It'd been hours since Zoe had dropped her bomb, and left it there to radiate. He'd known, and reflecting on it now, Gillian could see where she ignored the signs: a quick frown, a shoulder shrug. Instead, she had chosen to believed his words, believe he wouldn't lie about something so important, believe he'd tell her the truth. And so she'd unconsciously flittered out the things she didn't want to know.

Lunch had been a quiet affair, stiff and strained. Gillian could only managed to shove a bite or two in her mouth and down her throat, but she'd sat and waited silently for Zoe and Emily to finish before swiftly retreating upstairs. The front door had shut loudly a while later, and fleetingly Gillian wondered if Emily stayed, but she hadn't the heart to check.

So, here she was: hours later, pacing the upstairs hall. Her new found ritual had started the first night, her brain had not quite gripping onto reality. She'd hoped the pacing would wear her out, and it had, for a short time, until she woke herself by screaming. In the hours she'd spent pacing, Gillian counted out the length of the hall a dozen times. By now she could easily retrace her steps in the dark. And she did so, nightly.

She could barely keep her eyelids up, but still her mind refused to shut down. A crash from downstairs caught her by surprise. Leaving the light off, Gillian descended the stairs, one hand on the rail, the other pressed against the wall. At the bottom, her attention was drawn towards the glow of the kitchen light.

Entering the room, she found it was empty. The light hadn't been on when she had gone up earlier, and she was sure if Emily had stayed she would have shut it off before going to bed. At the prospect of accidently walking into a burglary she hardly felt a thing. No fear at what could happen or disgust at the people doing it; she was surprised at the flicker of anger she felt before it too died away.

Everything she'd ever loved left her or was taken: Sophie, Alec, that cat from when she was eight. Cal. Now, she didn't even care that someone might be breaking in and taking the last things she had of him. It frightened her that she didn't care, that she didn't feel. She'd never been completely indifferent before.

"Gill?"

She forced her eyes away from the door realizing she'd zoned out. Shaking her head, she suppressed her darker thoughts. "I thought you left."

Emily bounced on her feet, giving Gillian a half grin. "Nope." She soon stopped bobbing, her smile slipping away. Fiddling with the plate in her hands, she shrugged. "I dropped this. Sorry, if I woke you."

Gillian shook her head waving it off the apology. "I was already up." Sitting at the counter, her tired eyes slipping closed once more. Blue orbs snapped open a minute later, wondering at the time. 3 am. Tilting her head to the side, she saw Emily watching her and narrowed her eyes. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Shouldn't you?" Emily bit back. Putting the plate in the sink, her shoulders became stooped, and she moved down the bar so she was across from Gillian. "Sorry." She looked down, examining her hands for a second. "I couldn't sleep. It's just… weird, I guess, being here without him." She saw Gillian nod at her, bloodshot eyes unfocused.

There was nothing to say after that. What could she say, she agreed with Emily, but weird wasn't the right word for it. Crushing. Suffocating. Overwhelming. She could utter condolences, let her professional side say time would help. But she couldn't bring herself to do it, she couldn't bring herself to believe. Time wouldn't help the pain that would come when he was brought up in a conversation or the pangs of regret when they remembered something they had meant to tell him. Time, the only thing any of them wanted, but couldn't have.

Clearing her throat, Gillian sat up straighter, picking at her nails. "I assume you and Zoe… uh, made the arrangements." She wasn't going to cry. She couldn't, her eyes were parched and itchy; she was out of tears. Her nerves stood on end as an odd expression passed over Emily's face.

"You don't know? I thought she told you earlier."

Gillian's heart clenched, pain spreading through her chest. "What happened?" Temporarily, she flashed back to standing in the office, phone in hand, a knot consuming her stomach.

Emily shook her head, not relishing the idea of being the one to divulge the secret. "Maybe – maybe someone else should tell you." She twisted her fingers, looking around the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, Gillian let it out shakily, her eyes were wide and pleading. "Please, just tell me."

The teenager sighed and shifted uncomfortably on her feet. There was no way to sugar coat it, so she would just have to spit it out and hope for the best. "There aren't any arrangements."

Gillian grabbed for her hand and squeezed it softly. Her demeanor continued altering between wanting to know and hoping her adoptive daughter refused to tell her.

Emily blinked hard. Rolling her neck, she finally met Gillian gaze. "The hospital called the other day, and…" She sighed again, harder this time, a weight pressing the air out. "And there was a mix-up."

Gillian tightened her hold, her knuckles whitening around Emily's smaller hand, but the young woman didn't pull away. "What are you talking about, Em?"

Unconsciously, Emily began running her thumb over Gillian's knuckles. Unknowingly offering the only comfort she could. "There was a mix up at the hospital. Papers were misplaced. Bodies were mixed up or something, and by the time they figured it out he'd… he'd – he'd been cremated. Infectious tissue."