03.03 - To Serve or Protect

Vivian turns 25 (that screaming in the back is Gail, just ignore her).

An explosion is nearly fatal when someone follows their own beat.


As she closed the door behind Jamie, Vivian could feel Matty eying her. "Jesus, Matty. What?"

"You like her."

Turning, Vivian saw her best friend grinning ear to ear. "I regret inviting you over. I could have had a sexy belated birthday, but no. No, I invited my gaybro over."

Jamie had been stuck at work on Vivian's actual birthday, so that actual date had been a dinner out with her family and then some drinks with her coworkers. Mostly that was Nick's fault, asking her at fucking Parade if she'd mind working a half shift on her birthday. After that, everyone knew and it was all over.

Since Jamie had missed it, and so had Matty who'd been swamped with a deadline, they arranged a quiet lunch at Vivian's, with Enrique as well. The boys brought the cake, Jamie brought the beer, and they'd had a blast making pizza and playing music. An hour prior, Enrique had gone for a table read of his new opera, and then Jamie had gone to take care of the millions of things that had piled up on a 5 day shift.

It was not the first time Matty and Jamie had hung out, but it was the longest that Vivian knew of.

"You really like Jamie. It's cute. I like her too."

Vivian sighed and threw herself into her comfy chair. "I do," she said softly. "I just ..."

Matty reached his foot out and kicked her calf. "You have always been too much a thinker."

"I know." She grumbled. "I'm worried. I haven't... You know, I haven't had a successful relationship before."

"Uh, I thought Skye and Pia went okay."

"Well, Pia was also on a deadline. And Skye..."

"Doesn't hate you."

That was true. "No. She doesn't. But we don't talk anymore."

Her best friend rolled his eyes. "Hello, you were doing that stupid double major. Which you still aren't using!"

"Not my fault. The budget got fucked." She scowled and reached for her water glass.

"What the hell happened anyway? The news was all up about how you guys are suing some bullet proof vest company?"

"Oh, it's fucked up." And she explained how the flaw in the vests was found and how they had to spend money on new vests before they could publicize the case. After all, if the criminals knew that they had critically dangerous protection, the police would be sitting ducks.

Being shot was an experience Vivian had survived, and would not care to have to suffer through again. Surviving being shot was, of course, way the hell better than the alternative. It just hurt like hell.

"Jesus, I can't even imagine... Was your vest one of the bad ones?"

"Dunno. We had a swap day." She'd scrubbed the words off her old vest, which had taken a while. She was still contemplating what to put on the new one. Gail's had already been swapped out and Holly had written 'You're my idiot' on it. Vivian's 'Don't be stupid' was below. Whatever Gail had written was still unknown.

"That's horrifying! Dude, you were shot last year!"

"Older vest," she said dismissively.

It was something she'd thought of, though. Been horrified by momentarily. Had she worn that vest when she'd been shot, she'd probably be dead. At best, she'd be missing a liver and some other important internal organs. But in the end, Vivian had dismissed it since it had happened and was done and over and what more could she do? No point in worrying over that sort of thing.

Matty, who was still getting used to hanging out with cop Vivian, shuddered. "Just promise me you'll call me to fuss over you if you get shot again."

"God, why would I do that?"

"Because I can bake a quiche," Matty announced, primly.

After a moment, Vivian could only stare. Then she laughed. "You are impossible, Matty."

Her oldest friend in the world smiled. "You never laugh enough, Viv."

"Tell me something new."

Matty sipped his water. "Okay. I always thought... You had to be so brave because something scared you. And I couldn't see why until those morons beat me up."

Vivian looked down. "Matt."

"I know. You never want to talk about what's on your mind. You never have. But if you do, you know I'm here, right?"

She nodded. "I know."

"So. There. Good. I'm your best friend. Tell me about this girl you like."

She rolled her eyes. Matty was always changing topics like that, dancing between deep and foolish over and over and over. "How did you know Enrique was, y'know..."

"You're asking me? You, with the perfect parents married for fucking ever— Oh." Matty's eyes went wide. "You can't see the forrest for the trees?!"

"Nope!" Vivian popped the P. "I like her, a lot. And I don't mean the sex."

"But the sex is good?"

"Sex is great. She's—"

"No details." Matty held up his hands. "Girls are not my thing, and two of you at once? Ugh, so gay."

Vivian smiled at Matty's silly remark. "Dumb ass, I was going to say she's really awesome."

"She makes you smile." He wasn't asking, he was telling. "Okay. Enough serious shit. Come on, show me your dress blues and anything you think qualifies as fancy dress up clothes?"

"My what?" Vivian startled.

"Gail told me she had your dress uniform cleaned and fitted for you, but that's not the same as getting your fancy duds tailored. And I? I am a tailor."

"Matty, you're my bestie. What the hell are you talking about?"

"You need to dress up nice and take Jamie out to something fancy, and make her swoon, and then whisk her back here for a sexy night."

Wrinkling her nose, Vivian asked, "Why?"

"First off, grand gestures let people know you care about them. Second, looking hot is awesome. Third, Jamie has not yet experienced the finer things in life."

"Matthew, you didn't even go to the damn opera until I brought you!"

"Exactly my point! Without which I never would have gone to see the show in New York and met Enrique!"

"How, exactly, is this beneficial to me and Jamie?"

"Pretty things good, stop being lumberjane."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "I don't even know if Jamie has a dressy dress, Matty." Actually, she didn't know if Jamie was a dress or pants girl. On their dates, they'd both worn jeans or nothing at all.

"I'll take care of that. Come on, show me the deplorable state of your closet."

Groaning, Vivian gave in. "I fail to see what my dress blues have to do with fuck all," she added, but led Matty into her room.

"They're my starting point, my dearest sister in all but blood." Matty opened Vivian's closet as dramatically as possible. "I want to see how nice you can look and then, then I will make you a star, darling."


Rubbing her eyes did not make the pain in Gail's head go away. Unlike the eye strain that had been plaguing her for a few weeks, this was a purely situational headache. A personnel related headache. She was without her bastion of sanity and sarcasm to boot, as John and Janet had absconded Canada for a two week vacation to Mexico.

God. Sun. Sand. Water. Holly in a skimpy swimsuit. Gail wanted to go to Mexico right the hell now. Two whole weeks away from everyone and everything.

Instead, she was reassigning cases left and right. Trujillo was taking over the head bashing case, just in the chance something came up. Pedro had the bombings, but she wanted a more experienced detective running point. And since the Mounties were in on the head bashing, she didn't feel like asking Marcel to loan her someone for the bombs was right.

Which meant someone outside Fifteen. That gave her two main choices. One was Anderson, who was making noises about retiring. The other was Swarek, who probably should have been put out to pasture years ago. Sadly, the bombs had been found more regularly in Swarek's Division territory, which made him the perfect, if annoying, person to reassign the case to.

"Yikes, you look like crap, Peck."

"I'm regretting this already, Swarek." She took her hands off her face. "You looking to be Inspector?"

"Nah. Marlo and I talked about it. I made sarge, I'll retire at forty in, call it a good life. Get the kick ass retirement package. Maybe teach a class or two."

Gail's brain did the math without being prompted. She was at twenty-seven years policing. Give or take. Sam was eight years older. "Five more, huh? Think you'll make it?"

"Think you will?"

"Forty? Maybe if my kid doesn't give me an ulcer first."

"Speaking of your kid, can I borrow her and what's her name? The wanna be D?"

"Volk?" Gail blinked. "I know we have the top of the class rooks, but whatever for?"

Sam closed the door and sat down. "You're gonna laugh."

"Probably."

"You're handing me Safary, right? Of the three divisions, I'm point now?"

Nodding, Gail forced her hands to be still. She had a feeling she saw where this was going. "You are. John wants to concentrate on the head bashings."

"And Pedro is good, but he's green. So you need someone experienced—"

"Old."

"Whatever. You need someone who's been around the block. Me. And I don't wanna piss off Fifteen. I don't have a lot of cred here to begin with, y'know."

Gail rolled her eyes. "I'm aware," she said. Andy had already complained loudly about Sam being around. Top it over Andy's disgruntlement over the ETF stuff in the first place, and she'd been rather insufferable. More so than Gail normally found Andy.

"Well. I think rooks'll be less prejudicial is all."

"Probably." She had to give him a point there. "Okay. So you want Peck and Volk?"

Sam nodded. "I do, I do. See, you'll like this. You put your kid on me, everyone'll think you're spying on me, or forcing me to behave. Who's gonna fuck around with the boss's kid?"

"I don't think that stopped you when you were in blue here," drawled Gail.

Damn snorted a laugh. "You know, you're cute Peck, but you and me never had even a thought of a thing."

Internally, Gail corrected it to 'you and I' but she didn't say it aloud. "The only cougar hunter we seem to have right now is Rich, and he's straight, so history is not repeating itself."

The idiotic thing was that while Andy had, at some point, accused her of sleeping with both Sam and Luke, those boys had been furthest from her mind. Sure, Gail had deigned thoughts of sleeping to get ahead, but neither of those boys would be on her list. But. Well. Her second year on the force was entirely unlike her kid's or her brother's.

