulled out her flashlight. "Wow. Tossed by a moron." Looking over Lara's shoulder, Vivian snorted. "Looks clear... I'll check the boxes."

They very carefully checked the room for perps. At least they were supposed to. Vivian found herself noting the equipment in the room. She frowned as her brain filed things into order. It wasn't Peck work, it wasn't from Elaine's weird hobbies or Gail's fun ones. It wasn't Holly. This was from the book Vivian had read on nights at the academy when she couldn't sleep. "Volk, we clear?"

"Yeah. All clear. What the hell is this stuff?"

"Not sure..." She carefully pulled gloves on and then popped a lid.

"Organized son of a bitch." Lara frowned. "Wires."

It clicked. "No way..." Vivian walked across the room and popped another lid. Motherboards. "That's a workbench... Someone makes mini computers," she explained, over simplifying.

"For ... What?"

Swallowing, Vivian reached for her radio. "For bombs."


There was a word Gail hated well and above all others.

Terrorism.

In the two decades she'd been a detective, Gail had worked countless cases with counter terrorism organizations. She'd gone undercover to save the then Prince of Wales. She'd investigated a flag replacement by anarchists. She'd stopped am anthrax threat.

But getting a phone call from Pedro Nuñez that terrorism supplies were found by Peck and Volk in a storage unit, well... Gail felt her heart either stop or it started pounding too fast to be registered. Thankfully she was sitting down.

"Say again, Pedro?"

"It looks empty. I mean of people and traps. I've got counter sweeping for bugs, but Peck cleared the place for traps and cameras. Did you know you can use a laser pointer for that?"

Closing her eyes, Gail nodded to help calm herself. "I did. You can use them to disable cameras... Doesn't help to find them."

"Oh, she used her goddamn phone for that. Set a signal pulse and waved it around. Showed me the two she found." Pedro huffed. "And the wifi sniffer. She knows her shit."

"Pedro. Stop telling me how my daughter is awesome. She's a lesbian and seeing someone."

Her detective hesitated. "Sarge said it ... Um. He said to make sure you knew the rookies were safe."

She might kill John. "And how is Constable Volk?"

"Nervous."

Now she laughed, because Pedro sounded nervous too. "Well shit, Pedro. Remember your first bomb case?"

"God, yes."

"There you go. This ain't your first rodeo, Detective Nuñez. I picked you for a reason. Now. Why terrorists?"

"The level of organization is insane," he explained. "Hundreds of boxes, sorted and labeled with a fucking label maker. Wires separate from filling and cases. There's only trace amounts of actual explosives, too, so this crew clearly know what they're doing."

Gail huffed. That sure sounded terrorist when he put it that way. "Do you need me?"

"No, I think I'm okay. But you said to alert you ASAFP if there was anything like this."

"Solid. Keep me in the loop." Gail hung up and eyed her phone. Then she tapped her computer and pulled up the dispatch report. Fifteen had found it, so Sue had sent her Fifteen ETF squad out to handle it. Jules was good. He wouldn't let people get in over their heads.

Gail just had to trust. And she was bad at that.

The knock at the door jarred her. "Hey, you look busy," said Dov, in his starched white shirt and hat.

"And you look way too official, boy wonder."

Dov smiled and closed the door as he came in. "Anything I should know about?"

"Eh, possible terrorist depot in a storage facility. There was a break in, so the rooks went to check it out and found bomb making supplies."

"By rooks you mean your kid? Jesus she's got Elaine's luck." Dov looked up and over Gail's shoulder at the photo of Elaine on the wall. "Why does the photo of your mom have a pencil in her eye?"

"Stress relief." She stretched. "Anything I should know about?"

Dov looked suddenly grim. "I got an answer on what the fuck happened with the reorg. You won't like it."

Gail arched her eyebrows. She glanced at the closed door. "Are we being sued?"

"We are suing."

What the what? "We? The force?"

Dov nodded. "I have a video that ..." He pulled his tablet out of his shoulder bag and tapped on it. "How do I use your wall?"

"AirPlay. Look for Champion of The Universe." A moment later, her phone pinged and Gail tapped to approve new access. Then a video appeared on the wall of a set of dummies, all wearing a thick jacket.

"This is our standard issue Mark IV vests," said Dov. A man with a handgun stepped up into frame. "That's Enrico from SIU."

"I know him."

"Right. He did this..." Dov went silent and the audio kicked in.

"This is SIU test fourteen on the Mark IV vests from GoShield. From left to right we have a new vest, a three year old vest, and a five year old vest. Toronto initially purchased these-"

Gail coughed. "Dov, skip the exposition. I know when we switched to these vests." She'd only gotten her own two years ago.

"Just watch, Gail."

"— Initial field reports of vest failure were attributed to ill fitting or misuse. This was until eight months ago, when Officer Fields was shot and killed by a nine millimeter." Enrico put on his ear protection and spoke louder. "Fields and his partner, Pritchard, were wearing the new vests. Pritchard's was new." And Enrico shot the vest on the far left, hitting center mass. "Fields' was five years old." He shot the vest on the far right, a similarly perfect shot. Red colored goo oozed down.

"Holy fuck," said Gail. Her kid was out there in one of those.

"It gets worse." Dov sounded horrible.

