Gail's eyes are shut to hide anything her pupils might give away. The seconds feel like hours.
She could change her mind.
She feels Holly's hand on her shoulder. Her heart drops and seems to send vibrations out that travel along her ribs, vibrations with reverberations that set her buzzing everywhere.
She could still change her mind.
Then Holly's forearm settles across Gail's chest. Gail concentrates on feeling its entire surface area, where its touching her own skin, how hot it feels in contrast. She tries not to think about what is imminent.
The sound of buzzing. Not the buzzing of her body, unfortunately. It is the hum of a bad decision and it is close. And loud.
Gail Peck is a women of her word.
The evil buzzing stops and Holly's touch is lifted.
"Gail. I don't want to do this. I don't want to give you a tattoo you don't want and it seems like you aren't going to back out."
"Holly, I am not a lot of things, but one thing I am is true to my word. This is a done deal."
"God, you are so stubborn. It's a tattoo, Gail. She would understand."
Gail looks at her with determination.
"Okay. Hear me out then. How about a white ink tattoo? They are very subtle, and, in my opinion, very sexy. On your pale skin, it would almost be invisible. But it would be there, and you will have kept your word."
Holly raises a single hopeful eyebrow in question.
"Holly, anything you put on this body is going to be sexy."
Gail feels a corner of her mouth slip into a smile despite her attempt to remain deadpan.
Holly's mouth takes the bet and raises her one, forming an obvious smile that is trying not to look victorious.
Holly rinses the black out of the machine and then gets up to start rearranging the work surface to accommodate the new plan.
"So, Holly, why tattoos? I mean, no offense, but you really don't seem like the tattoo artist type."
There is a smile in Holly's voice when she answers.
"My mom and dad always placed a lot of emphasis on the arts. They are both very artistic and believe that without at least exploring art, writing, and music you are missing out on an opportunity to fully develop into the person you could and should be. So Grace and I took music lessons, went to art camps, and attended writing workshops since we were little. We were never forced to continue with something we didn't like, but we were encouraged to at least try things before we wrote them off."
"Wow, they sound like horrible parents."
"The worst. Grace has art and music in her blood. There was never a question about what she would do with her life. She can play 5 different instruments by ear. She paints, and draws and gets paid to do both. But there was never a question that tattooing would be her thing. She has always just been drawn to it. She is just fascinated by the challenge of a continually varying substrate, as well as learning why people are drawn to what they are. Anyway, she started apprenticing when she was 18, by 22 she had a clientele that would support a business of her own."
"Wow. You are really making me wish I was getting tattooed by Grace."
She hears Holly's sound of amusement as she continues to work.
"Relax, Gail. Although I have not dedicated my life to art, I have been drawing since I was four and tattooing since I was 22. I am quite capable of doing an impressive rendering of this police badge."
"Hmmm," Gail hums as she ponders what Holly has just said. "What, may I ask, have you dedicated your life to?"
"Actually, I went to medical school. I just finished my fellowship. I am helping Grace out until I start work. She is down an artist right now."
"Well, that answers the question 'What is a beautiful doctor like you doing in a place like this?' Wait. Are 'rack' and 'grill' the anatomical names they teach you in," Gail pauses to do an air quotes with her fingers "'medical school'? Because, if so, I've got a newsflash for you; it's not a real medical school."
Holly laughs.
"I know, it probably seems very divergent, tattooing and medicine, but the truth is they really aren't.
Touch, proprioception, and vision are important components of motor control. The same skills that make the lines of your tattoo flow without deviation from the intended path, that make that the application of the ink into your dermis as painless as it can possibly be, will help me perform the actions of my medical procedures very precisely."
"Holly, I think that's amazing. I mean your ability to take something so awesomely not nerdy and just dork it out so completely is awe-inspiring."
"Also, it brings in a little extra money while I am swamped in school debt. And it gets Grace out of the shop one day a week."
"So what area of medicine will you be practicing?"
Holly sits down on the stool again, picks up the tattoo gun and gives it a couple of more water purges before dipping it in the white ink.
"What say we try this again?"
Gail could tell Holly was avoiding the question, and, as unlike her as it was, she let her. After all, she wanted the woman who would be repeatedly puncturing her skin to be comfortable.
"Ready?"
Gail nods and, once again, closes her eyes.
The lapse in time is less this go round. Apparently Holly got the message that Gail is going to do this because it isn't but a second or two before Holly's hand and forearm have laid claim to Gail's exposed skin. Gail feels Holly's thumb lightly stretch the skin where the stencil is just before she hears the buzzing of the gun and the sting of the needle. Holly does a 3 or 4 second burst before she backs off.
Gail opens her eyes and sees Holly waiting for her.
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Holly is looking at her so intently. Her eyes are laced with such concern. And while the perforation of Gail's skin is not her favorite sensation, this woman's gentle touch and just generally warm nature made it something she wasn't dreading, even if it was McNally's badge. Fucking McNally.
"Alright, let me know if you need a break. The chest is not the least painful place to get tattooed."
And with that statement Holly went back to work, stretching and drilling, spraying and wiping. It was such a tirade of sensations. Some of them seemed to conflict serving to add just a little more stress to the situation. There was the cold spray on Gail's hot, irritated skin. There was the wet paper towel that felt like sandpaper when Holly wiped it across the area. The tattooing itself ranged from feeling like a scratch, to feeling like she was being carved. The longer Holly worked the more it tended to skew toward the latter.
There is no way Gail was going to request a break. Instead she tries to shift her focus to Holly. Holly is leaned into Gail with her face hovering only inches from Gail's skin. When Gail stopped to really take in the closeness, she became able to feel Holly's breath, cool on her burning skin. In contrast, she feels Holly's warmth everywhere else. Holly's skin must be burning the way the heat radiates onto Gail's naked side through the artist's shirt, a shirt which is now stuck to her more closely as the sweat beneath grabs at it.
A particularly painful stretch interrupts Gail's observation and causes her to inadvertently flex her abdominals. Now, Gail isn't extraordinarily muscular but she being slender and half-naked, the contraction turns out to be perceptible to Holly, both visually and by feel where their torsos currently meet.
"What say we take a break, Gail? I need to cool down a bit. My forearm is starting to slide."
"Sure. Whatever you need."
Holly stands up and stretches. She removes her gloves and then uses a couple of the paper towels to wipe her forearms and to catch the drips of sweat rolling down her face. Once the paper towels are disposed of, Holly grabs the bottom of her shirt to fan it out. As she does so, she reveals a tanned and toned abdomen and . . . ink?
"So, Dr. Holly . . . Do you have any tattoos?"
"Maybe."
Holly keeps fanning, maybe even a bit more boldly.
"Uh uh. I saw something. I think it's only fair that, since I am allowing you the opportunity to slice and dice my virgin skin with your tool of torture, and since I am sitting here half naked at your request, that you would afford me this small request."
Holly's lifted eyebrow and slightly pursed lips seem to ask 'oh really?' even as her hands readjust their grip on her shirt and start to slide it up.