Thank you all for the reviews and precious insights, and extra thanks for all private messages!

I hope this keeps going on, you'll certainly have many chances: this story might be almost over, but there's a little short buffer before the next big one. I haven't finished writing that one yet but we are past the 40th chapter mark already.

Guest: yes, the romance part. I didn't forget about it! First bit of that just in today's chapter

CookieSprinkles: ah thanks! You learn something new everyday!

A note on the call to Zoe: my bad, I know I made it sound a bit ominous but it wasn't intentional. Gillian was too tired and stressed to, on top of everything else, be the one informing Zoe (and Emily above all) after days of lying to them and especially considering what she had to tell them. I know in one of my stories I painted Zoe very badly, but it was only to fit that one narrative and honestly I never saw as a negative character (Shazza was far worse!).

Well now; Cal is safe, but how is he really? And most importantly, ready for a Callian reunion?

It must have been a dream, there was no other explanation.

Gillian could tell she was sleeping, in that irrational way someone deep asleep can feel that what they are seeing is not entirely real, that their senses are muffled and that things around don't belong to the same world. She must have been, because there was no fatigue and sorrow anymore, no more torture videos to watch and no more Warton in that world she could perceive around her.

And yet, she couldn't help but think that it must have been a dream when a doctor came to the smaller waiting room where they had been moved, and woke them up to let them know that Cal was ok, awake and ready to receive visitors.

Gillian had seen, heard, thought and done many horrible things over the past few days, yet somehow that bluntly and unequivocally positive news was the one that shocked her the most. The revelation brought upon her a sudden physical reaction; she felt it coming, building up inside her and climbing all the way up like a liquid filling a container to the brim, ready to spill all over the table. Of all the things, of all the horror she had lived through and experimented, that one piece of good news - incredible, amazing, breathtaking good news - was the one that broke her.

Reynolds was asking the doctor for more details on Cal's conditions but looking at her at the same time, much like Loker expecting to see nothing but joy and relief, yet the two men only seemed puzzled and concerned. Especially when Gillian stood up from her chair and left, pretty much running to the women's restroom without saying a word or giving them a single explanatory look. Once inside she went straight for the first available stall, locked herself inside and let the tears flow.

She didn't make a sound, she didn't retch despite feeling sick to her stomach, she didn't sob or sniff or anything in between: she simply sat on the closed toilet and cried all the tears she hadn't cried over the past days. It was a steady and generous flow, one she didn't even try to control, and certainly not to stop.

It was irrational, crazy really, to have that kind of reaction at that time, but she couldn't help it. For so long she had kept everything bottled up, building a dam to contain all those emotions because she couldn't afford to show them. She had had to be strong, even though nobody has asked her to, she had had to be able to keep it together and fight back in order to be able to think and be of help, to keep away all the more nefarious thoughts…and all of a sudden she didn't have to do that anymore. So she cried, looking up at the ceiling every now and then, occasionally closing her eyes and taking deep breaths in, until she had no more tears and she felt able to breathe normally again.

Gillian didn't know how long it took and didn't care what the men outside would think of it, but she took her time to let it all out and recover. When she came out of the stall and looked at herself in the mirror she was pleased with what she saw. She was tired but the tears were gone leaving no heavy traces, so she washed her face and went back outside.

Loker and Reynolds were still there, talking with the doctors but clearly waiting to see what was going on with her. They seemed content enough with what they saw on her face, then stepped aside as she joined them to listen with her own ears to the end of the summary.

Cal conditions were no joke, what had been done to him had been terrible and he would have needed time to recover, not only physically, but they didn't expect long term consequences. The doctor stressed that he was in pain because the injuries were so widespread and diffused, but they were keeping the pain medication low to avoid heart and respiratory complications. From a purely physical point, the right ankle was the worst injury; to say that it was broken was an understatement, and Cal would have to get familiar with crutches for a while, but the rest wasn't as bad as it could have been. He had a couple of broken ribs, several bruises and cuts from all the times he had been hit, deep abrasions where he had been tied and burns on his chest because of the paddles, and they'd had to use a temporary internal pacemaker to stabilise his heart rhythm after Warton's sadistic game with the defibrillator.

But he was alive, he was going to be ok.

And he was asking for her.

Nobody was surprised when the doctor said that, although Gillian immediately felt cautious not to read too much into it. Of course, that didn't mean that she didn't want to push the doctor aside and run towards Cal's room, if only she had known where it was. The doctor took her, kept explaining to her what to expect on their way there, then he stopped in front of a closed door and told her she could stay for a few minutes. Cal was doing ok, not great, and he needed quiet and rest.

