Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Not a single person in the room liked what the doctor had said.

"Irreversible?" Steve looked sick to his stomach.

"Well, technically. Yes." The doctor hesitated and looked at Holly as if for support.

But she was just too dumbfounded. Holly couldn't not stare at the scans of Elaine's brain. It had taken far longer than Holly liked to come up with an answer, as the changes were incredibly small. But four scans, taken three weeks apart, showed a story that was quiet clear.

Holly startled when Gail jogged her elbow. "Oh. Sorry. Uh. Okay, so that's really really small, first off," she pointed out.

All three Pecks in the room exhaled a sigh of relief. Gail ventured a question. "If the brain is Toronto ..."

"Then we're talking a bicycle. The brain is pretty ... This is a tiny portion of the brain. It's just very uniquely located for a ... Well a genetic deformation, I guess. I've never seen this before, but I'm not a neurologist."

The actual neurological expert nodded. "I haven't seen it before either."

"You may not call it a Peck disease," Elaine said crisply. The tone was so cold, everyone flinched.

"Oh no, no, Mrs— Ms. Peck. It's most certainly from your own maternal lineage." The doctor bobbled his head.

"Fairchild is the gift that keeps giving," muttered Steve. "How the hell did you figure that out?"

Gail seemed unsurprised. "After Eli showed the same warning sign, I convinced the rest of the Armstrongs to get checked." When the doctor looked surprised, Gail peevishly remarked, "I can draw a fucking straight line."

He looked a little taken aback, but the doctor nodded again. "Right. Yes, so it's fairly isolated," he stammered.

"Why did it take so long? It looks ... It looks clear to me and I'm just a cop," said Steve.

"Ex-cops," muttered Gail.

"Shut up, Garbage Pail."

Before the siblings could get into another snit fest, Holly cleared her throat. "That one on the end is Gail's, isn't it?"

The other doctor nodded. "Yes. Mrs— Inspector Peck? Yours is the one on the end."

Elaine and Steve both frowned. "What are those black dots?" Elaine pointed vaguely at Gail's scan.

Gail's entire body stiffened. "Oh."

Just like that, she got it. On any other occasion, Holly would find Gail's swift mind to be a hugely attractive turn on. Right now it was terrible and tore Holly's heart. She reached over and took Gail's hand. Her wife glanced over, eyes slightly wider than normal.

Everyone could see the black dots. They simply didn't exist on Steve or Elaine's scan. There was a different discoloration that was used to mark Elaine's damage, but this could really only be one thing.

"I'm not entirely sure," admitted the doctor. "But it's damage that was done roughly twenty five years ago, based on—"

"Dangerously high, repeated doses of ketamine and acepromazine," said Gail, her voice clipped and somewhat dissociated.

The doctor stared at her, his expression stunned. "Well. Yes. That would ... Though... have you experienced any symptoms of damage?"

"You mean tardive dyskinesia? No."

"May I ask how long—"

"It was at least four doses. Over the course of 12 hours." When the doctor balked, she added, "Kidnapped by a serial killer. Loads of fun."

Beside them, Elaine looked stricken. "You knew."

"I did."

Elaine frowned deeply. "You never said."

"You never told me," added Steve, clearly hurt.

Holly gripped Gail's hand tighter and squeezed. "It didn't matter," she offered, hoping to appease the Pecks.

"I don't like to brag about being fucked up," Gail grumbled. "Doc. Are you saying that because I have brain damage, I won't get dementia?"

The doctor hesitated and then nodded. "The, er, the neural pathways burnt are the ones that appear .. yes. It looks that way."

Gail exhaled a shaky sigh. "Jesus."

"Do you have any neurological issues? I— I'm sorry, we can follow up about this if you don't want to talk about it now."

"I had a scan done, uh, fifteen years ago?" She glanced at Holly.

"Seventeen. After the case?"

"Oh. Right. I got my bell rung by a perp." Gail paused and looked at Elaine for a moment. "The only constant symptoms I have are nightmares."

How the hell Gail managed to keep her voice calm as she talked about that, Holly would never understand. "I'll have a copy of the scans sent to your office," Holly told the doctor, forestalling further questions.

Not for Gail's sake was Holly trying to end the conversation. Both Steve and Elaine wore expressions of extreme guilt. Gail's confession, such as it was, hurt them deeply. So while Holly understood why Gail had kept it from her family, it was going to cause pain and they both knew it.

Gail did not apologize, however. She wouldn't. Couldn't, maybe. "So besides my lovely backstory," said Gail, her voice tense, "what can you do for my mother?"

The question jolted the doctor back on track. "Well I don't plan to give her ketamine," he muttered.

For a second the room felt horribly tense. And then Gail and Elaine cracked up at the same time. Thank god. They had the same, terrible, sense of humor.

Steve groaned. "Jesus, they'll be laughing at this for hours. Thanks, Doc."

Holly smirked. "Can you reproduce the effects safely?"

The doctor essayed a smile. "Possibly. I'd need to do some lab tests, and it certainly wouldn't be fast. In the meantime, there are some treatments we can try. The fact that Mrs— Inspector—"

"Gail," said Gail, Elaine, and Holly at the same time.

"Thank you. The fact that Gail's ah, accident has protected her implies that this will respond well to drugs. And it's not classical Alzheimer's."

The Pecks did not opt to hang out together after the appointment. Steve took Elaine home and Holly took Gail home. She was sure that Elaine was as silent as Gail. The blonde looked out the window the entire time. Holly knew better than to talk to Gail just then.

She couldn't imagine what it must feel like. The worst moment in Gail's life would never go away. She had to constantly look at her career, recognize that it was saved only because of the Perik trial. She even had to look at Holly and know that their relationship really was only possible because Nick left Gail after she'd interviewed Perik.

Now Gail would be saddled with the reality that her mind was protected because of the damage of Ross fucking Perik.

Holly had only seen the man twice. Once in life and once in death she'd been faced with Ross Perik. He'd given her nightmares both times. At his trial, Perik had been creepy. His final words to Gail had lingered in Holly's ears and, yes, haunted her at night.

"Stop thinking about a Zebra," said Gail abruptly.

"You know that's impossible." Holly glanced over and saw Gail still staring out the window. "Do you want to stop for food?"

"No. I'll make pizza." Gail's hand touched her leg. "I'm okay, Holly."

She snorted before she could control herself. "No you're not."

Gail laughed very softly. "I kind of am. I mean, I'm not going to forget you, so that's a great thing. Plus, Mom can forget Dad. Win win all around."

Rolling her eyes, Holly pulled off the Quay. "You're insane."

"You're the one thinking about Perik, not me."

Holly frowned. "How are you not?"

"Because ..." Gail sighed. "Because it happened. And it sucks. A lot. It happened and I can't change it and I can't erase it. And apparently I'll never forget it. But I don't have to dwell on it or ruminate or anything. It just is." She squeezed Holly's thigh. "I dwell on the good things."

"I don't think I like being dwelled on."

"I used to fantasize about you. That was a little embarrassing." Gail chuckled.

"Only because you thought you were straight."

"Very happy to be wrong." They lapsed into silence again for a few blocks. Then. "I'm okay, Holly."

"Gail. It's okay to be not okay."

Her wife sighed. "I know. I do. But I really am okay about this. I'm not freaking out. I'm ... I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm not empty, though."

"Well. Okay." Holly didn't really believe it, but there was no point in belaboring the subject. "If you have a nightmare, wake me up?"

"I promise," Gail replied sincerely.

It wasn't much, but it was what Holly would have to accept just then.

The smell of tailgaters always annoyed Vivian. They were cooking food and she had to play in a softball game. Vivian sighed and splayed her legs out, lying her stomach down to get a good stretch going on.

"You're thinking about the food, aren't you?" Jamie sounded amused.

Vivian glanced up from her stretching. "You're in enemy territory, McGann." She grinned up at her girlfriend, resting her elbows on the ground.

The firefighter immediately blushed. "Jesus, you're flexible."

"You already know that." Vivian smirked. "You look cute in red." Per usual, the cops were in blue (a pale blue) and the firefighters were in a sort of strawberry red.

"Damn it, Peck, stop fraternizing!" The captain of the softball team, a detective named Morris from Thirty-Four, scowled.

"Sorry, but she's pretty." Getting up, Vivian winked at Jamie. "Still gonna kick your ass."

"You're all brag," teased Jamie, and she stood up on her toes to kiss Vivian.

Morris the softball captain groaned, but waited until Jamie went to her team's side before commenting. "She's the opposition."

"No, she's my girlfriend. She's playing on the other team, but it's a fucking charity game, Sean. Take a chill pill."

Vivian had been hearing many variations on that theme all week. Pretty much everyone, as soon as the rosters had been published, had either teased Vivian for playing against her girlfriend, or demanded she not betray the force. To all of them, Vivian had rolled her eyes and told them to fuck off.

They were all playing in a charity game to raise money for kids in the system. There were few other cops who cared about that as much as Vivian did. That was why she took their attitude poorly. It didn't matter who won. It mattered if they attracted enough donations, and that came with a good game.

