Content Info: Chapter contains discussion of/responses to trauma.
v.
Sometime after ten, Will Pemberton turns up at the party. Julie clocks him as soon as he enters, immediately feeling drunker than she is and worrying, for a moment, that he'll come over to speak to her. The state she's in, she really doesn't want to be responsible for her mouth.
As it turns out, her fear is unfounded. Pemberton greets Gill with a nod and a handshake and a few words punctuated with that charming smile of his, but after that he seems to be searching the crowd for someone specific. It most certainly isn't Julie.
She works out who it is when Rachel Bailey and Janet Scott come in from the balcony, and Pemberton's eyes find the younger of the two across the room. Rachel makes eye contact as well and a cautious smile plays at her lips, and soon the two of them have found a quiet corner in which to talk.
Julie turns back to the conversation she's involved in. If she were the gossiping type, that would be a juicy little tidbit: a Sergeant and a Chief Superintendent clearly interested in more than discussing the job. But Julie has been the subject of office gossip enough times in her life that she's not inclined to spread it herself, and if there's something forming between Rachel Bailey and Will Pemberton that they can make work despite their difference in rank, well, Julie is hardly one to throw a spanner in that.
A little later, Julie returns to the bar for another drink, and while she's standing there waiting to be served Rachel appears beside her looking equal parts starry-eyed and smug.
"'Lo," Rachel greets, pink in the cheeks, planting her elbows on the bar.
"Evening," Julie says, throwing Rachel a smile that feels rather knowing. "Having a good one?"
"I am," Rachel says, easy and confident. Her demeanor is very different with Julie now, a far cry from the sullen mess she was the first time they met, and even from the wary but determined character who worked so hard to crack Joe Bevan. She seems to have grown up a bit, or perhaps Julie just sees her differently now. She dealt well with Gill's absence those last few weeks, ran that behemoth of a case with diligence and precision. Proved herself. Now, finally, Julie is ready to agree with what Gill told her years ago: that Rachel Bailey is 'one of them'.
"Get you a drink?" Julie asks, with that in mind.
Rachel smiles. "Thanks, but I'm getting a bottle." Her expression is pleased and secretive, and Julie, tongue and mind loosened with alcohol, can't leave that alone.
"You two seeing each other, then?" she asks, jerking her head in Pemberton's direction.
Rachel's cheeks colour up. "Maybe," she admits. "Don't know. We were, and then we weren't, and now…we'll see how the night goes, I suppose."
Julie nods, glancing at the barman who's serving over on the other side of the bar, and when she turns back to Rachel she finds that the other woman is looking at her with eyebrows raised.
"What, no lecture?" she asks, a hint of the old belligerence returning, badly disguised under a jovial tone. "Nothing about how it'll make people think I'm shagging my way to the top? Gill gave me one, when she found out."
Julie snorts, even though the thought of Gill giving someone advice about romantic relationships, especially between colleagues, makes her feel vaguely uneasy. "Well, you hardly need to hear it from me as well, then," she says, and eyes Rachel for a moment, gauging her.
Perhaps it's not belligerence. If Rachel Bailey is one of them, perhaps she's like Gill - or indeed, like Julie herself sometimes - with a need for reassurance or affirmation disguised as combative confidence. This is me and this is what I'm doing and I don't care what you think, except sometimes they did, really. And Rachel sure as hell wouldn't have got a balanced perspective on the subject from Gill.
"People will think what they want to think," Julie says, eventually. "No matter what you do. You can spend your whole life being worried about what people will say about you, and miss out on things that could have been really great, or you can say 'fuck it' and take it on the chin and just be good enough at what you do that they can't fault you."
Rachel studies Julie's face, nods, wheels whirring behind her eyes. Julie can almost hear her ideas stomping into Rachel's head, doing battle with whatever 'image is everything' speech Gill had likely given her.
"Sounds like you've got some personal experience," Rachel says, smiling.
"A bit," Julie agrees, thankful that Rachel, at least, doesn't seem to have developed omniscience. "But that's how I've tried to live my life in general, really. I always figured success didn't really mean much if I couldn't achieve it while also being honest about who I was." That had been one of her primary reasons for coming out at work, and it was important to her in other ways, too.
Rachel nods. "I like that." She looks thoughtful. "Do you think it's cost you? Taken longer to get where you are?"
"Probably," Julie concedes, "but it's hard to measure. I went through Bruche a few years ahead of Gill and Mitch and Dave, for example. Mitch isn't a climber, so he's stayed where he's happy, but Gill could have gone head to head with me for my job, if she'd chosen to. Dave shot up past me, but he did that by lying and cheating and walking on the backs of the people beneath him, and I wouldn't be that person for anything. Wherever I end up, at least I know I picked my own terms. You should, too. Draw a few lines in the sand before you get any more people trying to tie strings on you. And if one of them is seeing whoever you like and sod anyone who wants to think less of you for it, then you'll know that's a choice you made consciously."
"Yeah," Rachel agrees, nodding again.
Their conversation comes to a natural close when the barman comes for their order. Julie lets Rachel order her bottle of wine, then glances sideways at her. "Shot?" she asks, as the barman turns to her. "Toast for the future, or something?"
Rachel smiles. "Oh, go on then."
"What'll it be?" the barman asks. Julie arches an eyebrow at Rachel.
"Always been partial to a B-55 myself," Rachel says.
The barman nods and turns to reach for bottles, but Julie has to ask: "What the hell is a B-55?"
Rachel sets her wine bucket on the bar to free up her hand. "Like a B-52, but with absinthe instead of the yellow one. Think I've tried every Baileys drink there is - people are always buying them for me on my birthday."
Julie laughs. "I suppose they would." She doesn't know what a B-52 is either, but she can't help but shake her head at the thought of absinthe. "God. I am really going to regret this tomorrow, aren't I?"
"You working?" Rachel asks.
Julie laughs. "No, thank goodness. Swapped with DSI Ryman."
Rachel grins as their shots are placed on the bar. They look colourful - a layered shot with something brown at the bottom, Baileys in the middle and the green topping them off. "Regrets are what days off are for," she says, reaching for hers. Julie does the same.
"Cheers," Rachel says, and Julie taps their glasses together.
Julie downs her shot. It's sweet, tastes of cream and coffee - that brown layer must have been Kahlua - but the absinthe leaves an aftertaste, herbal and slightly bitter. Julie sets her glass down on the bar, feels the warmth of the drink radiate through her chest. Rachel's gone red, too.
"D'you think it's cost Gill?" she asks as she sets her own glass down and picks up her wine bucket again. "Being so concerned what everyone thinks?"
The warmth in Julie's chest turns suddenly tight. She picks up her pint chaser, takes a sip to give herself a moment.
It must be the shot still swimming in her brain that makes her answer the way she does: "Isn't that why we're here? Folding is safer than trying when you're not sure of your hand."
Rachel gives Julie a funny, gauging sort of look, smiles in a way that's a little bit sad. "Thanks for the drink," she says, gripping the wine bucket in her arm and heading back to where Will Pemberton is waiting for her.
Julie watches her walk toward the promise of something hopeful and swallows a mouthful of her beer.
ooOoo
And so they tried.
The morning after the party, Julie woke before Gill. That was unusual - Gill was generally the morning person - but she seemed to be sleeping soundly at last, so Julie gently extricated herself from the bed and shrugged herself back into the previous day's clothes. She left her blazer hanging from the corner of the bedside table and instead appropriated a blanket that was folded over the chair in the corner. Tying it around her shoulders, Julie padded downstairs feeling like a mixed up caped crusader who'd forgotten her spandex.
There were several bodies in the living room: stretched out on the settees, curled into armchairs and even lying on the floor with arms pillowed beneath their heads. Julie avoided them, slipping past into the kitchen, which was strewn with bottles and empty food packets but didn't look too bad for all that. Julie managed to dig out the kettle from amongst it all, anyway, and was able to clear a space big enough to prepare a mug of tea.
While she was waiting for the water to boil, she inspected the detritus, then as an afterthought grabbed a garbage bag and shoved a few crisp packets into it. By the time the kettle had boiled, she'd managed to clear all the non-recyclable rubbish off the bench, and was feeling quite proud of herself, not least because she'd recovered a packet of cigarettes from beneath the litter, half-full with a lighter inside.
