Monday Afternoon - DC General Hospital
One thing Emily Lightman knew for certain was that her dad was never as fearless as he made himself out to be, not even a little bit. When he loved, he loved fiercely and worried even more. Emily didn't have to read him to see it. It was there each time he wrapped her up in his arms and told her everything was different when it came to her. It was with those words in her mind that she had even thought to ask the question the week before. She really hadn't meant to ask. But she was feeling crummy after breaking up with Liam and questioning love as a whole when she thought, just for a fleeting moment, that Cal was different when it came to Gillian Foster too. So it was really only natural to assume that there was love there. And why not ask him to confirm? Who would it hurt?
But when he answered a yes, he loved Gillian, really loved her… Emily was not satiated with the option to butt out. No, he looked so twisted, so twisted she couldn't help but dig in a little. And it wasn't that she had any doubts of the answer, didn't know that the reason Cal would never do anything about this love was because he was a chicken. And that was, of course, also because he didn't believe Gillian could love him back, thought he would ruin things. There wasn't a single person who didn't know that her father had been in love with his best friend and business partner for the best of a decade, including the woman herself. So maybe it wasn't so much of a stretch for her to believe that maybe he was finally ready to see that. And maybe then his eyes would open to the possibility that he was loved in return.
She could push that bit harder if she dared, pick at the wounds until they bled. But he had gone so quiet at the defeat that she couldn't bring herself to do it.
That was what brought her here. Sharp hospital lights burned her eyes and the scent of antiseptic stung in her nose yet all she could think about was her father's inaction. Emily had set up a meeting with the nurse from DC General as soon as she'd finished talking to her dad. If he wasn't going to do what he needed to, at least she would do what she needed to. And today she had to interview a figure in the community. Nurse Sanchez was just the best person she knew that had agreed to be interviewed.
Emily walked down the hallway, checking the time on her cell phone before taking the turn into the nearest waiting room. She had fifteen minutes before the agreed upon time and didn't want to rush the woman. So, she searched for a seat, searching over the faces of those sitting to find which of the few empty seats would be the most comfortable, furthest away from nervous chatter.
With her dad on her mind, it was easy to recognize the expression twisted on the man's face. The signs of distress were there. The fingers of one hand were curled against the armrests of the plastic chair. Between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, he rubbed a shiny metal plate like a lucky coin. Emily let out a long breath and walked over, avoiding his eyes until she reached him. She knew what she'd see there and was not yet ready to confirm.
She pointed at the chair beside him and met his eyes, raising her eyebrows in question. She carefully pulled her arms from her jacket and sat beside him when he nodded.
"I'm Emily," she said, reaching out a hand.
He startled a bit. As his badge dropped to the armrest, his tinkering stopped immediately. Now that she could see it better, it looked like a police badge, DCPD maybe, or possibly Baltimore police. His now freed hand shook hers firmly.
"Sam," he said.
He was an easy read. He had his hands in his hair and his eyebrows all knitted up. Worry deepened the lines in his face and the weight of stress cast a tired pallor over his skin. He looked older than he was, weary. Emily set her bag down in front of her and refolded her coat in her lap as she regarded him more fully.
"Waiting on someone?" she asked gently.
She had no intention of hurting him. She was just so bleeding curious and hopeful that at least the person it is who he cared for so much, loved so much, was aware. It hurt to much to imagine they might not.
Sam didn't speak for so long that Emily felt compelled to apologize. But then he cracked a sigh and looked at her.
"Yeah," he said. "My partner."
Emily gulped. Her stomach sunk and her mouth went dry. It couldn't be that easy, could it, to find something so close it almost seemed the same, a mirror, a reflection?
She had sat with Gillian like this, close but not touching and silent apart from their breathing after her father had been in that collision a few months back. She had been the one to tell Gillian, who'd hurried over to be with her as they worried, nothing they could do but wring their hands and wait. Gillian had loved him then. Emily was sure in the moment Gill leaned her head back and closed her eyes as they waited for the doctor to come speak with them, a look of anguish painted vividly across her face. Sam's face now was almost too familiar, too painful to look at.
"You're in love," Emily said. "With your partner."
She hoped the quiet of her voice would take some of the sting away. But he blinked slowly, leaned back. God, he couldn't even deny it.
"I should've told her," he said. "I can't believe I never told her."
