4.10 - Integrity Test

It's time to find out what's real and what's not. To get at the truth, you have to risk it all.

Also happy birthday, Holly Stewart.


By nature, Gail was not a morning person. She never had been, and while she rose for work early every day, often on short sleep, it was not something Gail had ever enjoyed. No, Gail was a night owl who loved being up all hours and drinking and laughing and watching the moon set and the sun rise as she went to sleep.

In contrast, Holly enjoyed the early mornings. They were quiet and calm and cold, even in the middle of summer. In the sultry June heat, the cottage could be oppressive, but not so at dawn. Crisp and clean and the fog rolling across the lake was one of Holly's favorite things.

She woke early that morning, her birthday, which was surprising. It had been a late night with laughter and singing and dancing. Her friends had all come up to the cottage for the fun, but around one, everyone had returned to the B&B in town, leaving the cottage filled only with Gail and Holly, Steve and Traci, and Vivian and Jamie.

Holly never minded having others in the cottage, not even on a night like her birthday when she hoped to get laid. Either Gail was rubbing off on her or she'd come to accept the soundproofing at the cottage as adequate. Probably a little of both.

Regardless, Holly was wide awake before five in the morning. It had to be before five since the sun wasn't quite up yet. Sunrise was damned early in summer. Actually it wasn't early. Time was a human construct, after all.

She sighed and looked at the soundly sleeping blonde. Gail was snoring. It was a sound that had taken Holly years to get used to, but the deep, even breathing of Gail Peck was one she had trouble sleeping without. Holly reached over and gently ran her fingers through Gail's forelock.

Her wife slumbered on, not even noticing.

Holly slipped out of bed and pulled on something slightly more reputable than just her underpants, picking a pair of cut off sweats, and went downstairs. If she was awake, she may as well tidy up. To her surprise, the downstairs was clean and coffee was prepped. So was tea.

The door to Vivian's room was closed and a quick glance confirmed that her jock child's running shoes were still sitting beside the front door. She must have cleaned up after they went to bed. Or Steve did. No. No, it had to be Vivian.

Smiling, Holly turned on the kettle and made herself a mug of tea the way Gail loved it. Hot and sweet, with lemon and cream. It was an art form, to make sure the cream didn't curdle, and Gail had taught her well.

If it had just been them at the cottage, Holly would wander out on the dock and sit to watch the sunrise. Since the kid was there, and since her room overlooked the lake best, Holly knew Vivian would wake up as soon as she heard people outside her window. And Vivian always slept with the windows open if the weather was obliging.

So instead, Holly took her tea back upstairs and went onto the deck off her own bedroom. Gail didn't even twitch. Smiling, Holly leaned on the railing. Her deck. Her bedroom. Her cottage up by the lake.

It was so extravagant to have her own cottage like that. To have a little slice of heaven, a retreat from the pressure of the world and their jobs. The cottage was absolutely amazing. She'd written one of the best papers of her life at the cottage. Maybe she could write that book...

Dr. Holly Stewart, Chief Medical Examiner of Toronto, had a lot more free time now.

She had successfully retired from half of her job. Rodney was doing well in her old role, and Holly purposefully made herself scarce, letting him find his sea legs and stopping herself from sticking her nose where it didn't belong. And it felt good. No. It felt great. Holly had reached her self created pinnacle and now she was coasting down a gentle slope of success.

The sun peeked over the hills and started to paint the waters golden. The deep black of night retreated, the blue of the lake brighting in every passing second, and the pinks and yellows of morning made their presence known.

"I'm retired," she breathed into the morning. "And I'm sixty years old today."

Then she nearly jumped off the deck in fright as Gail spoke. "I thought retired old people slept in."

"Jesus fuck, Gail! Don't do that!" Holly turned to scowl at her wife.

Gail shrugged and walked up to her, taking the tea mug and sipping it. "Happy birthday."

"Scare me to death, steal my tea. How is that happy?"

Smiling, Gail handed the tea back. "Well. I'm happy."

"And if you're happy, everyone's happy." Holly rolled her eyes.

Still with the smile, Gail leaned in and kissed her softly. "Good morning, Holly."

There was just something in the way Gail said the common, simple words that meant everything. She said them with love and affection. With tenderness and caring. It wasn't rare anymore for Gail to say the things that meant 'I love you' but the way she expressed it was something Holly treasured.

"I'm watching the sunrise," she murmured, not adding any weight to the moment.

"Kay." Gail wrapped her arms around Holly from behind and propped her chin on Holly's shoulder.

Together they watched the fog lift off the lake, swirl around the trees and crawl across the deck. Further out on the lake, the jetty slowly faded in and out as the sun burned off the morning dew. The sky washed out the darkness and the light sparkled the dew on the grass, making the world magical for a little while.

The mornings with Gail were special. They were quiet and calm and for a little while they were the only people who mattered on the planet. Her most important person was there with her. The woman who made terrible, offensive, jokes about how Holly's shirt was gay. The incredibly brave police officer who ran towards danger to protect strangers. The really cranky bitchy woman who hated fake people and forced happiness.

The woman Holly married and would be happy to marry again and again.

"Gail?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Holly smiled and patted Gail's hands. "I mean it. You're one of the best things that ever happened to me."

Her wife snorted. "One of?"

"Top ten. Top four on a good day," Holly drawled.

"Alright. What's number one?"

"Making out with Jessie Machado in the backyard." While that had ended horribly, and Jessie ran off to date boys, it was Holly's first time really kissing a girl and it told her everything she'd ever needed to know about herself. She was totally gay.

Gail laughed. "Oh my god, the backyard?"

"We were hiding from her brothers behind her shed. They were being jerks."

"Boys."

"Same thing," Holly agreed. "Anyway, Jessie told me she hated boys and I said I did and then ... we kissed. For like ten minutes."

"Yeah? Was she any good? Cause my first kiss with a girl was pretty brief, but the follow up was soooo good."

Grinning, Holly turned to kiss Gail softly, briefly, just as she had in the cloak room. "Like that?"

"Mmmm hmmmm." Gail smiled and let go of Holly to cradle her face with her cool, pale hands. She drew Holly's face in and kissed her slowly. Fiercely. The way Holly had wanted Gail to kiss her when they'd first met. "Like this too."

Holly smiled and let her forehead rest against Gail's. "This one is better." She bumped her nose into Gail's, gently guiding their lips back together. "Much better."

The tea had burned off enough of their morning breath to make it acceptable for the to make out a little under the soft morning light. "You know," said Gail as they paused. "No one's coming back until ten."

"Your brother and daughter are downstairs."

Gail waved a hand. "They have their women. They can entertain themselves for a few hours."

"Oh that is incredibly optimistic of you," said Holly. But she couldn't not smile.

"It's your birthday. Sixty years ago today, you got your first look at a vagina. Sounds like a good idea."

Holly burst out laughing. "Oh my god, that was horrible! Gail never say that again!" She playfully shoved Gail away, laughing so hard she was crying.

Her wife pouted. "So that's a no?"

Wiping her eyes, Holly shook her head. "If you ever say that again, you're never getting all up in this." She gestured at herself.

Gail rolled her eyes. "I'm under appreciated." But she stepped closer to Holly and reached for her waist.

"I appreciate everything about you, but honey, that was bad." She let Gail tug her close, looping her arms around Gail's neck. "Wanna try again?"

The blonde looked up at the sky. "You're such a pain in my ass." She sighed loudly. "Okay. How about this. You're sixty, and you are brilliant and funny and smart as hell. And you are still the most beautiful person, body and soul, I have ever met. You help me be a better person, you never let me give up in myself, and you make my life better. Thank you for not giving up on me being a dumb ass, for marrying me, and for being a mom with me. Any one of those would have been worth it."

Holly felt like melting. "Gail," she whispered softly.

"I want to make love to you. Or fuck you. Whichever you're in the mood for."

"And there went the moment." Holly rolled her eyes.

"That depends on if you already peeked in my luggage." Gail smiled ear to ear.

She blinked. "Oh."

"I know what you like, Mrs. Dr. Stewart." Dropping her chin a little, Gail gave Holly a sultry look that worked. Oh god, it worked. Holly's whole body got tingly in less than a second.

Holly couldn't talk. Her mouth was dry as a bone. She nodded and half stepped backwards, bringing Gail with her. Gail kept smirking and, as usual, delivered on that look.


"Peck! What's the Inspector planning?" Ivan and Duane all but pounced on her as she walked in to their ready room.

"How should I know? I'm ETF and she's OC."

"Uh, you spent a weekend with her up wherever the hell it is you Pecks vanish to on vacations?" Ivan tossed his head, flipping his bangs back. "Dish!"

Vivian laughed. "It was my Mom's birthday. The other one. We had a party. No one talked about work." She paused. "Well. Mostly."

"Ahah!" Duane pointed at her.