"Taxed," she murmured to herself as she pocketed them.
Tea made, Julie slipped out the back door onto the deck, curling her cape a little tighter around her shoulders against the chill. It was a misty morning - a blanket of fog hung over the moor and hadn't yet burned away - but the sun was straining through the clouds, so Julie parked herself in its light and set her mug on the edge of the rail for a moment as she lit one of the pilfered cigarettes.
It tasted good. Certainly it felt like a cigarette kind of morning, though Julie wasn't entirely sure whether it was an anxiety smoke or a smug, post-coital celebration. Bit of both, probably.
Julie heard the back door slide open.
"Thought I heard someone rustling about," Sammy said, offering Julie a smile as she turned. "Had to come make sure it wasn't a burglar; wasn't going to be my mates clearing up."
Julie smiled back, taking a sip of her tea. "Only me," she said.
Sammy joined her. "You stayed."
"Yeah," Julie answered, taking a drag on the cigarette and tapping ash off over the railing. "Found these on the kitchen bench. They're not yours, are they?" She arched an eyebrow at him, even though she knew it was the most hypocritical question in the world, given the circumstances.
Sammy shook his head. "Nah. Liam's, I think. Must have left them here."
"You're chipper for the morning after," Julie observed. "Don't look too worse for wear." He looked entirely normal, actually - comfortable in a pair of jogging bottoms and a hoodie, alert and awake.
"Didn't want to make an idiot of myself," he said. "Not in front of Orla's parents. Not after that day. Didn't want Mum to have to clean up. How… How is she?" Worry lines creased his forehead.
Julie took another sip of her tea. "I think she's all right. For now, at least. I don't think it's all over just because it's over, though. Might take a little while."
Sammy nodded. "Did you sleep with her?"
Julie's eyes widened mid-drag on her cigarette. It took her a moment to realise that he'd meant the question literally - just long enough for his own eyebrows to lift in surprise at her response. Julie turned her head, had smoke in her eyes and pretended that was all it was, blinked a few times to dispel the sting.
"I… Yeah. She didn't want to be alone, and we figured the spare bed would be taken anyway." It was a weak response, and when she looked at Sammy again it was clear he wasn't buying it.
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Julie, are you and Mum...together?"
Julie took a deep breath. Wasn't that the million quid question? She thought of that sleepy statement Gill had made and wondered if she'd meant it, thought of her response and wondered if it had been acquiescence or acknowledgement. "Don't know," she answered eventually, the only honest response.
"But you…?" Sammy looked confused.
"Sammy." Julie took another sip of her tea. "Do you really want to have this conversation? Because you know I'll answer you." He'd asked her enough questions about sex over the years to know she wasn't backwards about discussing it.
"Well, no," he admitted. He'd turned very serious, though. "Just…was Mum okay to make that sort of decision, after everything?"
Julie felt herself baulk at the question, though it very quickly turned to an appreciation for Sammy's understanding of consent and affection for his protectiveness of Gill. She took a moment to consider her response.
"That's kind of complicated," she said, "and I'm not going into details. But I hope you'll trust me when I say that I asked her that question myself, and I wouldn't have done anything if I hadn't got a satisfactory answer. Just because someone's in a weird place doesn't mean they don't know their own head." She met Sammy's gaze, and he regarded her steadily for a few moments before he nodded.
"Okay," he said.
Julie drained her tea, finished her cigarette. She cast about for something to do with the butt before reaching over to drop it into an empty beer bottle that had been left on the railing. "Think I'll go make your mum a brew," she said. "Be there when she wakes up so she doesn't think I've done a runner. You want a cup?"
"'Nah," Sammy said. "Thanks anyway. I should start cleaning up out here."
"Have fun with that." Julie smiled and headed for the house. "Come bang on the door if you need a hand with breakfast for the zombies in there."
"We'll probably just get takeaway," Sammy said. "And Julie?"
"Hm?" She turned back.
"I wouldn't mind if you were. Together, I mean." Sammy smiled, and Julie laughed.
"I'll note down your preference," she said, chuckling as she opened the door.
Five minutes later, Julie slipped back into Gill's bedroom, awkwardly juggling two full mugs as she closed the door behind her.
Gill was awake and watching her. She looked tiny in the bed, covers pulled up to her chin and hair mussed, but she smiled when Julie turned around. "Morning, Slap," she murmured.
"Morning," Julie whispered as she leaned down to set the steaming mug on Gill's bedside table. Before she could rise again, Gill's hand snaked out from the covers and took hold of her shirt, and Gill pushed herself up as she tugged Julie down until their lips met somewhere in the middle. Julie, arm askew as she held on tight to her mug to keep it steady, could do little more than allow herself to be snogged, though she did cant her chin into Gill's a little, pressing her head back and nipping her lip so it wasn't a complete submission.
Gill inhaled deeply as their lips parted. "You taste of smoke," she breathed.
"Guilty," Julie murmured, offering a sly smile. "Can you let go of me before I spill my tea on you?"
"Oh!" Gill gave a little squeak of surprise, releasing her hold on Julie's shirt when she realised the precarious position she was in. "Sorry."
Julie laughed, rounding the bed to set her mug down on the other stand. "Not complaining," she said, untwining the blanket from her shoulders and moving to put it back where she'd got it from.
Gill had pushed herself up to sit now, watched Julie as she folded the blanket and dropped it back over the armchair . "I've never kissed you in the morning before," she said, hitching the corner of the duvet up over one shoulder then holding it in place as she reached for her tea. "Thought I'd give it a try."
It was true. That wasn't something they'd ever done. Neither of them had ever run out on the other after one of their nights together, and their mornings were never awkward, but at some point they'd set an unspoken boundary between night and day, and their mornings had never been anything but the same sort of friendly they were any other time. So this was new.
Julie moved back to the bed. The thought of getting back underneath the covers in her work trousers felt strange, so she tugged her fly undone and shimmied out of them before climbing back in.
She picked up her cup of tea. "So what's the verdict, then?"
Gill looked at her, and suddenly they were talking about far more than just kissing.
"I like it," Gill said, with a little smile. Then, quieter: "I meant what I said, you know."
Julie took a deep breath; she could feel her heart beating in her chest. It wasn't racing - nothing as dramatic as all that - but everything suddenly felt very still, and her physicality, by contrast, seemed quite large. Here was her heart, beating away; there were her fingers, warming in a way that had nothing to do with the mug in her hand. Here was her breath, rising hot from her lungs, and there were the tips of her ears bizarrely tingling.
"Do you..." And here she faltered, feeling the size of it, the weight of want descending on her, stronger than she'd imagined it would be. It warred with sense, with reason, with her idea of right, but eventually the latter won out. "Do you think this is the right time for this?"
Gill turned to face her more fully, clutched her mug in both hands. She swallowed and the bruise on her neck - darker this morning, browning at the edges - rippled with the force of it. "When is the right time?" she asked. "When will be? I nearly… I could have died yesterday. Any of us could, either of us, at any time. I thought about you yesterday, when I was driving on that road - what if I died and we'd never attempted… I never realised I was waiting, but I think I was. I think have been, and I don't want to anymore."
"Gill," Julie whispered, chest aching. She longed to reach out, slide her fingers into Gill's hair and kiss her until neither of them had any sense left. Julie had been waiting, had known it, since that night after Dave had gone at least. Perhaps, in some secret way she'd barely even admitted to herself, she'd been waiting ever since that first time all those years ago, the conversation just like this one.
"I know it's backwards," Gill continued, "or strange at least. I know it's not perfect. I've never... I don't know how all this is going to affect me, going forward, but I know what I want right now." She lifted her mug and took a gulp of her tea, watching Julie, set the mug down on her knee. After a moment, her eyes turned searching. "Slap. Say something?"
Julie realised she hadn't, that she'd just been sitting there like a knob, taking in everything and giving nothing back. "I..." she breathed, but there was too much inside her, too many conflicting emotions for the formation of words. Was the timing wrong? Maybe, but Gill was right too, and she'd just said it to Sammy, hadn't she, about them knowing their own minds?
