Author's Note:I hope you enjoy this final chapter! My thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story throughout posting and left feedback in any form. My apologies for how long it went between updates and I love all of you for the continued support.
vi.
By midnight, the conversations have petered out a bit, and Julie finds herself quiet. She's not sitting alone - rather on the edge of a booth where a few colleagues she hadn't yet spoken to had invited her to sit half an hour earlier - but she can only half hear them over the jukebox, and she doesn't have much to add to the conversation anyway. So Julie finds herself people-watching, nursing her pint and wondering if she should finish it and go, enjoy the night for what it was and say goodbye.
Other people have. The lads from Duke Street left about an hour ago, ostensibly home but probably off to some club in the city and just being polite about it, and Julie doesn't think it'll be long before Rachel Bailey and Will Pemberton make tracks. Julie's sneaked glances at them since she and Rachel spoke, checking in, fancying herself a sort of unofficial wingwoman, ensuring Rachel's chances aren't jeopardised by some overly eager junior sidling over to bend Pemberton's ear for an hour. They seem to be doing fine, though, so Julie wonders if it might be time for her to call it a night.
She's certainly drunk enough. Five shots in as many hours and a pint to chase each of them, and she still feels coherent but she knows she's probably only a drink or two away from disgracing herself. She should go, but even knowing that Julie finds herself unwilling to rise from her seat or drain her pint any faster, and in the end she does know why.
She hasn't really spoken to Gill. Across-the-room banter aside, they've barely said a word to each other, and that isn't the way Julie wants to end her night. It's typical, of course - this is Gill's party, and her attention has been in high demand all night with people arriving and departing and wishing her well - but Julie had hoped they might grab a few moments at least, if only to re-establish where they stood as friends.
Gill had never called her. Oh, scratch that, she had, but only to ask, completely out of the blue, if Julie would attend the police awards gala in her stead. Julie had misconstrued that phone call horribly. Is this the moment? she remembers thinking, immediately hoping that this was Gill's way of mending some bridges, asking Julie to attend a public function with her, stepping off that to wherever it took them. But of course it hadn't been, it had been Gill asking her to attend the function in place of her, as if Julie accepting that award on Gill's behalf would not have been in the worst taste imaginable. As if the last proper conversation they'd had hadn't torn them both to pieces.
Julie hadn't known what to make of that. Was it Gill's way of indicating, however obtusely, that she was sorry but she wanted to take Julie up on Option B, and just go back to being friends? Or was there something larger at play? God alone knew why the department had thought that presenting an award to someone for surviving the attack of a traumatised woman who should never have been charged in the first place was a good idea. Julie fully understood why Gill was reticent about accepting it, but what she didn't know was why Gill thought it in any way appropriate to ask her to attend instead. Whatever Gill's reasons, it had still felt like communicating in smoke signals to Julie, so, frustrated and disappointed, she'd refused, hung up the phone, and not called back.
Which meant of course that the next time she spoke to Gill was after Janet's disturbing phone call, playing the far-too-casual game herself as she tried to juggle their recent history with her professional obligation to Gill and her team. It was the most uncomfortable conversation they'd ever had, ignoring a room full of elephants so effectively that Julie wasn't sure they'd said a single meaningful word. There had been the reference to people on her team being worried about her, Julie remembers that, though she had avoided the drinking issue completely. Possibly the word 'erratic' had been in there somewhere. Gill, for her part, had been cooly flippant and stiff as a post, shoulders so straight Julie could have balanced a ruler on them. "I'm sure they mean well," she remembers Gill saying, pointedly typing an email as she spoke, "but I'm fine. I'll try and be more consistent for them." That had been as far as the conversation went.
Gill and Julie's relationship has remained in a state of limbo ever since. Julie knows, now, that Gill was not fine, couldn't possibly have been, but in the absence of an honest conversation about it, she can't see that any of her reasons for taking a step back have changed. Those last few weeks had shown Julie that Gill was willing to lie to her at work - though not, Julie suspected, any more than she was lying to herself. Even so, it didn't exactly exactly fill her with confidence when it came to their personal lives. But Julie doesn't want to grow resentful, and so has resolved to accept Gill's lack of response as a statement of its own and just get on with being her friend again. It's worked, mostly - Julie is, after all, relatively used to the sensation of wanting more from Gill than she's willing to give, of drawing boundaries around her feelings to protect herself - but it does feel different enough this time that she'd like some proper closure.
