Rookie Blue Only You Know

Your forehead is resting against the steering wheel; a hand is hovering hesitantly over the keys in the ignition and both eyes are squarely fixed upon the petite fingers splayed across your knee, their soft tips unconsciously kneading gently through your jeans into your tensing thigh muscle. She is touching you, yet you can't bring yourself to make her stop.

Gone are they days where you wouldn't have given this a second thought; whether she had stolen your hand away from you to play with the rings on your fingers like a curious child, or if she had quickly tugged at your wrist to pull you away from the pole that you were about to walk into mid Gail-inflicted rant, her fingers then naturally threading between your own, so innocent and so comforting at the same time, like they were the perfect fit.

It is only now that you feel everything, right down to your bones, but then again, you feel nothing at all. You're frozen, paralyzed, numb. It's almost like your body is betraying you. It won't move. You're confused. You're shocked. You're scared and you can only question yourself as to why.

Frustrated, you turn the key counter clockwise, close your eyes and sigh. You wish just once in your life it was possible to switch off this stupid brain of yours, even if for a few measly seconds.

No longer can you count on one hand the number of restless nights you have endured over the past week. The not so innocent thoughts and images of your friend have been entering your dreams, captivating you, so vivid and so overwhelming tactile… When you wake you can't help but believe that they're anything but real but then comes the inevitable wave of disappointment as you come to the crushing realization that you are in fact just friends, albeit _good ones_. Best friends even. Friends who touch each other's thighs apparently.

So you fear tonight will be no different, that's assuming your close proximity to her will only exacerbate these dreams further. You just _hope__ even pray _to Richard Feynman you don't talk in your sleep, or moan or god, worse, scream! As the connecting walls to your bedroom and guest room are wafer thin. This was something you had recently discovered when you were practicing your swing in your bedroom and now you have a big gaping hole in your wall to prove it, not to mention a gigantic crack in your favourite bat. That'll teach you for listening to her when she tells you have really poor form, not that you will ever get the chance again. Memories of your evening at the batting cages with her still reverberate in your mind:

"You know they're are much subtler ways in which you could check me out," you had teased her as you correctly positioned yourself over the plate, your butt sticking out further than it probably needed to be.

"You'll find that there is nothing subtle when it comes to me, Lunchbox," she had replied, something you were well on your way to learning. No, Gail Peck was definitely not subtle.

As the engine peters out a hint of smile can't help but spread across your cold lips as you listen closely to the adorable sounds softly emanating from the sleeping beauty in the passenger seat next to you; sounds you could most definitely get used to hearing on a more regular basis, if only you had your way.

Your brow furrows almost instantly, kicking yourself at the thought. You're just friends you remind yourself. _Just. Friends. _There will be no kissing this beauty awake tonight, or any other night at least that is what you were constantly having to remind yourself on the short drive home from her place just minutes ago.

You turn your head and rest your cheek against the steering wheel as you take in the burned, bandaged wrist laying gingerly across the center console, the rest of her hand dangling over the edge and into the driver's side where it continues to invade your personal space.

Once again you find yourself staring longingly at those fingers, each seemingly with a mind of their own, and it takes all of your willpower not to reach down and meld those soft, and usually fidgeting fingers together with your own. The exact same fingers that just last week wiped the powdered sugar from your cheek after having shoved a donut in your face because you were protesting too much about, well, everything according to her. You knew you were an absolute goner a few moments later when she had swept the pad of her thumb ever so gently across your bottom lip, her childlike enthusiasm for everything food knowing no bounds as she giggled, innocently slipping the offending thumb into her mouth. You had swallowed hard in that moment, imagining the sugary goodness disintegrating on her tongue, your tongue. Fuck! You thought. This can't be happening.

But it is. It has and there is no going back.

It is the sound of a staggered intake of breath that finally breaks your focus, your gaze eventually finding it's way up from her fingers to her mouth where she continues to purr and dribble like a baby, completely dead to the world but really, zonked out on pain killers.

A twitch of that cute nose and a brief curl of those perfect rosy pink lips is all it takes for you to be smiling again.

Okay, you admit it; you are being super creepy right now with all the staring, but you can't help it. Who else can drool this much and still look gorgeous doing it?

Releasing your vicelike grip, you bring your arms up from the bottom the steering wheel and rest them under your head to act as a pillow, your eyes locked firmly on the fluttering eyelids that hide a pair of tired and sad eyes. You sigh into your forearm knowing full well you should probably be waking her up, taking her inside and tucking her into bed where it is safe and warm, but quite frankly you could do with a few more quiet moments to yourself before Hurricane Peck rips herself from her peaceful slumber and completely knocks you off your feet again.