The video Enrico went on. "In our independent experiments, we determined the average useful age of the GoShield vests is eighteen to thirty months, depending on use." He shot one of the two middle vests, then the other. No goo. "The second vest has never been worn. The third..." He paused, cleared the gun and the range, and then walked down, opening the vest and showing the material had cracked and dug into the dummy skin. Now it bled.

Gail felt sick. If Vivian's vest had been a little older, she'd have died. "We're out there wearing this shit!? Dov, all our rooks have these!"

"I know," said her friend. "Hence the lawsuit. But we had to go out and buy new vests, stat."

"No shit." Everything aligned itself in her head just then. The money, the secrecy... They couldn't let this get out before they had everything replaced. Some idiots would take advantage of it. "Andy know?"

"I'm about to tell her. Mind coming with me? She might scream."

Gail nodded and got up. "Honestly, I wouldn't blame her. Do we have the new vests?"

"We do. The shipment will be here on Friday. But I didn't tell you the best part?"

Looking at her former roommate, Gail knew there could only be one answer. He was in Internal Affairs, after all. "Who was bribed?"

Dov smirked. "We're about to have a new Deputy Chief."

"See, they should have offered Steve the gig." Gail shook her head and turned off her video.

As they walked down the stairs, joking darkly about things, her phone pinged with a photo from Pedro.

A word, painted on the back wall of a room. A word that told her she wasn't going to have to worry about terrorists.

Safary.

Shit.


When Gail hung out in her lab or office, waiting on results, it was endearing. There was something about spending quiet, thoughtful, work time with Gail. She belonged in every aspect of policing, and it showed. When Frankie did it, Holly considered places to stash the body. The woman paced, she picked up things and cast them back down, noisily, and she was distracting.

"You know I actually have work," she told the detective. The incipient headache was starting to win.

"Yeah, I know."

Holly sighed. "That's a hint, Anderson. Go away."

Frankie looked up from where she was reading her tablet on Holly's office couch. Her feet were on the goddamn couch. "You're working on my case."

"That doesn't mean I want you hanging around."

"You'll have information for me, one way or the other. Why head back to ThirtyFour just to turn around and come back?"

"You don't have to come back."

Frankie shrugged and got up. "I'll go sit in the waiting room."

"And annoy my assistant?" Holly liked Ruth too much for that.

Spreading her hands out, Frankie sighed. "You're going to have the results on the tox screen literally any minute now. We already know he died inside the house but before the fire started, and that his body was dragged out. I'm saving everyone time."

There was something else going on. Holly narrowed her eyes. "You do know that Mac never shows up here, right?"

To her surprise, the sassy and swaggery detective looked flustered. "What?"

A lightbulb went off. Was this how Gail felt when she deduced something? "Oh my god, did you get in a fight and are hiding here to avoid her? You're an absolute shit, Frankie!"

"We did not have a fight!"

Holly rolled her eyes. "Do I need to call Gail?"

"Jesus! You've been living with Peck too long."

"Go call Mac and ask her out for dinner or something. Leave me alone for forty-five minutes, or I shove every request you have from now until I have grandchildren to the end of the queue."

Frankie huffed but sheepishly dug her phone out as she left the office. Sometimes the woman was impossible. Holly firmly closed the door behind Frankie and sat back down to re-read her own autopsy notes. Years ago she'd had a habit of telling people her theories as they came to mind. The more experiences she had, the more Holly liked to think about them and process. Not that she was often terribly wrong, but some detectives (Frankie, Swarek, and Zettle) jumped to conclusions. Others (Gail, John, Traci, and most of Major Crimes) waited and listened and processed with her. Sadly, the majority of people were jumpers.

Reading the report on Gray Kettler, Holly mulled over the evidence. It was true, they knew a lot, but Holly had yet to conclusively identify cause of death. And she didn't want to assume that the tox screen would be all that useful. All she was doing was miring herself in the weeds more and more. Smoke inhalation was minimal, but enough to cause death provided he'd slept through the fire. Physical evidence told her he'd been dragged, which begged the question of how he'd slept that long. No prescriptions, no drugs, no bottles of booze in the house, so the odds were against that.

It was time to think sideways. She tapped open her web browser and pulled up Kettler's latest papers. He'd worked with the space program since college, a huge nerd that loved the future. The mission to Mars had been his personal holy grail. Sending the solar powered generator so they could boost the signals from the new rovers? Fucking genius. And then! He was the lead on the fuel project.

Or not.

"What the what?" Holly scowled and re-read the intro to the paper. Who the hell was Marshall West?

Using her premium account, Holly logged into her favorite science resource and pulled up the records of the man who was leading the project. He didn't have a doctorate but he was heading up the greener green fuel initiative as of four weeks ago. Except West had a complaint lodged against him by none other than Kettler.

Oh ho ho.

Could it really be that obvious? Holly read through the paper by West. It rang of everything she remembered from Kettler, though it had been a while. Even with a technical paper, the feel of a writer came through. It wasn't impossible to find the style of one person when enough of their papers had been read.

Halfway through the green fuel paper, Holly was stuck by a memory. She frowned and hunted through the archives for Kettler's paper from before the last test run of maned flight to the moon. That paper had been crowed from the rooftops by everyone in science. Hell, Vivian had read it and made Gail watch the tests (which wasn't hard, there were explosions). Everyone watched and Holly had thought it was a sign that her daughter would follow her into science.

But reading? Well. Not everyone read every paper like Holly did. She spent most of her free time writing papers for publications, not because it was required, but because she honestly enjoyed writing. To be able to explain the way her mind worked, the unraveling of puzzles, the leaps of logic, were fun for Holly. Beyond fun. It was joy.

