03.07 - Signals Crossed

Someone says yes, someone says no, there's some kind of tattoo, and something goes boom.

It's been two weeks since the last chapter. Holly's birthday has come and gone. They had a great time. Gail ate too much at the town's BBQ competition. Vivian and Jamie are still on the outs, but they're texting each other, as you'll see.

And John? Well. John's made a big, life changing, decision.


"Well? How do I look?" John Simmons turned around, showing off the outfit.

It was nothing she'd ever expected to see. Not that she'd ever expected to see it for herself, let alone a twentieth anniversary, but here she was. And here John was, engaged to be married at the end of the year. He was in the traditional Hindi engagement attire, a long shirt and coat over loose pants.

While Gail rarely saw him outside of a suit, he looked comfortable. In her mind, vacations and undercover didn't count, and John always looked weird in jeans. She half expected him to come up to the cottage in a suit, but he'd worn cargo shorts and a polo shirt. Close enough, really.

Now, though, Gail smiled at her partner and friend. "You look remarkably stupid." She held up her phone and snapped a shot of him, looking indignant.

"Can't you be serious?" He flipped her off.

"How long have you known me?"

"Too long," John said, despondently.

"Have I ever been serious?"

"Lots of times." Now John smiled. "You're very serious when you want to be."

Gail huffed. "Am I actually invited to the party?"

"You hate these things! People are going to be happy, Peck."

She grinned up at the man from her chair. "Yes. But ... John, you are one of three people I will be happy to see marry."

John froze and looked down at her. "What?"

Gail ticked off the names on her fingers. "Oliver, Vivian, and you. I've known you for longer than my kid, John. I have seen you screw up relationships and been burned by the wrong girl. The fact that Janet asked you before you got the ring out of your pocket just makes me like her more. So. I want to come to your Mangni and celebrate."

That had been hilarious. He'd planned it all out and, getting ready for their dinner where he was going to propose, she'd shown up at his house and told him she wanted to marry him. And he'd said yes. And then, the next morning, after they'd barely made the dinner reservations and gone back to his place to celebrate, he'd pulled out the ring and they'd laughed.

"Your brother didn't make that list."

"His wedding was filled with Pecks, which included my mother, to whom I had not been speaking at the time." Gail waved a finger in John's face.

Taking a deep, breath, John sat down next to Gail. He said nothing and stared at the wall. "I wish my folks were alive."

That was something Gail couldn't even imagine. "That's why I have to come," she told him. "Your mom asked me to take care of you."

John snorted. "I believe it. She'd come back and haunt me if she could."

Wasn't that a thought. "She did give me a look when I told her Holly and I eloped."

"See? Moms hate that. How would you feel if your kid did it?"

"God, please don't mention Vivian and marriage or babies to Holly. I swear her grandmother ovaries are kicking in."

The man smirked. "Oh, and your kid... Yeah. I'll warn Janet. They're going to do bridesmaids things later this week."

"Holly in a sari. Swear to god, made my day." Gail smiled. "Think your mother would have cared you're having a Hindu ceremony?"

"I'm getting married, Gail. I think that, after fifty years, she'd just be happy for that."

"Mine never really forgave me for the eloping."

Again, he snorted. "You got married, didn't tell anyone, and then we had to go interview Ross Perik. I will never forget that day, Gail."

One of the many reasons she liked John was that he didn't shy away from the topic of Ross Perik. "Long time ago."

"Twenty one years."

"Long time."

They both sighed. "Most folks don't have a partner this long," John said carefully.

"Technically you're my minion, not my partner."

Officially they'd not been partners since the day Gail stepped up to be Inspector. There had been a hilariously awkward time when he was a sergeant first and she was supposed to have a new partner but Butler had given up trying to enforce that. Peck and Simmons. They worked well together.

"I think I'm not retiring." He toyed with the hem of his shirt.

She took a deep breath. "I think I might."

Gail had never said those words to anyone besides Holly. Not even to her kid. Certainly not to her mother, who would have opinions with a capital O. But John. John was the guy who needed to know.

John exhaled loudly. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

He looked thoughtful. "Another ten or so?"

"Something like that. Probably faster when my kid hits ETF."

"How's she doing?" When Gail hesitated, he added, "This is her Uncle John asking, not Sgt. Simmons."

He was basically family. The problem was Vivian was still pretty messed up, and while she had talked to Holly, the girl was avoiding conversations on the subject with Gail. That was alright. Gail probably wasn't the voice Viv needed to hear from. "Eh. Holly said she screamed and ranted and had a good cry while I was out of town."

John nodded. "Denial. Anger. She into bargaining?"

"Moved on already. Depression. I'm hoping acceptance is also a heartfelt apology to Jamie."

"How do you know she's the one who has to apologize?"

Gail snorted. "Pro tip from someone who's married, John. Everyone always has to apologize. Always."

Her friend tilted his head and nodded. "Noted." John slapped his knees and stood up. "Okay. So you know you're totally dressing up for the wedding, right?"

Gail grinned. "Is that dude code for I get a fancy costume too? Cause I love dress up, John."

"You are such a girl, Peck!" But he slapped a box, clearly indicating it was for her.

"Well spotted, Simmons." Gail hopped up and opened her present of fancy Hindu wedding clothes. "If you're really nice, I'll help you with your makeup."

"You just wait." John grinned. "You have to join us for the dancing."


Tugging her collar looser, Holly wished she could get away with a less buttoned up appearance for court. It was still better than Gail, who was generally asked to come in uniform (if not her dress then her dress ups), even for these things. The tie was something Gail hated, even though she looked positively delectable in uniform. Gail shared the opinion of Holly, that her wife was incredibly sexy when dressed up for lawyers, and had expressed it that morning with a proposition to be late to court.

Sadly, court always meant there was no time for fun beforehand. Holly had to go and give testimony in closed court about her theory regarding the mystery head basher case. While lately she'd been wrapped up in Safary, the skull smashing had not even left her table. No, in fact Holly had made significant headway (no pun intended) and had an idea about who some of the killers turned victims might be. But she needed to exhume bodies, and for that... She needed a court order.

It was so annoying. They needed the court order to make sure they hid the fact that they were tracking down specific people and not just victims of unsolved crimes. But for the last year, Holly had been painstakingly matching the height and weight and guesstimated strengths of victims, trying to sort out which ones might be killers-turned-victims.

She was only sure of three.

The first judge had argued three wasn't enough.

Back to the drawing board, Holly had knuckled down and gotten more ingrained in her theory and statistics and measurements. She came up with two more she was certain about, and five she had a good feeling about.

The second judge wanted her to get more information on the five.

This brought her to the current judge, the third, who said the other two were idiots. Judge Liek took the science, listened to Holly talk, asked her questions, and then kicked her out to talk to the lawyers.

And so Holly sat in the hallway, no cell phone, for an hour, watching the clock tick.

Maybe that was why they still had clocks on walls.

She looked at her watch. Her phone was locked away upstairs, but in her years on the job, she'd added the wifi to her phone. The signal was strong enough that her watch could ping her phone. Technology was a wonderful thing, and Holly checked the news on her Smart Watch.

Really she was hoping to hear from Gail about John's engagement party. She secretly wanted a photo of Gail dressed up as the 'best man' or whatever title John was going to give her. Of all the people Gail knew, the only close friends she kept were her fellow police officers. The regular childhood friends never stuck, which given the Peck attitude about how one should only have useful friends made sense. But of all her police friends, John was the one who ended up straddling the line of friend and family more than anyone else, save Traci.

Even if Traci hadn't married Steve, Holly suspected Gail and Traci would be good friends. They still snuck out to drink together now and then, ditching spouses for wine and terrible bar food. Traci was, no doubt, Gail's best friend. John was a close second.

The sound of a door closing and excited footsteps pulled Holly out of her brain.

She looked over and immediately asked, "So?" Holly eyed the Crowne Solicitor as he walked up to her.

"So far, so good. The judge is willing to give us permission to dig up the graves."

Holly exhaled. A weight was lifted off her shoulders. "A hundred fifty years of graves." The number wasn't as mind boggling as all that, but still. It was a lot.

"That talk you gave in Boston cemented it, you know." The young lawyer (okay, he was 40, but that felt young) smiled. "He was impressed with how you figured all that out."

"A lot of trial and error. Can I call Simmons and tell him we're a go?"

Nodding, the lawyer waved a hand. "I'd wait till the papers are signed. But ..."

Holly beamed. "But send cookies to Judge Liek?"

"I think he'd appreciate cupcakes," said the lawyer, seriously.

"I can do that." Holly bounced on her feet. "Do you need me to sign anything?"

"Nope, I've got it."

They shared the new plan, which was for the Crowne's Office to send the warrant to Fifteen and John, while she got started on organizing her lab.

Since it was nearly lunch, she knew she wouldn't have time for both food and to go change, so she grabbed a wrap from her favorite vegan place on the way back to her office and ditched her jacket. As she was hanging her jacket up, Ruth popped in.

"You're back!"

