Gonna get a little M-rated up in here. Do not continue if you're not into that and please review if you're so inclined.
Chapter 4:
The world comes crashing down, the very foundation beneath her feet creaks and groans and begins to shake. She loses her footing, trying desperately to find some purchase on the ground slick with debris and sweat and blood. Her own. Every thing is different. Everything is fucking ruined and it's all her fault. That thought, that feeling is a familiar one.
The feeling of a hand releasing her throat only to send her crashing down into a desk, snapping the metal and wooden structure in half beneath the force of her own weight, that's another one altogether.
She can feel the wind expel from her body, struggles to right herself, dizzy with sensation. Sees the mother fucking looming over her, sees him swatting away her friends and colleagues like flies. Hears the panic, the screams.
Anger flares in her chest, overwhelms her senses as she begins to see his lips move, his voice snide and taunting.
"You are a very interesting woman, Officer Peck," he smiles, his teeth gleaming in the florescent lights.
"So very- noble and heroic. So very- morose, and lonely and tortured. Almost like something out of the Marvel Verse, don't you think? A real, live, fucking hero, ladies and gentlemen!"
She's on her feet then, her stance defensive, the words tumbling out her mouth, a sneer fixed on them, her eyes grim and resolved. No turning back.
"Nah, I'm more of a DC or Dark Horse girl myself. Now- who the fuck are you and what do you want?"
His smile, if possible, gets wider as his eyes harden. His voice almost goes soft.
"Why, I think you know who I am. Or who I was. An innocent man, chased by a dumb ass rookie officer, forced to choose between defending his own life and taking another's. Really, it is just- a tragic tale."
"I caught you disposing of two bodies. You told me you enjoyed watching them die."
"Technicalities. I could venture to say that my innocence is presumed until found guilty in a court of law. You were going to play executioner. You would have enjoyed watching me die, Peck. Admit it. Come on."
Silence. She narrows her eyes, feels her mouth twist up in its own sadistic grin.
"If I knew then what I know now? I'd relish putting a bullet in your brain, yeah."
A howl of laughter. It wipes the grin right off of her face. Makes her stomach churn.
"You're no better than I am."
She's shaking her head before the words are out of his mouth.
"That's where you're wrong," she growls, the words spitting out of her mouth.
Then it's all a fury of fists on flesh, the force of them resounding in the hollow of the station. She pushes the maniac forward, hopping over the desk in a flash and diving into him, smashing his body down onto the floor, straining to hold him to the crumbling linoleum. She punches him with all of her might- first in his face and then into the sides of his body, the sound of the air expelling from his lungs as she pummels his kidneys before returning back to his still smirking face. All she can see is red, all she can taste is the coppery liquid she knows must be pouring from her nose.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Chris and Dov staring at her, slack-jawed, can see Traci, gun raised and staring, creeping closer still and shouting out questions. She makes the mistake of looking in the detective's direction, barely manages the somewhat shaky order for the officers to get out, to let her handle the situation, when-
A burst of fire in the side of her own face, the wind leaving her lungs. A gasp, blood spattering on the floor. He bursts forward, uppercuts to her jaw rapidly and she swears she can feel her teeth crack with the weight of it. She struggles to stay on her feet, feels her legs begin to sway, forces her mind to focus, to believe that she can beat him.
He's gone in the blink on an eye, gleefully tells her to catch him if she wants him. She curses, swallowing the nausea that rises in her throat. Looks around her at a room full of stunned and slightly wounded officers. She turns to them, her bruised eyes watery, her mouth grim.
"I've got this. Don't follow me. Set up a perimeter. Please. I can't- Just trust me. I've gotta go-"
And then she's out the door, her body in the air flying as fast and as hard as she possibly can. She can just see him as he zips through the Toronto skyline, can hear his taunts even as the wind roars in her ears. Hears the gasps of surprises as they are both spotted, hears the shutter and click of the cameras and they are captured to film.
She catches up to him rather quickly, her body slamming into him with a heavy, hollow thud, the momentum sending their bodies careening into the pavement below. They crash into it, the concrete splintering and shattering, dust kicking up and blanketing their bodies. They roll into the now vacant road, the concrete folding as their bodies move forward, their limbs swinging, their legs kicking even as they skid to a halt.