"All right, Slap?"
Julie looks up. As if summoned by her thoughts, Gill is standing beside her, elbow propped against the top of the booth and glass of wine in hand. She smiles. "Care to fall off the wagon with me?" She's holding two cigarettes in her free hand.
"Where'd you get those?" Julie asks, dumb and full of alcohol.
"Mitch," Gill answers, apparently not noticing the stupidity of the question. "He was loathe to part with two, but when I said you looked like you needed one too, he agreed. You coming?"
A smoke. Outside on the balcony, away from the noise and the eyes of the other guests. Julie looks up at Gill and her stance is casual but her eyes are thoughtful; seems that's part of the plan. Is this the moment Julie has been waiting for?
"All right," she says, unfolding herself from her seat. She's been so quiet that her companions barely notice her farewell.
As she and Gill move toward the door that leads to the balcony, Julie catches Mary's gaze following them. They make eye contact, momentary but meaningful, and Mary pushes herself out of her seat as they pass. From the corner of her eye Julie sees Mary circle, following them toward the door, and as they slip out onto the balcony she notices Janet converging as well, greeting Mary as they take position in front of the doors, no doubt ready to run interference if anyone else should try to slip outside. Julie can't help but smile as she pulls the door closed - apparently there's an entire squadron of wingwomen here tonight.
Once outside, Julie follows Gill over to the edge of the balcony and sets her pint down on the table beside them. They don't sit down. Instead, Gill balances her wine glass on the balcony rail and passes Julie one of the cigarettes. She lights her own then extends the small flame toward Julie, who leans in to use it.
Smokes lit, they right themselves, standing in silence for several moments and staring out at the night. The first puff makes Julie heady; her brain does an alcoholic spin and she curls a hand around the balcony rail to anchor herself. It passes by the time she takes the second puff, and she looks around, appreciating the tiny fairy lights decorating the outdoor area and studying Gill's face in profile. Out here alone she looks thoughtful, neither tense nor relaxed, just quiet. Perhaps open.
But Gill has made the first move. It's up to Julie, now, to make the second.
She starts small. "So, how does it feel, making it official? What's being a retiree like?"
Gill glances sideways at Julie, smiles. "Strange," she answers, sounding unguarded for the first time in months. "A little bit scary. But necessary, I think. I lost my confidence and I'd had enough."
Julie takes a drag on her cigarette, nods. "Does it feel right?" she asks.
"Not quite yet," Gill says, taking a puff of her own. "But it doesn't feel wrong, either. I wanted to give myself some time. I spent months asking you to, then I realised I wasn't giving myself any. Now I have it; I can re-evaluate, figure out what it is I really want."
Julie smiles around a sip of beer. "You know, you could have done that by taking leave." It's sly, teasing - the first comment of its kind, Julie realises with a pang, that she's made since that difficult conversation. It feels at once strange and as easy as breathing - easy because it's familiar, strange because she's noticed it, and she never used to. She lets it hang, though, tries to be comfortable with this vague awkwardness, and after a moment Gill rewards her with a grin.
"Have you ever known me to do something by halves, once I made a decision?" she asks.
"I suppose not," Julie replies, remembering how hard-headed Gill had been when she'd finally decided to turf Dave, and then, unbidden, the memory of that look in her eyes the last time they'd been together flashes into Julie's mind: Gill all secret and pleased with her mouth all over Julie's cunt.
Not helpful. Julie wrenches herself away from the thought.
They fall into silence for another few moments. Gill picks up her wine glass and takes a sip, lays it back down again. Julie reaches over the balcony and taps the ash off the end of her cigarette.
"Do you still need it?" she asks, quietly, once she's had another puff and a sip of her beer. "Time? From me?" Laying her drink down, Julie curls her fingers around the railing again, tries not to grip it even though she's bracing.
Gill takes a draw on her smoke, exhales a stream into the night air before she replies, just as quiet: "Are you waiting?"
Julie laughs, a wry gust of breath from an aching chest. "Of course I am," she says. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
Gill leans against the balcony rail. "I wasn't sure, not after that conversation we had about the awards do."
Julie sighs. "I didn't know what that conversation was, Gill. I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't know what you were asking me for."