"Jesus, you idiots," said Sabrina with a groan. "Dr. Stewart is retiring. Everyone knows that!"

There were audible gasps in the room. "We're losing the best medical examiner!?" Eric looked like he was going to cry.

"She retired from being the Chief Coroner for Ontario, you nitwits." Sabrina eyed Vivian. "I'm sorry they're idiots."

"I'm used to it." Vivian sat down and propped her feet up.

Ivan actually seemed to understand things. "Wait. Who took over? Not that crazy Québécois."

"Nah, Rodney did. Dr. Frang? He used to be the Assistant ME, before Dr. Chundray. Now he teaches."

"Oh right," said Ivan, nodding. "He moved to teaching? That's so wild. Your mom has been like the greatest medical examiner in Canada forever."

"A decade, but yeah." Vivian smiled.

There had been a huge conversation at home when the opportunity arose. It had been unexpected. It also had meant a lot of work and a lot more hours. Holly often read papers and reviews late into the night. She went to millions of meetings and even though Elaine taught her how to delegate, Holly worked way more than 50 hours a week and didn't get to do as much field or lab work as she liked.

Still she wanted it. God, Holly had been so happy about the new job. She'd bounced about it for days, weeks even, and when then extra work came in, she bragged. The enjoyment lasted for ... well it lasted forever. Holly loved the job from day one to the very end.

Now, though. Now Holly was happy in a different way, and not just for her work. At the cottage, a few drinks in, Holly had started babbling. That was normal. Drunk Holly liked two things: touching Gail and talking about science. Basically the only real difference between that and sober Holly was her ability to realize other people might be uncomfortable or bored.

On the eve of her sixty birthday, Holly had a few drinks and danced under the stars with Lisa and Rachel and Traci, while Gail laughed. Then they made her dance with them and even Vivian and Jamie couldn't avoid being forced to join in. And drunk, happy, giddy Holly had sung badly, and danced well, and told everyone about how she was going to write a book and garden more, and since she was a badass who could do two jobs, one was going to feel like none.

Vivian was at a loss to explain to anyone how much she loved her mother. One of the truest, most wonderful people in the universe was Holly Stewart. She admired her mother for her brilliance but also her heart. Holly was good people, and seeing good people so happy made one's self happy.

How could she not be happy when Holly was happy?

"Man, that's weird. Parents retiring." Duane shook his head and sat down by Sabrina. "My grandparents aren't even retired."

"Mine are," said Sabrina. "We had a big retirement party. My grandfather got shitfaced and ripped his shirt off."

Vivian laughed. "Makes you wonder what we'll be like when we retire."

"If we retire," said Ivan. "I heard Inspector Peck's dad died in badge."

"Technically he died on his couch in his apartment," corrected Vivian. Her teammates stared at her. "Oh, Jesus. Yes, the one I live in. No, not the same couch. Yes, he had a last call. And a twenty-one gun salute. And the Mayor came out and blabbed. It was weird."

It was also pretty fucked up, Vivian felt. Gail had been a mess for months after. Not that Vivian blamed her. The fact that Bill Peck never once picked up a phone to call either of his kids was horrible. It was impossible to comprehend. And then to finally understand all of why Gail was mad at him, all of the shit he'd pulled on Gail and Steve. On Elaine.

"Okay, how many Pecks died with their badges on?" Ivan looked curious.

"Like in the line of duty died or just never retired? Either way, it's like ... " Vivian stopped. "It's easier to count the other way."

"What?" Duane laughed. "You can count how many Pecks died without a badge?"

"Outside of active duty. Sure. Six."

The room felt uncomfortable. Tense. "Six Pecks died after they retired?" Ivan just gaped at her. "Six?"

"Six. Monroe, Angelica, Cyrus, Alfred, Fred, and Robert. It'll be eight when Uncle Bill and my grandmother die. Oh. Nine, I forgot Steve."

Almost weakly, Sabrina asked, "Who's Uncle Bill?"

"He was a small town cop. Kicked in the face by a moose. Lost an eye. Runs a boat shop now." Vivian eyed her teammates. "You want the other list? I mean, I can do it, but it's long."

"Fuck, it's tempting... how many didn't ... no. No I don't want to know." Ivan waved his hands in front of himself.

And yet, Vivian knew. How many Pecks died naturally. "Also nine. Franklin, Monroe, Darryl, Allison, Theo, Camilla, Fred, Harold, and Bill. That Bill is Gail's dad, and Harold was her grandfather. They started a trend of dying of natural causes I guess."

Oh yeah. The whole room was staring at her. "Vivian," said Sabrina carefully. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're fucking insane! You took this name? You woke up and thought, hey! Let's be a cop and a Peck?!"

Vivian smiled a little. "I knew what I was getting into."

She hadn't. Not at first. Vivian did by the time she signed the papers and got a cake that said 'Welcome to Peckspectstions.' Elaine made absolutely sure that Vivian understood the world she'd be walking into and could match any Peck in history or skills. At least, the ones deemed necessary for success on the Peck scale. Vivian knew she far exceeded any Peck skills in other places, like electronics and bomb disposal.

"Yeah, she's as crazy as every other Peck out there," said Jules as he walked in. "Suit up, Suan and Peck. We're going to do a walk through of AGO."

"AGO?" Sabrina eyed Vivian.

"Art Gallery of Ontario. The big one on Dundas." Vivian hesitated. "Sir. Is there a threat?"

"Nope. We're working with the Mounties to make sure a Thomas Crowne doesn't happen there. By request of the Big Building and Organized Chaos." Jules shrugged and pointed at the lockers. "Uniforms, not fatigues. Field kits only. We're surveilling and recon, not defusing." He paused. "Well. I hope not. That'd be a shitty day."

"Like that's never happened before," muttered Vivian.


John stared at the wall in Gail's office. "Fuck. You're good."

"I know," Gail crowed.

"Will this work?"

"If I can swing Walter to the side of right." She shrugged. "Sure."

Her cohort in crime solving snorted. "Because every other time you tried to seduce him to your ways, it worked so well."

Fine. He had a point. But Gail finally had a plan that had a chance of working. "I've figured him out," Gail replied. "See, everyone has their White Whale."

"Alright, Ahab," drawled John, and he sat on the table. "Harpoon me."

"His motive, his driving purpose, his raison d'etre is to get his family painting back. His lineage and history."

John nodded. "Okay. I'm with you so far."

"He has his painting back. Only he can't have it, he can't even see it."

"Gonna let him hang it in a cell?"

"I'm gonna let him see it, if he lets me do this."

John whistled softly. "Let him see the painting. That's the bribe? That's way too shallow."

Gail frowned. "You think?"

"Look, your idea, and I think this is a good one, is that to get Louise out and catch her, you have to put the real painting up somewhere. Putting it in a museum, where it's vetted by independent experts, will attract her, but I think it'll be too high a bar for her. She's no Thomas Crowne."

"Which one?"

"Any of 'em." He paused. "I liked the third version best. The whole thing with Thomas Crowne being an alias and a fake identity..." John laughed. "Wow. That's really apropos, isn't it?"

"Layers and layers of fake ids." Gail nodded. "I don't expect her to even try to steal it, John."

He screwed up his face. "What? Why bother!?"

"To make her angry." They stared at each other for a moment. "Look, what do angry criminals make? Mistakes. She's good. She's smart and she's clever, which you know aren't the same thing."

John shook his head. "Gail, I'm with you, but I don't think this is going to draw her out. What'll she do? Steal a painting from AGO? Break her brother out of minimum security? For that to even have a chance, she'd need him to be downtown to authorized the painting showing in public, and grab him when they transfer..."

As John trailed off, Gail smiled viciously. "Precisely."

"You ... the Mounties will never let you."

"If I can get Walter to agree to show the paintings, all of them, at AGO as a show, they will let me use him as bait."

"Christ. If this works, they're gonna make you take that promotion."

Gail shook her head. "Not gonna happen. Another five here, maybe, and then either SIU or a fucking vacation."

Her partner stared. "You're serious." John glanced at the door to make sure it was closed. "You're mother fucking serious. You're going to retire— Gail! Pecks don't retire!"

"Steve did. Elaine did."

"You blackmailed Elaine," snapped John. He knew the whole story, too. "Are you out of your mind? Gail Peck, retire!? Who the hell will run this joint?"

"Mayhew or Trujillo. Depends who grows faster."

"Neither one can handle this and OC..." John stopped. "You're not thinking about that. You're ... you aren't thinking of the OC oversight. Fuck. What about the LGBT stuff!?"

"Zander. Seriously, John. I'm getting too old for this, and I don't want to go up and sit in an office and not solve crimes all day." She shook her head. "I want to grow up and be even more inappropriate with Holly, and sometimes come in to solve a case, and ... I know you and I built this place up right."

John was still flabbergasted. "I ... "

"You should too, if you want," said Gail softly.

He deflated. "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have this."