Decisive action was needed. Almost involuntarily, Julie's arm swung out, depositing her half-empty mug on the bedside table. It was a little more warning than Gill had given her, so Gill had time to discard her own before Julie gave into the urge to bury her fingers in Gill's hair and just kiss and kiss and kiss her.
"I wasn't so good at this," Julie whispered when they paused for breath, winded and desperate. "Not the last time I was with someone who was dealing with things."
"It's okay," Gill breathed, pressing her forehead against Julie's and sucking on her top lip. "That was different, we're different, we'll work it out."
"Take it slow," Julie said, lips moving along Gill's jaw then back to claim her mouth again.
"Slow, yes," Gill agreed, hand fisting in Julie's shirt.
"Listen to each other, communicate," Julie added, a breath against Gill's mouth.
"Yes," Gill repeated, tugging at Julie's buttons.
Julie's lips felt bruised. Her hand that wasn't tangled in Gill's hair had found its way under the duvet again, and somehow she'd pressed Gill back into the pillow. "I've never had you in daylight before," she whispered, fingers finding the outline of Gill's hip.
"First time for everything," Gill replied, arching into the touch. Her knees parted as Julie's hand slipped between them.
It had never been like this before. By the light of day Julie tugged Gill's head back and laid lips on her throat again, mouthing gently at mottled skin. By the light of day Julie watched the blush rise in Gill's cheeks, could see the little capillaries beneath her skin blooming with colour. By the light of day the dozens of different shades of brown that made up Gill's irises shrank as her pupils dilated with need.
Julie dragged a thumb over Gill's blushing lip. "Is this really happening?" she asked, unable to keep the wonder from her voice. "This is what you want? Not just here and now?"
Gill's fingers slipped into her hair and pulled her down for yet another kiss. "It's what I want," she affirmed, smiling. "It's really happening."
"Gill. God, you look beautiful in the morning."
Gill murmured contentedly, bit her bottom lip, giving Julie's hair a tug and arching her hips to push herself against Julie's hand. "Stop talking now," she whispered, holding Julie close.
Julie arched an eyebrow, keeping eye contact as the movement of her hand became more focussed. Gill's lips parted, her tongue wet them, her breath hitched.
There was a gentle tap on the door. "Julie?" came Sammy's voice, quiet.
Gill's eyes widened and Julie froze, answered quickly: "Don't come in!"
There was a shuffle outside the door. "Okay. Just, how do you make pancakes? We're not getting a takeaway after all."
Julie bit her lip as Gill started to laugh beneath her, shaking silently. She racked her brain. "It's, er, flour and eggs and milk, I think. Bit of sugar. Google it?"
Gill's laughter had begun to make sound. Shaking her head, Julie smiled, pressing her hand over Gill's mouth to stifle the noise. Gill bit down on her finger.
"Er, okay, but…"
"Sorry I can't be more help!" Julie cut him off because she didn't know how much longer she could keep Gill silent. "I know I offered, but I'm a bit busy now. Doing that thing you said you didn't mind."
"Oh." Sammy's voice was rich with understanding - more than he might want, if Julie had to guess. "Oh god. Okay. I'll google it. Bye." They heard his footsteps as he fled down the hall.
When they heard him head down the stairs, Julie lifted her hand away from Gill's mouth, and her laughter bubbled up aloud. "That thing he doesn't mind?" she asked, incredulous, when she'd recovered enough to do so. "You've gone all red," she added, smirking.
Julie kissed the expression off her mouth. "Not half as red as he is, I bet," she said, and Gill giggled again. "He was onto us anyway."
"And how did that happen?" Gill arched an eyebrow, still smiling.
Julie's own smile twisted in an admission of guilt. "Might have let that cat out." Gill's eyebrow stayed arched; Julie explained herself: "He asked me if I'd slept with you. I didn't realise he meant it literally. It was early; I hadn't even finished my first brew!"
Gill laughed again, leaned up to press a kiss against Julie's jaw. "Useless," she whispered in Julie's ear. "You're useless in the morning."
It was a challenge and Julie knew it. She shifted her hand beneath the duvet again, getting back to where they'd been before the interruption. "Oh, am I?" she asked, flexing her fingers. "Say that again."
"Completely useless," Gill sighed, arching into the touch.
"Hm," Julie murmured in response. Later, she would claim that her lack of witty riposte had been mercy - it was unfair to banter with someone so lost to touch, after all. But really, Julie was so taken in by the sight of Gill - the glint of her eyelashes as they fluttered in the sunlight, her hair shimmering red and gold as her head arched back into the pillow - that her language left her completely.
oOo
And so they tried.
It wasn't perfect. It took a few days for the dust to settle for Gill, for the low and the high to equalise themselves into a new kind of normal, one that Gill said she wasn't entirely sure how to deal with. It had Julie in it to kiss her and hold her and make her laugh, but it also came with continued nightmares and a panic attack the first time she tried to get in a car again. Julie was there for all that, waking her when she kicked in her sleep and guiding her back inside when she couldn't face the drive, talking her through breathing exercises until she came back to herself.
The next time they tried, they performed a little car checking ritual - back seat, boot, wheel wells. Gill said it was ridiculous but it seemed to help her anyway. At that stage, it was still Julie offering to drive - Gill's car had been impounded for evidence and she said she didn't want it back anyway. Julie could more than understand why, but of course that also meant they had to prepare for the daunting task of going shopping for a new one (in the end it was Gill who picked the make and model and sat briefly in the driver's seat, but Julie who took the thing for a spin).
There were other triggers, too. Once, Julie unthinkingly slipped up behind Gill while she was cooking dinner and wrapped arms around her middle, and then had to spend the rest of the evening cleaning onions and bacon grease from every surface in the kitchen. She learned to announce herself after that, and the series of superficial burns on Gill's hands were a stark reminder to Julie that she couldn't afford to be careless.
But despite the difficulties and missteps, Julie found those first few weeks to be some of the most joyful of her life. They saw more of each other than they had for years, even after they were both back at work. Julie would spend the evening at Gill's when her day was long, or Gill at Julie's when she was running a big one and clocked in more hours. They couldn't manage it all the time, but even when they weren't able to see each other they still found ways to communicate. Gill turned out to be a gifted composer of dirty text messages - so much so that Julie had to avoid looking at them in briefings lest her cheeks give away exactly what she was reading - and Julie became quite skilled, and rather brazen, at the crisp-shirt-and-silky-bra workplace selfie.
The photographs had begun as a joke - Julie responding to Gill's missive about having a hard day by slipping into one of the loos at work, unbuttoning her shirt and sending an artfully posed photograph of her breasts - but it quickly became a challenge when Gill admitted just how successful it was at cheering her up. Julie began to scheme up more creative and riskier places to send similar pictures from, on one memorable occasion even managing one from inside Karen Zalinski's office. During a meeting, the woman had nipped out to answer an important mobile call in another room, so Julie had taken the opportunity to put her own mobile to its most productive use. She'd only barely got away with that one; Zalinski was a terse conversationalist at the best of times, and Julie hadn't quite managed to fully re-button her shirt before she returned. She'd spent the rest of that meeting being very, very careful about leaning forward.
And so Julie found herself falling, hard, the way she always did when she ended up in a relationship. It was the same caution-to-the-wind leap of the heart that had meant that she'd owned seven dogs in the last thirty years, all adopted with girlfriends that she'd moved in with in under a year, then had to give up when the relationships didn't work out and the ex inevitably worked fewer hours than she did. If Julie was honest with herself, she thought that all of those relationships had failed because the strength and speed of her fall never quite lived up to the reality of long-term commitment, but this time round it felt less like tumbling and more like blissful surrender. Being with Gill felt right - they'd been best mates for so long that this progression seemed natural, even inevitable given the nights they'd spent together over the years. Julie began to wonder if she really had been waiting for this all her life, and very quickly wanted to throw herself in, heart and soul. She was aware that that desire was at odds with their agreement to take it slow, but she couldn't help herself, and she figured that as long as she was aware of that, everything would be okay. If it took Gill a little longer to catch up, well, that was fine.
oOo
Sammy knew. Even without their conversation the morning after his engagement, he couldn't have failed to notice Julie's increased presence in his home, or the fact that she usually stayed over, and not in the spare bedroom.