"Judge was an easier win than we thought," she said with a grin.

"Plan A or Plan B?" Ruth looked equally excited.

"Plan A! We have a green light for the oldest graves, as soon as the papers come in."

"I'll run the reassignments," said Ruth, decisively, and went right to her desk.

She really was the best kind of assistant, the sort who understood technology and cared about it. When Katie had left, Holly worried that anyone would be able to juggle the distracted science cats of her lab, defend them from the hounds of the police, and tell the news 'no comment' over and over.

Ruth rose to the task. She was a former technology project manager from a major software development company. Everyone told her the job was a step down, but Ruth just smiled and said she loved science and crime more than bits and bytes. Holly had found her attitude, a mixture of direct and unrepentant, to be positively delightful.

In Ruth's second week, a news reporter had demanded information about a high profile kidnapping. Naturally Ruth said no, barring the man from the lab. When he became belligerent, she pulled out her cell phone and recorded the conversation, pleasantly telling him to leave over and over, and then pointing out she could push her video to the Internet.

Blackmailing the news reporter.

Holly knew then and there she was going to keep the woman on her staff as long as possible.

She had no qualms whatsoever about handing the onerous task of adjusting everyone's schedules to Ruth. The woman was so much more than just a secretary, she was the power behind everything time management. And that was the real secret of being a good boss. Having good staff who know how to do their job and how to do it well was the answer to everything.

Ironically, it was something Holly forgot about now and then. She was too accustomed to the excellence. And then, like the fortnight before, her team stepped up to thank her in a ludicrously simple way, like giving her a day to play in the lab and break open part of the Safary case.

This time, it wouldn't be an act of familial adoration that gave her lab time. The attention of the Mounties had bumped her head basher case to the top of the list of everything. Between Holly's constant work on narrowing down identities and the results of John's missing persons research, they'd gotten closer than anyone.

There were, always, hundreds of unsolved mysterious deaths in the city of Toronto. Cold cases were simply an expected drawback of the city. Places like Chicago or New York or Los Angeles had a hundred deaths a year, some murders, some not. To have a group of seemingly unrelated but vaguely similar deaths, over generations, was positively novel, and yet in retrospect quite logical.

Where else would a person hide carefully curated and executed deaths? A big city. A city with a constant ebb and flow of tourists. A city where Grandfather Winter killed the old, the infirm, and the young every year anyway. A city where someone mugged and with their head smashed in could look like just another random death in the city.

Until a pathologist saw the patterns in the skulls.

Until a detective noted the wallets were nearly always found.

Teamwork.

It was fucking awesome.

The first call was from Marcel Savard, the Mountie.

"You genius extraordinaire," he announced the moment she picked up.

"Thank you." Holly laughed. "The Crowne's office called you, eh?"

"They did. The law cowers in the face of your science."

"It usually does," said Holly, amused. "So other than being really excited about being able to exhume a bunch of long dead people, what's up?"

"I wish to propose an order somewhat different than oldest first."

Holly arched her eyebrows at her phone. "I'm willing to listen."

"Monsieur Simmons sent me his latest research into the suspects, their histoire, etcetera. I then used my contacts to determine if there was a possible connexion between them. And." He paused and Holly could hear the smile.

When Marcel didn't continue, Holly rolled her eyes. "And?"

"And I suspect that the original theory you locals had about a family connexion was correct. Four of the people had identification that was created through the same criminal sources."

What? Holly sat up and took notice. If they used the same group of criminals to get their fake IDs, then they probably had been in contact at some point. But what she said was, "You keep track of criminals and don't arrest them?"

"Oui. Many groups. They are, as Gail would said, the little fish."

That made sense, Holly had to admit. "Little fish lead to whales."

"Sometimes. Or people with bones."

"Or people with bones, sure. So ... Should we not exhume the ones associated with your little fishies?"

Marcel laughed. "No. No. One or two would be acceptable."

"Ah, and I bet you have the one or two named?"

"I do, yes, I do."

They discussed the one or two (actually three) that Marcel felt would send up the fewest red flags. Thankfully he was receptive to Holly's priority, which had never been age but always usefulness with regards to evidence. She wanted the bodies she felt would glean the most fact, the most usefulness. The ones that had the best chance of matching her models and proving, without a doubt, the trail of savagery this case had generated.

Once things were sorted with Marcel, Holly toyed with her phone. She could call John and go over the new plan, or she could walk down to Fifteen and see her friends.

Holly popped her head out of her office.

"Ruth, is there anything we were going to grab a courier for to Fifteen?" She couldn't keep the smirk off her face.

"Why do you and Inspector Peck think that's so damn funny?" Ruth rolled her eyes. "Actually... There was some evidence that Gerald forgot when he got yelled at by Pedro."

Everyone knew who Gerald was. "I'll take it, if it's portable."

"It's a lighter. We were lifting prints." After all, Pedro Nuñez worked for Gail. That was a bona fide excuse to smirk at her wife on the government dime.

Half an hour later, Holly swiped her badge to get into Fifteen and walked up the stairs to the top, third, floor. Eight years prior, while Gail and Holly had been off on a vacation, some moron had shot up Fifteen and destroyed most of the third floor, including Gail's office. Shockingly, no one had died so when Gail got back, she expressed her fear the only way she could.

Gail had been livid at Traci that her DAD mug had been destroyed.

Everyone knew Gail had really been terrified that her friends might have died.

But. Well. Gail.

In the cleanup, Gail had taken the time to reorganize and tweak the floor layout. Conference rooms became private offices and smaller group rooms. Of course Gail took the best room, but she also made sure there was more natural light for everyone. What had been a rather dark and foreboding floor was now nearly inspirational.

Pausing at Pedro's desk, Holly handed him back his evidence. The young detective was effusive in his thanks, and incredibly embarrassed. Holly promised not to tell Gail first, and then glanced at John's desk.

"He's in with the boss, talking about Safary. Kelly from Arson is there too."

Holly nodded. "Thanks."

She had no qualms about knocking on the door and then opening it without waiting for a reply. Gail would have locked it if it was a big deal. And indeed, Gail looked up from her desk as Holly walked in, breaking into a goofy smile. "Awesome. Go away, guys."

John rolled his eyes. "I think she's here for me."

"Actually," said Holly, impishly. "The courier was sick."

She and Gail shared a smirk. Gail waved her hand at the men. "You can have her in five minutes, John. Shoo."

Holly closed the door behind the boys. Gail just grinned from her chair. "Hey," said Holly, smiling, and she leaned against the door.

"Hey." Gail kept grinning.

"Did you eat lunch?"

Nodding, Gail leaned back and propped her feet up, continuing the banal conversation. "Chicken salad, light on the mayo, with Kelly and John. You?"

"Quinoa veggie wrap." She paused and smirked. "Did you brush your teeth, Gail?" And Gail flashed her rather demonic, saturnine smile. Holly rolled her eyes but walked over to kiss Gail softly. "Hi."

"Hi. Court went well, huh?"

"Mm. Technically it was a closed session with a judge."

Now Gail rolled her eyes. "Potato, tomato." She kissed Holly again. "You look happy. Like your science saved the day."

"It usually does."

"Oh and I'm the egotist?"

They shared a laugh. "You're a realist, Inspector. You know you're awesome." Holly shook her head and sat on Gail's desk, looking over to the side. "What on earth did you do to that picture of your mother?"

Gail craned her neck. "I gave her a monocle. Makes her look devilish I thought."

"I can't believe she likes this hobby of yours."

"Well. We're insane." Gail smiled. "Speaking of insane, I have to break up a tête-à-tête with my wife to go meet with Sue about a bomb."

"I hope my pre-birthday work helped there."

"Oh it did. We're gonna brainstorm motives, though. She's short a true bomb expert."

Holly winced. "Don't give Vivian ideas."

Gail shared the wince. "I'm sure she already has it." The blonde got up and stretched before stepping up into Holly's personal space. "Think we'll survive her in ETF?"

"Hard to say." Holly draped her arms on Gail's shoulders. "But probably."

With a sigh, Gail leaned in until her forehead gently bumped Holly's. "She'll be happy. She needs that." They kissed softly. "Ever think about fostering another?"

"Sometimes." Holly smiled. "I don't think I have the same energy I did twenty years ago."

"God." Gail agreed. "Me neither. Okay. Go set up your order of disinterment."

Holly narrowed her eyes. "Did Marcel call you?"

"Paperwork passes me first," Gail pointed out. She kissed Holly's nose. "Let's go rock the world."

She followed Gail out. Just spending a few minutes with Gail, a couple private seconds, made her feel good. It always had. Which was probably why she loved Gail so much. They were compatible. Gail made her smile. That was the sort of thing that made a person keep coming back. Even from the very beginning, Gail made her smile.

"Alright, Sgt. Simmons," said Holly as she came up to his desk. "Did you read your email?"

The man smiled. "I have. Yours and Marcel's."

