4.08 - Deception
The police get closer to finding the missing Hoffman, Louise, but to take the next step, Gail has to put her own name at risk.
Meanwhile Ruby comes to town and Vivian runs right into the wall of a prejudice she didn't know she had.
The saying went that April showers brought May flowers, but Vivian found that she had Chaucer stuck in her head instead. The rain was coming down consistently though not in huge buckets, and it was May anyway. Sleepily, Vivian mumbled. "Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote ..."
"What was that?" Jamie yawned stretched her arms out.
"Chaucer. Book called the Canterbury Tales." Rolling to her side, Vivian reached over and ran her hand down Jamie's bare shoulder and back, getting a happy sigh as a reply.
"I've never read it," admitted Jamie. "Should I?"
"Gail would say everyone needs to read the classics," said Vivian, languidly stroking Jamie's side.
Her girlfriend made a happy noise and scooted back, closer, until she was well in the little spoon spot. "I feel like public school cheated me."
Vivian kissed Jamie's shoulder. "It's never too late to read."
"Yeah. But we had more time in school."
"Maybe you did. I had extra classes and sports and extra curricular and ... Peck stuff." She sighed and pressed her forehead to Jamie's shoulder.
"Hm. What is Peck stuff for kids?"
"Oh. You know. Shooting. Driving. Rockets." On the last one, Jamie laughed. "Okay, the last one was Holly. But lots of weird memory stuff."
"So what you're saying is you can recite all of Chaucer?"
"Most of the intro," admitted Vivian. There was a pregnant pause. "No, I'm not doing that right now."
Jamie sighed dramatically. "Aw. Why not?"
"Because I have a hot naked girl in my bed," she replied, firmly, and kissed Jamie's shoulder. Then neck.
"Hm. Think your girlfriend will mind?" She turned a little, making more of her neck available for, well, necking.
"Nah, I got my very own Miss May right up in here."
Jamie laughed. "I can't believe you actually gave a copy to your moms."
"Why not? You've seen Holly." Vivian grinned and slipped her arm under the sheet, glancing at the clock. It was seven in the morning. "When do you have to be at the training camp?"
"Lunch." Jamie's voice was higher, breathier. "One. Plenty of time."
That was more than enough time, and Vivian smoothed her palm down Jamie's thigh, just starting to make her intentions less of a suggestion. Which was the perfect time for the phone to ring.
"Ignore that," suggested Vivian.
But her girlfriend groaned and pulled away. "It might be work."
"You need to customize your ringtones."
"It's Ruby." And much to Vivian's dismay, Jamie answered her phone. "Hey."
Ugh. Vivian flopped back to her side of the bed. She wasn't quite enough Gail to vocally complain about being cock blocked (beaver dammed?) but she sure thought about it. Vivian was tempted to ask how long it would be, but she could tell from Jamie's tone that this was a sex ending conversation. Ah well.
Kissing her girlfriend's shoulder again, Vivian rolled out of bed and went to take a shower. Taking multiple showers a day was an amusing result of having a girlfriend and having regular sex. She didn't want to go to the gym reeking of sex, after all, so there was a shower to be had before the gym, one after, and then possibly a third depending on if she had work and it oral sex was in the offering.
When Vivian had first had sex, it had been good but she wasn't entirely sure what all the fuss was about. That was something she'd admitted to Holly much later. After she was done being mad at herself and her parents for the whole Olivia debacle. Holly had explained that sex could be great, but it wasn't a given. A lot of it depended on the compatibility of people.
Of course, since she was Holly, she digressed into how attraction and compatibility had a lot to do with pheromones and antibodies and how people smell and want to create more people. Which was anatomically impossible with two women, but still. Thoroughly confused by Holly, Vivian had turned to Gail and received a far more practical explanation about things. Gail had also pointed out that Olivia and Vivian were more convenient than compatible. Which Vivian had known and, by then, was ready to admit.
Really, the only time other than Jamie than Vivian had felt like the sex was phenomenal had to be Pia.
Huh. Pia. That was a while ago.
By the time they'd ended their fling, the sex had gotten a little boring. That was tragic in its own way, but they'd both gone into the relationship with the awareness that, by summer, Pia was headed back to Germany and Vivian was doubling down to finish her degree.
They didn't talk. They never emailed or texted or wrote. They said their farewells and Vivian went home and that was that. It was neither good nor bad, it just was what it was. Sometimes Vivian tossed around the idea of looking her up, dropping a line, saying hello. Maybe seeing what kind of art Pia was in to. She'd have a laugh at this case after all.
There was a laugh from the the bedroom.
No. Of all things, Vivian had not inherited the knack Gail had for staying friends with exes in a way that wouldn't upset the current girlfriend. For as long as Gail and Holly had been a thing, there had been Nick and Chris in their lives. The few, incredibly few exes of Holly's had rolled across their lives like strange, solitary tumbleweeds.
The same was true of Vivian's exes. All four of them. Well. Three. Olivia was different, in that she'd been family before and after their relationship. And she'd really screwed that one up. They both had. There was no shortage of blame in that one.
As she turned off the water, she heard Jamie's voice a little louder, "Hang on. Hey, Viv, can Ruby crash here?"
"When and for how long?" Vivian poked her head out of the bathroom.
"Next week. She's got a training class."
"All week?" She wanted to say no, but a good friend wouldn't. Vivian nodded. "Sure, but all we have is the couch. I'm not putting up with another woman in my bed."
"Your ass is mine alone, Peck!"
Vivian grinned and ducked back in the bathroom to dry off and slather on moisturizer. When she came back into the bedroom, Jamie was off the phone and hugging her knees, snuggled under the blanket and watching Vivian go through her morning routine.
It wasn't abnormal, the watching. After first, Vivian thought it was because they'd not spent many mornings together. As time went on, it became obvious that Jamie just liked watching Vivian. She liked to watch Vivian play sports, she liked to watch Vivian put away dishes, and yes, she liked to watch Vivian get ready in the morning.
"You're such a pervert, you know," Vivian pointed out as she pulled on a pair of jeans.
"You're the one walking around half naked."
Vivian looked down. "As a charter member of the medium sized boob team, we take advantage of our tit size to walk around and let 'em dry before we put on bras."
"Medium sized boob team?"
"Not to be confused with the Itty Bitty Titty Committee."
Jamie cracked up.
Closing her eyes, Holly pulled off her gloves and inhaled a shuddering breath. It had been the most silent autopsy she'd done in years. Everyone had been quiet, barely speaking. Thankfully it had been a crew she'd worked with for years and they knew how to perform their tasks without a word.
Because the dead was a two year old.
"I'll take the samples down," Holly said quietly, throwing her gloves away.
"Alright, boss," said Taylor. "Do you want me to ..." He looked back at the small body.
"No. I'll do it."
The young man didn't say another word, quickly leaving autopsy.
Holly couldn't blame him. It was the kind of case that would give her nightmares. A two year old boy had been found dead at his home. His parents had called 911 but the child was not able to be resuscitated. The report had the poor kid covered in 'stickers' but Holly found to her horror that they weren't stickers at all.
Somehow the kid had gotten into one of the parents' stash of nicotine patches. The clear stickers seemed attractive and the child had put ten stickers all on his stomach and sides.
Holly could do the math in her head. Each patch had 21mg of nicotine, and released approximately .87mg an hour. With ten, that meant the child was receiving 8.7mg an hour. A fatal dose for an adult male was between 20 and 30mg. In other words, the child was nearly dead after an hour.
There was no way to know how long he'd lasted. What Holly knew was the EMTs had found ten stickers on the child's arms. The parents might have a story about more, which Holly would verify with the blood tests. She picked up the flat with her vials of samples. They would know he truth.
"God," she whispered and turned to face the child's body.
She was not raised to believe in god. Her parents were scientists. Her grandparents were scientists. As far back as anyone cared to look, on all sides of her family, there were people filled with the inquisitive nature to ask why and find out. The whole reason her family had left Spain a million years ago was during the Inquisition, and her ancestors from the Moorish areas decided to get out before the Jews and Muslims were killed.
Strictly speaking, no one in her family had actually ever converted from Islam, but by the time they'd come to Canada, the Stewart family was practically 'normal.' Christian. It never bothered Holly, and she didn't see any religion as her particular belief structure. She never prayed, she never went to any religious services outside of the odd wedding and bar mitzvah. She did not believe.
In moments like this, though, looking at a child who'd died of a heart attack from the pretty stickers, Holly often found herself wishing she had something to believe in. Something greater than herself. Larger than humanity.
Except she'd want to rage at it. How dare a god allow innocent children to die? How dare a god save people like Ross Perik or Heinrich Haan for years, but give this child only two? What did the parents do to deserve this? Why?
Oh, Holly could scream.
Once, in her residency, she and Rachel and Lisa had struggled to save a child with a collapsed lung from a car accident. They'd failed, and Holly had felt the gut wrenching, numbing feeling of horror. They all felt loss. The loss changed them in different ways, though. It reminded Holly that people needed answers in death. It demanded of Rachel that she serve to save them. And it scared the shit out of Lisa and sent her callously hiding in plastics.
Lisa, like Gail, felt too much. She emphasized too much. It was more than a human could reasonably live with and so Lisa, like Gail, hid. Under the veneer of sarcasm and snide commentary, Lisa cared. Deeply. Children didn't die in plastics. If a child came to Lisa, it was to be made whole.
Of course, Lisa saw some of the worst abuse cases. Holly saw horrific ones, of course, but hers were the dead. Their pain was over. Lisa saw the living. The child who was beaten. The one who was run over. The one burnt.
