When Gillian wakes that morning (to her alarm... of course) she's in a strange position. She's across the mattress, under Cal (at first she just feels the heavy weight of something on her and is freaked out); he's literally lying on half of her. She's hot, sticky and damp with sweat and her thundering heart (still hates been woken to the alarm) makes it all worse. She extricates herself from underneath Cal's prone body roughly. He's still lying on his stomach, which means he hasn't moved much in the night (she might have noticed if he had). He doesn't move much now. There's a grumble as she leaves but he tucks his arm under the pillow, tugging it into a more comfortable position and remains quiet. Gillian goes to take a quick shower in the bathroom, washing away the stickiness on her skin. She thinks Cal's arm and leg, under the casts, must be swampy anyway, what with all the, uh, physical exertion they've been doing. He got them changed at half way but it will be another long three weeks before they come off all together and he can bathe properly.

As Gillian dries off in the bathroom (her towel's still damp from last night, which is not pleasant...) she wonders if she should wake Cal to help him downstairs (although he got upstairs on his own. And he would hate for her to mother him like that). She wonders if she could actually sufficiently wake up. He sleeps through her alarm and her getting out of bed. She wonders how long he sleeps in the morning. She wonders how far she can push Cal while he's asleep. She goes to the bedroom (completely naked) and turns the overhead lights on. He doesn't shift or make a noise, definitely not a complaint. So Gillian goes about getting dressed. She does her makeup and straightens her hair (and isn't quite and considerate about it) and is ready to go, and still, from the bed, there is nothing. Amused, she places her standard kiss to the side of his head (which she does every morning now, even though he clearly doesn't notice it) and puts the lights out for him again before she goes downstairs.

The world is quiet, like it usually is, and Gillian notices that it's starting to feel like normal. She drives now familiar streets to work and lets herself into the hollowness of the main school building. It's still cold in her office (the heat hasn't kicked in properly yet) so she keeps herself moving around (doing errands and the like) until she feels brave enough to take her coat off. Then she settles into her morning routine. When the first bell finally goes she's pulled from concentration (and no matter how many mornings she has to start early, no kid has come in to see her). It happens the same for most of the morning, she gets into a zone, and the bell pulls her from it. She thinks that eventually, she'll get so used to it, she won't hear it anymore; like Cal sleeping through her alarm.

At the start of the third period, Jerome Manning comes to knock on her door. She's expecting him (hasn't forgotten) so welcomes him in with a pleasant smile, like she always does. It amazes her how quickly all this new has become a routine. Jerome closes the door, takes his seat on the couch, but instead of sitting right on the end, as far from her as he can get, he sits in the middle, puts his bag on the cushion beside him. Gillian watches his face carefully as she takes her seat, stealing lengthy glances as he pretends to be busy and avoid her gaze. They both settle and Gillian opens up his folder, to leave it across her knees. It's been more to do with having something to do with her hands than having a need for it to be open for reference (she already knows everything there is to say in it) and now it's a habit (another one).

Jerome's eyes flicker over to hers and then look down at his hands, his long slender fingers (basketballer's fingers, Gillian thinks, but he doesn't play that kind of ball) sliding against each other, lacing and unlacing; there is something on his mind, and the words are very nearly coming out of his mouth (there's a tremor of lip movement to observe as well) but for now he's still hesitating. Gillian asks him how his day has been (she means the entire period of time since she saw him last, because it hasn't actually quite been a day) and he gives a nod and a frown of his mouth and shifts his butt on the cushion (reminds her of Cal and the fidgety way he sits). She's preparing herself to ask how's he finding school, whether he's had any conversations with his baseball coach or teachers, if he's ready to work with her and make some progress (because his body language is the most receptive it's been in a week and he's making tentative eye contact) but he surprises her.

"How was your week?" He asks politely. He even makes eye contact and holds it.

Gillian knows she does a shit job of hiding her surprise, but he won't be able to see the finer details of it. "Fine thank you," she answers and before she can get another word in he's speaking again.

"Who was that guy that was here yesterday?"

Gillian has to take a second to form a proper response (she's that thrown. And not just because he's talking to her, but the subject matter too. What is everyone's fascination with Cal?) "Uh, Cal is my." Damn, why is this question so hard to answer? "Why don't you tell me how it's going with Coach Faraday?"