Gill hesitates. "I think," she says, glancing off into the distance for a moment before returning her gaze to Julie, "I think I was asking for help. It was the weirdest night, and I got so pissed I'm lucky I didn't fall over onstage. I didn't want an award. I didn't want to face it."
"You could have told me that," Julie says, resisting the urge to shake her head. 'Daft cow' also goes unspoken.
"I know," Gill says, giving her own head a shake. "I know. But I couldn't, I wasn't… Suppose it took me being publicly humiliated to realise what an idiot I've been. Lying to myself. Feels better now, though, with the weight off. I'm seeing someone again; a therapist."
"Oh?" That does surprise Julie.
"Yeah," Gill says, with a wry smile. "A woman this time, not on the police approved list, which honestly always bothered me. I've only been twice so far, but I like her better. She asked me what I wanted out of the sessions, and we established no touchy-feely bollocks right from the start."
Julie laughs and it's an honest sound, warm and thankful. "That's good," she says. "Glad you found someone who fits."
"And no," Gill murmurs, almost without a pause for breath, sneaking the words into the conversation, "I don't need any more time."
It takes Julie a moment to catch up, slow and dopey with the booze and the sudden tight in her chest. "What does that...?" she manages, but by then Gill is already answering the question.
"I want to be with you. I didn't stop wanting that." Gill finishes her cigarette and flicks it over the railing, turns to face Julie properly. "I don't..." she starts, then breaks off, frustrated, glances at her wine glass as though she wants to reach for it to make the words come easier, but doesn't. "I'm not the most publicly demonstrative person, and I might not ever be. This is very new to me, really - being in a relationship that might make other people shocked, might draw attention. I'm working on being okay with that - it's one of the reasons I wanted to retire, honestly, thinking about how much the job has cost me over the years and realising it just wasn't that important to me anymore. There are other things that matter more than my - or at least how I always imagined my - professional reputation. But I need you to be okay with me not being as brave as you." Only when she's finished speaking does she reach for her wine glass, and she takes a careful sip instead of a gulp.
It's a lot for Julie to take in, a lot for her brain to process in the state it's in. It occurs to her that this may not be the best time for this, with her half-cut and slow, but when have they ever waited for the right time? Her brain is still with her, works through all of it and begins to formulate a response.
"I'm not brave," is what she starts with, in the end. "I made a choice a long time ago, is all, maybe the one you're making now, deciding which things were the most important. Choosing the way I did isn't really any braver than choosing what you did; they're just different." Julie's own cigarette is almost gone now. She takes a final drag on it and tosses the butt in the same direction Gill did. When she looks back at Gill, she finds her smiling, eyes a mixture of amusement and heart-stopping affection.
"Knowing that much about yourself is brave," Gill says. "Being that honest with yourself is brave. You give me a bit too much credit if you think I ever had difficult conversations with myself instead of just doing what was expected. You've always thought too much of me." Even in the half light Julie can see that there is colour in Gill's cheeks when she glances down at her wine and swirls the glass in her hand.
There's a great big something in Julie's chest, something hot and tight. The way Gill sees her is something she's never been able to account for. She feels like someone larger, someone better, when Gill looks at her like that. Her urge to reach out for Gill is almost painful, but she dampens it down, knows there's more she needs to say before she can.
"I think maybe I expected too much of you," she says, "after everything, and knowing the way you are. Maybe I forgot how new it was and how hard it would be for you because I wanted it so badly, because it felt so right. I know we're different, I really do, but that's what…" She trails off, isn't sure what she wants to say. What I love about you, maybe, but it feels too much, too heavy a word to use in this moment. It hangs there unspoken, though, in the air, and Julie lets it. "I don't think too much of you," she whispers, once she's left room for it. "You really are everything."
Gill smiles. "You're fucking pissed," she says, even though the warmth in her eyes belies her dismissive words. "But I'll take it." She sets her wine glass down again, takes a step toward Julie, reaches out a tentative hand and slides her fingers through Julie's. "I want to be braver for you," she says. "Come and dance with me?"
"All right," Julie murmurs, feeling Gill's grip settle into hers, warm and steady. "Better do something to stop Mary and Janet from pressing their faces against the window."
"Are they?" Gill asks, but doesn't turn around.
Julie laughs, gives the interior a quick scan. "No. But give it five minutes."