When Gail had a case involving a tortured child, it had ripped her heart out. Lisa had come over for some reason or another and saw Gail in agony. For some reason they decided to talk. And they talked. And Lisa volunteered to help the child, to make the little girl whole again in body, so she didn't have to look at her scars and damage every day.
That was when Gail and Lisa became friends of their own right. It was, apparently, impossible to work that kind of a case and not become friends. Or mortal enemies. Holly was grateful it had been friends, though. The two were far too similar. Add in Frankie and oh dear god, it was a drama filled day.
But Holly... Holly didn't believe in god. She swore to the name now and then. Often enough she'd shout Jesus, and that was primarily Gail's fault. To Holly, the words were as religious as "Happy Valentines Day." They clearly were meaningful somewhere to someone, just not to her.
She sighed and looked at the child on her table again. Dead through accident. It wasn't neglect or disregard or anything other than inattention. Parents sleeping. Kid climbs out of crib. Parents wake up to find the kid unconscious on the floor. The patches had been in a cabinet that had a childproof lock on it, and yet.
Holly silently moved the child to a wall unit and slid him in. She labeled it herself, writing out the name carefully and clearly. As she slid the name in, Holly closed her eyes again and leaned on the wall. It was always a punch to her heart, children being hurt. One of her greatest fears of being a parent was the loss and danger.
Now, years and years later, with her child a successful adult, people often said Holly was surprisingly calm. Vivian got shot, for example, and Holly was the parent who was cool and collected. The thing was, it was all Gail's fault. That very first day, the day Holly fell in love with Gail irreversibly, was the day someone shot at the blonde. Someone shot at Gail, and had already nearly killed Chloe.
That was day one.
Every day after that, Holly clung to what she could. The woman she loved ran to put herself between danger and innocents. Holly strived to put her brain between confusion and answers. The daughter they raised did both. From the second she heard the pre-teen shout at the television about why the werewolf lesbian couldn't have a happy ending, Holly knew what kind of wonderful child they'd given the world.
Of course Vivian ran into danger. She used her mind, though, more so than most. She used her heart, just like Gail, and put herself in carefully calculated harms way. That was more like Holly, she had to admit. Vivian thought a lot about how and why she did things.
Was Holly terrified for her child? Yes. Every day. But the fears that swallowed Holly whole were the ones that every parent felt viscerally. Had they given Vivian enough skills to navigate the world? Had they helped her enough? Had they let go at the right moment? Were they there too much or not enough?
There were two parents in the waiting room at Twenty-Seven who would never know that unbridled joy of seeing their child become an adult.
Holly grimaced and took the samples to the lab. "I need a rush on this," she said to Wayne, softly.
"I'll run it," he replied stoically.
Nodding, Holly sat down on an empty stool and watched Wayne. Normally she'd never do that. Watching over people gave them performance anxiety, even when they were capable leaders like Wayne (or even Holly). It was human nature. But they both sat and watched the . spin the samples and they both took part in extracting and processing the results.
Pain shared was not, as the saying went, pain halved. What it was, was pain shared with someone who felt the same way. The pain no longer separated a person from the herd of humanity, it brought them back in. The pain shared said "I too feel this." And that kept loneliness at bay.
Abruptly, Wayne muttered something Holly didn't understand. Then, "Did you see the nicotine levels?"
She shook her head. "He had ten patches on," she explained, and leaned over to read the results. "Jesus," Holly whispered.
"What ... Did you determine cause of death?"
"Heart attack," replied Holly, inexactly.
"No kidding. Poor little guy." Wayne picked up a Kleenex and wiped his eyes. "Makes me want to go home and hug mine."
"She's walking now, huh?" Holly essayed a smile.
Wayne's face brightened. "She's running, Holly. We went from terrified she'd never walk to sprinting down the hall. Her and the dog."
Wayne's daughter, his first, had been a large part of his terror that led to his overworking a short year or so ago. The girl had never crawled much, didn't speak or even babble much, and Wayne was petrified.
Oddly it had been Gail, who still adored babies, who had been their first clue. She met the child when the youngster should have been making baby noises. There were none and Gail immediately started talking and signing to her. The child's face lit up and she learned the signs for mother and father in a heartbeat.
She was just a kid who had a verbal learning disability. Holly hated calling it a disability. But Gail suggested they have her hearing checked. That led to having her hips examined, and low and behold, they were growing a little oddly. Leg braces, sign language lessons, and two years later, Wayne had a champion sprinter who still didn't talk much, but certainly could.
The last time Holly saw her, there had been a tiny 'hi' spoken aloud, and then enthusiastic signing with Gail. Of course, all children adored Gail.
Thinking of that, of that small success in a life, eased the agony. A little. It reminded Holly that most of her life was surrounded by death and pain, but not all. There was grace and light and beauty to behold.
"Bring her to the next barbecue," said Holly, smiling at Wayne. "I know Gail would love to kidnap her for a while."
"Did you ever think of ..." Wayne trailed off and looked hesitant.
The thing was, Holly knew what he meant. Given the mood of the room, how could she not know. "Having more kids?" Holly shrugged. "A little. But I think I'm glad we didn't."
"I don't know how people do crazy shit like six," muttered Wayne. "I have one and I feel surrounded."
Holly laughed. It was a genuine, from her heart laugh. "Oh my god, I know that feeling. It doesn't get better," she warned Wayne, smiling. "They start bringing friends home. And then dates."
"Ugh. I'm coming to you for help when that happens."
"I plan on retiring before then," said Holly in her best deadpan. The second machine beeped and they fell abruptly silent again. The room went deathly still. "Oh for god's sake," muttered Holly, and she got up to check the scanner. "Hairs are clean. This was not long term poisoning." She exhaled loudly. "Thank you, Wayne."
The head of the lab nodded. "Of course... I'm sorry."
Holly shook her head. "Thank you." She sent the results to her account and walked out of the lab.
The next thing to do was not her favorite either, but it had to be done. Holly pulled her phone out and tapped a number.
"Hey, doc," said Frankie Anderson. "Results already?"
"I rushed them." Holly took a moment. "Do you want me to come down?"
The detective winced and Holly swore she could hear it. "No just send them to me, de-nerded. It's bad enough. At least I'm not a parent, y'know."
"I was thinking perhaps a little more empathy might be in order," she pointed out, dryly.
Frankie snorted. "I am capable of that." Before Holly could comment, Frankie added, "Seriously, Holly. There's no point in dragging you through this shit too. That's why Gail keeps me around."
"You don't have to do this alone," said Holly, carefully.
"I know. Thanks, Holly."
They hung up and Holly sighed again. Frankie did have a point. Not having children would let her keep an emotional distance from the case. Something Holly couldn't claim to be able to do just then. She wanted to send a I-love-you to Vivian. No, Holly wanted to hug Vivian and not let her go for a couple hours. But she'd never really been able to do that with her daughter.
There were always cases where Holly couldn't bear to look at Vivian, and others where she just wanted to hold the girl. And in both cases, Holly had to be incredibly circumspect about it. Always Vivian was so touchy about being held, but also about being ignored. They both set off similar waves of nerves.
No. Instead of bothering her daughter, or her wife for that matter, Holly closed herself in her office and composed the official report on a dead toddler.
Something had bothered her wife.
Gail asked around it, noticing the distance Holly put between herself and the world that evening, but the doctor didn't choose to explain. That happened sometimes. Cases didn't just go away because the clock struck five. Feelings and emotions didn't get locked up with a gun and a badge. They lingered and hovered and drowned.
Whatever feelings Holly had come home with, they were drowning her, and she didn't want to talk about it. Not even to Gail.
Well. That happened now and then. Gail didn't push or pry when it did, since that never helped. Not that she hadn't tried to fix it in the beginning, but eventually Gail had come to understand that everyone had to process the shit they dealt with in their own way. And Holly, when she was all up in her head, didn't want help. She wanted normal.
So Gail made dinner and they sat on the couch reading and ostensibly watching television as they read. Holly leaned on Gail's legs, reading an actual book book. Not an ebook. Gail asked if it was any good, and Holly said Gail would hate it. Good to know.
The next morning wasn't any better. Holly was still clammed up and Gail, to her everlasting delight, had to work with Twenty-Seven and Thirty-Four Divisions, trying to sort out detective allocations. And that meant a day with Frankie, who was still contemplating retirement.
"She's not ready for inspector," said Galbraith, Thirty-Four's inspector.
"Who is?" That was Wagner, Twenty-Seven. He laughed. The event of Sam Swarek's enforced retirement had oddly made Wagner easier to work with. "The point, Gally, is Anderson is the most experienced detective in all three Divisions."
And this was gallingly true. Frankie had been a detective for as long as Steve. They'd both received their gold badges following a six month undercover op that... oh right. That was the same year Gail had been kidnapped. Kick ass year, that one. She sighed.
"Oh don't be offended," snapped Galbraith, bitterly. He hated the nickname Gally. "You know damn well you just outrank her, Peck."
Gail rolled her eyes. "Wasn't thinking about that, asshole. I don't have a problem with Frankie."
"Of course you don't," and Galbraith was more snide than Gail had heard in a while.
She arched her eyebrows. "If the next words out of your mouth have fuck all to do with us both being lesbians or her being my brother's friend, Gally, be prepared." Gail gave him a sickeningly sweet smile.
It had the desired effect. Galbraith back pedaled. "That wasn't what I meant," he blustered.
The other three inspectors in the room glared at him. Even Seabourn, who had the brains to be pretty fucking quiet that day.
"Look, the issue is she's gonna leave if we don't give her something," said Wagner. He was resigned apparently to losing his status as 'second only to Fifteen Division.'
"She can't do it alone," Gail pointed out, willing to let Gally have his minor win for a moment.
"So ... what? You want to move LaFaire over?" Wagner eyed Gail curiously.