"You know... I did a couple cases under your Mom." Sam looked up and over at the photo of Elaine, currently with a Groucho mustache doodled on it. It was a print now, and Gail had replacements in her drawer. After all, Elaine doodled on it every time she came by. "She was real lucky."

"It's more timing than luck."

"It's both, and you know she had it."

Gail frowned. "Is this the part where I laugh?"

"I think your kid is kinda a good luck charm."

The laugh popped out before Gail could check herself. "My kid?"

"Yeah, like McNally was."

"Uh, fact check, Swarek. Andy McNally was a disaster. Is a disaster."

"Yeah but she has that copper instinct. You don't. You have a criminal instinct. It's a Peck thing. You, your brother... If you weren't coppers you Pecks would run a crime syndicate." Sam paused. "I'm not sure you're not."

Narrowing her eyes, Gail pointed at Sam. "Watch your ass, Sam."

"Point is? That kid of yours, she's like your Ma. Elaine had this vibe, this bead that told me she was the kind of lady you follow." Sam sighed loudly. "You could see bits of it. Ollie, he told me Elaine Armstrong was a hella different lady. I would've liked her. And I think your kid though, she's got that 'it' too."

Gail shook her head. "Lotta words from you, Swarek." She rubbed her lower lip. Sam was generally a man of few words, one of the reasons his relationship with McNally had imploded too many times to count. But that conversation was the longest she'd talked to him about anything, and it was about her kid. "It's about seeing Peck from the outside," Gail said at length.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that."

"Okay. Peck and Volk. I'll clear it with McNally, but I need you to loan me a uni to fill in."

"Just one?"

"Two would be better. Four would actually replace them. But I know everyone's strapped."

"Recruitment's crap." Sam grinned his hound dog smile and got up. "I can loan you Hoover."

"Is that a name or a value judgement?"

"Latter. He drank a whole bottle of Sirachia hot sauce in one go."

Gail, known in her family for being a garbage pail and eating anything, was impressed. That didn't happen often with regard to food. "And he didn't puke? How does that go to naming a guy for a vacuum cleaner?"

"Apparently he double downed on his boyfriend before the sauce particles were fully cleared out of his mouth."

The words arranged themselves in Gail's head. The picture made her gag. "Oh god, Swarek, get out! Loan me Hoover and I don't wanna know anything else. Out! Out!"

Sam laughed on his way out. The asshole.

Hours later, Gail related part of the story to her eye doctor as the woman looked into her eyes with a penlight. "I wouldn't mind if he didn't have an inkling of a point. The kid is damn lucky."

Her doctor chuckled. "Remind her that she needs a checkup too."

"She moved out! Last year."

"Oh, we need her new address then."

"I'll nag her to call you."

"Thank you. Okay. Cover your right eye. Read as low as you can."

Gail read off the bottom line. "E - T - P - O - L - M - Z F."

"Switch eyes."

Damn it. "L - E - F - O ... D - P - C - T?"

"One up?"

"P - E - C - T - F - D - Z - O."

"Uh huh. You know what I have to ask, Gail."

"It's been getting worse. I noticed it at the range, around my birthday last year. And if the next words out of your mouth are that I'm at that age, I want a new doctor."

Her doctor laughed softly. "Okay. Let's try something... Here. Read this."

The colors changed and Gail blinked. "Okay..." She read the bottom line surprisingly easily. They changed the colors twice more, until one (white on a weird blue) was hard to read. "What does that mean?"

"It means your eyes are still twenty-twenty, but you have a little eye strain. Drops, no reading in bed, and I want you to change your reading glasses to ones that are tinted for computers. Just like your shooting lenses. Different color."

Gail blinked. "That's it?"

"That's it. Given the timing, I think you concentrated too hard trying to prep for your birthday shoot and work is continually aggravating. I'd tell you to take a break from shooting, but even after that head injury, you never did." The doctor shrugged.

Head injury. What a funny way to refer to her kidnapping. Not that the doctor knew all of it. "It just occurred to me how long you've been my eye doctor," said Gail with a sigh.

"We're both getting up near retirement."

"God, don't remind me. One of my top detectives is thinking about it." Not that Gail would ever tell narcissistic Anderson that she was a top detective. "We doing eyedrops?"

"Next time," said the doctor. "The nurse will print up your new prescription and order the glasses."

"Pleasure doing business with you." Gail stood up and paused. "It was a serial killer, you know."

Her doctor froze, hands above her keyboard. "What?"

"The head injury. A serial killer attacked me, smashed a door into my face and beat me up. Kidnapped me. That's why, after I got out of the hospital, after they cleared my eyes, I had to go to the range."

That had been the second thing she did. After Traci dragged her out of the hospital, after they met everyone at the Penny, Traci offered to take her back to the hospital or home. And Gail made her go to the range instead. They shot for half an hour, then went to dinner, then Gail spent the night on Traci's couch. And then ... Then she moved back in with her parents.

Moving home had been a phenomenal mistake. She should have stayed out on her own. Or with Traci. That would have been better. Well. Mistakes all around. Gail wouldn't change a thing, since if she did, maybe she wouldn't have been ready when Holly showed up in her life.

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Ah hell, it's half my life ago, doc. But y'know... You know that's why I have to keep going to the range. I'm a cop. It's what I do."

Her doctor tilted her head and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"No. It's not that. You know my wife's a doctor? She always says diagnosis is contextual. If you tell me I can't shoot because it'll hurt my eyes worse, I should know, right?"

"Ah. They won't. Your eyes won't be hurt worse by shooting. The strain just leads to headaches. But... You really needed the tinted glasses for shooting. Your long range vision won't be permanently impacted."

Maybe later she'd tell Holly about the conversation, and her wife might ask why she'd told the doctor. It was about context, but it was important for her eye doctor to know how much being a cop meant. She had to know that even after Gail nearly lost her life, Gail as still a cop, and still out there. It was, indelibly, who Gail was and would ever be.

The Peck nurture and nature shaped her into who and what she was. It created a cop. It built her into someone who always saw the big picture and who existed for sacrifice. But there was more to it than just being a Peck. Being someone better came from the person she became later.

Gail had grown to greatly like the person she'd become.

Even if that person needed special shooting and reading glasses.


The moment the bell on the door jingled, Holly heard her name called out with joy.

"Dr. Holly!"

"Good morning, Bita," replied Holly, grinning happily. "How are you?"

"Excellent as always. My granddaughter fixed my kitchen."

Holly looked beyond the bakery display. "Not here, I hope."

The other woman laughed. In the forty years Holly had known Bita, the woman's laugh had been her best feature. She had one of those bright, shining, happy laughs that healed the soul. Even though Bita had gotten greyer and shorter, she was still the delightful person who made Holly smile.

"No no, my home. We bought a new stove, six burners. It's beautiful. But the gas line was at a bad angle. She fixed it!"

"That's impressive. Maybe I should hire her when we do construction."

"Are you planning on moving now that your baby is all moved out?"

Holly shook her head. "No, not yet. I'm holding out on the dream of grandkids."

"Oh, I know that feeling. I thought it would be forever before my kids did that. Now my grandkids are all grown up!"

How old must Bita be? She was probably the same age as Holly's parents. Holly knew Bita's granddaughter was younger than Vivian, at least. "Wait, how old is Sita?"

"Nineteen," said Bita with a deep sigh. "She's at trade college for construction."

That explained the work. "I'm definitely hiring her if I need any work done. Keep it in the family."

Bita laughed again. "At least her brother wants to be the next baker. He did the icing on your cake."

"I'm sure he did a wonderful job."

"I think so. Let me go get that." And Bita scurried into the back, coming back with a box and a bag. "The bag is for your wife."

There had been one time that Gail had met Bita. When Holly's fiftieth birthday was coming up and Gail was too busy to bake, she'd hired out. Or rather, she'd tasked Vivian with getting the cake and inviting Bita. The two had chatted for hours, getting along famously, but Bita claimed to understand the reason for the ban on Gail at the store.

"She loves you," said Holly. Peeking into the bag, she saw it was filled with Gail's favorite cookies. "Okay, let's see the art."

With a flourish, Bita lifted the box top off and revealed a perfect cake. Happy Birthday Rodney was written in a rich blue, bordered by caduceuses and microscopes. There were even a few DNA strands here and there. Not particularly accurate, but cute.

"You like it? I know the DNA isn't perfect, but we went for style."

"I love it. Rodney will love it."

"Just wait until you cut it open."

The lunch party for Rodney's fiftieth birthday, a surprise at the office three days before, was cheerful. And when they cut open the cake to show blood red inside icing, everyone laughed. Bita was right, it was a fantastic cake.

Holly's enjoyment was short lived, as Ruth startled, picked up her phone and looked concerned. Ah. They had a call. "I'll take it, don't worry," she said to the crowd. "Happy birthday, Rodney."

"Thanks, Holly."

She took her cake (and a spare piece for Gail, who would ask), to her office and picked up the call. "Dr. Stewart."

"Oh... Hi, Doc."

The voice was unmistakable. "Swarek, where are you calling from?"

