I had really intended the story to be a one-shot, but everyone was so kind, and Gillian and Cal started talking to each other (and me) again. Hope you like it. I have no idea how many chapters it will be now, but there will be more eventually. Sorry I tend to be slow in writing. This should probably be considered AU, as I'm making up some things from their past.

Do I really have to say I don't own any of these characters?

Chapter 2

Gillian found herself running through the forest. She could hear her father's footsteps, but when she looked back she could only see shadows. The bottle she was carrying was heavy, the liquor sloshing up against the sides. "Gillian, you come back here!" His voice sounded desperate. She tripped, banging her knee on a large tree root. She was hot. Sweating. Her knee hurt. The bottle tipped. Alcohol poured from the open top onto her new scrape. It stung. She tried to wipe it off. "Gillian, bring back Daddy's medicine or else! I need my medicine." She jumped up again, trying to outrun him. His voice. The threats. The trees closed in on her. She turned the bottle over, trying to empty it while she ran. Her stomach clenched with fear. It clenched. She was so hot and sweaty and tired. Her stomach clenched. She tried to take another step, but she couldn't move. She was gasping for breath, desperate for air. Her stomach hurt. The sound of the footsteps got closer. They were pounding. "Gillian!" Fear overwhelmed her. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but her stomach took the opportunity to relieve itself instead.

"Bloody hell!" She heard the epithet, flinched when she felt hands on her. He had caught her, and she knew from bitter experience what that meant. But these hands were gentle. They put a cool rag on her forehead. They held a glass of water to her lips while a soft voice encouraged her to rinse her mouth. They removed her shirt and put another one on her, dressing her with extreme care as if she were a newborn baby. They combed her hair out of her face and then picked her up. She whimpered. The gentle voice soothed her as she felt herself placed on something soft. She was safe. Darkness overtook her.

The dream happened again.

And again.

To most people the soft morning light that shone through the window to warm the bed could best be described as gentle; to Gillian an interrogation lamp would have been less bright. She tried to keep her eyes shut against the burning rays only to discover even the smallest movement intensified a headache that already would have felled an elephant. She moaned slightly as she shifted positions in an unsuccessful attempt to find comfort. Quickly, but gently, she was pulled to a sitting position. A large bowl was placed in front of her while hands lightly brushed her hair away from her face. Her stomach threatened to mutiny, but it eased as she took slow calming breaths. When it finally became apparent that she would not need the bowl, it disappeared and gentle hands shifted her back into the soft pillows. She reluctantly opened one eye to see Cal settle into a chair. His eyes never left her face. "You feeling a little better now, love?"

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

A tongue that felt a little too big for her mouth peeked out over chapped lips as she thought. "Vegas," she sighed. So much emotion packed into one word.

"Apparently you aren't as immune to its charms as you once thought."

She harrumphed, then flinched as her head continued to throb. He swallowed a chuckle. He knew exactly how she felt. "Let's get you some painkillers and see if you're ready to live again."

She sat up very slowly and gingerly. Her vision cleared just enough for her to realize where she was. "Cal, why am I here?"

"Well, love, you were in no condition to be by yourself. I had to bring you home."

"Why am I in your bed?" She looked down. "In your shirt?"

Since he was in the bathroom tracking down the Tylenol, he missed her expressions. By the time he came back, her face was bland. The mask was firmly in place. He handed her the pills and water. "You were okay on the plane, but I think moving you to the car and then the ride home were more than your stomach could take. You started on the couch. After that I tried the guest room and then Emily's room." He chuckled. "You never managed to hit the bowl."

"Oh, God," she slunk back down in the bed.

"Nothing some Tide, air freshener, and industrial strength cleaner can't fix." He stood over her as she covered her face with his pillow. "Gill." No movement. "Gill." He finally took the pillow from her and made her look at him. "Nothing you haven't done for me more times than I can count." She was still mortified, and it showed. "Come on, love. Let's see if you can handle a shower and a little toast."

After he excused himself she slowly climbed out of bed. The shower pressure was strong and the temperature was just short of scalding as Gillian tried to scrub herself clean. After she completed her third round of shampoo and body wash, she gave into her tears, sitting on the floor of the shower as hot water flooded over her. She hoped the pounding of the water covered the sounds of her sobs. After a while, she didn't care anymore. She lost track of time, not noticing as the water began to cool. She only startled when the bathroom door opened a crack. "Don't mind me. Take your time." Cal's hand appeared to set a large fluffy towel on the counter and her suitcase on the floor. His interruption jolted her back to reality. She turned off the now cold water and quickly began to dry off and dress.

