A/N: Just wanted to say a quick thank you for all the feedback, reviews, and support. You all are wonderful - really know how to make a girl feel great!

Another note: This is also a flashback; I wanted to give Cal's perspective a bit more. The first half takes place after "Headlock," and the second half ties in with chapter 4 when Cal is texting Gillian after she leaves the hospital. It all makes sense in my head, so I hope I haven't jumbled it up too badly on paper. :)

And yes, I borrowed some dialogue from "Headlock."

Thanks again everyone for reading and sticking with me! ~Jennifer

Cal had tried to be okay with everything at first. Really and truly, he wanted to be okay with it. Because he wanted Gillian to be happy… she deserved that. Happiness. And that night when he saw her with Burns, and the two of them were looking so very decidedly… together, it struck him that the entire matter was out of his hands. He had no choice in any of it.

Dave's hand in the small of her back, protective and guiding. The way Gillian smiled when she looked at him, delighted and peaceful. It was all her choice – Gillian chose to be with Dave. She'd chosen not to be with Cal Lightman. And yes, he bloody well knew that he could have spoken up and told her all of his dirty little secrets – about how he loved her, how he wanted her, how she was his ideal woman – but to what end?

"Sorry 'bout all the illegal underground fighting, about nearly getting all of us killed God knows how many times over the years, Gill. Sorry 'bout that whole bit in Vegas, and for Clara and Zoe and all the others. Behaved like a total plonker, I did. 'S'pose you could just sweep all that under the rug, blow off Captain America there, and come home with me instead?"

Jesus, it even sounded pathetic in his own head. To say it aloud would have been idiotic.

And so, he didn't. He played his little games instead – little tongue in cheek bits of wit that he knew Gillian could see right through.

"Burns. Dave Burns, yeah? Did I get that right, or did I make a mistake? 'Cause I'm, you know, I'm terrible with names. I'm terrible with names."

Intimidation… antagonizing… a veritable pissing contest. He might as well have whipped it out and danced in a circle around her, marking his territory.

"He's a good man, Cal. That's all you need to know."

And that, more than anything else, is what had finally done it. What had finally triggered the fear. Real, tangible fear that this might actually be it – the way he'd finally lose her, and lose his chance at finding happiness with her as anything other than her best friend.

He was going to lose her to Dave Burns, a good man who'd sent her flowers and made her smile and got to hold her. A man who was the polar opposite of everything Cal had ever been.

Black and white, oil and water… Lightman and Burns.

Later that night, hours after Gillian had left and Cal was sitting alone, halfway through his first drink, hindsight would tell him that he ought to be ashamed. But by then, he'd been too depressed to care.

"Gillian? Please."

It was the fourth text message he'd sent her since she left the hospital. He was getting desperate now. Desperate to help her, to hear her, to hold her… anything. Cal Lightman was a man of action, and when Gillian Foster hurt, he wanted to fix it. Except this time, he couldn't and it was eating away at him, second by second.

Five minutes later, he sent another message. "Going out for some air. Back soon. Door's always open, love. Anytime."

He needed to move; he could not sit around there all night, waiting for the sound of a knock on his front door that might never come.

He backed the car out of his driveway with no real direction in mind… maybe grab a drink, maybe grab some food, maybe drive past Gillian's house to see if she was even there. Option three pulled at him hard – hard enough that he'd made it almost all the way to her street before the fear kicked in and made him turn the wheel in the opposite direction. Best to let her come to him, he rationalized. Give her some space. Give her some air.

That fear had driven him all the way to that bar. Oh sure, he could sugarcoat it just to try and make himself feel better – try to convince himself that he was confused, or that he was waiting for the right time, or that he didn't want to rush into anything. He could have used Burns as an absentee scapegoat, rationalizing that Gillian wasn't the kind of woman who jumped out of one man's bed and right into another. But once he cut the bullshit, what it all boiled down to was fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of letting her down… fear that it wouldn't be able to live up to the fantasy that being able to love Gillian had become.

Not that he wanted to rush anything, of course. He wouldn't have been crazy enough to lay out all his feelings just hours after Burns walked away – literally without even looking back to see what he was losing. But she would've seen them. At least some of them. He would have held her, and stroked her hair, and let her cry on his shoulder if need be, and he just knew that something would slip through the cracks. A look… a touch… something. And Gillian would know.

They weren't ready for that yet.

He wasn't ready for that yet. Someday, hopefully. But not yet.

So he pulled into the lot, killed the engine, and just sat there in the darkness. He sighed and sank back against the headrest, slouching and moping as he fished his phone from his pocket. He was so tempted to call her… but he didn't. He just stared at the screen, hoping she'd reply. It was pathetic, really. A grown man depressed and alone in the parking lot of a bar, just waiting for a phone call. It was a feeling that he inherently disliked.

An hour later, he started the car and pulled back onto the highway that would lead him home. He'd never even made it through the front door of that bar. Gillian's message came just as he pulled back into his driveway. It was only four short words, but he was grateful to read them. "Cal? Are you home?"

And then he smiled – really, truly smiled for the first time in ages. His reply came quickly. "Yes, love. I'm here."

There was no way Cal could have known what would happen just days later, the next time he pulled into the parking lot of that same bar. He wouldn't see the car parked across the street – the one that just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Not following him, of course. Not tracking him. Just lucky enough to catch him there, unaware and distracted and still dealing with the same oppressing fear.

There was no way Cal could have known someone was watching him in the shadows. That someone was taking advantage of his circumstances in such a way as to manipulate them. He couldn't have known anyone was watching what happened with that drunken blonde in that darkened corner… that someone would record it all in black and white and try to use it against him.

There was no way Cal could have known that a day that had started out with such promise – bumping into Gillian at that café, talking and laughing with her for hours – would have ended with the potential to destroy everything. If he had known – if he had even suspected, then he would've just driven away again.

He would've driven right to Gillian's door and told her everything – every secret he'd kept and every promise she deserved to hear. Everything he'd been afraid to say during the night they spent curled up on his couch and the day they spent walking hand in hand through the streets of DC. But he didn't.

He didn't even see it coming.