A/N: Of all the possible continuations of the story, this one wasn't on my list until I started writing. The power of imagination is a weird place sometimes. So do me a favor and just go with the flow. This chapter and the following are about how Cal's and Gillian's fantasies turn out in reality. I had to split it since it was getting ridiculously long.
Thank you to everyone who is still interested and reading this despite the rather irregular updates.
Disclaimer: LTM belongs to Fox. This is just for fun and I hope you're having lots of it.
- Opening Scene: Night -
They get hired by all kinds of people. It doesn't happen often, though, that an eccentric, rich businessman invites them over to his castle. He lives in a secluded country residence in the middle of nowhere, but everybody refers to his residence as the castle. Only very few people have actually seen it and since Mr. Jones – that's the man's name – doesn't allow photos to be published, it is the perfect myth.
Mr. Jones didn't already hire them, but the deal is as good as done. He offered them a six-figure sum with the option to increase it to seven-figures for a two-year contract as his personal advisers so that he can be certain no one lies to him whenever he conducts risky transactions. The only requirement to close the deal is that they visit his castle. He doesn't have a reputation as an eccentric for nothing.
That's why Cal and Gillian are on their way there in the middle of the night, in the middle of an upcoming storm.
- First Scene/First Shot: A car on a deserted highway, its headlights the only illumination -
The weather is changing; they were lucky their flight wasn't cancelled and the rental car has to do for the rest of the way. It might be an enjoyable drive in the daytime; trees line both sides of the highway. At night, though, the wood seems to be everywhere and adds up to an utter darkness that surrounds them. There has to be a moon in the sky above them somewhere, but all they are able to see is rain on the windshield, mixing with snowflakes.
"I still think there is something wrong here. If he is that rich, he could have sent someone to the airport to pick us up," Gillian says.
They are both tired and simply want to get there, wherever there is, meet the client and make the deal. The drive takes longer than expected due to the bad weather and it frustrates both of them. Cal is driving. He knows Gillian doesn't like to drive at night, especially not when she doesn't know the route and you can't see your hand in front of your face because of darkness and sleet.
"It's probably a test to see how good we are."
"As boy scouts?" she looks at him with raised eyebrows, pointing at their surroundings. "There is nothing out there."
She is right. It's pitch-black; Cal can't remember when another car came their way last. The snow starts to remain on the ground.
"Are you sure it is the right direction? Maybe we missed an exit?" Gillian insists and Cal can't help but agree with her, at least partly. The situation has a weird aura, but he doesn't want to voice his worries and bother her even more in the process. Yet. The idea to be stranded out here in a snowstorm is not exactly appealing.
"Nah, don't think so," he replies anyway, checking the navigation system. "A few more miles and we should be there."
"Let's hope so," Gillian sighs and tries her cell. "No reception." She points at the navigation system. "I really hope this thing knows where we're going."
Suddenly, Cal hits the brakes and jerks the wheel violently to its right, the car skidding. He almost missed the exit that is nothing but a gravel path, leading even deeper into the woods.
"Bloody hell." - "Cal." Their voices overlap as Cal fights to get control of the car again and Gillian supports herself against the glovebox.
Just when the car slows down again because Cal has adjusted the speed to the road surface, there is a loud sound, followed by a rumble of wheels, and the car comes to a halt abruptly. Neither of them moves or even dares to breathe during the ensuing moment of silence before Cal shakes off the state of shock. He turns to Gillian and touches her gently, worry written all over his face.
"Are you okay?"
"I... I think so," she stutters, still dazed.
"Did you hit your head?"
He pushes aside some strands of her hair to get a better look and check for blood.
"I'm okay, Cal," she assures him, her voice more determined now so that he believes her. No blood, he notices relieved.
Whatever happened stalled the engine. Cold and moisture are creeping inside the car already.
After several attempts to get the engine running again failed, Cal gets out and walks around the car. He can't see much in the darkness, but there are some branches under the car that most likely caused enough damage to prevent them from getting anywhere with this car. He sees Gillian try her cell again, her frustrated expression telling him that there is still no reception. This has to be a joke. Of course, they checked the address and the man's background before they decided to come here as they always do. The information was correct. No matter how messed up the situation is right now, they can't be far away from their destination. Provided this is no cheesy horror movie and they will be slaughtered any minute.
"It can't be far," Cal makes an effort to exude confidence when he opens the passenger door. "Do you think you can walk the rest of the way? Or you wait here and I go to get help."