But Vivian knew she was a target for the everlasting tensions between cops and firefighters because not only was she dating Jamie, she was the pitcher.

Holly was thrilled. She'd been a pitcher in her youth, and Brian had desperately wanted Holly to play seriously. Holly wanted to play science. Neither Brian nor Lily could argue that. But Vivian did play sports semi-seriously. She'd done track in high school, since it was one of the sports all Pecks approved of, but she'd played soccer, field hockey, and yes, baseball as well.

Sports were just fun. Vivian had a natural aptitude for them. She wasn't ever going to be a professional sports player, but she was generally going to be on varsity if she put her mind to it. In college, though, with all her classes keeping her busy, Vivian had shifted to just doing her goofy ninja stuff. That didn't mean she didn't play softball anymore, just that she didn't take team sports quite as seriously.

Fast forward to her academy days and the school had a pick up game of softball. Vivian joined in and everyone found out she could still play. They also found out she could pitch. Fifteen probably knew because of Gail, though her annoying mother insisted that wasn't the case.

Vivian looked up to the stands and saw her mothers. They shared a wave, Holly's incredibly excited one and Gail's pretty subdued version. Interesting. Something had happened on Thursday, prompting Gail to take a day off in the middle of planning her museum anti-heist. When Vivian asked if Gail was okay, the blonde had mirthlessly laughed.

They'd tell her sooner or later. It was probably something about someone else, and not her mothers. Even if it was something horrible like Holly's breast cancer scare (dense fibroids, but that had been terrifying), they told her what they did and didn't know.

It was nice not to be treated like a child. Most of her friends thought it was strange that Vivian had a relationship like that with her parents, but it made sense. How else were Holly and Gail to build trust with their foster (adopted) child who had serious issues? Their family was built on trust, openness, and honesty. Once Vivian was old enough to understand what was being talked about, she was included in the conversations.

"No hitter," shouted Holly from the stands.

Vivian laughed.

"She's really excited," said Christian, pulling on his catcher's gear. "Warmup?"

"Think you can catch my balls?"

They shoved each other in the shoulder as they walked to the warm up area. Pitching was easy. It was great. The world expected a pitcher to ignore everyone around them and concentrate on the batter.

Vivian had four good pitches. She had the straight, of course, a slider, a curve, and a knuckle ball. On a good day, she could pull off a screwball. A screwball was a shitty sort of pitch. The knuckler was evil, and hard for Christian to catch, so she didn't plan to use either of them. Solid placement would win the day.

She and Christian had played together a few times. He wasn't actually her favorite catcher as he wasn't very good. Oh he could catch almost any ball, but he didn't read batters or the field very well. Holly said the same was true of Chris, though Vivian didn't really remember much about the man other than he had great shoulders for watching fireworks.

"Okay, Coppers," said the ump, Mackenzie MacLean. "Let's line up and have some good ball today."

Vivian smirked and joked, "How would you know?"

The cops and firefighters erupted into laughter.

It was not a great game. It was a good and fun game, and a lot of money was raised for everyone's charity, but the game was not the best played one. At least not for the firefighters. They had better hitting but the cops had better fielding. And, if Vivian chose to be immodest, the cops had the better pitcher.

Her theory, one Vivian shared with Lily and Holly, was that a game with more contact was more fun. Therefor Vivian pitched for contact. She pitched to get the ball hit, but hit safely. Like never to right field, if possible, where good batters who were poor fielders were placed. Andy no longer played, but Nick still did, and he was her solid first baseman. Vivian relied on him and her friends from Twenty-Seven and Thirty-Four.

By the time they were up by six runs, Vivian started to have a little fun. She tried a few knuckleballs, to the hooting delight of Holly. Christian screwed most of them up. Vivian botched one or two herself. They were hard to throw, after all. The screwball was much easier for her, but impossible to hit.

Well. Impossible for firefighters. With few exceptions, they were not great at the screwball. And the one batter who was weirdly awesome at it was the one to whom Vivian never threw a single screw.

"I hate you," said Jamie, shouldering her gear. "You couldn't throw me one fucking screwball? The damn knuckler and the curve? How do you even get it to curve like that!?"

"Practice and a very patient mother," replied Vivian, smirking. "Come on, let's get some dogs."

"I'm still pissed about this." Jamie huffed and followed Vivian to the truck, where they stashed their gear before getting in line for food. "Seriously? One lousy knuck."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest, McGann. You lost. Bow down the prowess of my skillful hands and talented fingers."

The dry humorous voice of Gail Peck cut in. "Save that for later."

"Hey, you married a pitcher," Vivian pointed out.

"And a doctor. Though not a surgeon." Gail smirked back at her.

Jamie piped up. "Viv defused bombs. She has very nimble... I'm going to shut up now, and so are you, Pecks." The skin on Jamie's neck went red.

Laughing, Vivian leaned down to kiss Jamie's cheek. "Sorry. She's pissed I wouldn't throw her something she could hit."

Gail snorted. "You're just like your mother." Then Gail explained. "Holly used to pitch for the big building when we do cop only intramural."

"Where is Mom?"

"She got a call about a case." Gail shrugged, but her insouciance seemed a bit forced. Vivian hadn't grown up at Gail's knee not to know when her mother was putting on a veneer. Something had happened, and Vivian was staring to wonder how bad it was.

"Well. We'll just have to lie about how many hot dogs you eat before she gets back."

That won a smile from Gail.

After lunch and after helping clean up, Vivian and Jamie piled into the truck to go home. "So what's up with Gail? She's all weird."

"Weirder than normal?"

"Tense. Like ... She catch a bad case?"

Vivian sighed. "I'm not sure. Moms took Friday off and she's been like that since."

Her girlfriend scowled. "You had that face once. When you told me about the homeless kid you met in your first year?"

Oh. "Cases with kids are always hard. Mom had one of those a couple months ago. Set her off for days."

"Poor Holly," muttered Jamie.

Vivian tilted her head. "Have I mentioned I like how you always know what Mom I'm talking about?"

Jamie laughed. "It's obvious. Not just contextually. You do say them differently. When you're talking about Gail, you have this sort of half-suffering tone. If it's Holly, you're kinda softer. Fonder."

No one had ever said it that way before. "I like both of them," she pointed out. "But Gail is a lot to take in."

"You keep saying that. I haven't really seen that. She's been ... Do you even remember how she was when you and Holly got shit faced?"

The what? "Oh, you mean when I found out about... No. I don't remember a whole lot after we moved on to the second bottle." She scratched her head. "Mostly I remember Mom nagging me to eat, and you telling me my Cards Against Humanity answers were too morbid."

Laughing, Jamie nodded. "You have a weird gift to be even more inappropriate than normal for that one."

"Sorry."

"Hey, no. It's ... I think late shocks to the system, especially ones like that, are horrible. They just flip your world."

"So." Vivian eyed her girlfriend. "Now is not the time to tell you that's how I always play?"

Jamie laughed again and backhand slapped Vivian's arm. "Asshole."

"You like me," sang Vivian. "You think I'm preeeeetty. You want to kiiiiiiiiss me."

"Alright, Casanova!" Jamie kept laughing. "Wait till we get in the apartment."

Vivian raised her hands in self defense. "Fine, fine."

Smirking, Jamie pulled into the building's garage and parked in their spot. "Hey, so. Christian's going to be out late. He was going out with the guys."

Vivian nodded and hopped out of the car. "Yeah, he made friends with your shortstop. Good for him. He needs more dude friends, since I think I may be the most masculine friend he has..."

"That is not an inaccurate statement." Jamie paused. "But that means he's, y'know. Out."

Oh. Vivian grimaced. "My arm is killing me, babe."

"See, and mine aren't. I really don't see this as a problem, Peck."

The problem with being too grumpy for too long was that, soon enough, Gail would be faced with the one human who could always get her out of her own head.

"Hi, Oliver."

Her former TO, sergeant, inspector, and forever friend smiled and held up a box of pastries. "I come bearing gifts, Peck!"

"How much did Holly tell you?" She gestured for Oliver to come in.

"Very little." Oliver walked in and put the box down. "She said she was out going to be out and to come over because you needed adult supervision. Where is the esteemed doctor?"

"She got called in. Yesterday at the game, the news broke about one of her cases." Gail shrugged. It wasn't a case Gail was involved in at all, but something from a division outside her purview. "So Mom's got dementia."

Oliver startled. "What?"

"Genetic. It's not damage, it's a break down of some chemicals that cause her brain to, y'know, not remember." She started some coffee. "I guess that kind of makes it damage, but its shrinkage. Did you know the brain shrunk?"

"I did not. No. No. I did not." Oliver frowned. "Gail..."

"It was news to me too. I mean, Holly's not a brain doc." Her hand shook as she tamped down the grains of coffee, spilling on the counter. "Damn it..."

"Gail." Oliver reached over and took the coffee out of her hands. His voice was soft and gentle.