She did not. Zander LaFaire was gay as gay could gay, and while handing Frankie backup sounded nice on paper, obviously she was going to be facing a battle with Galbraith for a while. "Hannah or Jayden, actually," suggested Gail.
"Who?" Wagner looked lost. "I know Zander..."
"They're street cops. Both took the D exam, did okay, but lost out to Fox and Zettle. They're old enough, smart enough... " Gail shrugged. "Hannah's our little patrol ferret. Jayden is a big brother guy. One of the two would be a good fill in for a rookie D for you who isn't a rook. Bump one of the babies you have up, fill in ... Fill in Savoy for Anderson as sergeant, and toss Fifteen back, oh ... Andrew Peck." Gail flashed a smile.
Galbraith flinched.
Wagner choked on his tea.
Seabourn outright laughed.
But that was, indeed, what happened. "McNally! Donut fine is over!" Gail waved her phone in Andy's direction as she came back downstairs.
"What? No it's not. I got your kid on patrol today."
"And I got you a new Peck for Patrol," sang Gail.
A half dozen heads whipped around to stare, including Traci. "Oh I have got to hear this."
"Short version," said Gail, as they walked into Andy's office. "Frankie's getting the big I, we're giving Jayden to Thirty-Four for the Ds, they're giving us a Peck."
Andy looked flummoxed. "So I don't lose anyone? Except an experienced patrol?"
"A patrol who wants the D," Gail pointed out. There was a pause and the trio laughed. "Arright, they wanted Zander."
"Ugh, no, I need him," said Traci, firmly. "Zettle needs him."
Andy huffed. "All fine and dandy for you, and I'm the one with new rooks coming in next month."
"Yeah, four," agreed Gail.
"Three." Andy narrowed her eyes. "Four?" When Gail nodded, Andy looked torn between delighted and horrified. "Please tell me this Peck is a TO."
"Andy? No, but he's the guy who'll be patrol forever. Zero aspirations."
"Do they even make Peck in that model?" Traci smirked.
"Once in a while." Gail flipped Traci the bird and grinned. She knew damn well the Peck lacking aspirations for the longest time was Gail herself.
Talking to Andy and Traci about promotions and reassignments was always better than talking to the idiot men about all that stuff. She often found herself wishing more women held the rank of Inspector. Gail hadn't realized how much buffering Noelle had done between Gail and the other inspectors. Well. At least Gail was pretty sure her kid would get up there in ranks. Vivian had the smell of a lifer.
Gail used to be that way. She had nothing except the force, and no one except her fellow officers. Now life was very different. Maybe Vivian would have kids and change her mind. It was impossible to predict. What she could predict was that Frankie would be surprised. And she'd arm wrestled (threatened) Galbraith into letting her present the change.
It didn't take long to find Frankie at Thirty-Four either. "Hey, Peck, ditching your art case?"
"Funny, Anderson," she smirked.
"Well I know I don't have any cases that you need to shove your nose in right now." Frankie paused. "Unless you're here about that damn baby case."
Gail arched her eyebrows. "Baby case." She was careful not to phrase it as a question. Doing that would give away what Gail did and did not know. And in this moment, she had no idea what Frankie was talking about.
"Yeah, I can't believe that... Doc Stewart did the autopsy, which I know got me shit faster, but that's got to be a soul sucking gig. She holding up okay?"
Oh. Holly autopsied a child. A baby. God, no wonder she wasn't in a communicative mood. "Eh," said Gail, obliquely. She'd have to figure that out in a minute. Later. "But no, no. Not that." Gail paused and glanced around. "Come on."
Trusting, Frankie followed Gail down the hall to the detective bullpen and to the empty inspector's office. It had been a couple years since Thirty-Four had floated an inspector who was still a homicide detective. That role had been overseen by Sam at Twenty-Seven, who was a sergeant in name only. He'd never gotten the title for many reasons. Traci, the inspector after solving a serial killing, had filled the void in their strapped-for-officers days.
But with Zettle heading up homicides in Fifteen and Sam gone, there was no one of the proper experience in charge in her trifecta. And Gail didn't like that.
"Super secret Peck stuff?"
"Not for long. Do you think having the boss in an office works?" She looked around and frowned.
"It can. Did for you. What's his face before you, not really. But he had that whole, whole congenial math teacher vibe."
"Butler did," agreed Gail.
"You. You have to scare people, Peck. You do. By hook or by crook." Frankie looked around and startled. "Me?"
"You." Gail was pleased that the other woman was still fast. "Shoulda been years ago but I'm pretty sure Gallys a homophobe."
Frankie snorted. "That would be a fact. He's not my fan."
"You're a bit hard to take."
"You're one to talk." Frankie put her hands on her hips and stared at the door. "So me. Inspector Anderson."
Gail smiled. "Yeah. Inspector Anderson. And I'm giving you a good senior patrol to train up. Jayden Jackson."
Frankie nodded. "I know him. He's good. Street smart." She exhaled. "Wow. This is crazy, Gail. That's ... I never wanted that. This."
"That's why I know you'll be good at it," said Gail firmly.
"Well." Frankie nodded again. "I guess that's what's next then." She held a hand out to Gail. "Thank you."
"You earned this shit, Frankie, don't let 'me make you think otherwise."
Her friend (shut up) laughed. "At least I made it before Chloe. Man, she gets clover."
"Princess lands sunny side up," agreed Gail.
Perhaps her tone belied her words, because Frankie zeroed in on her. "They are getting divorced, huh?"
It was Vivian who always suspected Frankie had a bit of unresolved sexual tension around Chloe. An old crush or maybe more. But the whole time Frankie and Chloe had known each other, Chloe had been with Dov. More or less. Or Frankie had been with someone. The point was their relationships had never put them in a place where anything other that companionable antagonism at work was an option.
Based on the laser look Frankie was giving Gail just then, Vivian was probably right. Frankie did had some feeling or another for Chloe. And Frankie was dating Mac.
"Yeah, yeah they are," said Gail carefully.
"Well that sucks. If she needs anything, you, you'll let me know?"
What a weird offer, thought Gail. "Yeah. Of course." She certainly could and would keep that promise, but it was incredibly weird of Frankie, who didn't like people any more than Gail did, to ask in the first place.
Still, that was the best part of her day. When she got back to Fifteen, Nuñez and Trujillo were sitting in her office with the fake painting.
"Mother fucker," said Gail, staring at the painting. "Where was it?"
"Address she gave Goff," said Pedro Nuñez, despondent.
"Is he a spy or just a moron," asked Lucinda Trujillo.
"Moron." Gail groaned. "Prints?"
Pedro shook his head. "Nada. She wore gloves. Only trace matches the location, too. How the fuck she got it out, man. I thought that scene in the movie was bs."
Studying the painting, Gail sighed. "She knew it was a fake from the second she walked in. No. Before. I bet the spine's broken."
As Trujillo turned the painting around, they could all see the broken wood. "That's weird, right? Ruins the painting."
"It does," agreed Gail. She pushed her hands through her hair. "Well. Fuck."
The two junior detectives looked surprised at her exclamation. The more experienced ones in the room just nodded. "So. What does this mean?" Pedro was nervous.
"It means she's on to the fakes. She won't be tricked." Gail picked up the broken painting and absently forced it into place. "Hang this up. I'll figure something out." She handed the painting to Pedro and stalked into her office.
The problem was she had a clever criminal.
God how Gail hated clever criminals.
Normally criminals were so caught up with their crime that they neglected the real world. They would forget to cover their tracks. They would be ignorant of danger. They would assume they were smarter. And all Gail had to do was watch and wait for them to screw up.
That was how she caught most people. They were lazy and stupid, she was lazy and opportunistic. It was a perfect match. It was a perfect career for her. But now, for the first time in her career, Gail found herself faced with the worst possible criminal. Louise Hoffman knew what she wanted: the painting. She knew the police had it. She was careful, cautious, and thoughtful. If Gail wanted to catch her, she was going to have to force Louise to make a mistake.
People made mistakes when they were angry or hurt. Gail didn't know Louise so it was hard to say what would make her angry. Her brother Walter was remarkably quiet about his motive. That meant Gail would have to deduce the motive without knowing fuck all about her criminal.
That naturally ended her day in frustration. No answers, the same damn questions, and a wife who was still in pain from a case. As much as Gail wanted to vent her own spleen, she had to be the wife right now.
Married life was a lot about giving. Certainly she got a lot out of it, but compromises and caring were both aspect of Gail where she gave from herself to Holly. Giving. That was a lesson that had taken her a long time to absorb. The inclination to distrust, or more to absolutely trust in the inherent evil of others, led to her arguably sociopathic tendencies.
And then, letting Holly in just a little bit, pushed Gail in a way she'd not expected. The smiling, happy, bright soul that was absolutely unlike Andy and Chloe in her steadfastly goodness. Methodical, witty, genius. At first Holly seemed like the friend Gail had longed for her entire life. A person who got her morbid humor, who heard the insults and saw that Gail was a caring person who put others first.
It wasn't until a month into their little hang outs that Gail felt the subtle shift in their relationship. Before the kiss in the coat room. Holly had laughed at a joke mocking Nick, and put her hand on Gail's shoulder to gently shove at her. It was totally innocent. It was a motion, an action that friends did. Chris and Dov had done it a million times. She'd done it.
That moment, that touch, sent a shock up Gail's arm, right to her heart. She felt something more. Something she was unaccustomed to feeling. It was warm and it was safe and Holly smelled so good. God. Why did she have to smell like that? So when Holly leaned in as they sat in the coat closet, all Gail's brain could think was about how good she smelled, how soft her lips looked, and how it would feel to kiss her...