"Tucker's desk over. He's one of my new guys."

"Oh. That makes sense. How can my laboratory assist you today?"

"I wanted to ask about the inconsistency your guy noted in the Safary evidence."

Holly tapped her keyboard. "Let me pull that up. From the last bomb or the storage unit?"

"Kinda both. I'll wait."

There was a time when Swarek hadn't been all that patient. Holly quickly pulled up the files. "Okay. You're talking about the trace evidence?"

"Yeah, so we had those weird sand bits and the straw that was used inside the bomb, like he rested his material on it. And it's in all the bombs, even the dummies."

Holly frowned in thought. "Right."

"What'd we not find at the storage unit?"

"Sand or straw. What's your theory?"

Sam gave a deep breath. "It's gotta come from where he puts his bombs together. Obviously."

Biting her tongue, it took all of Holly's willpower not to sass back. She didn't mind Sam and the way he worked, but he had a tendency to be very obvious. "Okay," she said, carefully.

"I know, I know. It's basic. But it's 101. Same trace leads to home base."

Holly snorted a laugh. "Sorry, that's a cute rhyme."

"Right? So I was hoping someone could narrow down a cross ref of the sand and straw."

"No one has?"

"Nah, sand was too common. It's used in everything from golf courses to watermarks."

"That would put a damper on things," said Holly, agreeing.

"Thing that gets me is not a drop of it is at the storage."

That wasn't weird to Holly. "We didn't find any explosives at the storage unit either."

"Why not?"

Holly blinked. Why was Sam asking her that? Oh, well the obvious really. "It was climate controlled, but hard to secure. Of course, Safary uses some very stable materials with multiple backups. All we found at the unit was electronics, the kind he used for the secondary triggers."

"Was there anything that didn't match that kit?"

Now that was a good question. "Nothing that stood out on first glance, but I can go back through it if you'd like."

"I'd appreciate it. And... Any chance of getting a list of the sand and straw places..."

"It'll be incomplete. I'll get you a base though. You'll have to collect samples, and no, I'm not lending you a tech."

"No worries, I've got a couple of rooks you cleared for that."

"Well that's what rookies are for. I'll have a list sent up for you of places to concentrate on."

"You're the best, Doc! Thanks." And Sam hung up.

Leaning back, Holly skimmed over the case notes. Sand. Straw. That was weird. Safary was a large enough case that Holly really ought to keep closer watch on. Then again, Gail had handed it off to her own minions. Shouldn't Holly do the same. "Gail has more minions," said Holly aloud. There were more cops than lab rats. Always had been. That was why Gail had helped her push to get cops certified to take complex samples that would hold up in court.

She pulled up the list of rookies who were certified. One was, of course, her own daughter. Vivian took the extra courses at the academy on her own, not even asked by Holly or Gail. Gail would have asked. Holly never would. And Vivian, always, would consider her mothers. And her career.

Holly was not surprised to see her daughter was currently on loan to Swarek. So was Volk, who had certified for evidence collection the year before. "He stacked his deck, that asshole," Holly mumbled to herself.

She couldn't blame him.


"Horses?" Sam Swarek stared at her.

"You wanted sand and straw." Vivian grinned.

Narrowing his eyes, which privately Vivian thought was a feat for Swarek, the detective pointed at her and addressed Lara. "She always like this?"

Lara studied Vivian for a moment. "Creepy weird thinks sideways? Yeah."

"Horses?"

"Straw in the stables, sand in the indoor arena. Mix it with dirt, it drains better." She held out her tablet. "Mix it with rubber..."

Sam stared. "Rubber. You think it's not part of the padding for the bomb?"

"¿Por que no los dos?"

Slowly, slowly, the man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jesus, Peck. I take back what I said about you to your mother."

Oh? That was news to Vivian, but she just smiled. "What if the trace is because he's using the rubber from the sand mixture from the stables for filler? Most of it is dispersed or, in the case of rubber, melted into globs, when the bomb goes off?"

"Uh huh, and the sand is just trace?"

"Sure, they don't add a lot of that. But they have to add in rubber regularly to keep the dust down. Use an empty paddock to store it in."

Sam eyed her. "And this is on your list of places with sand and rubber?"

Lara nodded. "Also golf courses, baseball fields, and three recycling companies that make trash into playgrounds. The sand is used in the moulds."

"Uh huh," said Sam and he closed his eyes. "Alright. Show me these places on a map." Quickly Vivian pulled up the map on her tablet and showed him. "The red dots?"

"Every place with a match," said Vivian.

"Uh huh... Most likely is the .. Blue?"

"I think it's blue," said Lara. "Vivian thinks it's yellow."

"I think the horses are easier to work with than baseball."

Sam stared at her. "Okay, Peck, explain."

She took a deep breath. "It's March. People ride horses year round, but it's too rainy for baseball right now. Plus the grass needs treating before you spread the rubber and sand for the base path lining—"

"They make that out of the same mixture," said Lara, interrupting.

"Actually, it's more rubbery and clay, less sand." Vivian scowled a little. It had no impact on Lara, who apparently knew her too well. Damn it. Vivian just did not have Gail's ability to menace.

"Which matches the less sand they found in the evidence."

"You know that's not how bombs work."

Sam's cough cut them off. "Volk, can it for a minute. I asked Peck. You go next." Lara held her hands up, defeated but smirking.

"You need a place quiet and sturdy to build a bomb," said Vivian carefully. "There are four stables in the Toronto area that are undersold, considerably, and a few more that are insanely overpriced in order to keep low numbers. I left them off my short list, since they tend to have security over more than just the horses. These four stables, though, have minimal security. They went with low ball bidders all around, on everything except the stables and rings."

Reading the tablet, Sam asked, "Is that normal?"

Vivian shrugged. "Running a stable isn't really profitable for most people. It's a labor of love."

"Privilege," said Lara, under her breath.

"That too. Duncroft Stables here, they cater to middle class with aspirations of grandeur. They put up a good show, but they're losing out to the nicer stables on the outskirts. And three years ago, they lost their contract with the horse and buggy cabbies. Been hand to mouth ever since."

The detective nodded and read the notes again. "According to the data," said Sam, "there's a small flaw in your theory, kid. See, our guy. Safary? He's had the same kinda mixtures in his bombs for longer than your stables been using it."

Vivian smiled, trying hard to look like Gail at her most evilly brilliant, and was privately delighted that Sam startled. "I know. That's why Lara checked the dates for all the stables who did use it, any time in the last seven years, and matched it up to periods when they were under capacity."

"Okay. Not bad. Can you tie it to people?"

There she sighed. "We can't," said Lara, helpfully. "The grooms are often paid under the table." She paused and added, "That was my idea."

"So was the dates thing," Vivian pointed out. Lara was a way better detective than she would ever be, but picking out the best places based on bomb creation? That was all Vivian.

Sam nodded slowly. "Duncroft. Fits most of the bills nicely. Okay. We do horses. Arright. I'll go see what I can do. Finish running my numbers." Sam stood up and left the room.

After Sam left, Lara turned and mimicked him. "Ain't? Arright? Did we walk out of a movie?"

"Swarek," said Vivian, with a shrug.

"How long have you known him?"

"God, most of my life? He used to be the lead in homicide here, before Traci."

"Wow. Why'd he transfer?"

Vivian pursed her lips. "Interpersonal dispute."

Lara huh'd and they went back to matching. Technically they were supposed to use the computer, but that was only good for identifying known patterns. A computer only detected what it knew, it couldn't innovate or adjust outside its parameters. So practice was to let the computer match and then whittle things down by tweaking things.

When they'd been taught the process in the academy, someone had complained that it was the work of lab techs. Their instructor had made an example of the recruit, detailing out how the evidence collection units did a marvelous job evaluating and testing evidence. But at the end of the day, it was always people who had to interpret science. If a copper didn't understand how the system worked then they would never be able to work.

A cop, as Andy and Oliver told her constantly, had to trust their gut. They had a perspective a lab tech never could. They got out there, with the people, and they walked a beat. They drove a car and stopped to talk with citizens. They were an active part of the community. A constant representation of the fact that there were people willing to take bullets for them.

So a cop had to process and think and understand the evidence in the context of they world they'd seen. Because the cop saw the criminal as a person, not a number or a test tube or evidence. The cop understood the human and their motives and their lives.

They saw the big picture.

Lara interrupted her thoughts. "If it's interpersonal, how come they let him back?"

"He's a good cop, and most of the bombs are in his Division's territory," explained Vivian. All truth. He was just an ass.

"There's something else..."

"She's trying not to say he's my ex-husband," announced Andy, scaring the shit out of both of them. Swarek was standing beside her, sucking on a coffee. "Peck, you're a Peck. You can ride horses, right?"

"Um. Yes."

"Good. Volk?"

"I've seen a horse?"

Andy smiled evilly. "Congratulations. You two are going to take the equestrian training class, as soon as we have it moved to Duncroft Stables."

That was fast. Vivian's eyes widened of their own volition. "Oh. Okay. I'm the ringer?"

