Houston, we have a problem... I've been rationing these out as best I can, but I've been too swamped with uni work to write and I'm almost out of Chapters I'd prepared in advance! I was going to leave this another day or two, but I was prompted to post one this morning and I ended up giving in- I don't want the natives getting restless. Anyway, here we go...

Cal tried to go into their bedroom several times that afternoon, and again the evening, each time being ordered out by a severely emotional and extremely pissed off Gill, who hadn't let go of the sweater the whole time. Dinner time came around and he tried to offer her some food, only to be told she wasn't hungry. When he came in to go to bed he was told to go to hell. The spare room was actually looking inviting.

He laid awake for hours that night, going over what had happened in his head. He couldn't work out why Gill cared so much about a sweater. It was ridiculous. Frankly, he didn't even feel sorry for her at this stage, he was just pissed off. She'd treated him like dirt over something so trivial, and he didn't know what had gotten into her. All he knew was that he'd never seen this side of his usually sweet, loving wife, and he sure as hell didn't want to see it again. Eventually he was overcome by exhaustion and fell asleep.

Cal woke the next morning when the sun came in through the open blinds, groaning. Monday. At least it wasn't raining anymore. He got out of bed and went downstairs to make coffee, praying that if he took some to Gill he'd find her in a better mood than last night. A soft knock on their bedroom door told him he was out of luck. "Go away," Gill told him. Her voice was quieter than the night before, and she sounded exhausted.

"I've got coffee, love," he informed her. "And we need to get clothes out so we can get ready for work." He ventured into their bedroom and his face fell when he saw Gill sitting where he'd left her the night before, her eyes puffy and red and her skin pale. "Didn't you sleep?" he asked her.

"Leave me alone."

"Gill, it's a bloody sweater," Cal said, losing his patience. "Throw the damn thing out or wash it. I don't care what you do with it, but you're acting like a child. This was your game, and your rules."

"You're a bastard," she told him. Her voice was laced with venom.

Cal sighed and set both lots of coffee down. "Give me the damn sweater."

"No," Gill insisted.

"Fine. Don't. You know what, you keep acting like this. I like it, actually. It's just like being married to Zoe, only with tears, too." He regretted it as soon as he'd said it.

Gill glared. "I hate you," she told him.

Part of him believed it. He ignored it anyway. He wasn't going to indulge her when she was acting like this. "Pull yourself together, we've got to go to work."

"I'm not going," Gill informed him.

"You have meetings."

"I don't care. Reschedule them."

"So you hate me, but I'm good enough to play secretary for you when you want to sit at home and sulk? You know what, don't even answer that. If you're going to treat clients the way you're treating me, it's probably best you do stay at home." He picked up some of his clothes from where they'd been left discarded on the floor then disappeared into the ensuite to get ready for work. Half an hour later he re-emerged. Gill still hadn't moved. She didn't look at him. "Have a nice day, darling," he told her. He was unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, and ended up dodging a cushion Gill through at him in another fit of rage. "F-ing hell," he muttered under his breath, glad she'd chosen the cushion and not a lamp or something more dangerous. He closed the door behind him and went back downstairs, making sure Finn was taken care of before he left for the day.

That night he arrived home late. For the first time since they'd met, Cal worked back with the intention of avoiding Gill. Letting himself into the house, he took a quick look around. The lights were all still off. Turning a few on, he made his way to find Finn, who was still where he'd been left that morning, telling Cal that Gill was probably where she'd been left, too. He fed Finn and spent some time playing with him, really not looking forward to finding out what he was going to have to face upstairs. Eventually, though, he knew he had to bite the bullet and go, so he armed himself with chocolate pudding and went up with the intention of making peace.

When he let himself into the room, Gill was still on the bed, but she was laying on her side now. She didn't say a word, so he walked in and set the pudding on the nightstand where she could see it. "Feeling better, love?" he asked, his tone almost timid. She ignored him. "You haven't moved. When was the last time you ate?"

"I had to use the bathroom earlier," Gill told him. Her voice was hoarse. She'd obviously been crying.

"Okay, so you've moved," Cal deduced. "I brought you some pudding."

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat, love," he told her gently, reaching out to stroke her hair only to have her pull away. Cal was past being pissed off now. This was not just a temper tantrum over not getting her way (something he should have realised to begin with), there was something seriously wrong. "Gill, I'm worried about you. What's going on here?" he asked.

She sniffed her sweater. "You're insensitive."

"It's a sweater."

"See? I was right."

"I don't have a bloody clue what's going on," he admitted defeat. "Help me out, love. I want to understand. I don't want to see you upset, I love you."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Gill, you always want to talk about it," Cal argued. It was the psychiatrist in her, he was sure. She refused to argue, ignoring him instead. "Do you want me to stay here, or leave you alone?" he asked. "I could hold you if you like." He was trying his best to accommodate her. He hated seeing her hurting, and knowing he couldn't fix it only made it worse. Gill shrugged and Cal bent over, staying well away from the sweater, to press a kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he told her gently. "Whatever you're going through I'm here for you."

Cal stood up then, moving quietly around the room as he picked up the clothes they'd taken out of the closet the night before. He hung everything neatly with the coat hangers all facing the same way, the way Gill liked it. An hour later, when Gill still hadn't moved, Cal left the room and got himself some dinner, taking it up to sit with her while he ate. Sometime between his first and last mouthful she'd finally fallen asleep, and Cal was sure it was the first time she'd slept since the whole drama had begun.

The next morning when they woke Cal could tell Gill was still upset. She hadn't said a word, but at least she hadn't kicked him out of bed again. He walked downstairs and went through an old stack of business cards, pulling out one he'd had used for quite some time. There was a cell phone number written on the back, which he dialled reluctantly. The person on the other end answered, identifying themself by name, and Cal uttered words he never thought he'd say. They taste bitter coming from his mouth, vile even, but this is bigger than him and his distaste for the person on the other end of the line, and more important to him than his pride. "Alec? It's Cal Lightman. I think I need your advice."