A/N With thanks to drl…
Cal was running a sleep marathon, and wasn't any too happy when Gillian shook his shoulder at half past two, miles from the finish line.
"Cal? It's time to return to the world of the living and have some lunch." Gillian was standing beside his bed, arms crossed, looking down at him. She had spent a few minutes studying his face and his breathing, and decided he looked well enough to return to reality. Not a pain free reality, perhaps, but one that needed to be faced. She thought the worst of the physical discomfort he had put himself through was over, and would be replaced by an equal dose of aches, denial and shame.
Cal pried an eye open and said, "Not hungry, Foster. You eat, yeah?"
"Not gonna fly, Cal. You probably haven't eaten in a good 24 hours, and your body fluids have got to be at low tide. While you're showering and getting dressed, I'll fix some eggs. It's what you always seem to handle best after a night on the bar stool." She smiled slightly and ran a hand lightly along his cheek, offering no other sympathy. "Your clothes are here on the bed, and there's a towel."
Cal grimaced, and searched the fog for a proper retort. By the time he found one, Gillian had left the room.
When Cal made his entrance, there were two plates of scrambled eggs, wheat toast with strawberry jam ("fruit helps your hangover, Cal"), and two mugs of English Breakfast tea ("yes, Cal, it's from England") facing each other on the table. A glass of orange juice and a bottle of B vitamins stood sentinel by Cal's plate.
Gillian took in Cal's appearance as he approached the table. His hair was spiky and tousled from the shower, giving him a younger, almost vulnerable look. The smell of her botanical shower gel rose above the smokiness of his pants and shirt that she had aired out late that morning. His face still looked haggard, more pouches than usual under his eyes, and his stubble stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. His free-swinging walk was replaced by a lesser-impact version, as if he was afraid to dislodge any of his aching gray matter.
"Foster, I – "
"Sit down and eat, Cal. We can – and will – talk after you get some energy in you. Will you pass the pepper?"
Their lunch progressed much like any meal between them - a combination of business and banter, albeit at a lower volume and key. They talked about a possible extortion case they had coming up, and Cal mentioned that he might let Loker ride shotgun with him on this one. Gillian knew that it was Cal's way of repaying Loker for his part in the hostage crisis, but refrained from comment. Cal rested his head on his left hand throughout most of the meal , and his eyes were at half mast. But he managed to eat the majority of his eggs, one slice of toast, and down two cups of tea plus the orange juice. By the end of the meal, he had regained some color, if not much enthusiasm. He glumly fidgeted with his napkin, and it was clear that he wasn't looking forward to "the talk."
Gillian stood and collected the plates. "Cal, why don't you go stretch out on the couch? I'll be through here in a sec."
Cal stood up too quickly, his face registering a mixture of pain, defiance, and a larger, underlying portion of guilt. He felt achy, hostile. "Oh, so it's time for my punishment now, is it? What'll it be this year? A lecture on how to take better care of myself? 'Beware the evils of alcohol, Cal, it'll rot your liver?' You want me on the couch so you can analyze me, is that it?" Then, quietly, unable to stop himself. "You look forward to this part, do ya luv? Gives ya somethin' to do with your degrees?" He pinched the sides of his forehead together, trying to ease the pounding, and it gave him something to do other than meet her eyes.
The words stung, but Gillian knew they were the product of last night's bender, coupled with the myriad of emotions and events leading up to this day. She tamped down the hurt and threatening anger, and answered evenly, "No, I don't enjoy this part, Cal. Frankly, I never feel equal to the task. Nothing I've said obviously has made any difference, or you wouldn't be here in this shape on this particular day." She paused, arranging her thoughts before continuing. "I'm glad you're here, Cal. I wouldn't want you to be anywhere else feeling this way. You're my friend, and I worry about you. I hurt when you hurt. I thought maybe we could figure this thing out together…" She shrugged, and continued on into the kitchen, trying to slow her increased heart rate.
Cal's bluster lost mass like a pricked balloon. He stood with his head down and fiddled with the back of his chair. "I'm sorry luv. You don't deserve me bein' such a vile bastard. I'll see ya in the livin' room, yeah?" He walked slowly around the corner and headed toward the couch, parking himself on one end and leaning his head back against the cushion.
Gillian rinsed off the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, giving Cal some time to himself. She knew he still felt miserable physically, but it was the underlying hurt that worried her the most. She tried, year after year, to enter the cave and slay the dragon, but it continued to breathe fire and attack Cal. In all her years of training, and all the years of their partnership, she had never been able to erase Cal Lightman's pain, and that continued to be the single biggest regret of her life. Her divorce, and her losing Sophie ranked right up there, of course, at times paralyzing her; but it was her defeat at the hands of Cal's depression and guilt that left her the most bereft. Oh, he would act like he was feeling better when he left today – whether it was the attention to his physical needs , the lessening of his hangover, or just her company, she never knew. But next year, unless things changed, she would be carting herself down to the same tavern and hauling Cal's ass back to her place to sleep it off and – what? Let him know he was loved? Give him a royal bitch session? It certainly wasn't fix him…
She had decided to try a slightly different angle this year. Instead of focusing solely on the past, perhaps they could create a plan for the future.
Gillian walked into the living room , watching Cal for any lingering signs of irritation. He had his eyes closed, but opened them upon her approach, and patted the cushion beside him. As she sat down, he wrapped his right arm around her and pulled her into a hug. He held her tight against his chest with both arms, and could feel her relaxing and returning the embrace. They sat that way for a few minutes, melded together out of need, friendship, and something intangible. Finally, he kissed the top of her head, and murmured into her hair, "I'm all yours, luv. Been a bit of a bother, haven't I, but that's done. Whatever you wanna say, I'm listenin'." He kissed her again, then helped her to sit up.