Swarek made a noise as he finished his drink. "Nah. You're the spy. Volk'll distract them with ineptitude. You just pass. Volk, you keep an eye on the grooms. Peck, you look for where you'd make a bomb. Get lost a couple times."

Generally not a problem, thought Vivian, reflecting on how much of a maze most barns tended to be. "Horses and spies, yes sir."

"Yippie ki-yay," muttered Lara.


The video was hilarious. Holly laughed so hard she was wheezing with delight. "How many times did she fall off?"

"Six." Gail grinned. When Vivian had sent her the video of Lara Volk failing at riding, she'd found it hysterical and saved it for her wife when they got home.

"Did they make any headway on their case?"

"Some. We weren't able to get them at the right stable, so Dov came up with a brilliant idea. They do a day or two of classes at a new one and then rotate."

Holly made a face. "Is that supposed to teach them anything?"

"Actually yes, learning on multiple horses is a great way to get comfortable around them."

Her wife made a soft sound and replayed the video again. "It occurs to me that I've seen Lisa and Vivian ride, but never you."

Gail blinked and pulled the marinating beef out of the fridge. "I have some videos. Mom digitized them."

"Your mother recorded them?"

"No, Dad did. For critique." Gail scratched the side of her head. "Mom kept them, though, which means something I guess."

Holly sighed. "I've started to forget that the Pecks have, historically, been assholes."

"Kinda nice, isn't it?"

"And sad." Holly kissed Gail's cheek. "They do know Vivian can ride a horse, right?"

"Oh yes, that's why Swarek's so excited. She's his spy."

"Well. That seems alright." Her wife lingered at the fridge. "Is tonight beer or water or wine?"

"If I was Jesus, I could do all three."

Holly rolled her eyes. "Why do I put up with you? Water."

"That works." Gail turned on a burner. "Make a salad?"

"Only if you promise to actually eat it." Flipping her wife off, Gail seasoned her pan. Holly laughed and set the table. Their dinner was quiet, talking about little things of no concern or serious consequence. They caught up on non-work things. Holly had the idea of trying beer making, which Gail was all in support of since it had to be better than Dov's, and his was alright.

For her own part, Gail was enjoying having a break from things stressful. Excluding the oddity of her cases and the migraines of reassignments, she had nothing else pressing. No sports, no classes, no fretting about her kid. Just ... Living. And it may be simple and quiet and boring, but Gail felt she could use that for a change.

When the evening ended with them, comfortable on the couch, binge watching an ancient sitcom from the days when Gail was straight and Holly rattled around her empty townhouse. It was nice to just laugh and joke about things that didn't matter at all, just for a little while.

The mellow mood did not carry over into the next day, when Gail found herself in a meeting with Andy being shouted at about approving Sam's use of Vivian and Lara for the barn spying. Seabourn had been fine with it, and shouted right back at Wanger, the inspector at TwentySeven. The crux of Wagner's argument was that he was on the hook for paying and he didn't think that was fair.

Cross arguing, Seabourn pointed out that the two primary uniforms were theirs, and they'd only gotten one in return. That lead around to the constant arguments about recruitment being down, with Wagner on the side of letting more people in and Seabourn on the opposite of keeping up standards.

"Why don't we do a recruitment drive," said Gail, sipping her coffee. She'd timed her interruption carefully, waiting for that moment when both idiots were inhaling.

"What was that?" Wagner looked shocked.

"What was that?" Seabourn looked delighted.

"Oh like Chris and Noelle did!" Andy, at least, had a brain. "Abercrombie would sell, if he keeps his mouth shut."

Gail smirked. "Well if we were doing that, I'd say we should do a sexy calendar. No. I was thinking we go a little more multicultural. Traci, Mahala from ThirtyFour, Seth from K9, someone from ETF. Men and women. Show the variety of the jobs and the diversity of the force."

Wagner scowled at her. "No Pecks?"

"You're an ass, Wagner," Gail said back. He'd not been a Peck fan. "And Traci's a Peck."

"I mean no white ass kids."

"No, and no one interested in being a D. But none of that has to do with you being pissed off at McNally."

The man scowled more. "Horses are a waste."

"They don't come out of our budget." Gail put her mug down. "In fact, you get a bonus for the more people who passed the cert." She paused. Oh that was it. "And you gave us your slots, I see..."

Confused, Andy spoke up. "I don't."

"No one from TwentySeven is in this round of certs," said Seabourn, who did get it. "Both slots went to us."

Wagner threw a hand up. "Not that I have anyone to spare."

At least he was honest. "Stop being pissed at McNally for shit that isn't any of our faults." Gail finished her coffee. "Now. What's really up your ass?"

The room was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, Wagner laughed. "Damn it. I want to be pissed at you, Peck. Why the fuck aren't you the inspector?"

"I like actually solving crimes." Gail leaned back in her seat. "So?"

"So. This Safary thing." Wagner rubbed his face and eyed Andy cautiously. "Swarek's ... He's worrying me."

Andy's eyes widened. She seemed to get it. "Oh. Really?" When Wagner nodded, Andy turned to Gail. "Do you remember back when I screwed up the deal with Anton Hill?"

"Uh, no. Obsessing over Hound Dog wasn't my thing."

Her friend (shut up) rolled her eyes. "He was pissed when I blew his cover because he wanted Hill. Bad. And then your brother sorted out the Hill death, and he's been ... Ahab lost at sea."

That was incredibly deep for Andy, realized Gail. An interesting reference. Sam was obsessing over Safary. "How bad is it?"

"He's been a bit ... Agro," said Wagner softly.

Seabourn and Gail exchanged a look. Slowly Gail turned to look at Andy, whose face was set in an uncomfortable grimace. "Wagner, is that code for you think Sam's going to put two rooks in danger, just their careers, or some poor suspect."

Wagner made a hand gesture. "Last one."

Flippantly, Gail remarked the obvious. "He fucks up their careers, I'll let Sue blow his ass up. And the D's can take turns on what's left."

"Won't do it yourself?" Seabourn was amused.

"And get my hands dirty? Hah." Gail shook her head. "You're an idiot, Wagner. Next time just fucking well tell us."

The inspector puckered his face up. "Yeah, yeah. Now what?"

"Now let the grown ups handle it." Gail waved her hand and was pleased to see Wagner take it as a dismissal. Once he left the room, she turned to her classmate. "Andy, please tell me you slept with him or something so I know why he hates you."

"It's just Sam..." And Sam was at ThirtyFour because after he married Marlo, pretty much no one wanted to work with him at Fifteen. She and Andy sighed. "He wants to be the hero."

"He has a complex," said Gail, agreeing. "You think he transferred his passion over Anton Hill to the Safary case?"

"His partner, Kroft, died in the explosion with ETF."

No one needed to say which explosion. If they were talking about Safary and an ETF explosion, then they meant the one that had killed the lieutenant before Sue Tran. Time never stopped. Gail exhaled deeply and looked at Andy. Just yesterday they were fresh faced, idiot, rooks.

Seabourn sighed. "I feel old."

Nearly as one, Andy and Gail snorted. "Zeke, you're a puppy," said Gail.

Echoing Gail's earlier thoughts, Andy sadly asked a rhetorical question. "Weren't we young yesterday?"

"Sam wasn't," replied Gail, flippantly. The words were spoken before she could really think about it and how it implied things about Andy. Whoops.

But Andy laughed. "God, he was never young, was he?" She covered her mouth but the laughs kept coming. Gail smirked and tried not to, but ended up joining Andy in laughter. It was cathartic to some degree.

Finally, though, they sighed and shook their heads. "Should we warn the kids?" Gail toyed with the rim of her mug.

"No," Andy said firmly. "He's not going to put them in danger, and them being innocent will keep him in check. Sam was always more careful when rooks were attached to his detail."

Gail wasn't so sure, but nodded all the same. "Alright then. We'll do that."

She had to trust McNally on this one. No one on the force knew Swarek better than Andy McNally.


Blood. Bombs. Bullets.

It was an interesting rhythm as she repeated the words in her head over and over. Blood. Bombs. Bullets. Eyes closed, Holly let the words wash through her mind.

Blood. There was a degraded sample of blood found on a single piece of straw in the evidence collected from the antique shop. The blood was too compromised to serve as a comparison for anything at all. Not that they had anything to compare it to. Holly had called in a favor and sent it to a lab in the States.

Bombs. The mad bomber. Probably not mad. Safary's targets were all odd. And rare. But that was Gail's purview. Holly did her best to keep her nose out of that kind of theory. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Bombs were not her game either. The evidence was interesting though. Straw and rubber as packing material.

Bullets. That had been the oddest find at the Safary Cache. Bullet making equipment. Gail had remarked that even she didn't like making bullets. Oh she could do it, and had demonstrated the skill for pre-teen Vivian, who had been curious about what the grains meant, but it was dangerous work. The bullets were odd because they didn't fit. Except they did, actually. The same meticulous nature of someone who could make bombs would, in theory, be the kind of person who made bullets. Just ... Why?

"And open your eyes," said the instructor, startling Holly out of her thoughts. "Good. Shake out your arms and stand, slowly."

