TITLE: The Dust on His Shoes
GENRE: Drama/Angst
CHARACTERS: Gillian, Cal
PAIRING: Cal/Gillian
RATING: R
SPOILERS: None
WORDS: 3,500
SUMMARY: It was a Wednesday when her world got unhinged. And now it was just her and him and a city in ruins. A city that they could not simply escape from.
A/N: Many, many thanks to Alex11215 for the beta of this fic! I really appreciate your fast help and nice comments.
It was a Wednesday. Not a Tuesday, not a Thursday, but a Wednesday. She remembered it so well, because Wednesday was the day when she got up early to make herself her favorite tea and sit down on the couch with a good book. She sat there every Wednesday, just before work, her legs folded beneath her until she lost feeling in them.
She could remember it so well, because the early morning reading session now seemed like the last time she had truly smiled. By now, however, she had lost track of the days of the week. Now there was just one day—today. Every day, just today.
When he came home, she could feel the load being taken off her body and mind. Just like every day when he shuffled through the door. And yet, the load did not really get any lighter. It even seemed to multiply the more days went by, the more helicopters circled over the city, the more questions piled up in front of her, that she was simply unable to answer.
She gave him a strained smile and took the dusted jacket off his shoulders, even before the first word had left his lips. It was a strange ritual, but it was necessary to keep at least something like a spark of normality glowing.
"Hey," she whispered barely audibly, but he would recognize even the slightest twitch of her lips. What he would make of it—fear, resignation, relief—that was another issue altogether.
"Hey," he repeated not much louder and gave the answer to her wondering with a tight hug. He had probably seen all of those things in the tiny movement of her lips. If not, then he probably knew, because her emotions had never been so obvious as these days. One didn't need to be able to decipher complicated codes to see that.
He took off his dirty shoes. Dirt from a city that had crumbled, collapsed under its own weight, burying the fate of the people once living there under it. Those who were lucky held out in small spaces with a bit of air left to breathe. Just like the two of them.
"Anything new?" she inquired carefully, but he just shook his head.
Then he seemed to remember for a moment and took something out of the jacket she was still holding like a foreign object that didn't belong there. "Nothing except this." He gave her the small box of chocolates only held together by a silky ribbon. "Still good, I guess," was what he said looking at her skeptic face.
"How romantic," she admitted jokingly, yet meaning just that.
It could have been a nice evening, and it probably was, somewhere else across the vast oceans.
He was so close, and knowing he was out there every day, risking his very existence, hurt even more. She had seen the people, killed by acid chemicals, by deafening explosions, by the cruelties of this world. She didn't want to imagine he could be one of them, but that's what she saw in her mind, her dreams, and her biggest fears again and again.
He put another chocolate in his mouth and stared at the television that had broadcasted its last picture weeks ago. Maybe he imagined something, maybe not.
"I fear for you when you're out there," she said, vocalizing it for the first time in weeks. Her hand also reached for a piece of chocolate, but that didn't just trivialize her words.
The expected reaction was missing. She didn't even know what she had expected, but whatever it was, it seemed too much. He had nothing to offer. His face was blank. Everything there was.
She crossed her legs underneath her body, pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and closed her eyes to remember the good times. The smell of the book pages she used to turn, the velvety taste of the tea crawling down her throat, the sound of the birds singing and waking the world outside.
She was so lost in her picture-perfect world that once had been, that she didn't recognize his arm around her shoulders, at first. It was only when he shifted closer, his warm breath on her skin joining the gentle touch of his fingers, that she opened her eyes again, looking into so much more than just blank emptiness.
"I know, love," he murmured. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it."
Nodding her head she signaled that she understood, but that didn't make it any better. She knew he was looking for them out there. For Ria, for Eli, for all those others that meant something to him; she knew that every day his hope faded a bit more. She knew he could not simply sit still doing nothing, while the city out there was dying. She knew that he had to keep himself distracted, because the last sign of life existing from Emily hailed from a time when everything was still alright.
"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" she asked, putting a calming hand on his thickly bearded cheek.
He shook his head slightly. "I'll sleep in your bed. It's much more comfortable than the one you palmed off on me as your guest bed."
The power was out once again when she crawled under the blanket and put her head on the pillow. A candle was burning on the nightstand, casting frightening shadows on the walls. She closed her eyes to escape from them, but they kept haunting her behind her lids, in her dreams and into the next day.
He blew out the candle before he lay down with her.
"Everything alright?" he asked into the darkness, both of them knowing it wasn't really a question.
"I don't understand it," she admitted bitterly and desperately tried to shut out the distant explosions that kept her awake most nights. "Why are they leaving us on our own here?"
"Nobody understands it."
"But somebody has to do something," she pleaded. "People here are dying."
"The attack destroyed the whole center of power of this country."
"Somebody has to take over the responsibility. There has to be an emergency plan."
"The city is still under quarantine because of the toxic gas."
"And that's a reason to do nothing at all? To not send anybody here apart from a few laughable helicopters?"
"Maybe there are more places where they are fighting now. Where they have to fight." She could hear that he was running out of explanations, for he didn't really believe in them himself.
