TITLE: Just a Couple of Drinks
GENRE: General/humor/romance
CHARACTERS: Gillian, Cal
PAIRING: Cal/Gillian
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: None
WORDS: 2.200
SUMMARY: Six times they meet at a bar.
—Water
In another world, they would meet at this bar, smile, flirt, have a couple of drinks, and go home together. She doesn't dare imagining what happens after that.
She is attracted to him; has been right from the start in her respectable office. There, where everything was safe and professional. But then he asked her to come here, and somehow it all turns into something dark and dangerous. Even darker than the mess she was trying to get him out of.
He said he just wanted to talk and she believes him. Yet, this is a strange place to talk, so her steps are cautious as she approaches him sitting at the end of a long counter somewhere in the semi-darkness. She holds onto her purse like somebody will jump at her at any given moment and snatch it from her. She's nervous, that's what she is.
There's a glass of whiskey in front of him. Small Scottish distillery he informs her later—a little glassy-eyed and with slower movements than she is used to see from him. Well, she isn't really used to anything from him, because it's in fact only been a couple of times she has met him.
"How are you?" she asks and worries that her skirt is riding up too high, now that she sat down on the bar stool.
"Like a loser without a job." It hangs heavy in the air between them, but in the end he lets her off the hook and begins to grin.
She finds it incredibly hard to read him and to understand just a fraction of what is going on inside of his head. It fascinates her and it scares her. In equal parts, probably. Despite his grin she still doesn't know what to say.
"But," he continues and emphasizes the word like something life-changing is to come, "I have a proposal to make. What do you wanna drink to celebrate?"
She still is unsure of this whole situation. Knowing his books she is extremely aware of herself and everything he might see. But she tries to stay calm, emulating the last bit of confidence she can muster. "Just water."
He laughs a little and shakes his head. "Man, you really are a good girl, aren't you?"
He doesn't know anything about her. Not yet.
—Wine
They are celebrating their first month anniversary. Not much, one might think, but a huge success for them, because it means that all the efforts they have put into this are finally paying off. Yet, both their spouses cancelled on them—maybe it's just the two of them thinking that tonight is important. Despite the numbers in the books still being red. But that will hopefully change with the next few cases.
"Will you be daring and maybe have a Coke today?" A sneaky grin is on his lips. He enjoys this kind of innuendo, she found that one out soon enough.
"No," she says and shakes her head with that serious expression she likes to tease him with, "I'll have some wine. Bold, huh?"
"I'll not be carrying you out of here." Then he goes quiet for a bit, seems to remember something. "Though, you looked like you would pass out just from the water you had the last time we went here."
So despite his own befuddlement he had noticed. "I didn't know what mess you were trying to get me into." It's the truth and then it also is a lie.
"But now you like the mess I got you into, don't you?" He is so sure of himself all the time. She likes it, because despite her sometimes tough, no-nonsense appearance she had learned in an environment mostly filled with testosterone, she is not at all. She still is not sure of all of this. Of him, their company, the business plan even working.
But she likes it, yes she does.
—Beer
Sometimes he has days where he is unbearable. Abrasive and rude and not willing to either listen or compromise. She can deal with it better than their employees can, but it still irritates her and gnaws at her nerves.
She has confronted him about it in the past, but nothing ever came of this. He either continued to rage or he just backpedalled and spit out something resembling an apology. She still doesn't know anything about the root of the problem and it makes her realize that she doesn't really know anything about his roots and what makes him tick.
One day it's especially bad. All their employees steer clear of him for fear of being bitten. She goes to the lion's den, but soon enough finds herself on the way out again.
She buries herself in work that doesn't need his involvement and yet can't stop hearing the small wheels in her head turning. After a while she stops to look up what day it was when it was this bad for the last time. She still remembers the case they were working on and finds the file on her computer in just a couple of seconds.
May 10. Same day.
In the evening he is gone from his office without having said goodbye. But she can't let it go and doesn't believe in coincidences like that. So she gets her coat and purse and walks out into the crisp air.
She tries the pub she knows he likes. He is not hiding in a dark corner like she thought he would be, but is in plain sight instead. She sits down next to him and he doesn't seem to mind.
"Do you wanna tell me what happened on May 10, that makes this day so painful for you?"
He still hasn't looked at her. "I picked a business partner who is too smart for me." He smiles at the thought of it.
"I'm just attentive. It's what you taught me and you should kick me out of the business if I wasn't."
"Yeah, right," he just says and finally faces her with a sad, yet grateful expression. "Have a beer with me." It's like a plea to a dear, old friend he wants to share his pain with.
There's no way she can say no to that, so she has a beer with him and listens to the story about his mother.
—Tequila
They rented this bar for their company Christmas party. Well, she did, because he can't really be bothered with stuff like this and just wants to stay as far away from it as possible. He even asked her to cancel this whole thing altogether and buy him a nice, big present from the money instead.