And as she'd been told as a child, Holly read to be a better writer. Which meant she had read an enormous amount of technical papers, about everything under the sun. This reading meant Holly was very good about picking out inconsistencies. She was damned excellent at finding them in research papers and had even rejected an applicant for theft of concepts.

She quickly determined that West tended to use cliched turns of phrases. And like Kettler loved malapropisms. Neither really had a place in a technical report, but everyone did it. It made the dry and dull a little less dull and dry. Some anecdotes (usually about her family) tended to work their way into Holly's papers, after all.

That uniqueness of creation was what gave West away. His words were not his words. And, on a spot check of his other work, Holly was certain he'd stolen Kettler's science.

She downloaded the files and attached them to her report, typing up a quick summary for Frankie. By the time the tox results came in, Holly had a working theory and a very confused detective.

"I do not speak nerd, Stewart," complained Frankie as she came back in. "What does paper theft have to do with any of this?"

Holly grinned. "Intellectual property theft. Kettler filed a stay on one of West's latest papers, the one that got West promoted to head of the project Kettler dreamed up, saying he, West, had stolen it."

"People steal papers?"

That was right. Frankie hadn't done that in college, such as it was. "You never bought a term paper in high school?" At Frankie's snort, Holly grinned more. "Stealing people's work is huge. I've had a paper ripped off before. People do it to get ahead. Plagiarism."

Frankie grunted. "I suppose. Never had that be a motive. I'd expect it to go the other way. Kettler killing West." She shrugged. "It's theory, though. Can't prove it."

"Can." Holly pulled up the tox screen. "West also filed his original work, the first version of his supposedly greener green fuel and it wasn't any good. Not efficient enough. But in his paper, he had the chemical breakdown."

"So?"

"He provided the . results, Anderson."

It took a moment, but Frankie looked enlightened. "And you can compare that to the results you got off fuel that started the fire?"

"Can and did. Gotcha a match. It's also on Kettler's shirt, under the arms."

"Where someone who had the fuel on his hands might grab a man." Frankie laughed.

"And you can prove the plagiarism too. I'll bet lunch that Kettler has a plagiarism checker software downloaded onto his computer, and he checked the files too."

Frankie shook her head. "No bet." She tapped into her phone, ordering up something. "I'll get my guys to figure that out... Well hell, Stewart, your nerd brain solved my case."

"It usually does," replied Holly. "Now. About Mac."


Never before could Vivian remember being so scared. "They won't like me," she muttered to Jamie as they walked up to the door of the apartment complex.

"Hush. Your moms liked me."

"You took care of me after I got shot. You could kill someone, and I'm pretty sure Holly would tell Gail to shut up and help you hide a body."

Jamie smiled and squeezed her hand. "You are insanely close to your moms and I don't think I was as nervous as you are. I barely talk with my parents by comparison. Worst case, we talk less." Jamie tapped a code in and the door unlocked. "Second floor."

Ugh. That was more reason not to fuck things up, to Vivian's mind. "At least I know you didn't move out because of them." It had been Ruby who had explained that. One afternoon, while picking up Jamie for a date, Ruby grabbed her and said that since Vivian was sticking around, she needed to know.

The story wasn't too weird. Ruby's mother had been arrested for drugs, her father was a non entity. Her options were the system or emancipation. Since Jamie's parents would never be seen as suitable in loco parentis, no matter how much they liked Ruby, they arranged for Jamie to live in a relatively crappy apartment with Ruby. There was probably more to the story, but Vivian wasn't about to push. Hello pot and kettle.

"See? It's all good. Come on."

"Remind me how many girls you've brought home for dinner?"

"Oh, about as many as you." Jamie grinned and rang the doorbell on the apartment.

A moment later, the door opened. "Jamie!" A woman somewhat taller than Jamie was delighted and hugged the firefighter tight and kissed her cheek. "Look at the hair. It's much cuter in person."

Jamie shook her head. "It's growing on me."

Her mother laughed. "That was terrible."

"Thank you," muttered Vivian, who had heard the joke a dozen times already.

Mother and daughter turned to look at her. "Well?"

"Oh! Jesus. Momma, this is Vivian Peck. My girlfriend. Vivian, this is Angela McGann. My mom."

Angela kept an arm around Jamie, smiling. She had a good smile, a smile that asked to be trusted. And yet Vivian felt a niggling of doubt, like the smile was a mask. She studied Angela's face. The aspects of Jamie that Vivian found striking were there in Angela. Cheekbones, the nose, and stunning green eyes. While Jamie's features hinted at a First People's heritage mixed with something darker, Angela's shouted it from the rooftop.

"Hello, Vivian." Angela extended her free hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. McGann." Vivian took the hand and smiled, she hoped sincerely. It was probably more awkward.

"Please, Angela. Don't tell me you're going to sir and ma'am us."

Jamie laughed. "She won't, Momma." There was a comfortable ease Jamie had with her mom, and Vivian was momentarily jealous. She had an ease with her mothers, but it felt different. "Come on, Viv." And Jamie oozed out of her mother's embrace to take Vivian's hand and lead her inside. "Where's Pops?"

"Chained to the stove, where else?" Angela smiled. "It was really nice of you to come all this way on a weekday, Vivian."