Holly darted a glance to her right, where Gail was slowly unfurling herself and standing gracefully. If Gail had noticed Holly's little zone-out, she didn't seem to care to mention it just then. Instead, Holly was surprised to see a deeply introspective expression yet mellow on her wife's face. Gail was still well up in her own head.

While Holly scrambled to get into her final pose, Gail just seemed to glide into it. Holly was jealous, oh yes. She'd never really seen Gail at yoga before, not real yoga, and the blonde had a hidden depth of athleticism. Even here at the beginner's class, Gail was amazing.

The instructor, a young woman probably Vivian's age, grinned at Holly as they finished. "So, how'd you like it?"

"It was ... interesting." The woo-woo aspect of yoga had, as Holly expected, been the hardest thing to get over. "It's more mental than I thought it would be."

Nodding, the instructor gestured at the students. "The first few times, getting into the meditation at the end is the hard part. You seemed to figure it out. Did you come up with a mantra?"

Holly flushed. "Oh, yes. Yes I did."

"Were you thinking about science?" The irrepressible smirk of her wife took the sting out of the words. "She usually thinks about science," said Gail.

This seemed to be expected by the instructor. "Well I don't know if your visualization of field stripping a pistol works for anyone else."

Gail rolled her eyes. "They're just unimaginative."

"How do you deal with the advanced class?"

Turning to Holly, Gail explained, "In the advanced class, you have to meditate by counting to 100 and not letting your mind waver. Which is insane the first time you try."

It didn't sound hard to Holly, but then again neither had the class she'd just taken. And in reality it had been very hard. "I'll stick to beginners for a bit," she decided.

"So you're coming back? Good. I'll see you again." The instructor beamed and walked off.

"Does she always flirt?" Holly frowned a little.

"Pretty indiscriminately, yeah." Gail pulled her jacket on. "Ready to go home?"

"I think so, yes. What are we doing for dinner?"

"I'll throw some chicken in. Pasta and fresh greens?"

"Sounds nice." Holly smiled and tugged on her jacket.

As they stepped out into the lobby, Gail's hand almost absently found hers and laced their fingers together. The blonde was very quiet, more than normal, as they walked to the car. By the time Gail got home from yoga, she was generally relaxed but chatty. Apparently right after was different. Holly followed her lead and said nothing.

They pulled up at their block and Gail glanced over. "You're quiet."

"You were quiet!" Holly laughed.

After a pause, Gail laughed too. "I was letting you process." They giggled as Gail parked in the garage. "I know it's not your thing, Holly."

Holly rolled her eyes. "It's quiet and calm and ... I like the energetic stuff."

"I know," said Gail, smiling. "But the point was to try it, try the calm."

With a sigh, Holly grabbed their gear and stashed the mats with the rest of their sports equipment. "I feel calm. Ish."

"Yeah? What was your mantra?"

Ugh. Of course she asked. "I was thinking about the Safary evidence."

Unexpectedly, her wife did not tease her. "So was I. Those bullets, they're weird."

Holly exhaled. "Wait, wait, wait. It's okay to think about work?"

Gail rolled her eyes. "The point is to clear you mind, relax, and stop stressing. It's not about not working." She waved a finger at Holly. "You should listen to Celery more."

"Not gonna happen." Holly followed her wife into the house. "I'll make the greens."

"Taking the easy route, huh, Stewart?" Gail laughed and slapped her butt.

Of course, that night Holly slept wonderfully. When she got to work, she burned through her morning paperwork faster than normal and, by lunch, found herself studying the structure of straw. The rubber was nothing more than used tires, cleaned and remotes into a better, safer, form, which was in turn shredded. They barely even made car tires out of dangerous material anymore.

The straw though, and the sand, were interesting. Both were common, but not something often found in winter. In spring, which was the last time sand like that had shown up in a case alongside the straw, it had been trace following a body that drowned in spring flooding. Holly remembered that case. A teenager, helping his family farm on the edge of the city, had gone missing during a storm. It wasn't until the rain ended and the waters receded that he'd been found dead.

It was Rodney who had done that autopsy. The boy had gotten trapped by the vey sandbags he'd placed to protect the crops. But still, Holly remembered the case well. The mixture of straw and sand had been odd enough that their first thought was it had to do with a murder in a stable. Instead, it was nothing more outré than coincidence.

Oh.

Holly tapped up the samples collected by the rookies. The straw was a match for barn but in a strange way. It was common enough. Most barns used it. But so did many antique shops. All they needed was a bomb at a barn to make it more solid. The sand though. If it was used for sandbagging, it would be the same as they found all over the city.

A wider pool of suspects was not what anyone needed. Holly needed to narrow it down. She put her sample results in a form and sent a request to evidence. Find all the sellers of sand that matched the sample. She knew they had that in a database. A second request was sent to Swarek, asking for him to start the paperwork on a warrant for a list of purchases of the sand. Also the straw. Who bought both.

It might work. It might still be too wide. The evidence would tell out.


There were things that Pecks knew before anyone else.

The first time Vivian learned that lesson, and the cost behind it, she'd been ten and a half. Gail had been missing, undercover, and Steve and Oliver had come by to tell her the truth about the situation and the danger. That had been her make or break moment, though she'd not really realized it at the time. That one choice, to know, had been what made her a Peck.

But the cost of that knowledge was no secret to her. The cost then was a full understanding of Gail's risks and what it would mean to her and Holly. The cost was not always on the same level of the knowledge.

Today Vivian knew, from her mothers, that the straw was little more than a coincidence. It wasn't part of the bomb but it was part of the packing materials. It just so happened that the barn used the same kind. Same with the sand.

Swarek knew all that too, but that morning he'd just told them to keep an eye on the grooms.

Vivian sighed and kept the information to herself, brushing the horse.

"You're good at that," said their instructor. "Tell the truth, you ride?"

"No," Vivian replied (it wasn't a lie, she did ride anymore), glancing at Officer Copland. He was a little older than she was, maybe five years, and had what Lara insisted was a rakish grin.

"So..." He reached behind her and it took all of Vivian's willpower not to jump. She wanted to, but the horse would spook and it wasn't something a cop did. Still, Copland noticed and stepped back. "I didn't realize you were related to the Pecks."

"Oh?"

"You have skin color."

Vivian smiled thinly, not offering her adoptive status. "I've been informed no one on their right mind voluntarily takes on the name."

Copland laughed softly and picked up a brush, walking to the other side of the horse. "You don't get a lot of Pecks here," he said casually, and started to brush the other side. "In fact... I don't know we have any."

"Not for forty years." Vivian scratched behind the ears of the horse, who was an absolute whore for the attention. "William James Peck was the last. 1988."

"Is memorizing Peck history a family requirement?"

Now Vivian smiled for real. "Yes. Actually."

"And here you are, doing horses. You're way better than Volk."

Ah. Vivian shook her head and let the horse rub his head against her chest. "Horses are better than people." A sentiment Gail had echoed. "I learned to ride when I was a kid."

"Aahhh! You're my ringer! I knew it."

Vivian arched her eyebrows. "Your ringer?"

"Yeah, even year some division sends in a ringer."

"I just wanted to see..." She paused. "Okay, honest? I want ETF, but..."

Copland winced. "Oh man, their budget is so fucked up right now. ETF huh? I didn't peg you as someone who runs into buildings."

Vivian shrugged and, when the horse butted her chest gently, kissed the animal's head. She got a nickering laugh in return. No one could convince her that horses didn't understand people. "Robots. I gotta thing for it."

"Pass the test?"

"Top of the rooks, but."

"But, yeah. Man, that sucks." He paused. "You think about anything else? Or just gonna wait it out on foot?"

Vivian gestured at the horse. That was her cover story. "Maybe."

"Oh." Copland eyed her. "You could do it. The technical stuff. But people."

Vivian frowned. "But people? That's a sentence fragment."

Copland smiled. "You don't get people. I mean ... You get that I'm hitting on you, right? Like I think you're smart and hot and I wasn't trying to trick you into applying."

What? Vivian stared at Copland for a moment. She had totally not caught on that he was hitting on her, actually, and felt actual shock. "Oh." She frowned. "Uh, not to burst your bubble there, but I'm seeing someone."

Copland deflated a little. "Oh. Shit." He ran a hand through his hair. "Serious?"

"Yeah. Pretty serious." How weird that felt to say. But she was serious about Jamie.

"I'm... I'm gonna go pull my foot out of my mouth," said Copland, his face red. "Sorry."

"S'alright." Vivian watched him leave and smirked. Oh Gail was going to laugh her ass off about that. Actually, so would Jamie and Holly. She'd have to tell them after the case was over.

There was a laugh from another stall. Vivian arched her eyebrows and turned around. "Are you really seeing someone?" A woman's voice. "Or are you just being nice?"

"I am," said Vivian, carefully.

A tiny woman popped her head into Vivian's stall. "Yeah? I thought you were blowing him off. Don't want to tell him you're a dyke?"

Vivian blinked. "What?"