For reasons not entirely known to Gillian, her eyes threatened to fill, and she looked away while willing the tears to stay put. When she looked back at Cal, he had his head cocked to one side, a small smile on his lips. He reached out and stroked her right arm, then sat sideways and curled his legs under him on the cushion, facing Gillian. He propped his head on his hand, looking both tired and intent.
Gillian swung her legs up to face him, then, softly, the words started falling out.
"Cal, you know first-hand what it's like not to be able to fix someone. Even though you may not have had the capacity, or the knowledge, to make that person better, you always thought you should have been able to do it. And we both know it's the guilt from that failure that continues to have a death grip on you." Gillian paused for a moment, looking at Cal's now-closed eyes.
"Well, I'm on a guilt trip of my own, and it also has to do with the inability to save a life. For years, I've watched you punish yourself over the death of your mum. Psychological punishment, physical punishment – you are a master of quiet self-destruction. And I can't make it stop." The hitch in her voice made Cal open his eyes. "I ought to be able to make it stop – I'm much more educated and experienced than you were during your – crisis. I've got degrees." She sniffed and swallowed, adding bitterly, "And God knows, I've tried. But I haven't been able to help you like I should."
Cal reached over and took hold of Gillian's right hand, massaging it gently. "You've helped me more than you know, Gill. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, luv."
Gillian jerked her hand away. "Don't, Cal. Don't try to minimize this. I have failed you as a psychiatrist and a friend, at times because I've been afraid to step over the damn line, and other times because I just don't know how to cure your pain. You are a tough egg to crack, Cal Lightman, and sometimes it makes me want to scream!" Twin tear trails had started down her cheeks, and Cal had to resist the urge to brush them away.
"Each year at this time, everyone tiptoes around you, everyone's afraid they'll feel the lash of Lightman's tongue. Even Emily spends more time at her friend's house, doesn't she? She doesn't want to have you snapping at her and she certainly doesn't like to see you passed out drunk. She loves you so much, but she can't fix you, Cal, and she knows it. Loker, Ria – they worship you, even if they don't always show it, and yet they slink away from you like wounded pups. And I'm left to make excuses and make sure you don't drink yourself into oblivion."
"Can I have a word?" Cal asked quietly.
"No. I'm not done." Gillian drew a shaky breath. "So, after I saw that it was going to be 'business as usual' again this year, I decided to try something different for next year. Wasn't going to fail any worse, was I? - No, don't interrupt, Cal." Gillian reached under the cushion on the far right, and pulled out an envelope. "I thought maybe, if you weren't in this same depressing city, your thoughts would take on different patterns, and you might, just might, be able to get through this easier." She handed the envelope to Cal and then tiredly leaned her head against the back of the couch, preparing to watch as he opened it.
Cal hesitated, turning the envelope over in his hands. He looked up at Gillian, his face missing its usual mask of self-preservation. He lightly touched her face. "I know I'm a cheeky sod, Foster, but I wasn't trying to minimize things. I'm a fucked up mess, aren't I, and that's a fact. But I was telling the truth when I said that I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. Every time you've walked into that bar, you have given me a lifeline to hold onto, a place to go when things get totally fucked. A person to give my worthless ass over to, who I know will bring it back from the dead. It's not fair, is it Foster,that I count on you to keep me here? But there you have it. You have saved a life, luv. I didn't, but you did. You do. And it's sittin' right beside you."
Gillian sat up and wordlessly held her arms out. Cal slid over and leaned into them, resting his head against her neck, returning the hug. She pressed a wet kiss to a spot between his eyes, then laid her cheek against his forehead, tears seeping onto his skin. The weight she had been feeling had been momentarily lifted, replaced by a warmth that spread throughout her body. No, she hadn't been able to cure him, and she was certain that there were still rough times ahead. But Cal's validation of her efforts, falling short though they did, gave her a tremendous feeling of worth and lightness and hope. And gratitude to this troubled man who was her partner and closest friend.
Gillian whispered, "Sit up," and then she motioned for him to put his legs up, maneuvering him so that he lay along the back of the couch, his head against her left shoulder. She lifted her legs up beside his, and wrapped her arms around him, reveling in the fact that he was here, and alive, and they had survived yet another tumultuous anniversary.
For his part, Cal was feeling warm and safe and numb with tiredness. He raised his hand that held the envelope, and murmured, "Still want me to open this, luv?" He felt Gillian's chin move up and down against his head, so he slid his finger under the flap, and took out the contents.
For a moment, not a word was spoken. Cal stared mutely at the two United Airlines tickets to Heathrow Airport, dated approximately a year from today, one bearing Cal's name, the other made out to Emily Lightman. They were for a week's stay in England, and the note that was enclosed said simply, "Tickets are non-refundable, and the time has been blocked off on the work calendar. Thought maybe you might like to show Emily a bit of her heritage. Love, Gillian"
Cal closed his eyes, and fought a war of emotions. Finally, he pulled himself up so he could look Gillian in the eyes, his own face devoid of pretense. "I'll go on one condition, luv" he said, his tone brooking no dissent from his reclining partner.
"And what is that, Cal? Remember, the tickets are non-refundable…"
"The condition is that you accompany Emily and me. I can't go without my lifeline." A bit of Cal's cockiness had returned, and he lay back down against her, saying "Good, that's settled, isn't it. Get your ticket, Foster." He closed his eyes.
Gillian wanted to retort, to regain the upper hand, but suddenly her heart wasn't in it. She smiled and snuggled Cal closer, feeling sleepy and content herself, and said, "Why don't you take a little nap? We'll pick up your car when you wake up."
Cal grunted against her chest, and she could feel him relax against her. She leaned her head against the top of Cal's, and just as she was drifting off, she thought she heard Cal's voice.
"Luv ya, Gill."