"I only have a half day tomorrow. Some court stuff. Jamie's the one with the insane schedule."

Angela laughed brightly. "Doesn't she, though? She never comes out for dinner. How do you two manage dates?"

"With difficulty," said Jamie, and she sighed. Jamie was the exact same person with her parents as she was out in the rest of the world. Was that more normal? Probably. "And tomorrow we're having dinner at Viv's moms' place."

"Oh? Well it's closer, I suppose."

There was a pause and Angela eyed Vivian. "Fifteen minutes in bad traffic. But it's the third Thursday. We always have dinner then, since I moved out. And, um, family Sundays once in a while."

Innocent, Angela asked, "Do you have a large family?"

No. And yes. And in that instant, Vivian knew her girlfriend hadn't explained anything. "In a manner of speaking," said Vivian slowly. "I'm adopted."

"Oh!" And Angela smacked Jamie's shoulder. "You shit." Her tone changed. Maybe it was supposed to be teasing, but it didn't sound like a joke.

"Ow! Momma, come on, I can't tell you her personal stuff!"

Vivian chewed her lower lip. She wanted to tell Jamie that she could. She wanted to tell Jamie to please never tell anyone. But there was also something that tingled her Peck Spider Senses. There was a weird way Jamie had tensed when Angela smacked her arm, a way she looked worried about being called a shit. Even though they hugged right after and were comfortable and easy with each other.

Clearing her throat, Vivian explained. "Gail has a brother. They both have a lot of cousins, but most of Holly's are in Vancouver."

"And all the Pecks are cops," said a male voice.

Looking over, Vivian had to tilt her head up, which was weird. Jason McGann. A former middleweight boxer, junior champion and rising star. And currently a florist wearing an apron that said 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish.' Sure. He was as Irish as Morgan Freeman in that movie. He was simultaneously daunting and amusing, with a broad smile, broad nose, and the eyes. Oh. Those were Jamie's. Vivian essayed a smile at him, fighting down her inclination to simply not talk to strange men. It had been a long time since her old doubt and fear of men she didn't know cropped up, but there it was. Vivian cleared her throat. "Mr. McGann— sorry. Jason."

The man smiled, a little awkwardly, and extended a hand. "Vivian. Nice to finally meet you. Was Jamie deflecting or are your schedules really that weird?"

"Uh," and Vivian faltered.

"Both," said Angela and Jason as one.

Jamie groaned. "This is why I don't mind you guys live a million miles away."

"Ninety minutes is not a million miles." Jason ruffled his daughter's hair. "Adopted, huh. Well that explains why you don't look like my old PO. I swear, the photos of his kids, you'd think Pecks never stepped into the sun. Did you know him? Bill? Cantankerous asshole, but he kept me out of jail twice."

She was going to kill Jamie later. Or maybe Gail. "I never met him, but he, ah, is my mom's father." Jason froze. "He stopped talking to Mom when she moved in with Holly. Turned out Bill was racist and homophobic."

The man looked thoughtful. "Well. That explains why he was always such a jerk to you, hon," said Jason to his wife.

"Jason." Angela scowled. Her voice hit the same odd note it had when calling Jamie a shit. That was twice, and Vivian caught it this time. It was like when Gail insulted people for fun, only instead of being for fun, Angela had a simmering of actual anger down there.

Jason seemed to be used to it. "What? He was alright whenever it was just me, but any time Angie was there, he got all judgmental. Like maybe I deserved this."

"That's her grandfather, Jason!" This time, Angela actually was mad at him. There was no way to mistake that.

Throwing them a bone, and hoping to defuse the situation, Vivian spoke. "Oh, don't mince words on my account. I never met him. His choice." She shrugged.

"Gail's probably said worse," said Jamie, knowingly. Relieved. Jamie was used to the mood changes.

"Steve has." Vivian explained, keeping her voice at an even keel. "My uncle, Gail's brother, married a black woman. I believe Bill said it was good they weren't having kids."

Her mother pursed her lips. "You spend a lot of time with her parents."

"Momma, they live on the same side of town." Jamie gave Vivian a suffering look. "And come on, Mississauga?"

The bantering was, at least, familiar. She felt the hand in hers squeeze and a bit of relief ran through her. Vivian wasn't alone. Jamie was right there. And she could do this for her girlfriend.


Aching, deliciously, in the best possible way, Gail stopped trying to pull Holly closer and started to unbutton her shirt. Her wife laughed softly, lips grazing Gail's neck. "Really?"

"You started it." Gail growled and got the shirt open. Much better.

Holly laughed again and kissed her, long and slow and languidly. They had all the time in the world. "I was watching the game," said the doctor, softly. But she pushed herself up and, straddling one of Gail's thighs, took her own shirt off and dropped it beside the couch.

"Fuck the game." With a deep sigh, Gail reached to run her hands up Holly's stomach to her bra. "Come back down here."

With a wide, sultry smile, Holly leaned back down, bracing her hands on either side of Gail's head. She held herself just far enough up that Gail couldn't kiss her. "You're incorrigible."

"Because I'm in love with you?"

"Hm. You're fifty and all you want is to screw on the couch."

Gail shifted, running her hands up Holly's back to finger her bra strap. "I wanted to make out on the couch. You're the one who..." She glanced down at how their legs were entangled. "So you're almost sixty and want to screw on the couch."

Holly huffed and sat up again. "No."

What!? Gail froze. "No?"

"No. I don't want to screw on the couch."