Holly took the empty chair by her friend's desk. She remembered when Gail and John had a pair of desks, facing each other, over by what was now a coffee station. The day Gail took the job as inspector, John stayed alone in their old desks for a month and then came in to find his desk besides Griggs. Now his was there alone.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Putting those thoughts out of her head for the time being, Holly went over the details with John. While Marcel had his goals for which bodies to exhume first, Holly had her own, and so did John. They'd managed to come to an agreement, her and Marcel, but it was John who had the backgrounds sorted and followed. As Holly had expected, John wasn't thrilled to have his plans altered. Still, he adapted as quickly as someone who worked with Gail day in and out tended to do, and they picked their first exhumation.

It was not the oldest body, but it was from before either of them had joined the force. It was one they all felt wouldn't send up red flags to anyone. It was from a killer who had a larger spectrum of victims. And all they needed now was a few uniformed officers to guard the lab as they dug the body up.

As Holly and John went downstairs to bring Andy into the loop, they saw the three female rookies headed out together. Vivian loomed a little, her expression still sour, but Lara had a grip on her upper arm. On the other side, Jenny was animatedly waving her hands and talking about the bar they were going to.

"That's a good thing, right?" John sounded doubtful.

"It must be." Holly sighed. "I hope they have good luck pulling her head out of her ass."

"If she's anything like her mother, good luck."

Holly chuckled. "How stupid were you at that age, huh?"

To her surprise, John shrugged. "That was about when Bethany died, so I was pretty screwed up. Took me a long time to figure out how to be people."

She'd not known him until he was in Missing Persons, and even then only passingly. Once John had become Gail's calm, stalwart partner in badge, Holly knew him to be a good, quiet man. A balance to her impetuous (then) girlfriend, who still jumped in with feelings, daring the world to break her heart again and again.

"I wish I'd known you before then," said Holly quietly.

"Oh god." John laughed. "When I was a rookie, I was more like Gail than Steve, I think. Outsider and aloof. Hang on..." He pulled out his phone and tapped around, getting a picture of himself as a male hooker. His hair, nearly chin length, was slicked and styled. His pants were impossibly tight, as was his shirt. He looked like a heart breaker.

"Oh my god, John! How have I not seen this before!?" Holly laughed, feeling brighter than she had in a while.

"I just got 'em for Janet. She wanted embarrassing photos of me, and besides the lumberjack thing for that dog fighting ring, and the bleached hair for the anti-royalists, this is about it. No photos of my gang running days, I'm afraid."

That was right! Gail had told her John one ran with a gang. And then a thought came to mind. "Jonathon Simmons, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen you without a collared shirt."

The man blushed. "Well.. It's embarrassing."

"So the rumor is true?" Holly grinned ear to ear. Once Gail had let slip that John possibly had a tattoo, something Gail, for some reason, found ridiculous and stupid.

"I'm gonna punch your wife. Is that okay?" John rolled his eyes.

"She didn't say what or where!" Holly couldn't wipe the smile off her face. "I have two."

John startled. "What? You?"

"I know, right? Of all the things Gail could get prudish about, it's tats."

They both exhaled, a shared tone of amusement, frustration, and tolerance. "I can't fathom being married to her."

"It's never dull." She shook her head. "You looking forward to it?"

He blushed. "Yeah. I really am. I never thought... I never thought I'd make it here."

Holly glanced in the direction her daughter had headed off. Married. A child. A house. "Yeah. Me neither." She beamed though. "Come on. Let's go tell McNally we get to dig up graves."


Vivian came awake, all at once, with a jolt of physical pain. That was new. Her heart was pounding, which was normal for waking up in a strange place. Abnormal was how her left arm throbbed, and her head to boot. "What... What the fuck?"

She identified the headache as a hangover, which also explained the taste in her mouth. But why was she on someone's couch? Vivian checked... Still dressed. And she knew the apartment. Why was she at Jenny's apartment? Vivian poked her left arm. It was like a sunburn.

With a hiss, she sat up. Take the problems one at a time. "Why am I here?"

The question was rhetorical. They'd gone out drinking. A lot of drinking. Vivian eyed her watch and tapped up the sleep recording. She'd been asleep for an hour, with spots of other naps. Weird. Then her eyes hit the time. "Oh, fuck."

Scrambling to her feet, she ran to the door to Jenny's bedroom and pounded. "Jen! It's seven thirty!"

"Fuck!" Her classmate tumbled, fully dressed, out of her room. "What the hell happened to my arm!"

Vivian looked down at her arm. Actually looked. They had matching bandages. "Where's Lara?"

"My bed..." Jenny and Vivian shared a look. Vivian arched her eyebrows. "Jesus, I'm still dressed, you asshole."

"Yeah? And sober? Gimme the keys. We gotta go." Vivian looked over Jenny's shoulder. "Lara! Wake up! We're going to be late to Parade."

That got Lara moving and, in fairly short order, they were piled into Jenny's hatchback. Vivian drove, taking every single shortcut she could remember from Elaine's incessant instructions. They still skidded into the station ten minutes late.

"Woah, party girls," said Rich, smirking.

"Bite yourself," snapped Vivian, flipping him off as she bounded into the locker room, Lara and Jenny at her heels.

"Jesus, how stupid are we?" Lara was cursing as she wriggled out of her jeans. "Drunk and tattoos?"

Tattoos... Of course. Vivian peeked at her arm and dug out her hated long sleeved shirt. "Fuck, how did I let you talk me into that, Jenny?"

Jenny looked affronted. "How did you know it's me!?"

"Uh, you have four tats already." Vivian hesitated and searched her pockets for anything. Receipt. Lotion... Bingo. A note to apply the cream and let the tattoo air out when possible. No bandage. "Fuck. This is going to kill on the damned poly."

Now Jenny looked worried. "Yeah... Do you have a longer undershirt?"

"Good idea." Vivian found her nearly elbow length shirt. After a moment of hesitation, she removed the bandage and looked.

"What is that?"

"Uh... It's the golden ratio in a seashell ... I think." She frowned and turned to the mirror. The lines were clean, at least. It lacked color, though.

Jenny's was an Greek pattern, an upper arm circle.

Lara's was on her ribs, which was going to hurt like fuck with their vests, and was her own name. "My god ... We were drunk."

"No shit." Vivian winced and applied the cream to her arm before pulling on a shirt. "I am so dead."

More than likely, if they stopped playing intentional phone tag and talked, Jamie would give her shit for the drunken escapades. Then she realized her parents... Fuck. Gail would lose her mind. She could deal with her parents, though. How could she explain it to her girlfriend? If they were still girlfriends. Jesus, she was making a mess of things.

Someone cleared their throat and all three rookies looked up.

Staff Sgt. Andy McNally. All Vivian could think was thank god she had her shirt on. Andy would tell Gail about the tattoo. "Do I want to know what happened last night?"

"No, ma'am," said Lara very fast, and she tugged her shirt down.

"You three missed parade." Andy tilted her head. "Not a good start, Volk."

Start? They all looked at Lara. Then Vivian got it. "But... I thought the budget... "

"You, Peck, better watch your next words."

Vivian clammed up.

Lara swallowed. "Who... Who do I report to?"

"Fox is waiting for you in the bullpen. Go." As soon as Lara was gone, Andy glared at Vivian and Jenny. "You two. I'm disappointed. Both of you know better than to show up at work. Late. Hungover. And god knows what else." They both flinched. "You are police officers. You are expected to represent this city and this uniform."

As one, Jenny and Vivian mumbled a yes-ma'am.

Andy fixed them with a glower. "Peck, you're on admit. Aronson, evidence." And the sergeant turned on her heel and stomped out.

"Jesus we dodged a bullet," muttered Jenny.

Privately, Vivian felt it was hypocritical. Hadn't Andy and Gail tied one on the night before Traci's first day as a detective? "Except that you're stuck doing evidence inventory and I'm on admit desk."

"That's not terrible."

As Vivian walked into admit and saw cells line with drunk, smelly, frat boys, her stomach turned. "Jesus fuck, what happened, Beaumont?"

The older officer smiled as evilly as Gail. "Frat party. Evidence is filled with their crap."

It was rank. "Did they fucking vomit..." Oh god they had. They'd puked all over everything. And evidence was worse.

There was no doubt in her mind, Andy McNally was an evil, evil woman. Thank god growing up with Gail as a parent had inured her to horrible smells. It was still enough to curdle Vivian's stomach.

"Time to process them out. Bail just came in."

Vivian counted the heads in the cells and sighed. Ten sobering frat boys. "Alright. I got it." Beaumont slapped her shoulder, which hurt, and walked out. Tapping on the keyboard, she loaded up the information. "Okay, Erik Thorne." Vivian looked at the photo and then spotted the man in the last cell.

At least she wasn't going to have to rearrange the cells.

"Hi, marry me," said Erik Thorne.

"I'm a lesbian," said Vivian, feeling her day firmly walk into shit.


Listening to Andy retell the story, Gail and Traci were hard pressed not to laugh. "Hungover?"

"All three of them, swear to god." Andy snickered. "I shoved Aronson in evidence, Peck's on admit."