Gillian nodded to the doctor and he left, then she took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was mostly dark but only because it was still dark outside, although a new day was just starting to creep in. The light of the bed's headboard was on, shining down on Cal's face underneath it, and Gillian had to stop for a few seconds to take in the view. It felt surreal to see him, in the flesh and not through a monitor, and with a shiver Gillian realised she was somehow afraid to get any closer, as if sudden proximity could break a spell and throw her back into the nightmare.

Then Cal turned his head, his eyes barely open on his swollen face, and even with little to no movement coming from his body she understood that he had seen her. He barely moved, could hardly do so probably without being in pain, but that little jerk he gave out, stretching his neck toward her and widening his eyes, told her all she needed to know; he was there, really there.

He was back.

She stepped forward then, the instinct to reach for his hand stopping when she realised both were wrapped in thick bandages. Then she remembered the rope she had cut off from around his wrist, how tight it had been, digging into his skin and flesh. So she thought about touching his face, just a gentle and light caress on his cheek, a brush to his hair and forehead; but his cheeks were swollen and bruised, his nose looked like she'd best leave it alone and his forehead was wrapped in more white gauze. Gillian stood by the bed and looked at the rest of him, more bandages peeking from under the hospital gown all over his chest, the left leg trapped in a cast from below the knee, and she had no idea what to do. She wanted to touch him, she desperately needed to in order to have the ultimate confirmation that he was alive and there with her, but she felt like she couldn't, not without the risk of hurting him.

Gillian approached the bed and stood as close as she could, her eyes locked with his, then gently rested a hand on top of his. Cal tried to flip his and hold hers, but the small hint of a movement seemed to cause him discomfort and he gave up, content with feeling her close for the time being. He took a good look at her, so intense and exploring that for a moment Gillian wished she hadn't cried, knowing he'd be able to see it. But once he seemed to be done with his search, all Cal did was looking like he had just seen a ghost.

"Warton," he said, his voice sounding so weak that Gillian almost wished he hadn't spoken. "Where is he? Gill, where did he go? Are you ok? What did he-"

"Cal, Cal. No, it's ok." Forgetting about the intricate puzzle of injuries all over his body, Gillian leaned down on him and tried to gently hold his neck with one hand, making sure that he had his eyes on her and also stopping his sudden frantic fidgeting. "It's over Cal, Warton is dead."

There was a strange shadow passing over his eyes, like dark clouds slowly parting. There was no sun behind that ethereal blanket, not yet, and Cal still looked like he had no idea what she was talking about.

"The van, the wheelchair-" He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his confused and horrible memories. "He had a knife, he attacked you. I saw him Gillian, he attacked you!"
"Cal please, calm down." She shushed him gently, although she had to put some weight behind her words and slightly increase the pressure of her hand on his neck, which seemed to cause him a bit of pain but also help him focus. "He did, you're right. But you stopped him. You stopped him." She repeated a second time, softer, putting a smile into it when he started to relax a little. "You stopped him, Cal. It's all over, he can't get to us anymore."

"I shot him," Cal whispered then, the events starting to become clear in his mind. "I shot him, and he's dead." She nodded, slowly removing her hand from his neck and only then seeing there had been bruises and cuts there too. "Is he?"

"Yes Cal."

"Are you sure?"

It wasn't a matter of mistrust towards her, that incessant asking. Gillian understood exactly how he felt, she had been there already even when she had kept her eyes on Warton's lifeless body, even when others had told her the she nodded at him, thinking back at Reynolds' long and detailed confirmation on that matter.

"Yes. Reynolds checked himself. They took him out of there in a body bag and straight to the medical examiner for autopsy."

Cal averted his eyes then, looking somewhere else as he let the information settle. He didn't want her to see the sheer happiness and sadistic satisfaction at the thought of someone ripping through Warton's body, and certainly he didn't want her to see the regret that the bastard had the luxury to be dead already as someone did that. Then, after a while, he turned towards her again and his face was softer, caring in a way she couldn't bear in those circumstances, his eyes scanning all over her face and body as much as he could see.

"Are you ok? Did he-"

"I am ok, Cal. nothing happened." She let those words travel between them, reach him and expand inside his mind so he could grasp the deep meaning of them. "I am ok, it's all good."