"Well, we can't have that," Gill murmurs. She's close now, Julie realises, close enough to lean down and kiss. Julie hesitates, though, mindful of Gill's boundaries, and the moment passes. Gill steps back, giving Julie's hand a tug. "Come," she says, leading the way. Julie, feeling dazed, follows.
They leave their drinks behind. As they slip back inside, Gill doesn't release Julie's hand, and they pass by Mary and Janet without a word. Julie can feel their eyes, can imagine the triumphant smiles on their faces, but Gill is moving much too purposefully for her to turn around and look. They slip around tables and then weave through the small crowd at the bar, one of whom is Mitch. Gill pauses for a moment to hand his lighter back.
"Going to have a dance," she says, though, precluding interruption, and Mitch just smiles and lifts his eyebrows.
"Righto," he says, and they move on.
Gill pulls Julie onto the floor. The song is familiar - a bit too recent for Julie to be able to identify it, but familiar. That doesn't matter, though, because Gill is shifting her grip in Julie's hand to tug it upright, and her next move pulls Julie in close.
"Come on, you big drunk dinosaur," she says, smiling, "dance with me."
That pulls Julie out of her stupor. "Dinosaur?" she challenges, sliding her free hand around Gill's waist. "Aren't you the retired Godzilla?"
Gill smirks. "Godzilla's a monster. Lots more powers. I'm a retired monster."
"Terrifying," Julie quips, turning Gill in a circle. "What does a retired monster do, anyway? Does she give up being a monster and learn to ice cupcakes, or does she downsize from levelling cities to roaring at lazy retail workers and incompetent drivers?"
"Maybe she just goes independent," Gill says, letting her hand curl around Julie's arm. "Rents herself out for children's birthday parties. Lights the candles with her breath and rips down the bouncy castle. That sort of thing."
"Demonstrates correct tail-lashing technique to budding young monsters," Julie agrees, as they find the rhythm. "Yeah, I like that."
"Glad you approve." Gill smiles.
They dance. Julie is drunk and clumsy so she's not the smoothest she's ever been, but that hardly matters. They ease into the first song, a semi-slow pop number that's easy enough to move to, but when that fades out they find that someone has picked a rock 'n roll track, so they pick up the pace.
"Who's the oldie?" Gill wonders, but it's fun to dance to. They lose their snug pose, keep their hands clasped, turn into creatures made of bouncing feet and swinging hips. There is a smile on Gill's face and Julie can feel herself grinning in answer, can feel her heart start to beat faster with the exertion, shaking off the sluggishness of the booze and lightening her swing apart, come back together, catch each other's empty hands and jive.
The song is energetic and fun, undemanding, but there's still a thrill in it, in dancing in this pub with Gill. Julie doesn't want to waste it. She spins Gill around and catches her about the waist, holds her there and sways with her for a few seconds so they can both see their colleagues and friends not bothered in the slightest by their closeness, barely even noticing. Gill moves with her, warm and energetic, then without warning arches her back, pushing her arse back into Julie and grinding against her. Julie jerks, making a noise of surprise that must be audible over the music, because Gill is laughing as she spins back around, catching herself with an arm around Julie's neck.
"Too much?" she asks, pulling Julie down a little so her voice and breath wriggles into Julie's ear.
Julie bends her head to whisper right back: "Not really; just surprised me is all. I like your bum." For emphasis, she lets her hand drop from Gill's waist to give the bum in question a squeeze, grinning when Gill gives a little self-conscious squeak and pulls back to dislodge her hand. She's smiling, though, eyes all fire and cheek, and somehow her grip on Julie's other hand seems even warmer as they resume dancing at a respectable distance.
This. This is everything Julie wanted those months ago, is everything she could have asked for for this night. She lifts her hand and twirls Gill beneath it, feels the music vibrate up through her toes. Gill's cheeks are pink and her hair swings and bounces as she moves, and her unbridled enthusiasm fills Julie up with a wild sort of joy. They are here and they are dancing together and they don't care what anyone thinks about it. It's exhilarating and honest and right. With a grin, Gill lifts her own hand and invites Julie to twirl. Julie does, but her feet are more enthusiastic than her head, and swinging back to get under Gill's arm makes it spin. She stumbles on her way out of the turn, lurches sideways, but Gill's fingers pull her up, arm catching her by the waist, tugging her close to keep her upright.
"Bit drunk for that one, were you?" Gill asks, amused, palm flattening against Julie's back. They sway together while Julie recovers.