"It's good for Mum, having someone," he said to her one day out of the blue when Gill wasn't around. "And you too, I hope. I always wondered, you know. Since that time you stayed here after Dad left. You made a good team."
"We always have," Julie said, smiling. She looked askance at Sammy, wondering where this conversation was going. "It wasn't like this before your dad left, though. You know that, right?"
"Oh!" Sammy exclaimed, laughing. "No, that never even crossed my mind. I just. It'll be good for her to have someone around, you know, is good, because Orla and I...we've been looking for a place."
"Oh," Julie said. "That's great." She supposed it was bound to happen eventually, and now that they were engaged, sooner was more likely than later.
"It's time," he said. "I just, well. I don't know how Mum'll take it, after everything. Will you... Would you maybe mention that we had this conversation, give her a chance to get used to the idea before I announce that we've found somewhere?" He looked hopeful.
The idea didn't appeal much to Julie. She and Sammy had always talked about things that he wasn't comfortable discussing with his mother, but in the past they'd been awkward teenager things, conversations no one would ever want to have with a parent. Julie had always been happy that he chose to come to her with them rather than seeking out a friend his own age or some other poor source of information or advice. But this felt more like running interference between them, and Julie wasn't sure she liked that.
She looked at his hopeful face, though, and decided it was innocuous enough. "All right," she said.
When she mentioned it to Gill, there was no reaction at all.
"Did he say that?" she asked, juggling groceries into the cupboard. "Hasn't mentioned it to me. Can't say I'm surprised, though." Her voice was light, airy, just a little too casual, and it made Julie worried.
oOo
Sammy knew, but no one else did.
Gill was nervous about coming out to friends and colleagues, about their relationship or otherwise.
"I'm already a spectacle," she said when Julie broached the possibility of attending a function together and making it obvious they were together. "They're already hovering around me like nervous grandmothers. Imagine how much worse it would be if they all start getting concerned because I've never shown any inclination to women before. God, I can't even stand the thought of it."
It was true. As far as Julie could tell, Gill hadn't been left alone in the office since it happened - Mitch or Janet or Rachel or Pete always found an excuse to be there until she left. Julie thought it was sweet, and often necessary - having someone to check her car for her made the drive home that much easier for Gill - but she could see where it would feel like being coddled. Still, Julie thought it was a leap to suggest that they'd have a problem with Gill being in a relationship, and she couldn't help but feel a little wounded.
Gill noticed. "Just give me some time?" she asked, approaching Julie to curl arms around her neck. "Give me a chance to fade back into the woodwork? We can be the gossip once everyone's stopped worrying about me so much."
Gill's eyes were large and earnest, pleading, and Julie couldn't say no to that. Perhaps this was part of 'taking it slow'.
"All right," she said.
oOo
When Sammy moved out, things got strange. Julie had expected to see more of Gill after it happened, but instead Gill fobbed her off for a full week, calling to say that she was working late or texting that she wasn't feeling up to company, even flat-out ignoring messages. Julie was a little perplexed and disappointed by the sudden drought, but she tried to accept that Gill needed a bit of space to get used to her empty nest, and mostly succeeded.
On Saturday evening the drought broke in the form of Gill turning up on Julie's doorstep, apologising for her crazy and tearing Julie's clothes off as soon as they were in the door. Julie was bemused but she accepted the apology, such as it was, written in kisses and telegraphed through fingers, morse code drummed out inside her.
Afterwards, Gill wrapped herself in Julie's dressing gown and fetched them a bottle of wine, and they drank it in bed. Julie was feeling pleasantly stretched and decadent until Gill turned to her and asked: "Did you put the idea in his head, moving out?"
"What? No." Julie gathered the duvet up over her nakedness, feeling suddenly defensive.
Gill barely seemed to hear. "Only he never, ever mentioned it to me, and then you do and suddenly he's gone a few weeks later."
"I think he'd been talking it over with Orla for a while..." Julie tried, but Gill broke in again.
"Because if this is some idea you've got about having me all to yourself, well..."
"Gill." Julie, affronted now, let her voice take on something of the Superintendent bark. It was enough to break Gill's stride long enough for her to get a word in. "Gill, listen to yourself. What single thing that you know about me would suggest that I'd do a thing like that? What parts of my relationship with you and my relationship with Sammy are incompatible?"
Gill couldn't answer.
Julie continued. "I mentioned it to you because Sammy asked me to, because he was worried about how you'd take it, him leaving when you were still recovering. Maybe I shouldn't have - it went against my better judgement - but I thought a bit of advanced warning might be good."
Gill was red in the cheeks. "He could have," she said, hands shaking. "He could have told me that. See, this is what I mean. Everyone's treating me like I'm some fragile thing. Even my own son. Even you."
"I'm sorry," Julie said, meaning it, even though she wasn't quite sure how she'd come to be the one apologising after being ignored for a week, bedded and then accused of conniving. "I thought I was doing right. I'll remember next time. I've never done this before, you know, being the stepmother."
Gill snorted and it turned into a giggle. "I suppose you are, aren't you?"
Julie nodded. "Not as straightforward as I thought. I suppose Sammy asked me that because he's always asked me things he wasn't sure about discussing with you. It didn't feel that strange, which is why I agreed."
"Well don't," Gill said. "If he wants to talk to you, fine, but if he asks you to relay a message, tell him he should be talking to me."
"Okay," Julie agreed, but she did feel like she was getting the rough end of the stick, here. "But you can't come blazing in accusing me of things either, okay? You know I would never." She had to wonder if this was the real reason for the week of silence, too, and if that was the case, she wasn't sure how she felt about sex first, questions later. It felt a bit wrong in retrospect, and Julie opened her mouth to say so, but stopped short when she noticed that Gill was fighting back tears, biting her lip and blinking rapidly.
"I'm sorry," she said, voice rough. "I've been feeling so angry lately. I don't know what's wrong with me."
Julie swallowed her concerns. Gill was all over the place tonight. She'd gone from horny to angry in half an hour, and now from laughter to tears in the space of thirty seconds. She didn't need to hear criticisms on top of that.
Julie switched to support mode instead. "You're still processing," she said. "Anger is normal."
"I'm fucking sick of it!" Gill hissed, clawing tears off her cheeks. "Sick of all of this. Why can't I just…augh." Gill's hands fisted on her knees, she dropped her head back to sigh at the ceiling. After a moment, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders, gave herself a shake, reached for her wine glass and downed what remained of it. "Sorry," she said again, when she turned back to face Julie. "Sorry I'm so fucking crazy. It's boring. No fun to be around."
Julie hated this part, watching someone struggling with something and knowing she couldn't help. Julie always wanted to fix things, make it all better, but experience had taught her that there were some things people just had to do for themselves. Didn't make it any easier, though.
Julie answered the only way she could. Even though she wasn't sure about what had just happened, she nudged Gill's leg with her own and smiled. "I don't know; it was pretty fun when you first got here." It wasn't a lie, and Gill laughed, so that felt like doing something, at least.
"Well, I'm glad of that, anyway," Gill said, leaning across for a kiss. Julie gave it to her, and then Gill refilled her glass from the bottle and topped up Julie's. "Can we put the telly on for a bit? I think I need to turn my brain off."
"All right," Julie agreed, reaching for the remote. "But only if you come and use me as a lounge chair, because you've nicked my gown and I can't be arsed to go and dig a spare out, and I need the warmth."
"Deal," Gill said, and they maneuvered, Julie shifting toward the middle of the bed and propping a few extra pillows behind her shoulders before Gill settled down between her knees and leaned back against her. Gill pulled the duvet up around them as Julie curled an arm around her middle and flicked the telly on.
"What'll it be?" Julie asked.
"Hm," Gill considered, wriggling as she made herself comfortable. "I liked that one we watched last time."
"Orange is the New Black?" Julie asked, chuckling. She kissed the top of Gill's head. "Sometimes I think you're just using me for my Netflix subscription."