She sighed, because she couldn't bear it when even he gave up on everything.
"Seems like not everybody is such a loyal soul as we are, love," he admitted, and searched for her hand under the blanket.
Their breakfast consisted of some baked beans he had found in a nearly destroyed supermarket. He seemed to regard them a feast, instead of the last bite before the end of the world.
He looked down at her plate, its appearance not changed since he had served her, and pulled it over to have a few spoonfuls of her serving. "The Queen wouldn't be very proud of you. You'll be nothing but skin and bones one day," he reprimanded gently, and his eyes on her skinny wrists were not lost on her.
What does it change?, her tired eyes asked.
The stern look he gave her in response said, that it would change everything for him.
"Take care of yourself," she asked him later before she locked the door from inside. These were lonely days, but she swore to herself that this night she would at least try to eat a bit more of what he was fighting for so hard out there.
It alarmed her the most when he was silent. It meant that he had seen or heard something with which he didn't want to trouble her. And as he knew he would never be able to hide it from her when opening his mouth, he preferred to keep silent.
"Anything I can do for you?" she wanted to know, but she was aware of the fact that there was nothing for her to do. He was the one who kept them alive and she just simply felt helpless. Useless.
He shook his head. "Just sit with me for a while."
It couldn't drive her thoughts away. "You're doing everything, keeping us alive, trying to make things better." I do nothing.
"You give me reason to go on, because you give it all a sense," he made clear and smiled a little.
"What are you missing the most?" she asked and the atmosphere was relaxed enough to know he would not truthfully answer with Emily.
"Porn," he confessed, grinning at the dead TV screen.
"Plonker."
It made him laugh even more.
"Cal," she whispered desperately as heavy footsteps climbed the stairs.
He jumped out of the bed and was already facing the invader. She could see the outline of a gun in the darkness and knew that this was the case when he instinctively began ducking. In her ears there was just a loud beeping drowning out everything else, even him calling her name.
"There's food down in the kitchen. Just take everything."
"What's with her?" the hooded man asked, revealing a voice that didn't make him sound much older than just twenty. Still a child, she thought. He waved his gun about like an amateur.
She watched as Cal straightened up, moving forward to urge the guy out of the bedroom. "Just take everything, but leave her alone," he nearly begged and she wanted to run after him and make sure he wouldn't put himself in even more danger.
Seconds passed by, seconds that felt like horrid hours.
Then, at some point of time, she heard those heavy footsteps going down the stairs again and together they waited until the last sound was gone. They examined the chaos that got left behind, but the shock was bigger than the bother over the loss of their last food cans.
It was a long night until the sun went up. He held her in his arms, slightly swaying and trying to give her some of the comfort she needed so bad.
When she picked up the telephone without any real hope and contrary to her expectations did not find a dead line, she did not hesitate one second to call out for him. He hurried to her, believing something horrible had happened and did not quite understand when she pointed the receiver at him.
"Come on, call her. It's working!"
Puzzled he just stood there and looked at her. "If I call her, you probably won't be able to call somebody," he noticed and there was never a worse suited time for his rare moments of charity. She wanted to shake some sense into him and tell him that this was the wrong time to debate over that. Worst case neither of them could call anybody and experience the long sought relief they both needed so desperately. It was a matter of seconds, minutes maybe, if fate was on their side.
When he still didn't move and his distressed look seemed to bore into her, she took matters in her own hands and dialed Emily's mobile number. It sat on a list taped to the telephone, ready to be used at any time and always tainted with painful memories.
She pressed the receiver into his hand and could feel the tension nearly tearing her apart. He needed this. Maybe just a few words, but he needed this so much. Never ever had she hoped something for another person more than right now.
When the call actually found its intended destination, she could read it from the immediate glow in his eyes.
"Em?" he asked unbelieving and she could hear her excited voice on the other end. "We're okay. Gill's here. Are you safe?"
He nodded reassuringly while Emily answered. A tear made its way down his bearded cheek, followed by two or three more. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen him cry.
"We're trying to get out of here."
Shortly after that, the small timeframe of mercy shut down and he was only left to stare at the receiver, that didn't let any word through anymore. "I love you," he whispered, disappointed.
"She knows that," she eased his pain.
"You should have called someone," he said after a while and she had no trouble detecting the unnecessary guilt in his voice.
She shook her head and suggested a soothing smile. The only person she would have wanted to call, she didn't have to. He was already here.
After the conversation with Emily his mood was as good as before the disastrous incident.
He asked her if she wanted to dance and she answered with a small curtsy. They danced to imaginary music; music that still ran clear and sweet in their ears. They danced until they broke down laughing on the couch.
It was this night that they both dared to initiate the kiss they were waiting for. It could only offer a bit of comfort, but this was more than they could have hoped for here.
The next day when he came home, she knew that this was different than all the other days he entered the house exhausted. It was his slouched gait, the painful expression on his face, the grim atmosphere he carried around him. Even more grim than the dust that shaded the sun.
"What happened?"
"Loker. I found him."
It wasn't a positive sign.
"You wanna tell him goodbye?" he asked and studied the gray veil of dust on his shoes.