Damn it. Oliver. He always broke her. He was the dad she'd wished she'd had. He cared so damn much. Gail felt the tears she'd been ignoring creep up. "She's losing her mind, Ollie," she whispered.

He nodded. "I know, darlin'. I know." He put the coffee together and started a cup.

"Ollie..." Gail scrubbed her face with the back of her hand. "She's losing her memory."

That was the part that really hurt. Elaine Peck losing the brilliant memory. The gift that made Elaine such a great cop was her mind. It was why she was famous and loved. Elaine knew everything and she remembered it, and yes, Gail had tried so fucking hard for so goddamn long to be like her. Gail had worked her ass off to remember things just so she could prove to her mother than she was smart.

And now Elaine was losing that.

And Steve would too. Eli would. Lizzie. All her Armstrong family ran a risk of losing their memory.

"Hey, darlin'. They caught it early, right?"

She shook her head. "Not really. No. It's ... She forgot why I don't like the Archer. And then it got worse. Ollie, she lost track of a case while we were working on it."

It was the fact that Elaine couldn't follow the case that terrified her. That was when Gail knew it was really bad. What was Elaine if she wasn't the genius? What was Gail?

Oliver sighed and gestured with his arms out. She really didn't want to need a hug from him. "Do they know when... You?"

God bless him, Oliver worried about her. Gail laughed, mirthlessly. "Oh my god. That's the best part. It can't happen to me."

Her oldest friend startled. "What? You didn't inherit whatever it is?"

She shook her head. "Nope, I inherited it and so did Steve."

Oliver looked confused. "Gail, you're not making much sense."

Gail rapped her knuckles on her head. "So. It turns out I got some permanent damage up here."

While Elaine and Steve and Holly all caught that in less than a second, it took Oliver two heartbeats. She had never appreciated how the realization would look, dawning slowly on someone's face. "You don't mean..."

Nodding, Gail picked up the coffee. "The drugs did it. Burned something that stops the, ah, degeneration of my brain tissue. Doctor wants me to be a case study."

Oliver looked a little sick. "God, Gail, that's ... horrible seems like an understatement."

She sipped the coffee. "Yeah. It's fun."

Twice now her life was saved by Ross Perik. And yes, it stung. It made her sick to her stomach. Akin to the low grade nausea a person felt from something dumb, it was like bending a fingernail backwards. She just felt physically ill. Ross fucking Perik was the reason she kept her badge after a fuckup that was everyone's fault. And Ross Perik was why she wouldn't lose her mind.

Oliver put a hand on her shoulder. "I was thinking you were just ... you know. Gail." He laughed a little. "You are never simple, Gail. My god. You don't do anything easy."

The laughter was infectious. Gail cracked a real smile and chuckle. "I don't, do I? Fell in love the hard way."

"Became a human the hard way," teased Oliver.

"That's pretty generous." Gail sipped the coffee. "Did you want some?"

"Decaf?"

"Yeah." She started a second cup. "We're old, Oliver."

Her friend smiled. "We are, Gail. We are old. You ever think you're too old for this thing?"

Gail nodded. "Every day. More now that Holly did."

Smiling, Oliver opened his box of pastries. "That must be weird."

"A bit. A lot." She doctored his coffee the way Oliver liked it and handed it over. "She's happier."

Oliver nodded. "Think you would be?"

"Not yet." She knew that one day the answer would change, but today, in that moment, no. Gail loved her job, and to do less of it would make her less. "And at least I don't have to worry about losing my marbles."

The retired officer sighed. "God. Can I know? I mean, if I stopped by her place?"

"And said hey, Elaine, heard you're gonna forget me so I better sing Natural Woman?" Gail smirked. "Yeah, you can know. I mean, who else am I gonna talk to who isn't Holly?" She then hesitated. "We haven't told Viv yet."

"Which part?"

"The results. She knew Elaine was getting her head scanned. And Holly told her I did."

"And why didn't you, my petulant one?"

"The contrast dye made me sick." Gail made a face. "Can't blame that on a serial killer. Well. Maybe the Pecks. But I think that my weird reactions to meds is all Armstrong." Picking out a pastry, Gail took a bite and sighed. Oliver always got the good stuff.

He was her friend. He was a mentor. He was the only man in her life who had always taken her side. Always. Oliver Shaw never thought less of Gail for her mistakes. He never assumed the worst of her. He never once made her feel like she wasn't someone worth being cared about.

Gail liked to joke that it was Holly who made her a person but the reality was that it was Ollie who did it. They had only met a few times before she'd joined the force, but even then, the first time when he had pulled her over in Steve's car, Gail had a feeling he was going to be a part of her life forever.

"Hey, Ollie?" When he looked up from his pastry selection, she smiled. "Thanks."

"For you, darlin? Anything."

And Gail was pretty sure Oliver meant it sincerely.

Tuesday was the first morning that Gail hadn't woken up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath and clutching at her arm or neck. No, Tuesday morning rolled around and Holly's alarm went off and she found herself securely spooned by her wife. Gail's forehead was pressed against Holly's shoulder, a pale arm slung across her waist.

Very carefully, Holly reached over to tap her alarm before it disturbed the blonde. Neither of them had to be at work early, and Holly wanted to revel in the sensation of a sleeping Gail Peck. She closed her eyes and smiled, listening to the steady heartbeat and even breathing. Oh yes, Holly slept much better with Gail there beside her. How could she not after all the years?

But all things, good and bad, came to an eventual end. Gail's breathing changed and her body became less heavy. Slowly, the blonde's muscles were picking up and remembering what they needed to do. The sleeping woman became aware.

"Morning," said Holly, softly.

"Mmmm," managed Gail, pressing her face further into Holly's shoulder. "S'time?"

"No. We can have a lie in."

"Kay." And Gail relaxed, slipping easily back into the half awake state.

Holly did envy that. She couldn't fall back asleep once awake. It never bothered her, not even as a child. She did mind the waiting, as Holly could think about her plans for the day. Like today she was plotting out her to-do. There was an interview with some lab techs, ones that Ananda and Wanda liked for their lab.

The lab was already called the Wananda Witchery Lab, and Holly had not sussed out who started the name. Gail had rolled her eyes at it, finding the name not imaginative enough. She did approve of Holly's idea to make use of her weirdos though, Gail's words. Of them all, Ananda had the wherewithal to be a boss one day.

"Stop thinking so loud," mumbled Gail. She shifted and rolled away from Holly.

"Sorry." Holly stretched and sat up. "It's Tuesday."

Gail grimaced and covered her face. "Tuesday. Meet with the Mounties about the new plan. Get Trujillo dialed in as the liaison. Need to replace her with the unis. Maybe Pedro again. Feel like he's walking backwards, though." Gail sighed. "Right. Tuesday. Make John do the reorg."

Just like that, Gail was awake and moving.

She did hate mornings, Gail did. But on a workday, Gail got up and moving practically by rote. Holly followed Gail into the bathroom, their morning routine of brushing teeth and washing faces and everything else a person did in the morning was, indeed, a routine. They could do it blindfolded.

As Holly washed the oil off her face and patted it dry, Gail snuck up behind her and wrapped her arms about Holly's waist. "Hey," said Holly, catching a glimpse of a fuzzy Gail in the mirror.

When they'd met, Holly could get away with not wearing her glasses when making out with pretty blondes in coat closets. That day was long gone. Without her glasses on, Gail was a pale, blonde-capped fuzzy blotch.

"Hey," replied Gail. She said no more, just holding on to Holly. It felt like she was brooding.

So Holly finished drying her face and put on some toner and then moisturizer. Then she cleaned off her glasses, like she did every morning, and slid them back on to look at Gail properly.

Indeed, Gail was broody. "Deep thoughts, officer?"

"Detective."

"Staff Inspector."

Gail smiled a little. "Thinking about Mom."

"Oh?" Holly wasn't sure how to take that. Discussions about Elaine had been fraught with pain lately.

"I should ask her to move in. With us."

Holly sighed and patted Gail's hands. "No. You shouldn't."

Her wife looked stricken. "But... She's my mother."

"And one of you would be dead within a week, probably Elaine. I'd have to help you cover it up, because I married you. And then I'd be wracked with guilt and not sleep and ... ugh. No no. Elaine can't live here."

Gail looked sad. "Am I a bad daughter?"

"No. Why?"

"Because I'm relieved."

Holly turned around and draped her arms over Gail's shoulders. "Honey."

"I mean, I shouldn't be relieved. It's my mother. I should feel something, right? Something other than this ... this relief. What's another word for it?" Gail frowned and closed her eyes, leaning forward until her forehead touched Holly's. "I'm so ... I'm so glad it's not going to be me. And I'm glad it's just Mom. That Steve's gonna be okay. But... god thank god it's not me."

When Gail ran down and finally breathed, Holly gently cupped her face and kissed Gail softly. "It's okay to feel like that, Gail," she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I promise." She kissed Gail again. "It's okay

Gail nodded a little and sighed. "Okay. I'll call Mom later then. Sort out a driver or ... nurse. Nurse. She won't give up her car."