"Apparently," Julie agrees, dizzy. "Might need to slow down a bit."
"We can do that," Gill murmurs, letting them fall out of time with the music. Her body is pressed tight to Julie's, using all of her leverage to keep Julie upright, but even when Julie's balance returns she doesn't pull away. The song ends, and the next one up is slower, sinuous and full of bass. Gill's hand finally releases Julie's and slides onto her shoulder instead, the other joining it a moment later to curl around the back of her neck. "This is good too," she says, stretching herself out along Julie's body.
"It is," Julie breathes, feeling her voice more than hearing it. Gill smiles up at her, and Julie finds that her hands are trembling when she lays them on Gill's hips.
It definitely is. Gill's body is firm against her, radiating heat. Julie's senses feel amplified by the booze. Here is the warm swell of breasts against her body, there the coarseness of denim beneath her palms. Maybe her head is still spinning a bit after all, because she feels like that, like she's floating, anchored only by touch and the humming notes of the song. It's got to be the booze, must be, because why else would she suddenly feel this way? Julie has danced with dozens of women in her lifetime, both lovers and strangers, and yet here she is, acutely conscious of the curve of Gill's hips under her hands, feeling like a teenager at her first disco.
"You're going pink," Gill observes, looking up at her, a wicked twinkle in her eye.
"Am I?" Julie asks, affecting ease, but of course it's a lie, and of course Gill's notice only makes the heat in her cheeks intensify. Gill's smile widens, and Julie laughs, concedes, dropping her head to hide her blush in Gill's shoulder and hair. "You do have that effect on me," she murmurs in Gill's ear.
But Gill won't accept Julie's bashfulness, turns her head so her nose brushes Julie's cheek. "Good," she says. "Because I'm all in, so I hope this means as much to you as it does to me." Her fingers slide up into Julie's hair, steer her around, and then Gill is kissing her, warm and long and slow, and Julie's head spins away completely.
oOo
Sometime later - could be half an hour, could be half a year - the last jukebox song ends. As the final bars fade out, brighter lights flicker on to signal closing time, and Gill and Julie return to the world.
"I suppose that means I should say goodbye to people," Gill says, lifting her head from the curve of Julie's neck where it's been nestled throughout the last two slow songs.
"A real goodbye," Julie agrees, loosening her hold on Gill's waist.
Gill nods. "Strange thought," she says, blinking. "Come with me?"
Julie smiles. "Of course."
They make the rounds. There are few enough still standing, but even so Gill endures more hugs and sloppy cheek kisses than she's probably ever consented to before in her life. Julie's presence by her side earns them a few knowing looks, but there is very little awkwardness, just some pointedly enthusiastic well-wishing. By the time they find their way around to Mary and Janet - they're sitting together by this point, which is a little bit terrifying given that their shared knowledge of and ability to decipher clues about Gill and Julie's history is probably enough to write a tell-all memoir - Gill is looking slightly overwhelmed by the strange reality of farewelling her colleagues for the last time.
"All right?" Julie asks, nudging Gill's shoulder with her own.
Gill looks up at her and smiles. "Yeah," she answers, "I'm good." Even so, her fingers find Julie's again a moment later, curl into them for strength or reassurance, and that is how they approach their two old friends.
Mary's not one for subtle glances. She takes one look at them, drains her wine glass and says, "I see you two finally got your act together. Hallelujah; only took you thirty-odd years."
Julie arches an eyebrow and Gill smiles, but neither of them respond.
"Thanks for coming," Gill says, in the end. "And thank you for the speech, Janet."
Janet rises from her seat. "You'll notice I didn't mention that birthday," she says, and Gill laughs as she releases Julie's hand and accepts yet another hug.
"Bloody lucky you didn't," Gill says. "I could still kill you and make it look like an accident, retired or not."
They pull back. "Rachel said to say goodbye," Janet says. "She and Will Pemberton left about half an hour ago. She wanted to come and say it herself, but she didn't want to interrupt."
For the first time since they came back inside, Gill's cheeks turn pink. "Suppose I owe her an apology," she says, "telling her off for fraternising with a senior officer. Bit hypocritical."
"Hey," Julie says, giving Gill a nudge, "you're retired. I'm not your senior anything anymore."
""Cept in age," Mary pipes up, grinning.
"Always a little ray of sunshine, you," Julie retorts.
