Edit: what is happening? Where's everybody?

Sorry for the delay, just evaluating things and what to do.

Reynolds had left after Gillian's short monologue, taking the knife and gun with him for testing. There had been no arguing with her, he had seen it in her steady gaze and heard it in her confident voice, which was all the more impressive considering the background information he was aware of.

He had looked at Cal for a moment, hoping he'd have a different take, but the man had just laid there on the couch massaging his forehead, staring back at him with a duh expression on his face as to say he'd better listen to the lady and get to it. So he had done, leaving only Cal's phone behind, still bagged on the coffee table.

Once they were left alone, Gillian stood up from the chair and announced she was going to talk to Loker and try to assess the damage in the lab. Cal said nothing in response, well aware she needed to do that for reasons that went beyond the functionality of the company because, and because he too needed a moment to himself. Since the attack at his place there had been a non-stop flow of events, one worse than the other, and as much as he was grateful that Gillian had been there with him throughout he had to process at least some of that on his own.

Images he'd rather forget kept piling up, weighing down his brain and soul with a burden that was getting heavier and heavier to move around and push out of the way. Not for the first time, knowing it was a crazy thought, Cal found himself almost wishing Ward's ghost was truly their enemy. A few hours before Warton paid them a visit they had been musing about the fact that they were facing someone real, made of flesh and blood; but now that he had faced that very flesh and drawn some of that blood, Cal was having some serious second thoughts.

He agreed with Gillian though, it was time to stop sitting there and wait for the next strike. He also meant what he had said, that he'd be ready the next time, conveniently overseeing his current physical conditions.

However, for the time being there was a very specific kind of soreness that needed a fixing touch of balsam.

He carefully and slowly, very slowly, pulled himself up to a seated position, adjusting to that for a while as he waited for the headache to subside and the itching pain from his chest to calm down. His ankle was still wrapped in ice packs and felt numb enough, but he didn't dare to put any weight on it, and after he stretched his hand to reach out for his bagged phone he hopped the injured foot on the coffee table. The series of seemingly small gestures proved to be exhausting and when he laid back on the couch he was short of breath, then ripped open the evidence bag and took out his phone. There was a small crack on the screen and a bit of dry blood on the back but he nearly didn't see any of it, perhaps because he was expecting much worse. Then he checked his watch and made a quick calculation in his mind, deciding it was an acceptable time in Hawaii for a phone call.

He dialled Emily's number and leaned back, smiling immediately when she picked up yelling an enthusiastic 'Dad!' in his ear. That booming happy sound alone washed away the fatigue and pain, his brain engaged in something that wasn't Warton for the first time in hours. He only managed to ask Emily how it was going and if they were having a good time, then she opened the floodgates and launched into a long and detailed summary of the activities from the day before, including coloured descriptions of anything from the scenery to the food. In all honesty, Cal had little to no interest in tropical paradises but he could have listened to Emily's voice for hours, and gladly closed his eyes trying to picture the things she was describing, knowing he wasn't probably going to get a word edgewise until she was done anyway.

Eventually, Emily finished her part and asked what were his plans for the day and only then Cal realised his awful Saturday was now an even more dreadful Sunday. Of course, he wasn't going to share any of that with his daughter and instead just played along, making up something about working on his book and mostly lazing around the house missing her. That kind of commiseration was always a winner, and he felt comfortable playing that card because no matter what it was always the truth and, despite the fact that he did it quite often, he didn't like to lie to his daughter.

He was still on the phone with Emily, plus a quick passage with Zoe, when Gillian came back into the room. She saw he was on the phone and stopped but he waved her in, even more so when he saw she was carrying a steaming mug and a greasy paper bag. When he hung up, managing to convince Emily he would be the one to call next time too, he looked up at Gillian with a little smirk.

"I figured it'd be best if I'm the one calling, wouldn't want her to catch me at a bad time."

Gillian didn't seem to have much of a reaction to his explanation, which could have been put down to that being none of her business really. But then, as she handed him the mug and the bag, she looked like she wasn't in the mood for any kind of levity. Cal sensed her behaviour, quite the switch from the overall attitude she had kept recently, but wasn't entirely sure what could be the cause. Of course, having a vengeful psycho on their tail might have been a factor but that had been going on for a while already and Gillian had been as strong and stoic as they come up until that point. Besides, Cal was pretty certain whatever he was seeing was more annoyance toward him than anything else.

Still, since she didn't seem to be willing to elaborate on that gloomy look he ploughed on. He leaned forward to get the bag and peaked inside, satisfied by the cream cheese bagel he saw, then pushed back and took a sip of tea while looking at her. Gillian had gone back to the chair in front of his desk to munch on a huge cinnamon roll, the distance between them another sign her current and most pressing issue was with him.

"So, what's the damage?"

He asked after having swallowed the first bite of the bagel. He was being a bit of a coward and he knew it, talking about work stuff was a bit of a cop out but Gillian honestly appreciated the effort. Not to mention, they were both glad that they could talk about something else for a bit, even if only laterally.