"You're really good at being the sergeant."

While John's rank was staff sergeant, he was treated as a Superintendent's sergeant. His pay was higher than normal, and he had more access than most of his peers. But John had earned that with bone and blood and bullets. He'd proven himself, time and again, and Fifteen adopted him as their own. More than once, Gail had heard someone say he should have been theirs to start with.

But John had much to make up for. His past, the gangs and the drugs and, yes, Bethany, left their scars. He had healed a great deal, but he might never be able to leave the force. John was safe here.

"Well," he said slowly. "As your sergeant, I gotta tell you this plan is half genius and half insane. Which is probably why it'll work. How feel are you in it?"

"Sgt. Smith took a couple officers to inspect the museum."

"What the hell kind of specialists do that shit?"

"Probably Viv and Sabrina."

"Who?"

"Sabrina Suan. She's a rapid entry specialist with a solid grasp of negotiation. She'll head up ETF in another six years. She'll be sergeant soon enough. Right now, she's Viv's mentor, so using them means we get to see how she works in a leadership position without too much overt stress."

John exhaled loudly. "You're always planning. What would you do if I retired tomorrow?"

"Get drunk," she replied promptly. "Throw you a kick ass party. Be angry. And then... Mayhew. He's ready for that."

"Even though this job isn't a stepping stone for yours?"

Gail smiled. "Then Trujillo for mine."

"Man. You do plan this shit out." He looked up at the wall again. "How much rope did the Mounties give you?"

"Not a lot," she admitted. "To start with, I can ask him what he plans to do with his paintings."

"They're not really his," noted John. "Felons give up their rights to property."

"Ah that's where the Nazis come in." Gail grinned. "So on the one hand, Walter tried to steal this painting, making it criminally acquired and thus subject to an assets seizure. On the other hand, he did not successfully steal it, meaning it's just a painting."

John's eyes sparkled. "And ownership was determined after his arrest, though before sentencing, making it not a part of that particular case."

"Correct sir. In addition, as property lost and restored as part of a war crime, certain lines are a little blurrier than normal. It's illegal for us to claim ownership, and it's illegal for him to own it. Technically it's his sister's, whom we know to be alive, but unfindable." She put her tea down. "Now, I could argue that it goes to his adoptive family, but they're not Jewish and that sticks in the craw."

"So you're arguing it's his to decide ultimate destination." John smiled. "Okay, that works."

"Thank you," she said with a smirk.

"Why do I get a feeling of impending doom when you say that?"

"You're paying attention." Gail waved a hand. "Feeding him the bait of how keeping it locked up until after his trial is the hard part."

"True." John rubbed his lower lip. "It would work best as his own idea. Get him to give a press conference— no. No a public statement about the art collection. He wanted to retrieve his family history, went about it the wrong way, and while he can't make amends to the people he inconvenienced, he can share with the world. For free. You gotta make sure of that."

"Yeah, I know. If he does that, he's capitulating to guilt, John."

"Ugh. Good point. What moron would fall for that?" Grimacing, John leaned back. "Well if anyone could make someone do it, it's you."

Gail scoffed. "I love your faith in me, John."

The man hopped up. "I got nothing but faith in you, Peck!" He raised his fist. "Team Peck!"

"Out!"

John smirked and opened the door. "Peck for PM!"

"Leave!"

"Peck for Queen!"

Gail kicked the door closed on him and laughed.


As she walked into the restaurant, Holly spotted her mother-in-law at her favorite table. "Hi, Elaine. Sorry I'm late."

The Peck matron smiled. "Four minutes is hardly late. How was court?"

"Same old, same old. Defense tries to discredit me, prosecution wants me to be less overbearingly intelligent, jury watches tv and wants more nerd shit." She slid into her seat. "Mind if I have a drink?"

"Oh it was that bad?" Elaine waved down a waiter. "The house red, please. And the salads." As the waiter scampered off, Elaine apologized. "I ordered the salad special for you. I hope that's alright."

"The one with shrimp and avocado? I love that one, thank you."

Elaine's face lit up. She was still so happy any time she did something right. The years of being a less than stellar parent had left Elaine with her own fears. "Good. Good."

The waiter swooped in with salads and wine, taking their orders, and vanishing again.

Holly swirled her wine before sipping it. "Is it bad I always order the same thing here?"

"Do you? I didn't think so." Elaine looked momentarily perturbed. "My doctor still isn't sure of my test results, you know. Is that normal?"

"It can be," said Holly, carefully.

It wasn't though. The fact that Elaine had been through two more scans, and Eli and Steve had been asked to as well, was exactly horrible. The implications were impossible for Holly to miss. There was something wrong and the doctors were attempting to figure out what it was.

"You don't think so, though."

"Elaine, I'm a pathologist. I .. I put patterns together differently. I look for internal and external causes of the same end result."

Her mother-in-law sighed. "I wish he'd just tell me if my brain is deteriorating or not. If I'm going to go senile, I'd like to enjoy it."

Holly coughed a laugh. "God, you and Gail. She'd milk it."

With a grin, Elaine picked at her salad. "She would."

"If we're being practical," Holly noted, "then the most likely outcome is a slow deterioration. If it was fast, the second or third scan would have resulted in something useful."

"Of course, the fact that there will be a fourth means something's wrong."

That was news, and Holly winced. "You didn't ever had a series of concussions or use hard drugs, did you?"

On cue, the waiter put down their plates, mumbled an apology, and rushed off again.

Elaine sighed dramatically. "Honestly."

"Still better than the time I was explaining arterial spray," mused Holly, and she eagerly eyed her tuna melt. It had an avocado and melted cheese on top of an open faced English muffin. So delicious.

"I believe it was the visual representation with your pasta sauce that was the, ah, killing blow." They both laughed. "To answer your question, how many make a series? After Gail was born, I took a door to the back of my head. And about two months later, hit my head slipping on some ice." Elaine frowned. "He got away too. Hate that."

Holly quickly shook her head. "You would have suffered from it by now. Cluster headaches or series of headaches. Dizziness standing. Things that don't go away in time." She paused. "That's a no to the drugs then?"

"Marijuana hardly counts. I did cocaine once. Part of an undercover op." The look on Elaine's face was disgusted. "Thankfully I faked most of it, but still. Oh, would MDMA count?"

She froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. "I'm sorry. You took ecstasy?"

And Elaine nodded. "College. It was a very interesting evening. I take it by your tone you've never?"

"Uh. No."

Elaine gave her a deeply scrutinizing look. "Marijuana and ... Shrooms. Really?"

"How the hell do you all do that? Did you know Vivian can?"

"Of course," dismissed Elaine. "I taught her."

"Why am I not surprised," grumbled Holly. "Once. For both. And I locked myself in my closet. Happy?"

"Which time did you lock yourself up?"

"Marijuana. Apparently I get very neurotic on it." That had not been a fun day. While Lisa had laughed about it later, at the time Holly had an honest to God panic attack.

Shaking her head, Elaine cut into her chicken. "Well. Does any of that help your theory?"

"No," said Holly with a sigh. "Did your doctor give you any of the possibilities?"

"Some. Including Alzheimer's. He said there were quite a lot of them, and he didn't wish to distract me or cause undue stress while he was looking for a zebra."

Holly coughed. "You know that saying?"

"We use it in police work, dear. Of course. It is distressing for this to go on for so long, though."

"Science isn't television, Elaine. And be glad that it's not an obvious cause."

"Knowing that I've lost part of my mind, with no cause, is no cheerier than wondering if I should lose all of it to some specific cause or another," said Elaine, drolly.

She had a point. All they knew for certain was there were some anomalies on Elaine's scans and blood work that implied the loss of memory was abnormal. Some memory loss was to be expected, however the cognitive tests Elaine had been through showed her short and medium term memory recall to be phenomenal. So were Gail's and Steve's. Eli's had been far more normal.

That spoke well to the memory training exercises that Pecks underwent from an early age, as well as Elaine's natural inclinations. She'd taught herself. Memory wasn't a muscle, it couldn't be made better or worse. Forgetting and remembering was in part a trick of things. Clues and cues that triggered memory. Like the idea of a mind palace, where each room triggered recall.

Gail said it was bullshit, of course. She just remembered what she needed to remember. Holly knew that wasn't really the case, as Gail's memory was certainly situational and conditional. She remembered the grocery list better at the grocery store, and so on.

And then there were the things Gail was unable to forget. It was chemically induced hyperthymesia - the opposite, as it were, of amnesia. And it meant that Gail would never forget being kidnapped. She'd always have the memory of the most painful, worst day of her life.

Well.

Once Gail had said that the worst day of her life was the day she thought Holly might die.

While incredibly romantic, Holly suspected it was also quite true.

"Forgetting is normal," Holly said at length.

"Not for me. And if this is something biological, it could happen to Gail as well," pointed out Elaine, grimly.