Jerome immediately scowls and looks away to the door. Gillian half thinks she's pushed too hard far too soon (but she can't very well talk about herself here), however, he turns his head back to her, and even though he talks to her shoes he does admit that he's had no contact with Faraday. "Why not?" Gillian pushes softly. "I thought you were going to… try?"

"Yeah well, he hates me," Jerome mutters.

"Hate is a strong word," Gillian counters automatically. "He doesn't hate you. He's just frustrated." She watches the muscles flex in Jerome's jaw. "And so are you," she goes on. "I understand that."

"You're just paid to care."

Gillian sits back in her chair like she's been slapped. She takes a calming breath and reminds herself of the bigger picture; she's not going to get sucked into a teenager's tantrum. "Yes," she agrees and Jerome's eyes flicker to hers. "But that doesn't mean that I don't care. Your English teacher gets paid to teach you English, but that doesn't mean he doesn't genuinely want you to learn it. And Faraday gets paid to teach you how to play baseball, but that also doesn't mean he doesn't want to see you succeed at the sport. Yes, I get paid to be here. But I care Jerome. I don't just care because it's my job to, I care because I actually care." He's looking at her now and she lets a beat pass between them so he can see she's genuine. "Why else would I torture you with having to come and see me every day?"

He smiles. He fully smiles, and then he tries to hide it and look away. Too late.

"How about homeroom?"

Jerome shrugs.

"You're going," Gillian notes. She gets reports on his attendance, because it's an issue. And aside from one late class, he's been very good with his tardiness. Which tells her he cares just as much as she does. If he didn't, after the big meeting, he would have just not come to school at all. Not only is he still attending, he's no longer tardy.

"Yep," Jerome agrees with her.

"That's great," Gillian enthuses but she doesn't get a response from Jerome; it's like he's not proud of himself. "Have you thought about going to talk to Coach Faraday?"

"He doesn't want to hear from me."

"The thing is Jerome, he does," Gillian counters firmly. He looks at her, proper eye contact again. "He's waiting to hear from you."

"Why do I have to make the first move?"

"Because you were the one that did wrong."

"According to him," Jerome mutters, looks away.

"Perhaps," Gillian concedes. "I don't think it matters who started it. It matters what you do next."

Jerome shrugs and Gillian swallows back the frustration. Teenagers can be so annoying… so unhelpful. So…

"This is how it works Jerome," Gillian changes tact. "You can get into a pissing match with Faraday about who's right and wrong but you'll never win it because he's an adult and you're not. And there's just no way around that. Even if you are in the right, you're not going to get a victory. Or, what you can do is learn to play the game and get what you want without acting like a child."

Jerome's eyes get wide as they look back to her and Gillian thinks she might have taken it a little too far. She wants to light a fire under his ass, not get herself fired.

"Like how?" Jerome mumbles at her.

"You go to Faraday, and you make amends."

Jerome folds his arms across his chest. "I'm not apologising to him."

Gillian supresses the sigh she usually reserves for Cal. "I'm not talking about saying you're sorry, I'm talking about making it right again."

Jerome sits there for a moment and then he loosens his arms and lets his hands fall to his lap.

"You want to play baseball?" Gillian asks him bluntly, waiting for the receptiveness to come back. "Honest answer."

"Yes," Jerome mumbles.

Gillian leaves that between them. It's a simple equation: Jerome's desire plus his ability to set things right again equals him playing ball.

"So I don't have to say sorry?"

"No," Gillian says slowly. "You don't always have to say the word. Sometimes it's not enough. Sorry comes in different forms. I don't think walking up to Faraday and saying you're sorry is going to do you any good." Because it will just be degrading for Jerome and he's already had enough of a tough time with this school. She doesn't need him running himself down further, but instead is trying to build him up. Besides, she thinks Faraday might enjoy it too much, that tiny little bit of grovelling, and even though Jerome has to be the one to make the first move, it doesn't mean she thinks the coach is entirely without fault. "But you do have to make it right."

"How do I do that?" Jerome asks quietly.

"It will take time to figure out." Gillian pauses but there's no frown from Jerome, no scoff or eye roll, no defensive gesture and she thinks 'aha!'; she's got him. Finally. She's got him. And all of that because of Cal? Surely not. "But we can do it together if you want?" As always, there has to be an agreement, a contract between them. Otherwise she'll never be able to help him.

Jerome shrugs at her. So Gillian just sits there and waits. "Yeah. Ok," Jerome says borderline hostile, but lucky for him, Gillian knows it's not real. "Yeah if you'll help me."

"I do want to help you."

