Author's Note: Initially, this was intended as the Gillian side to the Cal-centric fic I posted recently, Clean Like You. I wanted to explore what she was thinking while he was staring at her thinking all that stuff.

But what I ended up writing wasn't at all in keeping with the tone of Clean. So rather than a second chapter to that one, this is being posted as a stand-alone, though it makes more sense if you've read that first one.

I was REALLY super-duper hesitant to post this, since it's very OOC with what we *know* of Gill. But then, what do we actually know? The show gave us precious little insight when it came to her.

So here's my defense of this odd piece. Ok, what we know of Gillian is only External Gill. She projects this polished, together image. But I've taken - admittedly massive - liberties in speculating on what's going on inside her pretty, little head. Good girl, "straight man" Gillian is a facade, hiding that secret thought life. And in there, Gillian is kinda naughty and - apparently - a bit of a potty-mouth.

With that in mind, this is what we get.

Six and a half minutes.

That's how long we've been sitting here not saying anything while you stare at me (through me) as though there's nothing at all going on in that amazing, funny, interesting mind of yours. But I know – I know – the wheels are turning in there; I just don't know what's turning them.

Seven minutes.

Have you learned how to sleep with your eyes open? This is bordering on weird now, Cal, because you haven't actually blinked for at least the last two minutes. I can't even see that you are thinking because you've had that exact same blank, slack-jawed expression on your face for the entire-

Eight minutes.

I'm starting to wonder what it's going to take to snap you out of it. Earth to Cal; come in, Cal. I've considered making a paper wad and throwing it at you, but I doubt I could hit you from this distance. Would you notice if I stood on my desk and took my top off? Actually, that would probably do the trick; even catatonia can't possibly trump the voyeur in you. But I'm not going to resort to behaving like that. That isn't me. I have my dignity. Not that I'm so dignified that I haven't entertained…thoughts of doing something…something…bold. Risqué. Daring. Well, not thoughts, exactly; more like- like- well, ok, fantasies. There, I said it: fantasies. Let's just call a spade, a spade. Shall we?

You have no idea how relieved I am right now that you're catatonic. I actually made myself blush thinking about fantasies. You would certainly not have allowed that to pass without comment if you were remotely cognizant right now. So thank God for small miracles.

Ten minutes.

What was that? Something flashed across your face just then, but it was gone too quickly for me to be sure what it was.

Oh, you're blinking again. Ah, you're back. That's good. I'll just smile at you in a non-committal way and wait to see if you tell me anything about that little headtrip you just returned from.

Uh-oh. I know that look. I've seen that look. And here it comes—yes, there's your wicked smirk, right on cue.

Ok, my face is starting to ache a little, holding this vapid smile in place. Why don't you say something? Wait. Scratch that. Don't say anything. With that smirk on your face, I know that anything that exits your mouth at this point will make me die of shame and wish I were invisible. Oh, shit. You're standing up. You're standing up and –shit!- you're moving closer. You're moving closer, and the look in your eyes is so…so…brazen that it makes that smirk look like a choirboy's smile by comparison. I'm pretty sure I'm no longer smiling. I think I've crossed the line to—yes, yes, that is panic. And no question whether or not you saw it because the fire in your eyes just stoked to full-on inferno. Any minute now, the sprinklers will go off because you're smoldering, and I'm about to spontaneously combust.

Oh, what a complete bastard you are. What a complete and utter bastard. You couldn't just walk over here like a normal person. You are sauntering. You smug, smug man. Sauntering! I really wish I didn't find that so incredibly, infuriatingly sexy. And also that I wasn't so transparent when you get me flustered like this.

Oh, great. You saw that, didn't you? Of course you did. Wow. You're actually leering now. That is so charming. You really are a—

Rounding my desk. You're rounding my desk. Ok. Ok. Maybe you'll just perch on the edge. Just right there on the—

So not the edge then. You aren't going to stop til you are standing right—

Shit. My knee. Ok, that's my knee. Your leg is touching my knee. Pressed right up against it. I'm praying you can't feel me shaking. Seriously, how old am I?! I'm reacting like a hormonal teenaged girl. This is insane. I'm a grown woman. I'll just stand up. I'll stand up and walk past you a bit. Get a little separation here.

No. No, that's clearly not going to happen. There's all kinds of gravity in here, and I can definitely not get out of this chair. Yep, lots and lots of gravity…but apparently very little oxygen since I can't seem to breathe. I can't breathe. Oh my g—

Why are you looking down at me like that? That's a look I've never seen before. Well, no—yes, I have…but not fixed on me. It's…it's…predatorial.

I'm going to faint. I'm going to great-big faint. Good thing I'm sitting down. I think I'm sitting down. I can't feel my ass. I cannot feel my ass. My ass is numb. I think someone has been messing with the thermostat in my office because it's blazing hot in here. Maybe this is peri-menopause. Maybe I'm having hot flashes. Maybe I'm getting sick. I could be running a fever. I bet that's it. I bet I caught some—

Okaaaaay, what are you doing? Your hands are on the arms of my chair. On the arms. Of. My. Chair. Why are your hands on the arms of my—Oh, shit, why are you leaning down over me like that? Why are you-

Wow, you smell incredible. I mean, tear-off-your-clothes-and-take-you-on-this-desk incredible. I mean, climb-you-like-a-tree incredible. I mean, chew-the-buttons-off-your-shirt-and-rake-my-finger nails-down-your-bare-back incredible. Of all the colognes you wear, that one's my favorite. It's just so…so…you. Makes you smell positively edible.

Oh, wow. Your lips look really, really soft. How wrong is it that I want to bite your bottom lip? Shit. I just licked my lips, didn't I? Please tell me I did not just do that. Why, oh, why did I let myself start thinking about lips? Your lips. Soft, warm lips. On me. All over me. No! Think about basketball! Think about basketball!

Oh, no, you didn't. You just chuckled. That deep, sensual, throaty one you do that drives me to the edge. Wow, ok, I'm screwed. I am so screwed.

...

What the hell?

No, seriously, Cal: what the hell?

What. The. Hell.

A kiss on the cheek?

All that build-up for a kiss on the cheek?!

You have GOT to be kidding me! You wind me up, kiss my cheek, say goodnight, and just saunter back out?

Now what? How am I supposed to respond to all that? Do you expect me to jump up and chase you down the hall? No, no, that's the door I hear; you just left. You. Left. I'm sitting here wound up tighter than a cheap watch, and you just leave me like this? Seriously, Cal, what the hell? And why am I still shaking like a Chihuahua on crack?

Ok, deep breaths. Deep breaths. Calm. Relax. Go to my happy place. Ahhhh… I'm lying on the beach…in the sun…under Cal. NO! Shit, I need a glass of wine. A bottle of wine. Maybe two. And some sort of sports beverage. I think I've lost a lot of electrolytes.

That's it. I'm going home. Cold shower. Bottle of wine. Sports drink.

I hope I haunt your dreams all night long, you evil bastard. I know you'll haunt mine.

A/N addendum: I would be horribly remiss to not give mad props to jenron12 for serving as my guinea piglet. My very, very supportive and enthusiastic guinea piglet. Ta, luv! You're priceless!