"Gail. Why don't I do that? I've got a light day."

"No. No. I should." Gail exhaled and kissed Holly on the corner of her mouth. "You can help me with the nurse."

"That's fair. Come on. Get dressed and I'll make you coffee."

Gail nodded again and went to the bedroom to change.

It wasn't much, but it was what she could do for now.

Suiting up for actual raids was Vivian's least favorite part of the job. The bombs and the electronics she understood well. Scaling buildings was fun. But the times Vivian hefted a rifle and stepped in behind Sabrina and Duane and helped to kick in the door of a drug lab. No not as fun.

Gail and Steve and Elaine all prided themselves on having never shot anyone. They'd certainly shot at people, something Vivian had not yet done. She'd held her gun on someone, talked a man down once, and she'd had guns pointed at her too many times. Hell, she'd been shot. In her vest. Never shot a person though. She hoped she'd never have to, even though she stood there with her rifle ready.

"You sure it's clear?" Staff sergeant Julian Smith's calm voice came in one the radio. He'd taken the half-step promotion, now that Sue was their Inspector and not a field lieutenant.

Vivian missed Sue a bit. Not just because she'd had a crush on the woman when she'd been a girl. Sue was the sort of person that was trustworthy. Dependable.

Not that Jules wasn't those things. He just wasn't as much of a fixture as Sue. He was good. She was great. And yes, there was a difference.

But he was their field leader now, and Vivian would not gainsay or doubt him. Never second guess the generals in the field, that was what Gail said.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Vivian, double checking her heads up display. "Pen Scan was clear. No booby traps we can see."

"It's always the ones you can't," replied Sue. Of course she was listening in. "You know that one, right Peck?"

Vivian quirked a smile. "Yes ma'am. Inspector Epstein told me." The story of how Sue had met Dov. He'd stepped on a booby trap. "I got a low and high scan. Checks out as just high end, but low brain."

"That's what Guns & Gangs promised us," muttered Jules.

That meant Traci promised. And that meant Traci was probably listening in. Vivian fought the urge to make a comment to that effect.

"Blue Team is ready," said Sabrina. She spared an eye roll for Vivian, who shrugged.

"Alright, kick it in," ordered Jules.

Sabrina gestured at Vivian. "All you, Peck."

It was a reward for doing the scans and hauling her shit plus the rifle. Vivian would take it. She swung her rifle to her back and took the battering ram from her teammate. Jamie had been so disappointed to find out they didn't kick doors in. Not most of the time at least.

Taking the ram, she swung it back and knocked door in with one go. That was the extra fun part of the move. Then she dropped to a knee and let her fellow teammates cover her. If anyone shot or looked like shooting, she'd be protected. After a pause, and no signs of trouble, they stormed in.

The whole series of maneuvers were well practiced. Rehearsed. Vivian had spent hours and weeks and months going over them. It was like dancing, which she was terrible at. No. It was like sports, which she was great at. The set pieces in soccer were hard to do, since the other team always messed them up. But that was exactly like what was going on there. The ETF teams had their set pieces and the junkies were trying to mess them up.

Everything went like clockwork this time. At least in the beginning.

Vivian left the battering ram by the door, following protocol, and stepped back into the line with Sabrina.

"Nice job with the door," said her mentor.

"Taught by the best," Vivian replied, grinning.

"Here's hoping the intel was clean," added Sabrina.

"It's from Inspector Traci Peck. It's good."

Traci had lost a friend on the line before, in ETF. Sgt. Bailey and Traci had been very close. At one point there had been a rumor Traci was going to throw Steve over for him, but that had been when Holly and Traci were also on the outs. Information regarding that time was chancy at best. She'd had to rely on Andy, for god's sake.

But any intel that came from Traci was going to be checked a hundred times. To date, she'd never lost a single person in a raid, and Vivian had faith today wasn't going to be the first.

As expected, it was the basement and back of the house where all the idiots were working. And they hadn't heard a damn thing of Vivian bashing in the door. As soon as Duane and Ivan broke in on the room, there was screaming and shouting and people running.

It was perfectly normal and chaotic. The funny thing was, the crazier the scene got, the easier it was to concentrate. Vivian's brain could handle other people's stress very well. It was the same way she could handle bombs and all sorts of computer things, while insanity went around her. Her small world made perfect sense.

Vivian helped herd the drug makers. That was all their job was today. Collect the idiots making drugs and let Traci scream at them until they broke. The only reason ETF was sent in was that it was considered high risk with all the drugs and their chemicals. Which was totally true.

One of the last people Vivian expected to see was Maisie Falls. The young woman was supposed to be in rehab. No. Wait. She'd run away from rehab. And she was clawing at Ivan, ripping at his face shield.

"Someone get her down," shouted Duane.

"I got her," said Vivian. "Maisie, hey, calm down." Vivian grabbed Maisie's arm.

"You! You bitch!" And Maisie launched herself onto Vivian.

The move was telegraphed. Even if Vivian hadn't been expecting it, she would have seen it coming. With one hand, she arrested Maisie's motion, caught her shirt by the collar, pivoted, and let Maisie's momentum carry her down. Self defense classes were things every single Peck took. Vivian had been exceptionally fond of them.

Even though she slammed Maisie into the ground, Vivian made sure she did it in a controlled motion. She even lifted Maisie up a bit to make sure not to hurt her. Just knock the wind out.

"Jesus, Maisie, what the hell are you on?" She didn't wait for an answer, rolling Maisie over and cuffing her.

That was probably good. All Maisie said were fairly horrible inciting things. She kicked and screamed and thrashed. It was, in a word, bad. And when, hours later, Sadie came to collect her child on bail, only to find that the court wouldn't allow it, it got worse.

Vivian tried to calm down Sadie, but that wasn't helping any more than tossing Maisie had helped. By all rights, Sadie had a reason to be angry. They were keeping her from her daughter. Who was having a hell of a detox in lock up. And no one wanted to get Traci because Maisie and Sadie were involved.

But. Sadie was family. She'd been a CI for as long as Andy had been a cop, for one. She'd screwed up a hundred times but she was family. An imperfect family, like everyone else at Fifteen.

"Please," begged Sadie, wailing against Vivian, crying into her shoulder. "Please, you have to help me. She's all I have."

And all that was how Vivian ended up sitting in the cell with Maisie, holding her while she sobbed and shook. Vivian stopped Maisie from scratching her arms bloody over the 'spiders and ants' crawling on her skin, and kept the junkie together until finally an actual doctor came with drugs to help detox.

Damn it all, Maisie was too much of a flight risk, and she had already run off from a treatment center. That meant she had to be treated while locked up, and getting that settled while she was still awaiting trial meant pulling strings.

Andy was the most helpful. Next was Traci, who was annoyed but understanding as to why Vivian hadn't called her, and finally they got Maisie into a hospital stay, under guard, and Sadie got in to see her.

After that, Vivian's day was done. Oh, Andy and Traci said she'd done a good thing. They'd praised Vivian's work there. They'd warned her not to get personally involved. And then her day was done and she felt unsettled.

Family was a strange thing. Sadie had finally gotten her life together only to have her daughter's fall apart. Poor Sadie had nothing but pain and agony from being unable to help or stop.

And just like that, the shoe dropped.

Gail was acting weird because Elaine's test results on her brain had come back. And ... And what? Fuck, Vivian hated detective work. Okay. If Gail was freaking totally out, then it would have to be hereditary. Whatever the problem was, if Elaine had genetically passed it down to Gail, her mother would be angry.

As far as she could tell, Gail wasn't angry, and Holly wasn't panicking. They were just depressed. More so than would warrant just Elaine having some crazy brain damage. But again, not enough that it was Alzheimer's. Which was hereditary last Vivian recalled. So. What if the problem was something genetic but it skipped Gail. That would be schadenfreude ... no. Bittersweet? There needed to be a better word for being happy and sad at once.

Oh. But. But. There was a worse thing. What if it was genetic and Gail did carry the gene but the disease couldn't affect her. Because of what? There could only be one thing that would put Gail that off her feed.

"Damn it," Vivian swore and pulled her phone out as she closed her locker.

"Hey, honey," said Holly, picking up right away.

"I'm coming over. I'm going to yell at both of you for not telling me about Mom, and then I'm going to hug Gail and make her uncomfortable. Okay?"

Holly paused a moment and then laughed ruefully. "I think that's fair. See you in twenty?"

"Ten. I'm at the station."

"Still? Everything okay with your raid?"

Vivian sighed. "Mom."

"Ten minutes. Yes. Gail, honey, Vivian's coming over, and I told you so." Holly's smile was audible. "Drive safe, sweetheart."

"Always."

As Vivian hung up, she heard a laugh behind her. Traci. "Oh boy. Do I want to know?"

Vivian hesitated. "How's Steve?"

Her aunt's face slipped into worried mom. "Ah. They told you?"

"No, which is why all that." Vivian waved a hand and shoved her phone into her jacket pocket. "Is he okay?"

