05.04 - Leap of Faith

Gail turns 53, but she's keeping secrets from her wife. Will it end well or in a fight?


Her wife was distracted in a weird way. Gail's birthday was coming up, and often that resulted in a grumbly Peck. Between her family's mistreatment and an aging woman's general dislike of being reminded she was getting older, Gail always was a little grumbly at her birthday. This was different. This was Gail working on a case that was outside Holly's purview and one that might have political backlash.

One of the tricks to being married this long without their jobs shooting each other was a tactic called the Chinese Wall. While Holly hated the term, the concept was that legally they separated each other from the case so if the worst happened, only one of them would go down. Also it wouldn't get them in worse hot water.

Things had never gotten that bad, which was a testament to Gail, not Holly, and her amazing inability to separate church and state. Holly had always liked that joke though she hadn't always been keen on the idea.

When they'd been dating, the fact that Gail would just turn off the job and clam up about work had been annoying. It was like Gail intentionally kept her thoughts from the woman she claimed to love. In the end, Traci had explained it, that she and Steve did it too. They protected the people they loved by shielding them as much as possible.

Wasn't the first lesson Holly had learned about loving Gail been that she would willingly sacrifice herself for the innocent? How could Holly expect Gail to do any less for love?

But whatever this case was, it drove Gail to go running. Outside. Of her own volition. In November.

That was worrying. Holly sighed and opened her phone, tapping up the app to locate Gail. Maybe it was a creeper move, but Holly did worry. Gail hadn't been sleeping well and she was secretive. So Holly worried. But Gail was running. She was making her usual time across the park. She'd be home in a few minutes, if things ran true to form. Bad pun.

Holly sighed and locked her phone again.

Predictably, it rang. "Hey, Viv," she said as she picked up.

"Hi. Real fast, I booked the range. Elaine says she wants to watch. Steve'll drive her. Dinner at the Moroccan place."

There was background noise, and a weird echo. "Are you calling me from your motorcycle?"

"Uh... no. Of course not."

"Vivian. Seriously, distracted driving is the biggest cause of road accidents."

"Mom, honestly, I'm not even on the Quay."

"If you wind up dead before your mother's birthday-"

"It'll be because of your nagging." Vivian laughed. "I'll call you later, Mom. Love you."

And the line clicked off. Holly sighed and leaned back against the counter. At least it was only one of her girls that was being problematic this time. When both Gail and Vivian got in moods at the same time, it could be frustrating. Worse in winter when Holly knew she was likely to be overly sensitive.

The door from the garage opened. "Holly, can you grab me a towel?" Gail was dripping mud.

Holly paused to look at her wife. Muddy, like she'd slipped and fallen in the November snow. One leg was wetter than the other. Her running tights were torn. Gail's hair was in wild disarray and she held a cap in one hand, her shoes in the other. Sweaty and grumpy and beautiful.

"Earth to Holly. Please confirm existence." Gail canted her head to the side and scowled, looking right at her.

It was not a moment Holly could meet with words. Instead, she shook her head and walked over, taking Gail's surprised face in both hands and kissing her. "I love you, Gail," whispered Holly, and she softly kissed her wife again.

Gail smiled. Her lips curved as they kissed, half in the cold garage, half in the warm house. "I smell terrible, Holly," she noted as they paused, foreheads touching.

"I've never minded bad smells," replied Holly. "I mean, hi, where do I work?"

Her wife laughed. One of those true, honest, laughs that was so, so rare in Gail's life. Well. Maybe not so rare. Holly had heard the laugh hundreds of times. Not rare, just Private. The laugh for Holly to hear. Only Holly. Not Elaine or Steve, not even Vivian. This was the free laugh that Gail shared with Holly, and only Holly, only her alone.

Her laugh.

Her Gail.

"I know I'm really distracted right now," said Gail, her voice a confession. Shy. Embarrassed a little. More regretful.

"I know you can't tell me about it," said Holly, trying to put all her unfeigned understanding in the words.

"I will as soon as I can." That was the sound of a promise.

"No undercover?"

Gail shook her head right away. "Promise. No undercover. It's not even a thought on the radar, baby."

"And you'll be safe?"

"Always. Always, Holly."

And now, now Gail sounded like the veteran cop. Now Gail sounded like the sincere police officer, the culmination of generations of Pecks, their greatest, most understanding, most human pinnacle of their work. Their achievements. And Gail, Gail had made the legacy her own. She'd stolen the name back, like she'd stolen Holly's heart, and she'd recreated them both as structures that would crumble and fall without Gail's presence.

Gail was not lying. Not about this. Not about this. Gail was honest and true and kind. And she would be safe. She would still run first into danger because that was just who Gail Peck was, but she would still be safe. She would come home to Holly again and again, and she would do her best not to put Holly's heart or soul in a precarious situation.

Exhaling deeply, shakily, Holly nodded. "I trust you," she told Gail, her voice solemn.

"God knows why," said Gail with a wry laugh.

"Hey. No." Holly frowned and took hold of Gail's face again. "You, Gail. You are good. You care. You love. You feel. You don't lie to me. I know it." She leaned in until their foreheads touched again. "You are worth trusting, Gail Antonia Peck, because you have proven, time and again, that you are going to do the right things. Okay? That's why I trust you. You earned it. You deserve it."

Gail's eyes fell closed. "Holly," she muttered under her breath. "I ... I don't know what to say."

"I'm gonna get you that towel," said Holly, kissing Gail's nose. "And you're gonna shower. And then I think we should eat that leftover shepherds pie. Okay?"

Her wife nodded, silent. When Holly came back with the towel, Gail was blushing and smiling. Holly grinned.

They didn't need to say anything more.


Secret meetings were low on Gail's fun list. "This place smells," she informed Marcel.

"It is secure, which is the most I can promise today," replied the Mountie, putting coffee down on the table.

Gail sniffed the coffee. It smelled alright, at least. "Where are we?"

Marcel sipped his own coffee. "I have been unable to find any evidence of our friend, anywhere in my databases, or our shared, so I used facial recognition."

"Isn't that risky?"

"Somewhat. I put him in a lineup of four other young men." Marcel grinned and took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, sliding it over. "We are, of course, permitted to use any similar persons."