"I'm the realist at any gathering," she says, but then slides out of her seat to give Gill her own farewell hug. "Have fun spending all that extra time in bed. Oh, and sleeping more, too." Mary grins and Gill laughs and shakes her head. "And if it ever feels a bit too pleasant, you can always come visit me at work and I'll wheel out a particularly nasty corpse for you."
Gill laughs again. "As enticing as that is, Mary, I don't think I'll get sick of the pleasure any time soon." She glances at Julie with a secretive smile and eyes that turn smouldering, and the gesture is so confident and possessive that Julie nearly melts into the floor. Good god, she could get very, very used to this side of Gill.
Goodbyes complete, Gill and Julie allow themselves to be herded out of the pub by the staff. Julie feels like she is more clear-headed as they leave - the dancing has evaporated some of the alcohol - but when the night air hits them her feet don't seem to agree, stumbling on the step down to the street and only avoiding falling off her heels because Gill's hand, lightning fast, shoots out to catch her around the waist.
"Steady on," Gill says, hand hooking around Julie's hip as the other catches her arm. "Bloody hell, you're hammered." Her smile is crooked as she waits for Julie's balance to recover. When it has, Gill releases her, sliding an elbow through hers in lieu of the full-body bind. "It's been a long time since I was the one holding you up. Come on, I'm taking you home."
Julie grins, bumping Gill's hip as they fall in behind the others wandering up the street toward the cab rank. "I like the sound of that," she says.
Gill laughs. "Putting you to bed rather than taking you to bed, Slap. I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of drunken ladies, not when I'm not there myself."
Julie knows she must be sobering up a little, if only because it finally occurs to her to wonder why Gill is so much less inebriated than her. "How come you're not?" she asks. "People must've been buying you drinks left and right tonight."
Gill smiles. "Didn't let them. After the way I left, I didn't think it would be the best look. It's good -" she punctuates her words by leaning into Julie for a moment and pressing a kiss against her shoulder "- proved to myself that I can still be brave without it."
There are a few cabs waiting at the rank. As the guest of honour, Gill gets first pickings, waved in by drunken cops behaving like knights to a queen. Joining in, Julie musters herself to open the door, waving theatrically for Gill to climb inside before following her, then promptly taking a few goes to get the door properly closed.
Gill laughs at her. "Boozy cow," she says, reclining into her seat.
"Where to?" the cab driver asks, and Julie looks at Gill.
"Your place or mine?" Gill asks, smiling.
Julie considers. "Hm, mine," she says, after a moment. "I've got bacon in the fridge for breakfast." She gives the driver her address.
As they move off, Julie takes advantage of Gill's relaxed position, sidling up close and stretching one arm out along the back of the seat, dropping the other to curl around Gill's middle, fingers slipping under the flap of her jacket and settling against the silky fabric of her top. "I'm not that drunk, you know," she murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle Gill's ear.
Gill hums in amusement. "I've doubts about your dexterity," she responds, but doesn't make any move to push Julie away. In fact, she cants her head to expose her throat, which Julie takes full advantage of, curling her hand back to drag Gill's hair out of the way with a thumb before her lips find Gill's jaw, trailing along it before moving down her neck, kissing and nibbling.
"Am I convincing you?" she asks when she lifts her head again, fingers flexing against Gill's side.
Gill smiles, turns her head so her mouth is closer to Julie's but doesn't kiss it. "You're tempting," she says, "but do I need to remind you that we're in a taxi, and quite possibly on dash cam?" Gill lifts her chin in the direction of the driver, and Julie follows her gaze to note that there is indeed a camera attached to the rear-vision mirror.
"Right," Julie murmurs. Suitably chastened, she sits up, resolves to keep her hands to herself. She lets her hand slide away from Gill's cheek and and stretches her arm back out along the top of the seat, makes to pull the other back into her lap.
"No," Gill protests, stopping her. "That's not what I meant." She peers at Julie for a moment, sincere, then smiles again and shifts in her seat, curling in against Julie's body and tucking her head under Julie's chin. "Just don't want to get arrested, is all," she murmurs.
"Right," Julie says again, chuckling and feeling sheepish. She relaxes, lets her arm curl down around Gill's shoulder, feels them take a breath in tandem. "This is good too."
They fall into silence, warm and comfortable. After a time, Julie becomes aware that her hand is still beneath Gill's jacket, and camera or no, she lets it creep up until her fingertips find Gill's nipple, slide back and forth against it.