Arching her eyebrows, Gail frowned. "So the shirt is just to give me blue balls?"

Holly huffed. "I want to make love to you on the couch. I want to take my time and make you beg," she said, almost matter-of-factly.

It took Gail's brain a moment to catch up. "I don't beg," she said, indignantly. Holly just arched an eyebrow. "Seldom." Gail rolled her eyes. "Oh fine, you."

Smiling, incredibly smugly, Holly tugged at the hem of Gail's shirt. "Good. Now get this off."

Not long enough later, when Holly was indeed making Gail beg, the sound of the garage door arrested what her wife was doing. "God, don't stop," pleaded Gail.

"Why is..." Holly looked up at the door to the garage. Damn it!

A voice from the garage was too familiar. She'd only moved out last year, after all. "Just go in, I'll grab the food."

Food. Gail paused her efforts to try and steer Holly back to the task at hand. Why was Vivian... Oh. Shit. That was right. Vivian had offered to cook at their place. "Fuck, it's Thursday," said Gail, watching her orgasm dream postpone itself.

"Shit!" Holly scrambled to extract herself from her position, but it was too late.

The door opened and they saw a short woman freeze, like a dear in headlights. The door closed right away. "Uh, Viv..."

"Jesus, McGann, go pee! My moms don't care." Whatever Jamie's reply was, Gail couldn't hear it, but she heard an exasperated complaint from her kid. "Oh come on..." Vivian opened the door and poked her head in. "Hey, Moms. Forget it's Thursday?"

While Holly was beet red all over, clutching a pillow to her front, Gail just tugged her shirt back on. "Sorry. We'll go upstairs," said Holly, embarrassed.

"Dinner won't be for a bit, so whatever. But Jamie needs to pee." Vivian shrugged and closed the door again.

While Holly swore and snatched up the odds and ends of clothes that had been discarded, Gail sighed and lay back on the couch. "Gail," said Holly, exasperated. "Jamie needs to use the bathroom."

"I'm not naked."

"Pants." Holly clutched the clothes to her front and gestured at Gail's undone jeans.

Heh. Fine. Gail sighed and got up. "I'm going to be frustrated all dinner..."

"Gail!" Holly was all the way up the stairs in a matter of seconds.

Yeah. "All clear, girls," called Gail as she trotted up the stairs, far too mindful of the fact that she was horny as hell and her wife all but cock-blocked her. She expected to find Holly in the shower already, but instead the good doctor was standing in the middle of their bedroom with her face in her hands. Laughing. Shirtless.

Oh good.

Gail smiled and kicked the door closed. "Funny?" She walked up behind Holly and rested her hands on the bare skin above Holly's currently low slung and undone waistband.

"Oh my god, we're those parents."

Leaning in, Gail rested her head on Holly's shoulder. "Which ones? I'm pretty sure the kid's walked in on us enough times to serve as sex ed."

"Her girlfriend just got an eyeful." Holly snickered again. "And I can't even make a joke about how she knows what Viv'll look like in twenty years."

"Thirty, and no." Gail sighed. "No chance in finishing that?" She slid her hands around to Holly's front and then up. As expected, Holly caught her hands, stopping them as they reached the boobs. Gail huffed and instead brushed her thumb on the tattoo along Holly's side.

Her wife sighed. "You know Vivian's never seen them."

"The tattoos? Well they're not where she's ever looking." One was on the side of Holly's boob, which had to hurt a lot. The other was on her hip, but was tiny. Both places were usually covered by swimsuits and running shorts.

Holly laughed and patted Gail's hands. "Come on, let's clean up and go help with dinner."

One quick shower later, Gail was dressed in slightly more appropriate for family dinner clothes. She walked into the kitchen where Vivian was finishing a sear on the meat she'd brought over. "Hey, kids."

"Hi, Mom."

"Uh. Hi, Gail." Jamie looked and sounded flustered.

Throwing them a bone, Gail decided not to ask how Vivian's 'meet the parents' dinner went. They were clearly still dating, so it must have gone passably well.

"Okay, kiddo, tell me about your week. Pedro was flipping his shit about not terrorists."

"You didn't mention terrorism," said Jamie, chastisingly.

Vivian laughed. "It wasn't. We, me and Lara, found one of Safary's caches."

The small firefighter looked lost. "Who's Safary?"

"Ever hear about the bomber who took out a whole ETF squad?" When Jamie nodded, Vivian waved a hand. "I read up on him. He's a serial bomber. Crops up every four years, maybe five. Blows up some shit. Vanishes. Not always in Toronto either, so I get to work with the Mounties."

Gail grinned. "Give Marcel my best."

"Inspector Savard très excité," replied Vivian.

Jamie snorted. "Your accent is terrible." Then she asked, "Are we all just pretending that ... That all that didn't happen?"

"That you saw my mom's tits? Eh, it was bound to happen. I was betting you'd have seen Gail's first though. She's the nudist."

"You make it sound like I'm a naturalist," complained Gail. "They exaggerate. I don't just prance about in the buff when guests are over."

Covering her mouth, Jamie laughed. "Prance?"

"You saw her on Christmas." Vivian pointed the tongs at Gail. "She's actually a five year old. My whole life with her, I've been emotionally older."

"That's not saying much," said Jamie, teasing. "You're an emotionally screwed up ninety." She leaned across the kitchen island and kissed Vivian's cheek. "Seriously was she ever a silly kid?"