Gail lied to that therapist. Not switching teams her ass. But she was terrified of losing the one friend, the one real friend she had. The friend who taught her how to open up, to give to people who gave back, to love. There was just the little problem of immaturity, which Gail still suffered.
Holly had been her catalyst for all the wonderful things that came after. True friendship. True family. True growth. And it was a little unfair to put the burden of all that, of all hr change onto one person, no matter how amazing the person was. Learning how not to put it all on Holly, not putting it all back on herself, had been the focus of her therapy work for the first decade of their life together.
Work. Giving. Sharing. Today was caring for her wife first. Gail was in an alright, if frustrated, place. Holly was possibly still retreating from the case.
Gail opened the file. It was an abuse of her power, and she knew it. She could excuse it as part of her supervising of Frankie, but anyone would know. Gail wanted to see what had made Holly so quiet. The moment she read the paramedics' report, Gail felt nauseous. The death of children was hard. Murder was worst, but this, accidental death, cut into a person.
It could have been prevented. It might not have been preventable. It should never have happened. It was possibility inevitable. It was death.
Well. Gail could carry the load of this for a few more days. She could balance the work and the wife and the responsibilities. They always said to put on ones own mask before taking care of others. Gail took stock of her own emotional stability. Just frustrated and annoyed. Elaine was okay. Vivian was okay. Steve was an idiot and he was okay. Family was good.
Yeah. Her own issues could wait.
Gail swung by a Korean restaurant they both liked and got home a moment after Holly. "Hey, babe. I got food," she said as she watched Holly get out of her car.
"Not really hungry."
Hm. Gail shrugged. "It'll reheat well." She brought the takeout in and put it in the fridge. Her wife just sat on the couch. "Any sports game on?"
"Dunno."
Not a good sign. Gail walked around and sat next to Holly. "You know... you don't have to talk about it."
The other woman glanced at Gail. "You read the case notes?"
"A little annoying birdie tipped me off."
Holly sighed loudly. "Oh."
They sat like that, in silence, for a while. Finally, Gail asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
She was surprised when Holly shook her head and all but crawled onto Gail's lap. One moment she was sitting next to Gail, the next she was straddling her on the couch, holding Gail's face with somewhat forceful hands. The impossibly soft lips ghosted over Gail's cheek, then nose, and finally Holly paused. Her lips were millimeters from touching Gail's. Gail could taste Holly's breath.
And then they were kissing. It was obvious what Holly wanted just then. She didn't want to talk. This was the moment and this was the now, and Holly needed them to be them in the way they often were.
There was no denying that their relationship was quite sexual. Not everyone's was. There was something, some chemistry or physics or whatever that drew Gail in. It had made her realize that craving the hug and the touch wasn't actually about sex, but about finding that one person who got it. Who got Gail.
"Holly, wait," she managed, struggling for a small space, a small separation.
Holly looked hurt, a little frustrated, and a lot embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she started.
Right away, Gail cut her off with a kiss. "No. No. This yes, but I need to put away my gun."
Her wife blinked, sat back on Gail's knees, and opened Gail's jacket. "I thought you were just glad to see me," she joked, dryly.
"Oh I am." Gail caressed Holly's face. "Safety first."
"Hm. No glove, no love." Holly pushed her cheek into Gail's hand, kissing it.
Gail sighed. "You have to let me up for this to work, Holly."
Reluctantly, Holly stood up and held her hands out to Gail. Gail smiled and took Holly's hands, letting her wife lead her to the office. She was very much aware of Holly's eyes on her as she locked up her gun, badge, and finally ankle gun.
That seemed to surprise Holly, who asked, "Dangerous day?"
"Promoted Frankie."
"That could go either way."
"The old boys' club beforehand was worse."
"Hm. Don't want to hear about that," said Holly softly. As soon as Gail closed and locked the door to her gun safe, Holly stepped right into her personal space. "Hi."
"Hi." Gail smiled and reached for Holly's waist, tugging her closer.
"Hi," replied Holly, her voice lower. She kissed Gail languidly. "I don't want to think."
I can help with that," Gail promised.
They stayed there, kissing with Gail pressed against the gun safe until Holly had to grab the edges for stability and Gail laughed. They moved to the couch, Gail's jacket and both of their boots getting tossed aside. It was one of those times when things were just handsy and messy and awkward, but fun. God, it was fun.
Holly was so much fun. She knew Holly's body so well, and Holly knew hers, that it was easy to find the place where she knew how to shut out the world. Everything except Holly could be so easily forgotten just by the caress of a hand and brush of lips. Her world was one woman and that was Holly.
Laughing, breathlessly, Holly clutched Gail's shirt. "Bed." She kissed Gail roughly. "I want you under me."
"Bossy," said Gail, but she got off the couch, dragging Holly with her.
Afterward, stretching out, luxuriously, Gail reveled in her body's boneless state. Her limbs were too heavy to move. Content and relaxed. With difficulty, Gail lifted her hand and let it linger on Holly's bare back. "Feel better?"
"Mmmm." Holly nuzzled into Gail's shoulder.
The non-answer was an answer of itself. Gail sighed and pressed her cheek to the top of Holly's head. It took effort, but she ran her fingers up and down Holly's spine. Soon enough, Holly would roll away and get a shirt on and fall asleep. But she had a little time before that.
While Gail didn't have much by way of an off switch, it was Holly who was restless. If Holly was awake, she was moving or reading or thinking or otherwise being a genius. Gail had trouble filling her hours with something that interested her. Holly just ran out of hours in which she could be brilliant.
Holly sighed deeply. "You should trap her," she said, running a finger across Gail's collar bone.
"Hmm?" Gail cracked an eye to look at her wife.
"The painting. Your crazy thief wants it."
"I tried that," lamented Gail. "She knew it was a fake. And she doesn't fuck up."
"That does make it more difficult," agreed Holly, her fingers pausing. "You need to make her mad. So she screws up. Like make her story public without her."
"That got Sam shit-canned, Holly."
"True. Well. It was just an idea."
The last thing Gail wanted was to lose was her job. Not that it was a bad idea. Making the story public would piss off Louise. It'd piss off everyone, including Marcel. But ... having a story told without Louise's involvement could be interesting. It would royally piss off Louise.
Gail blinked and her eyes went wide. "Oh."
"Oh?" Holly propped herself up on one elbow, her other hand resting on Gail's sternum.
"This is stupid... what if I got Sandy to give her story to the papers?"
"Isn't that how Sam got fired, though?"
"What if I got the Mounties in on it? Use Sandy, give her time less for the story in order to catch Louise?" Gail waved a hand. She knew Sandy would up for it, since it would get her own story out there. Then ... then if she could use the same tale to get Walter to talk, it might work. Maybe Walter would give her something with which to lure Louise.
Holly smiled. "Make her jealous? That could work." Her fingers crawled up Gail's collar again. "You are aware that the brilliant Detective Gail Peck is hot, right?"
"Yeah?" Smiling back, Gail reached up, running her hand up Holly's arm to her neck and lightly pulling her down. "I'm hot?"
"Incredibly." Holly gave in to the pull and dipped her head, kissing Gail softly. "Beauty and brains." She leaned further, her lips brushing Gail's ear. "Our foreplay's gotten weird, I think," Holly said, her voice low and soft.
Gail laughed. "Remember the time you told me about the guy who went through the window at a Starbucks?"
Her wife made a hmmm noise and kissed the skin behind Gail's ear. "You jumped me."
"You knew you talking science gets me turned on." Gail closed her eyes and tilted her head to give Holly more access. "Your brain is my lady jam, Holly."
That made Holly stop and snicker-snort a laugh into Gail's neck. "Oh my god."
Grinning, Gail shifted her weight and tipped Holly off of her, reversing their positions. "Talk diatoms to me, Holly," she whispered.
Holly laughed, but she did.
"Why do I have to dress up?" Jamie eyed the clothes Matty had picked for her. The four possible outfits hung on the closet, waiting for one to be selected. "Do I even have to go?"
"You don't have to, but ... I mean you're my girlfriend." Opening her small safe, Vivian took out her rarely worn jewelry. "I'm going. I thought you'd want to, y'know, be with me."
"What is this again?"
"Just an family function. Giving away a lot of money to charity for queer kids." She rarely really paid attention to the point of the parties, since the food would be good. And really none of the why mattered when Vivian wouldn't be in uniform. But this was a little different. Eli's youngest granddaughter was quite a bit younger than Vivian, and was transgender.
So yeah. She was going.
Her girlfriend huffed. "And I don't have to wear a dress?"
"Jamie, I've seen your half of the closet. You don't own one."
"These are really okay?"
"If it was black tie and Eli wanted us, we'd just wear our dress uniforms. This is just a dress pretty."
There was a pause. "So. Those are kinda expensive," said Jamie slowly, gesturing at Vivian's hands. "These," she waved at her clothes. "These are not."
That, Vivian knew. Looking at her own hands, Vivian stared at the quite expensive jewelry and sighed. "I've never lived with a girl before," she said, sitting down. "And ... I know I'm not poor, or broke. But we never really had the money talk."
Jamie grimaced and sat down beside her. "The fact that you're starting this while holding thousands of dollars in stones in your hand is kinda telling."
"I know," Vivian mumbled. "Okay. Look. You pay a third of the living costs, right? Which is less than you paid for half of your old apartment. Plus you have my parking spot."
Her own parking was currently solved by Vivian taking ruthless advantage of the fact that no one else in the building owned a motorcycle. Since they had to, by law, allot guest space for it, she just parked there and everyone let it go. If it came down to it, Vivian would sooner pay for the extra spot than let Jamie do it.
"I know. And I'm putting the extra is savings, y'know for ... For something."