Gill hums her laughter. "Cheeky," she murmurs, but doesn't seem to mind at all.
oOo
Julie is so cozy and warm by the time the taxi reaches her place that she's half fallen asleep, head drowsy and thick as the car slows to a halt. She's grateful for Gill's sobriety, then, because she takes care of paying the driver and digging her keys out of her purse before Julie even has the chance to blink, and then she's nudging Julie out the door and making sure she hasn't left her bag behind.
"Come on, you," she says, catching Julie's elbow after the taxi's driven away, "up to bed."
By the time they reach the front steps, Julie feels more awake, but she's still careful as she navigates the stairs in her heels. When she reaches the top, Gill already has the door open, and they're barely inside before Julie kicks her shoes off, tugging the straps undone as she leans on the door for support.
"Good idea," Gill says, watching her, eyeing the staircase that leads up to the bedrooms.
"Experience," Julie replies, shoving her shoes against the wall.
Gill smiles. "Go up. I'll get us some big glasses of water, and maybe some painkillers for you."
"Good idea," Julie says, grabbing the banister and pulling herself up the first step.
"Experience," Gill responds, disappearing toward the kitchen.
When Julie flicks her bedroom light on, she sighs. She forgot to make her bed this morning, and there's evidence of several party clothing choices tried on and rejected strewn across the sheets. Dropping her bag on her dresser and shedding her jacket, Julie fixes the room up, tossing the unworn clothes onto her chair and straightening the bedcovers. She uses the bathroom, brushes her teeth, hides this morning's half-drunk mug of tea behind a photo frame, and is shimmying out of her jeans when Gill enters the room, sitting on the edge of the bed to do it because she still doesn't trust her balance.
"I've figured out what I can do with my retirement," Gill says, smiling as she comes through the door holding two glasses of water.
Julie kicks her left trouser leg off and looks up. "Oh?" she asks, fingers curling around the edge of the mattress as she adjusts her position, trying to look flirtatious rather than ridiculous.
It seems to work. Gill pauses just inside the door to let her gaze rake over Julie, taking her in from toes to face. "Yeah," she responds when her eyes meet Julie's, though her next words puncture Julie's act. "I could start by doing some science experiments on the things in your kitchen."
Sheepish, Julie laughs, and Gill approaches, extending her arm to offer Julie one of the glasses of water. Julie takes it, running with the joke like she'd never intended anything different. "There could be a new race of corn-creatures living in the saucepan. They mightn't appreciate being experimented on."
"Hand," Gill says, uncurling her ring and pinkie finger to reveal two painkillers pinned there. Julie lifts her palm and Gill tips the pills into it. "Human experimentation could be a better option than being attacked by the potato nation from the cupboard," she adds, as Julie tips her head back to swallow the pills.
"I don't have any potatoes," Julie disagrees, after downing a mouthful of water.
Gill smirks. "That's what they want you to think." Moving away, she sets her glass down on the bedside table and heads for Julie's dresser. "Mind if I help myself?" she asks.
"Go ahead," Julie answers, though she's not sure bringing Gill home is going in quite the direction she wanted to steer it.
Gill rifles through Julie's t-shirt drawer until she finds some items she likes. Closing it, she tosses one in Julie's direction, laughing when Julie fails to respond quickly enough to catch it. It lands on Julie's knee then slips to the floor, and Gill bends down to pick it up, pressing it into Julie's hands as she takes the water glass Julie's holding.
"Put that on," she says. "I don't trust the state of your pyjamas, wherever they are." She moves to set Julie's glass down on the opposite bedside table, and Julie stares at the t-shirt in her hand and doesn't move. This isn't going the way she wants.
Gill is shedding her clothes. She toes her shoes off and tucks them in the corner, drops her jacket over the chair, and then she's tugging that pink top off over her head while Julie watches, revealing a lacy aubergine bra. Her jeans go next - matching knickers, Julie notes - and then the bra's coming off, Gill's chest thrust out for a moment as she reaches behind herself to unclip it, then straps sliding down over shoulders and a glimpse of those rosy nipples.
It's only a glimpse. Gill pulls the t-shirt over her head almost instantly, straightens it at her hips, then looks up at Julie, who can't help but grin at her choice. The t-shirt is pale blue, old and well-worn, with a graphic of an interlocking pair of scissors on the front.
