I think I never knew what love was, until now. I mean I had seen the evidence, watched my parent’s relationship all my life, my father’s adoration, my mother’s ridged stature surrendering to the softness of his attention. I thought I had been in love, but there was always something missing. No one had ever looked at me like the way he looked at her. Sometimes, when they thought they were alone, I would catch them late at night, standing in each other’s arms under the soft overhead light of the kitchen counter, or her sitting over a mountain of paperwork in her office, him coming up behind to rest a hand on her shoulder, kissing her softly on the head, and whispering in her ear. He could still make her blush after all of their years together, suddenly proclaiming his love or making declarations about her beauty. He never saw that she was like Kali, who ate her own children, only love, as she turned a different face to him. My brother saw that love reflected in her eyes more often than I; he, who was the image of our father in his youth, and bore more of our father’s temperament. Ours was a more difficult relationship. I am told that I remind her of her own mother, in both personality and appearance. I wouldn’t know. She never spoke of her, and there were few photographs. Sometimes, I doubted my mother was ever a child.

My Grandfather lived at the lake house, where we visited him every summer. He was my Father’s father, and I lived for his attention and love. When I was five, he patiently taught me how to tie my own shoes, after finding me tearfully attempting to do it myself. Steve was seven then, and had called me a baby, because I didn’t know how. He had taunted me about the Velcro straps on my sneakers and told me that next year, all of the other kids in kindergarten would be smarter than me, and only dummies wore Velcro. He didn’t know Grandfather was watching. When Steve left, he soothed me like you would a stray dog or a shy horse, speaking to me softly in his native French. Later, he taught me to read time on his gold pocket watch, and slowly, as I grew, how to speak French and ASL. ASL was like our secret spy language. He would wink at me and sign behind my mother’s back, or across the living room during ”family time” after dinner when I would rather be out in the yard catching fireflies or reading a book.

It must have been four in the morning when Gail crawled into bed. She knew she probably should have gone home to her own apartment, but she was here, seeking refuge in the one place she had ever truly known solace.

Christopher was dead at the age of thirty four. He had been exactly the same age as Holly, not that it mattered. For some reason, she had visited him every night this past week after arresting him for assaulting Nick with a syringe. She had no idea why, but she couldn’t seem to leave him alone. He had replied in Japanese when she bragged to him that she spoke 5 languages fluently and a smattering of another three. They had spoken in French about the three years he had lived in Paris, where he met and married his husband, and about her travels abroad with her parents when she was younger. She envied the wistful smile on his face as he spoke of his escapades in Europe and New York in his late teens and twenties. She had told him all about Holly and about her past relationships with Nick, and Chris. He told her about being gay bashed, and left for dead in Central Park when he had been a student at Yale on a football scholarship, and how the athletic department had covered it up by saying he had been in a car accident. And she had finally confessed to him her nightmare, the abduction, the rape, her anger, and fear, and shame, and how waking suddenly in the dark, or catching an unexpected whiff of Old Spice, or taking taxis, still made her panic, at times for days. She snuck him chocolate icecream soft serve from the hospital cafeteria, and beer with a straw when the nurses weren’t looking. He was cynical and catty, witty and smart, open and vulnerable without ever being weak. It was weird. She actually cared. Even weirder, he liked her. She had arrested him, but he liked her. He even told her so, asking her to come back and visit him again.

When she had dropped by the hospital on her way home, only to find an empty room, the night nurse gave her the news. When she turned to go, the nurse called her back saying, “Officer, wait. I almost forgot. He wanted you to have this.”

She didn’t know why she was here. Her friends were all downstairs, crammed into Sam’s room like they had been on so many nights after he had begun to make a swift recovery. They were, once again, eating Chinese food and laughing at Oliver and Sam’s stories.  Sandra, Sam’s nurse, had come in three times to tell them to keep it down, and stop making such a ruckus. This was a hospital not a bar, she reprimanded them in an indignant tone that was only betrayed by the twinkle in her eye. They had all snickered into the beers that were poured into paper cups like guilty teenagers. Oliver had offered Sandra an eggroll and serenaded her, with a little help from Dov and Chris, with an off key rendition of Sandra D. She scolded, pretended to be insulted, and had taken the eggroll, along with a plate of Moo Shi Chicken, shaking her head in mock horror. That was when Gail slipped out and found herself here.

