A/N: Yeah, yeah...I know!
Don't you all roll your eyes at me!
I can't help it. I tell you, this addiction is TOXIC!
Thank you, you wonderful, lovely folks.
For every favorite, for every follow, and the time you spare for a review.
This is the first arc of the "Three Arc" format I have decided for this time span; from night to morning.
Second arc will be up in a day or two, probably.
I do not make any promises, I will try though.
Hmmm...I am thinking about claiming my rights on the show. Do you think I will get any? :P
Mistakes are mine. Story is mine. Gail and Holly, though, they are their own people.
Hey, tked: You haven't gotten a special shout-out before? Hmmm...Well, Glad to be your first... :P Tell you what, keep showering that love and I will cascade upon you all the attention I can. It's all about mutual satisfaction, sweetheart...*wiggling eyebrows suggestively*. (All in good humor, do not mind. Please.)
Okay, now I am done. Without further delay...
Ladies and gents(just guessing), get on with it!
Attack! Enjoy!
Staggering Along The Way
Chapter 3 - Time To Talk The Talk Of Talks: The Dusk(I)
As Gail stepped out on the streets, she indulged in a long, lungful of cool night air. Activities and people outside had diminished as it was already almost nine thirty at night. On instinct, she flagged for a cab. She glanced all around herself. The weather was pleasant, not the biting cold that blanketed over the city most of the year. She chose to forego the cab and walk all the way to Holly's. The cab stopped by her side. "Sorry," she apologized honestly. "I decided to walk instead," she offered with a small smile. The cabbie made a face, shrugged his shoulders and went on his merry way.
A walk was what she needed. Well, basically a little more time was what she wanted. To clear her head of all the off-putting, depressing thoughts; to dampen the fireworks of fear shooting through her nerves; and most of all she wanted a little bit of time to tighten her grip on the leash that reigned on her instinct to turn around and run. She couldn't give into it; she wouldn't, she thought resolutely. She could not give up on herself, on Holly, and on what they could have with each other, together.
Holly was in the hallway paying the delivery guy when the elevator chimed indicating an arrival and she instinctively looked at the parting doors expectantly. There, in her direct view, stood the person she had been waiting for. Gail's right leg was bent at the knee, foot pushed up against the back wall of the elevator. Her lower back aligned with the elevator and the upper portion was slightly bent forward. Both her hands were stuffed inside the jacket pockets; it was open all the way, welcoming anyone to drool at the sight of deliciously fit t-shirt bunched up over the buckle of her belt. Her short hair, the stubborn cowlick especially, had found a way in front of her right eye.
Gail peered through those platinum blond strands at the two people gaping at her. She didn't move. Actually, she didn't want to move. She wanted to stand there and let Holly's eyes run all over her. She wanted every inch of her body to be covered by that melting, chocolaty gaze. Under the jacket her arms were covered in goose flesh. Gail felt the intensity of that searching scrutiny all the way through to her bones. A delicious shiver ran down her spine and she willed herself to push forward.
Holly blinked when the other woman finally moved after what seemed like hours. She licked at her parched lips and gulped audibly. "Wow," her breath escaped her.
"I know right," the delivery guy from her left mumbled.
Holly didn't turn to look at him. She couldn't tear her eyes away from those icy, keen blue orbs. Her mouth had unexpectedly begun producing abundant amount of saliva; enough for her to keep swallowing every second. As Gail neared, her eyes for a moment fell on those boots. They were unlaced and hung open. It was the last nail in the coffin; that did it. Bizarrely enough, she noticed that her mouth was now dry; dry like a sand paper. She whimpered low in her throat and sucked in her cheeks. She inhaled deeply, kept it inside her lungs and exhaled through her mouth. No such reactions allowed tonight, she mentally berated herself. There will be time for that in future, if she was lucky.
To distract herself, she grasped onto a different route of thoughts. Holly had always been fairly confident about her easy going persona. She believed she was one of those rare lesbians who could carry off a vast spectrum of looks; from being a very lipstick lesbian to being a considerable butch. Well, the latter one would require a few adjustments obviously but she thought she had the body for it! Although, watching Gail strut toward her, with the graceful gait of a very soft butch, she felt a little bit envious for a second. She couldn't believe this was the same woman from Frank's wedding. She shook her head before those thoughts could play out the full imagery of fond moments in her mind. That would not be helpful in her situation; at all. She bit the insides of her cheeks painfully, intentionally to draw blood, to keep herself sober, in line.
