TITLE: The Greatest Bastard
GENRE:
Drama
CHARACTERS:
Gillian, Cal
PAIRING:
Cal/Gillian
RATING:
PG-13
SPOILERS:
None
WORDS:
600
SUMMARY:
Am I the greatest bastard that you know?


.:.

Am I the greatest bastard that you know?
The only one who let you go?

.:.

It was good when it was good, and when it wasn't it was as shattering as it could get. Thunder striking your world after lightning had just exposed it to its bare skeleton.

You mess with my finances again, you and I are through. He meant it.

Mother Superior. You laughed it off.

What, you mean clean like you? Another stab.

I'd have done the same thing for my partner. It's called loyalty. The irony of it cut even deeper.

It's cat and mouse, Gill, not cats and mouse. You began to understand.

Jumbled up thoughts. Words, you never imagined to hear in that exact order. Not from him anyway. A small thing here, a small thing there, but it's the constant dripping that wears away the stone. It can even wear away you.

You remember the men that have shaped your life and there's a pattern beginning to show. From the drunkenness of your old man staining happy childhood moments, to the betrayal of your husband crushing your heart. You left them in the end.

He knows what he is doing and that's the worst part of it. Maybe he is trying to get rid of you after all.

.:.

But letting go is not the same
As pushing someone else away

.:.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" You ask it just in passing, but the words are the most important you speak all week.

His eyes look at you almost angry. "What?" He shakes his head as if he can't believe that you really went for these words. As if they're offensive in a way he would have never expected from you.

"You know what I mean. I know you do." He gets to taste a little of his own bitter poison.

The intensity of his stare continues. "I really don't know what you're getting at."

But his face betrays him. For the first time ever, maybe.

.:.

Am I the greatest bastard that you met?
The only one you can't forget?

.:.

You lie awake pondering questions and possible actions. You shouldn't, because it's never getting anywhere, but what else is there to do when you can't help it.

The doorbell startles you just after midnight and cautious steps take you to the door to see who it is. It's him—who else would it be?—and you let him in with the cold air in tow.

"I need your help with the case. I can't wrap my head around it," he tells you with his voice soft, yet equipped with enough edge to raise no doubts about why he can invade your world in the middle of the night without warning. He just does, he just can.

You both sit down and go over files, blurry videos on his phone, and handwritten notes that spell out: 'Is the bastard lying?'

In the middle of it all, he looks at you and unexpectedly asks: "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you lie, but you know your eyes will never make him believe that. It's what you're aiming for at least.

He nods and his features are soft again, yet serious. "Good. I want you to be okay." Then he goes back to the case like nothing has happened.

You don't know why he is here (certainly not the case), but you have an idea that echoes in your head. Maybe he came over, because he can't stop thinking about you, either.

THE END