don't own anything, of course.
and even though our girls did not make up last night, did you really expect them too?
we can debate the authenticity of holly's claim that she is seeing someone else, but at least we got some incredible character growth for Gail.
have hope!
also, next chapter this story will finally earn its M rating :) and i will be busy with work over the next few days so it probably wont come as quick as the first few. plus i am going to make them longer.
until next time!
v. two moments in the kitchen, some fruit, and a coffee maker
Gail isn't in bed the next morning.
Nor, as far as Holly can tell from her position tangled up in their sheets, is she home at all. There are no sounds coming from the bathroom, no clamor from the kitchen or muffled voices from the television.
Which is worrisome.
Because after a night of yelling, venting, quiet expressions of regret, and eventually, a brief yet sincere acceptance of her situation, it would be a very Gail thing to do to flee the scene of the crime.
But that was Gail two years ago.
That was Gail before two years of safety and comfort and always knowing someone had her back. Of always knowing there was someone there, when no one had ever been before.
And yet, Gail isn't in bed.
With a deep sigh of resignation, Holly sits up in bed and runs her hands through her hair before sliding out and reaching for her glasses.
She is barely half way down the stairs when she hears the front door open amid the rustling of plastic bags.
And Holly smiles.
She stops where she is and waits for Gail to cross the hall into the kitchen, watching as Gail fumbles with her keys, her jacket, and two small plastic bags from the corner grocer. After a couple seconds of scuffling, Gail glances up to see Holly staring at her.
A couple of seconds of silence and then a smile slowly spreads across Gail's face, one that says she knows she has been caught.
"You are supposed to be in bed."
"I woke up and you weren't there."
From the look on Gail's face it is clear that she knows exactly what went through Holly's head during that discovery.
"I was going to make breakfast. But we don't have any blueberries."
"Blueberries?"
"For pancakes. Blueberry pancakes."
Holly lets out a laugh of disbelief tinged with amusement. "You are making me pancakes?"
"Well, I am going to try." She gives a shrug and moves into the kitchen, Holly following behind. As she sets the bags on the counter she looks up. "But since your up…I mean if we want them to be edible?"
"So, now I am making me pancakes?"
"I bought the blueberries?"
And Holly shakes her head but acquiesces, but not before directing Gail towards the coffee maker.
It is a habit. When they have enough time in the mornings, Holly makes breakfast and Gail makes the coffee.
Because it is virtually impossible to mess up coffee when the maker you have requires two pushes of a button and one minute of patience.
Even though one minute is pushing it.
But this morning, while she is mixing the pancake batter, Holly watches as Gail moves about the kitchen with an air of confidence she hasn't seen in awhile.
It isn't over, she isn't lying to herself, it won't be all over for a while, but she can take comfort in this kind of quiet today.
This kind of quiet says that Gail knows that everything that has happened the night before was needed. The first step on the road towards healing the scars that formed after she pulled the trigger.
As Holly is mixing in the blueberries, Gail steps around her, trailing her fingertips across Holly's lower back while she reaches for two ceramic mugs.
She knows these touches. These small gestures of reassurance that tell her Gail is here, she is here and she isn't going anywhere.
She may have gone off track for a bit but she found her way back and she is here.
She is here and she is staring at the coffee maker as if the intensity of her gaze will make that minute of patience decrease to a more bearable wait.
"Gail?"
"Mmmm?"
She doesn't respond quite yet, knowing that if she waits a moment, Gail will look up in question, and she wants to see her face when she says these words.
And she does look up, her eyebrows scrunched together, but her body is still facing the coffee maker, because priorities are important.
"I love you."
The slow smile is back and Gail finally faces her. "I love you too."
And maybe it is the tone of voice or the location, but there is something about it that makes Holly think of the first time she heard those words.
She isn't exactly sure how they got to this point but she is pretty sure this all started when she accidentally chose Chloe's side over Gail's after being informed of a discussion that had taken place earlier in the day.
Yes, that was definitely where this all went to shit.
Because now they are sniping at each other about improper handling of toothpaste tubes and suddenly the absurdity of the situation is catching up to her and she feels a smile threatening to break out across her face.
Which only works to anger Gail further. "What the hell is so funny?"
And now Holly is laughing and she can't stop and Gail's face is red and, oh my god, she loves this woman.
She isn't laughing anymore. Because it's true. It's been true for so long she can't even remember a time when it wasn't.
Gail is standing there angry and confused and she throws her hands in the air and says, "Why are you just standing there grinning like an idiot?"
It is all rather amusing now, because she knows that this will always be the moment she first said these words, in the middle of her kitchen, arguing about toothpaste. But it's fitting isn't it? It's them.
"Because I love you."
Gail's response comes out as a screech. "You what?"
She is more confident about it now because it's true and it's Gail and it feels so right. "I love you."
And Gail doesn't look angry anymore, or confused. She looks peaceful and relieved and it's about damn time.
"I love you too."
vi. cracks and flinches and movement forward
She is sitting in the lab in front of a computer that, given the rate of advancement for technology, should take a lot less time to spit out results.
It has been four days. Four days of a less tense, less quiet, less scared Gail.
And even though it is a soft science, Holly has to credit psychology and its theories. Because who knew that all it would take was five shots of tequila between them, some Thai food, and a long talk to get Gail to see the light.
There are still moments, though. Moments when Holly can see the cracks. Like when Gail gets dressed in the morning and flinches slightly at the sight of her gun holster. But she pushes through and puts it on her belt next to her silver detective's badge.
"Do you think I should apply for the next detective's rotation?"
"Do you want to apply?"
"I don't know. I think- I think I would be good at it. If I really tried this time."
"I think so too."
Traci is more protective of Gail now. Chris too. Just enough for Holly to notice and be thankful. Just enough to know that when Gail is out in the field, she has people looking after her.
It is knowledge that comes in handy at times like these, when she is sitting and waiting, unable to think about anything but Gail and how she may or may not be feeling.
"Knock, knock."
She spins around in her chair to see the object of her thoughts standing in the doorway, wearing dark skinny jeans, a merlot top, and a grey blazer, with a plastic bag hanging off her fingers.
"Lunch?"
"I-" She glances at the timer. "-have exactly thirty-seven minutes until I have anything to do. So yes, please."
Lunch turns out to be panini sandwiches eaten at the tables outside of the lab. It is a nice day out; the sun is shining and the breeze is just enough to take the edge off the heat and wreck havoc on the shorter hairs about Gail's face.
And Gail is talking today. She is telling a story about a witness she interviewed and it is all making Holly so happy.
She could be reciting the digits of pi and it would make Holly happy. Because Gail is talking and talking means she isn't dwelling on impossible choices and lives ended too soon.
It feels a lot like moving forward. And when Gail changes her tone of voice to mimic yet another character in her roller coaster of a story, Holly starts laughing and it is light and worry free and happy.
Time is moving forward again; they are no longer frozen in this limbo of being afraid to push and not willing to speak and waiting, just waiting for something, anything to happen.
And she knows now, if time is moving forward, then so can they, and Holly can start thinking about the little box tucked into a hollowed out copy of a battered Pride and Prejudice, the little black box carrying her grandmother's engagement ring.