Gail stopped the delivery guy from slinking away. She grabbed his collar and pulled him back. "Hand it over," she warned; her left hand forward, fingers wiggling.
"Damn it," the delivery guy cursed. "I was this close," he held his right thumb and forefinger a few inches apart and lamented. Mumbling something about his meagre salary and tips, he begrudgingly thrust a few crumbled dollars in Gail's awaiting palm. When she put the change in her pocket, he was about to say something. "If you don't want to spend tonight in a jail cell, I suggest you shut up." She declared and narrowed her eyes at him, challenging him to even utter a squeak. He made a face and walked away, muttering something along the lines of 'bitch' or 'butch'. She didn't care. She turned to look at Holly and contained a smirk. "That's not the ideal way to do charity, Hol."
"Huh," Holly's voice came out as a laboured whisper. She cleared her throat. "I am sorry, what?"
"Wow," Gail scoffed, "looks like starvation has messed up your brain." She then handed over the change into Holly's free left hand. "You were giving him almost a thirty dollar tip, Hol."
Holly still felt a little hazy. She felt Gail's hand on her left upper arm pushing her inside. She wanted to shrug off the trance but a weight in her right hand disrupted her action. Her mouth fell open in a silent 'ah' when she saw the heavy bag of food hanging from her fingers, turning them almost white. With that realization, her senses awoke and started working tenfold. The sweet scent of shrimp fried rice hijacked her next breath. Moisture flooded her mouth and her stomach growled angrily in tandem. She moved to close the door and saw Gail smugly smirking at her with an elevated brow. She pushed her glasses up with her left hand knuckles clumsily, embarrassed. She carelessly put the change in the bowl of keys and clutter on the table by the door and walked off.
Gail toed off her boots easily and trotted inside to the living area. Holly's reaction had surprised her but more than that it had pleased her, pampered her ego, coddled the woman in her; may be a little too much. She was quite used to receiving the appreciative, sometimes leering, looks from people. But the way Holly had perused her body, openly, intensely, hungrily, that was a new experience. She construed, if that was how Holly saw her, always, she could get used to it. A secret smile adorning her face, she started shifting the coffee table from its place. She picked up Holly's laptop and a few other things like papers, pen, and pencil, and shifted them atop the single seater at her left side.
Holly came out of the kitchen with two cartons, chopsticks already in them. "We are eating on the floor?" She saw the space Gail had created between the couch and the coffee table. She had also placed a few cushions on the ground too.
"Yup," Gail snapped her head up with a wide eyed look; like a kid caught with hands in the cookie jar. "I like comfort," she added but then frowned at herself when she heard what she had said. Pretty meaningless, wasn't it? Was it her turn to be the goof now?
"Oh-kay," Holly kept the cartons on the coffee table. "I don't have beer. So, soda or wine or scotch or what?" She listed off the options.
Gail thought for a minute. "Soda, please."
Holly nodded and went back to the kitchen to fetch them two cans of coke. Dinner turned out be a cosy affair, without any uncomfortable pauses. Holly asked the younger woman about her day. In reply to which she got the complete rundown of disdain Gail felt for arrogant and disrespectful teenagers. When Gail returned the favour and inquired about the conference, Holly casually covered all the bases without boring Gail to tears. Holly had only finished half of her dinner when Gail got up and got herself another carton of fried rice.
Unmistakably, Holly finished early. She was in kitchen wrestling with the cork of a wine bottle as she contemplated what to drink. Wine gave her the buzz, relaxed her nerves, but it also made her sleepy. She gave up and went for the scotch. She could use a little bit of Dutch courage tonight. She took two tumblers out of the cabinet over by the sink and went to the living room.
"Planning on getting drunk, Holly," Gail quipped when she saw the taller woman with a full bottle of scotch and two tumblers. She stuffed one carton inside the other and got up to put them in the trash.
"Could use some liquid courage tonight," Holly stated a little thoughtfully.
Gail didn't say anything. She dumped the waste, drank a few sips of water and carried that bottle with her. She took her sweet time in settling down on the carpet with her back prompted up against the single seater, that way she was seated by Holly's right.
Holly was sitting the same way but she was settled against the couch and her legs extended in front of her. The tumblers and bottle kept in between them. She took off her specs and squished it in the space between the cushion and the hand-rest of the couch.
They both inhaled at the same time and caught each other's gaze.