"Ok then. What do I have to do?"

"What coach Faraday wants to see from you, and from every player on any of his teams, is commitment right?"

Jerome shrugs at her but she ignores it.

"So what does that mean?"

"Show up to practice."

"Right!" Gillian agrees brightly.

"I'm not allowed to practice."

"At the moment," Gillian counters. "You're not allowed to play. But Faraday didn't say you weren't allowed on the team."

"That makes no sense," Jerome challenges.

"What I mean is, there are other people on the team who don't necessarily pick up a bat right?"

"Everyone bats," Jerome counters.

"There are people who show up for practice that aren't players," Gillian tries again.

"Cheerleaders?"

Not quite…

"I'm thinking about the people who support the team."

Jerome gives her an upturn of his lip. "Like the equipment guys?"

"Yes."

Jerome's lip curls further into disgust.

"What it will show Faraday, is that you're willing to be there. That you can show up to a commitment on time. And it also shows him that you're willing to be a team player," Gillian tells him firmly. "But it's up to you."

Jerome gives a pout of his mouth. "I guess."

"It's just an idea," Gillian tries to back pedal, to see if she can reel him in a little closer.

"Yeah I guess," Jerome repeats.

Gillian figures that's something. This session, has, at least, been progress. Any conversation would have been progress, but at least they also actually discussed something of importance. She wonders whether it was prompted by Cal's presence yesterday, or whether it had been building on its own. She thinks she will ask Jerome more tomorrow when he comes back to see her. For now, the bell rings to end their conversation. Gillian walks Jerome to the door and bids him a good afternoon. He shoots a 'you too' over his shoulder before he goes and she wonders how he got himself into trouble, when really, what she sees, and what she knows to be true, is that he's a polite and genuine young man. She knows there's more to it. There's something else that's going on with him, probably something at home, but at heart, he's a good kid.

With excitement, Gillian writes up her notes from the session (there is actually something to write on this occasion!) and prepares for her next one (which is so much easier than Jerome, which isn't necessarily a good thing). She has lunch later in the early afternoon, her usual time, and thinks about Cal. Her days are filled but she wonders what he does in the house by himself all day. It's been wonderful to see him doing laundry, maybe some basic cleaning, and certainly taking care of food; all the domestic things. Like she thinks he should, really, considering he's home all day and has nothing else to do. If their roles were reversed, she would do the same. She used to have a rule with Alec, that whoever got home first would have to start on dinner. More often than not, that was her, and it got tiring. He worked late, she knew that, but it still started to feel like a burden, like she was the one doing all the work (and then, yeah, she also means she was the one doing all the work on their marriage as well). She worked late too. She was tired as well. And he never put in the effort to get there first, to cook for her for once. She thinks it could be the same with Cal if she's not careful. If she learned one thing from being married to Alec, it's that she can't go through a relationship without making conscious efforts. There has to be push and pull. She knows they're still settling (and admittedly, they're probably in the best space they've been in for a long while), but Gillian suddenly feels flushed with worry.

She definitely does not want to see her relationship with Cal go the way her relationship with Alec did.

PJ

Cal's so down with this domesticity shit that he gets laundry done and some cleaning (downstairs bathroom) and all before the weekend (that way, he can enjoy being with Gillian without her insisting they do boring crap like laundry or cleaning). He even has dinner in the oven ready by four, even though he also takes regular breaks during the day when he gets tired of holding his leg off the ground. For lack of being able to wander around the stores, he shops online instead. He gets himself a new watch. Much of everything else feels superfluous at the moment. He can't wear new shoes (he could wear new shoe) and he doesn't have much need for suits, ties and coats (if he doesn't leave the house, what is the point?) and besides, there isn't a lot of discretionary income (and it wouldn't feel right to spend all of the money, even though Gillian doesn't seem overly worried about it).

But after he's done that, he's bored again. He's proper bored. He's so bored, he's tempted to just ring Ria at the Lightman Group and have her talk him through what's happening over there. He tries to distract himself with a movie but he barely follows it, keeps thinking about how badly he wants to get the fuck out of there. It's not bad enough that his leg is broken, he has to be completely cut off from everything he found intellectually stimulating. Except for Gillian (small mercies). Only, she's at work, and he can't call her either and alleviate his mind (it's worse than the itch of his leg under the cast).

It's been a month. A month since this whole shitty affair started and he's had enough of it.