Unfolding the paper, Gail looked at four white boys who all looked the same. She made a face. "Fuck, I hate ID-ing like this."

Even though the Pecks had drilled into her the ability to reconstruct a lineup, she knew the problems with racial blindness. Since discovering her sexuality, Gail realized it extended further than race.

Unless she concentrated, hard, most guys all looked the same to her. It didn't matter the skin colour. Women though, she was remarkably good at women. She mentally picked out the man. "Marcel. Can you tell them apart?"

"Oui." He tapped the face of he same man she'd picked. "Très difficile, no? They are quite similar."

"Cookie cutter, yeah." Gail tapped the page as well. "Okay. So we have the popcorn trail," she said slowly. Popcorn was their code word for money. "The kernels are lost after they got swept back up. They should still be in the bin. No one logged the trash run, so it should be there, but it's not."

"Your metaphor may soon run its course," said Marcel.

"Hush. Meanwhile, our little street sweeper is an undocumented."

Marcel snorted. Gail flipped him off. "You have not asked why I put him in the lineup, my friend."

"It wasn't to get access to his records?"

"No." And primly, Marcel shook his head.

"Spill."

Her friend grinned. "He was identified by a witness who happened to be a pharmacist."

Gail blinked. "On a similar case?"

"More or less. She recognized him, though not related to the case at hand. We were looking for a counterfeiter."

Now she laughed. So Marcel, suspecting the woman might know their mystery man, slipped his face into a lineup. "Did you get your man?"

"Always. But you see, now I have reason and cause to look at Monsieur Keith." Marcel spread his hands out. "As you say, I may now proceed to Go and collect my $200."

Gail lifted her coffee, offering him a quiet cheers. "Which is how you found his ID was scrubbed. And what fruits did your facial recognition score you?"

"An error." Marcel frowned. "Have you ever deleted data from your body cameras?"

"Me? No." Chloe had once. Dov had found out about it, somehow. "But I understand the theory."

"Precisely. It was tampered with. I have not reported this."

Gail nodded. They couldn't. "So you think I'm right, then? It's a mole and not a spy?"

Marcel returned the nod. "I cannot say that I am happy to think my employers are in cahoots with yours."

"Cahoots." She couldn't help the smirk. "I'm rubbing off on you."

"Mmmm. Yes. Like a fungus."

"You want to keep running down the money or the man?"

"Oh. The man, I think. Beyond the obvious jokes, it is sensible. If I look at the money, which is outside my current assignments, it might be suspect. And you discovered the money so it is sensible for that to be yours."

"Less suspicious."

"Quite."

They sipped their coffee and ate the bad pastries in silence. "I want to put Keith on house arrest," Gail finally said.

"A safe house? With an ankle tracker?"

She nodded. "He claims he's safer in jail. Sounded like a Bre'r Rabbit thing."

"A what?"

Right. Culture didn't always cross over. "Tom Sawyer."

"Oh, the painting fence?" Marcel nodded. "It does sound a bit contrived. Yes. But he will put up a fight."

"Well. That's for ..." Gail stopped and grinned. "Okay, I'm going to put up a fight."

Marcel flashed a smile. "That should throw the scent off. We shall enjoy a battle royale."

They touched coffee mugs. Confusion to the enemy.


Even though she was in ETF, Vivian didn't spend a lot of time working with things that went boom. Not real things at least. The job of a copper on ETF was hurry up and wait. Train and wait. Wait and wait.

"What shit is your mother up to?"

And in the case of Vivian Peck, it meant hearing people ask random questions that weren't their business. Especially Inspector Bryce, who had a raging hate boner for people named Peck.

"Sir?" Vivian gave him her most innocent, guileless expression.

Bryce scowled. He really hadn't forgiven Vivian for weaselling out of his downgrade for her early struggles in ETF. The downgrading was a fucking joke. Everyone slipped. New people more than others.

"I said, Peck, what shit is your mother up to?"

Vivian finishing tying her boot and stood up, letting her height give her a bit of a psychological advantage. "I have two, sir."

"Peck," he snarled.

"I'm not privy to my mothers' cases," she replied.

And that was a bold faced lie.

Vivian knew exactly what was going on, and in fact she knew more that Holly did. Because Gail needed her and Traci to know for when the inevitable shit hit the fan. It was a bold plan, or so Vivian felt. Both Traci and Gail seemed to think it was calculated and safe.

But. Keith, the man who had held Gail hostage, was now on house arrest in a safe place. He had on an ankle tracking bracelet thing, and Gail had participated in a screaming match with Marcel Savard about it, in public. Gail argued it would kill the man. Marcel fought back, saying it was all overblown.

When Marcel won, and only after, Vivian had been brought into the loop. She had asked, weeks before, if she might be allowed back in the fold. Jamie not, of course, that made sense, but she should know the machinations of Peck. Especially since Vivian was the lone Peck in ERT.

This particular plan was crazy. Keith the hostage taker was either a spy or a mole, Gail wasn't sure which. He had used money, currently unaccounted for by the Mounties who had last used it for a Ponzi scheme, to bribe a pharmacy student. The student supplied Keith and, presumably, the SSG, with pill casings.

Traci was looking for the pill ingredients, having taken the case from John, arguing that since it was drugs related to a gang, it was her purview. In actuality, Gail wanted a Berlin Wall between herself and John, in case the investigation went south. He would be protected, and Gail would have no problems admitting she took him off the case for that reason.

Meanwhile, Gail was also looking into the money. The whole lot from the Ponzi scheme was missing, but only some had been found with the dead pirate. She was running that quest, since Marcel had only ever publicly looked up information on Keith and not the money.

Even then, Marcel's investigation of who Keith really was had cleverly been done under the guise of grabbing someone similar for a lineup. It was enough to put him on the radar by 'accident' on purpose. Marcel used the argument of a waste of money to keep him locked up, and now Keith was in a group home for idiot criminals.

Vivian found that hilarious. And brilliant.

The experienced officers all had special jobs. Vivian's was to keep an ear to the ground and when idiots like Bryce asked about cases, play dumb and report later. So she gave Bryce a confused look and waited.

"Why the hell did your mother, Inspector Peck, pull some of my best men as fucking bodyguards?"