When she finally made it downstairs, Cal was in the kitchen wearing the flowered apron he loved so much. After all the emotions he had read from her thus far, he hoped the apron would spark at least the tiniest bit of good humor. A quick glance and he knew she was even worse. Well, best to treat things as normal until he could address the issue head on.

"Just in time, love. We're starting with some dry toast. If you keep that down, then we'll move to a little soup. I've also got some ginger ale going flat. Mum swore by that when I was sick. Have a seat." He motioned her to the table where two places were set. She sat gingerly in one seat, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. She tensed slightly when his hand brushed her shoulder as he joined her. She didn't see him raise his eyebrow at her reaction; he just sat down across from her as if nothing had happened. "Is the smell of my coffee going to bother you?"

She shook her head slightly without looking up at him. She broke one slice of toast into a few small pieces. She tried one piece, but spent more time shredding it into oblivion than eating it. He sat back, analyzing her every movement as he debated his next move.

"Don't read me, Cal."

"Then start talking to me, love."

"I'm embarrassed."

"Yeah, got that one. Also see shame, disgust, regret, remorse, self-loathing, confusion, fear. Now I can understand most of them. Don't agree with them, but expected you'd feel that way. I don't understand the fear. That one you'll have to explain."

"Thanks for taking care of me last night, Cal, but I should get out of your hair. Emily should be home any minute. She doesn't need to see me like this."

"Nice try, Gillian. Already talked with Emily this morning. Told her you were here and sick. She can survive at Zoe's another day. Just made me promise to keep you here tonight so she can see you tomorrow." He took another sip of coffee. "So we have all day to talk. You can tell me why you just spent twenty minutes, and used up all my hot water, in the shower crying." He nodded at her questioning glance. "Yeah, it shows." He didn't tell her how close he came to barging in when he first heard the sobs.

She began to stand up. "Well, my apologies to Emily, but I need to get home. I'll call a cab. Just let me know how much I owe you for everything you need to have cleaned –" she yelped when his hand shot out and grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

She looked at him. His eyes were blazing. "Don't insult me with the offer of a check. That's beneath you."

She looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Eat your toast. At least what you didn't manage to destroy." He could see her internal debate. His hand eased. "Please." Her sigh was audible as she sat back down.

He let her eat in peace, giving her a chance to finish her toast while he topped off his coffee and fetched her more ginger ale. Given the state of the living room, or more specifically the carpet beside the couch in the living room, he moved the two of them into his office. She curled up in one of his overstuffed chairs, looking for all intents and purposes like a small child prepared to be scolded. "How's your head?"

"Better."

"How's your stomach?"

"Better, thanks." She sipped her ginger ale, still not interested in making eye contact.

"Gill, I'm gonna have problems with the line you insist we draw." That got her attention. "On the plane ride home you were chatty. You said some things we need to discuss. But if you keep mentioning that bloody line, we aren't going to get anywhere."

"But we agreed to respect it."

"No, not really, no. You said you thought we should respect it. I gotta tell you, I don't. I hate the bloody thing. It doesn't work."

"Cal."

"No, love. You're a terrible liar. We all know that. I ask you what's wrong and you tell me it's nothing. Now I know you're lying, but because of the dammed line I have to pretend I believe you. It's bloody rubbish. We spend our lives rooting out other people's lies while we keep building a wall of lies between us."

"But it's meant to protect both of us from knowing too much."

"And that is why it doesn't work. I already know too much. Not the details, but I know it. I know when you're hurting, when you're angry, when you're scared. You really think that I didn't know how shattered you were about Alec? Or Sophie? You use that line to push me away, love. That's all it's there for. We're not doing that today."

She shook her head. "I can't give you everything, Cal. I can't give you all of me."

He took another sip of his coffee. He was tempted to throw the cup against the wall, wondered if hearing it shatter would actually help release his frustration. He drummed his fingers as he stared out the window. "I'm not asking for all of you, Gillian." He sighed, "Well, come to think of it, maybe I am." Then he had an idea. "Remember when I was in Afghanistan this last Christmas?" She nodded. "I made an agreement with Welsh. For every truthful answer he gave me, I had to answer a question of his. Let's do that. We'll trade."

The look she gave him was incredulous. "This isn't a game, Cal."

"No, it's not." His tone was serious. "But it's the best I've got. Come on, it'll work. You can go first. Think of all those questions you've been dying to ask me about my past. About Zoe. I'll answer anything you want."

She was surprised, and suspicious. "Anything?"

He smiled. Victory was within reach. "Anything. And then I get to ask you a question."

She knew this was a mistake. She was tired. She was hungover. She had no interest in going toe-to-toe with Cal about things he probably had no business knowing about her. She couldn't possibly agree to such a ludicrous proposition. So why did she just hear herself say, "Okay"?