Of course she didn't comply and even found a sadistic pleasure in making him suffer with details of the arrangements she had made.
A little to her surprise, he is actually present at the party. Not mingling with people or God forbid, dancing, but at least he turned up and continues his Grinch-like existence mostly quietly in a corner where nobody dares approaching him. It means that she has to address their staff alone, but oh well.
A bit later he crosses her path, carrying a small shot glass with a golden liquid in it.
"What is this?" she wants to know.
"Tequila."
"I didn't know you were into this stuff."
"I'm not. I hate it. Just as much as I hate Christmas parties, so I thought it would be appropriate. I cannot possibly drink enough to make the pain of this go away." He empties the glass in a swift movement.
She smiles at him and is reminded of the fact that she even likes him on his bad days. Mostly, at least.
"I'll get another two and you'll drink with me, love. No excuses." A devilish grin finds its way on his face and he finally seems to enjoy himself.
"I'm a lightweight. I'll get drunk in no time", she tries, but she knows that there is no way around it.
"That's the aim of the game."
And off he goes to find them some drinks, like a hunter going after the deer.
—Gin Tonic
They have done this a number of times by now—acting as a couple, married or not, in the pursuit of answering questions, catching liars, or provoking reactions. Sometimes it's all innocent, sometimes it requires a kiss here or there, but it never seemed as real as this time.
She's on her third Gin Tonic and he seems to be on his seventh glass of whatever he is drinking. He's exuberant, wildly gesturing, talking nonstop, and clearly drunk. She is as well, but too busy to dwell on his current state and all the things that could go wrong should he give them and their real intentions away.
But despite his drunkenness he seems to have no problems remembering that she is supposedly his beloved wife tonight. His hand is on her thigh—has been for a while—and is slowing inching higher until some of his fingers vanish beneath the hem of her dress. At the same time, he's still vividly talking to the guy they're trying to set up and she is giggling about the jokes he makes in the process.
Half an hour later their opponent bids his farewell and leaves them with all the answers they needed. If they can remember them the next morning, that is.
He decides that it's a reason to celebrate and orders another round of drinks they clearly shouldn't have anymore. He puts his arm around her and grins like mad, making her stomach flutter and her lips stretch into a wide smile as well.
Five minutes from that, they are making out in their booth, having forgotten about everything that this evening might or might not have been. It's wrong and dangerous, yet everything they obviously want.
He texts her the next morning.
Sorry if I crossed a line I shouldn't have crossed. Let's do it again sometime.
—Scotch
They are in the same pub again. As a matter of fact, even in the same booth and it seems to her that everything oozes with memories of their last night here.
They have talked about what happened. They have even joked about it. There is some kind of regained normalcy between them since, but they can't deny that this evening has changed them and their dynamics in a way. Not necessarily a bad one, though.
After a couple of minutes spent with innocent small talk, he unexpectantly gets up and leaves her wondering. He returns with a nearly burnt-down candle stuck on the neck of a bottle full of old wax. He puts it on the table right between them.
"What are you doing?" She is utterly clueless as to why they are here and what's going on. Her eyes are fixed on him to find the answers she is looking for.
"You were complaining about the lack of romance the last time we were here. I'm making up for it."
"With that?" She points to the candle flickering nervously.
"Yes, with that. You want rose petals, too? I can get rose petals."
She was slightly afraid that he really would, now that she might have planted the idea in his head. "I guess it's fine just like that."
He grins. "Good. What do you wanna drink?"
She contemplates the possibilities for a moment. "I'll have that scotch you like so much."
"I like other things more."
His words go right into her heart and leave her tingling. "Other drinks?"
"No, not drinks." He rolls his eyes, but doesn't say the word. You.
The scotch arrives a couple of minutes later and she inhales the smoky aroma, before gulping it down all at once. It burns in her throat with a certain edge and intensity, but soon enough it feels smooth and soothing. She blushes from the heat it sparks inside of her, or maybe because the whole sensation makes her think of him.
He watches her in admiration. "You've come a long way, you know. From water to this here."
"You've turned me into a bad girl."
"Nah, I haven't. I told you before; I don't think you're the good girl."
"You told me the exact opposite when I ordered that water back then." Her hand on the table is close to his, but they're not touching. Still, she longs for him and hopes they will be touching sooner or later.
"I was wrong," he admits simply.
"Would you write that sentence down and sign it for me?"
"Never." He is trying hard to hide a smile. "I'm willing to satisfy any other wishes you may have, though."
Now it's her time to roll her eyes. But it only takes her a couple of moments to think of something she actually wants. "You know what? You stick to water for the rest of the night, so I can take you home sober. How about that?"
"I find it hard to understand what you might possibly want with me in a sober condition, but it's a deal."
And the deal is on and they go home together after some smiling, flirting and a couple of nonalcoholic drinks. As they walk side by side, falling into the same pace, she realizes that she still finds it fascinating and scary all at the same time.
But she likes it, yes she does.
THE END