Chuckling nervously, Gail poured them both the cursory two fingers of scotch. "So..." she let it hang as she handed one tumbler to Holly.
"So what?" Holly smirked.
Gail narrowed her eyes and pulled at her lips a little sideways, like she often did. "How do people have 'the talk'?" She genuinely was curious at this point. To calm the butterflies in her stomach, she took a large gulp of the scotch, deliberately slowing the course of the burning liquid.
"I don't know, Gail," Holly answered staring into the amber liquid, swirling it around in the glass; fascinated by the different textures it produced at different angles. She wasn't very good at stalling. "I guess you just go for the kill."
Gail remained quiet. She watched Holly for a few minutes. She would give away her limbs to see what was going through the brunettes head. "Go for the kill, huh?" She mumbled to herself. But maybe Holly had heard her because the next moment she saw Holly gulp down the scotch in one swallow like a shot, without even a single wince. Guess, she didn't have to rid herself of her limbs. It was becoming quite evident that Holly was tense and maybe scared too. She gently drank the remaining scotch. "Do you really think me being just a beat cop doesn't matter to you?" She kept her voice as gentle as she possibly could. She had only just bent to grab the bottle when it was snatched away.
Holly was too tempted to turn to her right and face the blonde. She couldn't. The fact that Gail needed to actually ask her that, slashed through her heart swiftly. It hurt. It stung. From Gail's point of view, though, maybe it was a fair question. She gritted her jaw and poured herself another drink, double of the previous one. She passed the bottle to Gail without looking at her. "It matters, Gail. But not in the way you are thinking. Or in the manner that Lisa suggested." She managed before she took a small sip. Her head lolled back on the couch and her right arm stretched along the length of the cushion, as much as it could reach. "It matters because it scares me too much. It matters because I respect you...for that; a lot. It matters because I feel proud of myself...for being so closely associated with you...with someone so brave." Her voice faded a little at the end. She lifted her left hand and took a mouthful of her drink. She cleared her throat. "It matters because I want you to be the best cop ever...but at the same time," her composure shook, voice wavered a little. "But at the same time I am so fucking tempted to cuff you , to restrain you from ever going out there...from ever putting yourself in danger for other people's sake." All the frazzled emotions she had felt that day...oh that fateful day...when for the first time ever she had faced a fear so daunting, so consuming...the day when she had been so desperate to live all her life in just a few moments, with Gail...the day when she had realized what she felt for the younger woman wasn't just friendship...it was never just friendship. She felt all those tedious sensations slithering over her spine, coiling around her heart one by one, making her restless like she was that day. She guzzled the remaining scotch without break.
Gail was in the middle of pouring her drink when she got fixated by the struggle so plainly betrayed on Holly's face. She heard every word. But more than that she felt them imprinting her heart, gentle but forceful enough to jolt her vigorously out of the bubble she lived in, one of self-consciousness, of self-doubt. She wanted to pop it, badly. But she needed further reassurances. "Then why didn't you say anything?" She muttered, clawing at the label of the bottle, not wanting to make eye contact. She already felt pathetic and small. "Why did you say you were just having fun? Is that all I am to you?" She took a swig of it from the bottle itself, hoping it would push down the huge lump, that kept increasing by the second, in her throat.
Holly's first instinct, first sight was red; the kind of red that associated with blinding rage. Her second instinct was despair, pure sadness. Rage, because she felt extremely angry towards everybody who was responsible for putting that seed of insecurity in Gail's mind. If it was up to her, she would tear them apart and eradicate them out of Gail's life forever. Despair, because it was plain sad that someone so beautiful, inside and outside, just couldn't see the wonder that she was. How could Gail not recognize the sheer strength she possessed or the resilience she thrived upon or the selflessness she spread unto others; granted it always disguised in a prickly, snarky package. How could Gail so flippantly avoid looking at how caring, loving, and giving a person she was? Why did she feel the need to hide behind abrasiveness, cloak her sadness with cutting, icy stares, be so vulnerable and yet protect herself with vigour so fierce? She abruptly snorted at something. "Trust me, Gail, if I could put it into words...I would tell you what you are to me." She sounded hoarse and her words carried forward the aridity she felt in her throat.
So? What? Your opinion and constructive criticism...please review!
I need them to fuel my creativity... I am serious as a heart attack.
Second arc will be a bit more emotional than this...Just sayin'.
Will see you all in two or three days, hopefully!
Thank You.