Gail smiled. "Once. Her seventh birthday. Only time I've ever seen a kid with a fun hangover, though." Her daughter, flushed a little, just shook her head. "I am sorry I forgot, Monkey."

"It's fine, Mom." Vivian put the meat, cast iron skillet and all, into the oven. "Okay. Potatoes and meat in the oven, onions and mushrooms nearly done. Winter asparagus blanched. Salad made." She frowned and then shouted. "Mom! Ponytail is fine!" Shaking her head, Vivian went for the plates. "She's standing up there, trying to decide if she should blow dry after her cold shower."

"It was hot," Gail corrected. "It's too cold for a cold shower."

"Metaphorical, Mom."

Gail rolled her eyes. "I got an answer about ETF if you want it."

Vivian froze. "Wait, really? You're not just trying to distract me from giving you shit?"

"Possibly. Though I'd ask how dinner at the McGanns went for that."

"Probably." Vivian sighed. "Okay, lay it on me."

"You're first alternate. Highest ranked of the rookies. But the budget stalled everything."

To her surprise, Vivian grinned knowingly. "First alternate's not bad." The girl bounced on her toes. "When will the budget get cleared up?"

"Did you ask Ops Peck for your score?"

"Duh. When does the budget clear up?"

"End of the year."

Now the girl was crestfallen. "A year?! What the hell, did we lose some lawsuit?"

"No. We have to replace all the bullet proof vests and radios."

The annoyance fell off Vivian's face, replaced by horror. "What? That's why we had to swap..." Her voice trailed off and she seemed to process what that implied, having been shot the year before.

"You heard about the ones that failed the tests?" While Vivian nodded, Jamie shook her head. "So we test the vests, random selection, to make sure they're up to ratings. It's normal. I found out yesterday that all the ones we bought a few years back have a fatal flaw. After five years or so, they get brittle."

Jamie looked appalled. "Did the manufacturers know?"

"Not as far as we can tell, no. But instead of telling us about it, on high just yanked the budget and tried to keep it all hush hush. It just so happened a bunch of ornery cusses had been working on the ETF deployment, after the recent gang wars, fires, and bombings. We need more rapid deployment."

Glumly, Vivian nodded. "Which we can't afford to now, so instead of having one kind of decent sized ETF unit, we have four that are too small for the area they support, and no money to pad them out. Wow."

The familiar footsteps of Holly preceded the interjection. "Won't they just assign you uniforms to fill in? Hello, Jamie."

"Hi, ma'am... Holly." Jamie flushed.

"You've seen her with her shirt off, Hose Head," muttered Vivian. "They can't, Mom. Or at least Fifteen can't. We didn't get any rooks this last year, except Goff and he's a moron."

With a nod, Gail explained. "Recruitment is at an all time low." She frowned and eyed the still blushing firefighter. "How's it over by you? I never remember to ask Shay."

"That means she doesn't really care," said Vivian as an aside.

"Oh. We're okay. We still reject a bunch every year." Jamie shrugged. "Physical requirements aren't a joke."

Holly laughed. "Says the tiny tiny firefighter."

"I'm stronger than I look." With a grin, Jamie pointed at Vivian. "She can tell you."

"She righted my bike on her own, Mom." Vivian sounded nonplussed but Gail could read the smile in her eyes. "Show her your guns, McGann."

There was a small pause and then, blushing, Jamie lifted her arms to make muscles. Holly obliged and did a double take. "Holy crap, Jamie, you're solid muscle! Gail, come here!"

With an eye roll, Gail walked over and poked Jamie's bicep. "I'm not surprised. Have you seen the crap they carry?"

"Shit, I'm drafting you to help me with the garden come thaw."

Jamie looked perplexed. "Garden? I've never had one."

Holly looked momentarily sad and then determined. Gail knew that look. The doctor had finally sorted out the kind of broken family Jamie McGann had come from. It was clear that, like Matty, Jamie was about to be adopted as unofficial family. "Well that's decided. You're definitely helping me garden."

Glancing over, Gail saw a shy smile on Vivian's face. The youngest Peck was pleased at the change. This was, at last, someone she'd successfully brought home. Gail grinned and signed at her daughter, telling her she'd done a good job. While Vivian rolled her eyes, she was clearly happy.

Yeah. Gail would do a lot to see that kid happy.


"Hello, Marcel," said Holly, as the man walked in. "I hardly recognize you outside of your dress uniform."

In his regular uniform, Inspector Marcel Savard still cut a striking figure. With a grey shirt, starched perfectly, tucked into dark blue pants with a gold stripe, he looked like a normal, dashing, officer of the law. Holly had often wondered if the Mounties had a 'good looking' requirement. He was suave. Years back, Gail pointed out he was sexy, something both Vivian and Holly had taken at her word.

Maybe Holly should have seen the gay thing coming with Vivian ages ago.

"Hello, Dr. Stewart. Have you not seen my normal uniform?"

"No, only the dress reds. Which are amazing. Did you ever see Gail in your uniform? She spent three days undercover as a Mountie."

Her friend laughed. "I have. Gail showed me." He gestured at the table. "I am greatly interested in your bones."

Holly rubbed her hands together. "As soon as John gets here, I can get to the new stuff." She smiled and began to unravel the ongoing plot. Marcel had been assigned to the case, tasked with assisting Toronto PD with their search for the lineage of serial killers.