"Well." Holly put down her knife and fork. "If that happens, Gail will have me. And if it is what's happening to you, you will have Gail and me. We won't shove you into a little old lady home, Elaine."

Her mother in law laughed. "Hire a nurse before you even consider housing me yourselves, please."

Primly, Holly pointed out, "I have no interest for inviting a homicide to my home." And Elaine laughed. "I'm just saying, none of you are alone, Elaine."

"I know," said Elaine very quietly. "Thank you."

"It's nothing—"

Elaine cut her off. "No. Holly, thank you. You didn't have to forgive me, or let me back in to Gail's life. If you'd said no, I would have understood completely and respected that. But you did. You let me try again, and you gave me back my children. You gave me a grandchild and yes, I know Vivian calls me grandma just not to my face because it makes Gail feel old. You gave me that. You continue to give. So I mean this sincerely. Thank you."

Holly stared at Elaine, feeling terribly self conscious and uncomfortable. "Oh." Then, softly, she added. "You're welcome, Elaine."

The Peck matron nodded and went back to eating her salad. "Good. Now let's talk about something else, shall we? How's retirement coming along?"

With a laugh, Holly shook her head. "It's only half retirement," she pointed out, and explained that it was going very well, thank you.

It wasn't much, but it was family.


"How is spending all day at an art museum 'work?'" Jamie sounded perplexed and amused.

"I'm going over their entire security system. Top to bottom. With the security company. It's nuts. You'd think they were bringing in the Mona Lisa or something."

Vivian pulled herself up by her finger tips and held her arms in the proper L position as she counted to ten. On the side of the cliffhanger wall, Jamie was practicing her balance on a weird ball thing that Vivian could never remember the name of, basically doing squats on a ball. Joint crazy ninja shit day was always fun. It was much more entertaining than softball, especially since they weren't on opposing sides.

Her girlfriend huffed. "What are they bringing in?"

"Not a clue."

"Didja ask Gail?"

"Not gonna." Vivian grunted, lifting herself up a little more. "Mom and I are in different groups. And I'm the rookie agent."

Jamie made a noise. "That flies in the face of everything I've ever heard about Pecks."

"Like what?" Slowly, Vivian traversed the wall back and forth.

"Like you guys talk about everything, behind the scenes, and you're always trading insider secrets and shit."

Vivian laughed. "You've spent holidays with us, McGann. We don't do that."

They did, though, and Vivian knew it. They just did it far more discreetly than anyone gave them credit for. Vivian had been in on the discussions since she was twelve, though her actual involvement was severely limited to what a child needed to know. As she'd grown up, though more information had been revealed. More to the point, her family didn't exclude her from the conversations.

But the idea that they had secret conversations and ruled the city as Pecks, that wasn't true. They shared information between themselves, mostly to speed up their ability to close cases. It was difficult to explain the difference between backroom dealings and actual collaboration. The truth was it was the latter, but people rarely wanted to hear that.

"That's what I said," admitted Jamie. "It annoys the hell out of our Captain."

"Well. Shay's sensitive. S'why she runs into fires."

"Oh yeah, totally relaxing, running into burning buildings," said Jamie with a drawl.

Vivian lowered herself partway down, feeling her arms burn as her fingertips supported her entire weight. "I had wondered why you do it."

Her girlfriend rolled her eyes. "How can you have a conversation while you do that?"

Smiling, Vivian dropped and stretched her arms, walking over to where Jamie was finishing her squats. "I've been doing this since I was eighteen. Before that I just did rock climbing."

Jamie stepped off her balance ball. "You have all this really nice, lanky, limber muscle." She ran her hands up Vivian's arm and smiled. "I like it." And Jamie raised herself up to her tip-toes to kiss Vivian.

Someone hooted.

"On the line! No making out!"

Because that was a gym rule. No making out, no being romantic, and absolutely no sex. Violations meant it was time to run the course. Except for sex. That got people kicked out.

Vivian sighed. "You hate me!" In for a penny, in for a pound. She kissed Jamie again and tugged her to the starting line. "Alright, what do I have to do to make you assholes stop?"

Quickly the punishment for making out was determined to be both of them had to finish the demo course in a set time. Vivian was given 2 minutes, while Jamie (who paled quickly) was given 7 minutes. That was at least realistic. Jamie had never completed the demo course at all, and if she didn't today, they would be loudly teased at every opportunity in the gym. Forever.

Vivian went first. Two minutes was tough. Her average was closer to three and she really never pushed herself hard for speed. The course was for fun, not competing for ranks. But the rules of the gym were quite clear about no PDA on the premises. The worst part about it was that if she didn't get it the first time, she'd be even more tired. And this was at the end of a workday, plus a post work workout.

"Just so we're clear, you all suck." Vivian stretched and looked at the course critically before making her run.

She did it in one. Jamie did it in three. Neither failure was due to stamina at least, but it did ruin any plans Vivian had for a post gym workout.

Vivian was still a little a little grumpy about it when she and Sabrina got to the museum for day four of their little review sessions. It didn't help that the whole gig was boring. It was incredibly hard, if not impossible, to steal art from museums these days. That was the point of them all being so public.

The paradox was that while anyone could walk in and see the art, everyone would see the art being stolen. Daytime thefts like what people saw in movies were unrealistic. Nighttime thefts were similarly unlikely, since the advent of video cameras. The world just wasn't like the stories.

That said, the guards made her wish for Rich and even that moron Goff to be around. They were idiots. They were ignorant. They were just plain stupid. Vivian felt a strangely familiar annoyance with them. It was the same grumbling she'd felt when she'd been irritable and fighting with Jamie about stupid things.

People who did their jobs badly pissed her off. The lazy and the slackers and the just plain stupid, the people who hurt their own work, intentionally or not, upset Vivian. She could understand not loving the work. Some of the summer jobs Vivian had done were dead ass boring and annoying and yes, she'd hated the one with Elaine.

But no matter how much she'd hated her job, she'd always given it her all.

"So," said Trujillo as the ETF officers got in her car. "Any theories on a weak point?"

"Outside," replied Sabrina. "If the sister makes a move, it'll be outside where the guards aren't looking. They watch the doors and the art."

"Egress and ingress are always weak points," agreed Trujillo. "We can put a good guard up to mitigate."

"Our guards? That might work." Sabrina sounded doubtful. "Tech wise, it all looks Good to me. It's not the Louvre, or the Met, but it's good."

"Good enough for the Queen?"

Sabrina laughed. "I really doubt Queen Kate the Great would come for that shitty painting."

Trujillo laughed as well. "Thank god it's not just me! It is pretty boring, isn't it?"

"I'm not an art person, but I think even Peck was bored by it."

"It's alright," said Vivian absently, recognizing she was spoken to. "The technique is impressive."

"She speaks." Trujillo sounded amused. "What do you think of the place, Peck?"

Vivian looked out the backseat window. "They're still your weakest link. The people," she said slowly. "Those guards don't give a shit and they won't question anything. I bet if I showed up in a suit and sounded authoritarian, they'd just roll over and listen." She closed her eyes. "Security, technical security, is fine."

Neither Sabrina nor Trujillo said anything after that. And Vivian wasn't sure what to make of that.


Sliding into the seat, Gail smiled at Walter and placed a newspaper beside her folder. "Hiya."

Walter frowned. "No books?"

"No. No books. Prison library no good?"

"Not here," he lamented. "Toronto South has good ones. Any chance of me getting over there?"

Gail shook her head. "You know, how often do you think I hear that? People asking to go to the lower security prison for the books?"

"Not a lot?"

She paused and then decided to play her hand differently.

Gail's original idea was just to lay it out for Walter and convince him that the best idea was to put his art on show. She would then use that as a lure to entice Louise out to play and, of course, arrest her.

But now, looking at him, knowing he'd spent what was nearly half year in jail, Gail felt a little different. And she took a chance on a legend.

"Ever hear about a serial killer who died in here? Name of Perik?"

Walter blinked, surprised. "Died in a prison riot," he said carefully. "Yeah. Why?"

"I talked to him, in this very room." She looked around. "Twice actually."

Walter's eyes widened. "You?"

"Hmm. Yeah. I was the last person he talked to, last cop, before he killed himself."

"He died in the riot."

"He committed suicide in the riot," she corrected. "Long time ago. Twenty-one years ago. S'funny. I doubt I'll forget it. I come here, I remember talking to him. Remember the trial. And then, about three and a half months later, he was dead." Gail paused. "I was at his autopsy."

"God," Walter was appalled. "Why?"

"I survived the son of a bitch. It was my right."

Slowly the understanding dawned in Walter's eyes. Gail survived. Gail had been a victim and Gail survived. Gail had defeated a killer. And Walter, compared to that, was simple.

She had effectively shown Walter his place in her life.

If Gail's life was a book, Walter was nothing more than a confusing half year blip. In fact...