Gill laughed and reached for her wine. "You'll never know," she said, holding the glass in her lap.
Julie navigated the onscreen menu, searching for the episode they'd got up to last time. She was considerably further ahead than Gill. A thought occurred to her as she backed up past the one titled 'Tall Men With Feelings'. "All these things you've said to me, you are talking to your therapist about them, aren't you?"
Gill grunted. "Stopped seeing him. He was an idiot, talked a lot of bollocks. Complete waste of taxpayers' money." Her tone was adamant, suggesting the matter wasn't open for discussion. Julie closed her eyes for a moment, stifled a sigh.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," she said, but didn't push it. She'd found the episode and pressed play instead, let Gill get away with that, too.
Later. They could talk about it later, sometime when Gill wasn't so on edge. Right then, it felt like enough just to be.
oOo
It was after that night that Gill started to say she was fine. Julie sourced a list of other police department approved therapists and brought it home to Gill, but Gill barely glanced at it before she laid it aside.
"I'm fine, really. At least, I've decided to be. I know what's wrong with me, I know what my triggers are, and I think I'm better off just getting on with things and not digging at the wound all the time."
"Gill..." Julie started, but was cut off by a perfectly raised eyebrow and a pointed stare.
"Don't. Don't be condescending, Slap. I know what I'm about, and I've made a decision. I need you to accept it."
Julie stood there for several moments just staring at Gill, feeling a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to insist, wanted to push the issue, but was that for Gill's benefit or hers? Was she being condescending, assuming that she knew better than Gill what Gill needed? Was it a product of her deep-seated need to feel like she was doing something to help, or was she right? Would agreeing to drop the issue be enabling?
Julie didn't know, and that terrified her. It reminded her of Abigail, the girlfriend Julie had once come home to find bleeding out in the bathroom. Even though Julie knew logically that she couldn't compare the two relationships, she also knew that she had failed Abigail, that there'd been signs and she hadn't seen them. She'd made mistakes in that relationship, far too many of them, and they'd done damage. She didn't think for a second that Gill was headed in that direction, but there were different kinds of damage, and Julie knew she was in a position where she could prevent it or inflict it. She just couldn't tell which thing she was doing, and she hated that. One thing she could see, though, was that Gill was adamant. Would pushing the issue achieve anything other than making Gill pull away?
Julie sighed. "All right," she said, and Gill beamed.
"I knew I could trust you to listen to me," Gill said, moving forward to curl her arms around Julie's neck. "It means a lot, knowing that. Don't need to pour my heart out to all those idiots when I've got you to hear me."
Gill pulled her down for a kiss, and Julie allowed it, but the knot at the pit of her stomach did not go away.
oOo
Gill did seem somewhat better in the weeks that followed. She seemed to be coping fine at work, and there were no more angry outbursts in the bedroom. She made a show of checking her own car, and she did the grocery shopping by herself as well, delivering several bags to Julie's one evening, one of which contained an almond croissant breakfast for two. That particular item was in a little branded bag, bought from a French patisserie inside the complex where Gill had been shopping the day she was abducted. Julie couldn't help but notice that it was given pride of place when the groceries were unpacked, displayed on the kitchen bench with its emblem shining like a medal.
But even with the improvements, Gill and Julie spent most of their time together at home, and after a while it started to grate on Julie that they'd never been seen together in any setting that wasn't domestic or banal. She wanted to go out with Gill, wanted strangers to put two and two together. She wasn't one for public displays of affection, not these days, but she did like to feel that she was actively resisting groping her girlfriend in public. She wanted Gill to see that look in her eyes, wanted to know if she could incite the same expression in Gill. Perhaps she wanted to test Gill, too, see if she was as fine as she made herself out to be.
"I should take you out sometime," Julie said on a lazy Sunday evening, while was Gill using her lap as a pillow and reading a police periodical. Julie was painting her nails a sparkling navy blue, and she waved them under Gill's nose to draw her attention.
"Hm?" Gill looked up at her, eyebrow a question mark.
"Fancy dinner, maybe dancing. Proper date night; show you off a bit." Julie blew on her nails to dry them off.
"All right," Gill said, unhesitating. "When?"
Julie, pleasantly surprised by the response, considered. "I should be able to get off early enough on Thursday. How does that sound?"
"It's a date," Gill said, smiling, gazing at Julie for a few moments before she went back to her magazine.
oOo
Julie booked a table at a fancy restaurant, spent all week looking forward to their night out. On Monday she spent an illicit half-hour of work time reading restaurant reviews and comparing her favourite choices with nearby clubs so they could go dancing if they wanted to, then on Tuesday evening she picked out her outfit. On Wednesday she refined it by swapping out a few accessories, and when she went to bed that night she had the whole thing packed up and ready to go in the morning.
When Thursday arrived, it was hellish. Julie got to the office at seven and there were already three fires to put out - the night crew had made a series of small mistakes that had snowballed into urgent calls to be made in the morning - and her day only got busier from there. The residents of Manchester were in fine form with the maiming and killing and stealing from each other that day; Julie had to travel to four different syndicates to advise their teams, and attended two crime scenes because of multiple murder. She made statements to six journalists and deflected at least eight more, and spent what must have added up to several hours on the phone with various superiors, offering explanations and reassurances and enduring bollockings. The whole day felt like an exercise in witnessing the worst of what humanity could do to each other, but of course having nothing concrete to show for it at the end - no one to nick, no one to charge, just a pile of paperwork to sign off on. It was on days like these that she missed running her own syndicate, seeing the tangible results of her efforts. Most days, she loved her job - loved being in a position to make decisions and be the change she wanted to see - but sometimes you just wanted to read the charge sheet to some despicable arsehole and watch him begin to realise that he was going away for a very long time.
Thankfully, the one benefit to a more administrative role was that Julie could prioritise. Hell or not, she managed to straighten out the worst of the bureaucratic tangles by five, and decided that everything non-urgent could wait until morning. She was out of the office at ten past, slinging her leather jacket over her shoulders in place of her blazer, and was on the road with her phone set to Do Not Disturb five minutes later. The traffic, of course, was a snarling nightmare that made her wish for the days when she could have slapped a siren on the roof and blown through all of it, but she watched the sun falling toward the horizon in her rear-view mirror and imagined its dying energy propelling her toward Gill, and that made it bearable.
When she arrived at Gill's place she found her in the living room, wrapped in her dressing gown with her face still done from her day. She clearly hadn't been home long herself - the glass of wine beside her was barely touched - but she looked like heaven, relaxed and fuzzy with a magazine in her lap and her stockinged feet propped up on the coffee table. She lifted her head as Julie barrelled in.
"Hiya," Julie sighed, dropping the hanger of her suit bag over the doorknob and disentangling herself from her handbag, dumping it on the side-table before finally, finally coming to a stop.
"Hi." Gill gave her a little smile, watching her for a moment before she set her magazine aside and rose from her seat. "Rough day?"
"Total shite," Julie agreed, reaching for Gill as she approached and pulling her in for a kiss. "Four dead bodies and a colossal fuckup at one of the other syndicates. Surprised I'm still walking, number of times I got raked over the coals."
"Aw." Gill's voice was flippant, but her fingers tiptoed across Julie's shoulder to curl around the back of her neck and pull her down for another kiss. "Guess you didn't have time for any of the non-urgent emails, then."
"I really didn't," Julie said. "Why? How was your day?"
"I was right," Gill said, brimming with it, eyes shining. "That body we dragged out of the quarry, it is Mandy Sweeting. I can't believe I knew just from looking at her."
Julie smiled. "Bloody walking forensic encyclopedia, you. I'm not surprised." She kissed Gill's cheek, clung to her for a moment longer. "But if I have to talk about work for one more minute today I might explode. I am going to have a shower, and put on my fancy clothes, and then I am taking you out."
"Okay," Gill whispered, looking up at Julie. Those were definitely Eyes she was making, but Julie ignored them, releasing her waist with a hand that lingered for just a moment. Later, it said, both to Gill and herself.
When Julie stepped into the shower, it was heavenly. She felt the pressure of the day leave her almost immediately, and found herself just standing under the hot water, eyes closed, letting it all wash away.