"Nice," Julie says, and Gill glances down at herself and laughs.
"I was just going for soft," she says, but she's still smiling when her eyes meet Julie's again. "You should put that on." She glances at the t-shirt in Julie's hands before she heads for the loo.
Julie doesn't move while Gill's gone. It's not deliberate; more just that she gets distracted by a spot of light on the wall and ends up staring at it, mind hopping on then abandoning several trains of thought about how to move this night in a direction that involves more than going straight to bed. By the time Gill emerges from the bathroom, she still hasn't thought of anything, and Gill stops short at the sight of her still in the exact same position.
"Don't you remember how to dress yourself?" she asks, amused.
Julie does, of course, and she's quite sure she can manage it. Gill's comment gives her an idea, though, so she shakes her head, watches Gill's expression turn exasperated.
"Any more transparent and you'd be invisible," she sighs, but moves to put herself within Julie's reach anyway. Standing before Julie, Gill regards her for a few moments, trying to stare her down. Her expression is stern but her eyes are warm, and Julie doesn't give in, remains still. "Do I have to do it for you?" Gill asks, and Julie nods.
"Right, then." Gill reaches for the hem of Julie's top. "Arms up." Julie obeys, and Gill tugs the garment off over her head, gets her down to her bra. Julie smiles, but Gill is doing remarkably little checking out, instead arching an eyebrow and asking: "This too?" When Julie nods again, Gill leans forward, and Julie enjoys the press of their bodies together as Gill reaches around her back. Before Gill can pull away, Julie strikes, catching Gill by the hips and pitching herself backward, pulling Gill with her. Gill gives a little squeak of surprise as she overbalances and they both topple onto the bed.
She's laughing by the time they recover, sprawled on top of Julie with her elbows either side of Julie's shoulders. "What the hell, Slap?" she asks, breathless with it.
Julie grins up at her. "You weren't close enough," she whispers, hitching the hem of the t-shirt up as she slides her hands around from Gill's hips to the small of her back. "Want you," she adds, fingers slipping beneath the fabric and onto Gill's skin, trailing over the waistband of her knickers and stroking the smooth curve at the base of her spine. "Kiss me."
Gill does, fingers sliding into Julie's hair and tilting her head back, lips descending. Julie's eyes flutter closed as they meet, head spinning, feeling the heat of Gill's body and mouth against her and arching into it. The kiss is long and deep, breathing into each other, warmth suffusing Julie's whole body as her fingers slide up Gill's back to hold her close.
When they break off, Julie opens her eyes, finds Gill smiling down at her, feels her hair being stroked. "I want you, too," Gill whispers. "But -" Julie's fingers slip beneath the waistband of her knickers " - stop, Slap." Julie's movement stills. "Not tonight," Gill says.
"Oh." Julie doesn't move but she feels herself deflate a little, some of the warmth in her blood cooling at once. It must show on her face because Gill's fingers smooth through her hair again, brush a strand back from her forehead.
"Not tonight," she says, "because we'll have plenty of time tomorrow." She smiles gently, looks deadly earnest, so Julie shakes off disappointment that suddenly feels petulant so she can listen.
"I want us to do things right, this time," Gill says. "Not while I'm sad, not while you're pissed, not while there's any chance of miscommunication. I don't want this to be a one-time thing; I want to wake up tomorrow in bed with you, maybe start the rest of my life with you. All right?"
Julie is full of something else now, feels her fingers trembling against Gill's back. It's still heat, this feeling, but it's a different kind - something deep, slow-burning, long-lasting. "All right," she whispers, and hears its cadence in her voice.
"Good," Gill replies, and kisses her again, then pushes herself up. "Now put that fucking t-shirt on; I'm not your mum."
Julie laughs, head still spinning, entire body reeling as Gill climbs off her and she rights herself, tossing her bra aside and reaching for the bundle of fabric, tugging it over her head as Gill crawls in beneath the covers. Julie joins her a moment later, flicks the lights out, and then they're sliding down in the dark, reaching for each other. Julie's hand finds Gill's and Gill pulls it around her, curling her back into Julie's body and threading their fingers together.
"It's you," Julie whispers, tugging her in tight.
"It's me," Gill replies, and Julie can hear the smile in her voice.
"It's me," Gill replies, and Julie can hear the smile in her voice.