"He will be. More or less. It's early, so." Traci shrugged, and Vivian's fears were confirmed. It was genetic. Steve had it. Gail would have, if not... ugh. "Listen. About Sadie..."

"I know, don't get personally involved—"

"Except that this was the right time for it. You probably saved Maisie's life."

Vivian looked at her feet. "She... Sadie's one of us. I mean, she's been us. Fifteen us. Forever."

"Yeah." Traci nodded. "She has been. And Maisie is too."

"It ... I would have done that for anyone."

To her surprise, Traci shook her head. "No. You wouldn't. You did it because you knew her, and you knew what was wrong, and you took time to care and fix it. A lot of those kids you guys rounded up were on drugs."

"Not like Maisie was."

"Maybe. Still. You did good, Viv. Now go yell at Gail and hug her for me, okay?"

Vivian smiled. She could do that.

The painting didn't look any better to her in the museum. Mind, Gail didn't think it was all that much of a great painting anyway, but usually she felt things were made more impressive when in a museum. There was something grand about them. Museums. They housed works of art, the dreams and gifts of artists whose visions changed the world. They were bold or subtle, they were deep or shallow, they were always, always, more than one expected.

And a museum took the art out of the houses of the rich and into the world. A museum was a fairly inexpensive way to view millions and billions worth of priceless works. A museum could display the one painting that changed the world for a person.

Gail had felt changed the first time she'd been to AGO as a child. A toddler, Steve had taken her hand and led her down to where Picasso's La Soupe hung. It wasn't the most identifiable Picasso. There were no wildly outsized and misplaced facial features. In fact, even now Gail felt it was a bit Chagall. But it had the bold lines and the hunched agony of all of Picasso's work.

A benediction of soup.

It was the specific moment that she'd started to understand the point of art.

Conversely, Gail looked at the landscape by Adriaen van de Velde, a painting with a brilliant past and deep history, and muttered to herself. "Woman in Gold this is not."

Beside her, Marcel Savard snorted a laugh. "It really is not, is it?"

"Which one's that?" John peered around from the other side.

"It's a movie." Gail rubbed her lower lip. "Actually kind of related to this case. The Alltman family fought the Austria government for a decade over the rather brilliant Klimt painting, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I."

"The painting was taken by the Nazis of Vienna," explained Marcel.

John made a soft 'huh' sound. Then he asked, "Which Klimt?"

"Gustav," said Gail and Marcel together.

"Oh that's the one you like." John nodded, understanding.

Gail shrugged. "It's better than this. More impressive." She still preferred the Klimt furniture, frankly.

"I don't get that," admitted John. "It's art, right? How come we get to say it's good or bad?"

"I didn't say it was bad," Gail pointed out. "I said I don't like it, and I don't find it impressive." She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "Art is complicated. It's ... the purpose is strange. People make art to tell a story, to express themselves in a way that common language lacks. They paint to show what they see. They sing to make you feel what they feel. They rip their chest open and share their soul with you. And from that end, a single person's judgement is useless. My view of art doesn't matter. What matters is I'm here, looking at it, and thinking. What I get from it, the specifics, are meaningless. That I get something from it is the point here."

Marcel nodded, agreeing apparently. "A man climbs a mountain because it is there. A man makes a work of art because it is not there."

"Person," corrected Gail, smirking.

"I am sorry. A person climbs a mountain and creates art." Marcel dipped his chin to apologize.

John squinted. "So it's okay to not like the art?"

"Of course," said Marcel. "Gail, s'il vous plaît. Why do you not care for this?"

She'd walked into that one. "It's generic. The subject matter is interesting, an insight into a time gone by, but it's bland. It shows me a land. It shows me how things used to be. It's cool, and it's amazing work, but it's a photograph. I don't feel anything different."

"And we're sure this isn't because you're a heartless, soulless, beast?"

Gail backhanded John in the chest. "Asshole. You act like I dated you."

"I've heard stories from Nick."

Marcel made a noise. "Nick? You dated Nick the blonde man?"

"Man is subjective. But yes. Twice."

"That horrifies me." Marcel was stricken. "I cannot imagine you with anyone but la belle docteur."

"Me neither," said Gail, smiling.

They stared at the painted for a little while longer.

Gail liked a lot of art. She loved a lot of art. She loved music and paintings and dance. She loved all kinds of those things. And deep in her heart, Gail loved them all. Even the ones she didn't like, she loved. Which made it easy to guess why Sandra had stolen the art, and angry at her ultimate reason. Idiot. Theft to show superiority was boring. It was normal and unimaginative.

The Hoffman children, though. Yeah. They made sense. They wanted their legacy back. And Gail? She did too. She had her legacy in her hands, reclaimed from the dregs and disarray that the Pecks had cast it into. The name Peck once again stood for something worthy. Something important and good.

And fuck them all, Gail did that.

Screw the Armstrongs and their petty nature, made over a revelation no one really cared about. They could keep their riches and their shallow pride, for all the good it did them. At the end of the day, it was Gail who held her head high for the job she'd done, the name she wore, and the work she was dedicated to doing.

"God, I hope this will work," said John at length.

"It'll work. We'll catch her. Even if it's just spotting the same woman coming to look at the painting a million times."

Marcel seemed to agree. "She will reveal herself. Her desire will out."

"Two weeks to your opening," said John. "Are they replacing all the paintings in here with fakes?"

"No. Just the super expensive ones." Gail rubbed her lower lip again. "Most of the others, the insurance company is willing to cover."

"They've got a vested interest," muttered Marcel.

"Actually, they want to avoid a scandal about how many paintings were swapped out." Gail grinned in a way she hoped was malicious.

No matter how confident Gail made herself sound, though, she worried. It was the nature of her life and her work to worry. She hid her worry these days in the planning and the setting up of the guards and the monitors.

They had a simple plan. Put the painting on display. Make a show of taking Walter to see it. Then have him announce it was being donated to the museum in perpetuity. That would, she hope, pull Louise out of the woodworks and then they could snatch her up.

There was no guarantee. None of it was certain, much like Gail's life. And if they didn't catch her, if Louise walked away and didn't take the bait... Gail only had 90 days. After that, the guards reverted to normal, the paintings were moved around, and the art became un-special.

It all banked on if she was right about motive, and Gail had been wrong about it for the whole case.

She was still ruminating on that as she returned to Fifteen and finished the rest of her work. The doubts crowded the back of her mind, joining the regular chorus of insecurities. Gail wasn't good enough. She was the pale fail. She was the weird child who never fit in. She was the rookie on the outs.

Speaking of. Gail caught sight of her child, laughing with her rookie class. They were joking about the new round of rooks, due in July after a demand for an extended series of courses at the Academy and classes that Gail had not had time to help with. Holly had, taking off a few days to lecture on medical jurisprudence and evidence collection.

More likely than not, Holly would do more of that. Gail had recommended her wife teach, but Holly liked to be more participatory. Teaching while doing. And that was okay.

"So you're coming, right, Viv?" Jenny was laughing.

"Seeing someone else get their face shoved in the counter? You bet." They jostled around and Vivian went into the locker room, ostensibly to change.

It was beautiful, seeing her daughter come out of her shell. Vivian had made friends far faster than Gail had. Once she was in the protective covering of the uniform, Vivian started to be the girl she was in private. Well. Sort of. Gail was seeing more and more of that with Jamie, which was a delight. Her idiot kid was in love. And yes, Lisa was right, it was very annoying from the other end.

As soon as she stopped thinking about her kid, though, the nagging voices came back. Today they sounded like Bill Peck. And a little like Harold. The shrill, drunken, antagonistic tones of Antonia Armstrong (née Fairchild) colored the edges. Gail needed to shut them up, but she could tell that shooting and cooking wasn't going to cut it. Nor would yoga. It was the kind of day that called for some physical pan.

That was something she hated more than Holly did. Sometimes the only way to shut up the voices was to hurt, physically. So Gail would go running, which she despised, or weight training, or hot yoga, or anything that made her muscles burn. Just to get the thoughts drowned under a sea of pain.

It was, no doubt, why people cut themselves. Self harm made sense in a great many ways. It allowed a person to focus, but it allowed them to focus on things that weren't the emotional problems. The closest Gail had ever been to it was after Perik when she was desperate enough to feel anything that she stayed with Nick.

Talk about a big mistake. Nick was safe. He was inoffensive. He wouldn't hurt Gail. Except then he did, and she punched him and dear god in heaven, that had felt delicious. Not the hurting of him. Okay, maybe a little. But really the sharp pain in her hand had been oh so good. Perfection.

No doubt Nick would be unhappy to be punched again. And Holly would have words about reckless behavior. And their therapist would too. But. There was another idea that had been floated.

Gail grinned and walked into the locker room. "Spawn of Satan, I need to talk to you."

Her daughter's expression was a master class of droll at its finest. "You oughta know." Vivian tugged her shirt on, a flannel tank which was so very gay.

"I need an address from you." And Gail asked for an address that surprised her child a little. To her credit, though, Vivian just rolled her eyes and offered to come with. A class project.

And that would work fine.

"Gail, what's on your side?"