"For a dress uniform," suggested Vivian.
"It seems stupid."
"What would you wear now if someone died?"
"Dark shirt, tie, station pants, black shoes." Aka the firefighter special. A lot of firefighters wore just that when dressing up. As Vivian recalled, it was a special low price.
Vivian tried a different tactic. "You're gonna be this for ... for a long time, right?" Her girlfriend nodded. "Okay. Me too. And I don't plan on running into buildings forever."
Chagrined, Jamie nodded. "Okay, fair point."
"So it's an investment. In who we want to be later."
Jamie looked at her. "Who we want to be." It wasn't a question. "Jesus, do you have a less intense mode?"
"Sorry, no." Vivian half smiled. "I only come in introspective and deep."
With a huff of acceptance, Jamie leaned over to kiss her. "Okay. A dress uniform. God, it'll be expensive."
Vivian smiled and reached over, catching Jamie by the waist and tugging her over. "Actually. I bet Matty would do the alterations himself. That'd cut down by half." She kissed Jamie slowly. "As much as I want to stay here and do this, sweetheart, I have to go to that shindig."
With a sigh and a kiss that really made Vivian regret her choices, Jamie got up. "Plus one forever, right?" She smiled and picked the burgundy top. "This one."
"So very gay, Jamie." Vivian propped herself up on her elbows. "Those pants oughta be illegal."
"What are you wearing?" Jamie shucked her jeans.
Being an adult sucked. Having to get dressed when ones girlfriend was half naked and hot and made of lean muscle and god that skin was a crime. It was a sin, somewhere, to not be swallowed by all that beauty.
"Hello, Peck. Earth to copper." Jamie was laughing at her.
"You cannot possibly expect me to have a conversation when you're in panties, Jamie," whinged Vivian, and she flopped back to cover her face. If she didn't look, she couldn't lose her train of thought over her girlfriend. "I'm wearing the grey wool pants, the white shirt, and I think I have burgundy suspenders, so we'll match but not too stupidly."
Jamie huffed. "Blue shirt, black suspenders. Compliment. Honestly do you not listen to a thing Matty says?"
"Boobs distract me."
"Lesbian."
There was a thwap as something landed on her stomach. Vivian lifted her hand and looked at Jamie's rather utilitarian bra on her stomach. "You're killing me, Smalls," groaned Vivian.
"I'm putting on the lace one. If you get dressed, I'll let you take it off me later."
"You're not making this easier!" Vivian groaned and closed her eyes. Maybe Gail had a point about how the best part was getting dressed. "Tell me when you're dressed. I can't watch."
Jamie laughed and Vivian tried not to imagine what it looked like for her girlfriend to get dressed. "Okay, pervert. I'm going to make coffee."
"Thank you," said Vivian, waiting for the sound of Jamie's footsteps to tell her she really gone. God. Girls were way too pretty. Vivian sighed deeply and quickly got dressed in her outfit, yes the blue shirt, and came out threading her earrings in. "Okay. You driving?"
"Well I don't think I can trust your libido with it," said Jamie cooly, and she held out a coffee. "Drink, let's go be pretty."
Unlike a great many family parties, this was held at a hotel instead of the Armstrong enclave. That was probably for the best. There were enough fancy people at the hotel, of various levels of wealth though all well above Vivian's own. The house would probably terrify Jamie, and rightly so. They bothered Vivian with their tendency to be ostentatious.
"Cousin Vivian!" A young woman squealed and ran across the room. "You came!"
"Hi, Lizzie," said Vivian. They caught hands, not hugging, and Vivian turned. "Jamie, this is Elizabeth Armstrong, my cousin. Lizzie, s'my girlfriend, Jamie McGann."
Jamie grinned. "Nice to meet you." They shook hands.
"I had a bet going on that you were made up," said Lizzie, conspiratorially. "Call me Lizzie." And she looped an arm through Jamie's. "Viv, are your moms coming?"
"I think so."
"She takes so much looking after," lamented Lizzy. "Don't you find?"
Jamie grinned. "I have felt that myself, yes," she agreed. "Do you have a lot of these, um, parties?"
"Oh no. Not more than a couple a year. Back in grandpa's day, they were every month." Lizzie sighed. "I could wish we had those days, but I'd be sent to a sanatorium, Aunt Gail would never come because Auntie Elaine would have been disowned, and then my only super gay cousin would be George." Lizzie managed to be incredibly derisive as she said the name.
Jamie eyed Vivian. "Who's George?"
"Really boring," confessed Vivian. "He isn't here, is he?"
"He is. I ditched him with the Markov matron," Lizzie peered around Jamie to spot him. "She blabs for hours. Avoid her." Lizzie paused. "Did Vivian tell you anything?"
Of course Jamie shook her head. "I didn't even know she did these things."
"I don't," said Vivian, putting her hands in her pockets. "Doesn't mean I don't pay attention. Everyone in a black or grey suit without a pocket square is sucking up. Avoid them. Anyone with a dark pocket square is looking for money. The people with bright colors and patterns have nothing to fear, so they're either really rich and here to be in the paper, which is stupid because this isn't high society, or they're gay as fuck like me, and here because Lizzy is one of the cooler cousins."
Her cousin narrowed her eyes. "Thank you, Viv."
Vivian smiled. "Any time."
"Which ones are your family?"
"The ones who are running around greeting people and then flitting off," said Vivian.
Jamie made a face. "And yet Lizzie is here."
"It's my party, I'll do what I want to," Lizzie said seriously.
"Liar." Vivian grinned. "It's not yours."
"She's a party pooper. This is why we didn't let you come until you were sixteen." Lizzie paused. "Why are you here?"
"I was promised good food and drinks. I'm easy."
The food was good. As were the drinks. And the dancing. It was nice to have an evening out, introducing Jamie to various relatives, getting a nice slow dance in (which was about all Vivian felt she could be trusted with). Steve and Traci were there, happy to see them. Naturally Steve teased her on her attire, even though he was only in a nice suit.
It wasn't hard to have a good time at a nice party. Even for Vivian, who generally disliked people and parties. But the thing about a fancy party was that no one was serious. No one was deep. All the conversations were superficial and wispy. No one asked much about Jamie or Vivian, just collecting Vivian's name and making a quick assessment.
"They're all pretty ... " Jamie trailed off as she nibbled a pâté.
"One dimensional," offered Vivian. "They are here. These are their public faces."
"So everyone here is a liar?"
"Isn't everyone everywhere?" Vivian arched her eyebrows. "They're not lying, they're just presenting one aspect of themselves."
"A boring one." Jamie paused. "You like this."
"I do." She shrugged. "It's simple. Obvious."
Reaching up, Jamie draped her arms around Vivian's neck. "No one asks you deep questions." She kissed Vivian slowly, in a way that chased all rational and reasonable thought from Vivian's brain.
Vivian didn't care that they were in the middle of the room. She didn't care about anything but a moment where she could kiss Jamie and be kissed. Yes, of course she'd rather run off to someplace private (a hotel room sounded great) and fuck like bunnies, this moment too was good.
"How could you!"
Jamie broke off the kiss and frowned. "What..."
"I have no idea." Vivian scowled and looked over the crowd, spotting her uncle Eli rounding in on, of all people, Gail.
"Eli, come on," said Gail, annoyed but not offended.
"I had to find out from the news!" He waved his phone.
Vivian shifted Jamie to her arm, the way she'd seen Gail do with Holly a million times, and fished her phone out of her pocket. A quick search gave her the answer. The Fairchild Scandal. "Oh hell. Jamie, I need to be moral support."
"Dare I ask?"
"The tl;dr version is the woman who stole the painting used to be married to Gail's great uncle, whose baby sister was Eli's mom. And she went public with her story."
To her surprise, Jamie tightened her hold. "Right. Messy family time. Into the breach, Peck."
Craning her neck, Vivian spotted Steve and Holly, both standing tall and making their ways over. Good. They wouldn't be alone.
"Eli, it's not about us."
"That's our name," said Eli, angrily. "Ours."
"It says Fairchild," Gail replied, wearily.
"How long will it be before someone makes the connection?" Eli spat out the words.
"About five seconds if you don't lower your voice," said Steve, Traci on his arm.
Holly glided in and sidled right up to Gail's side, with Vivian and Jamie oozing in next.
"Now is not the time or place," Gail said, her voice low and warning.
But Eli was seething. "Today, you had to do this today."
"It was supposed to be yesterday." Gail sounded a little annoyed now. "Eli, if you want to talk about this, fine. But we go outside."
Eli moved.
Without thinking, so did Vivian. She was tall. Taller than Eli. Taller than Steve. In her dress shoes, she wasn't as tall as she might be, but she had what Holly jokingly called a murder walk. Vivian didn't move out of the way of other people in her boots. They ran for cover from her. And similarly, she had mastered the lean. Elaine taught it to her. To use the height and the murder walk to threaten someone with just a lean. Of course Gail could do it too. She tended to add in a sociopathic smile to the mix, just to terrify.
Vivian didn't want to terrify. So she leaned. She dipped her chin and looked straight at Eli. Her shoulders naturally squared. Her presence loomed.
Eli stepped back.
"What the hell?" He gaped a little at Vivian.
Flicking a glance back at Vivian, Gail gestured with one hand. Stand down. "Eli—"
"Damn it," Eli snarled. "You're still a Peck."
It was Steve who sighed. "Uncle... she is. I am. We will always put this city first. You know that. So will Mom. That's who we are." He pointed at Vivian and Jamie (or maybe just Vivian). "All of us. We are going to protect Toronto and its people. Including you."
They stood there in détente for a moment. Then Eli deflated. "Did you come work for me to spy on me?" Oddly he asked it without any implications. Eli was just curious.