Dinner. That was what she wanted to focus on. She was taking her girl to dinner. There would be fancy wine and maybe a candle on the table, and at some point she would make Gill laugh just for the pleasure of hearing it, of seeing that smile and the warmth in her eyes. She would reach across the table and touch Gill's hand, in public and unashamed. Afterward, they would... Well, it had been a long day; maybe they'd skip the dancing so that they still had the energy for other physical activities.
Julie was still daydreaming a few minutes later when she heard the bathroom door click open, but she didn't open her eyes until Gill slipped into the shower with her, naked and smiling.
"Somehow, I knew I'd find you like this - wasting my water," Gill said. Shower spray landed on her collarbones and turned quickly to rivulets that trickled down over her breasts.
"Yeah, well," Julie replied, mind blissfully blank at the sight of Gill suddenly naked and wet in front of her. "It's been a tough day. Need to wash it off."
Gill stepped closer and Julie turned to the side to let the spray hit her more fully, watching the water catch the ends of her hair and turn it dark. "Why don't you let me help you?" Gill asked, reaching for the loofah hanging from the tap. She looked up at Julie, eyes all playful warmth. "Let me take care of you for a change?"
They were pressed for time, that much Julie was aware of. She'd made the booking for seven-thirty, and getting there wasn't going to be a five minute drive. But Gill was squeezing shower gel onto the loofah and reaching up to lather it against Julie's shoulder, and the water was warm and it glistened on Gill's nipples, and that was about all the thought Julie could manage.
"You are tense," Gill murmured, passing the loofah to her left hand as it glided across Julie's collarbones, leaving the right free to massage her shoulder, "even now." Gill's thumb, slick with lather, slid up the side of Julie's throat, and her fingers curled into Julie's shoulder, fanned out. "Let me," she murmured again.
Julie, eyes heavy-lidded, felt mindless, unable to focus on anything but the feel of the water and Gill's touch. Belatedly, she realised that she was being asked for permission, and transfixed by the sight of the water cascading over Gill's belly, nodded.
Gill washed her. With the sudsy loofah she drew circles on Julie's chest and lathered her arms, taking her time to ensure that she covered every inch of skin. Julie stood there, watching as Gill worked, the singular focus on her face and the confidence of her touch, waiting for Julie to lift her arm so she could sponge the inside of it, trailing down to the crook of her elbow and stroking the skin there with a soapy thumb. Julie tingled, warm in a way that had nothing to do with the water, watching the loofah clutched in Gill's hand as it painted stripes down her sides and moved across her belly. Gill's red fingernails were coated in white foam, a sharp contrast, and the loofah tickled the sensitive skin above her hips and made her stomach ripple. Gill glanced up and smiled. She repeated the movement, just lightly, and laughed when Julie's skin quivered again.
"Ticklish?" she asked, but didn't wait for a reply, sliding the loofah higher, following the line of Julie's ribcage up to her breasts, circling them, lathering them up to leave foamy peaks on her nipples. Gill's fingers glided through the suds to cup Julie's breasts, silky thumbs crushing the little clouds as they rolled across her nipples, and that, finally, brought Julie out of her daze.
"Gill," Julie whispered, sliding her arm around Gill's waist to pull her close and feel their slippery skin rub together. She bent her head to pull Gill in for a kiss, deep and warm with the shower spray falling on their faces, and smoothed her hand down over Gill's backside to cup her arse.
"Enough," Gill whispered when their kiss broke, smiling up at Julie, water droplets shimmering on her eyelashes. "I'm taking care of you, remember?" Her voice dropped an octave when she spoke again, a simple smouldering order: "Turn around."
Julie, all of a sudden weak in the knees, obeyed, propping one hand against the tiled wall to steady herself as Gill squirted some more shower gel onto the loofah and reached up to soap Julie's back. Julie felt the soft sponge drag across her shoulders, felt herself turn to jelly as Gill's fingers trailed after it. Down her back it moved, Gill's fingers following, tracing her shoulder blade then curling around beneath her arm to toy with her nipple again.
Julie groaned. "We don't have time for this, Gill."
"Time for what?" Gill asked from behind her, voice all innocence, as the loofah worked its way down her spine to draw circles on her arse. Gill's hand came after, cupping one of Julie's cheeks and spreading them apart so the hot, soapy water trickled down between.
Julie's next groan was more of a growl. She pushed herself back into Gill's hand. "You'd better be planning on finishing what you start."
"Hm," Gill murmured, but Julie could hear the amusement in it, knew exactly what shape the smug little smile on Gill's face would be. Gill squeezed, raked her fingernails up over Julie's arse, and Julie's eyes closed as she dropped her head back onto her shoulders and felt the shower spray her face. "Lean forward," Gill instructed. "Spread your legs."
Julie did as she was told, lifting her other hand to press against the tiles and shifting her heel to widen her stance. Gill was the first of Julie's lovers to ever order her around, and by god did she love it. Maybe she wouldn't have loved it in the past when she'd still felt she had something to prove - maybe she wouldn't have liked it at all coming from anyone else - but there was something about Gill being bossy and demanding that turned Julie's insides all molten. It was a tone of voice she usually only heard Gill use at work, although it had never been directed at her in that context. Something about the parallel, though - that ordering people about was such an innate part of Gill's personality that it sometimes slipped into her sexual self - really worked for Julie. Gill was meticulous and exacting as a professional, after all, and everyone who'd ever worked under her spoke fondly of how rewarding the experience was. Who wouldn't want to play her compliant underling?
The loofah in Gill's hand traced the curve of Julie's hip, down the outside of her thigh, across the back of her knees and up again. When it reached her other hip, it slid around, following the line of her pelvis and tickling the slope of her belly before it slipped between her legs. Gill's free hand followed from the other side, curling around Julie's hipbone and tugging her back. Gill thrust herself against Julie's arse, a little wet slap of skin, before her hand took over from the loofah, gliding through the foam to feel out the shape of Julie's cunt.
"Gill," Julie whispered, pushing herself against Gill's hand and feeling Gill press forward in answer, the swell of her breasts slick against Julie's back. Her arm around Julie was slippery as well, and her fingers satiny as they stroked Julie, wriggling in between her folds to find her clit. "Gill," Julie whispered again, aching, hips rolling into Gill's hand. The pad of Gill's finger pressed against Julie's clit, her hand cupping Julie's mound; the contact made a sucking, squelching noise that was almost obscene. "God," Julie whined.
"I'll finish what I start," Gill murmured, then pulled her hand away abruptly before flicking her fingers against Julie's sex in a sharp, wet slap. "But not here." Julie groaned, then whimpered as Gill pulled her hand away completely, unable to move for several moments, knees wobbly and hands trembling against the tiles.
Gill reached up and detached the shower head from the wall, and then her hand was tracing over Julie's shoulders again, and the water was hot, a powerful pressure against Julie's skin as Gill rinsed the soap suds off her. Downward it moved to the small of her back, and Julie felt the warm water sluice down between her arse cheeks and drip from her already overheated sex.
"Turn around," Gill said, gentler this time, and at her urging Julie managed it, pushing herself up and stumbling in a circle. Gill was smiling, eyes gentle, and with a soft touch she rubbed Julie down, rinsing her body until the water ran clear. "Come on," she said, replacing the shower head and shutting off the water, taking Julie by the hand and guiding her out of the shower stall.
Julie didn't know what to do with this care. She could barely think at all, still throbbing and aching with need. Gill plucked a fluffy towel from the rack and dried her off, rubbing her shoulders and toweling her hair in an act that would have felt almost motherly if not for the way the soft fabric dragged across Julie's rock-hard nipples and the way Gill's hand lingered at her hips.
When Julie was dry - trembling, but dry - Gill gave herself a quick rubdown and then let the towel fall to the floor, taking Julie's hands again and pulling her out into the bedroom. It felt dreamlike to Julie, unreal, the soft carpet beneath her feet and the cool air against the back of her neck as Gill led her over to the bed and directed her to sit down on its edge. When Julie obeyed, Gill kissed her, one hand twining fingers into her damp hair and the other sliding over her shoulder and down to cup her breast and thumb her nipple again.
