"It was not my intention to make such a production of the emptiness between us;
Playing tuba on the tombstone of a soprano to try and keep some dead singer's perspective alive."
Gillian exhaled sharply and ran her palms flat against her thighs—she smiled at Cal softly, "Everything." She said, her eyes widening slightly, conveying the gravity of it all, "but mostly to the distance you put between us. It wasn't—it's not," she corrected, "Something I'm used to."
Cal shook his head, "I'm not used to it either," He said, narrowing his eyes, "And I can't…" He trailed off. At her look, he continued, "Say as though I particularly care for it." He finished, shrugging.
She smiled at that, and Cal was pleased to see that the smile itself was genuine, "Neither do I," She said, her tone adopting a somewhat conspiratorial tone. She waved her hand into the space between them, "I panicked." She said.
"On which account?" He asked—he considered her, watched the way the muscles in her face twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Both." She said, nodding a little. "But especially at the feeling of you slipping away from me—I wanted to hold on. I didn't mean…" She closed her eyes searching for the word, "To take it that far," She said, finally, her gaze falling to her lap. Her hands were locked together.
Cal nodded and leaned further back in his chair, casting his appraising gaze to her body, small and delicate in the chair before him. The silence still felt thick between them, but it had lightened slightly.
Gillian spoke again, "It feels…" She began, and her voice was timid when she spoke again, "Like there's a switch." She finished, her gaze flicking back to his. Cal read fear and he was surprised by it.
His eyebrows shot up and he shook his head, "A switch." He repeated, searching for a connection. Not finding one, he spoke again, "What do you mean?" He asked.
Gillian wrung her hands together and Cal thought that on anyone else the fidgeting would have been annoying—but on Gillian, it was rather endearing. Gillian felt a sense of nervousness present itself in stomach and she did her best to calm the queasiness as she spoke, "It's like you have a switch." She said, shrugging as though that should explain everything.
Cal stifled the laughter he felt bubble up at her expression, "I'm still not following you, love." He said again, keeping the humor he felt out of his voice.
Gillian sighed—she felt momentarily flustered because she was not confident in her ability to accurately explain to Cal precisely what she meant. She usually didn't have such a hard time articulating herself properly, but she was exhausted—emotionally and physically—
"For me. There's a switch for me, and you can turn it on and off." She said, gesticulating with her hands indicating some sort of nebulous idea she was attempting to put words to, "Whatever it is you…" She trailed off "feel" The word was tentative as it left her mouth, "For me—it's not all the time. You can turn it on and off apparently at will—and I," She said, her voice steady, "Can't do that." She breathed out.
Cal folded his hands together and rested them on his chest as he leaned back in his chair. He contemplated her, "You really think that?" He asked. She nodded, "Example?"
Gillian scoffed, "Really, Cal?" She asked, arching an eyebrow at him. Cal mirrored her gesture and nodded. Gillian sighed heavily, letting her exasperation be known, "Last night, for one—" She said, touching her fingers together as though she were reciting a list, "Off." She said at his questioning gaze, "The switch was off." She changed her posture so that her legs were crossed at her ankles, "In fact, the switch has been off pretty much constantly lately," She said, her voice growing quiet as she spoke. She was unable to mask the emotion she felt at the admission.
Cal looked at her and made a little contemplative sound.
Gillian rolled her eyes, reading disbelief on his face, "Fine," She said, pressing her back into the chair, "You don't have to believe me."
"Did I say that?" Cal said, raising his eyebrows and throwing his hands up, palms out in a defensive posture.
Gillian narrowed her eyes at me, "You didn't have to say it." She said.
"Oh, so you're comfortable reading me and accepting that as truth in this particular situation—just not in the other situation?" He asked, and his tone took on an accusatory quality that made Gillian's body tingle right down to her feet.
"Hey." She said, her voice stern, "Not fair." Her chin jutted out in defiance.
"I'm just saying." Cal responded, unfolding his hands and crossing them over his chest instead, "Seems a bit…" He searched for the right word, "Selective." He shrugged.
Gillian turned her head slightly and regarded him, "Yeah, well…" She trailed off as though that response were a retort in itself. Gillian felt the lump return to her throat as she contemplated the past few months. She'd seen Cal nearer to her than ever before the night of the Walker case—and the previous night she'd seen him the farthest.
Reading the emotion in her eyes and on her face, Cal broke the silence, "What are you not saying, Gillian?" He questioned.
Gillian shifted in her chair, obviously uncomfortable. With a reluctant sigh, she spoke, "The way you've been treating me lately—" Her voice broke off as she considered her statement, "Well, the way you've always treated me, actually, but especially the way you've been treating me lately," She amended, "Has made me question precisely what I saw that night after the Walker case. Because in light of the way you treat me," She said, her voice serious, "I couldn't possibly have been right about what I saw on your face." She said, meeting his gaze. She saw something flash in his gaze as he read her face.
"And what, pray tell, did you think you saw that night?" Cal asked, leaning forward in his chair, his body language echoing the gravity of the question.
TBC