"No, Uncle." Steve touched his arm. "You know that."
"But still. If she asked, you would."
Steve sighed. "Thats not fair. You would for Elaine."
And Eli grimaced. "I would." He pushed his hands through his thin and greying hair, just like Gail did. "I'm pissed. You had to do this."
"It doesn't matter," Gail pointed out. "None of it mattered."
That seemed not to be the right thing to say. Eli fumed again. "That's the difference, isn't it? It doesn't matter to you. It's all I have."
"Okay," Steve took a firm hold of Eli. "Trace, I'll be back." And he steered Eli out of the room.
They stood in an awkward circle for a moment. "Well. That was fun," said Holly dryly.
"Expected," confessed Gail. "Not maybe so loudly." She grumbled and nudged her bangs back into place, reasserting her bombshell demeanor. "Well. Nice menacing, junior. I'm going to dance with your mom and go home. You?" Gail very carefully arched an eyebrow, flicking her gaze at Jamie.
A Jamie who was looking at her with a pretty unmistakable expression. Much like the one Vivian felt on herself when she'd watched Jamie change for their night out.
Vivian blinked. "Uh. Yeah."
Her abrasive mother smirked. Her methodical mother snorted. "Gail. Stop it." Holly kissed Vivian's cheek. "Goodnight, honey."
That was a recommended dismissal if Vivian had ever heard one.
It was all over the papers by the next day. Fairchild coverup leads to recovery of Nazi stolen art. Not the best lede Holly had heard. Then again, Gail tended to come up with some zingers.
Still, the name Armstrong was only mentioned in passing. It was little more than an implication of involvement. Much more of the story was about how the art thief turned insurance agent had accidentally uncovered a plot of stolen identities and long lost art, with a heady dose of Nazi war crimes. A winner, really. Something for everyone.
"Hey, Doc. Is Peck related to the Fairchilds? This picture of the matron looks kinda like her." Frankie announced herself as she came in, eying her phone.
"Her grandmother was one. To what do I owe the pleasure, Inspector?"
Frankie looked up and flushed pink. "Oh. You heard."
Holly smiled. "Congratulations, Frankie. Should've been a long time ago."
"Eh." Frankie dropped onto the couch. "I piss off too many people."
"Galbraith's a homophobic dick whistle," said Holly, perfunctorily. "You should have come to Fifteen when Sam left."
The detective smiled. "I thought about it. Didn't think I could stomach you and Peck back then."
That would have been back when Vivian had engineered her little parent trap. They had been a little handsy for a while after that. Holly smiled, feeling a faint blush cross her face. "Well. How's Mac?"
Frankie frowned a little. "Okay. I think. It's hard to say."
"Thinking about serious things yet?"
"No." Frankie leaned back, throwing her arms along the back of the couch. "I like Mac. She's smart, sexy, witty. But she's crazy, y'know? An EMT at her age?"
"Obsessive women can be a draw."
But Frankie shook her head. "Not enough. Not for me. We're pretty clear on it, Doc. Me and Mac. We know we're good now. We're not stressing about it."
"I have no idea how you do that," admitted Holly. "I could never do that."
"Casual? Nah, you can't. Peck can't. Too much needy there." Frankie sighed. "Not that I don't like talking shit with one of my few girly friends, like Dov, but I do have work."
Holly laughed softly. "Alright. We don't have any open cases, though."
"I know. I know. I'm Peck's spearpoint for homicide." Frankie waggled her phone. "So I'm catching up on all the open cases. Like you do."
"Sam didn't," said Holly, pointedly. "You have access to them all. All the cases I mean." She stood up and closed the office door. "What's wrong?"
Frankie was quiet for a moment, clearly seeking the words. "Thirty-Four has a lot of unsolved cases. More than any other Division. Fifteen's tops, but Twenty-Seven isn't far behind. We're talking ten cases difference a year."
"I've never looked at the numbers from that end."
Holly walked back to sit on the edge of her desk, much like Gail did. It was a posture Elaine insisted could instill casual superiority but also trustworthiness. By not being behind the desk, a person was more human. By being above, they demonstrated reliability and confidence. They were someone to whom a person could confess and be protected by.
The move seemed to work for Frankie. "Almost forty cases difference, Doc."
That was a huge number. Holly almost slipped from her pose. "Forty?"
"It was fifty just two years ago. It's crazy, it's crazy I know." Frankie dropped her phone onto the couch beside her.
"Why... Jesus, Frankie. Why are you telling me this?
The detective waved a hand at the wall. "I need your help. I can't tell. I can't... I don't know if this is the cases or the detectives or ..." She trailed off. "Gail never had problems, being out."
Strangely enough, the quick topic change didn't throw Holly off. Gail's coming out had been disturbingly easy and straightforward. On the other hand, Holly had the normal tribulations of her era and, as she understood it, Frankie had the worst. "True."
"Gail told you?"
"About your family? Some."
"Damn Steve. He's such a fucking gossip." Frankie sighed. "But you see my point?"
Holly nodded. "Galbraith. Gail sees him as an annoyance."
"Which is the same as she sees everyone expect you."
"I know." Holly grimaced. "I can do that for you. It may take a bit, though."
"It's fine. Fine. I'm making sure everyone knows I'm watching all the cases now."
So that had been Gail's trick to keep Frankie around. Who would have known that giving the woman some actual responsibility would have this effect? It wasn't a mad desire for power, it was a deep seated want to be respected. Frankie wanted to be needed and looked to. She needed to be needed.
Either Gail had finally figured that out or it was a moment of serendipity. Well. Regardless, Gail would take advantage of it and use Frankie to institute change. Possibly to get rid of Galbraith. It was unlikely Frankie would take over. She'd be a great lead detective, but not a good division Inspector. Much like Gail, her mindset was different.
It was interesting how much Gail had become a sane, whole version of the Pecks she so hated. As she got home that night, Holly had decided not to mention that train of thought. Gail had a difficult time seeing anything from her Peck family was useful. She took the lessons that had been indelibly ingrained in her soul, like perseverance and practice, and saw them as unremovable from other aspects.
Abuse, blackmail, trickery, bribery, lies, deceit.
Yeah, the Pecks did have a tendency towards evil, when looked at objectively.
"Hey, honey," she said as she came into the office at home.
Gail looked up from her laptop. "Hey, you're in a better mood."
"I am, thank you." Holly leaned across the table to kiss Gail's forehead. "Shall I make dinner?"
"There's jerk chicken marinating. It needs some sides."
"Salad and bread." Holly left her laptop and bag on her desk, taking her phone and tablet. "How long do you think you'll be?"
"Hour, hour and a half maybe." Gail squinted at her screen.
"Please wear your glasses, honey," instructed Holly as she walked out.
"Right!" There was a clatter and Holly was sure Gail was just then putting her glasses on.
While she prepped and cooked dinner, Holly started to review the cases Frankie had brought up with her. They'd pared down the hundred or so possible cases to twelve that seemed most likely to have been pressured one way or the other. Between then two of them, their experienced eyes had the ability to pick out suspicious ends to cases.
Holly had loaded those cases locally onto her tablet and skimmed them quietly, making notes in the electronic margin. She loved that aspect of the future. Once she'd gotten used to using ereaders for her work, the benefits astounded her. Leaving notes that were complicated in non-destructive ways was incredibly simple. She could also mark similar items in the same way across multiple files, collate them and compare them. She could run run plagiarism checks, or her new favorite, repetitive language checks.
About five years ago, Holly had started paying closer attention to the way in-house reports were written. The language they used. The theory she had was that if more care was taken with internal documents, then the translation of them to external papers would be made simpler. In order to do that, she had to train her lab to stop using the same words and phrases multiple times in a report.
That was the check she kicked off now. Checking multiple documents for identical phrases, regardless of author, would show her a trend. And if that trend was high enough, it would imply either tampering or collusion to direct the case in a desired direction.
To do that was the antithesis of her work. The evidence did not lie, thanks CSI. The evidence gave the story and it was the job of the lab to tell it accurately and honestly. The very idea that someone in her lab was subverting that truth for their own benefit was disgusting.
She really hoped it was Inspector Galbraith and his idiots.
"Uh oh," said Gail, announcing her presence with trepidation. "You look obsessive."
"Just working on a side project with Inspector Anderson."
Gail smirked. "Fun times. Food looks amazing." She started to walk past Holly to get to the fridge.
Smiling back, Holly caught Gail by the waist and gently tugged her. "Come here, sexy."
Her wife made a very happy noise and stepped back into Holly's embrace. "I'm sexy, huh?"
"Very." She planted a kiss on Gail's neck. "Everything okay with Eli?"
"Hah!" Gail turned, getting out of Holly's hold. "Not a bit. He's livid. Steve's trying to calm him down, but the whole family is in arms. Welcome back, Evil Gail Peck." She threw her arms out, spun around, and then took a bottle off the shelf. "Red."
Holly blinked. "Red?"
"Wine. Red wine. White would work, but I just don't like it as much, I think."
Sometimes she had to just let Gail be Gail and go off topic. "Red, but not something heavy."
"You have uncultured tastes," muttered Gail, trading one bottle for another. "Table."
"Fine." They puttered about making plates and setting up a quiet dinner. Holly arched an eyebrow. "Where's your head at, Petulant Peck?"
Gail squinted. "You're not Oliver."
"I know, but you're being tetchy."
"I'm gonna be. I have to be Bad Peck." She hunched her back. "I don't want to talk about it."
Holly essayed her options. She could push her wife and make her talk, and certainly that could work. After all this time, Holly knew how to direct Gail to talking about things. But. She also knew that pushing Gail didn't always net the best solutions. Gail was smarting. Her family was being themselves and it bothered Gail.