She thought that was good news for him, that he'd be happy to know that, but all of a sudden Gillian saw his body stiffen and then his chest going up and down in an accelerated breathing that seemed to have come out of nowhere. As a psychologist, Gillian knew what a panic attack looked like and she understood that was what was going on with him. She couldn't necessarily understand why, why then, but she wanted to stop it because at that moment Cal looked like the same desperate man she had seen in those videos and she didn't want to see him like that ever again. Then she placed a hand on his chest, her fingers under the gown so she could find his skin and let him feel the skin on skin contact, the warm comfort of her friendly touch. It wasn't easy, she had to move around gauzes and cuts, but eventually found his heart and rested her hand there. That too was covered by a thin veil of bandages, and Gillian remembered the shocks of the defibrillator on his dry skin, but could still feel the rhythm of his pounding heart inside his chest. She looked at him as she did so, smiling reassuringly but not in a way that would diminish what he was feeling, and slowly Cal started to relax, breathing regularly and calming down.

Gillian didn't move until she was sure everything was under control, then slowly pulled back and sat down on a chair that she dragged as close as possible to the bed. Then she put her hand under his, so he didn't have to turn it or make any other uncomfortable movement, and Cal immediately clenched his fingers around hers the best he could.

They stayed in silence for a while, Gillian still taking in the fact that he was alive, with her again, and Cal being mesmerised by how beautiful and seemingly flawless she looked even then. She seemed to know what he was thinking, probably saw it on his face and that admitting look in his eyes, and blushed a little like a young girl being noticed by her crush. Cal didn't say anything but grinned teasingly, clearly taking great pleasure in seeing how he made her feel, and squeezed her hand slightly when she looked away for a moment to ask her not to break away from him. They had no business doing that, acting like silly teenagers, but they couldn't help it.

"You found me," Cal said then after a while. "I knew you would."

"It wasn't easy," she moaned painfully, shaking her head. "To be honest Cal, I think we got lucky."

He shook his head, decisive and full of confidence.

"I knew you would. I knew you were watching, I saw you," he said then. "You shouldn't have, I didn't want you to but I knew you'd make something of it."

"It was the only thing I could do." A couple of tears rolled down her cheek, not because she remembered those horrible images but simply because that sense of helplessness and impotence she had felt then crept up to the surface again. She brushed the tear away with the free hand and smiled again, a forced but needed smile they both benefited from, then she gave him a knowing look. "Is that why you riled him up? Said that thing about the smell of shit and animals?"

A wide satisfied grin appeared on his face, pleased as he was not with himself but with her.

"Told you, I knew you would find me," he chuckled softly, then became a bit more serious. "I saw something in your face, on that third time. I had seen you and others before but that time was different, you looked different." His eyes were boring into her, his most powerful weapon not at all blunted by his injuries. "I understood you were there to see me, not just watch, that somehow you had figured out I could see you. I knew you were letting me know you were there for me."

Gillian felt tears coming to her eyes again and it was a struggle to fight them back, even though once again they were brought on by nothing but good things. What he had just said, the way he had said it…it all easily and perfectly encapsulated their connection, something more than a friendship and maybe even more than whatever kind of relationship they were going to have from then on. It was them, it had always been them: one look, two tops, to understand each other.

She looked down again, feeling the weight of those feelings coming down on her. She was too tired, still scared and an overall mess to process them, but she couldn't deny she liked the way it made her feel. Then she heard a little rustling noise and looked up, seeing that Cal had shifted in the bed slightly and dragged himself a little closer to her, once again looking like he shouldn't have done that for his own sake.

"How many times did you watch it, Gillian?" He asked then, his voice heavy with pain and regret as if he was blaming himself for what she had been forced to do, and Gillian immediately shook her head.

"I had to. I was going to do it as many times I needed." She looked at him, steady and unapologetic, then she leaned down on him, carefully resting her head next to his on the pillow, closing her eyes and enjoying feeling him close that way. "I had to get you back Cal, no matter what."

Cal took in a deep breath, thinking she smelled amazing no matter what, then closed his eyes and relaxed his head next to hers, his mouth absently brushing against her cheek. Gillian opened her eyes then, seeing his face so close and yet somehow so far, terrified of hurting him in any way with even the slightest of touch. Then she moved her free hand, slowly, reaching for a little spot of skin and flesh free from bruises, cuts and dried blood, just close to his ear. Her finger softly danced around that clear spot no bigger than her own fingertip, caressing his skin which was soft and pain free there.

It was a small and simple gesture, a silly one really, and an extremely goofy attempt to create a different level of connection and intimacy they both needed. It was all they had for the time being, all they could do, but it wasn't a bad start at all.