She nodded and couldn't even cry anymore.
Trudging through debris and ruins, she realized why he was trying to encapsulate her from the world outside. And the longer they walked, the less she understood how he could do this every day. How he could hunt down food every day, offer his help to others and yet be able to give her a smile in the evenings. As small as it sometimes may be.
"You wanna rest for a bit?" he asked looking at her face, but she just shook her head adamantly.
They found Loker; it was just a stone's throw away from their office. When the first attack hit the city, most people had been on their way to work. Just like him. Now he was lying within this last resting-place that Cal had built him from whatever was available.
The corpse was covered with a cloth. She bent down, but his arm held her back. "It's not nice," he warned.
She took the look on his face accompanying those words very seriously and desisted from her intention.
When she directed her last words at Eli, words so incredibly out of place and inadequate, he stepped back a bit and gave her some private space. It was so unlike him, but maybe he just couldn't listen to it.
She put the small paper flower she had brought down on the grave and both of them got lost in a few minutes of silent remembrance before heading back and sharing their best memories of Loker with each other.
When he didn't come home for the third day in a row, she started to say goodbye. Goodbye to a photograph of them together, to the small pendant he had once given her, to the last remaining chocolate inside the corny box.
She went outside looking for him everywhere, but all she found was hopelessness. In between debris, dead bodies and shattered dreams.
She started to say goodbye, but she knew that she would never stop doing so, if it really were true.
When he returned, completely battered and at the end of his rope, she ran to the door faster than her feet could carry her. Arriving there she slapped him hard in the face.
He was perplexed and it took him some time to display any emotion at all. What he opted for in the end was a lopsided grin. And she laughed to herself, while hot tears streamed down her face.
She took care of his wounds and didn't ask what had happened. His eyes told her that he didn't want to talk about it. Not because it would hurt him, but because he wanted to protect her from it. Protect her like he always did, now even more than ever before.
"Can you drink that?" he asked with a slight smirk on his lips after minutes of silence, when she wiped the alcohol-drenched gauze over the cut on his arm. "I could use a drink."
That night they slept together and it was like the last thing that they had left. It was a relief and it hurt like hell. Both at the same time.
The next day he was out there again and she prayed to a God she didn't believe in anymore.
Please let him come home safely.
When she got sick he stayed with her all the time. She saw the fear in his eyes and it only raised her own anxiety. She couldn't leave him behind, just as much as he couldn't leave her behind. They needed each other, because they were one another's reason for living.
A man he got to know outside and who had to feed a family of his own somewhere in the city came over to see if everything was alright. Cal asked him to do so and take care of her should he ever disappear again. This time maybe forever.
The day after the man brought antibiotics and a few pain killers that Cal thankfully accepted.
"You don't have to be here all the time," she noted weakly when he wiped the sweat from her forehead and gave her the next dose of medication.
"Don't talk nonsense," he answered and simply carried on.
"You're usually the nonsense talker," she countered again.
"I know. I'm allowed to do that."
He never fell asleep before she did. Sometimes, she woke up during the night and studied his tired face that seemed to have aged so much in the last few weeks. She tried to not make a sound and grant him the few hours of peace he didn't allow himself.
It took some time, but finally the fever went down and with it the fear in his eyes. Sometimes she even believed, she saw a tiny hint of hope in between his blinks.
When the time came, they were not the first ones to leave the city. Maybe because they were too worn out, or maybe because they couldn't really believe it.
Calmly they packed the few things that still meant something and thought about how far the remaining gas in his car would take them. They thought about where they could get more fuel. Fuel that would eventually bring them to Chicago, in the end.
On their way out of the city the enormity of damage and destruction became painfully clear. Far beyond the city's limits the attacks had left behind desolation and ghostly emptiness. The tension also didn't lessen as they made it further. The whole country seemed paralyzed with shock and they came right out of the epicenter.
On a parking lot somewhere along the road he stopped to fill his lungs with some fresh air. She paced a few yards away from him and the car when she couldn't hold it back anymore and melted into tears that could not be simply dried.
"It will get better," he promised, taking her into his arms and comforting her.
She struggled against his proximity for a little while, eventually pushing him back. "There's nothing left of our lives, Cal! Everything's there," she pointed into the distance, "trapped under toxic rubble. People we love, the work we love, everything we built for ourselves. Nothing is left."
"I know. It sucks," he gave back quietly and waited an instant. "But there are only two things that are so important to me, that I would never leave them behind and for which it's worth going on. One of those reasons is hopefully safe and sound in Chicago and the other one is standing right in front of me."
Suddenly she was ashamed of her words, but he immediately gave her the feeling that she didn't need to, that he understood. He got closer again and his eyes asked silently if it was okay. She rested her cheek against his and together they just swayed a little in the wind.
"Will you ever shave again, Grizzly?" she asked and it was this kind of screwed-up humor that they shared so often.
"Maybe. I think it makes me look manly."
"Yes, you needed that."
She looked down and could feel all the horrible pictures rushing through her head. Pictures that would never let go of her again. The dead, the left-behinds, the broken.
It was the dust on his shoes that reminded her of all that now.
END