"Your ... men?" Vivian blinked, innocently. No matter what, Bryce always said men. Half the instructors under his purview were women.

He scowled at her. "My goddamned instructors. My. Mine. She has no fucking right."

"Uh, Inspector, that's outside my wheelhouse."

"Oh no, no it's not. Thanks to your name, Peck." Bryce jabbed a finger at Vivian but did not touch her. "I'm asking for you for my runs."

Vivian sighed. "I'm not qualified for training, sir."

"Bet your ass you aren't, Peck." As usual, he spat out her name.

This time Vivian was honestly confused. "I'm sorry, sir. What... are you poaching me?"

Bryce narrowed his eyes. "You're too smart to be that dumb, kid."

Okay. That game was up. Vivian sighed. "I belong to Inspector Tran, sir. You can appeal to her to try and poach me, but..." She leaned forward and embraced her inner Gail. "If you really believe that. Why are you trying this with me?"

It worked. Bryce jerked back. Then he stepped back. Then he swore. "Damn Pecks."

As Vivian watched him storm off, she felt a wash a relief. "Impressive," said a man behind her.

She almost jumped out of her own skin. She recognized the man, Morris from Thirty-Four. A low rank detective that Franky once described as slimy. "Morris. Hey."

"Bryce is a son of a bitch," he said, pulling out an ecigarette. "You handled him well."

Vivian glanced back at where Bryce had gone. "Oh? How's that?"

"Well. You're a Peck. That's probably chicken feed for you."

"That is an analogy with which I am unfamiliar, detective."

Morris chuckled. "So he watches you. A lot. Bryce does."

"Yeah, he does," said Vivian slowly.

"Bummer," sighed Morris. "But he's right, y'know. Peck— Gail— Huh. That's a mess. Anyway, she did reach a bit far."

Vivian shook her head. "I'm not kidding. I don't know what they do. I'm not a D."

That seemed to catch Morris' attention. "You're not, that's true." He drew on his cigarette, seemingly for show. "Why not?"

Everyone always wanted to know that, and normally Vivian would blow him off. But. Gail had asked her to fish a little. If people asked her about the case Gail was working on, the public case, she was to play the line, entice, and collect information.

So Vivian went with a mostly truth. "I don't like thinking the worst of people." She looked up at the sky. "Bombs. There's a and b. Right and wrong. Math. But people? They're messy. And the best Ds, the ones who do it right all the time? They see the worst in people."

After a moment, Morris laughed. "Yeah, okay. I get you." He half saluted her with his ecig. "Too bad, though. We're short a couple band of brothers in the D."

"Yeah, just not into the D," she said, deadpanning it for maximum effect.

It worked. He laughed again. "You know if your old lady is picking Fifteen only for the watch squad on her hostage?"

Technically Keith took hostages, but Vivian didn't belabour that dead horse. "She's not. Not enough free hands to go around, y'know. Recruitment."

"True, true." He took a long puff. "It's never been good, y'know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Put in a word for me?"

She raised her eyebrows. "A D wants to slum on babysitting?"

"Hah, no. But being in The Peck's good book? Not a bad thing."


It was not the first time Holly had heard someone call her wife "The Peck," and yes she could hear the capital letters. But it always made her laugh.

"Could you at least try?" Beside her, Pete looked a little scandalized.

"I'm sorry, but they used to call her mother that." Holly covered her mouth and hoped her little laugh had gone unnoticed.

The HR rep glared. Nope. "As I was saying, Dr. Stewart, the report from Inspector Peck implied the issue was procedural and not ... uh ... scientific?"

Holly rolled her eyes a little. "Personnel. She called it a personnel issue. And that was Gail's nice way of saying Wanda called Gerald a fuckface. In the field. Which I grant you was not polite, but —"

"I'm sorry, who's Gerald?" The HR rep looked confused. "I have an Officer—"

"Duncan Moore," said Pete, who had apparently met the man. Oh right. He'd helped exonerate the idiot. "His nickname is Gerald."

"And he's an idiot," added Holly.

The man from HR sighed. "You're not helping."

"You called my wife 'The Peck,' Dunworthy." Holly shook her head. "It's simple. The issue is, on our end, Wanda Ury lost her cool and snapped. She'll be reprimanded. On your end, I'd like to carry over a complaint that Officer Moore is still not cleared for solo evidence collection, and to keep his nose out of our work. A verbal warning will suffice."

Dunworthy gaped but quickly buckled to Holly's pressure. "A verbal warning. Yes. I ... and Dr. Ury?"

"A verbal warning," replied Pete, catching on to Holly's intent rather quickly.

It didn't take much more to get rid of the annoying HR man. "Ugh, I hate this," said Holly, dropping onto her couch.

"I can talk to Wanda."

"Oh she's fine. I'm trying not to fire Gerald." She leaned back and craned her neck to look at Fifteen.

Pete sounded shocked. "Gerald— Officer Moore would get fired?"

"This isn't his first rodeo," Holly pointed out. She was not a Gerald fan. The closeness of their families necessitated familiarity with him. For the most part, Holly felt him to be enforced friendship. In Gerald's defence, he wasn't a bad guy, he was just ... special.

Her assistant medical examiner huffed. "He's an idiot. And I say this coming from a smaller world, Dr. Stewart. Holly."

Eventually Pete would get used to calling her Holly, or not. It didn't bother her. Hell, Wanda called her Dr. S regularly. "He is. But he's a good person, and that means a lot."

"Dunworthy?" Pete was appalled.

Holly blinked. "Oh! God no, he's an idiot. I thought you meant Gerald!" They shared a laugh. "Dunworthy is trying to get into SIU."

"Via HR?"

"Well they won't let him in IA," Holly pointed out. "So this is his bid to show he can handle things."

Pete shook his head. "He can't." And then. "Let me sit with Wanda? You've been trying to tame her since she got here. Maybe...?"

If Pete had been a white man, or someone who demonstrated the slightest bit of egotism in the statement, Holly might have bristled. It didn't matter how far from the past they got, misogyny was always there. People had biases they didn't know. Hell, Holly did. Gail sometimes pointed out that Holly could be a bit transphobic now and then.