"The chief medical examiner is writing a book," Gail continued. "About a case, took over 100 years. It started in the 1900s, around the time of the Spanish Flu epidemic. She solved it. That's the kind of story you write about, y'know."

The criminal looked at his shackled hands. "Yeah, I know."

"You see my point? No one cares about you, Walter. Shit, I'm just here because I was hoping to get another international crime under my hat, but the damn Mounties stole that part of the crime."

Walter eyed her. "I'm so sorry," he said sarcastically.

"Eh, I probably know more about your history than you do. I mean, I know who was behind Ernst."

That was a bite. "What... if I want..." Walter grimaced. "Damn it. Ernst isn't real."

"No. He's not."

"So ... my grandfather never made it over?"

"He did not. No."

"My uncle didn't either?"

"Afraid not. We have confirmation he died in the camps."

"Someone stole my grandfather's identity and made up Ernst?"

Gail nodded. "As near as we can figure. He adopted a young man who died in the Korean War. That's when Ernst suddenly showed up."

Walter looked impressed. "Who's Ernst now?"

"Oh we arrested that genius. In a different prison of course. They wanted the van de Velde painting and the easiest way to get it was to steal Ernst's identity. Of course, they didn't know Ernst wasn't real."

And Walter laughed. "Serves them right. So ... what happens to the painting?"

"Well. Now that's a funny question. You see, technically it's all war crimes purview. When they recover stolen art, they return it to the owners." She gestured at Walter.

"But I'm a criminal."

"You will be after your trial," Gail pointed out. "Right now you're remanded."

"So I can leave?"

"No. You broke into a bank, Walter. The only reason you're here and not with the Mounties is that you didn't take anything."

He huffed, sadly. "Well." Walter didn't finish his thought. He would have, though. And Gail knew it. "Louise is still out there. I guess it's hers."

"Oh. No, it's not. Hereditary law, probably, but she's a suspect in an assault on a police officer. So if we get her, we press charges. Destruction of evidence to boot."

Walter looked surprised. "What did she do?"

"Can't tell you. Anyway, she'd be excluded from inheritance. Which means it's ..." Gail held out her hands to Walter in a gesture of acceptance. "I mean, a good lawyer would keep your hands out of it, but only if we press charges about it. A better lawyer would have it kept in escrow, pending your eventual release."

"Hah, like I'm getting out."

"Oh you will. Max term is life, but you'll likely get ten. Get out in less for good behavior. We can keep it locked up."

"How does that even work? I was caught breaking in."

"Funny technicality. The painting you went after wasn't the one we recovered. Like I said, good lawyer could argue you were after the fake."

Walter's eyes widened. Gail was handing him a defense that would work. It would keep him out of a lengthy jail term. A dime, serve a nickel. It was still shit, in Gail's opinion, but then again she didn't break the law. "You'd keep it locked up?"

"Hmm. We have a new evidence room for art. Thank you, by the way. The lab has some nice funding now."

But Walter's eyes drifted to the newspaper Gail had brought in. "Guards said there was a whole story about the painting. About this woman who was pissed at these rich assholes."

Gail smiled thinly. "Few weeks ago. Didn't see it, huh?" She absently tapped the newspaper.

"Not a lot of newspaper delivery here." Walter looked around. "Costs a lot to buy stuff that's rare."

"I'm not a cheap date either," said Gail gently.

"Well." He huffed. "What do you want?"

"Come on, Walter." Gail rolled her eyes. "You know that. You know what I want."

Walter shook his head. "Can't give you what I don't have, Inspector. If I knew where Louise was, I'd give her up before she got hurt."

"I don't want her." Gail waved a hand. "Well. Not from you. I know you know don't know where she is."

"So what? That's the only bargaining chip I've got."

Gail shook her head slowly. "No. It's not." She tapped the paper with one finger and nudged it towards Walter. "See. I have something you want."

"I don't want a story on some rich tart."

Swallowing a smirk, Gail shook her head. "That's exactly my point."

Walter's eyes flicked to the paper and then to Gail. "My story. Public?"

"Can't do that. Not your story exactly." She smiled a scimitar smile. "But Alter Buchenwald's story..." Walter startled and Gail opened her folder, taking out one piece of paper and sliding it over.

It had taken her a week to get the wording right. A week of harassing experts and making Holly proofread her work, which was only one paragraph long.

Walter picked up the paper. "Alter Buchenwald, by Walter Leistikow. The forest of Buchenwald, at the lake with flowering elderberry and umbelliferous plants. This painting was lost in Nazi occupied Berlin, Germany, 1934, and was recovered in Toronto, Canada, following the discovery of a cache of stolen artwork." He stopped. "Did you find the Van de Velde?"

The question surprised Gail. "Really?"

"I'm just wondering if it was always a fake." He shrugged.

Gail laughed. "Oh. We know your art teacher, Walter. The original was recovered as a legitimate purchase by the thief who stole the Leistikow. And a Klimt."

He snorted. "His Buchenwald studies were boring."

"Caused a lot of research confusion," admitted Gail. "I prefer the Klimt furniture myself."

"Really? Even with Lady in Gold?"

"I find it a bit gaudy. Technically interesting, but not my style,

Walter put the paper down. "But you can't put the furniture up in the museum, can you."

"No. I can't. Not without an ethics review." Gail made a face. "God I hate those. Have you ever been through an ethics review? No, of course not. Worse than a parole hearing. Which you'll find out about... ah ah! Worse than your bail hearing. Right? Right, that was fun in a root canal sort of way. Or so I guess. I've never had one. Have you?"

Walter blinked. "A root canal? No."

"Theoretically then." She waved a hand. "You get it now?"

"I got lost around the root canal," admitted Walter.

"I have three paintings, Walter. A faked lost Vermeer. A fake van de Velde. And a missing Leistikow. The Vermeer, that's just a lost cause. But which is the one you want?"

Walter hesitated. "Leistikow. It was supposed to be hidden behind a print of the van de Velde."

Well. That explained that. The Leistikow belonged to the Hoffmans. The van de Velde to Franz Müller. She threw Walter a bone. "The van de Velde was real. And yes, we found it."

The man exhaled deeply. Happily. "Good. Good. It belongs in a museum."

"It's stolen goods, Walter." Gail shook her head. "Just like yours. Unless." And she stopped.

"I still don't understand..."

"The owners are dead or in prison, which means the heir would have the ability to suggest, but not demand."

Walters eyes bugged out. "Are you asking me to give you the painting?"

"I can't ask you this, Walter," Gail said cooly. "I can't legally even suggest it. A confessed criminal, waiting for a trial, cannot be coerced like this. I'd get fired, and while the idea of retiring and spending my days sleeping in with this really brilliant, sexy, doctor I married is totally appealing, I have a duty to the city." Gail shrugged.

Walter stared at her for a moment. "Could I ... if I do this, you're going to catch my sister with it."

"If that's her motive, then yes. The odds make that likely." Gail closed her folder and picked up the paper, tossing it over to Walter. "Think about it." She didn't wait for an answer, standing up and walking out of the room while he stared at the table.

In the observation room, John was waiting for her.

He insisted on coming to Millburne with her whenever possible, and Gail opted not to argue. It was nice to have him around. Gail privately hoped to keep John at her side forever. She'd accepted the reality that this wouldn't be true. Even though John was like a brother, closer than her own brother in many ways, one day their relationship would end. John would retire, or die. Or she would.

But to have one person, one cop who understood her discomfort with a prison, was helpful. It made her feel safer to be someone just then.

"You're driving," she told John, not looking back. "Warden, take him back. If he wants to talk to me, take a message and pass it on to my office."

John held his smile at bay until they had their guns back. "He has no idea what to make of you," said the staff sergeant.

"Walter or the Warden?"

"Both. Either. But in that case, Walter." John scribbled his name. "Thanks," he murmured to the guard. "I mean, half the time you send in Nuñez or Trujillo to talk to him about big stuff and then... All this little shit, you show up."

"That's the point," Gail noted, shoving her hands into her jeans pockets. "Keep him off his game."

"You always take the weirdest stories, throw people off, and make them totally unsure who the fuck they are and what they're doing."

"Again, that's my point, John."

"It shouldn't work, but it works."

She smiled and paused by his car. "What's your point?"

"I wouldn't give up working with you for anything, Peck. You make life hella interesting."


Opening the paper app on her tablet, Holly read aloud. "Upcoming show at AGO to feature recovered works of art last seen in 1934 Berlin. The lost Alter Buchenwald, by Walter Leistikow, stands at the heart of Seymour Hoffman's collection. The late Mr. Hoffman perished on his attempted expatriation of Germany, shortly before the Nazis demanded the eradication of the Jewish population. His death, an accident on the boat taking him to America, left the ownership of his art in doubt, as his children were recorded as having not survived their internment. But here, his story and that of his art collection, takes a shocking turn."