Emily looked down for a moment, bringing her head back up with a smile made out of sympathy. She pulled out her notebook and tore out half a page, scribbling down her contact information.
"I've got to meet with someone. But if you ever want to talk about it," Emily said, nodding to the paper as she slid it into his grasp.
She shrugged, self-conscious, then collected her things. She had come here to interview a nurse, but could it really be helped that far more interesting people walked into hospital doors?
Tuesday Evening - Lightman Kitchen
Writer's block found her the next evening as she sat at the kitchen island staring at a blank laptop screen. She had her interview notes beside her and her background research, too, but nothing came to her. Usually, she'd just make up a sentence, any sentence to start with, but all she could think of was Sam and his partner, her father and his, why they couldn't just say the words that described what they were feeling, that would fix everything between them. Fear was a crippling thing, truly. And it was exactly what was keeping them from happiness.
Eventually words came, but not the right ones. She wrote about fear, about the way people try to withdraw from it, hide from it. The way it hurt and bent people to fear loss so much as to risk it at greater cost, how people were so afraid to lose a friend that they could never gain family, gain love. The way rewards only came from taking the right risks. But it was not her interview notes from a fast-paced, soft-hearted nurse that fit here, not at all. It was Sam's story. It was all that she learned from her father's love for Gillian.
"Look at those fingers go," said a voice from the doorway.
Emily turned around to see her dad there, watching her with interest.
"Just writing a paper." Emily shrugged.
"What about then?"
"Just a figure in the community," she said, closing the laptop carefully.
"And this fellow's better'n your dear old dad?"
Emily laughed. "No, no. Just like you, really. Only, wasn't allowed to do family this time. Last year's project."
Cal gave a sharp nod of remembrance. It'd been a case that he didn't want her around, sex and money and the accusation of abuse. The girl hadn't been much older than her. Gillian had been there, shocked and still and psychologist-y, hurting for the girl in front of her but distracting her father from it with sexual innuendo. As if she hadn't caught that. It was Gillian, not prudish but definitely not one to make suggestive comments so openly and in the professional environment no less. Loker had told her about that one and right away, she had known. She'd done it to protect him, to save him from thinking of the women he lived in that light, to keep him from fear.
"You'll read it, right?" Emily asked, looking up at him doe-eyed.
"Yeah. Of course, yeah. I'll read it."
"Good," Emily said, slouching with relief. Maybe her words could be enough. This time, there was no other option.
Wednesday Afternoon - DC General Hospital
Emily could have cried when she got the call, three days before her paper's deadline. She still hadn't managed to rewrite it for the interview she'd done. So Sam having called, soft as he asked her to meet her at the hospital gave her hope. Something had happened, she knew. And now he needed someone and somehow it was her. Relief was a fresh pair of wings, carrying her to the hospital faster than she'd ever arrived there in the past.
She found him in almost the same place as she'd met him, sitting in the waiting room alone. Only now, he held his head in his hands, elbows resting on knees. She sat down next to him again, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"What is it?" Emily asked. "What happened?"
And when he looked up at her, eyes rimmed red and sunken, face full of torment, she knew. She searched for words but she couldn't find any, couldn't imagine what she'd say if it were someone else. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she rubbed his shoulder in silence, no words enough for the loss.
Emily could work the truth out of anyone but she didn't even have to try because Sam just gave it so freely, voice flat and hollow as bird bones.
"She was just a traffic cop," he said slowly.
And Emily couldn't help but hear her own father's voice, full of the same fear and pain and love, speaking of Gillian.
'I mean really love her,' she'd said.
'Yeah.'
"You can tell me," Emily said instead. "All about her."
Soon after Emily and Sam relocated to a coffee shop down the street after a little while, Emily sat soft and concerned as Sam watched his coffee go cold. She was afraid for him, loving someone so much that he couldn't seem to think of anything else. What was worse was the guilt, the blame turned inwards like somehow he'd ruined her, like somehow his fears were warranted.
"She knows," Emily said. "She knows you love her, definitely."
Sam's eyes flinched and he shook his head. "She didn't, couldn't."
"Hey," Emily said, laying her hand over his. "I just met you and I can see it. She knew."
Sam turned his head down, staring into his coffee cup.
"Tell me something else. What were you doing at the hospital?" he asked.
Emily blushed bashful. Then chose bravery.
"I was doing an interview for a journalism class, a project. But, I've been thinking. How would you feel about me maybe interviewing you instead, if you're up to it?"