That had happened after Holly got a phone call from Manitoba, asking if she could perhaps check a skull of their's to her matrix. It matched everything they could check, so the 3D scan was sent to Toronto for Holly to compare. Lo, it matched a single use.

Suddenly it was clear what they had was a national case.

And a national case put it under the purview of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Marcel listened as Holly explained the pattern of attacks, or rather the lack of one. The year before they had set upon a theory of matching cars to killers, but it proved too sporadic. Cars, yes. Specific makes and models, not so much. Still, the bones had proven to be useful.

Working with experts from McGill, Holly had determined how the bones were cured, based on the few they'd been able to find in the exhumed bodies of older victims. Apparently the idea of storing the old weapon with a new body was a fad. On the other hand, the idea of using a bone once and swapping it was fairly common.

Seventeen leg bones with the wrong bodies. And many of the bodies who'd been buried as a John or Jane Doe turned out to be from other territories.

The few fresh bodies that Holly had stumbled across were a little more disconcerting. The vast majority were carefully staged and left to decompose naturally. They had only found a small selection, not even five, of the modern kills until Manitoba.

That opened the door to a horrifying possibility that someone, or some group of someones, were dumping the bodies in the Toronto-land area. It also opened the door to the Mounties, who were quick to assign their newly appointed head of affairs in Ontario, Marcel Savard, to the case.

"So you have no motive? Except for the death of Mlle. Mills?"

Holly nodded. "Correct. The survivor can't remember anything of the attack, or so John said." She paused. "Marcel. There's something you should know."

"If it is that Mlle. Mills was the betrothed of Sgt. Simmons, I am aware. Gail was quite firm that I was not to attempt to remove him from this case, on pain of her rather unique imagination." He shrugged. "This is still her case to appoint as she sees fit."

Translation: he didn't like it. "She's very much aware of the intersection of two or more sides of this case," said Holly carefully.

Marcel nodded. "Yes. As I see, you have yet another. Excuse me, we. We have the individual culprits, the weapons, the vehicles, and the targets. Now we have to consider this idea that motive is a large factor."

"That," said John, announcing his presence. "That is my current headache. You must be Inspector Savard." John extended a hand to Marcel with a grin.

"Sgt. Simmons, please call me Marcel. I imagine we will be working very closely."

"John. You know the doc." He held up a tray of coffees. "She get you all caught up?"

"On all but the motive, yes." Marcel eyed the tray and picked Holly's, handing it over. "Did you deduce my favorite?"

"I asked Gail." John took his own. "Motive. I actually made some headway on that."

Holly sipped her coffee and gestured for John to use her whiteboard. He was visual and, in the decades she'd worked with him, Holly had learned to give him free rein. "Motive is your business," she said, a little impishly.

The man did not rise to the jibe. "The problem, Marcel, is that we have two possibilities. First is that we actually have people who are serial killers and have been keeping this a secret from us for over 100 years. While this is totally plausible, it seems extreme."

Marcel nodded. "Yes, it should have alerted you to its presence years before. A killing spree."

"Exactly. So how and why do they hide the killings if we are finding four or five a year, nation wide, at most?"

Frowning, Holly pointed out the obvious. "They're not all fresh kills. I've never seen more than two of those a year. Four if I count the ones outside Toronto but still in Ontario. And, frankly, death by head injury isn't that uncommon."

John grinned. "Why did you start lumping mystery head bashings together?"

She eyed her old friend. "Because there was no motive and they were unsolved."

"Which led you to figuring out that they were similar in result."

Holly nodded. "True."

Marcel snapped his fingers. "It would be, excuse me, presumptuous for us to say that all similar injuries are related. But if these people are killed outside the province. Mon dieu. Has this ever happened before?"

"A dozen or more killers?" John shrugged. "If each one killed five people over a decade, it would be less galling."

"It's the group... Dr. Stewart." Marcel rubbed his mustache. "What if there are more killers?"

She wanted to say no. She wanted to say her list was complete. But as Holly opened her mouth, she pictured the injuries and the idiosyncrasies that had been attributed to situations. "It's ... It's plausible." She sighed. "I can run the numbers and see if being a little less flexible gives us smaller data sets."

The matching grins on Marcel and John's face gave her some hope at least. But it was the only time she'd ever thought that more killers would be better.


Sitting with Duane and Sabrina, Vivian eyed the parts. "So they match?"

"Yeah, that's what this part of the report means." When the results from evidence had rolled in, Sabrina had started to compare it to older cases of the Safary character. Vivian, tasked with assisting, lurked until she managed to get Sabrina to include her.

That wasn't really fair. Sabrina, a few years older than Vivian, had taken it on herself to act as a mentor of sorts. Of everyone, Sabrina had wanted Vivian to be in ETF the most, possibly because then she wouldn't be the only woman permanently assigned at Fifteen.

But all that was suspended for now. That morning, Andy had explained that everyone would be trading in their vests. After the grumbling came the shock of the reason. It was worse for ETF, who wore a lot more than the vests. So when Sabrina asked if Vivian was upset about the delay, she had to admit she wasn't.

Far better for everyone to be safe, after all. And when the girl who got shot a half year ago said she was okay with it all, everyone shut the hell up. She was annoyed, sure, but not upset.

"The samples match, but that could be a coincidence," said Vivian carefully.

"Tool marks match, and it connects to samples from dozens of bombings."

Dryly, Duane mocked her. "Dozens. She means six."