And the damned thing was that Holly didn't even see it. She'd make a joke about how not having a penis was why Gail loved her, and she wouldn't even think about the implications. It was 'just a joke.' It appalled her, in retrospect, and Holly struggled with her own internalized phobias and prejudices.

There were reasons she felt the way she felt, but when did her reasons supersede respecting others? The answers weren't easy. Holly was sixty and she hadn't found them. But she kept trying and at some level, Holly truly believed that was what mattered.

Looking at Pete, she saw the same intentions she felt within herself. Pete honestly wanted to help. He saw that there was a problem, that Holly had been trying to fix it, and that it had not worked.

"Yeah, you know what. Yeah. Have a sit down." She glanced at Fifteen again. "I don't mind that she doesn't like Gerald. Few people do. But she can't do that in the field."

Pete laughed a little. "It'd be easier if she was shit at her job." Then he asked, "Is Moore really good or something?"

"He's good with druggies."

This time, surprisingly, Pete gave a knowing nod. "Of course, but I meant otherwise. Does he have a great arrest record?"

Interesting. That probably had to do with the case Pete had worked with Gail. "Not that I know of, but they really can't afford to be picky. They don't turn a lot of people away."

Police recruitment was still down. It had always been down. Getting more than four people every other year for Fifteen was a rarity, though they were picky. Andy had once remarked how terrifying it was that Duncan was the top of his class.

"I get that," said Pete. "Okay, rip off the bandaid. Next time we have one of these, you want me to take it top down?"

"No, but you can take point."

"Works for me, Boss."

When Holly got home and recounted the day to Gail, her wife sighed. "I really hate this shit. The Peck. God that's annoying."

"It's meant as flattery, honey."

"It's fear, Holly." Gail shook her head and put their steaks in the pan. "They're afraid of me, and they're afraid of me not being there. I'm the devil they have to have around."

An interesting take. "Maybe that's how it used to be, Gail, but now it's not. We've all changed a lot."

"The need to hate hasn't," Gail pointed out. "Look at the shit America went through after Obama. They had to have another Cold War and suck us all into it."

"Yes, and we survived, honey."

Gail scowled. "Awesome, I get to survive again. At least I'm good at it."

Holly waited until Gail put down the spatula and wrapped her arms around Gail's waist. "Honey."

Her wife didn't stiffen; she slumped back and leaned into Holly. "I'm tired of this, Holly."

"I know."

"I'm tired of being a figurehead. I'm tired of being held up as an example of evil who made it good. I'm tired of everyone relying on me and hating me for it. Not everyone everyone, but enough everyone... And I'm tired of being played."

That last was a new addition to the rant. And given how Gail cut herself off short the moment she said it told Holly what she needed to know. "Berlin Wall, sweetheart," murmured Holly, resting her chin on Gail's shoulder.

"Yeah, that was my idea, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You're right. It's that case. I don't like it."

"Of course I'm right, Gail. I'm a fucking genius."

Now Gail laughed a little. "Yeah, you are." Gail sighed and shifted, turning around so she could kiss Holly softly, properly. "I can't tell you. It's a mess and I don't want you to get burned by the backsplash."

Holly nodded and leaned until her forehead touched Gail's. "I trust you, Gail. You know that, right?"

"I do, I do, Holly."

Sometimes that was enough. Holly hoped it was.


She hated lying to her wife, so Gail simply didn't do that. Instead, she left Holly out of the loop, which frankly she didn't like any better. One of the best parts of having a wife with the same level of security clearance was that it was possible to talk, unhindered, about problems and situations.

"She's sulking," said Traci.

"She's a child," said Vivian.

"She's paranoid," said Marcel.

"Shut up," Gail snapped.

Vivian snorted and tapped her phone, running the app she had set up on Gail's request. The light flashed, the sound buzzed, and they all looked at the room. According to Vivian, the pulsing light would trigger all hidden cameras, and the subsequent noise would make them echo. If, after the sequence ran, there was no return flash or beep, they were clear.

"Or maybe you are both paranoid," said Marcel.

"I learned from the best," said Vivian and she gave them a thumbs up. "We are clear, though."

Gail sat on the edge of her desk. "We're at an impasse," she announced. "We can't investigate further until we have more information. With Keith lying low and behaving, and the money being a wait-and-see, the only new we have at all is the kid and her reports from ERD and Thirty-Four." She turned to Vivian and raised an eyebrow.

Hesitating, Vivian cleared her throat nervously. "Inspector Bryce hates me. For being a Peck. And he seems to think Gail's cherrypicking of some of 'his' trainers was a personal attack. Morris, from ThirtyFour, saw him giving me shit and did a suck-up, asking me to ask ... uh ... Ask Inspector Peck for an in."

Thankfully, Traci rolled her eyes first. "Bryce is a moron. He hates Pecks, you're right. Liked me until I married Steve."

"Why did you take the trainers?" Marcel looked curious.

"They don't have any classes at the moment, they're up to date on the right techniques for hostile attacks in the city, and they're cheap." Gail shrugged. "We're still recovering from that budget crisis a couple years ago."

Traci followed up. "They make sense practically, too. They look rough and nasty, so having them undercover, which they're all good at, is smart."

The Mountie looked at Vivian. "ERD are good at undercover?"

"I'm a rookie," replied Vivian, without any rancour. "Also I'm training up as a bomb and electronics specialist, so the deep cover stuff isn't tops of my list."

"You'll probably never spend much time in it," said Traci, who had herself only done a couple stints. "Are we hitting pause on everything?"

Gail nodded. "Unless— Until something breaks, we have to wait and see."

Her sister in law grumbled. "This is the part I hate. At least in homicide it was clear."

"Yeah?" Gail smirked. "Lazy."

"You're one to talk." But Traci grinned.

Marcel, not really in on that joke, continued the train of thought. "I do not like the waiting, but at this juncture it is most prudent," and he sighed. Loudly. "Do we investigate this man from Thirty-Four?"

"Morris," said Vivian.

"No," said Gail. "Frankie— Detective Anderson is already digging up the corners. She'll spot anything."

"Is she really that good?" Marcel was clearly dubious.

"Annoyingly yes," Traci admitted. "She's even more antagonistic than Gail... didn't Steve try to set you two up?"