Julie couldn't speak, could only whimper into the kiss and arch herself against Gill's hand, reduced to incoherent noises and silent begging. When Gill broke the kiss, Julie looked up at her, eyes pleading, and found Gill gazing down at her looking suddenly uncertain. "I want…" Gill whispered. "I've never done this before."
Never…? The thought swam in Julie's mind, formless and uncomprehended, but Gill's thumb stroked her throat, and then she dropped both hands to grip Julie's knees. She pushed them apart as she lowered herself to the floor, and then Julie understood, her breath heavy as she watched Gill settle, sliding her hands down to cup Julie's calves and spread her legs wider. Gill pressed a kiss against Julie's thigh and nuzzled it with her cheek, lifting her gaze to meet Julie's. "May I?" she asked, coy.
Julie would have laughed if she weren't so overwhelmed. She'd been waiting months for Gill to be ready for this, months. She'd reassured Gill that no, she wouldn't be assigning a score out of ten based on her previous partners, and yes, it really was fine for Gill to wait until she was confident and relaxed and into it. And now it was finally happening, Gill kneeling in front of her and wetting her lips, and Julie didn't have a single scrap of language with which to encourage her. She managed a nod, a wobbly sort of smile, and reached out to slide her fingers into Gill's hair.
Gill returned the smile, kissed Julie's thigh again. "You smell so clean," she whispered, trailing her nose along Julie's skin, "it's almost a shame. Still," the kisses moved higher, "I'm sure you taste the same on the inside." Gill's mouth was slow, torturously so, and Julie tightened her grip in Gill's hair just a little, giving it a tug. Gill laughed, turning her face to kiss the opposite thigh, looked up at Julie. "It's only been about thirty years since you first did this for me. What's the hurry?" She was close enough that Julie could feel the heat of her breath; Julie let out a whine and her fingers twitched against Gill's scalp. Gill held her gaze for just a moment longer, then turned it downward, leaning forward and opening her mouth against Julie's cunt.
Julie's hand fisted in the duvet. Her head fell back onto her shoulders and her throat made a noise that was half moan and half sigh of relief. Gill licked her, hands sliding up to hook around her thighs and hold them open as her tongue explored, tentative at first, slow. She seemed uncertain, and Julie made the effort to right her head, looked down, smoothing her fingers through Gill's hair and tracing an ear with her thumb. She canted her hips, murmured encouragement, and with that attention Gill's confidence seemed to grow, her attention becoming more focussed, jaw working, answering Julie's incoherent voice with the hungry, sucking sounds her mouth made as it turned devouring.
Julie groaned. She was hot in the cheeks, flushed and desperate; the air felt thick as she drew it into her lungs. She shifted her hips, letting one foot find proper purchase on the floor and stretching her other out further, letting Gill catch it and hold it there, her legs spread wide and heel aloft. She arched her back, looked down at Gill, kneeling in supplication and performing worship with her mouth, and she cradled Gill's head there, hips jerking and muscles twitching.
Gill's tongue pushed past them, curled into her, and it was almost more than Julie could take. She heard herself making noises, wild and inarticulate, felt her fingers fist in Gill's hair, looked at Gill's face buried in her mound and thought she could die like this, right here, with her cunt quivering and Gill's tongue fucking her like it was the most important thing she would ever do.
And then Gill looked up at her. She didn't break her stride, didn't even pause, but her eyes lifted to meet Julie's and they were wicked and hot, proud and knowing, and Julie could feel her mouth smiling around that curling tongue. Julie lost it. Arching and shuddering, she came, clutching Gill's head and holding it there as her eyes squeezed closed and her hips jerked and she just ground herself against Gill's face, mindless and greedy and burning.
When she came back to herself, she was slumped forward, fingers still in Gill's hair but her grip loosened. She opened her eyes and found Gill looking up at her, head resting against her thigh and mouth glistening.
"Hi," Gill whispered, smiling.
"Hi," Julie breathed, relieved to find that her voice was finally working again.
"All right?" Gill asked, and Julie nodded weakly, smoothing Gill's hair back and tucking it behind her ear.
"Come up here," she said, offering Gill her hands. Gill took them, levering herself up from the floor as Julie scooted back, tugging Gill with her, and a moment later they were collapsed on the bed, warm and tangled.
"Gill," Julie murmured, sliding a hand up her back. The other skated over her ribcage and up to cover her breast. Gill, smiling, leaned down to kiss Julie with a mouth that tasted of sex, humming approval as Julie played with her nipple. A moment later, though, her fingers slipped around Julie's wrist, tugging her hand away and pinning it to the covers.
"None of that," Gill said, thumb massaging Julie's wrist. "I'm taking care of you."
Julie smiled. "You've done that. Quite admirably, I might add." She let her left hand stay pinned to the covers but Gill hadn't done anything about the right, so Julie turned it over and let the backs of her nails trail down Gill's spine.
"It's kind of satisfying, isn't it? Giving with no expectation of getting? I feel all warm and pleased." Gill said all this even as her skin twitched under Julie's touch.
Julie's hand slid over the curve of Gill's arse. "Could make you even more pleased," she said, middle finger tracing the crease of Gill's cheeks but stopping short of slipping any lower.
Gill blinked, bit her lip, but opened her eyes and kissed Julie again. "Maybe later," she said. "Think I'll keep this for a while. Besides, I'm hungry."
"Oh god," Julie groaned. Gill had distracted her so successfully that she'd forgotten all about their dinner reservation. She craned her head back against the covers to look at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly seven. "We are so late."
"Too late," Gill agreed, releasing Julie's wrist and pushing herself up to sit. "We'll never get there by half-past. I can make us something for dinner."
"If we hurry we can make it," Julie said, pushing herself up as well.
"It's a twenty minute drive," Gill said. "At least." She reached for her dressing gown, which she'd left on the end of the bed.
"It's Thursday; hopefully they won't be too busy. I'll give them a call, see if they can hold the table 'til eight." Julie's phone was in the pocket of her jacket, hanging on the chair in the corner. She made a move to retrieve it, but Gill was already tying her dressing gown closed.
"Don't worry about it," she said. "Eight's still pushing it by the time we both get ready. I'll rustle something up, and we can go out some other time. I'm not worried." She disappeared out the door before Julie had a chance to respond, leaving Julie feeling suddenly strange, standing by the chair with her fingers closing around the phone in her pocket, air cool against her naked skin.
"I am," she said to Gill's absence.
She dropped her phone onto the bed, crossed the room to retrieve her own dressing gown from the hook on the back of the bedroom door. She needed to put something on, but it felt like defeat as she wrapped it around her shoulders, drab in comparison to the suit she'd brought with her. She'd picked a shirt with French cuffs, some silver stud cufflinks; she'd even chosen the suit with the waistcoat. She had been looking forward to this night all week, the chance to finally go out with Gill, be seen with Gill, even if not by anyone they knew. It was important to her.
Julie crawled back onto the bed, picked up her phone. She considered calling the restaurant anyway to see how late they could be, but if Gill had already started cooking something… Julie dropped her phone back onto the bed. She knew she should ring the restaurant anyway, cancel the table, but she couldn't face the thought. If she tried to say those words she thought she might burst into tears.
Teary. That was how she felt: queasy with disappointment, cold. She tugged a leg up toward her chest, wrapped an arm around it, glanced down at the black mirror of her phone screen and saw herself peering back, looking forlorn. She'd just had an orgasm, for Christ's sake; why did this dinner matter so much?
Because it did. Because she'd had numerous orgasms by Gill's hand - albeit none by her mouth before - but they'd never been out together as a couple, not properly. Because Gill was so cavalier, too cavalier, but she'd run out of here like someone desperately trying to avoid something she didn't want to do. Because now Julie couldn't help but think that out to dinner was somewhere Gill hadn't wanted to go in the first place, and she'd done that little shower routine and everything that followed as a diversionary tactic to avoid it. And because that wasn't okay, it was so far from okay, and now that the thought was in Julie's head she felt a bit manipulated.