So the best thing to do was to let Gail fume over it herself.
"The kids dressed up nice, huh?" Holly smiled and took a bite of salad. "Vivian looked adorable."
Her wife looked surprised at the topic shift, but also grateful. "Jamie looks good in burgundy."
"I'd love to take her shopping."
Gail smiled. "Because that's not awkward."
"She's already seen my tits," Holly pointed out.
That made her wife laugh.
They talked about little things for the rest of the night. Holly brought up sports, Gail mentioned a movie she wanted to see. It was just a night for quiet things. After dinner they settled on the couch and watched an episode of a cooking show before going up to bed.
Gail right away tumbled in and pulled her pillow over her head, while Holly sat up to read her case notes. "Do you need me to turn off the lights, honey?"
"Nah, just want to hang out." Gail scooted back until her butt touched Holly's hip.
They had sat like this so many times in their life together. Gail would often go to sleep first, especially when she'd been a patrol cop. There had been a number of nights early on that Holly worried she was keeping Gail up, reading or working or just not sleeping.
Holly always took a little longer to get to sleep. Gail woke up in the middle of the night, but Holly took a while to relax. It was probably the meditation Gail did. Holly smiled down at her wife and ruffled the bit of blond hair sticking out from under the pillow.
Making her last note an hour later, Holly turned off her tablet and tossed in onto the charging mat. Lights off, she curled up into Gail's back, snuggling up and draping an arm over her waist. "You're a good person, Gail," she whispered.
Gail's only reply was a soft snore.
Holly smiled and kissed Gail's shoulder, squeezing her wife close.
Funny how being outcast from family a second time hurt more.
"An un-invitation is the whitest thing my family has ever done," Gail informed her mother. She tossed the card onto the table, as disdainfully as possible.
Elaine had the grace to look abashed. "Steve and I are declining, sweetheart."
"Steve can't. That's his job now, Mom."
"He'd rather lose the job than you."
What a weird feeling. Gail curled her face up in a sneer. "Sorry, what?"
Her mother smiled. "Gail. People like you."
"Since when?"
"Oh not this shit again." Elaine threw her napkin down, startling Gail. "For christ's sake, Gail. You are brilliant and well respected in your field. You've achieved more than any Peck in living memory, me included. Stop the damn pity party."
Gail collected herself quickly, as a battle of wits with Elaine did not permit one much time to prepare, and snapped back. "Respect and achievements doesn't mean that a single person likes me, Mother."
The waiter cleared his throat. "I'll just give you another minute—"
"Tuna special, please, young man," said Elaine, holding up her menu but never looking away from Gail. "And sparkling water. Thank you."
"Pasta carbonara, no tomatoes, and sparkling water with lemon. Thank you." Gail too held up her menu.
The waiter muttered something and quickly vanished, leaving Gail with her mother.
They sat in silence, glaring at each other, until the drinks arrived.
"What are you going to do?" Elaine picked up the un-invitation without looking away.
"Not go," replied Gail, snatching the card out of Elaine's hand. "Honestly, Mother. People don't like me. I'm barely capable of expressing myself in a way that isn't dripping with sarcasm or contempt, unless I'm drunk. I'm opinionated and cold, I'm don't let people in—"
"And you're incredibly loyal and dependable. You would give your heart's blood for them, Gail. And they trust you."
"Absolutely none of that translates to liking me."
"Holly likes you."
Gail rolled her eyes and her head back. "Jesus, Mom. Holly's in love with me. Still."
"She likes you," restated Elaine.
"My wife doesn't count!"
"Why not?"
"Mom! Are you hearing yourself? They, the idiots I work with, they don't love me. They don't like me. They tolerate me because I'm fucking amazing at my job and they can trust me. At work. Work that Captain Moron doesn't do anymore."
Elaine rolled her eyes at Gail. "You think he's any less of a Peck working for my brother?"
The words tumbled out of Gail's mouth before she processed them. "What the fuck?"
"Gail Antonia Peck, you are the oldest Peck in Toronto policing—"
"Thank you for reminding me," Gail bitterly interjected.
Elaine ignored the comment. "You are the highest ranked as well. You, Gail, are in charge. Whether your hapless minions see it or not, they know in their bones that you are the Peck. Your brother conceded that title without a fight because he knows you're better than he is."
The Peck?
Gail eyed her mother. "I thought we were talking about Eli being pissed off I let them publish the story."
"Oh please, you coordinated that interview. It reeks of Peck meddling."
It was like being slapped.
Hadn't Holly once lamented that it was impossible to escape the patterns ones parents made... no. No, Vivian had said that. Drunk, lamenting about her birth parents the previous year. God, that awful day Vivian discovered her aunt's existence. An aunt who was still, miraculously, alive.
And at the time, Gail had insisted that a person made their own patterns and paths. A person was their own. Wasn't Gail herself proof of breaking the self-sabotage mold of Pecks? Shattering the ceiling?
So had she really just pulled a Peck? Not caring about her family? Putting herself, or at least her case, first? Letting others take the burn and knowing that she'd be fine, perfect in fact, rising from the ashes?
"I ..." Gail leaned back in her seat. "I think I feel sick," she whispered.
"Stop being melodramatic." Elaine sipped her water.
"Seriously? The one thing I don't want to be..." Gail picked up her water to drink and hopefully calm her stomach. "Fuck. How did that happen?"
Her mother looked thoughtful. "Gail. You have no idea how strong you are, do you?"
"Strong enough to be evil? Jesus, I was joking about it, I don't want to be a terrible person," lamented Gail.
"You're not," Elaine said firmly. "If the other Pecks had done this, they'd have made it look like Eli's fault."
She blinked at her mother. "What?"
"Pecks never self-sacrificed, sweetheart. Not like that. They'll give for Toronto, but if it was between their name and their family, they'd find a way to come out looking golden. You... you took the hit, Gail. You took the fall. You're the one who will suffer for this. Eli, he'll get over it."
Gail frowned. "Maybe I'm just really bad at being evil."
"You're not. Why did you do this?"
"What? To catch the thief."
"The serial bank cracker?"
"She walloped Gerald," Gail said dryly.
"Did it knock any sense into him?" Elaine quirked a smile.
"No." Gail eyed her mother again, who was looking a little disappointed. "You get that it still makes me a pretty shitty person, Mom."
"I think that's entirely subjective." Elaine waved one hand. "Doing things, good or bad, comes with a price. And there is a great deal of difference between doing things for good, and accepting the consequences, and doing things for personal gain."
It made Gail feel uncomfortable. "I don't know that I can tell the difference anymore."
Her mother scoffed. "Of course you can."
While it was nice to have her mother's support, it felt weird. She grimaced. "It doesn't matter. Eli's pissed. I'm Peck Non Grata again. I'm just glad I got to support Lizzie, though."
To Gail's surprise, Elaine huffed, dismissively. "Transgender. Such a strange idea."
Ah hell. "Mom, don't start."
Elaine held both her hands up. "I didn't say it."
"You're thinking it. Let it go."
"It's just ... how can what you be born be wrong?"
And there that went again. "It's not wrong, Mom. And you're conflating sex and gender and outward appearance. Again."
"Do not make the hair dye analogy again, Gail."
Gail sighed. "It's not complicated, Mom. It's ... you thought I was straight for years, right?"
Her mother paused. "Yes," she said slowly.
"Well. I'm not. And just because you thought I was something doesn't mean it was right, it was just what you thought. So you thought, and Graham thought, that Lizzie was a boy. She's not. She's a woman, and she's happy and what's wrong with that."
Elaine pursed her lips, clearly still not pleased or fully buying it. "Would you date her?"
"I'm married, and she's my daughter's age, and my cousin."
"If Holly was a man—"
"Mom. Lizzie isn't a man. She was never a man. She was always this."
Her mother paused again. Gail could see her counting silently. "If Holly was transgender, would you still have dated her?"
"Probably." Gail shrugged. "And before you ask, pre or post or no-op, doesn't really matter."
"You'd date Holly if she had a penis?" Elaine actually looked aghast.
"Oh Jesus, Mom." Gail threw her napkin down. "I love Holly, as a person. If she'd been a man, it wouldn't have mattered to me. Obviously her being a woman didn't bother me, so I don't know why you'd think a penis would be any different." Gail grumbled.
Elaine leaned back sharply, as if her world view had been tilted. "Now wait. I've heard you two make jokes about her not having one being a part of why you love her."
"That's a joke, Mom. A kinda transphobic one, yeah, but it's a joke. And ... it's one of those jokes that comes from history." She sighed. "It's a joke about men with penises. Not about having or not... It's complicated."
And that was why those jokes were only made in private. It was so damned hard to explain jokes like that. Long standing, complicated, layered jokes that came from places where one was safe to say things in, perhaps, not politically correct ways. That was why they had parlay.
Elaine clearly didn't get it. Gail couldn't blame her.
"It doesn't make sense," admitted Elaine. "To me. Right now."
"Right now," Gail repeated.
"Gail, I'm trying." Her mother picked her napkin back up and set it on her lap. "I'm trying. The world keeps changing on me faster and faster. You... You've always been racing so far ahead of me. I try, sweetheart. I try."
"I know, Mom," she looked down at her plate.
"These things never stop, Gail."
"Doesn't mean we should, Mom."
"No. You're right, I know." Elaine sighed.
Gail took a bite of her pasta. They'd talked about family drama, sexuality and gender drama, and could it all please be over? "Can we change the topic?"
"Please, god, can we? You're five seconds from telling me about how you and Holly use a dildo."
Smirking, Gail shook her head. "Only if you're asking for advice, Mom." She took another bite. "Only if you're asking for advice."