"BUGGERK!"

It only takes a millisecond before you are launching up into the air from the sudden loud noise, your arms instinctively flying up in protection mode as you brace for impact.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You curse, the shock of it all resonating like a sonic boom through your trembling body; however your expletives are suddenly being drowned out by the hysterical laughter that is now quickly filling the inside of your car.

Gail is awake and she is so, fucking, dead!

Eyes pinched, you wince and fall back into your seat, the top of your head throbbing madly from its brief encounter with the roof. That is definitely going to leave a bump you think.

With your heart racing (approximately 175 beats per minute if you hazarded a guess), you grasp at your heaving chest with one hand, and at the same time you feel those warm petite fingers on your lap squeezing your thigh tightly as you try and calm your severely shot nerves.

Breathing deeply, you turn your head towards her, only to find tears falling down the evil woman's cheeks as she continues to convulse in shear happiness, a nice change from the pained expression that had unfortunately graced that magical face when you had picked her up from the hospital earlier.

"Oh my god, Holly," she barely gets out before she is keeling over in her seat, gripping at her stomach with one arm while she gasps for air, each breath getting noticeable harder as her laughter turns into that painful silent kind. It serves her right you think.

"Gail! You tit!" You exclaim completely out of breath, rubbing at the throbbing crown of your head.

She straightens up, wiping her face with her sleeve as she moves backwards into her seat, her head falling back against the head rest but still sucking in the much needed oxygen that had escaped her just moments ago between intermittent chuckles.

When her laughter eventually subsides she rolls her head towards you. Her face is easily the shade of a beetroot because when Gail turns red, she really turns red.

You're frowning now, but she simply responds by smiling at you. It's soft, but the shear warmth of it astounds you and it makes your heart melt just that little bit more. Damn her, but not really.

She finally relinquishes her hold on your thigh, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing again.

"I'm glad you're finding this funny. I could have a concussion!" you pout, though nothing that would ever compare to hers. She has pouting down to a fine art.

"Did you want to come in? I am sure I can find a frozen bag of peas for your head," she grins.

"That sounds like a plan but you are staying at my place tonight." You nod in the direction of your house and she turns her head looking out her window to see for herself.

"Wait, I thought you were taking me home?"

"I did, but I knocked on the door and there was no answer and I wasn't about to leave you all alone." Truthfully, you were kind of glad there was no one at home to receive her, you would be up all night wondering if Dov or Chris remembered when to medicate her.

"Aww." she turns back to you, grinning brightly, teasing you, taunting you with her puppy-like expression. She shakes her head, almost laughing now, "Were you worried about me?"

Solemnly, you grit your teeth. She notices, that adorable expression dropping from her face along with the temperature inside your car. It's suddenly cold, or maybe it's just you. "I think I will always worry about you."

Her eyelids flicker as she takes a moment to ponder your words, remaining still like the surrounding air, but the moment ends all but too soon as she eventually rolls her eyes at you before resting her head back against the headrest once more. It is in that moment you catch the somewhat curious smile that briefly threatens her lips.

That's right Gail Peck, as much as you don't believe it, some people really do care about you.

"By the way, I like my new nickname," she smirks but all you can do is shake your head.

"C'mon then, tit, let's get your sorry ass inside and into bed." You lean over towards her in order to undo her seatbelt. You figure if she couldn't do it up herself she definitely won't be able to get out of it without some kind of assistance.

"Holly?" Her fingers are in your hair now and they softly caress the top of your head as if she were comforting a helpless kitten, the tips grazing over the decent sized bump that is already forming there.

You freeze like clockwork, your tender gaze meeting hers. It's as if you have been staring at each other like this for years, however once more her eyes are cloaked in sadness, but it's somehow different this time, endless.

You hold your breath and wait for her to speak, but too many seconds pass and you can no longer hold it in.

"Honey, what's wrong?" You breathe out, cupping the hand that has now made its way down to your cheek. She turns completely to face you, settling the side of her face into the leather headrest of her seat. You bring her hand down into your lap and you are about to let go when she urgently takes hold of both your hands and squeezes them tightly.

You study her closely. A lone tear glistens as it forms at the corner of her eye. Blinking, it edges over the precipice, eventually spilling down the porcelain skin of her cheek leaving a trail of questions in its wake.

"I don't have any peas," she sniffles and you suddenly realise, even in her drug addled state, she is worried about you too.


End file.