Holly struggled to keep her voice steady, but watching her wife change at the end of the day and having a surprise bandage appear was low on her list of fun activities. It also didn't make her feel calm.

Her wife looked sheepish. A very specific kind of embarrassment. It was the one Gail favored when she'd done a wrong or bad thing. The kind that meant Gail was sure she was in the dog house.

"Oh. I... I got a tattoo," said Gail at length.

"You what?" Surely her ears needed cleaning. Gail was in her fifties. She'd dyed her hair a million times, she pierced her ears, but she was not adventurous like that. Hell, Gail was actually opposed to the idea when Holly had floated it a million years ago, and had been vocally annoyed about Vivian's. Tattoos were not Gail Peck.

The blonde sighed and carefully pealed off the bandage, revealing a small tattoo on her rib cage. It was a very simple outline of a shark, done in a blue that was nearly black, and stood out boldly on her pale skin. It was beautiful. A single line, artistic, and minimalist.

And the first thing that popped out of Holly's mouth? "You sat there for an hour after work in your bra?"

Gail rolled her eyes. "I told Viv you'd say that."

"Oh thank god, you went with the kid?" A vision of a non-sanitary place (like where Holly's first tattoo was from) had sprung to mind.

"Yeah. Same place she went. We went."

"Oh? Did she get... you know what, I don't care. What the hell possessed you to do that!?" Holly waved her hands. "That's your rib cage! It had to hurt like hell."

"It did," confirmed Gail. "I can't understand why people do this multiple times." Gail tossed her clothes into the hamper and shook her head.

"I can't fathom why you did it once." Holly frowned. "Did you get some cream?"

"Yep. It's in the bathroom."

Holly must have missed that. Gail had come home late, though not considerably by much. "Why did you get a tattoo?"

"It felt right," said Gail, dismissively.

Narrowing her eyes, Holly watched Gail get in the shower. Of the many things Gail was, a creature of impulsivity she was not. She put on a veneer of it from time to time, she certainly was childish and impish, but Gail was always well planned and organized. She liked order. It was probably one of those things that was beaten into her as a Peck, mind.

So. Why would Gail Peck, who was categorically opposed to tattoos and piercings, get a tattoo? Albeit it was where no one would see it, except Holly, and anyone who saw Gail in a bikini or her bra (again, a limited array of people). It was perhaps, like the hair coloring, a safe rebellion.

But that didn't feel right. Gail said the tattoo felt right. Maybe she meant that literally.

Holly sighed and tossed her clothes into the hamper. "Honey, what happened?"

"Nothing," said Gail, still in the shower.

"Gail." Holly sighed, exasperated. Getting answers out of her wife was often like pulling teeth.

Gail sighed back and turned off the water. "What?"

"Is it the case, your mom, or something else?"

Gail shook her head. "None. All. I don't know." Snatching a towel angrily, Gail roughly scrubbed her hair. "It's distracting me a little right now."

Opting not to push that, Holly got into the shower. "If you lie down, I'll lotion it. And you."

The blonde made a noise and went into the bedroom.

Something was bothering Gail. That wasn't hard to determine. Gail got in moods that weren't quite depression, but really were difficult to describe otherwise. They led to her old self-destructive ways, to boot. Picking fights and running up trees all stemmed from Gail's insecurities and doubts.

It was probably guilt, though, realized Holly. Gail had been increasingly dour about the problems with Elaine. Even the intervention of Oliver hadn't significantly helped. So a tattoo, something that hurt and drove out thought, made perfect sense. All that pent up emotion had to go somewhere, and if the pain stopped her from lashing out, well. Holly really couldn't argue it.

She brought the jar of tattoo cream out to the bedroom and laughed. "Certified vegan, Gail?" She took a fingerfull of the goop and rubbed it in her hands to soften and warm it up.

"It smelled the best and didn't make my hand itch." The blonde was draped over the bed on her stomach, her face turned to the bathroom but her eyes closed.

"I'm going to tell Celery."

"Hah. Bite me."

Holly smiled and leaned over, gently rubbing the cream into Gail's side. Even so, Gail hissed a little. Her skin was always so sensitive. "You know, when I got my first tattoo, we used A&D ointment and Aquaphor."

"I still can't believe you got a tattoo without weeks of investigation and study."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"Misadventures of Dr. Bitch Tits."

"Damn it, Lisa," grumbled Holly. Once the tattoo was treated, she rubbed the extra lotion into the dry patch on Gail's elbow, and then clambered on the bed, straddling Gail's legs and sitting on the back of the other woman's thighs.

Gail made a surprised noise. "Hello. Naked?"

"I'm trying to distract you from whatever grumpy thoughts are stuck up in your noggin, Peck."

Rumbling a laugh, Gail glanced at Holly. "Oh believe me, not thinking."

"Yeah? Well if you don't sort it out, I'm taking you hiking this weekend."

Predictably, Gail whinged. "That doesn't help. Ever."

"If you go hiking, we can try the new sushi place."

That won silence out of the blonde. "Goddamn it."

Holly smiled to herself and massaged Gail's shoulders and upper back. It was definitely guilt tension. Her work stress was more in her lower back, and her normal insecurities made Gail hunch. But guilt, oh, that caused her to set her shoulders back and dare the world to fuck with her.

"Gail, tell me something I don't know about you."

"Uh, I think you know everything at this point."

Holly poked Gail's butt. "Impossible."

Her wife huffed. "Okay. Uh. Oh, I saw a palm reader once."

"For a case?"

"No. For real. After Chris dumped me and I didn't want to live at home." She paused. "I lied, you know."

"Color me shocked."

"No, I mean I lied about living at home." Gail squirmed a little and Holly obligingly got off her. "Okay, so... I told you about the dumb ass who stole my uniform?"

"Out of your car. Which you mysteriously did not own when I met you a year later."

"It got broken into. And had all my stuff in it."

Holly blinked. "Why was your stuff in your car?"

"When the whole Chris thing blew up, I did want to go home. To my parents. So I lied. I kinda lived out of my car for a couple months."

Well. That was something Holly hadn't known. "Months?"

"Yeah. I only went back after my uniform got stolen because it was part of the deal I made with my mom." Gail scratched her head. "But I kept finding excuses not to be at home. Like the roof being fixed."

Holly blinked. "The reason you were at Andy's."

"Yeah. I needed to be ... away. From home. And it worked. I could've stayed there. Mom wanted me to. I just couldn't deal with Dad's disappointment."

"Bill did have a pretty impressive disappoint," agreed Holly. "Seriously, though. Two months?"

"I may have crashed at Steve's a few times." Gail sighed and got up to find something to sleep in. "But I haven't told anyone that. Not even my shrink." She paused. "You want the sportsball shirt?" Gail held up one of Holly's softest and most cuddly sleep shirts.

"You may want to borrow that," noted Holly. "Fabric is going to itch like mad tomorrow."

Gail looked at her rib cage. "Good point." She pulled the shirt on, hugged herself happily, and then brought one of Holly's other shirts over.

Smiling, Holly got in her sleepwear and pointed out something else. "You can't snuggle with your ribs like that, you know."

"Ah, I can if I'm the big spoon," announced Gail, gleefully wriggling into her spot in bed. "I love this mattress, by the way." As soon as Holly got into her side of the bed, Gail threw an arm over her waist and snuggled right up.

"You're an idiot, Gail."

"Yes. But I'm your idiot."

Holly rolled her eyes and turned the lights off. "No more tattoos or body modifications without talking to me first."

Behind her, Gail huffed. "Okay. I promise." And then. "This is really a one time thing. Hurt like a son of a bitch."

"I could have told you that," chided Holly, and Gail squeezed her. "I worry about you, Gail."

"I know. I'm sorry." Gail pressed her head against Holly's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that, okay?"

"I'll try."

And that was the best Holly could hope for.

Lying with her head on Jamie's chest, their legs still somewhat entangled, Vivian felt a peculiar calm wash over her. Her brain was quiet. Not empty of thought, but not the general omnipresent worry sitting there. She was calm.

Jamie sighed and caressed Vivian's hair. "You're feeling better," she said softly.

"Mmmm. Yeah." She looked at her own hand on Jamie's ribs, the color difference standing out. Jamie was darker than Vivian, but it was more that they were different tones. Shades.

Absently Vivian drew patterns on Jamie's skin, tracing the lines of her ribs, the edges of the bone.

It had been a strange night. They'd skipped a dinner with Gail and Holly and went to see Jamie's parents instead. Vivian's mothers hadn't minded. They were a little relieved, which confused Jamie until Vivian explained on the ride home.

With Elaine's permission, and Gail's, Vivian told her girlfriend about Elaine's brain disease and how Gail was magically immune. Somehow Vivian had avoided talking about Perik and just implied that Gail was lucky.

One of the many reasons she was sure she was in love with Jamie was that her girlfriend cracked a joke. Jamie said it was too bad Viv was adopted, as Jamie would have to constantly come up with new stories.

It was a terrible, horrible, dark comment. And Vivian loved it.