"Look atcha," said the woman. She was dressed like a horse person. Paddock shoes, worn jeans, comfortable collared shirt, hair tied back. She was older than Vivian, but she had one of those faces that could be argued to be twenty five or fifty, depending on one's point of view.

Vivian looked down at herself. "You're one to talk."

And the woman laughed. "It's no secret."

"Not here either. He's just ..." Vivian shrugged. "Not clued in, I guess."

The woman smirked. "Guess it's good he's a horse guy and not a detective."

Vivian couldn't help but smile. "Ain't that the truth." She leaned into the horse until he sighed loudly and picked up a hoof. "Good boy."

"Not a lot of women can ride Bucky."

Bucky was his barn name, which Vivian found hilarious. The horse's show name was Sebastian, after all. Gail hadn't gotten the joke, but Holly had and giggled appreciatively. "Do you?"

"Me? No, just warmups. I'm just a groom."

"Lots of grooms ride." Vivian cleaned the hoof and moved on to the next.

"Not me. I just like horses. Better than people."

"So true."

The groom was silent for a while, leaving Vivian to finish cleaning the horse's hooves. She looked up and was not surprised to see the groom had left. Awfully silently for a groom, though. Vivian leaned on Bucky's back and frowned. Something about the conversation bothered her.

She was still thinking about it when the rest of the class came in. "How fucking early did you get here?" Lara scowled.

"Half hour. I was meeting Jamie for coffee."

"And how is the runner?"

Vivian rolled her eyes. "Fine." Patting Bucky's side, Vivian left him in his stall and followed Lara to her horse, Doc Holliday. Alas. His barn name was simply Doc. Keeping her voice low, she asked, "Have you met all the grooms?"

"Yeah." Lara started brushing Doc, poorly.

"Flick the wrist a bit," said Vivian, and she started to brush the other side. "Who's the short groom, maybe thirty? Female? Wears short boots."

Lara frowned and got thoughtful. "There isn't ... You sure it's a girl?"

"Thirty is hardly a girl."

"You thinking something's up."

Vivian bit her lip. "She's like a cat. Comes and goes. Lets herself in. Can you ask Copland who she is?"

"What? Me? Why not you!"

"He asked me out. It'd be awkward."

Lara laughed. "Brush Doc for me."

Vivian smiled and took over brushing the auburn horse. The sweet Doc was friendlier than Bucky, who tended to be skittish. As Vivian gently pushed the horse's head away from nuzzling her for the umpteenth time, Lara came back with news.

"There is no adult female groom or stable hand."

"Shit," muttered Vivian.

"Also Copland asked if I'm your girlfriend."

Vivian blinked and looked up. "What?"

"I know, right? Anyway. I'll tell Swarek."

Vivian sighed. She didn't like how Sam handled suspects. He was always so heavy handed. But. He was in charge.


"This is a cluster fuck," Gail told the trio.

"I'm the one who got kicked," snarled Sam.

The rookies said nothing.

Gail scowled. The phone call from dispatch had told her about a bomb at the barn where the rookies were training, and how it caused a stampede. One injury, a Sgt. Swarek, kicked square in the chest. He was lucky it wasn't a little lower down, though Gail might take care of that herself.

As she got the bits and pieces of the drama, Gail had been a little annoyed. Now she was just pissed off. Copland, the instructor, had explained that after Volk asked him about some mysterious stablehand, Swarek had shown up all gung-ho and angry. He'd questioned the staff, setting them in an uproar, until finally someone mentioned they'd seen a woman fitting the description, but she was a rider, not a worker.

Copland stressed he'd tried to calm Swarek down, since he didn't want anyone spooking the horses, but the sergeant had been arguing that Peck had wasted his time. Which was when the bang and the flash happened in an empty stall. Immediately after, the horses spooked and the mystery woman made a break for it.

And they'd lost her. Of course.

Gail scowled at the rookies but more at Swarek. The two rooks stood, a little hang dog, beside Swarek's bedside.

"Okay, run this by me again," she said to Swarek, who was still holding an icepack to his chest.

Sam glanced at the rookies on his left. "I played my hand too hard. Spooked her when I was arguing. She's either the guy or she works with Safary. She hadda know I was tipped on to her, cause she set up a flash-bang in the stall next to where she was hiding. When it went off, it spooked the horses. One of 'em nailed me as they bolted."

Rubbing her lower lip, Gail eyed Lara. "And you, Volk?"

"I was with the rest of the class. Copland told me to hold my horse and lead him out. The instructors had to calm them all down."

Silence. Gail simply arched an eyebrow at Vivian, who was doing a very good job of not looking at her mother. "I went after the horses in the stalls," said Vivian quietly. "Which is why Sgt. Swarek got kicked."

Gail sighed. "You two sit outside." She watched the rookies file out, Vivian not even daring a glance over. "Sam…"

"It was all me, Gail," he said firmly. "Peck and Volk both said I was coming on too strong."

"Really?" That didn't sound at all like either girl.

"Really. Volk was more direct. She said that a lot of the grooms and stablehands were illegals or undocumented, and pushing would make 'em run. Peck… She just gave me this look. Like Superintendent Peck used to give Frank." He tried to sit up and winced. "Fuck, horses hurt."

"You're not supposed to get between their hooves and anything." Gail sat down and looked at the wall. "You think that was her? Safary?"

Sam exhaled loudly. "Dunno. I expected her to be ... Smarter."

"How'd'ya figure?"

There was no reply and Gail turned to look at Sam Swarek. The man who had cut her tie looked thoughtful, which was not an expression she often saw cross his face. The hound dog faced man slowly canted his head at Gail. "Why would she be so chatty?" Sam sighed. "People talk to your kid."

"Funny, isn't it?" Gail rubbed her chin.

"Yeah," agreed Sam. "Marlo's gonna kick my ass."

"Why were you arguing with ... With Peck?"

Sam smirked. "Well. Aside from how I was wrong, since our mystery woman did blow up the barn, I thought her suspicions wasted my time, since the lab geeks got back to me about the sand. Coincidence."

"Nerds," said Gail absently. "They're nerds. And you thought she was right about the straw and sand too."

"I did." Sam grunted. "Sounded right. But it was sand from flooding bags. Did you know they used different kinds?"

She had not. "Not shocked that they do. It matched back to the same company. And the stray? Packing straw, has to be safe for the precious antiques." Gail huffed a laugh. "I guess I'm not surprised."

"Me neither. Rich people, rich straw."

Gail glanced at Sam. "Except you, no one got hurt," she said slowly. "I'll talk to the owner. And the rooks. You get better."

Sam laughed. "Miss me already?"

"Not a bit. But I have to take you off the case, you know that."

The man grunted. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry."

Gail patted his thigh and said nothing more, walking out. The two rookies were seated across the hall, Vivian hunched and holding a paper cup in her hands, rolling it back and forth, while Lara had a soda. "So."

Both girls looked up. They were so young and it showed in that moment. Gail tried to remember what she was doing at that age and remembered she was volunteering to be an escort. Ah. Naivety. "Ma'am," said Lara, slowly. Vivian said nothing.

Putting her hands in her pockets, Gail studied the two carefully. "Peck... Why did Volk ask Copland about the woman if you were suspicious?"

"Copland was hitting on me," said Vivian, looking up with her eyes only. "I thought it'd be less weird."

Gail blinked. The instructor was hitting on her? Whoops. "Alright. And did you ever see her, Volk?"

"Yes, ma'am. I thought she was a boy."

"She was kind of boyish, ma'am." Vivian backed her partner up. As it should be.

Sighing, Gail nodded. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Vivian nodded, although Lara shook her head. After a moment, Vivian spoke. "The bomb, it was Safary. Same style as the one he— she did at the train station. Six years ago."

Of course her kid had studied the cases. But did it had to be that case? Gail remembered it right away. It had been a flash bang that went off and terrified hordes of people, causing a human stampede. When the crowd had been cleared out, a young man was found trampled to death.

The parallels were horrifying.

"The evidence will tell," said Gail, evenly.

And there she understood the guilt sitting on her daughter's shoulders. It was Vivian who had spotted the oddity in the woman. Vivian had raised the red flag. Vivian had been the one with the theory that landed them at the barn in the first place. Which meant that it was Vivian's fault that Sam had been kicked by a horse.

As much as the mother in her wanted to sit beside Vivian and tell her it was alright, Gail was Inspector Peck just then. And she had to be.

"You two go back to the station. Write up your reports. I want them by end of shift." She gestured and both rooks got up and went down the hall quietly.

That was part of the job that Gail hated. Being the supporting mentor was not her role, not now. It was never something Gail had been great at either. Even when she'd had a rookie, or a green D to train, she'd never been the coddling sort. How very strange to have it at odds with her maternal inclinations.

Gail ruthlessly shoved that line of thinking to the side as she drove back to the station. On the way, she asked dispatch to have someone bring the owner in for a little chat. Maybe there'd be something useful about the mystery woman.


It felt strange to knock on her kid's door. Normally they didn't go over to Vivian's and certainly never unannounced, but there Holly was, knocking. Unannounced. Unplanned.

"Coming!" That was a male voice. And not Christian. "Hello and welcome to the party," sang out Matty. "Oh hey! Hi, Holly! Viv, it's Dr. Mom."