Gail smirked. "Did they know Volk was going to start with the Ds?"

"Nope!" Andy sighed. "God knows what the hell they got up to, though. They're all in long sleeves."

That was interesting. "Vivian too? Huh." For whatever reason, Vivian hated long sleeves. So had Oliver, now that Gail thought about it. "Ah well. Who'd you loan John?"

"Todoroki, Goff, and Smith. They'll do the job fine." The staff sergeant of Fifteen shrugged. "Exhumation. That is a nasty guard job. Though it's not as bad as guarding hung over frat boys or processing their evidence."

Gail was hard pressed not to cackle. "Well they came in late. God. I wonder what they were up to."

"Is this Inspector Peck asking?" Andy looked amused.

"Oh god no, it's Mom Peck wondering what shit her idiot kid is up to." Gail shrugged. "She's been having a fight with her girlfriend for ... Three weeks now. Almost four. They're texting each other at least."

Andy made a face. "I do not understand kids these days. Texting but not talking?"

Traci laughed. "That's because for some unknown reason, you known how to talk about your drama."

"And God, do you talk," said Gail, drawing the word 'God' out into four syllables. Traci smacked her arm. "Ow! She does!"

"Not all of us are emotionally stunted, Gail," teased Traci.

"Hah. Which one of us has only been married once? And successfully raised a child with her wife?" Gail preened and both Andy and Traci smacked her arms as one. "Ow! Fuck both of you!"

Probably other people would think they didn't like each other. The three were constantly calling each other names, harassing and teasing and, yes, slapping the others on the arm. But they'd been together for decades now. They'd survived the academy, their rookie years, their first steps into seniority, and now they were the old guard. They were the long term face of policing in Toronto.

As much as Gail was loathe to admit it, they cared about each other. All of them. They'd been cops together longer than anything else. They'd known each other for half their lives. They were family, more than most of the Pecks.

"Hey, is it true John's getting married?" Andy looked, as she often did on the topic of weddings, excited.

"Calm your tits, McIdiot. It's a Hindu ceremony, so no stupid wedding march." Gail put her feet up on the coffee table. "Picture Bollywood. Dancing, awesome clothes, bright colors."

Traci snorted a laugh. "You're going?"

"Uh, duh. I'm a groomsbian." Gail actually did like that term. Back when he'd married Traci, Steve had called her than. Not that John was really having groomsmen. Janet was having her bridesmaids, of which Holly was numbered, but John's youthful friendships were with gangs and thugs. And now, as a nearly sixty year old cop, his friends on the force were dead or retired and moved away.

Except Gail, really.

Well that wasn't true. A couple of his old friends from Missing Persons were filling in, as was a cousin on his adopted father's side. And like Gail, John was happy with a small circle of friends.

"Hang on, Hindu?" Traci grinned. "Tell me you're dressing up."

Gail pulled her phone out and showed them photos of herself and John, trying on their outfits. "Dancing too. Vivian's dreading that, but the engagement party is first. They have to do some weird garbage about astrology and whatever, but it's alright. The wedding isn't till end of the year."

Whistling, Traci admired the photos. "You look adorable. When are you going to stop dying your hair?"

"In the non existent future when someone makes me a grandmother," said Gail, blithely.

Traci had the grace to sigh. "How the hell did she inherit your stupid, Gail?"

"Hell if I know." Gail shrugged. "Anyway. How long you gonna make Peck and Aronson suffer?"

"Oh, just today," said Andy. "Sue asked for Peck. At least I know Christian will stick around patrol forever."

"So will Abercrombie," Gail pointed out, teasing.

Andy winced. "God. He's not that bad, you know. He's gotten better since he got shot."

"Not a selling point," said Traci. "I'm just glad Volk passed the check for the Ds."

"Bummed you're missing training her?" Andy grinned.

"A little." Traci looked at Gail, thoughtfully. "Are you glad Viv's not going that route?"

Gail blinked. "As opposed to being glad my kid wants to hare off into buildings? Kinda a crap shoot." Then she narrowed her eyes at Traci. The woman never asked leading questions like that without a purpose. Traci was too smart. "What do you know that I don't?"

"See, you shouldn't have ditched dinner with Dov last week." Traci teased her.

"Fuck you, I was in goddamned Saskatchewan and you know it."

Traci laughed. "Through the efforts of a generous donation and a plea bargain from the makers of our shitty vests, our budget drama is back to normal levels of shit."

Gail blinked. "Well fuck." The budget was contentious at best on a good day. Everyone was arguing over who got what slice of a very meager pie. They all wanted everything. More staff, more equipment, better equipment, upgrades, and more. "And you have a rookie."

"I get up to three more after next graduation," said Andy, thoughtfully. "It feels like just yesterday we were pushing those faces into the counter at the Penny."

"Ask Oliver. I bet it feels like yesterday he did it to us." Gail sighed and got up. "Saskatchewan. I'm going to go for a round with the psychologists and accountants, which is exactly as fun a mix as you think it is."

"I feel sorry for them," said Traci, teasing. "Need me for anything?

Flipping Traci the bird, Gail shook her head. "No, John's on the serial smashers, Chloe's got that dognapping ring. Gun trade still low?"

"Every since Hills and Three Rivers collapsed, yeah. It's practically boring."

Gail tapped her lips. "Remember Jordan? My CI?"

"Oh sure. Didn't she retire?"

"You're never really out. She's still close to J.P.'s folks. Maybe she can point us to someplace new? Kids gangs?"

Traci winced. "And to think I wanted this gig."

"Guns and gangs," said Gail, smirking, and she walked out.


Twirling in her outfit, Holly wanted to giggle. "Janet, you really want me to be one of your bridesmaids?"

The petite cook grinned. "Yeah. I do."

Three other women, all Janet Mehta's friends from college and the decades of life since, were dressed in saris that matched Holly's. Over the half-year of planning, Holly had found herself roped into helping as soon as Janet learned she could dance. Because the rest of her bridesmaids were, as they all lamented, klutzy.

Dance lessons were starting after the engagement ceremony, which was at the end of the week.

At least Holly didn't have to sing.

Still, she was the only 'new' friend. And she was only a friend because their partners were work-married and had been for almost as long as Gail and Holly had been together. Sometimes she felt like an add-on to the group. But Janet and her friends were all lovely people. They were more artists than anyone in Gail and Holly's normal circle of friends, which was just a delight to have. One of them owned a gallery, and was putting up a show of Izzy Shaw's latest work, which pretty much cemented them as friends.

And, damn it all, Holly looked great in the sari. "Okay, good," she told Janet. "But I will not be held accountable if Gail tries to sneak me off to a coat closet."

The professional musician, Kashvi, laughed. "How long have you two been married?"

"Twenty-one years this summer." Holly shook her head, ruefully. The collected women were impressed. Between them, there were 6 weddings.

"Okay, Holly, what's the secret to a successful marriage?"

She grimaced. "I have no fucking clue!" Everyone laughed. "I'm serious. I didn't… So I thought Gail was straight when I met her. She was lamenting about men." Holly waved a hand. "But. Well, things happened and suddenly there's this woman and I'm totally head over heels for her, and the next thing I know I'm asking her to move in."

"See," said Kashvi. "That sounds like a perfect romance. Like you never fight."

Holly snorted. "Oh, we fight. I love her, but my god she can be infuriating."

"Don't fight in front of the kid?"

"Nah, she's seen it more than once." Holly sighed. "I don't know. I think we just have this one spot of luck."

Janet wriggled in her outfit, which slipped again and had to be repinned. "John told me you almost died once."

Everyone stared at her now.

"He exaggerates." Rolling her eyes, Holly told them the declassified version of events (which forced her to leave out what the mystery virus was that she'd been exposed to), and how she'd never been infected and just had a terrible coincidental case of meningitis.

"Wow. And I thought the story about John being in made for TV movies was weird."

Holly laughed. "He hates those movies!"

The others hadn't heard of that, so Janet and Holly explained about how John, or someone based on him, had been in not one but three terrible movies. Technically one was a mini series. They even pulled up the YouTube videos to show some of the more famous scenes.

Sadly one of them had a related video titled 'The Many Faces of Pathology' and Kashvi pressed play. It was, of course, some idiot's collection of scenes of the various versions of the fictional Chief Medical Examiner of Toronto, spliced with theories about who the characters were based on. Including some still shots of Holly, from her articles, Rodney, and more.

She really liked Janet and her friends.

Having friends outside of work, outside of school, was always so nice. Holly had spent too many years being an obsessed scientist and then wife and mother to really extend her friends beyond what she had going into adulthood. And when Vivian hadn't really brought many friends home (with their parents attached), it just was static. The only friend parents Holly had really met was Matty's, and his mother had been pretty useless.

Besides Rachel, none of her friends had children. While Chloe, Dov, Oliver, and Celery were certainly her friends too, they were Gail's first. Technically Janet came to her via John, who as in turn via Gail as well, but this was different. Janet was the sort of person Holly knew she'd be friends with for a long time.