Julie was still sitting there when Gill returned carrying a tray laden with two bowls, two glasses and a bottle of wine. "I managed pasta," she said, sliding the tray onto her dresser and setting about pouring the wine. "Nothing fancy, but I had chicken and pesto and feta in the fridge, so it shouldn't be too awful."
Julie said nothing, watching Gill as she carried on oblivious, scrutinising her ease. It seemed put-on, too chipper, but Julie wasn't sure if she was being unkind, comparing Gill's mood with her own and finding fault through contrast. She took the wine glass when it was offered, set it on the stand, took the bowl although she didn't feel hungry at all. Maybe she was - she couldn't really remember how long it had been since she'd eaten that day. There'd been a sandwich in there somewhere, she thought, but she didn't know when, and perhaps all she needed to feel less suspicious was some food in her belly.
They ate. Gill wolfed hers down, and Julie was sure it must be good, but she barely tasted it. Every mouthful was just salt to her, difficult to swallow, and she gave up trying to enjoy it halfway through, instead just picking at individual strands of spaghetti and watching the way they twined around her fork. The wine was a little better - made her throat feel less dry, at least - but this was definitely not a sustenance problem.
"Day still with you?" Gill asked, when Julie had gone too long without saying anything.
"No," Julie answered, setting the bowl aside, surprising herself with how true that was. Her day hadn't even entered her thoughts, was barely even on the radar anymore. No, the shower had washed that away after all, but this thing was heavier.
"Then what…?" Gill asked, and Julie finally looked up.
"It mattered to me, Gill," she said. "Taking you out. Why didn't you let me call them?"
Gill looked startled, put on the spot. "I just thought with the time...it would be easier." She was holding her empty bowl in her hands, frozen in place. It was a stark contrast to how animated she usually was when she spoke.
Julie shook her head. "I don't believe you," she said, and it made her heart ache to speak that aloud, seemed to erode something. "I think you didn't want to go."
Gill's eyes were large, her mouth opened. "I did. I do, just…"
"Not tonight?" Julie asked, finishing the sentence when Gill couldn't. "Not a month ago, not now. When?"
"Soon," Gill insisted, her cheeks turning pink. "I just panicked."
Julie wasn't having it. "About what? The crowded restaurant, or being seen to be on a date with me? Because you keep insisting that you're fine, so I can only assume the latter, and I need more than that. I need someone who's as proud to be with me as I am to be with them." She knew she'd fallen hard, she really did, but she didn't think dinner was too much to ask.
"I…" Gill whispered, but floundered again, so Julie filled the silence, feeling the words welling up in her now that she'd spoken.
"And you couldn't even be honest with me. You didn't say it. You came into the shower instead and distracted me until it was late enough to beg off. How cheap do you think that makes me feel, Gill? Just offer me sex and it'll all be okay, I won't even notice."
"It wasn't like that," Gill said, finally managing a complete sentence.
Julie felt red in the cheeks herself, now, the queasiness burning away as she let anger take over. "Really? How was it, then? Describe it to me, your thought process." It felt satisfying and necessary to get this out. She'd been so careful with Gill for so long.
"You were worn out!" Gill exclaimed, and there were the hand gestures. The fork clattered in Gill's empty bowl as she let it fall into her lap and her hands flung up defensively. "I just wanted to take care of you! You've taken such good care of me, been so patient, and I thought…" Her hands stilled and she looked suddenly stricken, ill with it.
The fight went out of Julie, a quickly stoked fire smothered by the sight of Gill's distress. She didn't want this, not at all, but she needed to know what was going on in Gill's head.
"Thought what?" Julie's voice was considerably softer when she spoke again.
Gill sounded broken when she answered. "Thought you'd keep being patient with me if I gave you something back." She covered her face with a hand, dragged it down to her mouth. "God, that's awful, isn't it? I sound like Dave, using intimacy as a bargaining chip."
Julie took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment. Her chest felt tight and sore, her breath raw. When she looked at Gill again, her gaze felt heavy. "You're not like him, Gill. It's not awful. But I… I don't think it's healthy, either." She sighed. "I don't know if we can keep doing this."
"Why," Gill whispered. It didn't sound like a question, didn't even sound like disagreement, just an attempt to understand.
Julie shook her head, looked down at her hands. They were curled in her lap, shaking, but she had to say this. "I don't know why you didn't want to go out tonight. I don't know whether it's us or you, but I don't think that matters, really. Either way, it's not working. You seem to be afraid of being seen with me, afraid to own this, and I can't do that. I came out a long time ago, and I won't go back into the closet, Gill, not even for you. And if it is something deeper, if you're not fine and you can't be honest with me about that, then that's worse. Because if that's it, it means I'm not being patient with your recovery, I'm being patient with your excuses, and that's no good for either of us." She toyed with the hem of her dressing gown, couldn't bare to look up and see the look on Gill's face.
Gill took several moments to reply. "I do want to be with you, Julie. I mean that."
Julie swallowed. Her throat felt thick. "I believe you," she whispered, hoarse, and finally lifted her gaze to meet Gill's. Her eyes were like an ocean, deep and sad, but Julie forced herself to look, because owning this action was important, too. "I don't want this to be over, either." Even now, she wanted to reach out, wanted that familiar tactile comfort they'd always been so easy with, but that seemed wrong here. She pushed herself to speak again. "But is this a symptom of what's going on in your head, or do we want different things? Why do you think this happened?"
It was a dreadful, hanging sort of question. Julie watched Gill, found herself hoping that Gill would say she was still struggling, that things were still muddled and desperate and that she needed time to keep working it out. Julie could do that, she could be the support; it terrified her how desperately she wanted that to be it, for Gill to not be fine so that she could go on ignoring her own needs and putting herself second. She could, she would; all Gill needed to do was ask.
But Gill shook her head. "I don't know," she said.
Julie sighed, a heavy breath that deflated her lungs. She felt drained all of a sudden, heavy and sad. "Then I can't do this, Gill. I don't want to just share your bed, I want to share your life. And if you can't explain, if you're not even willing to try… If this is all there is, it's not enough for me."
"What if there is more?" Gill whispered "What if there can be?" There was a sort of desperation in Gill's eyes, a fear Julie couldn't interpret. That she shouldn't have to interpret. This wasn't a game of fucking smoke signals.
"Then you need to work out what it is that's holding you back, and call me when you figure it out." Julie shifted toward the edge of the bed.
"Julie," Gill whispered, "Slap."
Tears stung at Julie's eyes; she hesitated on the edge of the bed. Every fiber of her physicality wanted to turn around, forget all of it, bury her words somewhere deep and just pretend for another minute, another day, another year. But that wasn't her, and it wouldn't be them. Julie knew how that story ended, and it wasn't with a thirty-five year friendship intact. "I'm sorry," she said, pushing herself up.
Julie's vision was blurry as she redressed herself, hands shaking as she zipped her trousers and pulled her shoes back on. She was trying to rebutton her shirt with trembling fingers when Gill spoke again.
"Julie?" She sounded shaky too, like a terrified little girl. Julie looked up. Gill seemed tiny in that moment, lost and alone in the big bed with her legs curled up and her hands limp in her lap. But when she spoke again her voice held a fierce sort of fragility, like she'd gathered up her courage to seek clarification. "What if this is it? What if I can't be what you need?"
Julie finally managed to get her top button done up, swallowed against her roiling insides. Was this her fault, too? Had she made the same mistake with Gill that she'd made with so many others, imagined their relationship into more than it was, dreamt Gill into someone she wasn't capable of being?
Julie didn't know. All this articulate thought and ultimately she was just as unable to understand herself as Gill. She was too close to see; maybe they both were. The thought galvanised Julie, settled her. They both needed time and space to figure out how they felt and what was important to them, and Julie would give them that, no matter how much it hurt. Or how terrifying it was. What if they did decide that it couldn't work?
Julie straightened her cuffs. "Then we go back to how we were before," she said, "to a place where we were both comfortable. To being friends."
Right at that moment, it seemed impossible. With her hands steadying and her jaw setting even as her chest ached and her legs refused to shift, Julie looked at the distance between them and it seemed unfathomable, altered forever. But she had to say it, had to believe they could achieve that. Gill meant too much to her for her to consider anything less.