"Oh god, seriously?" Vivian threw her hands up as she walked into her apartment. "Ruby, for fuck's sake, is this payback?"
"Shit, you're early!"
That was Christian. Vivian arched her eyebrows. "Ruby, does he know?"
"Uh huh. Yes. He knows. Sorry." Ruby scrambled off of Christian and pulled her shirt back into place. "You're home early."
Vivian rolled her eyes and walked to her bedroom. "Sleep in C's room the rest of your stay, Ruby! Then I won't feel so bad getting out in the morning." She kicked her door closed and dumped her gear in the corner before texting her girlfriend.
Your BFF and my idiot friend were at second base on the couch.
She'd seen worse, especially raised by Gail and Holly. It didn't really bother her. But. No. It did. She worried for Christian. She was bothered because he could have his heart broken if he didn't understand the lay of the land. There was nothing wrong with it, with having multiple boyfriends.
"Viv. Can I come in?"
She kicked her boots off and opened her door. "C. You know I don't care."
"No, no. I know. I know the deal. No sex or going at it outside our rooms. I'm cool with that." He hesitated. "I mean. Look. I don't know what the rule is."
Vivian stared. "What rule?"
"Dating your girl's best friend? Like, what if it was Matty?"
"Matty's gay, and neither of you are bi." When Christian opened his mouth, Vivian held up her hand. "For the sake of argument. I'd be pissed at both of you when you broke up."
"Right! So what's the rule here? I mean, do you kick me out? Does it help that we're not dating?"
Oh Jesus, the conversation was getting weirder. "You're not dating Ruby?"
"No way! She lives two hours away! We're just, y'know, sex friends."
Vivian blinked and felt herself bounce right off a prejudice she didn't know she had. Huh. The bitching about Liv and her (ex) boyfriend had been pretty biphoic. Matty had called her out on that one, and Vivian pointed out that if Liv had been dating a redhead, Vivian would have hated them.
But that was totally different than this. This was ...
Okay.
First assure C it was okay. "As long as you're both— all on the same page about it, Christian, it's fine. Really."
Her friend and roommate looked concerned. "I think we are. I chatted with Rob on Face Time. He's pretty cool. If he comes, next time, we're all going out."
Yep. Brain broken. Vivian nodded and tried to express her actual sincerity. "C. For real."
That seemed to work. He beamed at her. "Cool. Okay, so ..." Christian gestured towards his room. "Later."
"Oh yeah yeah." She waved him off and waited until her door was closed to make a face. "Fuck." Vivian dove for her phone and texted Matty.
Help. I'm having a phobic crisis.
Thankfully she only had to wait a minute before he called. "Sweetie, we went over this. You're right, you aren't biphobic, you're just a shitty person when your crush uses you."
"Christian's dating Ruby."
"Jamie's Ruby?"
"Yeah. Who has at least one other boyfriend."
Her best friend made a thoughtful noise. "Okay. And?"
"It's weirding me out. Am I ... polyphobic?"
"Huh. Well. Why is it bothering you?"
Vivian groaned and covered her face with a hand. "How do people not get jealous?"
"Of...?"
"Sharing."
"My dear sweet idiot, it's not a threesome. When she's here, she's with our simple boy. When she's home, she's with her other simple boy. What's there to be jealous of?"
"I would hate it if anyone else was kissing Jamie."
"Mm. Possessive?"
Ugh. "I hate you. Yes."
"So she's yours?"
"No!" Vivian groaned. "Fuck, no. Absolutely not. I don't own her, or anything like that. I just would not be okay with it. And I wouldn't be okay with kissing anyone besides Jamie right now."
"Hmm." Matty sounded thoughtful. "Can you meet me at Dripz by your place? I'm right outside."
"Yes, god. Yes. I'll be right there." She hung up and changed shirt and shoes. Thankfully Ruby and Christian had taken it to his room, so Vivian ducked out.
Her best friend was standing outside, holding two cups. "Damn you flew," said Matty, laughing.
"They're fucking in C's room."
"Rock on, C."
"Ugh, must you?"
"What? He's cute! You'd tell me if he swung both ways, right?"
Vivian narrowed her eyes. "Only if Enrique was okay with it."
And to her surprise, Matty shrugged and held out a cup. "He'd want to share. Which I'm okay with."
"How?" The question came out of her mouth before it stopped to question its own existence. Vivian wanted to be a little appalled at herself, but the reality was she just didn't get it.
Looping an arm through Vivian's, Matty led her down the street to the small park. "Sweetie. Vivian. My best friend in the universe. My oldest friend since forever. My one truest darling. You don't have to be monogamous."
Vivian glared down at Matty. Barely down. They were practically of a height, especially when he wore boots and she wore sneakers. Growth had stretched and squished him, making him a comfortably solid teddy bear, who could easily pass for Gail's natural born child. That was something they had done before. Vivian would be Holly's, Matty would be Gail's, and they'd screw with people.
"I know that, you asshole," she told him. "I mean... I get it, but I don't get it. And does not getting it make me a bad feminist?"
"It makes you Vivian, sweetie," said Matty firmly. "Sit."
They took over a bench and looked at the people playing in the park. Sun bathing, though it was a bit chilly for that in May. Vivian sipped her drink and smiled. Extra hot, extra strong, a little sweet, a little cream. A touch of chocolate. Matty knew her drink well. A frugal mocha. A treat for the person who didn't self-indulge much.
She still didn't. She couldn't. She'd tried more than once, even recently, but the idea of shoving tons of food she loved into her face actually made Vivian sick. She'd only told Jamie about that, not even her parents. Not really. Vivian doubted they'd mind, but it just was weird and she didn't want them to feel guilty. No, her indulgences were not of quantity but of quality. And they were never over-indulgences.
Vivian sighed and asked, "Do we ever stop being what we were born as?"
"Seeing as my mother is still a right wing religious nutter, I hope so." Matty leaned back. "I miss her sometimes."
"You don't ever catch yourself doing things that are ... her?"
"Oh, god. I do. I was mad at Enrique for not restocking the toilet paper and was totally passive aggressive like Mom." Matty shuddered. Then he narrowed his gaze on Vivian. "We're not talking about your Moms."
She shook her head. "No. Not Moms. I was thinking ..." Vivian stopped and sipped the coffee again. "I barely understand what it's like to, um, love people. Love one person."
"You love me, don't you?"
Grinning, Vivian shoved Matty's shoulder. "Yes, but as a friend. Even if we were sexually compatible, I don't think I'd ever sleep with you."
Her best friend laughed. "That's a hell of an alternate universe."
"Woulda been simpler, though, huh?"
"Mm. Yes, but then I wouldn't have met Tim Gunn. Bless him." Matty faux swooned. "Relationships aren't all about love, though. I mean, sexual ones."
"Yeah, that I don't get."
Matty gave her a look of disbelief. "You've never slept with someone you didn't love? Really?" Disdain dripped off his tone.
Point made. "Remember Skye?"
"Your one night stand who texted and you went out with for a couple months? I seem to recall her."
"Right. I hated the idea of it. Of a one night thing."
Matty was thoughtful. "Why?"
She sighed loudly. "You're going to think I'm weird."
"That ship has long since sailed, sweetie."
Somehow that made her feel better. "So. I don't like the idea of being easily replaced."
Bless Matty, he took that seriously. "Okay. I get that." He took a long drink of his coffee. Well. Cocoa probably, knowing him. "That's not what poly is, but I can see how that would make you feel uncomfortable."
A great deal of pressure vanished off Vivian's shoulders. "I kinda feel like that sounds like I'm making excuses for not being okay with it for me."
"It always sounds like that," Matty said firmly. "I'm okay with people being gay, but I'm not gay. Right?"
She smiled at him. "Yeah. I have gay friends."
"And yet you dress like this," Matty teased her, gesturing at her clothes.
"I do it to piss you off."
"Mission a-fucking-complished."
They both laughed and Vivian started to feel much better. At least in her own head. "Hey. Thanks," she said softly.
Matty looked about to say something flippant and then smiled. "Sweetie. I'm going to hug you." He put his cup down and wrapped his arms around her.
"This really isn't how I communicate," she muttered, but. But. It was Matty. She wormed out one arm to hug him back.
"You're a good friend, Vivian. And unlike literally everyone else on the planet, you keep changing when life throws shit at you."
"I think Christian would be upset to be called shit."
"He's cute, but he's not to die for." Matty gave her one more squeeze and let go. "I think this is much better than when you called me freaking out that you had a crush on Liv and it wasn't going away."
Vivian rolled her eyes. "Seventeen was a rough, rough time."
"Hello. Hormones. Acne. Growth spurts." Matty flipped his hair out of his face. "Speaking of hormones, where's your spunkier half?"
"At work. I warned her."
"I don't know how you two manage your work hours. You never see each other!"
Grinning, Vivian got up. "We see each other a lot. Come on, let's get dinner."
"Oh you are singing my song, Vivian!" Matty hopped to his feet and looped his arm through hers again. "Mexican. We need Mexican food. The stuff Gail hates. Why does she hate it?"
"She's allergic to tomatoes."
Matty gasped. "Oh my god! That's the eighteenth worst allergy to have!"
She laughed and, knowing the answer would confound her, Vivian asked what the other seventeen were.
Because her best friend was her best friend for a reason.
No, things aren't resolved. Elaine is still a bit not okay with everything queer. She's trying. Vivian is facing the worry that if she, personally, is not okay with being a thing, it might make her phobic. And yes, she worries she's transphobic since she'd probably have issues with dating trans women. Or at least she thinks she might. She doesn't know, and it's hard to guess the unknown in yourself.
Oh and she's wrong about Christian but ... we'll get there later.
