[rookie blue] fic: Step Out Into The Dark (Gail/Luke)
Title: Step Out Into The Dark
Fandom: Rookie Blue
Characters: Gail Peck/Luke Callaghan
Word Count: 1300
Rating: MA
Summary: It starts with a flippant comment and the shared exhaustion of a long day…
It starts with a flippant comment and the shared exhaustion of a long day.
Fingers scrubbed through spiked hair and eyes closed around a sigh.
Opened again.
*
He ends up giving her a ride, just as she'd ordered. Hastily shoves a week’s worth of unopened mail and empty take-out detritus into the backseat. Jumps to startled when his key turns in the ignition and unleashes the radio at the same ear-splitting volume he'd dialled it to that morning.
An ever increasingly futile attempt at distracting himself from his own internal monologues.
"Sorry."
Sheepish as he slides his gaze a little to the right. Watches as she settles into the seat and drags the belt down across her chest.
She shrugs and it could be apology accepted, could be whatever, could even be shotgun controls the music. Is probably none of the above as she jabs her finger at the button several times to send the volume back in the direction it had just come from, leans her head sideways against the window with her eyes closed for a beat as the bass vibrates through the glass.
"I love this song..."
Murmured so low he doubts he'd have known she'd spoken at all if he'd not been watching her lips move. A bright red slash across skin that almost glows in the muted half dark of his car's interior.
"Mmmhmm," he agrees. An expulsion of air through his teeth as he nods once.
Slow and unsure, as though he's just realising something profound.
"Me too."
Can't, just for a beat, be certain exactly what it is he's agreeing to.
*
Her thumb and forefinger keep up the rhythm against her thigh. Serve as a constant distraction as he pulls the car out into the steady flow of late evening traffic. The gravelly sound of Win Butler’s vocals provide the soundtrack as traffic lights switch through their monotonous motions, dance their iridescent colours in the shadows that criss-cross her face.
"You okay?" she asks suddenly and he blinks, takes his eyes off the rain wet road ahead to meet her searching gaze. She looks genuinely interested in the answer and he’s momentarily torn.
Shifted off kilter and side-ways.
The question startles him. And he’s no closer to forming an answer when she inhales, starts again.
"I mean… today must have been seven kinds of awkward for you."
She’s matter of fact about the whole thing. No accusatory tone. No interwoven it was nothing less than you deserved running through her words.
And it differs from his own mumbled mantra by degrees in that respect.
After all, it was nothing less than he deserved.
She's back to tapping then, doesn’t appear to be waiting for a response, and he’s suddenly more than grateful. He’d need air in his lungs for that; to form the required consonants and vowels.
"I would rather be wrong than live in the shadows of your song…" She’s shamelessly out of tune but she laughs as she trails off. Genuine and rare.
"Please don’t do that ever again," he counters with a grin. Feels some of the tension slip and slide from his shoulders as he does. "Like, ever."
*
They circle the tight parking lot of The Penny twice before she spots an empty slot, and he’s three quarters to straightened into it when he stops, lets the sound of the wipers clearing the windshield engulf them for seconds.
"C’mon," she urges. Quiet. Understanding without really understanding and he nods, yeah, eases the car into position and cuts the ignition, the sudden quiet providing a stark contrast.
She leaves her jacket balled on the passenger seat with a shrug. As though her later return to collect it is already one of the night’s inevitabilities. He shrugs back with a degree of nonchalance that isn’t entirely false. Watches the swing and swagger of her ass as she parades steps ahead of him with a flounce and a backwards glance.
*
They share a pitcher of beer that he doesn't even really like and the easy laughter that comes when expectations are somewhere down around your ankles.
The bar is unsurprisingly packed, and they end up shoulder to shoulder on one side of a long table. Her elbow against his forearm every time she lifts her glass.
He thinks he only searches the crowd for Andy a handful of times.
He catches her scanning for Diaz at least twice that many.
Comes to something of an understanding then.
*
His well mapped plan to play sober-driver dissolves mid-way through tequila shot number two. She steals the lemon he’s just bitten into and runs her tongue along the length of the rind.
They’ve well and truly passed the point of being inconspicuous.
But he’s three quarters to convinced that no one is watching them close enough to notice.
*
In the end they salvage her jacket from his front seat and share a cab.
*
They make it through his front door, but only just. His fingers fisted into the hair at the nape of her neck.
Her ankles locking her tightly into place around his hips.
"Luke-" His name, hot and heavy against his skin.