As the women were laughing over the campy Netflix series staring Dr. Thyme, Holly's phone rang. Not recognizing the number, she replied professionally. "Dr. Stewart."

The other women broke up laughing.

Thank god she was used to life with Gail. She turned around and walked to the other end of the room.

"Hello, this is Howard from CDC Global Health. You filed a request to exhume a ... Mr. Alastair Thoravil?"

Holly blinked. "Oh, yes. We filed the petition with the judge's approval. Is there a problem?"

"We at the CDC are informed whenever a possibly infectious body is about to be, um, disturbed."

Suddenly she knew what was going on. "Except he didn't die of the Spanish Flu."

Howard startled. She could actually hear it. "What?"

"That's the whole point... Look, I'm out right now, but didn't you read the report?"

"The, um, report?"

"Section four and ten of the warrant?"

"There ... There were sections?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "Seventeen. Section four, page ... I think it's seven. We detailed soil analysis and historical evidence we still had which proved no living virus. It has the police report which included how the constables and detectives both felt the case was unrelated to the flu. Section ten covers our plan to perform a secure and safe extraction, just in case we're wrong. We'll have all participants inoculated and in full protection, above your standards, complete with a tent. And yes, the officers are included in our precautions."

There was silence. The room and the phone were silent. Holly didn't look back as Howard spoke. "Oh. I see. I, um, I see. That ... Oh I. I'm going to review— I'm going to have this re-reviewed and call you back?"

"Or my office," said Holly, coolly.

"Or that. Thanks. Um. Thank you, Dr. Stewart." Howard mumbled a goodbye and hung up.

Holly sighed. She was pretty sure she knew that particular idiot. "Dumb ass." She turned back to the bride and her bridesmaids and found them all staring at her. "Oh. Sorry. It was a work thing."

"That was cool," said one of the women. "Did you memorize your own report?"

Wincing, Holly nodded. "I did. I had to review and revise the damn thing a dozen times. The judge was being real picky."

Janet nodded, sagely. "Gail's worse. She memorizes what you're saying while you say it."

"Only if she's actually paying attention," said Holly, trying to make her wife's weird habit seem normal.

"Oh sure," said Kashvi. "She's a detective. Like don't play cards with John, the bastard counts cards!"

Janet laughed. "He does! He also speaks three languages. How many is Gail up to?"

"You're making her sound weird," said Holly, her voice a mumble.

"I heard you recite the Fibonacci sequence on a dare, Doctor." Janet smirked.

"You sang the Elements!" But Holly laughed too.

"That's nothing," said Kashvi, conspiratorially. "She can break down any recipe, translate from metric to imperial, and she can increase or decrease. Need 175% more cookies? She knows how much flour."

Rolling her eyes Janet announced, "Anyone can do that!"

At the same time, Holly pointed out the obvious. "That's just math!"

When she got home, Holly retold the conversation to Gail, who found it suitably funny. "You're faster at kitchen math than I am," Gail said as she brought plates to the table.

"Anyone's better at math than you." Holly smirked at her wife. "Elaine said the only reason you passed math was you had a crush on your teacher."

Gail huffed. "Probably true. She was tall, dark, had glasses."

"Sexy librarian? Totally your type."

"Exactly." Smirking, Gail sat down. "I bet she'd make that joke you do about a guacamole being avocado's number."

"Avogadro's number."

"See?" Picking up her wine glass, Gail took a long drink. "At least you had a good day. Forensic accountants take the fun out of forensics."

"Yuck. I'm sorry. Did you at least figure out a motive?"

"Nothing connective. It sucks. For a change I have acres of evidence and none of it fits."

"Want to unpack it?"

Her wife hesitated and then shook her head. "No. Not right now."

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Gail smirked. "Nerd."

"Your nerd." Reaching her foot out under the table, Holly found Gail's leg and poked it. "We start exhumation on Monday."

That excited Gail. "Oh cool. An over hundred year old body."

"Hundred fifty." Holly smiled. "Soldiers from the First World War brought over the flu when they returned, causing an epidemic."

"How many died?"

"50 thousand."

Gail whistled. "Right after we lost over 60k in the war, too."

It made Holly smile, that Gail just knew things like that. "True. That's why we got the department of health, though, which is why we have the CDC who called— oh! That's why I knew Howard!"

"Howard? Who's Howard?" Gail looked totally confused.

"The moron who called me today. I talked to him when I was exposed to that virus."

It took a moment, but Gail caught on. "Seriously? Same guy?"

"Howard with the CDC. How many can there be?"

"That... You know. That kind of terrifies me," said Gail in her most serious tone. But then she took a bite of her pasta. "Tell me about the Spanish Flu."

Holly grinned.

People always said that it could take forever to find the one. Not that Holly would ever, on her life, tell Gail she was the one. But the TV shows always had some girl who changed from nerd to princess to be the one the best friend was looking for, and that it always took time. And yet. Gail had taken no time at all to fall from friend to crush to lover and to wife.

Here, in the thorny, opinionated, dark humored cop, Holly found someone who didn't want her to change. There, finally, was a woman who saw her as the nerd and the geek and loved her for it. Gail loved that Holly was a fountain of weird information, mostly scientific. She loved trying to one-up Holly on weird shit of the day. She loved being one-upped. She loved Holly.

"So the epidemic came in two waves. The first was the normal one, like we warn people about. The ill or the infirm are susceptible. But the second one... That one took young, healthy, kids. Teens and young adults. And that's when it went from epidemic to pandemic."

Other people probably thought that talking about the history of mass death in Canada was an odd thing to do at the dinner table. Gail hung on Holly's every word.


The text was short.

Don't get shot.

Vivian's thumbs lingered over the keys off and on all day, waiting until she knew Jamie was probably sleeping at the station to reply.

No chance. Stuck with frat boys. Don't get burnt.

She added a smiley face with an eyeroll.

There was no reply. As expected. There would probably be one later that night, sent after Vivian's phone slipped into Do Not Disturb mode, or when it would be too late to logically reply.

Grimacing, she tossed her phone into her locker and followed it, hiding her face in the dark for a moment. This was not good.

"You should try calling her," said Jenny as she opened her locker beside Vivian's.

"No offense, but the last time I took your advice, I ended up hungover and late." Vivian sighed and leaned back out, eyeing Jenny. "How do you think Lara's doing?"

Jenny exhaled loudly. "Probably awesome. She's smart. Talented." Sitting down on the bench, Jenny took her over shirt off. "Is Staff around?"

They were not. Vivian shook her head. "All clear if you want a shower. But you know they don't care."

"Seriously? My granddaddy told me all about how they fired someone for this," hissed Jenny, and she gestured at her arm.

"Sure, thirty years ago." Vivian rolled her eyes. Jenny had been hiding all of her tattoos from the rest of the division since she started, which Vivian thought was stupid. The others were, at least, hidden by clothes. Even in a baby doll tank, you didn't see Jenny's tattoo of a hand holding a rose. It was really pretty, all outlines. "They gave up after the Mounties did."

"What?!"

"You didn't know?" Vivian shucked her uniform and wriggled into her jeans. "The Sgt. Major who comes on the floats has a full sleeve."

Jenny looked a little impressed. "I don't see you flaunting yours."

Vivian sighed. "That's the bane of our sergeant being my fucking babysitter growing up. She'll tell my mothers."

"What? And they'd care?"

"Gail would. She's ... She's old school. She's incredibly broad minded about all sorts of things, but not policing and ... Propriety." Vivian shook her head and shoved her dirty uniform into her bag. "Police have to represent things properly."

Jenny did not seem to believe that one bit. "Our Inspector? The one who wears jeans and boots practically every day? With bleached blonde hair? I've heard her mouth too, she's a brat!"

"Sure, in here. Watch her in the field or catch her at court, and she does not fuck around." Having seen Gail enough times on TV and in court, a rare treat she'd begged for as a teen, Vivian well understood the difference. "Look, remember Rich's talk at the academy?"

Her friend scowled. "Uniforms?"

"That's the one. Presenting a common appearance generates trust."

"Yeah, you lost me."

"Pecks think that tattoos deviate from the proper norm for police officers. Gail's hair is a sort of safe rebellion."

Jenny, a legacy as much as Vivian was, nodded slowly. "Oh. God, your grandmother too."

"I really don't want to think about it." Vivian pulled on her summer riding jacket.

"So you're going home all stinky?"

"No, I'm going to my gym."

"Gonna get it removed?"

The what? Oh, the tattoo. Vivian shook her head. "No. I don't think so. I'm just... I'm deferring that as long as I can."

"How's that gotten you with your girl?" When Vivian didn't answer, Jenny spoke again. "I still think you should just call her and apologize for whatever you said."

Vivian sighed again and shut her locker. "I'm just going to be a fucking asshole and say it again right now. See you tomorrow."

And that was the problem. She was still angry. Vivian still felt moments when she wanted to rage against everything and scream. It was all she could do right now to keep it within herself, swallow the hurt, and not cry. And the more she held back the tears, the more she felt the fire of agony inside.