She looks at him as if he had grown a second head. Of course, she won't stay back here alone in the darkness. He wouldn't stay back here and he isn't frightened easily.
"Let's go." Gillian opens the door, trying not to gasp when cold wind and sleet hit her face.
Only when they are both outside, Cal realizes that they didn't bring any warm clothes. The coat Gillian is wearing is much too thin, as is his. Being city people, they didn't even remotely consider that something like this could happen, never imagined there could be a situation without heating to keep them warm, a situation that would require an equipment to survive in the open. They even forgot to bring an umbrella. Cal really hopes the residence is as close as the navigation system displayed it.
"Shoes?" he asks Gillian when she signals that she is ready to go. Perhaps she at least packed a pair of shoes that will make the walk easier for her than her usual high heels.
"The other pair I packed is not better suited," she states. "Guess I might as well ruin this one."
At least she has gloves and a shawl. Cal turns up the collar of his coat and puts his hands in his pockets as Gillian holds her phone up so that the light of its display serves as a flashlight. Perhaps she is not as bad in surviving outside as he thought. Well, her high heels will be ruined either way.
- First Scene/Second Shot: An unlit gravel path deep in the woods, flickering lights in the distance -
They follow the path, walking silently next to each other, the faint light of the display showing them the way. At some point, Cal takes Gillian's hand to make sure she doesn't stumble, not caring that his hand starts to feel numb after a few minutes because, unlike her, he doesn't wear gloves. To their surprise, they actually see lights flicker between trees after a couple of minutes. There is, in fact, a huge country residence in the middle of this vast nothingness. The castle, looking as if it was built centuries ago whereas they know that it was newly constructed. An eccentric client, indeed.
As soon as they reach the property, modern technology takes over. Intercom and video surveillance at the gate make sure that once their client recognized them, help is on the way in the form of two cars coming toward them as they enter the compound and start to walk down the long driveway. One car picks them up and the other takes off, supposedly to get their bags and hopefully also to tow their car so that it can be fixed.
- Second Scene/First Shot: The interior of the castle, an absurdly tall entrance hall that vaults them back to the Middle Ages -
Their client greets them personally and is as friendly and relaxed as if they didn't stand in front of him drenched and shivering from the cold. Cal probably was right when he assumed that he wanted them to find their way here on their own as a test. Then the butler, that was to be expected, appears and leads them to their rooms. All of it is very surreal, even more so when they discover that their bags are already in their rooms. Apparently, the regular rules of time and space don't apply here.
After they refreshed themselves and changed clothes, they meet their client for dinner. In a hall of knights, of course, including armors watching them. Mr. Jones is definitely eccentric but in a very nice way. He wins Gillian over when he practically begs her to put her ruined shoes on the bill although the money he will pay them would more than cover it. Cal likes him, too, because he is no slimy, nouveau riche know-it-all but someone who worked his way up from nothing and who indulges in his particular lifestyle simply because he likes it and not because he needs to show off. Jazz is playing in the background while they enjoy delicious food and a most likely very expensive wine. At the end of the evening, they conclude the deal and their client signs a check for the highest advance payment they ever received.
"Either he'll kill us tonight or this is the best client we've ever had," Cal whispers to Gillian when the butler leads them back to their rooms.
"Sh!" she tries to make him keep quiet but can't bite back a smile. This is an evening they will definitely never forget.
It is more than an act of courtesy that the butler accompanies them. The castle is so spacious that they wouldn't have found their way back on their own. The butler carries a candlestick; only the rooms have electricity, not the hallways and there are many of them.
"Have a good night." The butler gives them a polite nod when they have reached their destination. "And don't let our ghosts disturb your sleep."
"Ghosts," Cal mouths as the butler turns around and walks away.
Gillian digs him in the ribs. However, he noticed that she trembled briefly when the possibility of apparitions was mentioned.
They watch the flickering light of the candle sheer off until darkness swallows everything. That's when they simultaneously open the doors to their adjoining rooms and turn on the light.
- Second Scene/Second Shot: On a split screen we see Cal and Gillian preparing to go to bed -
Cal takes off his clothes and drops them on the spot before he remembers that he is in a castle. Then he picks them up again to pile them up on an antique chair next to his bed.