Gail snorted a laugh and handed Holly a cup of coffee. "It's not a bad story," she admitted.

"It's a great story. Thank you." Holly sipped her coffee. "Its an incredible story. Makes for a great Sunday read."

"They left me out of it," whinged Gail.

Holly laughed and leaned across the corner of their kitchen island to kiss Gail's cheek. "That's probably for the best."

"Eh, it might made Eli shut up."

Ah. Holly sighed. "Is he still being an ass?"

"You'll notice we're not going to the private concert this month," said Gail, a little bitterly.

It didn't surprise Holly that Gail was taking it badly. She'd come back from a lunch with her mother, not long before Holly's birthday, totally messed up over the idea that she'd become the kind of Peck she'd spent her life trying to avoid being. By blackmailing, tricking, wheedling, dealing, and in other manners being devious, was Gail actually the horrible Pecks?

While Holly didn't think so, and neither did their therapist, she understood why Gail was plagued by self doubt. Her whole life, she'd been maneuvered and manipulated by her family. Now she was possibly doing the same and it gutted her. It could possibly destroy her.

"As long as I have you, I don't need any of those things," Holly replied firmly.

Gail's expression softened. "Holly."

"Gail." She put her coffee down.

"I shouldn't care," said Gail with a sigh. "I mean, I did the right thing. Not for me, but for people, and I should feel good about that. And ... I just feel like my family hates me for revealing a stink no one gave a fuck about. And the Mounties are mad because I sniped the case."

"Well. You did both those things, honey."

Gail narrowed her eyes. "Thanks."

"You used to be okay with people hating you."

"I know," she muttered.

"So. Does their bad opinion of you make you feel bad?"

Gail shook her head. "No. Not really." She paused. "It's not that they think worse of me, it's that they don't trust me."

Holly tilted her head. "Go on."

"Okay, so I've done this job for years. Decades. I give bone and blood for the city. Shit, the country." Gail waved a hand. "And I can get my idiot family not understanding that. The Armstrongs don't understand that. Fine. Whatever. But ... For fuck's sake, Marcel?"

Ah. There it was. "Honey." She hesitated. "You're right. He should."

"And Eli. It's like ... God, I'm just so fucking disappointed, Holly. How the hell is that my family? I don't get it. I really don't. They're totally okay with Lizzie and me and Viv and everyone else being queer. They're first in line for helping refugees and ... why do they think I'm bad? What the fuck? I've worked my ass off for years, and I'm still a bad person because... What? Because I'm a cop?"

"You know it's not you, honey."

"That really doesn't make me feel any better." Gail scowled.

"You won my dad over," Holly pointed out.

"Your dad was willing to accept a serial killer if you were happy, Holly." Dismissive, Gail picked up her coffee again. "I hate it. A few bad eggs and all cops are evil."

Holly bit her tongue. Literally. Also metaphorically. Because it was more than 'a few' bad eggs. The sad truth was that the tendency of the police was to promote people who did well. And people who thumped heads and arrested thugs, they were often seen as successful cops. Which meant they got promoted. Which then transitioned into a confirmation bias.

Like promoted like, after all.

But Gail didn't need to hear any of that. It wouldn't help her frame of mind in the slightest. And worse, it didn't matter that Gail wasn't a bad cop. She was a good and honest cop. The sort that gave a person hope that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't all be bad.

"You can't make them change, Gail. Not by wishing or praying. You have to just keep being."

Gail made a face. "I finally understand that stupid 'living well is the best revenge' saying."

Holly smiled. "Yeah. Well. It does get better, you know."

"Yeah, but that just means I hate it more when it happens." Gail looked down and sipped her coffee. "Okay. Let's go to the farmer's market. I'm going to be pissed off all day, but at least I can be annoyed at hippies and shit."

"Only you, Gail." Holly shook her head. "You caught an insurance agent who was stealing from her own company, solved a stolen identity from Nazi occupied Austria, connected it to a young man trying to steal back his past, and you're setting a trap for the man's sister by tricking him into putting his family collection up in a museum. You're pretty awesome."

Her wife flushed a little. "Well... put it that way and I sound hella awesome."

"As much as I loathe boosting your ego, Gail, you are."


It was not how Vivian wanted dinner to go.

"I think our dinners out are cursed," said Enrique quietly.

Vivian ignored him for a moment. "No, we're not paying," she told the manager calmly.

The manager drew himself up to his full height, which was a bit more than Vivian's, and glared. "So it's a dine and dash? I'm calling the cops."

Behind her, Matty coughed a laugh and Jamie groaned. "Let me be clear, sir," said Vivian as cooly and Peckly as possible. "You refused to serve the couple who walked in here a moment ago, and when we objected, you told us to leave."

She wasn't going to deign to touch his vulgarities. Frankly, she'd just been enjoying her appetizer and stealing some of Jamie's poké, when they'd all heard the manager ask the couple to leave in some quite derogatory terms. Their own table fell silent and, as the manager devoted to tell the women to shave, Vivian had heard all she needed.

Vivian was well aware that it was a failing of hers, that she couldn't let a slight go unchampioned. Gail had spent hours and days trying to help her understand the difference between standing up for those who needed it and picking a fight. Still, Vivian often slipped into picking fights with stupid assholes. Sometimes, when she was the asshole, she picked fights stupidly.

The manager snarled. "That's it. Stay here, I'm calling the cops."

"Please do. Tell them Officer Peck from Fifteen, is here. Badge number 4727." Vivian paused. "You will need the badge number." She folded her arms and shifted her weight, doing her best to increase her presence.

Elaine had drilled into her the way a person stood when needing to impose their will on others. There was the facial expression, the lean, the shoulders, the feet, and the projection. When walking, if a person wanted other people to move aside, one simply thought of murder. When standing still, one had to think of other thoughts. Be the unstoppable force when walking and the immovable object when standing.

The manager froze with his phone halfway to his face. "What?"

"Officer Peck. Fifteen Division. While you certainly have the right to refuse service, I suggest you put the phone down and let us, and anyone else who finds your racist views to be abhorrent, leave. Without paying."

He blustered. "I have a staff!"

"And you pay them a living wage," she replied, sternly. "I'm happy to tip your staff, but I'm not paying you."

A hand touched the back of her arm.

There was a stand off. "I'm calling," announced the manager.

"Oh, Jesus, we're gonna be on the news," complained Matty. "Viv, come on."

"He's calling the police," replied Vivian, holding her arms out a bit. "Now I have to stay."

To her surprise, a warm hand caught hers. "We're staying," said Jamie, firmly.

The poor Sikh couple had looked terrified but now we're starting to relax. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Vivian that they were looking at her with a bit of fear. Once she'd announced her job, pretty much everyone stared at Vivian.

A cop stood for things. Not all of those things were good or kind or right. Some cops, many cops, were bad people. The ones who'd harassed Jamie's father, for example. The ones who profiled and took bribes and beat innocents. Hell, who beat anyone. Some police officers were evil. Some were on power trips.

And yes, a lot of cops who did those terrible things wore the same four letters on their uniform as she did.

"Sorry," she murmured to Jamie.

Jamie squeezed her hand and gave Vivian a grim nod of encouragement. "It's okay," said Jamie softly.

"It's really not." Matty was angry. "I love you like a sister, V. This wasn't okay." He turned to the other couple. "I mean it's not okay what he said."

"You didn't have to..." The Sikh woman trailed off.

As one, Jamie and Matty replied. "She did."

Vivian tried to ignore them as the manager informed the phone he had someone claiming to be a police officer here, refusing to pay a bill, because he'd refused service to a couple. Well. He wasn't quite wrong. Vivian thought about the address and their location and sighed. "We're in Twenty-Seven," she noted.

"Is that bad?"

"Depends." Vivian wasn't quite sure. Sam Swarek had been from Twenty-Seven, and in a manner of speaking she was instrumental in his retirement. That also meant she was why they were the third tier in the trifecta that made of the area Divisions. Her mother's Divisions.

They didn't have to wait long to find out. The officers, Hill and Lloyd, both knew her. Hill had been in her class at the academy and Lloyd was on the LGBT Task Force. Damn it, Gail. Why did she had to name it that way?

The officers eyed her as they walked in. "Is, ah, this the woman claiming to be an officer?" Hill gestured at Vivian.

"That's the one. Said she was officer Peck."

"Badge 4727," said Vivian, drolly.

"Based out of Fifteen," said Lloyd. "You're cut lose ain't cha, Peck?"

She nodded. "Since February."

Hill whistled. "ETF, man. I'd be jealous, but you guys get up to a hell of a lot of trouble. Didn't you help with the school lock down last month?"

It was hilarious to see the mood of the room shift. In two questions, her brother officers had turned her from rabble rouser to quiet hero. "I did," Vivian replied.

Lloyd sighed. "So. We pressing charges?"