"I was still dating Holly," Gail demurred. She had never even considered Frankie, not even for casual sex. Though in retrospect, Gail wondered if she should have sowed her wild oats when she broke up with Holly. Slept with other women.

No. That Gail didn't need to be. That Gail was sad and empty and filling life with alcohol and meaningless sex. The Gail who she was today figured shit out. Figured out that she meant something, that Holly meant something, and that she (Gail) wanted more than just sex. She wanted someone who wanted her, for everything that she was. Flaws and all.

And she'd found that in a silly, quirky, weird scientist, who tilted her head and smiled to the side and laughed at Gail's jokes and kissed Gail like she was the only person in the world. A crazy, obsessive, genius, who held Gail when she was scared and didn't run away when things got hard and loved Gail with all her heart.

Yeah, Gail didn't need shit like casual-sex-Anderson, and she sure as hell didn't need to be another notch in Frankie's fucking bedpost. As a person, Frankie was tolerated at best. But as a detective? Frankie was top shelf.

"I could care less who you people sleep with," said Marcel, dismissively. "Though that appears to be a pastime here."

Both Gail and Traci laughed. Vivian looked amused and wisely said nothing. "Thanks, Marcel. I can always count on you for unvarnished sarcasm."

The Mountie smirked. "This is how I cope, my friends. The idea that either my fellow Mounties are secretly investigating me, or I am wrongly doing so to them for nothing, is terrifying."

In many ways Gail understood that. "When I was her age," she said, jerking her thumb at Vivian. "I investigated my brother for corruption." Gail shrugged. "Putting my life, my career on the line because I think someone's fucking with the system ... that's nothing. It can ruin me, but I know I'm doing the right thing for the right reason." She sighed. "Marcel, our options are two. First, we're all wrong, it's coincidence and oops. We take our lumps. Second, someone is taking money from the Mounties to funnel it into a new, super fatal drug on the streets, and Keith is a part of the cover up. We are gods. Either way, how long has it been going on and why did we all miss this shit?"

Taking that well, Marcel nodded. Vivian, on the other hand, chuckled. When Gail eyed her, she explained. "Sorry, but you sounded a lot like her." And Vivian pointed over Gail's shoulder at the currently clean print up of Elaine Peck.

Gail sighed. "Well. I should. My mom wasn't a perfect cop, she's not a perfect person. But this... this is the cost of living in blue, kid." Shaking her head, Gail got up and doodled a Fu Man Chu on Elaine. "Sometimes we take that leap into what we know has to be right. We're too fucking smart, collectively, to have missed this. It had to be hidden."

"So why are we keeping this from the good doctor?" Marcel voiced a question he'd not dared before.

"Plausible deniability," said Traci, ruefully. "If Holly knew, she could be forced to testify and spousal rights be damned."

"Compelled," corrected Vivian. When everyone stared at her, she snarled. "What? The legal term is compelled."

"Kid's right," laughed Gail. "Compelled. I don't want her messed up in this unless her lab is 100% innocent."

That wiped the humour from everyone's face. "You don't trust the lab?" Traci was shocked.

"I trust my wife. But ... she's naive, Trace. I love her to pieces, but Holly takes people at face value." That was the mystery solved of why all of Holly's previous relationships tanked. She didn't expect the deceitfulness of humanity. She was very innocent.

Traci smirked. "I'm going to tell her you said that."

"She's heard it before." Gail shrugged. No problem there.

Abruptly, Vivian startled and pulled her phone out. "It's Sue— Inspector Tran." Gail waved for her to take the call. "This is Peck..." Right away, Vivian's face fell into a serious mien that resembled Holly in panic mode. "Yes, ma'am. I'm on my way." The girl was already in motion, grabbing her coat and hanging up. "Possible bomb at La Tratorria."

"Go," said Gail, yanking the door open.

As Vivian bolted down the hall and then to the stairs, Traci sighed. "It never stops. You need me on this?"

"No, not unless it's a gang bomb."

"Thankfully few and far between." Traci got up. "Meeting over, eh?"

"Yes, but wait a bit before, eh?"

Her sister in law nodded and Gail stuck her head out. "Mayhew, go down to ERD. They may need you."

The man looked up, surprised. "Related to why Boom Peck ran outta here?"

"You know it." Gail closed the door again, trusting in her minions. "Marcel, you're quiet."

Marcel exhaled softly. "I am." He looked out the window to the deck. "Why are you so calm?"

"About which part? The one where my kid is running off to handle a bomb, or the one where we're hiding an investigation?"

"In this case, the first."

"It's been five years, Marcel." Gail sighed. "Of all the people I trust in the world to do their jobs right, my kid is second on the list."


All the advances made in protections and Vivian still had to have her hands free. She'd worn some of the new gloves a few times, never in the field, because at the end of the day, her fingers were more sensitive. Holly had sighed and shaken her head. Gail had made a crude remark about finger fucking. Jamie had just asked her to be careful, as the fingers were some of her favourite features.

Yeah, Jamie got along with Gail pretty well.

Right now, however, Vivian didn't think about her parents or her girlfriend, hot as she was, because her hands were on a hot bomb. By which she meant a live bomb. Which was also weirdly warm.

Vivian exhaled. "The bomb's warm," she said aloud.

Across the room, Sabrina laughed a little. "Oh. You're serious?" Sabrina lowered her voice and spoke into the radio.

While Vivian also had a radio and mic, hers was set to a different channel. No one would talk to her while she worked, in the hopes of not terrifying her and making her fuck up. It was a nice theory.

"Okay, the bomb was in a food cart, under a pasta bolognese."

"I've had that before," Vivian noted, and felt the top of the bomb. It was warmer. "Okay, so they took out the pasta and the second dish underneath. Uncovered it. Waiter, that's not what I ordered."

Sabrina chuckled. "There's a wire in my soup."

Vivian grinned. "Okay. That pasta may be to our advantage..."

She carefully applied pressure on the bomb top, slowly. Like most bombs, there were a minimum of screws. Keeping sparks down was critical in a bomb, so a number were held together by the same non-conductive glue used in computers. But. Sometimes bombers used cheaper glue. And while it was still non-conductive, it was often not as heat resistant. Better, it wasn't always given enough time to cure.