Her angles are smoother than he’d been expecting; gentler. Slow and seething as her hands work their way beneath his shirt. Ice, ice cold against his ribcage.
She drops to the floor then, drags him backwards through his own apartment with her fingers hooked into the waist band of his jeans. Un-does them as she moves. Grin, wide and self-satisfied as she opens doors at random. Searching, he assumes, for a bed.
Or any flat surface that will suffice in a pinch.
He lets her look.
Enjoys her performance more than just a little bit.
*
After, he dozes. Falls asleep with her legs twisted into his and wakes again to the touch of fingernails painting circles, feather-soft, around scar tissue on his chest that splits his life into before and after.
And after that.
A physical reminder of his own countless foibles.
"Did it hurt?" Whispered. As though it still might.
He pretends he’s still sleeping so he doesn’t have to answer.
*
The air at his back is cold when the half-hearted morning sun begins to filter through blinds not quite pulled to closed.
He doesn’t need to roll over to know that she’s long since made her escape.
An echoing emptiness in his bones, all the proof he could ever need and then some.
*
The precinct is humming with life by the time he pushes through the yawning front doors. The familiarity of the spaces and the sounds bringing some degree of surety as he rounds the corner to his office.
She’s perched on his desk, leaning back on her hands, legs crossed at her knees. And the unexpected sight of her surprises him, though, in hind-sight, he’s not sure why.
Subtlety has never really been her style after all.
"Morning."
He pauses. Checks himself. Opens his mouth to reciprocate the greeting.
But she’s moving then. Slipping off his desk and striding towards him before he can put all the pieces together into a picture that makes sense. Pressing her index finger to his lips with a shrug and a smirk.
"Don’t say anything."
He nods once. Unsure what she’s asking him for.
If she’s asking him for anything at all…
"I just wanted you to know that I had fun last night."
He breathes.
Hadn’t yet realised he’d stopped.
"And I plan on doing it again-" Moves her finger and replaces the pressure with her own lips. Fast. "And again."
And then she’s pushing past him, hands reaching up to re-tie her hair as she pauses in the doorway, turns back.
"Just so you know…"
*
It started with a flippant comment and the shared exhaustion of a long day.
Tequila shots and slow sex set to a badly sung rendition of blood drinking business men and insecurity.
He hasn’t quite figured out yet how it all ends…
Isn’t entirely convinced that he wants it to.
Fandom: Rookie Blue
Characters: Gail Peck/Luke Callaghan
Word Count: 1300
Rating: MA
Summary: It starts with a flippant comment and the shared exhaustion of a long day…
It starts with a flippant comment and the shared exhaustion of a long day.
Fingers scrubbed through spiked hair and eyes closed around a sigh.
Opened again.
*
He ends up giving her a ride, just as she'd ordered. Hastily shoves a week’s worth of unopened mail and empty take-out detritus into the backseat. Jumps to startled when his key turns in the ignition and unleashes the radio at the same ear-splitting volume he'd dialled it to that morning.
An ever increasingly futile attempt at distracting himself from his own internal monologues.
"Sorry."
Sheepish as he slides his gaze a little to the right. Watches as she settles into the seat and drags the belt down across her chest.
She shrugs and it could be apology accepted, could be whatever, could even be shotgun controls the music. Is probably none of the above as she jabs her finger at the button several times to send the volume back in the direction it had just come from, leans her head sideways against the window with her eyes closed for a beat as the bass vibrates through the glass.
"I love this song..."
Murmured so low he doubts he'd have known she'd spoken at all if he'd not been watching her lips move. A bright red slash across skin that almost glows in the muted half dark of his car's interior.
"Mmmhmm," he agrees. An expulsion of air through his teeth as he nods once.
Slow and unsure, as though he's just realising something profound.
"Me too."
Can't, just for a beat, be certain exactly what it is he's agreeing to.
*
Her thumb and forefinger keep up the rhythm against her thigh. Serve as a constant distraction as he pulls the car out into the steady flow of late evening traffic. The gravelly sound of Win Butler’s vocals provide the soundtrack as traffic lights switch through their monotonous motions, dance their iridescent colours in the shadows that criss-cross her face.
"You okay?" she asks suddenly and he blinks, takes his eyes off the rain wet road ahead to meet her searching gaze. She looks genuinely interested in the answer and he’s momentarily torn.
Shifted off kilter and side-ways.
The question startles him. And he’s no closer to forming an answer when she inhales, starts again.
"I mean… today must have been seven kinds of awkward for you."
She’s matter of fact about the whole thing. No accusatory tone. No interwoven it was nothing less than you deserved running through her words.