"He has the right to refuse service," Vivian pointed out. "I'm not arguing that. I'm protesting his public incitement of hatred."

She could actually feel the cold ripple through the room. Even if most people didn't understand what she'd said, they knew it wasn't good.

"That's... Really?" Hill eyed the manager. "What did you say to them, sir?"

"I said they weren't welcome here."

"He said the ragheads weren't welcome here," corrected a black woman at a table by the window.

Immediately a murmur ran through the restaurant, everyone agreeing. Even the waitstaff.

The manager turned bright pink. "That isn't what I meant."

The black woman's companion spoke up. "And he told the woman to shave."

"Right," said Hill, his expression dark. Hill was, as Vivian abruptly recalled, Muslim. "Technically this is private property," he noted, mostly to Vivian.

"Wasn't a private conversation," countered Vivian. "Communicating statements which willfully promotes hatred."

"Right..." Lloyd sighed and pulled out his notebook, reading off the claim, printing up a copy, and handing it to the manager. "You're welcome to file charges against Officer Peck for non-payment."

The manager seethed. "Would it matter? You blue cockroaches stay together."

"It's your right, sir," said Lloyd, not rising to the bait.

The restaurant was tense and silent for too long. Finally the manager swore. "Get the fucking queers outta here. Whatever, I don't care. But they can't come back."

Hill gestured at Vivian, a silent plea for her to leave without fuss. She gave him the barest of nods and tugged Jamie's hand. It was with relief that Hill walked the six of them outside. To Vivian's surprise, most of the restaurant diners and a good portion of the staff followed.

"Holy fuck... uh." Hill stared at them all.

He was stuck and Vivian offered, "Try calling for backup?"

"Yeah. Apparently. You... you all want to file?" An irregular chorus of yeses was the response.

All Hill could do was start taking statements.

Another patrol car arrived as Floyd came out of the restaurant. It still took an hour before everyone had made a statement. During that time, the manager flipped the sign to closed and glared at them from inside. It would have been funny if it wasn't so sad.

"Well. Now that my social justice warrior Peck has ruined dinner," said Matty, drawling the words, "I say we find some place less offensive to dine?"

"Sorry," said Vivian under her breath.

"Hey, your incessant need to help people saved my life, sweetie." Matty scowled. "You know that, right, Viv?"

She blushed. "I just picked you up at school."

"And made me talk to your moms."

Enrique eyed them both. "I don't know this story. Why don't I know this story?"

"I don't either," Jamie chimed in.

"You do," assured Vivian. "I rescued him from bullies."

"Oh! After the captain of the basketball team hit on you."

"Track. Yes." Vivian rolled her eyes. "There's an Ethiopian place down the street. They have a great lamb."

Jamie leaned around Vivian to address Enrique. "My true blue copper here hates when we point out she's a hero."

"I want to hear how she saved Matt's life."

"Christ, I just want to have dinner without assholes," complained Vivian.

"Try not to be a savior, Peck," suggested Jamie.

"No chance," said Matty. "Her heart's too big."


As she hung up the phone, Holly saw her wife swing her pale legs up into a Sirsasana pose. The headstand was a pose Holly was still remarkably bad at. Then again, she only did yoga twice a month, at best. Gail went every week if possible.

Her wife was a creature of habit. Gail went to the range at least once a week. She liked her mornings and evenings to be the same. Her scheduled appointments were made at the exact same time every day. Gail really liked consistency in her life. It was probably a reaction to the fact that her career didn't lend itself to any real stability. Gail needed to find it where she could.

"How's Brian?" Gail's voice was remarkably chill for a woman standing on her head.

"Dad says hi. He sounded okay."

"Good. Good." The blue eyes were closed and Gail's breathing was slow and steady. "I'll be done in about fifteen."

"Don't rush. I'm going to make dinner."

"Thank you." And Gail proceeded to zone out.

Holly grinned. It was interesting to watch Gail's brain check out on purpose. Sometimes Holly could do that to her when they had sex. More than once she'd fucked the brains right out of her wife, after all. But Gail was also into meditation, more than Holly would have expected when she first met the blonde. Gail needed, desperately, the downtime.

Of course, her brain never really turned off. Always and forever, Gail was thinking and processing and plotting and planning. She didn't know how not to keep being all the things the universe had forced her to be. Gail was Gail Peck. Cop, daughter, wife, parent.

Leaving Gail to finish her exercise, Holly crossed back to the kitchen. Her father was doing alright. He wasn't great, but it had been almost a year since he'd lost his wife. Of course he wasn't alright. It was probably true that Brian Stewart would never really be alright ever again. Holly couldn't blame him, though she did wish she lived a little closer.

No. She wished he lived closed. But it had been her mother's family that had been from Toronto. The Glenn family, her mother's family, had ended with her cousin Rowan. He'd died in the army, a training accident with a helicopter, and there were only women named Glenn after that. Her aunt had married and while she kept her name, all she had were daughters.

How odd it was to be the end of things? True, Holly had three Glenn cousins, but they'd all taken their spouses names and that was it. None of them were their mother's name. Not that Lily had thought of herself as a Glenn much. She was always Lily G. Stewart.

With a sigh, Holly took out the fish and carefully prepped it. Fish, quinoa, sautéed vegetables. A healthy meal that would inspire the heart a little. Feed the brain. Holly hummed to herself as she cooked their food, letting the rote relax her from work which had been far far less stressful.

It was nice not having to worry about half of her job. She'd gotten so good at managing both parts that having the one left made her day a breeze. Slowly she felt herself feeling less harried and pushed and overwhelmed. Holly was able to step through her day, to find her moments of calm and to be creative again.

A very different type of creativity flowed in the absence of work. Her job was certainly inspirational when it came to writing of and inventing methods to make it easier. But it didn't spur her imagination the same way that freedom did. With the time and the mind and the stress all different, Holly found she was seriously drawn to the idea of that book.

She'd written the outline, a vague stab at sense, written while partly drunk with Gail, and sent it to her father. Brian had been delighted and shocked that his baby had done such a thing. He'd been Lily's proof reader for decades, and quickly sent it back with comments and annotations and a ton of changes to be made.

That was, superficially, the reason behind the phone call. As much as Holly would love to just be able to call her father and ask him how he was, that was never going to happen. That wasn't their relationship, or more to the point, it wasn't Brian's relationship with anything.

He was seeing a therapist, thank god. That had been at Gail's behest. She'd admitted that she'd needed to see one after her kidnapping. And she'd actually told Brian the story, in more detail than even Vivian knew, about what happened. They'd sat on their back porch at the house, a few nights before Brian went home, and Gail told him about the day that changed her life forever. And yes, many good things came from it, but she lost a lot of herself too. Things she never got back. She was forever changed. And she did a lot of stupid things after, things she regretted, things she was ashamed of, and things she knew were the right choices, if the hard ones.

After the confession and the explanations, Brian had taken it all in and dwelled on it. He didn't say anything, one way or the other. Then months passed and he called Gail, not Holly, to ask how one went about finding the right therapist. It made Holly so thankful that she'd married Gail. The idea of handling that on her own was too much.

The timer on the quinoa went off and Holly reached over to shut it up. "Honey, food will be ready soon."

"Do I have time to shower?"

"Make it fast."

Gail grunted something that passed for a confirmation, and a moment later Holly heard the stairs creak. By the time Holly had dinner plated, Gail was clean with her hair slicked back, wearing only a black camisole and sweat-shorts. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to meditate when you're making pan seared trout?"

Holly grinned. "I know how hard it is to work when you're cooking."

"Close enough." Smiling back, Gail waited until Holly's hands were empty and kissed her softly. "How's Brian, really?"

"Avoiding talking about his feelings by telling me I made a shitty outline."

"Well you were drunk at the time," countered Gail.

"So drunk." Holly blushed. "It was a nice birthday."

"It was. I love drunk science time with Dr. Stewart." Gail flashed a sharp smile and kissed Holly again before picking up the plates and setting them at the coffee table. "I'll get the wine if you want to pick something to watch."

"Sports okay?"

"It's baseball season, baby. I know what I married."

They settled onto the couch, watching a game half heartedly. Gail was more absorbed in her tablet, as was Holly, but for different reasons. While Holly was fiddling with her book layout, Gail was reading a novel Janet had given her. Written in Punjabi. Plus Chloe had gotten Gail a mystery in Portuguese. Between the two, Gail was deep into the complications of reading fiction in another language.

It always made for hilarious moments when Gail would answer Holly's questions in the wrong language. Holly remembered when Gail was reading a French romance novel up at the cottage, and Vivian had come up to ask if she could go to town to see something or another. Without thinking, Gail had answered, in French, that she would take her, and went inside to change. The look of absolute horror on Vivian's face was priceless.

