I'd Come For You
Doesn't she know? Cal thought to himself as he stared at her across the table during one of their many meals together. How can she not see it? The idea that she was completely oblivious to his feelings for her at once pained and amused him.
If he could, he'd have told her right then. How hard was it, anyway? Three small words. Eight letters. How was it possible that a sentence so tiny had the power to change his entire life?
He couldn't tell her. It would change his entire life! And hers. And Emily's. And then there was the entirely-too-real possibility of rejection. Her and her damn lines. If he could, he'd have ripped that intangible line to shreds with his bare hands. Stomped all over it and told her to forget the imaginary boundaries they'd drawn for themselves. Damn that bloody line.
It was too complicated, loving her. He tried not to. He'd spent years willing himself not to love her. She'd made that an impossibility, what with her infectious laugh and her morning pudding cups and her orange slushies and that body…
He was done for before he'd ever seen it coming.
So many times, he thought he'd picked up on something in her eyes; something similar to what he was sure his own eyes showed. A certain sparkle. A wayward glance that lasted just a little bit too long. Sometimes he swore she felt it, too, or at least that she knew he did. But he couldn't be sure.
She had to know. After everything they'd been through…he'd thrown himself on top of her to protect her from a bomb. He'd come running when a group of teenagers had invaded her home and given her a very pronounced bruise on her tender cheek. He'd followed her ex husband around when he'd suspected he was betraying her. He'd do anything for her. She had to know that much.
If he never told her…at least she'd know he'd do anything. That the line meant nothing to him when she was in trouble. So why couldn't he just say it? I want you. I need you. I love you.
If he could, he'd tell her.
Lonelily
She knew. She'd known for some time now. The way he looked at her sometimes…it was the way she wanted to look at him. The way she would look at him if she had the courage to.
She knew she was his blind spot. She knew that he couldn't tell what she was feeling if she didn't let him, and she was very careful not to. The line must be kept intact. She played by a very strict set of rules, and she knew he hated them. Cal Lightman was definitely not one to go by the book.
It was better this way. She'd convinced herself of that, even though something else inside of her knew better. They were business partners, and business and pleasure were like oil and water. They had to go on pretending. Just being friends.
It wasn't just the line. They both had issues that she wasn't entirely sure they could get past. Could they really have a fully functional, mature, adult relationship after all they'd been through? Their devotion to one another aside, there was so much between them that it made Gillian doubt whether mere love would suffice to sustain them.
She wished things could be different, but nothing about this thing between them was or ever could be simple. They were scarred. Flawed. From a psychological perspective, it wasn't healthy for them to be romantically involved. From her heart's perspective, though, she wished they could be. Maybe…maybe someday. If he ever actually told her what she knew he wanted to tell her. Maybe then she'd think about it.