Her friend is dead and she is crying. She had found her on the ground, tried desperately to stop the bleeding. It wasn't the first time she'd failed, but not being able to stop her best friend and business partner from ruining them wasn't the same as watching your friend die, not really. She had called him when she had found her, and he was there so quickly that the police hadn't even arrived yet. He held her and consoled her and she could almost feel him loving her, then Wallowski shows up and it doesn't feel so good anymore.
He finds her standing on his balcony as the wind whips her hair and dries the tears as they slide down her cheeks. He hugs her from behind and she wants to melt into him, but something keeps her just a little bit further from him than she'd like to be, than she ever really was.
Before she knows what she's doing, she's turning in his arms to face him and pressing her lips hard against his. He's surprised for a moment, she can feel it on his mouth, then he's pulling away. And it feels like they're standing on different continents, an ocean of unspoken emotion between them. Her sadness is so palpable, he swears he can taste it in the air and she can see his half-hidden arousal. He is looking at her lips as if they're a puzzle he can't solve, but God, he wants to. He wants all of her. She wants him, too, in this moment. She wants to feel his body against her, on her, in her. She wants to lose herself in him and forget all about Claire, forget how surprisingly bright the red of the blood was pooled on the floor and covering her hands like gloves she didn't think anyone would ever want to wear.
She looks up at Cal, trying to make him see, so she won't have to ask. Her face is the picture of sadness, but her pupils are dilated and she's biting on her lip. He wonders how eyes can smoulder, plead, droop with sorrow and shimmer with unshed tears all at once. She is a wonder, that woman. That much, he knows. And she is asking him something she won't say with words.
Of course he wants to say yes. It's Gillian. He had wanted her in his bed since the moment he'd laid eyes on her in her tailored clothes that conformed to her every curve and the heels that made her just a hair taller than he was. He had loved her for almost as long. And as much as he wanted her, this was Gillian, who'd endured so much misery that she could never deserve. He would hurt her, he would pull her in too far and he would poison her. He could imagine it, the medical examiner saying "Gillian Foster, cause of death: too much of Cal Lightman."
He doesn't want to hurt her, he fucking loves her. And he's preparing to walk away; kiss her on the corner of the mouth, say "good night, love" and get as far away from her as he could so he would be able to resist her, do what was right. But she opens her mouth and there are words coming out and he hears "please", the way it bends with the weight of her sorrow and sounds almost wrong. And he remembers having told her 'anythin' y'need, darling' and he's thinking, maybe she needs this. Maybe she needs him.
And he's looking at her in that way he often does, full of surprise and confusion and just the tiniest hint of a smile, but doesn't move.
And despite his expression, she's thinking she pushed too hard, mistaken something else for the arousal she thought she saw. She's fumbling through an apology, stepping out of his space and looking away from him in her shame. She didn't mean to make him uncomfortable, she thought it was something that they both wanted. And she can feel him staring at her, but just can't face him.
"I want to," he admits, the rawness of his voice showing his veracity.
"I'm just not sure it's right."
She's laughing so quietly, he almost mistakes it for tears. She looks at him, open and honest and just slightly incredulous.
"Since when have you cared about what was right?" She asked, just the tiniest flash of something unpleasant passing over her face.
It was true in most regards that he didn't care to do the thing society claimed was right, but Gill was a different case entirely. She was a woman who deserved more than he could give.
"When it comes to you, love, I care about a lot of things," he admits.
He's not always this honest, so she takes care to listen and appreciate the words.
"I'm asking, Cal, because it's what I need. I need this."
He's wavering because he can see that she means it and he understands the need for forgetting. He had done a lot of destructive things in the past to forget the bad in his life. It really could make her feel better, even if only for a short time.
"You won't regret it?" He asks, nearly shy in its quiet.
There's a smile in her eyes as she makes her promise.
"I could never regret you."
He's driven them to his house because it's ten minutes closer and Emily is with her mother. They're kissing before they even make it to the door, hands all over each other. They barely make it into the foyer before he's pressing her against the wall and exploring her mouth with years of pent-up passion, squeezing at every bit of flesh he could reach. Her hands tangle in his hair as she melts into his kiss, moaning into his mouth.
His lips move down to kiss and nip at her neck and he revels in her familliar sugar scent. How fitting that she smells so sweet? And she's making noises of enjoyment, the kind she'd make fork deep in a slice of chocolate cake and he can feel himself hardening. How could he not?
"God, I love you," he groans.
Then she's stilling because she can hear the truth in his tone, the conviction. And it scares her, it really freaking scares her because it's Cal and she had wanted him with a dangerous intensity before the idea of divorcing Alec had even crossed her mind, loved him almost as long. But it is Cal and there was a world of risk in it, so much to lose if it didn't work out. But wasn't there even more to gain?
She brings her hand to his jaw, rubbing tenderly at the flesh and stubble there.
"I love you, too," she says.
The breath goes out of him and he's left reeling because he had never expected to hear those words from this woman. And it wasn't supposed to happen this way, the idea of sex leading to his confession and not the other way around. He was supposed to share flowery words and promises of forever. Isn't that what she deserved? Didn't she deserve so much more than he could offer?
"Hey," she says, "don't go to that place."
And she's pressing her lips to his again, speaking her love for him in a way she couldn't with words and he feels the truth of them. He knows that for some reason, Gillian does love him, even if he doesn't deserve it. He'll be enough, he'll do everything it takes to be enough for her.
"Okay," he replies, weaving his fingers through hers and resting their joint hands on his abdomen.
"Okay," she says, smiling.
The walk to his bedroom is slow as they stop to steal kisses more often than they take steps, but finally the steps they're taking are taken together in perfect sync. Finally, they're moving together to where they both know they belong. Finally, they'll be together.
And now, how they've gotten here doesn't matter. All that matters is that they'll love each other openly and honestly in every way possible today and for a long time to come, all that matters is the truth.