Using as little pressure as possible, Vivian tried to hold the top and lift up. Carefully. Carefully. She barely breathed.

The click was crazy loud. Vivian was so glad she'd gone to the bathroom before suiting up.

The room was deathly still for a moment, and Vivian was reminded of the times she'd been present when bombs went off. There was always a pause before the explosion, where the air sucked in a little, like a person taking a deep breath to scream. And then, then the air blew out.

It was just like that. Only no boom. No boom today. "Clear stage one," she said softly. She couldn't speak any louder, as her voice was shaking.

"Peck has the bomb cover off," said Sabrina.

Vivian stared at the wires. In junior high, Olivia had dragged Vivian to join choir and Vivian, having the surprisingly better voice, was tapped to sing a solo. That instant where she was standing in front of the school, about to sing, was the one where all the words fell out of her head. Just like the first time she had seen a pretty girl who called her pretty.

Today her head was not empty.

In her heart and head, Vivian knew the schematics perfectly. She had memorized them and carved them into her mind. Her heart. It was a heart note. The one never forgotten. And bombs, nearly all bombs, followed patterns. People didn't innovate on bombs, especially not IEDs like this.

Bombs were like cars. The innovations were to be found in the minutia and the fine tuning, but the basics were the same for all cars. Once a person memorized the patterns, how the wires went into the caps, how the explosives were stabilized, it was theoretically possible to defuse anything. They were, at heart, all the same.

This bomb, though. This one had dozen of wires. Fake leads and dead ends and a timer, which no one really used for crying out loud. And the timer? That was a load of crap. No one worth their salt would have a real timer. It would drain the power and cause a smaller explosion, first. More importantly, Vivian would never trust the timer. And this one was stuck on 5:68 which was obviously wrong.

"I don't know this bomb," she said aloud.

"New bomber?"

"No. I mean this design." Vivian reached up and turned on her radio so she could hear the chatter. "Tran, are you seeing this?" She made sure to focus her camera on the bomb body.

"Copy that, Peck," said the calm and collected voice of Inspector Sue Tran. "I'm running it through the database, but you're right. That's not common."

"It's not esoteric either," replied Vivian, drolly. "This is ... god help me, this is like a movie person's idea of a bomb."

"Think it's a fake?" Sue remained calm and Vivian adored her for it. It helped. A lot.

"I think some of it is fake. Sabrina, can you bring me the sniffer?"

"One Cyranose, I aye." Sabrina may not have been a certified bomb tech, but she was Vivian's babysitter for a reason. The best shot with rifles, the calmest climber, and smart as hell. She was cleared for evidence collection, and she knew how to use most of the tools. Sabrina took out the device and ran it over the outside of the bomb. "How's the heat?"

Vivian flicked her HUD to show infrared. "Stable. Doesn't look like it's triggering anything. What's the smell?"

Her friend and coworker made a strangled noise. "Nothing..."

Nothing? Vivian looked at Sabrina, astounded. "Sorry. What?"

"Nothing," hissed Sabrina. "Inert." She turned the Cyranose so Vivian could read it. "It's done a false negative before but..."

"Peck." Sue cut into their conversation. "Read it."

Vivian cleared her throat. "Signature matches no known explosives. Sending it to the van now." She jerked her chin at Sabrina who pressed the send button. "I'm going to treat it live, Tran."

"Solid call, Peck. We'll keep the field clear."

Taking a deep, calming, breath, Vivian felt the adrenaline rush through her and used it to quiet her racing thoughts. The goal was to make the bomb safe, not defuse it. She had to make it safe, put it in Robby's containment unit, and take it to the range where it was okay to blow the fuck out of it.

Very rarely did defusing mean actually defusing. Most of the time she used Robby to contain the bomb without touching it. In the case of the common pipe bomb, for example, she used Arthur the one armed Aqua Cannon (it was an Aquaman joke apparently) to pop the cap off and blast it out with water.

But when the bomb was an unknown, or when Robby couldn't get a clear view, they had to send in a human. That was always the last resort. No one wanted to be that close to a bomb, and yet there were a large number of situations where it was required. A bomb bot couldn't get into some of the tight places a human could, after all.

She took another deep breath. Making the bomb safe meant making sure it wouldn't explode when it was moved. That was why the start was removing the lid, to see what the hell was going on inside. Now she had to trace the wires back. There wasn't a point to snip them. If wires were stretched or cut, they tended to spark. Instead, she needed to disconnect.

"Cold air," said Vivian, as she looked at the connection.

"Cold air," repeated Sabrina, handing over the canister. Her hands were shaking.

"Hey. It's just like making chocolate sculptures," Vivian said with a smile.

"Remind me never to eat at your place." But it did help calm Sabrina down. "Should I open Robby?"

"Not yet." Vivian sprayed the wire. She had to cool it down so it wouldn't stretch, but not freeze it too much so it snapped. The easiest way to do that was to spray and touch until it was cool but not cold. Once the wire was a slight bit colder that room temperature, she got out a non-conducive, non-sparkable screwdriver and gently loosened the wire from the presumed explosive.

Once loosened, she prised it away with hands Vivian was proud to see were steady and calm. It came away easily. Vivian exhaled loudly. "Clear."

The relief was palpable over the radio, even from the unflappable Sue Tran. "Copy that, Peck. Put it in Robby and we'll send in the team to collect evidence."

"Understood. Do you want me to follow the bomb or stick with evidence?"

"You take the bomb. Saun, cover the room. I know you cleared it, but do it again before we send Peck off."

"Copy that, ma'am," said Sabrina. She looked at Vivian. "Nice job on an unknown. How the hell do you do that?"

"Lots of practice?" Vivian pulled her helmet off and let the cooler air work its magic on her jangled nerves. "Fuck it's hot in this."

"You're getting really good at this," said Sabrina, sincerely. "That whole cooler than thou demeanour of yours is paying off."

"My goal in life is to be entirely uninteresting," Vivian said in her most deadpan.

"Naturally you went into ETF."

Vivian smirked. "I like a challenge."


The house was quiet.

Gail was quiet.

