A/N: this is my first ever fic, so bear with me! The usual disclaimer first – I don't own LTM or anything affiliated with it. Any mistakes etc are my own. Chronologically, I guess this would fall pre-Canary Song, although it could be post- if we believe that Cal will digress again (due to his relationship with Wallowski perhaps). This was intended to be a one-shot angsty C/G scene (my favourite kind of C/G scene) which is why the ending is intentionally ambiguous. Although, feedback dependent, I could be persuaded to continue ;) Thanks for reading guys, Rachael xx
The quiet darkness surrounding her as she sat in her office after hours was comforting. Gillian liked the quiet companionship of her thoughts; the gentle glow of the streetlights made patterns on her desk and bookshelf and her office became her haven for reflection. She reclined in her desk chair gazing pensively into the night, swilling a tumbler of whiskey, contemplating the day's events.
The carpark underneath the offices of The Lightman Group always seemed so ominous. The florescent lights illuminating the subterranean space flickered and faltered, threatening to succumb to darkness. Cal sat back in the driver's seat and killed the engine. But for her navy blue BMW parked in its allocated spot he was the only other car there. Cal slammed his palms into the steering wheel in frustration. He was pissed off with the situation, the case, his staff, but mostly, he was pissed off with himself.
Gillian sighed and drained her glass. He could be so fucking impossible. His gung-ho demeanour and flagrant disregard for any semblance of rules or etiquette – things that once endeared her to him, were becoming exhausting. Gillian felt she was permanently in damage control mode. When she wasn't sorting his shit out, she was copping grief from him personally. What upset Gillian the most was that instead of rising to this pseudo-challenge, she just felt defeated. No longer did she feel she had the energy, emotional or intellectual, to be his sparring partner.
She was his equal, his business partner, his best friend, his rock. He honestly didn't know how to excuse his behaviour of late: the snide comments, the sneaking around, the air of complete superiority and disrespect for everyone else. He had been an arrogant and dismissive bastard today and she did not deserve that. Cal raked his hands through his hair and swore under his breath. He had to make this better.
Gillian leant forward and refilled her glass generously. She peered into the amber liquid like it could whisper the answer to her. Her father popped into her head; she could see him sitting in his study at her childhood home similarly nursing a large golden drink chastely – the calm before the storm... Shaking her head she quickly banished her father from her mind and downed the second refill of the evening in one swift gulp. She leant back into the cool leather smiling ruefully; they say it is those who you care about the most who have the power to make you hurt the most.
He punched in his access code at the internal door leading from the carpark to the reception area of The Lightman Group. The building was silent and he began to saunter down the hall. Gillian was positioned at her desk exactly the way Cal had envisaged and he hovered at the door, not wanting to bring her back from her silent reverie. Silently sipping and staring into space, Cal was loath to disturb her. He stepped forward, gently knocking on the door frame and in an almost-whisper he brought Gillian crashing back to reality. "Love?" he asked tentatively. Her head shot up and she spun her chair round, straightening up: even seated her stance was defensive. She stared at Cal, her face unreadable as her blue eyes bored into him. "I, uh, I just came by to say tha' you did a good job today…" he didn't bother to stop his voice from tapering off at the end, knowing how pathetic he sounded, "and, um, it's all sorted now…Another 'appy client an' all that". He watched her tentatively, her expression remained blank. It hadn't escaped Gillian that he still was lurking in the doorframe, careful not to intrude on her anymore than he already was. "I just thought I should drop by an' let ya know".
In the most fleeting of moments, Cal saw her eyebrows raise in surprise and her lips thinned slightly as she clenched her jaw. "That's all you wanted to say Cal?" Her voice was icy cool and unwavering. 'Jesus', he thought, 'this isn't going to be good'. He edged forward into the office, in any other circumstance he would tell her how beautiful she is, the soft streetlight casting a gentle glow around her. "And that I'm sorry" he offered. Gillian pointedly placed her empty glass on the desk and folded her arms. Her right eyebrow twitched every so slightly and Cal saw her lip curl as contempt flashed across her face. Never had he felt so inadequate: he knew he was going to have to try harder. She deserved a full and frank conversation, more than that she deserved a genuine apology. He didn't want to lose her.
Cal inched closer to the desk motioning at the open bottle of whiskey, "may I?" Gillian's shoulders relaxed slightly and nodded in acquiescence as she stood up. As she walked with the bottle towards the bookshelf to fill a second glass, Cal took her silence as his cue to start talking. "Gillian…Gill, I don't even know where to begin with this. I unreservedly apologise for being such an arse for the last few months. I..." he faltered as he saw her shoulders shudder slightly as she poured his drink. "I have been dismissive and disrespectful and I have completely taken you for granted". Gillian's hands were now grasping the edge of the bookshelf, her knuckles white. She let out a measured breath. Cal moved forward from the desk to where Gillian was standing at the bookshelf. Her back was still turned but he was so close he could smell her perfume, that familiar musky scent that elicited so many emotions in Cal whenever he smelt it. His stomach was in knots as the reality of how much he had hurt her in recent weeks dawned on him. "Love," he spoke so quietly, as if the office was suddenly the most sacred place on earth, "you're my best friend and, and I know I don't deserve even a fraction of your friendship and loyalty but I want to make this right, I do. I want us to be OK." Cal edged forward slowly and brought his hands up to her shoulders, delicately tracing his fingers down the sides of her arms, coming to a stop where Gillian was clinging onto the shelf for support. He placed his hands outside hers and Gillian unintentionally sighed feeling his familiar body heat as he invaded her personal space. Cal leant into her, his breath ghosting over her neck, "are we OK Gill?" he whispered.
Her trembling fingers left the shelf as she pivoted to face him. She saw his eyebrows contract with sadness and guilt as a lone tear traced its path down her cheek, "Cal" she whispered as his eyes searched her face, enquiring, "we'll always be OK". She brought her hands up to his chest, her fingernails softly dancing across his shirt material. He brought his hand up to her face and brushed away the rogue tear, cupping her face in his hand.
They were so close. They could feel the other's warm breath on their skin, falling back into such familiar territory – absolute intimacy and silent understanding. Cal lent in and tenderly placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. His eyes pierced hers, desperately trying to convey the message he was too scared to say aloud: that he couldn't imagine being without her and that with the exception of Emily, she was the only good thing in his life.
Gillian knew this feeling all to well with Cal, teetering on the edge of the precipice – their emotions fighting to take charge, and the uncertainty of whether the sensible voice in her head would be strong enough to keep these all-consuming feelings at bay. Neither had to see the other's dilated pupils or feel the heat emanating from their respective bodies to understand how they felt. Gillian tilted her chin upwards, her fingers still drawing invisible patters on his chest, "Cal…" she breathed.