Gillian takes off her clothes and folds them neatly, putting them away in the wardrobe, before she goes into the bathroom to remove her make-up and brush her teeth. Knowing that Cal probably does the same in the room next to her feels odd (well, brushing his teeth that is). It is not the first time that they stay overnight due to a case and not even the first time that they have adjoining rooms with a connecting door. Yet, everything about this case is different. She finishes brushing her teeth and wipes some toothpaste-splash off the mirror. Then she looks at her reflection and sighs. How is she supposed to go to bed and sleep after a day like that?
Cal walks across his room while brushing his teeth, rubbing away spots of toothpaste that land on the exquisite carpet with his bare toes. He is much too restless to fall asleep, looking around. No minibar. No TV. Damnit! He wonders what Gillian is doing.
- Second Scene/Third Shot: The camera zooms in, focusing on the connecting door -
Just when Cal considers knocking on the connecting door because for lack of cell reception he can't text Gillian, he hears a knock or at least thinks he does. For a brief moment, he ponders on the possibility that this might be the apparition the butler was talking about. Then he remembers that apparitions usually are visual and not audible, or aren't they? He is no ghostbuster, after all. Then he hears the knock again, a bit louder this time, followed by Gillian's hushed voice.
"Cal? Are you still awake?"
He opens the door, realizing that it wasn't locked. There is no key; doorhandles are on both sides. She could have just opened it.
"Hey, luv. Are the ghosts already there?"
"Not funny, Cal."
He can see, though, that he touched a sore spot. She is definitely uneasy, if not afraid. Either way, he doesn't expect the question she is about to ask him.
"Can I sleep in your room?"
- Transitional scene: 360-degree camera panning that replaces the castle setting with Cal's office -
"Oh, please," Gillian interrupts Cal. "I'm not afraid of ghosts. There is no such thing as ghosts." She looks at him with fake reproach. "It is a good ghost story, I'll give you that much, or at least was until now. I would never ask you to sleep in your room because of a ghost."
After one particularly bad case they started a ritual. Gillian would tell Cal something and let him guess whether it was true or false just to distract him. Then he would do the same in return. Most of the time it ended up in a tie. Cal is better in reading people and she is better in hiding her emotions; it balances out. Then, one night, the weather was so bad that they had to stay in the office for hours before they could risk driving home. That night, the true/false competition was extended. Cal told her a ghost story. Gillian didn't know that he is such a good story-teller, that he told Emily many self-invented stories when she was younger. And Cal had almost forgotten how much fun it is to invent a story. He enjoys to entertain Gillian (and perhaps impress her a little) and she enjoys to listen to his voice that sounds softer than usual. Gillian is, in fact, not afraid of ghosts. His stories always make her shiver in a pleasant way, though.
- Third Scene/First Shot: The camera zooms in, focusing on the couch -
They are sitting on the couch as they always do whenever it's story time. Cal almost lays on it, practicing his usual slouch. Gillian was about to get comfy, too, also as usual. But before she could take off her shoes and ensconce herself, she heard him say their names as part of the story and stopped. It made her wary (because this was Cal, master of unpredictability, what was he up to?) and curious at the same time. That's why Gillian remained sitting up as if she couldn't decide to flee or stay. Yet, she didn't interrupt Cal right at the beginning, wanted to see what he had in mind, and as the story continued, she got more and more intrigued.
Being a psychologist, Gillian is well aware why she finally interrupted Cal's story at that point. She did it before she had thought it through and regretted it instantly. God, could she have been more obvious? Interrupting his story just when her fictional self had told him that she wanted to sleep in his room. Cal must have danced an inner jig. The only thing that helps her to remain calm is that he doesn't know whether she interrupted him because she was afraid he would go there in his story or because she feared the opposite. Actually, she doesn't know herself. So, for now, Gillian leads the ace she has up her sleeve – her pokerface.
Unfortunately, Cal apparently decided to do the same. He seems to be completely unfazed, looking at her expectantly.
The atmosphere in his office is cozy. One lamp in the corner bathes the room in dusky light; rain drums against the window. Aside from the rain, though, there is dead silence that makes Gillian highly aware of the fact that everyone else already went home. They are alone.
"Your story had a quite accurate character description of us," she says light-heartedly. "Except for me being afraid of ghosts that is. But it was very nice how you took care of me after the accident although I'm not sure if I can forgive you for deliberately ruining my shoes."