And it differs from his own mumbled mantra by degrees in that respect.
After all, it was nothing less than he deserved.
She's back to tapping then, doesn’t appear to be waiting for a response, and he’s suddenly more than grateful. He’d need air in his lungs for that; to form the required consonants and vowels.
"I would rather be wrong than live in the shadows of your song…" She’s shamelessly out of tune but she laughs as she trails off. Genuine and rare.
"Please don’t do that ever again," he counters with a grin. Feels some of the tension slip and slide from his shoulders as he does. "Like, ever."
*
They circle the tight parking lot of The Penny twice before she spots an empty slot, and he’s three quarters to straightened into it when he stops, lets the sound of the wipers clearing the windshield engulf them for seconds.
"C’mon," she urges. Quiet. Understanding without really understanding and he nods, yeah, eases the car into position and cuts the ignition, the sudden quiet providing a stark contrast.
She leaves her jacket balled on the passenger seat with a shrug. As though her later return to collect it is already one of the night’s inevitabilities. He shrugs back with a degree of nonchalance that isn’t entirely false. Watches the swing and swagger of her ass as she parades steps ahead of him with a flounce and a backwards glance.
*
They share a pitcher of beer that he doesn't even really like and the easy laughter that comes when expectations are somewhere down around your ankles.
The bar is unsurprisingly packed, and they end up shoulder to shoulder on one side of a long table. Her elbow against his forearm every time she lifts her glass.
He thinks he only searches the crowd for Andy a handful of times.
He catches her scanning for Diaz at least twice that many.
Comes to something of an understanding then.
*
His well mapped plan to play sober-driver dissolves mid-way through tequila shot number two. She steals the lemon he’s just bitten into and runs her tongue along the length of the rind.
They’ve well and truly passed the point of being inconspicuous.
But he’s three quarters to convinced that no one is watching them close enough to notice.
*
In the end they salvage her jacket from his front seat and share a cab.
*
They make it through his front door, but only just. His fingers fisted into the hair at the nape of her neck.
Her ankles locking her tightly into place around his hips.
"Luke-" His name, hot and heavy against his skin.
Her angles are smoother than he’d been expecting; gentler. Slow and seething as her hands work their way beneath his shirt. Ice, ice cold against his ribcage.
She drops to the floor then, drags him backwards through his own apartment with her fingers hooked into the waist band of his jeans. Un-does them as she moves. Grin, wide and self-satisfied as she opens doors at random. Searching, he assumes, for a bed.
Or any flat surface that will suffice in a pinch.
He lets her look.
Enjoys her performance more than just a little bit.
*
After, he dozes. Falls asleep with her legs twisted into his and wakes again to the touch of fingernails painting circles, feather-soft, around scar tissue on his chest that splits his life into before and after.
And after that.
A physical reminder of his own countless foibles.
"Did it hurt?" Whispered. As though it still might.
He pretends he’s still sleeping so he doesn’t have to answer.
*
The air at his back is cold when the half-hearted morning sun begins to filter through blinds not quite pulled to closed.
He doesn’t need to roll over to know that she’s long since made her escape.
An echoing emptiness in his bones, all the proof he could ever need and then some.
*
The precinct is humming with life by the time he pushes through the yawning front doors. The familiarity of the spaces and the sounds bringing some degree of surety as he rounds the corner to his office.
She’s perched on his desk, leaning back on her hands, legs crossed at her knees. And the unexpected sight of her surprises him, though, in hind-sight, he’s not sure why.
Subtlety has never really been her style after all.
"Morning."
He pauses. Checks himself. Opens his mouth to reciprocate the greeting.
But she’s moving then. Slipping off his desk and striding towards him before he can put all the pieces together into a picture that makes sense. Pressing her index finger to his lips with a shrug and a smirk.
"Don’t say anything."
He nods once. Unsure what she’s asking him for.
If she’s asking him for anything at all…
"I just wanted you to know that I had fun last night."
He breathes.
Hadn’t yet realised he’d stopped.
"And I plan on doing it again-" Moves her finger and replaces the pressure with her own lips. Fast. "And again."
And then she’s pushing past him, hands reaching up to re-tie her hair as she pauses in the doorway, turns back.
"Just so you know…"
*
It started with a flippant comment and the shared exhaustion of a long day.
Tequila shots and slow sex set to a badly sung rendition of blood drinking business men and insecurity.
He hasn’t quite figured out yet how it all ends…
Isn’t entirely convinced that he wants it to.