Which really wasn't as abnormal as people seemed to think it was. Gail was a very quiet person by nature. Early on, Holly had twigged to the fact that Gail only got chatty when agitated or super interested. They'd spent many nights, as friends, just sitting quietly. Holly would read and work on papers and Gail just chilled.

But most of the time, if Gail was totally quiet, she was asleep. Right then she wasn't quite asleep. She was close to asleep, in that lovely state where one's body was well relaxed. Still, Gail was not asleep yet. Her hand moved lazily over Holly's shoulder, tracing lines and circles.

And she was singing very, very softly. Holly closed her eyes to concentrate on listening.

"Happy birthday to me..."

Holly snorted a laugh. "You're impossible," she told Gail.

Her wife laughed as well. "I'm trying to decide how happy I am."

"Well." Holly propped herself up to look at the pale woman. "Steve got you some really amazing tequila. Vivian refurbished and rebuilt a classic gun, which she's been working on for almost two years by the way. And I didn't throw you a party."

A wide smile split Gail's face. "I like that last one a lot."

"Yeah?" Holly grinned. It was nearly impossible to not smile if Gail smiled.

"I like you a lot, Holly," said Gail, her voice suddenly soft.

The blue eyes opened, catching the street light and reflecting beautifully. Holly fell into those eyes time and again. They were so bright and captivating and smart. They crinkled a little when Gail laughed, when she was thinking, or when she was annoyed. They went wide with faux innocence and childishness sometimes. Right now, they were a little scrunched, incredibly bright, and they took Holly's breath away.

Holly touched Gail's face. "Yeah?"

"You get me." Gail reached up and took Holly's hand, kissing it. "Best present."

Blushing, Holly lay back down, resting her head on Gail's sternum. "You're insane, you get that, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Gail chuckled and wrapped her arms around Holly, holding her in place. "We've been an us for a long time."

"We have," agreed Holly. "Think it'll last?"

"Probably. I'm really lazy," drawled Gail.

Holly giggled. "Can't be fucked to find another woman?"

"Not after you ruined me for sex with anyone else, no."

Now Holly laughed, smothering it against Gail's skin. "No offence, honey, it's not like you have any other women to compare me to."

"Ffffffffffttttt." Gail made a noise like a balloon deflating. "You get me. I doubt sleeping with Frankie would have done anything except telling me that lesbian sex was the tits."

It took a moment, but Holly burst out with the giggles and had to roll over to breathe properly. "That was really bad," she wheezed.

Gail was smiling so hard, Holly could hear it. "I've been hanging on to that one for a long time, Stewart."

"You're a shit, Peck," Holly giggled and covered her face. "Oh my god. I hate you."

Her wife laughed and draped herself over Holly's stomach. "You love me."

"I do," said Holly, resigned. She sighed and put her hands on Gail's back, absently mapping out the contours of Gail's ribs and spine. "I love you a lot, Gail."

Gail made a very content sound, like a cat. "My kid won the shoot out."

That had been the surprise cap of the evening. Before the private party, they'd had the traditional Gail Peck Birthday Shootout. And this year, Vivian had cleaned house, coming within sight of Gail herself. It was a phenomenal shoot, everyone agreed. Vivian confessed it was probably from the left over adrenaline due to the bomb she'd defused that morning.

Everyone processed terror differently. Gail acquired laser like focus and heightened memory, but the payoff after was a neurotransmitter crash that came with vomiting and a migraine. Holly's few experiences of actual fear like that were semi-blank spots in her memory, where she followed trained behaviours and nothing more. The follow up was usually a crying jag.

Their daughter seemed to relax and calm down. Like the world was moving at a slower pace and she could do anything and everything. And it lasted a long while, making her seem ... Well, Gail called it preternatural, and that in and of itself was impressive given the older Peck's ability. Then again, Gail's was a reaction borne of training and education. Her family had all but beaten that ability into her, as evidenced by the fact that Steve and Elaine and every other Peck was pretty much the same, to varying degrees of success.

But Vivian was born that way. Her first experience probably wasn't her father's suicide, either. Which implied that by age five, she'd been handled enough terrible situations to develop a response to protect herself and others. The fall afterwards too was less horrible than Gail's. Afterwards, Vivian just was exhausted and tended to sleep for ten hours or more. That evening, Vivian had started dropping at dinner and Jamie had laughed and dragged her home.

Holly sighed.

"Hey, big brain. What's going on up there?" Gail sounded amused, but also concerned.

"I was thinking about Viv and why she's so damn good in a crisis."

Gail made a noise of understanding. "Depressing."

"A bit, yeah."

"Can I distract you?"

"I dunno," exhaled Holly, airily. When she got all up in her own head, Holly knew it could be difficult to unravel. "Give it a shot."

"One. We gave her better tools for handling that kind of crap, to the point that she's going to make ETF lead a fuck of a lot faster than anyone else. She's good at that stuff, and we did that."

Holly smiled. "Okay. I do feel better about that, but I wouldn't call it distracted."

"Two. I love you. I love that big brain of yours that never stops thinking and directing the world and why it ticks. And I love that bigger heart, the one that just cares about everyone."

Her smile widened and Holly felt herself blush. "Now you're just being sweet because we had mind blowing sex."

"No," drawled Gail. "I mean, yes, we did, and I love that too, but even if you announced you never wanted sex again, I'd still love you as much as I do now."

"Liar." Holly snorted.

"Nope." And Gail was incredibly serious. "That, Holly Stewart, is how much you mean to me."

It was, Holly had to admit, a distracting thought. To be loved like that, for all that she was. The mind and yes, the body. Holly liked the shape of her own body. It wasn't as fit or toned as it was in her 20s and 30s. It was the body of a woman in her sixties who had enjoyed a fantastic life. She was a little fatter, a little greyer, a little saggier, and she was still loved.

Holly traced the notches in Gail's spine with her fingertips. Gail too was not what she'd been when they met, physically or mentally. She'd gained weight, her hair was a bottle still, and she had more lines to her face. But too, Gail smiled more easily and laughed more often. She was a happier person, Holly felt. She was a better person, comfortable with her own skin and self.

She was also a person who pressed her lips to Holly's stomach.

Oh.

"It's your birthday, Gail," Holly noted, not really wanting to dissuade her wife from the implied actions.