Vivian's head poked around from the kitchen. "Mom! Hi. Matty, let her in."

Holly blinked as she walked in and found Christian, Lara, and Jamie all spread across the furniture. Two empty pizza boxes lay on the coffee table, along with several beers. "I guess I brought leftovers?" She held up a bag of Chinese.

"Thank god, I was about to order Thai," said Vivian, hopping around the counter to take the food. "Who knew being blown up at would give me Mom's appetite?"

From the couch, Jamie snorted. "We're going running in the morning. You do not have Gail's metabolism."

"Who does?" Holly rolled her eyes.

"Bite me," growled Vivian. She put the food down. "Want to eat with us?"

Quickly, Holly shook her head. "No, no. I just wanted to ..." She looked at the crowd of people. She'd wanted to make sure Vivian was okay after her day. That her kid was handling the stress of the bomb and saving the horses. "Well."

Vivian smiled at her, though. She knew. "How about I walk you to your car?" Before Holy could demure, Vivian turned to her friends. "I'll be right back. McGann, save me a beer."

"So bossy," said Jamie, but she was grinning.

They stepped into the hallway. "I'm okay, Mom," said Vivian and she closed the door.

"I don't mean to break up your party, honey."

"You're not," Vivian said. "I promise." She shoved her hands in her pockets, looking very much like Gail. "But ... Thank you for checking on me."

Holly sighed. "Well I just feel silly now."

"Moooooooom," drawled Vivian. She rolled her eyes to boot.

That was Gail, and Vivian, for 'don't be so silly, Holly.' It was adorable to see it from the grown up kid. "Yes, I am," said Holly, trying not to laugh. They walked down the hall to the stairs. "Can I mom you?"

Vivian smiled at her. It was the sweet, shy, smile of the girl who wanted a hug and didn't know how to ask for one. And just like then, Holly reached over and hugged her around the shoulders. Of course, unlike then, Vivian had to go down a step in order for Holly to properly reach her. "Thanks, Mom," she said softly.

"You had to go and get tall, didn't you?"

"I ate my veggies." Vivian sighed and didn't squirm as Holly squeezed her. She never did with Holly. The hugs seemed to be not just allowed but welcomed.

Holly sighed as well. "It's funny," she said, letting go and looking at the ruddy face of her daughter. "I remember the first time you hugged me."

Arching her eyebrows, Vivian said, "I do too. You were in a wheelchair."

"I was exhausted." Holly wrinkled her nose and Vivian laughed. "You sure you're okay?"

"Oh, just the usual crippling guilt and doubt of if I just made one of Mom's friends retire." Vivian was flippant Gail at her best. Self-deprecating and eye-rolling.

She tweaked Vivian's nose. "Sam was old when he was young, honey. You saved the people and the horses."

"I know," said Vivian, a little darkly. "But I'm a cop. I'm supposed to serve and protect."

"And you did. Just because it wasn't what Sam wanted doesn't make it wrong. Okay?" When Vivian mumbled a 'yeah,' Holly poked her ribs. "Talk to Elaine about it, will you?" If anyone would know, it would be Elaine Peck. Vivian nodded. "Good. And I think you did the right thing, saving the horses."

Vivian smiled a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Sam's a grownup." Holly paused. "And maybe this is payback for nearly giving me a concussion that one time."

"Wow, that's bitchy." But Vivian was grinning the same, dark way that Gail and Holly did. "I'll call Elaine tomorrow."

"Okay." Holly patted Vivian's cheek. "Go hang out with your friends, honey."

The tall woman nodded, kissed her mother's cheek, and went back to her apartment. Holly sighed loudly and walked back to her car. She wasn't upset at all. Actually she was quite pleased to see that Vivian had somehow managed to successfully navigate a bad day recover with her friends. This was the sort of thing she'd always hoped for, but always doubted.

It just felt odd to be left out a little. She was still dwelling on that when she got home and surprised her wife.

Gail looked over from the kitchen as Holly walked in. "That was fast. Kid okay?"

"Kid has friends over." Holly smiled and hung up her coat. "How's Swarek?"

"Benched for now. Marlo was telling him off when I left." Gail sighed and leaned on he kitchen counter for leverage, getting a bowl from an upper shelf. "I'm gonna lose him and Frankie soon."

"Maybe not Frankie. She has that 'I need to feel wanted' thing, you know." Holly pulled out a stool and watched Gail toss vegetables into the bowl after she sliced them. She never got tired of watching Gail cook, though it had taken a while to understand that Gail didn't generally want to be talked to while cooking.

As soon as the food was in the pan and simmering, Gail swung her towel to her shoulder and leaned back, looking at Holly thoughtfully. "Her friends are at her place."

"Mm. Jamie, Matty, Christian, Lara. I got the impression Jenny may come by. Even Rich was there earlier."

Gail made a face. "I'm supremely disappointed our child is friends with Abercrombie."

"She saved his life. Apparently he's got a thing."

"Good to know he's not totally worthless."

Holly smirked. "He hit on me."

"Please, that just proves he has eyes." Gail rolled her eyes, dismissively, but Holly saw the sass and amusement behind it. Her wife expected everyone to find Holly beautiful, after all.

"I am incredibly sexy for fifty-eight," said Holly.

Gail grinned. "Speaking of which, birthday?"

"Cabin?"

"Done and done." Gail beamed. "Next year, though..."

"Back to Greece, I know." Holly laughed at her wife. She wasn't sure they would, to be honest. She wasn't sure she wanted to. Maybe after she retired. "Should we bring the kid?"

"No, no I don't think so. She's old enough to go in adventures with her own sexy girl."

Holly made a face. "Ew. Don't talk about Jamie like that."

"What? She's all muscle, Holly! At least she can keep up with our jock."

Smiling, Holly recognized her wife deflecting. Given that Gail had gone to the hospital twice, it wasn't hard to see. "So. How bad was the case?"

"They may have found Safary, so your mileage may vary."

Holly would have dropped her glass, if she'd been holding one. "What...?"

"The bomb is a match to the form Safary uses, and there's this." Gail picked up her tablet and pulled up a photo.

The pit of Holly's stomach fell out. In black Sharpie was the word — the name — Safary. "Is that a railing?"

"Hmm. Yes. Part of the divider in the stall. Metal." Gail shook her head. "Kind of a sick fuck, isn't she?"

"We don't have any evidence that it's her. She could be his mom or ... Something."

Gail shook her head. "Remember what you told me about theory?" She didn't wait for Holly to speak and just went on. "First you perform an experiment to get evidence. Then you repeat it and compare the data points until you can connect the dots and make a theory based on the evidence."

"I seem to recall this," Holly said, smiling.

"The big thing, the part I liked, was when you said the theory with the least assumptions, the least complications, was probably the right one. And you drew the hexagon, and then a circle."

Holly frowned. "How drunk was I when I did this?"

"Oh you were loaded up at the cottage." Gail smirked. "Do you remember why you drew the circle?"

Of course she did. "The circle was reality, the hexagon was our theory based on the data points. And the point wasn't to be right but to be more right."

Gail got out plates. "Exactly. So my data points are a lot of bombs, a sighting, a bunch of graffiti, and an interview with the barn owner who said our mystery woman was actually riding in lieu of payment. She sells sand."

Jesus fuck. "So you've got her? Or is it a shell company?"

"Oh, of course it's a shell company," said Gail, laughing morosely. "Fake ID's and the whole ten meters."

"Nine yards, and you know that." Holly sighed. "So we're no closer?"

"We're a lot closer. Viv and the stable hands gave us a good description. We know she's a Caucasian female, claimed to be 43 which Viv said was plausible, short brown hair that is dyed lighter. Roughly five-two in riding boots. No visible scars or tattoos. The fact that she likes horses and is knowledgeable enough to ride implies she comes from the middle class. Also... She has a fancy ass cell phone."

The last was interesting to Holly. "How do we know that?"

"One of the stable hands. She dropped it once and he brought it over to her. Said he'd never seen one that thick, and she was always playing with it. He looked over photos and picked out one of those build your own Android things."

"Well. That's interesting." Holly sighed. "I really don't know how you stand this part, collecting all the information without enough context."

Her wife smiled. "Same reason Steve likes secrets, I guess. I like hoarding information like this."

"And yet you still suck at trivia." Holly grinned at the annoyed expression on Gail's face. It was still fun to tweak her a little bit. "What happens next?"

"Next. Sam gets dinged for shouting around horses. Viv and Lara get dinged for pissing off their supervising officer. Then they get praised for saving the horses and people. I take over Safary, since Chloe's swamped with a drug smuggling and Sam's in no shape for it." Gail grunted and scratched the nape of her neck. "That fucking idiot. He gets so damned obsessive."

Holly couldn't really argue that. Sam wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to cases. He took them personally, just as he did slights like someone being able to hit his curve ball, and he overreacted. Of course he'd apologized about nailing Holly at the ball game all those years ago, but it had a detrimental affect on his relationship with Gail, who had never really forgiven him.