Peeking over her tablet, Holly saw Gail's face scrunched up in deep thought, reading glasses perched on her beautiful nose, her perfect lips moving slightly as she processed whatever she was reading. Never one to read aloud, Gail did sometimes have to concentrate hard on the language, which lead to her mouthing the words. She was much better at speaking languages than reading them, which Holly understood to be abnormal. Gail could think in a language quite well.

The problem was the sound around her was in English.

"You know, staring at me like that is creepy." That said, Gail certainly could switch between languages very fast.

"Sorry. You're adorable when you're concentrating." Holly put her tablet down and reached over to smooth her thumb between Gail's eyebrows.

Her wife scowled and swatted the hand away, scrubbing the spot hard with her own hand. "Ugh, I'm getting wrinkles."

"Honey, that ship has sailed." Grinning, Holly leaned in further and kissed the corner of Gail's mouth.

Gail made a disgruntled noise. "Thank you so much." She half-heartedly shoved at Holly, who laughed and kissed her again. That won the desired effect. Gail rolled her eyes and returned the kiss.

After a little while of kissing and cuddling, Holly rested her head against Gail's shoulder, listening to the steady, calming beat of Gail's heart. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hi, lazy asshole," replied Gail, running her fingers through Holly's hair.

"Oh, please, you were reading a mystery novel."

Gail gasped in faux horror. "I would never." It was somewhat of a mark of pride that Gail never read mysteries. At least, that was the air she cultivated. She totally did.

"Liar."

"Traitor."

"No," said Holly, laughing. "Just hopelessly smitten." She craned her neck to look up at Gail. "How's the deal going?" Because after all this time, she knew Gail would only be cramming the distraction of a mystery and a language in her head if she was trying not to think about work. Add in the yoga and it was a sure thing.

"Oh. Waiting to hear back from the Mounties. Who hate me."

"Have you tried apologizing?"

"I'm no good at that."

Holly poked Gail's breastbone. "Try. You won't get better if you don't practice."

"Ugh, you sound like my mother."

"God, I hope not." Holly scowled and smothered her face into Gail's chest. "I like your boobs."

"And now you totally do not sound like mom." She laughed softly and resumed caressing Holly's hair. When Holly made no show to move, Gail picked her tablet back up and started reading.

That didn't bother Holly. She just liked being close to her wife, feeling Gail's warmth, listening to the steady heart thudding, hearing the occasional soft pronunciation of a word. Holly shifted so she could watch the tv, and the Jays lose spectacularly. It was not their year. She watched the rotation of pitchers deplete the bullpen, never a good sign in the first game of a four game series, and sighed.

"Shit," she muttered as the Jays gave up a three run homer.

"Is that a baseball score or a basketball score?" Gail sounded astonished.

"I never should have let you watch sports."

"Pattern recognition is one of my strong suits. Soccer and hockey scores are low, basketball is super high, football and tennis count stupidly, and baseball are onesy twosy."

Holly sat up. "Football counts stupidly?"

"Quite." Gail tapped her tablet and closed the cover. "Sixes and threes and extra points? Oh, extra two point conversions to boot." She waved at the television. "They're down by eight runs, baby. I'm going to bed."

"They could come back," said Holly, peevishly. But she turned off the television and got up. Bed with Gail was always better than couch sports.

"What's the biggest comeback in baseball history?"

"Padres came back from a fourteen run deficit to beat the Twins. Interleague play. We watched that game, honey."

"If Viv wasn't ours yet, I don't remember."

They loaded the dishwasher and tidied up the house before going to bed. Because that was always better than sports.

Not that Holly would tell Gail that. It would just inflate the blonde's ego.


The knock at the door surprised her. Few people knocked. Usually if her door was open, people walked in and started talking. If her door was closed, no one came in. So for someone to knock on the open door was abnormal in the extreme.

"Marcel." Gail took her glasses off and blinked at the tall, handsome, Mountie standing in her office entryway.

"Inspecteur."

Gail arched her eyebrows. "How official are we about to be?"

"May I...?" He gestured at the door and Gail nodded. As Marcel closed the door, he sighed. "I wish to express my most sincere apologies. I was out of line and I spoke unkindly."

That was unexpected.

"For ... the painting thing?"

"Oui. I am sorry."

"Jesus, Marcel that's nothing. You should hear what everyone else says."

But he didn't accept her dismissal. "Gail. You are a very smart person. You are intelligent and gifted. You are also insane. And vexing. How Dr. Stewart can put up with you, day in and day out, I do not know."

"Holly's a saint, we know," muttered Gail.

The Mountie scowled. "Your idea, to use the stolen art for a show. It is brilliant. Do you even know how one accepts a compliment?"

Gail smiled a little. "I don't get those a lot."

"You should." He sat down on the chair opposite Gail. "How did you convince Walter?"

"I appealed to —" Gail cut herself off. "He said yes!?"

Marcel finally smiled. "Oui. This morning his lawyer contacted us."

Somewhere, deep down, Gail was pissed Walter called the Mounties and not her staff. Then again, his lawyer probably got the idea that Gail was overstepping her realm. Maybe they wanted a confirmation. Either way, the result was what she wanted, and damn, Gail could be happy about that.

"Wow. And the review on the museum?"

"It passed muster, however a very peculiar comment was made." Marcel pulled his phone out. "An officer said she believed that the weak point would be the people, the guards, and not the system itself."

Gail smirked. "An officer you once danced with when she was a gangly teenager?"

Marcel smiled and tapped his nose. "She is quite observant. We are going to ... we would like to place one of ours as a guard."

The phrasing caught Gail's trained ear. So the op was going to be hers. Wasn't that interesting. "What do you guys want? Besides you being my counterpart."

With a sigh, Marcel leaned back. "Would you believe the Force wishes to offer you a position?"

"Excuse me?" Gail gaped a little.

"It is not unheard of, you understand. We have had a Commissaire who was civilian before."

"I am not a commissioner," warned Gail.

"No, but you are of bright mind. We hire many civilians for many jobs. I know of few people who have had as much experience with, ah, large crimes. Your experience is unique."

Gail frowned. "I'm not a civilian, Marcel. I'm an Inspector."

Marcel looked around the room. "Yes. You are. But your opportunity for advancement here is, shall we say, limited. Your job would only become more bureaucratic, would it not?"

"True." Gail grumbled. It was one of the reasons she'd not spent much time thinking about promotion past her current station in life.

Staff Inspector was the distance she would travel in her career and it was alright. Her father had held the same rank at his death. It wasn't a position to be embarrassed by or ashamed of in any way. Her mother... Well Elaine had ambitions. She had a dream and a goal and she reached it. Almost. Elaine had wanted to be the chief of police.

Gail never did. Too much people work. She couldn't be fucked to care about individuals that much. Caring about people in a crime was one thing. Caring about them daily? Not so much.

"This is not an official offer, Gail. This is me asking if you would be interested."

She chewed her lower lip. Without talking to Holly, Gail was loathe to give any answer. Some things, like the promotion to Staff Inspector, were easy to decide. But others, like the role of oversight to Organized Crime in three Divisions, that was harder. That was altogether another thing.

This was that sort of deal. She couldn't say yes without discussing it with her family. Holly. Elaine. Even Vivian. It impacted them all.

But she could say yes to being interested.

"I'm cautiously interested," Gail said slowly.

Marcel nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you. May I pass that to my superiors?"

Nodding, Gail leaned back. "I'll hear it out, but you know I have to talk to my family about this kind of thing, right?"

"I would expect no less." The man smiled at her. "I worried you would dismiss it out of hand."

"What? Why?" She screwed up her face. "We had a fight. That shit happens. I was totally pushing you around. You had every right to be pissed off."

Marcel looked actually surprised. "Not everyone ... Not everyone feels so after arguments."

"Jesus, if I couldn't get over it, I would have any friends." She snorted.

"I think that speaks more for your friends than yourself," teased Marcel. They both laughed though. "Will you please send me your formal plan?"

"Changed for your man as guard? Mind if I pair 'em up with Trujillo?"

"Not Pedro?"

"She's doing a hell of a lot better these days. Primary contact for patrol officers too. She's my fair haired angel."

The Mountie nodded. "I don't see a problem. It's too bad. Pedro is quite clever, but I suppose he is a paper detective."

That was a new phrase for Gail. She stored it away as she filed the revised proposal for the case. It wasn't much of a plan, she had to admit, which bothered her. Long term stakeouts were boring, and the only way to use them properly was to have a draw.

Gail needed to lure in Louise Hoffman.

Part of Marcel's initial objection had been that the case was over. They had the painting, the bank thief, and that was it. What did they need the sister for? She hadn't been proven yet to have done anything at all.

In Gail's argument, she pointed out that Louise set the bomb. That meant she knew where the painting was and how to get it, and planned this instead. Why? Who would do that? And what if she escalated?

The woman wanted the painting. That was all they knew for certain, and that really wasn't a whole hell of a lot.

But they had to start somewhere.


Gail Peck... Mountie? Would I do that?