Title: Her eyes were listening what his lips were not saying.

Pairing: C/G

Disclaimer: Not mine. *sigh*

Summary: /Words were no good. Words simply did not fit. Just empty mindless shapes to fill the lack/ Cal and Gillian spending a quiet evening together. PWP.

A/N: It just started off as a quiet fluffy Christmas PWP, I swear, but at some point nature kicked in. What can I say, two glasses of wine and a well-worn volume of Faulkner didn't help. Not betaed, be kind.

With a quiet sight she burrowed further into the soft welcoming cushions, pushing her feet under his left hip warming her icy toes. The tips of his fingers curled under her bent knees as though having a mind of their own. Maybe he just couldn't stop them. Maybe he never tried to.

'Bloody hell Foster, you're not making me watch this one'. He grimaced in a mock disgust as if to empathize his dislike of curly spaniels and Christmas festivities.

She just looked at him with the queer eyes of her that made people talk or quit talking altogether. The latter he did, not without an audible 'ugh'.

A pale greyishly sad December evening with its glistering wet roads and warm whispering rain left the room silent. Her eyes looked like the lamps blaring quietly before the oil is completely gone. Every now and then two flames light up for a steady instant giving a way to tiny wrinkles around them as his fingers keep drawing a lazily steady pattern around her kneecap. The life in her running under his hands.

He found her an aimless silhouette at his doorstep wet to the skin her eyes tired. He rushed her in without as much as 'c'mere, you' making her change pouring her a generous glass of warming liquid.

He teased her about the oversized sweater his sweater, the one he could swear never would make anyone look half as adorable and that alone earned him a gentle (loving) push in the chest. He did his very best to lose a bet over choosing a movie.

'Playing dirty today, are we Dr Foster?'

The tension that never quite left her shoulders almost seemed to be easing off.

Angling his head slightly, he kept watching raw unguarded emotions playing on her face beautiful with their nakedness. He saw her right there a lonely woman lonely with her pride caught up in her own insecurity trying to keep anybody from coming near her at all trying to make everyone to believe otherwise. He's seen it all before.

'Do you have a …'

He looked at her rubbing her bare feet together.

'I've run out of clean socks, darling, unless you want…'

She shook her head her face a picture of mock horror and disbelief 'Never mind'

'Oi Foster, you are always welcome to do my laundry, yeah.'

He could feel her eyes silently staring back at him.

'Found what you were looking for' her voice sounded pale and tired again not questioning. Her face seemed to wake up into expression of listening counting his every stroke the raw unbidden nakedness still there.

And then he knew it. He could fix it all right there if he just would. And then his eyes were fumbling, the words were fumbling at what he seemed to be trying to say. Words were no good. Words simply did not fit. Just empty mindless shapes to fill the lack.

Stretching her legs so that her feet were now on his lap, she turned her head back to the quietly glowing screen her eyes no longer listening.

'You stay tonight, yeah?' He heard himself blurting his palms hot against her calves.

Her rich quiet hum dissolved into the voiceless listening semi-darkness, shy snowflakes whispering to the road empty with waiting.