She hears the screams, sees the flashing of the lights. Doesn't care. Focuses on her fingers around his throat, the look of joy he still holds in his empty eyes. They tumble. They claw. She follows him to Humber Bay Bridge, loaded with tourists on the sunny, warm afternoon. She watches in horror as he raises his fists to this sky only to bring them down hard upon the wooden planks, her body propelling forward to catch the plummeting bodies before they touch the river below.
She puts them down on the shore as quickly and softly as she can, delving into the still cool depths when her reaching fingers fail to catch a small child, her mother screaming from the shore. She reaches her in record time, propels herself, clenches her hand around the child's clammy wrist.
It takes her ten seconds to revive the child, the air filling the smaller person's lungs, her tiny heart pumping in time with the blonde's insistent fists.
A crying child, a panicked grateful woman.
Panic of her own. She looks around frantically for any sign of him. Doesn't find one. He's gone.
She springs into the air then, ducks her head, flies into the sky. It's not until she's up high that she sees the message carved into what is left of the mangled bridge.
'It's been fun. Let's do it again sometime soon. Til we meet again, officer.'
She doesn't go back to the station, doesn't go back home. Flies for hours, searching. Assesses her injuries, wills her nose to stop bleeding, her head to stop its pounding, the wound there, a deep laceration to her scalp, running steadily as well. Her ribs ache, she feels the bruises forming. For the first time in a long time, feels the absolute weariness in her bones. Finds herself flying in the direction of the only place she wants to go; where she needs to go.
She feels vulnerable, sick.
She's not invincible anymore.
She doesn't knock, doesn't care that it's almost three o'clock in the morning. Her body simply needs, simply yearns and she can do little except answer its call.
But Holly's not asleep.
In fact, she's sitting in the kitchen, nursing a beer, her television turned up to what must have been close to its highest volume, the news flashing images. Images of her, of the man who had attacked her, once killed her.
Holly turns around, the bottle halfway raised to her lips when she hears footsteps and the creak of the door. Her eyes are wide, her mouth and arm frozen. They stare at one another for a moment before Holly's hand is suddenly slamming the beer down on the counter and striding over to the officer, worried brown eyes sweeping the length of the badly beaten face before her.
"Gail," the doctor breathes, sounding broken, sounding so scared and small and so goddamn helpless, "I've been- goddamn it."
And it doesn't matter that she's bleeding and it doesn't matter that she's so fucking tired she can't stand, she allows herself to sink into Holly, closing her eyes and letting out a mangled sob. It's suddenly too much, too hard, to manage. She didn't want to fight anymore. She didn't want to play the hero anymore. Gail wants to be normal, wants the before back. Wants to lose herself in the feel of the brunette. Surrender to her.
And then Holly is gripping her tighter, her hands winding around her body and almost cradling her, whispering words of nonsense and comfort soothingly into her ear. What follows next is a blur to the blonde- a suture kit that she insists she doesn't need but the doctor insists right back upon. The bleeding stops. Her nose barely swells, her eyes are no longer blackening. She's healing, feels it. Tells Holly so.
After she's been patched up and cleaned up, dressed in borrowed clothes, they both settle into a strained silence, Gail seat upon one of the stools in the kitchen. She tries to ignore the flow of muddled thoughts Holly is throwing around in her brain, tries to ignore the skin on her chest that is visible beneath the top of her baggy sleep shirt.
The doctor suggests sleep, the officer lets out a strangled laugh.
Does she want to talk? Does she need anything? Can she ask her a question about what happened today?
The questions go on unanswered ears, the officer merely shaking her head, the words stopping in her throat, caught. Frozen.
"They- they haven't identified you. Yet. By the way. They- uh- most of the shots are too far away to actually see your face or your badge number. They just know you're dressed as a cop. I- thought you'd like to know."
That gets her attention, furrows her brow.
"They-" she clears her throat, "the fight, it started at the station... and most of the unit... they know, Hol. I can't, I'm not sure I can go back there."
And suddenly Holly is so close but the blonde can't stand it- can't stand the thought of never being able to face the people she loved, her friends, her family, again. Can't stand the thought of this woman getting so close when all Gail can ever do is cause heartache and pain and danger no matter how much she utterly wants. She pushes herself away violently in a fury, unwilling to be touched.
So they stand, meters between them. It feels like miles. The silence feels like an ending.
She hears the brunette swallow, looks down at her feet. Notices suddenly when she sees another pair of socks right in front her own. Suddenly it's all Holly, all sweet smelling hair and the slightest hint of beer on her lips. Holly doesn't touch her, doesn't move. Simply peers.