Dark humor was the kind of thing she'd grown up with, with Gail and Holly at least. They were always a bit more morbid that people (Andy) thought they should be around kids. It was the one of those things that made Vivian feel safer, though. Laughing at the darkness made it much less terrifying.

She could laugh with Jamie. They could look at the terrible things in the world, share a drink, and laugh. Evil always happened. It was always going to happen. No one could stop that. But laughing at it made it more tolerable sometimes. Sometimes. Maybe there was something to the adage of pain shared being pain halved.

"Life," muttered Jamie, her hand stilling on Vivian's back.

"Who needs it?" Vivian smiled and pressed her face into Jamie's chest.

"Is ... Is Elaine going to lose her memory?"

"Probably not, no." Planting a kiss on Jamie's collar, Vivian eased off the warmth of her girlfriend and propped herself up on an elbow. "I know why your dad isn't close to his parents..."

"Mom's aren't really happy with her indecisive daughter." Jamie waved a hand. "Mom stopped talking to them until they got over me being queer."

"How long did that last?"

"Lesse... ten years ... my birthday will make it eleven."

Vivian winced. "I'm really glad Elaine didn't act like that."

"What did she say?"

"She asked if she was supposed to be surprised." Vivian flopped down onto her back and stretched. "Lily hugged me. Brian blamed Gail."

Jamie laughed. "He blamed Gail?"

"Yeah, apparently it's also her fault I didn't believe in Santa when I was six."

Her girlfriend snorted. "Every poor kid knows Santa isn't real. If he was, we'd get the better gifts."

"Precisely."

Jamie rolled over and draped herself over Vivian's bare body. "Were they poor? Your birth family?"

"Lower middle class? They didn't have anything by way of savings when they died. My grandparents did, though. Enough to pay for the funeral."

"What'd you do with their stuff?"

"Gave the clothes away. Sold what we could. Gail made me keep the photos."

"That's good."

Vivian screwed her face up. "Seriously? They beat their kids."

"People shouldn't vanish from history. Even the ones we hate."

The unexpectedly deep comment surprised her. "If this is your case for Hitler..."

Jamie pinched Vivian's side. "No. I'm just saying. I kinda think we lost stuff when everyone went to digital. It was easier to throw away memories."

Huh. Okay. That was a fair comment. Vivian grunted agreement and closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of Jamie's hand caressing her skin. She didn't want to talk about her complicated relationship with her birth parents. The simple version was that she hated them. The more realistic one was that she still hurt.

Maybe that was why Vivian understand the pain that Gail still felt. The agony of family scars that would never, could never heal. How could they? Bill couldn't come back from the dead to change and apologize. Vivian's birth father couldn't un-murder his wife and eldest child. Their fathers had left them, bereft of the veneer of protection society caroled a father should provide.

Instead, Gail and Vivian carried damaged souls who knew what they'd lost.

Six was old enough to know, after all. Six years old. She'd known what the arguments about money meant, if not the specifics. She'd known what a threat was, what posturing was, and what the line was before a voice was raised. Or worse, a hand.

Not that her birth father had lain a hand on her, to her memory at least. At this point, Vivian was certain that, for all his sins, the man had never hit his children. Vivian couldn't say he'd never hurt them, seeing as her sister was dead and she was alive, and it still, still hurt.

If she could forget them, sometimes Vivian thought she would. To go back to that place where it didn't hurt so much, and she was a little scared, but she didn't remember... No.

"I'm glad I met you when I did," said Vivian softly, her breath ruffling Jamie's hair.

"How's that?" Jamie didn't look up, she just kept running her finger down and back up Vivian's arm.

"I didn't remember a lot of things until the year before I met you."

Jamie was quiet for a moment. "Things."

"How everyone died. How he died... I didn't remember any of it. I remembered being dropped off at home, going in the back, and seeing him dead. Then the ambulance showed up."

Jamie's hand stopped moving. "Who called them?"

"I did. Which ... I still don't really remember that, but I read the transcript of the call." That had been a very weird moment. Reading her own words.

Her girlfriend made a 'huh' noise. "Did it change anything? The knowing, I mean."

Vivian half closed her eyes and thought about that. It was amazing how long a person could simply not think about what they knew. "No. It didn't change anything. It answered questions, but in the end, I feel the same way."

Another 'huh' noise was all Jamie said for quite a while. "I'm supposed to say something like how you should let this stuff go, aren't I?"

A rumble of a laugh escaped Vivian's lips, unbidden. "Hah, even my therapist doesn't try that one." She pressed her lips to the top of Jamie's head. "This may be a shock, but I have a remarkable capacity to hold on to things."

There was a pause and then Jamie giggled. "I never would have noticed," she teased. But then she pushed herself up to study Vivian's face. "Is it weird I remember everything?"

"Everything?"

"I remember the cops who arrested Dad. I mean, I remember their names, what they looked like." Jamie sat up, absently bringing the sheet with her to cover her front. She was still a little uncomfortable with nudity, a trait Vivian still found endearing.

But the difference between what Vivian remembered (or didn't) and what Jamie did (or didn't) was interesting. "Well they were different situations," offered Vivian. "They're both pretty fucked up, but ..."

Jamie nodded. "Oh yours wins on the shocking and long lasting trauma scale. But mine was sort of more drawn out."

"Doesn't that make it long lasting?"

Her girlfriend screwed her face up in a way Vivian didn't recognize. It was a weird mixture of surprise, hurt, and adoration. And then Jamie leaned in, took a firm hold of Vivian's face, and kissed her. The kiss sent tingles down Vivian's spine in the good way. Confusing but good. It wasn't a super sexy kiss, but it felt like it said a lot. The kiss said 'I love you' in a way even Vivian could tell.

She had no idea why though, and when Jamie finally let her go, resting their foreheads together, Vivian cleared her throat. "What did I do?"

Jamie shook her head a little. "Everyone else, even Mom and Dad, try to tell me it was a long time ago and it was really short, and... God, you understand this shit stays with you."

Ah. The Gail Peck lessons that pain stuck around and it wasn't (usually) directly their fault. It was the same reason why someone who was hit as a child would react strongly when their perfectly safe and sane partner slammed a book down. The proportional response was different because history had told them an angry book was followed by an angry hand. Putting the dishes away 'wrong' would result in an attack.

Getting those old habits out took a very long, if they were ever surmounted at all. Vivian's therapist spent a lot of time helping her recognize the seemingly innocuous events that triggered her own reactions. They were not, as Dr. Cooper insisted, overreactions.

The reactions were perfectly proportionate to the life a person had led.

But that was a lesson learned from (yes) Gail and a good therapist. Which brought up an interesting thought.

"Jamie... have you ever thought about seeing a therapist?"

Her girlfriend startled. "Well that is officially the weirdest way anyone's ever asked me if I'm nuts." She frowned and leaned away, body language shouting her dislike of the question.

Huh. So Gail hadn't been exaggerating when she said Holly had reacted badly when Gail had brought up the topic originally.

"You run into burning buildings by choice, McGann. I think that barn door has sailed."

The intentional malaprop made Jamie smile and relax a little. "Okay, fine. Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. "Why?"

"Well." Vivian gently rested a hand on Jamie's thigh. "All that stuff with your parents, and the shit you went through... Every time I treat it like it's normal to feel that way, you act like no one else has ever mentioned that it totally is. It was a fucked up situation, it was abnormal and crazy and you're not overreacting when you get nervous around some of the cops." When Jamie didn't react, except to look stoic, Vivian went on. "God, you met Brookhurst. He's totally on a power trip and you should be nervous around him."

"You're not."

"I'm a cop. And a Peck. There's a rumor that we can get away with murder."

Jamie snorted. "What did Gail do to him?"

Smiling, Vivian explained. "So he got drunk at some medal ceremony and made a dig that Pecks could get away with murder and still get a medal for it. He was blocking us from leaving. And Mom... she looked him up and down, and I swear I will remember this forever. She said 'If you really believe that, why are you standing in my way?' Brookhurst just went white and let us go."

After a pause to digest that, Jamie sighed. "How has no one locked Gail up?"

"She's cultivated an amazing amount of menace without ever actually doing anything."

Jamie grunted her agreement and then looked at Vivian thoughtfully. "Does it help? Therapy?"

"I think so. It's ... There's something about talking to someone who listens and doesn't judge you for what you've said. They want you to be healthy. If you find the right one." Vivian squeezed Jamie's thigh. "That's hard though. Finding the right person."

Lying back down, Jamie ran her fingers on Vivian's cheek. "How long did it take you?"

"Oh. Dr. Cooper took me a year and a half. I kinda wanted to find someone on my own, not just Moms' guy."

That surprised Jamie. "Your moms see a guy?"

"Uh huh. Have for years. He's still the family therapist." Vivian paused. "I don't go all the time. I probably will next session."

"Okay, that is just weird. You all go to therapy together?"

Vivian smiled. "Sometimes. We did regularly when I was a kid, but that was court mandated."