She looked up at her wife thoughtfully. "You haven't gotten really mad in a while, honey," Holly said at length.

Surprised, Gail started to plate dinner. "Really? I sure feel mad sometimes."

"You don't snap out."

Gail looked guilty. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Hey, I mean this as a good thing. You've evened out." Holly slid off her stool and walked over to take a plate and kiss Gail's cheek. "You're handling life better."

Disparagingly, Gail remarked, "It's been twenty years. I'd sure hope so."

"Sam doesn't."

The simple truth caught Gail off guard and she eyed Holly with actual, deep, shock. Both Gail and Sam had raised daughters, and both were obsessive cops who carried their work home in their minds and hearts. Both were abused as children (though Gail would argue that she wasn't, mental abuse was still abuse). But it was Gail who had smoothed herself out over the years, shifted to making better decisions for her own mental health, and for her family.

Sometimes it was a wonder.

"Oh," said Gail quietly.

Sensing her wife was uncomfortable with the direction, Holly asked, "Can I change the topic?"

"God, yes."

"Are we going to the concert on Friday?" There was a performance of classical romantic music that weekend, and while they'd not discussed it, they often went on a whim. That was the best part of season tickets.

Weirdly, Gail smirked. "No. Our daughter asked for the tickets for her birthday." And the smirk got wider. "She's taking Jamie."

Holly blinked. "She's taking her girlfriend to a night of romance... Oh my. She should borrow a car."

"Unlike me, she can ride in a taxi, so I expect she'll do that. I did recommend it."

That was one of the awesome things about Gail, realized Holly. She had the awareness now to know that her issues were no one else's. Over the decades, she'd gotten over her terror of other people in taxis, though not herself. Vacations were tricky, since they always had to rent a car. But at least now she stopped panicking when Holly or Vivian took the occasional ride.

"You are a good mother, Gail Peck."

Her wife grinned, cheekily. "I am awesome."


The plan was to meet at the show.

At the last minute, Vivian called a car instead. She was dressed as dapper as possible without being, as Matty called it, a butch young thing, and pulled up to Jamie's apartment building about five minutes before she knew Jamie would be rushing out the door. But the car... She just knew a car was the right way about it, so she called Ridez and set up a two stop trip.

At three minutes till, with a stern reminder to the driver to wait, she rang the doorbell to Jamie's apartment.

"God damn it! Coming!"

That was Jamie's voice. Vivian smiled, picturing the annoyed look on her girlfriend's face. She was not picturing Jamie in a dress, and was therefore not surprised to see her in pants. And yet what the door opened to reveal was a vision. "Wow."

Jamie wasn't even looking. "Look, I'm sorry, Ruby's not here, and I'm kind of in a ... " Trailing off, Jamie finally looked at her. "Viv. You... A bow tie?"

"I let Matty dress me," she replied, looking Jamie up and down.

The firefighter was in a simple, sleeveless top that had the style of Matty all over it, complete with a plunging neckline. She was wearing black slacks that made her look taller. Oh, no, that was the heels. The heels made her legs look even more powerful, and the pants and form fitting shirt showed off curves Jamie tended to disguise in roomy clothes. "You look incredibly fancy," said Jamie, threading in an earring.

She was wearing earrings.

"You look... Wow."

Jamie blinked. "Really? This is all it takes to make you stupid?"

"Apparently." Vivian jiggled her head. "I. Car. Right. I have a car. I thought we could go together." She pointed over her shoulder at the waiting car.

Smirking, Jamie nodded. "Okay. Let me get my jacket and purse."

Vivian exhaled and tried to catch her brain. Holy crap, she was definitely, totally, absolutely queer.

It made it hard to concentrate on the music. The concert was beautiful, romantic and melancholy at the same time. Love, wrapped around a reminder of life. The juxtaposition of pain and suffering to the warmth and tenderness. A cello and a violin, a flute and the piano. The drums. The hand of a woman in her own.

Everything was even better.

No wonder her mothers loved going together.

When the opera ended, they waited for the crowd to clear out. Jamie holding onto her hand, making comments on the various people. Especially about how many had worn jeans or casual clothes. They slowly walked through the hall, Vivian pointing out various details in the decorations, stopping to say hello to various ushers who asked about her mothers. And then, finally, when the hordes were nearly gone, she looped Jamie's arm through her own and called a ride with her watch.

They rode in silence, hands touching across the seat, stealing little looks. Vivian felt like an incredibly nervous teenager. Jamie though, she too looked shy and coquettish, giving Vivian looks from under her lashes. Hand in hand, they walked up the wide staircase to the top floor.

As Vivian took her keys out, she was slightly surprised by Jamie leaning against her. "C's working, right?"

Vivian felt her face heat up. It only got worse when Jamie hooked her thumbs through the loops on Vivian's waist. The front loops. "Yes, yes he is." God, Vivian hoped her voice didn't sound as strangled as it felt.

"Good." And Jamie leaned her entire weight against Vivian. Holy crap. She could feel Jamie's boobs against her back. "You okay with the key there?"

"No," said Vivian honestly. "I'm so glad we've already had sex." She managed to get the key in and unlocked the door.

"I would never tease you about not knowing how to use your hands," said Jamie, teasingly. She nudged Vivian inside and let go, closing and locking the door. "Christian!"

Vivian blinked. "He's not here."

"Go check." Jamie leaned against the front door and smiled.

It was a strange request. "Ooookay." Vivian eyed her girlfriend and walked past the kitchen to the second bedroom. She rapped on the door before opening. "Nope, no roommate. And the bathroom there is open and he needs to clean his room..." Vivian turned around, tugging the door closed again. "Happy?"

Jamie smiled and nodded, crooking a finger. "Very."

Swallowing, Vivian walked back to the front door. Jamie reached out and took hold of her jacket lapels, pulling her in slowly to kiss. Oh. This was why her moms couldn't keep their hands off each other after a night out. Spending hours in public with a beautiful woman, knowing she wanted the same thing. And the music... Gail was totally right about that.

She could forget time and everything, kissing Jamie like that. The warm hands under her jacket, undoing her vest and untucking her shirt. Her own hands mapping curves that normally didn't exist with clothes still on. Nothing mattered outside the moment and them. Vivian hardly cared that they were still dressed, if she could just hold Jamie and kiss her like that forever.

But there were clothes and there was so much more beyond clothes that she finally pulled herself away. Holding both of Jamie's hands, she led her down the hall and up the few steps to her bedroom. In there, in the nearly dark, their world was lit only by street lamps filtered through stained glass.

And in the room there was heat and fire and clothes discarded in a way that would probably make Matty complain. Or not. Vivian didn't care. Her world was one other person just then, and that was as it should be. Jamie's skin and muscles and teeth and that spot where she was ticklish, which was right near another spot that wasn't ticklish at all. And God, yes, Vivian wasn't going to stop.

She did, of course, but not until Jamie was ready. When she did, she lay alongside her girlfriend, smiling, and felling terribly indulgent. Vivian smiled, admiring the long muscles and toned skin of the woman beside her. There were a lot of muscles. The arm muscles were particularly fascinating just then. She also liked Jamie's strong back, the shoulders and arms. The way there was a divot thing above her hip bones. Her six pack...

"You look very happy," said Jamie, her voice soft and still a touch breathless.

"I am happy."

"I expected smug after that."

"Hm. I'm not a very smug person."

Jamie squinted up at her. "No. You're not." Languidly, the firefighter stretched and reached up, touching Vivian's shoulder and collarbone. "You should be. Smug. That was amazing."

"I'll keep that in mind." Vivian shifted her weight to lean in and kiss Jamie again. The gravity of the smaller woman drew her in again, oozing ever towards each other. Strong fingers dug into her shoulder and Vivian knew it was a matter of moments before she'd find herself on her back, looking up at the face of a woman who could and did look smug. Often.

But there were a few moments before that. A few seconds where she could drink in everything that was Jamie Lynn McGann. A short, brief, instant to savor the woman who asked her out by slipping Vivian her numbers via Christian at a crime scene. Vivian grinned as Jamie started to push at her, gently but insistently.

Maybe this was what it was, what it meant, to really care about someone. It was so simple, so obvious. This was it, and it was easy to just care for a person enough to trust them. Vivian wasn't really sure she knew what love was. Oh she said the words to her mothers, and she felt they hung the moon. But real understanding about what love was? No idea.

It bothered her, that lack of understanding. Was it like cuddling, and something Jamie wouldn't care about? Or would it manifest in an unforeseen way and result in a break up? Would Jamie hold a match as Vivian confessed her feelings, assuming she ever could, and burn her soul, or would she wrap Vivian in a blanket and protect her?

The words didn't seem right to say. Not then at least. And maybe it was okay if she couldn't say it in words, if she could show it somehow.

Closing her eyes, Vivian leaned back and trusted.


Next chapter? Much less comfortable for Vivian. But this one there's some trust.

The next chapter is the first of a series of pretty dark chapters, actually. Bad things start to happen and when they do, they just all pile on each other, peaking with a resonating, painful, but possibly NOT shocking death.

Got a guess who? I know a couple of you have ideas. At least one of you is right.