And then before he lets himself get agitated, he picks up his phone and texts Gillian (it's a compromise). He asks her what time she'll be home, acting like he can't quite remember if this is one of those days where she went to work early. Even though he hopes to get a reply, he's not exactly expecting one, figuring she's going to be too busy for him, but she does actually text back within a few minutes. Cal's tempted to call her, but refrains. He doesn't know what she's doing or how busy she is. Instead, he spends a few minutes thinking of something else to ask her, keep the conversation going. He's unimaginative, but she plays along, and he thanks the world again that she's in his life. This whole shitty affair would be an absolute nightmare if it weren't for Gillian.

Cal thinks he might be dozing when he hears keys in the front door and Gillian is home. His frustration from earlier is perhaps not entirely abated, but he has made promises that he's no longer going to take it out on her, so he gets up from the couch and welcomes her home. It's worth it for the smile she gives him, the way she crosses to meet him, placing a steadying hand on his cheek and her mouth against his. She steps in close, gives him a chance to balance properly and kisses him again, this time her body brushing against his. Cal wonders if she knows how she soothes him, because she does. When she pulls back she studies his face and asks him what's wrong.

"Nothing," Cal immediately answers. "Hungry?" He changes the subject (he's never been comfortable talking about himself).

"Yeah," Gillian agrees. "But. Can we talk about something first?"

"Ok," Cal says but feels a little hesitant. Gillian's gotten very serious and after a second of letting her 'talk' request sink in, he has a sudden paranoid flash that she's found out about him emailing the Group. Gillian shifts her weight on her feet and Cal starts to think she's nervous; this can't be about the emailing (he's pretty sure she'll be livid and this is not angry that he's seeing).

"I don't want to use condoms anymore," she says, raising her head so her eyes meet his and her chin is confident.

He was not expecting that. But he's actually quite pleased. "Ok," he agrees with a slight smile.

"Ok?"

"Not going to complain about that," Cal adds. He's grinning but Gillian mirrors it and he likes the way she's almost embarrassed but is still assured.

"Ok, but," Gillian goes on.

"But?" Cal prompts and he feels wary (how can there be a 'but' to not using condoms anymore?)

"Uh, would you go and… get tested?" She goes on quickly, "Not that I'm trying to imply that you would need to specifically or anything." She trails off all embarrassed and there's a second of awkward silence.

"Doesn't hurt to be sure though does it?" Cal saves her.

"No," Gillian agrees.

Cal gives a half-hearted little shrug to say he doesn't mind, he'll go get checked, small price to pay really (cos God it is so worth it to ditch the condoms. And he would really be interested in ditching them with Gillian). The truth is, he doesn't really know for sure, even though he's pretty sure he's been careful with every woman he's been with (recently), and he's not felt… itchy or anything. What he doesn't know is that Gillian's also thinking 'well that was easy enough' at the same moment.

"You're gonna get tested too then yeah?" Cal adds.

"Yes," Gillian answers simply after a beat.

Well that's good, Cal thinks. That this goes both ways. Not that he thinks she would accuse him of sleeping around or being unsafe in particular… Gillian's not much of a hypocrite.

Gillian gives a concluding nod and starts to turn away for the door. She's still wearing her coat, so literally, the first thing she did when she came through the door tonight was kiss him (makes him feel good, thinking about that). "Wait," Cal stops her though. "One more thing."

Gillian turns back, expectant.

"What about… the birth control part of it?" He tries to ask carefully. It's going to be a sensitive subject (with her, because she's not a mother and because of her age. He's not sure of her fertility in either instance).

Gillian's eyes flicker to her feet for just a second, but Cal sees it and he notices how the room feels tenser than it did before. He half thinks he's an asshole for asking, but still wants an answer. He's not trying to pry, he just thinks it's fair enough if she can come in and ask him to go get an STD check (that did sound callous).

"Uhm," Gillian says and meets his eye again. "I can't have kids."

"Oh," Cal nods (he's trying to be empathetic). "I always hoped it was Alec."

Gillian gives a flicker of a smile, which then slowly blossoms into something small and wounded. "No. It was me."

"Sorry," Cal says automatically.

"It's ok," Gillian tells him softly, her hand coming out to touch his arm. She doesn't say it aloud, but it's there, written in the air: it's ok for him to ask.

"Want to eat?" Cal asks gently.