In retrospect, Vivian should have caught on to the fact that she saw her father shoot himself a lot sooner... The admission from Gail that they'd suspected it implied the court had too. Which would have explained why she had to see a therapist until she was ten.

"Why did you keep going?" Jamie sounded hesitant and nervous.

The thing was, Vivian knew exactly why. "When I was ten, Gail went missing."

"Please say it was on a case."

"It was the case where we met King Wills."

"I cant believe you met the king of England."

Vivian smiled. "Believe it, baby."

Her girlfriend poked her. "So the case."

"Case. Gail and Chloe and John went missing, under cover, and they told me about it, and after... it was gently encouraged. No one made me. I kept going in college because I couldn't sleep at other people's and ... I wanted to be normal."

"Hah. How's that working out for you!"

Smiling, Vivian toyed with Jamie's hair. "Normal is what everyone else is, and you are not."

"That sounded ... familiar."

"Star Trek."

Jamie laughed and curled into Vivian's side. "Alright, my nerdy cop." She sighed. "I will think about it. Okay?"

"If you want, you can come with me next time."

"Maybe." But Jamie didn't sound dismissive, just thoughtful. "Don't you have court tomorrow?"

"Nah, the Crowne's office texted me at dinner. He pled out."

"Ah, that's what that was." She nuzzled Vivian's shoulder. "So sleep or...?"

They had just done 'or' but Vivian grinned. "I could or." Shifting, Vivian turned to face Jamie. "I could very much or."

It wasn't really avoidance, but Vivian would admit it totally was.

"Do you know I've never sold a car?" Elaine looked amused. "I've been swapping in trade-ins since I was twenty."

Gail grinned. "How's it feel?"

"Oh I don't like this. At all. I miss my independence already. What if I just want to go to the movies?"

"You hate shared experiences, Mom."

Elaine quirked a smile. "I don't like not being able to just go to your house when I feel like it."

Gail snorted. "That's just you, then."

Her mother slapped her shoulder. "So how does this work?"

"Which? The car or Diane?"

"They're interconnected, aren't they?"

"You give the service your car, as a charitable donation. They'll use it for people who need cars and can't afford it. This also gives you three months of service. It's a full, 24-hours, 7-day service, based on the schedule you establish in that time. Diane's a trained nurse so this will work out fine if you have a reaction to your new meds."

The reason Elaine wasn't allowed to drive was the meds. They had come not with a warning but a demand. There was to be no driving while taking, and that was that. But at the same time, the medicine was going to stem the decay of her neural pathways, if not stop them all together, preventing her from losing her mind. And of course, losing one's mind was a reason to not drive as well.

Still, Elaine had balked at the idea of losing her freedom, and Gail couldn't blame her. So instead of just getting rid of the car, Gail and Holly hunted down a former EMT and ambulance driver who had retired young. Privately Gail had wanted to convince Mac to do it, but Mackenzie MacLean was an adrenaline junkie who loved her job.

Thankfully, Mac had a great idea and found them a good fit. The new driver had even heard of Superintendent Elaine Peck and wasn't daunted by Gail, which meant she probably wouldn't be bullied. Plus she was willing to move in (or closer) if Elaine needed even more care.

Gail suspected Elaine would like having someone to hang out with, but that was hard to predict. At least right now Elaine still had a schedule of charity work to keep her busy, and a set number of doctor appointments. Weekends were likely to be a problem.

"You memorized that, didn't you?" Elaine eyed Gail with an expression that Gail wasn't quite sure what it meant.

"The spiel about the nurse? Yeah. Why?"

Elaine's face slid into sadness. "That's ... I'm sorry."

"Mom." Gail sighed. "Don't."

She wished her mother wouldn't feel so damn guilty about it, but Gail had to give up on it now. It wasn't Elaine's fault that Gail's memory was what it was. Sure, she didn't help the twisted lessons the Pecks beat into Gail, but...

What was done was done, and what was done was past. Gail had moved past being angry about it a while ago. It wasn't helpful to her or her sanity to keep being mad at them, especially since most of the ultimate culprits were dead.

Oh sure, she could rage against the Pecks, scream at how Bill had fucked her over, how he'd abused her and Steve with his treatment of them, and ... it just wasn't worth it. None of it was worth her caring that much. And in a way, to keep being mad would give them power over her.

So fuck 'em.

"This feels ominous," said Elaine, not arguing. "Selling my car. Getting assistance. Isn't it premature?"

"How many times did you complain about old people getting into accidents that could be avoided if they'd only stopped driving?"

Elaine quirked a smirk. "Okay. Fine. You have a point."

They shared a comfortable silence after that. It was unnecessary to talk about the world as they waited. While Gail's therapist often told her it was okay to be comfortable in silence, the reality was that sitting in quiet with Elaine had been one of her bastions of salvation as a child.

Once, driving up to the cabin just the two of them, they'd not spoken the entire way. Unlike those times with Bill, where his silent disapproval sat over her like an ominous dark cloud, the quiet with Elaine was calm. They didn't need to talk. They both knew that it was okay to be them.

Maybe that was why Gail had been willing to forgive Elaine. Because she remembered, after her father canceled her birthday party following her less than stellar shooting performance, Elaine had told her to get in the car and they'd gone for a drive. Down to the lake shore. The long, circuitous route that took forever. And then they'd walked, not talking, just walking, until Elaine found a food stand.

There, on the beach, eating fried foods that were in no way healthy, Elaine wished her a happy birthday.

She didn't forget. She never forgot. And even now, when she was forgetting and unable to remember (which were not the same things), she didn't forget about Gail. Not the important things. Even in the insanity, Elaine was trying in her own messed up way to protect and help Gail.

But she'd been honest when she told Holly that, if Holly never wanted to see Elaine again, that would be the end. Having a partner like Holly, who was Gail's best friend and confidant on so many levels, had meant putting her first. Not to the exclusion of her own self, of course, but if something made Holly terribly unhappy, then Gail was going to listen to her and respect her.

That was how a partnership worked. When one of Holly's exes had rolled back into town and wanted to be close friends, Gail had mentioned it made her uncomfortable. That was all Holly needed to hear before she explained to her ex that her wife was worth more to her. The stupid thing was that Gail knew it was totally irrational. Many people flirted with Holly. But there had been something about that one woman that bothered her.

Holly didn't need to hear why. She trusted Gail not to say things frivolously or without some reason. And that trust let her decide what was right. God, it had taken a long time to build up to, though. Now it was as easy as breathing. Mostly. There were still things that bothered each other, and likely always would be.

In the end, Holly was the best person that had ever happened to Gail. She wasn't going to lose it, just to get back her mother. As much as that would have hurt, Holly was worth it. Elaine had spoiled a great many opportunities to do the right thing, after all.

Gail still wasn't quite sure why Holly had agreed to let Elaine back into their lives. But there she was. The aging matron of their families. Especially now that Lily was dead. And yes, that still hurt a lot. It made Gail scared that she might lose her own mother sooner rather than later.

"There's a private showing at the AGO next week," said Gail, finally.

"Ah? Gordo mentioned it. He can't even get in. High security."

Gail grinned. "Would you like to come?"

Her mother startled. "Is this related to your case?"

"Our case, actually."

Elaine turned to face Gail fully. "You have the actual painting?"

Nodding, Gail explained. "I convinced our prisoner who, technically, owns it to put it up in the museum."

Right away, Elaine understood. "In order to lure his sister, my little thief, out of hiding. That's risky..."

"Can't win without risk, Mom."

Elaine snorted. "I told you that."

"Yeah, you did."

They shared a smile. Elaine looked pleased, perhaps glad to see herself and her career reflected in her daughter. What she said, though, was different. "If he's a prisoner, doesn't the art go back to the city?"

"It's in a legal grey area, since its stolen Nazi art. City needed a PR boost, so it ceded its rights, on the proviso the art is donated to the public."

Elaine laughed brightly. "And so Gail passes Go and collects $200."

It was a damned fine move, Gail felt. "I'm just glad the Jewish reparations lawyer was on my side. If he'd gone against my little blackmail..."

"Theft is theft. I trust you pointed out that if your Hoffman family had simply come to the police, you'd have assisted."

"That was what won him over." Gail cocked her head and looked out Elaine's parlor window. "Your agent is here, Mom."

With a deep sigh, Elaine levered herself up. "As much as I hate this, Gail, you were right, making me move to this little place after my heart attack."

"After your first one," muttered Gail.

At the time, Elaine had shouted grumpy murder. It wasn't an old-people's community, but it was one that was geared towards them. Houses on one story. A private park and pool. A nice, safe, place to live. And some younger people did live there as well. But it was still a place for a woman who needed a little extra help. And that did bother Elaine. It would bother Gail when that time came.

"Well. Let's get rid of my car," said Elaine, as stern and solemn as she used to be as Superintendent Peck.

It was a momentary reminder of the myriad things Elaine Peck was.

Gail smiled. "If you hate it, we can always get Steve to drive you around. I bet Uncle Eli would fire him for you." Her mother laughed and opened the door to welcome in Diane, her new helper, and the firm's agent.