"I am aware of that," replied Gail. "Being of above average intelligence." She smirked up at Holly. "Some might call me a genius. Or a gifted natural."

The smirk slid into a leer and Holly gave up. There was no point in trying to disagree with that one.


Sometimes Gail got to take time off for her birthday, and sometimes she didn't. She didn't actually care, not being given to celebrating it much in the first place. Her parents, mostly her father, had long since ruined the meaning behind a birthday for Gail.

Growing up, Gail had always been aware she was the accident baby. She wasn't supposed to be. It wasn't until she was an adult that she learned about the miscarriage between Steve and herself. And it was even more recently she'd discovered her mystery sister had a name.

Emily Rose Peck.

What kind of person would that Peck be like? Would there have been a Gail if there had been an Emily? Given that Gail was the accident, probably. Steve was planned. They knew they wanted him when they had him. Gail... well.

Still, recently she'd wondered more and more what life might have been like with one more Peck between her and her parents. Would Emily and Steve have shielded her from the assholes? Would Gail have been free to follow her own path? Would she still be a cop?

Impossible to know.

Alternate Gail would never exist so it didn't matter. Emily had been dead for well over fifty years.

Did Vivian feel like that? She too had a dead sister, but unlike Gail, Vivian remembered her sister. Somewhat. Vivian had never actually talked about her sister, not to Gail at least. A few times, Vivian had mentioned Kimberly- Kimmy by name, and a couple years ago she'd dug out the picture of Kimmy eating ice cream. It still sat on Vivian's dresser.

What if Steve had died when Gail was a child? God. That would have been a hell of a life. All the guilt and stress her parents and Pecks had dumped on her would have been exponentially higher. Ugh. There never would have been an accepted rebellion. Gail would have been tied to the yoke of service the second they stepped away from the funeral, if not sooner.

No, that too wasn't worth thinking. That possible life was horrific. Gail couldn't even speculate if she'd lost Steve and her parents at once, because that would have landed her in the care of her grandfather. Or maybe her uncle. He'd died when she was around ten. If that had been her parents instead of her uncle...

"I'm really morbid today," Gail said aloud.

"It was your birthday," said Chloe, squinting at her laptop. "You always get extra morbid around your birthday."

Gail stuck her tongue out at Chloe, who didn't seem to notice. "You don't have any siblings."

"No, but I always wanted a brother." Chloe paused. "This doesn't make any sense, Gail. That bomb was stupid."

Oh. Good. Gail sat up straight. "Why's that?"

"Did you ever see the latest Bond movie? Where he defused the bomb with his watch band?"

She had, actually. "Yeah, Holly loves how dumb those are. Why?"

"This is that bomb. Looks just like the design from the movie."

And like that, Gail remembered the whole scene. "It was in the room service cart. Holy shit." The plot had been that Bond was banging the sexy minion of the movie (admittedly a handsome young man this time — Gail was a fan of the bisexual Bond) and the villains had sent a bomb up in the room service cart. James took the lid off, and the bomb started counting down. "There was no timer," noted Gail.

"Small beans. Same thing. Look." Chloe tapped her keyboard and the real bomb showed up side by side with the movie one.

"Think it's a dumb kid?" Gail leaned forward for a moment and then sighed, pulling on her reading glasses. Getting old fucking sucked.

Chloe, of course, noticed. "I thought your distance vision was fine."

"It is, but I lose the details like that tiny ass text," explained Gail, grumbling as she read the notes Chloe had put on the pictures. To her surprise, they suddenly enlarged. Gail did not say thanks, and Chloe didn't seem to expect it. Well. That was their relationship.

"You're right, though. I think it's a dumb kid. Any prints from the bomb?"

"Nothing yet. They blew it up on the range, just to be sure."

"Well. I'll go over the cameras then if that's okay." Chloe paused. "Why'd you tap me? I thought this was Mayhew's case."

"He's busy," demurred Gail. She'd pulled him off to run some money laundering interference with Trullio and Nuñez. They were looking for the bribe money to the pharmacies for the components used to make the drugs.

Chloe was too smart for that. "This is about Frankie making inspector, isn't it?"

Gail lifted her eyebrows. It was, but she was surprised Chloe caught that part. "How's that?"

"She made it before me, even though I made sergeant first. And I'm not going to be head of UC ops without a few more weird cases under my belt. So you're catching me up to her before you have to find someone else to be your minion." Chloe smiled her thousand watt grin. "You're so transparent sometimes, Gail."

"Fuck yourself," Gail replied cheerfully.

However. Chloe was totally right. It was well past the time that everyone in her class was of a higher rank. It would lower Gail's stress, certainly, sharing the load. And, if she was willing to be bold enough, it would let her step back from being in charge as much as she was. Traci called it her retirement plan. She wasn't wrong.

"I love you too, bestie."

Gail snorted. "If anyone besides Holly is my best friend, it's Traci."

After a moments pause, Chloe laughed. "That's fair." She closed her laptop. "The Crave," said Chloe faux absently. "How bad is it?"

"Hectic. If I need UC for it, I'll grab you."

The odds were, Gail would need some undercover work. She wasn't sure where yet. And right now, the head of UC ops wasn't her biggest fan. Chloe could be trusted though to act as an intermediary. And hopefully, in the next ten or twelve months, Chloe would be Inspector Price.

That made Gail think of something else. "How's the new place?"

"Good. Really good, actually." Chloe beamed again. "I haven't lived alone since before I was shot."

Gail chuckled. "Wow. That was a long time ago."

"Says someone who's never lived alone."

While she snorted, Gail had to admit that was true. She'd lived at home until she moved in with Dov, and then Holly, and ... she was still with Holly. "The world's probably better off if I don't," Gail pointed out, and Chloe chuckled. "Sometimes I think everything happens all at once to stress us out."

Chloe looked up at her. "Kids growing up, spouses separating, jobs sucking up our time, getting older and needing glasses, drug cases, under aged brides, human trafficking, Frankie getting promoted, paying for college, moving on and out and up ... it could be worse."

"How's that?"

"We could be Andy."


Sometimes a chapter takes a turn you don't expect. This was one. I didn't expect the story to turn this way when I sketched it out.