Anyone would understand that, she suspected. But would they understand the other part of it? The part where she was terrified of being her father. What if this was how it started? A slow decay into an inability to control one's base urges like that, the slipping of the veneer of humanity, expedited by the abuse of her grandparents.

She'd once asked Holly how she could tell what was her biological family and what wasn't. It was as much as she'd ever expressed her fears to her mothers. Not that she didn't think they'd understand, but she didn't want to talk to them about it. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to be it. She just wanted to be Vivian Peck.

Vivian sat on her bike and stared at her phone again. Damn it. She opened the exercise app and pulled up the map of where she'd been the night before. Years ago she'd tweaked the GPS settings so it only checked locations when she wanted it to, and not by external methods. That had driven Gail up a wall, not being able to track her location. In deference to Gail's perfectly rational paranoia, Vivian had enabled tracking for her mother and made damned sure the data was encrypted on all their devices.

Everyone had their own paranoias, after all.

Studying her phone, she popped into the raw data and tried to make sense of where she'd been and for how long. That was the real problem with the exercise maps. They told a person where they'd been and how long it took, but specifics were omitted on the display. The raw data was more useful for that, but the apps sure didn't make it easy to find.

All she wanted was to find where she'd gotten tattooed the night before, but she was stuck with a list of possibles. So all she could do there was ride her bike until she found the right place. Fuck the gym for now, she decided, and headed to the first place they'd stopped.

An hour and a half later, she was two tattoo parlors down and no closer to finding the artist who did her tattoo. She wasn't even sure she knew why she wanted to find it, but somehow Vivian knew she had to. The third store looked familiar, and Vivian was struck by sudden doubts. She could turn around and walk away.

Still... Vivian chewed her lip and opened the door.

"Hi, be just a second." The girl behind the counter was tattooed, pierced, and her hair was dyed multiple colors.

Vivian felt a surge of envy. The police force had, back before she'd been born, had a policy about no visible tattoos, but they permitted cover ups. That had changed, being called unfair, and evolved to where it was now allowed but certain positions frowned on it. ETF used to ban people for them. Now Sgt. Smith had a half-sleeve, and just wore long shirts when he needed to be official and presentable.

But the dyed hair and piercings were still a no go. They weren't outright banned, but everyone knew that there was no way to get ahead with them. And Vivian missed being able to mess with her hair. What Gail did was socially acceptable.

She waited in silence, shoving her hands into her pockets and looking around. Now that she was inside, she was sure this was the right place. It had the feel, the vibe she remembered from two nights ago. The same smell. It had to be right.

"Sorry about that, can I help you?"

"It's okay. Work ..." She hesitated. "Help. Yes. Do you know who did this?" Vivian pushed her sleeve up. There was no point being embarrassed about her reality.

"Oh hey, that looks like Pork Roll's work."

"Sorry. Pork Roll? That's a name?"

The girl laughed. "Porter Rollins. He was chubby when he started, so we called him Pork Roll. But that's him. Nice lines. Want me to get him?"

Vivian hesitated. "Uh. That depends how shitty my friends and I were."

"That sounds like a story."

"It involved tequila."

The eyes across the desk brightened. "Oh you're the three girls who came in, got tattooed, and got blitzed on the tequila! Oh yeah, yeah, you're alright."

Vivian exhaled, relieved. "You sure? I was fully prepared to apologize with coffee and donuts?"

"What kind of donuts?"

Smirking, Vivian put the bag on the counter. Of course she'd brought the donuts anyway. "Mixed assortment."

"Oh these are good." The girl took out a fluffy one and bit into it, looking just like Gail. "So good. I'm gonna get Pork Roll." She paused, took a second donut and left it on her counter, taking the rest into the back.

A few minutes later, an unfamiliar man came out. "No, I did the other one," he announced as soon as he came out. "The Greek one. Al did this." But Pork Roll came up to take a serious look, chewing on an old fashioned donut. "Yeah, Al has way cleaner lines here. Curves, he's awesome."

"Is Al... Here?"

Both employees shook their heads. "He's in Friday," said the girl, looking at the computer.

"Gonna complain?" Pork Roll frowned a little. "If you want the name of a removal—"

"Woah, no no." Vivian crossed her hands in front of her. Suddenly she knew exactly why she was there and what she wanted. It was perfectly clear. "I want to finish it."

The tattoo artist blinked. "Really? I got the impression you girls were having a bit of fun. I mean... Yours was the most intricate."

That was true. She'd seen the others and they all looked fine as they were. Her's though was terribly unfinished. "I can't speak for my friends," Vivian pointed out. "But. Uh. I know fuck all about this. How long would it be to finish?"

Pork Roll stuck out his lower lip. "Lesse..." He took over the computer and pulled up some file. "Oh, just the blue and it looks like that. Okay. At least a couple hours. Three or more if you want the white. Some people do."

Three hours. Huh. "How does that work? Just ... I sit for three hours?"

The two employees grinned. "Depends on your pain tolerance," explained the girl. "I've had clients who can only last an hour."

Oh they were both tattoo artists. Vivian kicked her sexist brain. "I see. So at least one more ... One more session? Can I schedule that?"

And both tattoo artists stared at her. "You explain it," said Pork Roll. "I've got to get ready for my back work."

As he headed into the back of the store, the girl sighed. "Look, kid. You're, what, twenty five? Some professional?"

"I'm a cop," said Vivian, as blasé as she could muster. Kid?

The girl (woman?) was surprised. "Oh. I thought that was against the rules."

"Not for like ten years." She paused. "What's your name? I'm Vivian."

"Lola." The tattoo artist held out her hand. "And I'm forty."

Vivian startled. "Shit, you do not look it. And trust me, my mom looks half her age." They shook hands.

Lola laughed. "Thank you. Listen, Vivian. You don't have to get this finished. It looks fine, and the detail work for this is going to be long and painful. If you're trying to be cool or something, just leave it alone."

Ah. This was the talk-out conversation. Vivian shook her head. "This is because we got drunk. Right. No. I want to finish this. I know it probably looks stupid, but I'm sure. I mean, Jesus, I hacked into my GPS to see where the hell I'd gone the other night to track you guys down, since you haven't charged my fucking credit card yet."

That surprised Lola. "We didn't charge you?"

"Not yet."

The woman tapped on the keys. "Oh I see. There's this ... Never mind. Anyway. Pushing that through now. If you want to schedule, there's a fifty percent down for it."

"That's fine." Vivian held out her credit card. "Friday night? I get off shift at six."

"Seven work?"

"Yeah. If I have to reschedule I can just call? Won't lose my deposit?"

"Well. Normally... But you're a cop. I bet your hours aren't regular."

Vivian grinned. "Never. Not even once."


When she walked into her office, someone had written on her white board: All work and no play makes Gail a raving bitch.

She narrowed her eyes. "John, you're a cocksucker!"

"Nope, still boring and hetero," replied John.

Gail turned and saw him in her doorway. "You're not funny." She pointed at the board.

"I'm fucking hilarious. And you're stuck and frustrated and being a bitch. Which you told me to warn you about."

"I didn't mean like that," she said in a low voice.

John didn't seem affected by her language or tone. He knew her too well. "Look. What makes you think you'll magically solve this case fast? No one else has."

While he had a point, she didn't really care. "First of all, I'm more awesome. Second, this coming from the guy on a century and a half old case?"

"It's not the only bone I'm gnawing," John said, pointedly. "You have too many politics in your life, Gail. You need a fun, moderately high profile case to take the edge off."

She huffed and sat down, somewhat defeated. "Yeah. Well." Staring at her white board, Gail frowned. "I do. And I'm not getting it any time soon. Because I'm the boss."

"You wanted to be the boss."

"I was drunk on the idea power."

John laughed. "Glad you admit it!"

"Is there a point to all this?"

"Yes. You, SuperPeck, need a break. You're extra irritable and grumpy."

Gail pressed her lips together. While Holly had not said the same, she'd implied that a vacation from work might be in order. Holly's birthday had involved a long weekend, but that wasn't really enough and they both knew it. Sometimes Gail just had a hard time relaxing. It didn't come naturally to her.

She looked at John and sighed. "You're right."

Her friend startled. "I'm right?"

"Yeah, you're right." Gail sighed. "I don't have a functional off switch, John."

John stepped inside the room and closed the door. "That sounds like something Holly would say."

"She does." Looking at the white board, Gail huffed. "I don't know how to not go at full throttle."

"Gail... You are one of the laziest creatures on the planet."

"True."

"And you're telling me that... What, you're either all or nothing?"

Gail nodded. "Yes."

John looked at her, thoughtful and quiet. "How are we just now talking about this? We've been friends how long?"

"Long time." Gail smiled, tiredly. "Look it's ... I have a very carefully cultivated veneer of not giving a fuck."

"Hence the lazy?"

"Hence the lazy."