To Emily's surprise, Sam nodded his head in agreement.
Friday Evening - Lightman Living Room
Emily not only finished her paper a weekend before the due date but also convinced Gillian to come to dinner and help her out. Through text, of course. Gillian was the language expert after all. That's why she often helped Emily revise her essays, and why Emily couldn't call instead. She had printed out two crisp copies of her paper, stapled and all. She was ready, in a sense. In another, she was all too nervous. She was glad to see Gillian's car already there when she pulled into her dad's driveway after she had gathered all her things from her mom's to stay the weekend. Good. She wouldn't have to wait, her father's eyes catching her so-called scheme before she could set it into motion.
Dinner was in the oven. The smell made her stomach turn in both hunger and nervous knots. She greeted Gillian when she sat down beside her in the living room. She greeted her dad too, who hovered and flitted around Gillian. But when he finally sat, it was in the armchair with a low table between them. It was deliberately distanced.
"Since we're waiting," Emily said. "Maybe you wouldn't mind reading my paper now?"
Gillian nodded, so Emily pulled them out. One into Gillian's hand and the other as far across the table as she could reach. She watched them read, watched how her father's shoulders tensed, how Gillian wiped the corner of her eye discreetly. They read silently, but their faces were speaking - only not to each other.
"Emily," her father said when he had finished.
She held up a hand. "No. I won't let you be like them. Can't you see the regret there? They loved each other and they never said anything until one of them wasn't around to hear it anymore. But you, both of you, have taught me to speak up. So take your own advice and speak up. I know that you love each other. You know. So just say it."
"Emily," Gillian said. "You don't understand."
"What don't I understand?" she shot back. "Can you honestly tell me you don't love him? I mean, I can see your face."
Gillian's jaw clenched, her eyes gone hazy but wide. Emily couldn't imagine taking it back, even though she hurt the woman. Cracks were forming in long lasting facades that would hurt the both of them far more.
"Foster?" her father's voice was desperate. Surprised, maybe?
Gillian shook her head. "Don't," she warned. "Okay?"
"No, it's not okay with me anymore!"
Gillian startled.
"It's not as simple as it seems. Nothing's changed."
"Everything's changed," Emily said. "Dad?"
Or maybe it hadn't. He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Em."
"You can't ask for honesty and then refuse to give any of your own. I'll leave you to it," Emily said.
"No, you stay," Gillian said.
Emily didn't know if she was being used as a human shield or not, but the tears in Gill's eyes gave her pause. And she stayed sitting, unable to disobey now.
"Fine, Gillian. I love you. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that the change you're looking for?"
Gillian's tears leaked over. "No."
"Then I don't understand. You don't believe in all that love conquers all business?" he asks.
Gillian shook her head. Again. "Cal, sometimes the only thing love conquers is you."
Now that was defeatist, far too dismal to have come from the mouth and mind of the bubbly, optimistic Gillian she thought she knew so well. Gillian, who had a childish love of sweets and a teenage girl's idealist, hopeless view of romance. For her to not want a love confession?
"You're afraid," said Emily cautiously. When she touched Gillian, she withdrew like she'd been burnt.
"You think I'm gonna ruin you," Cal said quietly. His nose wrinkled and he looked down at his hands.
"No," Gillian said. Then her eyelids fluttered. "But also, yes. What I'm trying to say is that love isn't always enough."
"You don't love me?"
Gillian manages a smile at that one. "Would I still be here if I didn't?"
"Deflection."
"No, I do. Of course I do."
A beep silenced her. A steady beeping, actually, of the kitchen timer. Dinner was ready though no one stood to serve it. Emily looked between the two adults. Then finally excused herself.
She could still hear them as she busied herself with finding an oven mitt and turning off the incessantly beeping timer.
"Then what will it take, love?" Cal asked. "I can do different, be better."
"You say that now..." Gillian said.
"I'll show you later," he said.
Emily turned to take the lasagna from the oven, having heard more than enough.
Raising her voice just loud enough that they would hear her, Emily quipped, "You're welcome! And you can thank our friend Sam later. I'll send you his contact info!"
The returning laughter was soft, a secret promise in there somewhere. It filled Emily to overflowing as a smile cracked her face open wide. Sometimes, words were enough. Sometimes, fear wasn't enough to keep love from blossoming.