Looks straight into her. Makes Gail feel so exposed, so raw. And it's then- in the dimly lit kitchen, in the wee hours of the morning- that she breaks.
She surges into her, pressing her aching body into the older woman, her lips pressing insistently against the brunette's. Doesn't stop even when she feels herself propelling forward, only stopping when she hears a thud, breaking away to see they've ended up against the refrigerator, hips sliding against one another, hands in each other's hair, lips tangled, Gail's tongue forcing its way into Holly's mouth, twisting. She moans when she retreats, only for Holly's tongue to chase hers back into the soft cavern of her mouth, teasingly flicking against hers. It's so heady, so fucking heavy and passionate and combined with the rapidly rising pleasure from the rhythm of their hips, it's all Holly can do to get even closer, suddenly placing her hands on the blonde's shoulders and and hooking one of her legs around the blonde's.
She gasps when the blonde shifts without breaking the kiss, pulling on her bottom lip with her teeth, and places a leg between Holly's. Grinds down on it immediately, completely sinking into the feeling. Gasps once more with surprise when Gail suddenly places her hands on her ass, hoists her up, finds her other leg wrapped around the officer's waist, her hands still braced on her shoulders.
It's endless, breathless, messy. All rocking hips and searching tongues and smoldering touches.
They're moving suddenly, Holly suddenly horizontal and on a hard surface. It doesn't take her long to figure out it's her kitchen table.
The thought makes her clench, makes her fingers grip harder into the back of the woman who was currently nipping down her neck, squeezing her breasts, licking the shell of her ear, the hollow in her neck.
Holly can't speak, can barely breathe. Knows they need to talk, knows this could very well be the stupidest fucking thing she's ever allowed herself to do, but can't find the power to resist when the blonde is moving against her body the way she is, when she's whimpering low in her throat and searching for friction, dirty and desperate words spilling from her lips.
She hears the ripping of her clothes before she feels it, barely registers her surprise before the blonde's hands are beneath the lace of her bra, before even that piece of clothing is gone, her hands replaced with the steady flick of Gail's tongue.
"Jesus Christ," she moans, " I've missed you so much, Gail. So much."
She doesn't answer, lets her teeth latch around a stiff nipple before soothing it with her tongue.
She pulls away onto to look into brown eyes clouded with lust, her own eyes echoing the sentiment, deep blue with their own need.
"I missed you, too," she whispers, her lips drifting down once more to Holly's breasts, flicking both nipples alternatively, palming them, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, Hol. About us. This. God."
And then her pants and underwear are gone and she feels like she should be surprised that she's this wet but then again, it's Gail, and she feels the moan rip from her throat, stunned at its volume, when she feels the blonde's fingers slide into her with out preamble. The blonde blankets herself over the other woman, settling down fully, sighing when their bodies met fully, even the feeling of Holly through cotton pajamas amazing. She pumps in and out of the brunette, situating her hips so they aid the movements of her hand, moves her thumb so it brushes against her clit with every pass.
She moves her mouth to Holly's neck, to her ear, and buries her head there, cradling her forehead in the crook of her neck, moving slowly, rotating her hips in circles before thrusting her hips forward, curling her fingers.
She feels the pathologist's hips rise, feels the sting of her bite against her shoulder.
"You feel so good, Holly," she gasps, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about the first time I fucked you. How ready and hot and wet you were for me. How much I've wanted to do it ever since."
Another moan, another hitch of the breath and unconscious thrust of her hips.
Gail drew away for a moment, continuing the movement of her hips, suddenly drawn to Holly's face. She watches her eyes close, her teeth grip her lip, watches her tongue peek out to run across them.
And suddenly she's saying the brunette's name, using her the hand that isn't curling and thrusting into Holly, and cupping Holly's face with it and Holly's eyes and open and for the first time in so, so long, Gail lets herself feel and fear and hope.
And she's lost, she's so goddamn lost and broken and terrified but- for the first time since that night in the Penny so long ago, for the first time since she died in a fucking warehouse and let her last thoughts drift to the woman underneath her- for the first time in months, she feels truly human, feels parts of herself, the ice around her heart, the knot of guilt stuck firm in your gut, break and shift and move. And this feeling, it's new.
For the first time, Gail Peck feels free.
Let me know what you think! Thanks!