"Plus five fake bombs," snapped Sabrina, and Vivian held back a smile.

"That's eleven," Duane replied. He was baiting her. "Look, Safary, he's practiced. And he has six known bombs, four of which killed people. He's always ..."

Now Vivian spoke up. "Revelatory. Every time he blows things up, it reveals some corruption or otherwise terrible acts. He's like a whistle bomber."

Both ETF agents grinned at her. "Oh that was good," Sabrina said decisively.

Duane's high pitched giggle seemed to agree. "That's for someone else, man. We just go in and play hero. They figure out where to send us."

And there, he nailed the head of the only doubt Vivian had about ETF. Not that two years as a beat cop hadn't taught her how to cope with handing off cases. No, she was worried about the lack of direction. ETF was the clean up crew. Was that really what's she wanted? Hard to say.

Vivian sighed and leaned back.

"Thinking hard, huh? How'd the meet the parents go?" Sabrina was devoid of any shade as she asked the innocent question.

"Oh. Okay, I think."

Gail had buttonholed her at the end of dinner the night before, asking the same question. But Gail hadn't asked how the dinner went, she'd asked how Vivian felt about the dinner. And frankly she still wasn't sure. Oh, she'd liked them as people and hanging out with them was fine, but Jason gave her an unsettling feeling.

More than likely it was just her messed up brain confusing and conflating the memories of her father with the existence of a man she knew hit his wife. Once. Exactly once, according to Jamie. And in return, Angela broke his leg by kicking his knee. Which was badass.

But still.

She and Jamie had talked about it, a lot, before they'd finally sorted out a dinner time. Jamie had been adamant that it had to be mid-week. Any other time and they'd have to explain why they didn't want to stay a long time. Mid-week with work later was perfect. And since Angela was a teacher, she'd not want them to stay late.

Jamie had also been open about not wanting to give Vivian crappy flashbacks, which had not happened. It was just unsettling, Vivian explained that night on the car ride home. And Jamie admitted she often felt the same way about her father, which was why she'd jumped on the chance to move out.

What was it like, she asked Gail, to not trust the people who raised you? Because for all the betrayal of her father, Vivian did trust. She trusted Gail and Holly, Oliver and Celery, Steve and Traci. She trust Elaine, Nick, Andy, Chloe, Dov, and ... Okay she mostly trusted Andy.

The point was that she did trust people.

Gail had sighed and said that it was from experience. It had been years since Vivian had met a new, strange, man in a position of familial authority. In fact, there really weren't any in her life. Oh, there was Grandpa Brian and Ollie, but they never had any real weight to push on Vivian, whereas Jason was an established person of presence in Jamie's life.

This was, essentially, her first time since she was six that she was going to be faced with a dad.

Of course she was uncomfortable.

Sabrina poked Vivian's arm. "Hey, you meeting up with Jamie after shift, or what?"

"She's working." Vivian rubbed the back of her head, pulling herself out of the cloud. There was a pregnant heaviness in the air. Huh. Sabrina was expected her to say something. "Why?"

The ETF agent rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot savant, Peck. Wanna go drinking? Introduce us to the Penny?"

Oh! Vivian felt sheepish. "Sure. Yeah. The beer's okay."

"Not as good as the Rat Hole?"

"The fact that you assholes call your 'favorite' bar that way fills me with constant dread." It's full name was the Dead Rat, which wasn't any better.

"Peck!" Their bantering was cut off by Det. Trujillo. "Upstairs. My desk." And as quickly as she appeared, Trujillo vanished.

"Oooooh. Mommy calling you to her office?"

Vivian logged off the computer and shook her head. "She's at ThirtyFour with Anderson. I bet it's about yesterday in court." It had been Vivian's first time on the stand. Only as she'd been sworn in, the defense called for a motion of something and she was dismissed. Temporarily.

"Think you can still come drinking?"

"Probably. I'll text if not. Otherwise, Penny at six?"

"Rock on."

She and Sabrina exchanged fist bumps and Vivian jogged up the stairs to the third floor. "You rang, Detective?"

Trujillo grinned. "Remember me when you're rich and famous, huh?"

Vivian blinked and pointed at herself. "Me?"

"Crowne's office just called. Defense on the Summerland Arsons has pled guilty in the wake of your name." Trujillo tapped Vivian's name tag.

"So you dragged me upstairs to...?"

"Give a statement. Your friend, Maisie, is claiming Hanford roughed her up."

"What?" Vivian yelped, drawing ire from various people. She lowered her voice. "I'm the one who hauled her from the bomb." She held up her hand. "Maisie bit me!"

Trujillo motioned for Vivian to sit. "Which is why I need your statement. After we double check the Summerland stuff."

Vivian winced. "Well there went going for drinks."

"We should be done by nine, unless you're keeping secrets, little Peck."

Shaking her head, Vivian pulled out her phone to text Sabrina with the time change. If she'd wanted a stable, predictable life, she never would have been a cop.


That damn head bashing plot.

So what we have now is a group of people, spread across all of Canada, who have been dumping bodies in Ontario for years. Over a hundred. Since it wasn't until Holly came up with the idea of the bones as weapons that they started to really get a connection past 'people with their heads bashed in,' they were just all loosely related. Until now.

Now they know that theory is reality and this has been a generations long crime.

Also there were a lot of moving parts in this chapter, because adulthood is made up of multiple crises happening simultaneously.