Pokerface. Distraction. Cal knows there is more. That's why he doesn't react, just keeps looking at her. If she didn't know him that well, it would be unnerving. Actually, it is, anyhow.
"Why are we in your story? We never were before," Gillian eventually gives in and asks.
Cal swirls the scotch in his glass before he takes another sip.
"Why did you interrupt me?" he then stonewalls her with a counter question, well aware that her insistence to point out she is not afraid of ghosts wasn't the real reason.
As a matter of fact, he is surprised that it took her so long to interrupt him since his ghost stories had never involved them before. Looks as if someone was very curious what he would do with them as fictional characters.
"Answering a question with a question. Interesting," Gillian doesn't take the bait although she can't help but roll her eyes because neither of them answered the other's question. Potato – potahto. Really?
When they make eye contact, they both have to laugh. The tension that has started to set in between them eases a bit.
"Is that even a conversation anymore or are we just trying to outsmart each other?" she rhetorically asks, half-joking, half-serious.
Gillian feels comfortable enough now to take off her shoes and make herself at home on the couch, leaning against the back rest, her upper body slightly bend forward towards Cal. He chooses the same moment to sit up from his slouch so that they are very close to each other. Gillian has to resist the urge to lean back. Cal probably doesn't know it (and she hopes that he will never find out), but his behavior sometimes still manages to intimidate her, especially this move when he suddenly invades her personal space even if he did it a billion times before. He is so close that she can smell the scotch in his breath when he speaks.
"So why don't you tell me what would have happened in your version of the story," he dares her, ignoring their question-counter question-game or rather continuing it his way.
Why does everything between them have to be a contest? And why does he always have to win?
Of course, Gillian could have told him that she wouldn't have knocked on his door at all because she isn't afraid of ghosts, but somehow the idea to continue his story causes her skin to tingle and her pulse to quicken. Why not? she thinks. She has nowhere to go and neither has he. Why not do this and see where it leads to?
When she opens her mouth to speak, though, the words won't come. She wants to be witty and funny, amuse and impress Cal at the same time, perhaps be as provocative and enticing as she behaves in her fantasies, but instead Gillian immediately knows that this is a complete failure. She can't do it, is too afraid to embarrass herself, risk their friendship and – God forbid – lose it, lose him, if he wasn't about to let his story get naughty as she suspected.
She can't look at him. After all this time, she should have been more than prepared. It's only a story, for God's sake. She could tell him anything and qualify it as pure fiction. The problem being that both of them will know that it isn't only fiction. One way or the other, her description would provide insight into her imagination, into the secrets she tries to hide and hopes she wishes to become real. She wants him so bad; it's ridiculous, but she has not the slightest idea how to tell him simply because in the past she never had to. Every man she ever wanted made a pass at her sooner or later. Cal is the exception.
Gillian still doesn't look at him whereas Cal loses himself in the contemplation of her. What he sees takes his breath away even if he should be used to it by now. Not her beauty, that's a given; it's her facial expression that has changed during the last months. Most of the time she devours him with her eyes these days. There is no other way to describe it. As if she was constantly knocking, waiting for him to let her in.
And here she is, the psychologist, asking him why he put them in his story that led up to a scene in which she did exactly that? Cal knows that he doesn't have to explain it to her. The fact that they are both afraid to name it speaks volumes. They might not fear ghosts, but there are ghosts right here in the room with them. The ghosts of their past, their present and their future.
"Maybe the story was my way of telling you that I hear you knocking," Cal eventually says, putting Gillian out of her misery on the one hand albeit making her even more uncomfortable on the other hand by addressing the obvious.
She makes eye contact reluctantly. Apparently, she expected a joke at her expense and not this, not raw honesty.
"That's a hell of an effort just to make that point," Gillian replies timidly.
It is clear that she didn't see it coming, is struggling to adjust to the sudden change in their conversation.
"Maybe no effort is too much to impress you."
Cal sticks with honesty.
"There are a lot of maybes."
She shouldn't have said that, not after Cal opened up to her, but he managed another time to take her by surprise and disappoint her in one breath. He called her out on the truth and yet slipped in a maybe when it comes to his part in all of this. It stings, even more so because he is right. She has been knocking on his door for months, waiting for him to let her in. That's why she needs more than a maybe. Anger starts to set it. Anger is good. Not generally speaking, but here and now it is much better than the paralyzing insecurity she has been feeling so far. Gillian tries to hold on to the mounting rage.