"Yeah... I can see that." John sat on the second chair and sighed loudly. "Is this why you got all stressed out back when we were working the Rose case?" When she nodded, he scowled. "And now you're working it again. Kinda. Jesus, Gail."

She actually hadn't thought about that. "Oh, God. I didn't make that connection... You know Donnie's up for parole?"

John winced. He visibly winced. "Well that is a bitch."

"And so am I." Gail got up and wiped off the board as John looked guilty. "Oh. Don't do that. You're right, I've been a pain in the ass. And frankly, I'm thinking Safary goes back on the shelf, along with your shit."

"Is now the time to tell you we have leads? Like real ones?"

Gail grinned. "Oh please tell me that Howard is involved!"

"Howard? Oh! The CDC guy? God, you and Holly both." John laughed. "Why do you hate him?"

"I don't hate him, I just think he's an idiot."

"How is that different from anything else?" John stretched his legs out. "You need a vacation."

"Holly's birthday is next week. I'm taking four."

"A long weekend to your cabin is not a vacation."

Gail snorted. "No internet, no tv—"

"And with an open case, you'll stress and think about it. How the hell did you used to decompress before?"

"Before what?"

"Before now? Maybe you should take your kid out and do something mommy/daughter."

What did she do to de-stress herself? What did anyone do? "I hate unsolved cases," she muttered under her breath.

"Want a solvable one? We have that embezzlement thing?"

"Boring."

John went on, seemingly unbothered. "There's the B&Es at the AirB&Bs."

"Trujillo and Pedro have that. They're good... We should official that up."

"You think? They're both young."

"They're good work partners. Better than Pedro and Vince."

"Okay. I'll do that." John didn't make a note. He didn't have to. Gail loved that about him. "How about... No that's depressing."

"I'm not taking the mummified baby, Simmons. Look at where it was found." During the demolition of a high school, a baby had been found wrapped in paper and chiffon. Gail had no doubt it was a baby born during prom and either left to die or, she hoped, stillborn. "Run the DNA. The dress fabric was popular when Viv was still going to school dances, so it's barely more than a decade. Dried by the air systems. We were pushing a lot of sampling for the youth database back then. Good chance we have one of the parents in the system." She glanced over. John was smirking. "What?"

He kept smirking. "You get how you probably just solved a case by complaining about it?"

"Fuck you, I'm not taking it. Give it to Mayhew."

John got up. "Yes, ma'am. Assign it to Mayhew, ma'am." He mock saluted her. "Don't tell him how his boss can solve crime while asleep."

"Go!" But. But Gail laughed. And she felt lighter and better than she had in days.


When she got to Vivian and Christian's place, Holly was astounded. It was a marvel.

"You built an electrolysis tank." Holly squatted on Vivian's deck to study the plastic bin. There was a wooden stick across the top with a metal cord holding the rusted gun in the water, hooked up to jumper cables.

"Well it's rusted," said Vivian, defensively. She was glaring at Christian. "I can't believe you called my mom."

"You're hooking up electricity to water! People die like this!"

Holly laughed. "Okay, okay, step down." Both youngsters grumbled. Holly jerked her chin at Christian who caught the clue. "She's done this before, Christian."

The man grumbled again. "Fine. I'm going out. Please don't burn the place down."

She checked the set up carefully, waiting until Christian had indeed left the apartment. The last time they'd tried it, Holly had designed and built the tank. This one was better, more efficient, and clearly the kid had done it on her own. "This is ... This is brilliant, Viv. What's your plan?"

"Soak it overnight, get as much of the rust off as I can. Then soak it in restoration oil and see if I can make it move. While that's going on, check the serial to make sure I don't have a stolen gun, and get it so I can disassemble it the rest of the way. I should be able to make it usable by November."

Double checking the leads, Holly asked, "Is this the gun I asked you to get her two years ago?"

"Yeah! Isn't it crazy? I found it at a garage sale."

"Since when have you gone to garage sales?"

Vivian flushed. "Last couple weeks."

Also known as the weeks in which Vivian had been fighting with her girlfriend. "Honey. Have you considered throwing yourself at her mercy?"

Quietly, Vivian kicked at the railing on her deck. "Yes."

"And?"

She was quiet for a while. "How did you know Mom was it? Was it the thumb?"

Left turn. Conversations with Vivian often went in odd directions, though. "Oh. So many other times too, sweetheart." She stood up. "But yes, when I was walking away from her in the station after the thumb thing, I knew I was making a huge mistake."

"How come we do that? How come, even when we know we're wrong, we do the stupid?"

"God, if I knew..." Holly shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to fix it."

Vivian leaned on the railing. "I know I need to say I'm sorry. I don't know how to say it right."

"You could try dragging her into interrogation?"

There was a pause and they both laughed. "That really doesn't work for anyone else, Mom."

Holly reached over and tweaked Vivian's nose. "Gail's going to go apeshit over this if you pull it off."

Blushing, Vivian ducked her head. "I hope so. I already ordered the rest of the parts."

"You, you are your mother's child. I think she bought out QVC when we broke up."

To her surprise, Vivian looked worried. "Did we break up?"

"Oh honey, I don't know," Holly said sadly. "I really don't."

Vivian did the weird thing where she'd gnaw on the inside of her cheek. The mom in Holly wanted her to stop. "How'd you know ... When you and Mom y'know?"

Holly blinked. "How did I know we broke up? Well she was a brat and didn't answer 8 voicemails and 27 text messages." While Gail might argue it was 28, one of the messages had been an honest accident, trying to text the lab about a case. Still, over twenty years later, Gail still remembered every single voicemail and text. She'd read them, and been unable to reply.

But Vivian looked a little stricken and pulled out her phone. "I replied," she said softly.

This part of a conversation was hard enough as a friend. It felt impossible as a mom. "Honey. What's the last text?"

"Uh. I sent her a photo of the whole electrolysis set up and said I was cleaning it for Mom. And she said not to set the building on fire, it's outside her jurisdiction."

That was far better than the random facts that Holly had sent Gail. After the first week, she'd run out of ideas on how to apologize, so Holly sent her factoids about parthenogenesis and random history bits about forensics in Toronto. There had been a few asking just how many Pecks were there in the city, and how many had been high ranking officers.

Holly exhaled. "That's a good sign, sweetheart."

"Yeah?" The look on Vivian's face was hopeful. "Okay."

"But you need to talk to her."

"I know. I know."

"Still angry?" When Vivian nodded, Holly sighed. "You need to talk. Tell her why you're angry. Tell her you still like her." And Vivian nodded again. Hmm. Holly tried a different tactic. "Do you kind of feel empty? Like not having her around is making a hole in you somewhere?"

Vivian stared. "Kind of, yeah."

"You might be falling for her, honey."

It was unexpected, the bitter expression on Vivian's face. "I can't .. Mom. I don't ..." The girl turned and leaned on the railing, scowling. "I don't know."

"Know what?"

"What love means."

Holly wanted to laugh. She wanted to laugh at the serious, pained, thoughtful expression on Vivian's face. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the question. She wanted to laugh with the sadness of realizing her daughter didn't know. She wanted to laugh because she couldn't cry about it.

"Oh, honey." Holly moved over and rested a hand on Vivian's back. "No one does. Not even me and Gail."

Vivian leaned into her a little. "But I ... You love Mom."

"I do," said Holly. "And I love you, and my parents, and even Elaine." Vivian laughed a little. "But I don't know why. And I can't really explain it, except that I know it. I see them, I see you, and you're a part of me. You especially, Viv."

The big, hazel eyes looked at her. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. I saw you, that first time you came into the old townhouse, and I just felt like you were a part of us. You were meant to be with us, and we were meant to take care of you and help you be a person."

There was a sniffle. "I know I love you," said Vivian quietly. "I don't ... I don't know how that works with people who aren't you guys."

"That's okay, honey." Holly tried to project comfort and assurance. She often felt like she wasn't as good at that as she should be. Confidence outside of her work was never her strong suit. But at the same time, Holly had a good nineteen years of practice with her daughter. Be a mom. Sometimes, all a child needed was for a parent to be there. Even if she was 25 and very much not a child anymore.

Vivian sighed, deeply. "I hate people."

"Me too."

"Gail too."

"Oh, God, she does." Holly smiled softly. "Look. Without saying big words like 'love' or anything, she obviously cares about you enough to give you space to deal with whatever's in your head and yet still is willing to text and play phone tag. Right?"

"Yeah," said Vivian softly.

"And you want to talk to her, you just don't know how. Right?"

A pause. "Well. Yeah." Vivian leaned away and looked at Holly, bewildered. As if the words were all true and she wondered just how the hell Holly did that.

"Thats what you tell her. You miss her, you want to talk but you don't know what to say, and you're hurt and angry because your birth family screwed with your head."

Vivian sniffed and nodded. "You make that sound easy."

"Oh, it's not. Eight voicemails, and Gail's still the one who said she loved me first." Holly shrugged. "Love isn't like the movies, or people like Andy think." They both laughed a little. "It's ... Chloe gets it. So does Celery. They know there are people you're just going to love, and sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn't, but you're going to love them and it makes no rhyme or reason but they're the people you can't do without." Holly reached and gently tweaked Vivian's nose again. "You know how it feels. You're just confused by it."

