A/N: I suppose I should have said a bit about when this takes place- it takes place the day after the infamous "Mother Superior" comment. Thank you for your lovely reviews! This is slated to be possibly the longest. conversation. ever.

"So I smashed a beehive against the ocean to try and make our splash last longer."

Gillian's right hand moved to fidget with her earring, and she tapped her foot lightly against the floor of his office. Cal's eyes watched her knee rise and fall several times before he returned his gaze to her face.

Gillian felt a wave of nausea pass over her and she tried not to let the sick feeling settle itself on her features.

"Yesterday was a Wednesday, Cal." She answered, knowing he would see through her deflection and betting that he would more than likely become frustrated with it.

Cal waved his hand in front of his face, "Don't give me that, Foster," He said, sternly, "Don't deflect like that—you're not nearly practiced enough at it."

Gillian blinked at him—her inability to deceive thoroughly was something that Cal had always been fascinated by. He never quite realized it was a choice for her—that she could be quite the good liar if she ever decided that she wanted to be. Instead, he underestimated her. But she'd spent a majority of her life dealing with lies and liars and she had no real desire to turn into either one of them, even when someone started asking tough questions.

She steadied her knee, although she could still feel it quiver with nervousness as her palms began to sweat—"Yesterday," She said, with a heavy sigh, "Was a last-ditch effort." She said, pursing her lips.

Cal narrowed his eyes at her, and tilted his head in question—"An effort at what, Foster?" He asked, his tone betraying nothing about how he felt.

His indifference was not something she was unused to at this point. Gillian curved her lips into a wry sort of smile, "At us, Cal," She said finally, and she took a moment to feel proud at the control her voice exhibited. It was a control she didn't actually feel—so the steadiness in her voice surprised her, she expected it to waver under the weight of her words.

Cal, practiced though he was in the art of deception, could not control his look of surprise. His jaw fell open slightly, and his eyebrows rose in unison—he tried to speak, but no sound came out. He hadn't know precisely what to expect—but he certainly hadn't expected that. "At…" He trailed off, his voice suddenly dry, "Us?" He finished lamely.

Gillian bit her lip and then nodded, pressing her back into the chair. She needed something to ground her and she concentrated on the feel of the material against her back through her shirt—she focused on all points of contact her body had at the moment so that the emotion that threatened to overtake her would not succeed. "At us—this—whatever this is between us," She said.

Cal considered this for a moment, and then disbelief overtook him, "Let me get this straight," He said, drumming his fingers on the desk, his eyes boring into hers. He didn't miss how uncomfortable she looked, "You thought you'd save…us," His mouth curved around the word and it tasted funny, "By antagonizing me?"

Gillian exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You still think that's why I did it, don't you?"

"I do." Cal said, matter-of-factly.

Gillian shook her head, "Contrary to your belief, Cal, not everyone in this world is out to get you," She said.

"I thought at least one person wasn't." He said, venom lacing his words.

He didn't know, couldn't, of course, how much his words struck Gillian. She reeled from them inside, her stomach dropping deeper into her body even as her outside remained relatively calm. She closed her eyes for a moment before she opened again and spoke, "You've been slipping away—" She broke off her sentence as she felt her throat try to close up on her. She swallowed hard and amended herself, "You've been pulling away for a long time, now, Cal." At his look, she continued, "I've felt it. I've felt the distance growing between us—and I'd tried in a million different ways—"

He interrupted her, "What ways?" He asked, his disbelief evident.

She stilled her body, "Little ways, Cal," She said, "Little tiny ways every day to try and repair whatever was broken between us—even though I didn't know what it was. I lost sleep," She admitted, "over the way our relationship changed—and so I did the only thing I could think of."

"You froze my assets?"

"Our assets," She corrected, even to his eye roll, "But, yes. I did. And maybe I did it to get your attention," She said, her voice growing quiet. "It sounds silly even as I say it now, but you'd been ignoring me, Cal—and it—" She trailed off, "It hurt me. So, I reacted. It felt impossible even as I was doing it, on the phone with the bank—I knew in the back of my mind that it wouldn't work." She admitted.

Cal's eyebrows rose in question, and he pressed his palm into his desk.

"Because I'd never have forgiven myself if I didn't try—something, anything, no matter how futile I knew it to be." She answered, thick honesty dripping off her words.

"You had to know how I'd respond, Foster." He said, his voice quiet, his eyes dark.

"I did, didn't I? And I thought I knew it—but, then," She said, "I thought I knew you—I thought we'd eventually figure whatever was between us the hell out." She said, her eyes matching his darkness, her voice steady despite her feelings to the contrary. "And I was right—to an extent. I knew you'd be angry—I didn't think you'd take it as far as you did."

"I could say the same for you."

Gillian let out a little laugh, "Yeah, I guess. But do you want to know what the funny part is, Cal?" She asked.

Cal waved his hand into the space between them—

"Having you feel anything toward me at all—even anger—felt better than the emptiness between us—at least, it did for a moment."

Cal's eyes softened as he heard the pain in her voice, as he watched it flicker across her worried face.

He didn't know what to say, so he let the silence linger between them and it felt completely charged.

Finally, Gillian spoke, her eyes full of emotion and distant at the same time, "Why, Cal?" She asked, and the subtext was clear—

She was asking, What did I do?

Cal took a steadying breath and cleared his throat. He'd never meant to have this conversation with her—but she was sitting in his office, so vulnerable, and so he spoke, "The Walker case." He said finally.

Gillian creased her brow in confusion—she tried to make the connection, but failed. "Martin Walker?" She asked, Cal nodded, "The sociopath?" She asked again, and he nodded. Her mind worked hard to figure out what it was about that case that had made him pull away from her.

Cal saw her thinking, and his voice was quiet as he offered a partial explanation, "After the case." He said, and he watched her, looking for recognition. Finding only confusion and a face deep in thought, he continued, "I came by your office…" He trailed off, his tone indicating that he was attempting to prompt her memory.

He folded his arms across his chest as he waited for her to understand. He watched as Gillian bit her lower lip, deep in thought, and he knew the moment she realized what he'd been getting at. He saw confusion metamorphose into recognition, recognition transform into surprise and he felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach when he watched surprise turn into a specific mixture of sadness and shame.

"Oh." She said, and her voice was tiny, but Cal considered her and the tone and facial expressions that accompanied it, and he thought that it might be the heaviest thing that had ever fallen from her lips. Cal cast his eyes downward as it sat in the air between them before he finally looked up at her to see her eyes glassy with tears.

TBC