"So you would have invited me into your room in your story and I would have accepted the invitation. And then what, Cal? What was supposed to happen next in your story? Let me guess. Your story would have continued with another maybe. Maybe I would have changed my mind and went back to my room or maybe I would have slept in your bed whereas you would have slept on the couch or whatever. Lots of possibilities for more innuendos that you love so much and that lead nowhere. At some point, this won't work anymore, Cal, and some time no story will be good enough anymore to make me stay."
She didn't intend to say the last part, wasn't even aware she feels that way. The low blow hits both of them out of the blue.
"Gillian..." Cal recovers first, trying to touch and calm her, but she won't have it although her anger mixes with resignation.
"You said it yourself, Cal. You heard me knocking. Let's not beat around the bush for once. We both know..."
She swallows, doesn't want to continue, but there is no going back. She has to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. Pulling a band-aid off while the wound is still bleeding always hurts. Delaying it any longer won't make it better though. This particular wound will always bleed. You can't force yourself into not loving someone.
"We both know that I have been offering myself to you on a silver platter in recent months. You just had to reach out and take me, and yet, you never did. And you know what's worst? I know that you want me, too. I can see it right now, the way you react to me being close to you, the way you always react to me being close to you or simply being in the same room. It's all there in your face and in your voice – the arousal, the longing, but you never say anything, never act upon it. Do you know how frustrating that is? Because, unlike you, I don't want to screw around only to blow off steam. I can do this, whatever this is between us, as long as we label it as meaningless banter but if we're going for the truth?" She shakes her head. "I don't even know what the truth is, Cal. I don't know what you expect from me and I for sure don't know what you are waiting for."
She looks at him and would have laughed if it wasn't so sad and frustrating. His dilated pupils, his heavy breathing. Hold on to your anger, Gillian tells herself although most of it is gone by now. Yet, she is upset enough to eventually answer Cal's original question, be at least a fraction as witty and provocative as she wants to be. Gillian leans forward.
"You want to know what would have happened in my version of your story? In my version, I wouldn't have asked you if could sleep in your room. I would have asked you if I could sleep in your bed. With you."
She leans even closer and notices how his body tenses.
"No maybes anymore, Cal. Are you in or out? I can handle both, but I can't put my life on hold any longer."
Gillian can't believe that she really is doing this, that she is forcing him into making a choice. Here and now. Let alone that she just lied to him even though it doesn't matter because he knew she was lying. She has no idea how she is supposed to handle it if he rejects her.
Cal appears to be frozen until he comes alive with a start, puts his glass down on the floor and takes her glass off her hands to join his. His piercing look makes her shiver.
"I'm in," he growls.
Did she really think there was a possibility he could have said no? Yes, of course, he realizes. In fact, it was the more likely variant given the way he treated her. And here she is, right in front of him, baring her soul to him. She risked everything because he didn't have the courage to do it. Not when it comes to her.
That's why she still doesn't move, can't believe he actually said those words.
"I'm in," Cal repeats, his voice soft and gentle now.
His hands find her face and neck; his lips find hers. It happens too fast and too slow at the same time. Gillian wishes she could freeze the moment to buy herself some time and cope with what is about to happen. Her need of security wants to ask Cal if he really, really, is certain about this. She is all churned up inside, her imagination fast-forwarding their kissing to what will happen next before it brutally confronts her with pictures of the two of them sitting in their offices alone tomorrow because somehow it ended badly despite how wonderful it feels right now. In the end, though, none of this matters because this is what she wants. This is all she ever wanted and there is no way she will stop.
Cal has to resist the urge to pinch himself to make sure that this is not only a very vivid fantasy, that it is her tongue exploring his mouth, her hands sneaking under his shirt. The idea to tell Gillian a ghost story that involves them had been on his mind for a while, but he hadn't exactly figured out the details of the story (or had he?) and hadn't planned on telling her tonight. It sort of happened. Save that Gillian, the psychologist, could explain to him why things never just sort of happen, why his sub-consciousness decided that tonight was the right time.
They break the kiss to gasp for air and Gillian smiles at Cal. It is one of her full-blown smiles that oozes pure happiness even if he catches a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes.
"None of that, darling," Cal mumbles, kissing her again but not before he looked briefly at their reflection in the window.
Blurred outlines merge with the wet trail of raindrops. It is just like in his favorite fantasy. The two of them on his couch in his office. Perfect.
One more chapter. ;)