"Consistent, but could have been worse," she replied, a bit annoyed with herself that it was so easy to break through to her at times. "We can move some of the equipment from the second lab and use that while we wait for the replacements. The cube is fine but we're gonna have to replace the damaged walls."

"Good thing you kept track of paying the insurance." There was no mockery or intention to be funny about it: he was fully aware of the fact that anything money related for the company was in her hands and he had complete trust on that. He was grateful and Gillian knew that much, and quite frankly she felt safer too being the one looking after that side of the business. "How long before it's fixed?"

"Not sure yet. I asked Loker to be point on this and keep me posted." She drank from her coffee cup. "He's really stepping up."

"That he is." He agreed with a thoughtful nod, then eventually sighed and gave in. "Ok love, what is it?"

Gillian wasn't surprised that he had noticed something was off with her, on the other hand the fact that he had been the first one to cave was a bit of a shock. At a different time she might have savoured the victory, but in that moment Gillian was far from gloating. That being said, as much as she found hsi smugness a tad out of place, she wasn't going to back away from his blunt opening.

"You can't turn this into a personal battle, Cal."

To a less trained eye, it would have appeared that Cal had no reaction to her response. But to her, who knew him well and had some kind of indescribable power over him, the seemingly stoney face he was showing her was all the loud and clear response she needed.

"I'm not the one making it personal, Gill," he clarified then, holding her gaze.

"Next time I will be ready?" She threw his own words back at him, and once again his whole being gave some very clear vibes despite barely moving a muscle. "Let Ben take care of this. We have the FBI on our side now, God knows why but we do. They sent that other agent, we are getting access to their resources and Reynolds is going all out with his own contacts." Gillian leaned forward and sighed, her face softening. "I know you're downplaying your injuries and the pain but you can't think about going head to head with Warton again."

"I'm not volunteering for the third round, love," he explained. "But if we do happen to cross paths again I'll make sure it'll be the last time."

Cal could have hardly been more clear and they both knew it. Gillian had heard it in his voice earlier while he talked to Reynolds, and more than that she had seen it in his eyes the night before while he fought Warton in the hallway. It was a voice she had heard before, a look she had seen before: years ago, when she had seen him stand by Ward's twitching body with the gun still in his hand. She knew what he meant, she knew what that had done to him and she didn't want to let it happen again.

Gillian sighed again and stood up, abandoning the unfinished coffee and pastry on the desk. Then she walked up to the couch and sat by his foot on the coffee table, however still keeping some distance between them. It was needed, they knew it, because due to the current events the dynamic between them was going through some major and unreadable mood swings and they were struggling to find a steady balance.

"It doesn't have to end that way," she whispered while looking down at her own hands, unable to sustain his gaze as she spoke. "And it doesn't have to be you."

She let it sink in, for the both of them. It was only a handful of words but there was so much meaning behind them, too much really to be spoken out loud. Cal knew he could have backed away and left it at that, that he probably should have, but for reasons too numerous to explain he didn't feel like it. He was in pain, he was scared and tired as he had rarely been in his life and he wasn't in the mood for half-assed confessions and implied truths.

So he pulled himself up and leaned toward her, feeling a sting of non-physical pain when she didn't look up at him and instead seemed to flinch slightly at his proximity. That was never a good sign, even less in the midst of all that, but he was undeterred and moved on. Slowly, he moved his hand forward and rested it on top of hers, which she had on her lap, gently stopping the frantic fidgeting of her fingers. Cal didn't expect her to look at him but was glad when she didn't push him away, letting the touch of his hand soothe her troubled thoughts and behaviour.

"That might be the case, Gillian. But if I see him lay a finger on you again there will be no injuries or anything else holding me back," he whispered to her, his soft tone creating quite the contrast with the menacing nature of his words.

"And how do you think this makes me feel?"

She whispered back with a trembling voice, still not looking at him and with her head down. Cal had not expected that kind of response, and was sort of glad that she wasn't looking at him to see his reaction. He thought she would insist, that she'd say she didn't want him to get hurt again although he felt it had been somewhat implied in her words. No, he had not expected her to take his heartfelt and revealing statement and double down on it, by acknowledging that she understood very well what he meant and the magnitude of it all. Gillian already knew Cal had a short fuse when it came to her safety, he had said and showed it in different ways and occasions before, but what he was hinting at in that moment was on a very different level.

They had already said too much without really saying anything at all, and what was peeking under the surface was as overwhelming as what was going on with their lives above it. Cal had implied something with his pledge of protection, and she had piled up on it with a heavy implication of her own.

Gillian didn't know what to think, let alone what to say, in response to Cal's baffled and lost face at her own words. It was a vicious cycle, one she didn't know how to break: one said things with heavy subtext that would get the other unbalanced, who then would reply in stride and make things worse.

Eventually, she decided to go with what came more naturally to her and leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder and waiting for his arms to find their way around her.