Why, oh why, couldn’t she get him out of her head? She hated sick people. Damn! It must suck to die alone! Or maybe it was better that way, she couldn’t decide. In any case, she had been keeping a vigil by his bed for over an hour now, lost in thought, watching his chest laboriously rise and fall. His breath came so painfully slowly she was beginning to wondered if this might be it, if she was too late. Why did she even care? She knew that Chris and Dov would be looking for her sooner or later. She had just gotten up to go when she felt him watching her. She turned back to find two bright green slits of eyes over the top of the oxygen mask, as sharp as her own blue.

”Well, well, well, if it isn’t Officer Gail” He gasped in a horse whisper.

”I know what you did.” She said bluntly.

He smiled and tried to laugh, but it ended as a cough instead.

”Oh, really.” He finally managed to croak.

”Why did you?” She asked

”You don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?” he replied

”Dude! You’re on oxygen! And you have pneumonia!” She exclaimed

”Well, at least you can’t say smoking will kill me.” He smirked at his own bad joke.

Gail hated hospitals with a passion. Yet here she was, with Nick, waiting for his IV to finish up in tense silence. No matter how angry she was, no matter what he had done, he didn’t deserve this. Nobody did.

It had been a week since the incident with Holly, and Nick was still pretty much on everybody’s shit list. Chris had offered to simply beat the crap out of him. Dov had told him off and was now freezing him out, snubbing him Gail-style at every opportunity, and not speaking to him otherwise. Andy just looked at him with eyes full of pity, and had not said a word to him other than stammering, “Save it Nick, I, I can’t right now…” after she and Dov had found him asleep in the back seat of his King Cab, with an empty tequila bottle, a wicked hangover, and little memory of what he had done. Gail was still seething, blue eyes like lasers, stripping him down to the core. Although Holly was trying to keep up her usual unflappable exterior, Gail could tell the effect Nick’s visit had had on her.

The day had begun badly. Gail had awakened alone in Holly’s bed, with a knot in her stomach and a headache beginning between her eyes. It was still dark, and she hated getting up before the sun. When it became clear that Holly was not returning, she had thrown on a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and made her way into the dark kitchen. Gail found her sitting at her kitchen island counter. Moonlight still streamed through the windows, making Holly’s skin glow, and her eyes seem immeasurably bottomless, and dark. Holly stared off into space, wearing a strange, sad expression, hands still wrapped around a now cold mug of tea.

“Hey,” Gail said softly, coming up behind her, placing her hands gently on Holly’s hips. Holly didn’t move. Gail kissed her tenderly between her shoulders, at the base of her neck. “What are you doing?”

She slid her arms around Holly’s waist. Holly leaned into Gail’s warmth, threading their fingers together on her stomach.

“I donno” Holly murmured “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would make myself some tea instead of tossing and turning and waking you up.”

The door to her apartment was open when she got home, just a crack, but enough, and that kind of scared her. She pushed it open wider with the toe of her boot and stared into the inky blackness of her livingroom.

“Gail?” she called softly, wondering if by some happy twist of fate Gail had gotten off early and had come home to her.

Gail had been stuck on a stake out with Traci for over seventy-two hours straight, with no relief in sight. She heard a rustling noise from the direction of her kitchen and the distinct sound of glass clinking against her stone counter top.

“Gail, is that you?” She called again, a little bit louder now. She reached for the light switch on the wall, and flipped on the overheads. Nick was sitting on a stool at her kitchen counter, half empty bottle of tequila in his hand.

“Uh, Nick…” She started

“She’s not a dyke, you know.” Nick interrupted.

“What!” Holly answered incredulously

Nick got up and swayed unsteady on his feet.

“She’s not a dyke!” He repeated, gesturing at her with the hand that held the bottle.

“Nick, what are you doing here?” She demanded, wondering who she might be able to call to remove him quietly from her home.

“You know she’s not!” He stammered, taking an unsteady step in her direction.

He was starting to make her really nervous now. He took a swig from the bottle and advanced a few wobbly steps closer.

“Come on Nick, “ Holly said as firmly as she could manage, “You need to go home and sleep it off.” She was starting to pray that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She reached into the pocket of her coat for her phone. “Here, “ she said, trying to sound calm, “Why don’t you let me call you a cab…”

Damn, he was fast! Was all she could think before he slammed her up against the wall and tore the phone from her grip.

“NO!” he screamed. And then regaining some control he said quietly, “I know what you’re doing.” throwing her phone across the room and pinning her to the wall, his forearm pressed up against her throat. His body was pinning her, the keys on his belt dug painfully into her hip, his face was merely inches from her own.