Gillian smiles again, more genuine this time. "Sure." Cal goes to the kitchen and Gillian strips off her coat, when she joins him she serves up chicken and rice casserole (with lots of vegetables), oohing and ahhing over how good it smells and looks. At the table, Gillian asks about his day and Cal gives his standard non-answer, because there is nothing to report (except for that email thing. But... he's working how to bring that up. He thinks). Instead, he asks about her day.

"It was actually really good," Gillian tells him genuinely, meeting his eye in a meaningful way; a way that gets his full attention. "I had this… amazing breakthrough with one of the kids and…" She's almost giddy with it, excited, and Cal smiles.

"What happened?" He prompts.

"He just… You know? I don't know. He's been freezing me out for a week and today he comes in and… he starts talking!"

"Must have worked your magic," Cal notes, stabbing at some broccoli.

"No I don't think it was me," Gillian counters. She puts some carrot in her mouth. "I actually think it was you."

"Me?" Cal asks incredulously.

"Yeah you."

"I wasn't even there."

"He saw you yesterday, when you came in for lunch?"

Cal keeps his eyebrows raised in disbelief; he's not taking responsibility for this, whatever this is.

"Anyway," Gillian goes on when Cal refuses to react. "He asked about you and that broke the ice and we got talking and it was… just really great," she finishes lamely.

Cal lets the surprised nonchalance drop and gives her a small grin instead. "You sound happy," he says, a statement and nothing else. Her eyes are bright and her mouth has a permanent twist into a smile (she also leans towards him when she talks and he thinks he can detect one of her legs close to his under the table, but he hasn't decided if he wants to check. When he looks at her, happy like this, it reminds him that she's settling, that she's making a life here, and he's stuck in a frustrating limbo, and that makes him feel unpleasant things that he doesn't want to name, lest he let it ruin her as well as him).

Gillian cleans up the kitchen and they watch TV; their routine. Gillian makes it until nine o'clock before she says she's going to bed. Cal's not remotely tired, but he goes with her. They have a bed routine too and as Cal is lying in bed waiting for Gillian to come in, he thinks about it, thinks how domestic they've gotten. How a week ago it was kind of strange but now it feels normal; considers that's a long way for them to have come in a short time (thinks there might be hope for them after all). He starts to ponder about how she makes him feel, not the flushed, attracted kind of feelings, but the ones where he's glad to see her, when he feels more relaxed because she's home, how he looks forward to hearing about her day. It was different when they worked together, they mostly talked business; he knew how her day had been. And he guesses it's kind of nice this way, to have her come home and talk to him about it (she really was very excited about that kid); it kind of makes him feel important and valued and other… sentimental kind of stuff he doesn't normally think about (but maybe he's been otherwise too busy to slow down and notice. This place has got him thinking a lot. Probably because he has nothing else to do).

Gillian closes the bedroom door and puts out the lamp beside the bed before scooting under the covers. She sighs as she settles on the mattress; wary.

"I think you work too hard," Cal tells her in the darkness.

She laughs softly. "I work less hours now than I did when I was at the Group."

She tosses it in there so casually, Cal's not sure how he feels (to just mention their old lives like it wasn't violently torn away from them with the wounds raw and ragged?) He doesn't say anything, searching for the right come back, when Gillian speaks again. "Could already do with a vacation though," she says softly.

"The trip to Minnesota wasn't enough?" Cal quips back. Gillian laughs again and shifts in the bed. She slides an arm under his head and presses herself against his left arm, so that she's kind of… cradling him. Cal's pretty sure he's never been held that way before and it's nice. Actually, it's really nice; he feels like he could confess his soul and she would take the utmost care.

"I want to hold you," Cal whispers into the darkness, starting on those confessions (it kind of tumbles out of him before he realises he's said it).

Gillian hums and presses her mouth against his hair. They both know it's nearly impossible for him to turn on his side, and he's not going to ruin the moment. "Soon," she responds. Cal sighs heavily, causing her to press another kiss against his hair.

Cal feels bold in the dark. Funny, considering he loves so much to watch faces in the light. It's more to do with Gillian not being able to see him; a security blanket.

"Gill?"

"Mm?" She murmurs.

"You're asleep," Cal whispers.

"M not," she mumbles back.

"You are."

"Tell me."

"It'll keep."

"Tell me tomorrow," Gillian suggests instead.

"All right," Cal agrees.

The room is silent for a moment and then Gillian's breath scuffles in the darkness. "Promise?"

"Promise," Cal repeats.

Gillian extricates her arm sometime in the early morning, when Cal is just starting to drift off. And in the morning when he wakes, she's gone.