"How come you're so smart?"

"I'm old, sweetie."

Her daughter looked a little cryptically at her and then pulled Holly in for a deep, real hug. They were rare. The moments that Vivian just did that, just hugged and held and was a regular, normal, person were so precious and few. Holly wrapped her arms around her kid and hugged her back.

This, she tried to say in the hug, this feeling is love.


When she opened the door, Lola grinned. "Hey, right on time."

Part of Vivian couldn't believe she was doing it. "I try to be punctual," she admitted.

"And more sober. No regrets, huh?" The woman grinned. "Al's waiting for you. Come on." And she led Vivian to a back room that was mostly familiar.

Al, not Pork Roll. And he was absolutely the guy she vaguely remembered from the night. "Hey, cop girl! Pull up a chair."

Vivian sat and took off her over shirt. "Thanks for fitting me in."

"Promise not to get loaded tonight?"

She smiled. "Sober all the way through tonight."

"Your friends gonna get theirs finished?"

"I don't know... The lines you guys did are really nice, though. Clean." She leaned back. "I wouldn't hate it if I left it as this."

"Yeah, but this is going to look awesome." Al grinned. "Blue and white. Right?"

Vivian nodded and sighed. "I don't actually remember why I picked this."

"You said it was about your mom?"

And then, suddenly, she knew. Vivian exhaled. "Oh."

"She dead? I mean, we get a lot of that."

"No, God. No. I have two. Moms. Uh, both alive. One's a cop and one's a scientist."

Al made a noise of understanding. "I see."

And for once, Vivian felt words bubbling up out of nowhere. This man, this total stranger who had a needle to her arm and was creating art in her skin was someone she could talk to. "I took Peck, y'know, so I could be something other than my birth family. Better. Something better. Only they showed up anyway and it all blew up in my face."

"Uh huh." Al nodded and concentrated on his work.

"I picked a fight with my girlfriend," said Vivian quietly. "A stupid, stupid, stupid fight. I'm not even mad at her. I'm mad at... At my birth family, God they're assholes. And I'm mad at me, because I want to tell them to die, and .. I can't. Because I feel guilty."

Al paused. "It'd be easier to hate 'em?"

"God. So much easier."

"It is easy to hate and it is difficult to love. This is how the whole scheme of things works. All good things are difficult to achieve; and bad things are very easy to get."

Vivian squinted at Al. "That was deep."

"Confucius always sounds deep. I tattooed that on someone."

She held in a laugh, not wanting to jiggle her arm. "Thanks."

"Hey, I'm like a bartender, right? Therapy and pain."

Vivian winced. "Jesus, my therapist is gonna have a field day with me."

"Can't help you there," said Al, smiling. They fell quiet for a while. "Okay, so science mom? Golden ratio? I thought it was just a shout out to that TV show that was huge, with the clones?"

Oh right. "Orphan Black? That's what Cosima's tattoo was. The golden ratio."

"Tell me about it?"

He was trying to distract her.

It was welcome.

"It's a special number. Phi. Irregular. It has no ending, like pi. But this represents the balance of ratios. Pretty much everything relates back to it."

She nattered on about the math and the science and ratios for almost the entire session. Sometimes Al asked questions, but mostly he was quietly confirming that he was paying attention. He'd check that she was still okay, the pain wasn't too much, and ... Somehow it wasn't. They took breaks, but for all she was having a needle jammed into her and ink injected, it wasn't too painful. Not more than she could bear at least. After nearly three hours, he finished and held up a mirror.

The conch shell had been a simple outline before. Beautiful in its own right. But now, filled in with blue and white, it looked startling and majestic. It was similar to Cosima's tattoo, something she and Holly had admired over the years. At the same time, it stood all on its own.

"So?"

"Perfect." Vivian smiled at the image. It was four inches long now, with the blue and white fading into her own skin color, like it had erupted from within. The golden ratio. A glimpse at the possibility of perfect, a concept she never thought to have for herself. Maybe, maybe now she could.

She tipped him well. She had to for something that made her smile like that.

She was still smiling when she got home and found Matty and Christian in the living room, waiting for her.

"Sit down," said Matty, in his most serious tone.

"Why do I feel like this is an intervention?" She closed the door and sat on the couch.

"It is." Christian twisted his hands together. "What the hell's going on, Viv? You're acting weird. Jamie never comes over anymore. Shit, I don't even know if you two are talking, and what the fuck is on your arm?"

Ugh. She looked down at her arm, the bandage peeking out from under her shirt. "I..." She paused and looked at Matty, then Christian. "I fucked up."

Both men looked surprised. "Vivian," said Matty, gently. "I will tie you up and drop you off on Jamie's doorstep if that's what it takes to apologize."

"God, you didn't cheat on her, did you?" That was Christian.

Vivian rolled her eyes. "Jesus you're idiots."

"That's not a no."

"I didn't cheat on her." Both her friends looked relieved. Actually, Matty looked vindicated. "C... That girl who showed up at the station?"

He frowned. "Oh wait, Lindsey Stone?"

"She's my ... She's my biological cousin."

The heaviness of the words swallowed anything her friends were going to say. Finally Matty exhaled. "Which... Um. Shit, I don't even know. I thought they were all dead."

Vivian cracked her knuckles. They each knew part of the story. Christian knew that her birth parents were dead. Matty knew about the grandparents. "I thought they were too. My ... My father, my birth father, killed my family. I wasn't home."

There.

Two more people. Two people who loved her, she knew that. But two more people out there who knew some of the story.

Matty looked like he wanted to hug her. Christian just nodded a little, bewildered. And then Matt spoke. "Then... The grandparents?"

Vivian nodded. To Christian, she explained. "My ... Um. Paternal grandparents died when I was fourteen. They didn't get custody because, apparently, they used to beat the shit out of my father and my aunt." She knew she said the last word a little grimly. It was all she had. "Who I didn't know existed until last month."

"Jesus... And that's Lindsey's mom..." Christian swore and ran his hands through his hair.

Matty was more pragmatic. "So you've been acting like a fucking moron because your bio fam showed up and fucked your brain up?"

"Well. That and they only showed up because they wanted my bone marrow," said Vivian, grumbling.

While Christian gaped, Matty glared. "So you got drunk and tattooed?" Obviously he'd figured out the bandage,

When he put it that way... Vivian cleared her throat. "Yes."

Matty rubbed his face with both hands. "I love you to bits, Vivian, but you are fucking stupid."

"I have been painfully reminded of that."

"That's why you were at the hospital," said Christian, suddenly understanding it all. "Fuck that's a… Yeah, okay. You're not a match?"

Matty eyed the cop. "How do you know she even got tested?"

"Have you met her parents?" Christian waved a hand in Vivian's direction. "She's Holly's kid. Of course she got tested."

"Hang on… Why didn't your moms tell you? Matty swiveled to eye Vivian.

"They weren't allowed to." She leaned back in the couch. "It's a whole thing."

Both her friends mulled that over for a while. "I get it," said Christian at length. "My dad can't talk to me."

This was news to Matty, who startled. "What?"

"My dad kidnapped me when I was a toddler," said Christian with a deep sigh. "He has a crazy restraining order."

Matty screwed up his face. "How the fuck is my mother being a crazy Christian who wants to de-gay me the sanest one!?"

Christian looked appalled. "What!?"

"Glad we're all on the fucked up page of life," muttered Vivian.

"No shit," said Matty. "Okay. What the hell did you do to Jamie?"

"Acted like a shithead. Picked a fight." Vivian sighed. "I know I need to talk to her. I don't know how to talk to her."

Matty exhaled loudly. "Okay. Does she know?"

"About... What?" Vivian tilted her head.

"Your family? Your parents—"

The feeling of anger that she'd kept tamped down all day snapped again. "Gail and Holly are my parents." Her reaction must have shocked her friend, as Matty's head jerked. "Sorry. Sorry but..."

"No, I get it," said Matty, softly. "I think ... I think I get why you're having a problem right now."

Christian nodded fiercely. "Totally. I mean, I hate that he's my dad. But.. Viv. They are."

"They're not," she repeated, more calmly. "They gave birth to me, but that's it. They haven't given me anything good, just fucked up time bombs." Christian opened his mouth and she cut him off. "And yes, she knows. She went to the hospital with me when I had the blood test."

Again, Christian tried to talk but this time Matty put a hand on his arm. "Then you tell her. You tell her they're fucking with your head, Viv, or you're gonna lose her. Okay?"

She sighed. "Yeah. Okay."

It wasn't like she didn't know that, but it wasn't that easy. It was never that easy.

Her friends though, they nodded. And she knew they knew.

And it was a start.


Vivian is starting to dig herself out of the hole. Now she just needs to get off her ass and talk to Jamie.

Also hey, you asked when and how she'd tell other people about things? There you are. It's a start.