Author's notes: So, this is where it all begins! And though this chapter takes directly from some of the 'Last Tango to Halifax' script of season 2, it will not stay like that. I've just always thought to make this pairing (though I do love it) plausible there needs to be some integration between the show itself and the story. As it progresses, there will be less taken from the script.

To Kate-lovers – this is not anti-Kate in any way, shape or form. She's coming in much more next chapter.

Most importantly of all, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Last Tango in Halifax', it is the creation of Sally Wainwright. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1

Caroline has never been foolish enough to believe that life was simple. That there was a clear line between right and wrong or good and evil. The problem is, up until she'd spent the night at Gillian's she had never thought that she would feel any sympathy towards anyone who had deliberately taken another's life away. But here she was in her sitting room replaying the previous night. Replaying Gillian's confession.

She thinks of Eddie, of the huge man who had stood next to Gillian in the wedding photo. Wonders how on earth he could have become someone so despicably cruel.

She closes her eyes, willing the image away, trying to force her own tears back when a male voice shouts from behind her.

It's only John, coming down with Lawrence but Caroline jumps when he enters the sitting room, jolted harshly from her reverie.

One.

The fire throws a dim, flickering light across the room and Caroline watches the shadows as they move over Gillian's face. She drains the last of the brandy in her glass and releases Caroline's hand so she can pour herself another. Caroline knows she should take the glass away, that Gillian will feel dreadful in the morning but doesn't, unsure how she will react. Instead, she moves a tiny bit closer, trying to offer some sort of support without saying anything that will send Gillian rushing out the door and into the fields.

Gillian's further on edge now, rocking back and forth and Caroline shifts closer until they're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. The difference between the woman sitting beside her on the couch and the woman whom she had laughed with at the hotel is extraordinary. Gone is the confident posture, the bright eyes and near-permanent smile on her lips. Instead, Gillian hunches forward, eyes darting from side-to-side as if waiting for something, someone, to come around the corner. Her hands shake and she taps the fingertips of one hand above her lips in a beat only she knows the rhythm to.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Caroline places a hand at the small of Gillian's back, silently urging her to speak.

"I've never told anyone this … and I'm very drunk," Gillian whispers.

"So, am I," Caroline responds gently.

"Really? As drunk as me?" Tears brim in Gillian's eyes and fall down her cheeks, past her tapping fingers. She brushes them away impatiently and takes a deep breath, looking to calm herself. When she speaks, her words are clear. "I murdered him… Eddie. The only proper family Robbie had…" Her tears are falling freely now and Gillian buries her hands in her hair. "I murdered him."

Caroline can feel her eyes widen in shock and part of her wants to run through the door and as far away as possible. Another part sees how Gillian's body shakes with faint tremors, how she's reached out and turned her palm upward, pleading for some, any form of comfort.

She threads her fingers through Gillian's, squeezes once.

Gillian looks like an old woman as she glances down at their intertwined hands and her brow furrows for a brief moment, seeming almost confused before she lets go and continues speaking.

"He knocked me about … all the time. He knocked three of my back teeth out." She gives a bitter laugh. "He were careful not to do it 'round the front, where people could see. Once, he pinned me down and put a cigarette out … on my neck."

Caroline feels bile rise in her throat as Gillian moves her hair to the side, exposing a shiny, pink scar. She doesn't want to but imagines the end of the cigarette as this monster pressed it against Gillian's skin, imagining the callous laugh at Gillian's scream. Then wonders if Gillian made a sound or kept quiet.

"I have … shed blood in every room of this house," Gillian continues with a shuddering breath. She glances at Caroline as her cheeks turn a harsh red with embarrassment. "There were … other humiliations. I won't bore you with them. So …" She shrugs one shoulder in an attempt to be flippant, drains the glass again.

Caroline clenches her jaw as she glances across the room and her eyes fall on the wedding photo opposite. Gillian looks blissfully happy next to the man beside her as she smiles widely for the camera. She closes her eyes, willing herself to wake up from whatever nightmare this was but when she opens them, Gillian is still there. She looks to the side, face tortured and Caroline sees the broken woman that Gillian hides so well. She curves forward another couple of inches, the weight of the world seeming to press down on her narrow shoulders.

"I don't know why I've told you, Caroline."

She doesn't look away, daring Caroline to say something, still rocking back and forth. Her shoulders shake and she blinks a few more times before looking down at her feet. Her fingertips resume their staccato beat against her lips.

"You need to get some sleep," Caroline whispers.

Gillian opens her mouth but no words come out. One breath. Two. Three. Finally, she nods ever-so-slightly. "Will you stay with me?" she pleads.

Caroline wants to refuse but Gillian looks so broken that she swallows her words and moves glasses and bottles across the table until she can sit on the edge of the coffee table. Gillian smiles faintly and closes her eyes as she nestles her head into the cushions. Caroline drags the blanket from the back of the sofa and pulls it up beneath her chin.

Slowly, Gillian's face relaxes as sleep takes hold. Caroline reaches out and touches her fingers to Gillian's cheek.

Her skin is still damp from tears.

-o-

The cottage grows darker as the fire dies and Caroline reaches out blindly as she heads towards the bathroom. Once inside, she closes the door and leans against it, staring upward at the ceiling. Her legs seem to weaken and she slides down until she's sitting on the floor.

"I've shed blood in every room …"

It's this that sends her rushing forward to the sink and she vomits until her stomach is empty.

-o-

Gillian has turned away by the time she gets back into the living room. Caroline kneels next to her, watching Gillian's shoulders rise and fall. She thinks idly of John's novel, of his 'sinewy forty-something' heroine.

Thinks that reality is so much darker, so much more brutal than fiction.

Gillian whimpers in her sleep and Caroline stretches forward to place a hand to her shoulder. She runs her fingertips along the line of Gillian's shoulder, to her neck and she seems to relax, tension slowly ebbing from her body Caroline keeps tracing patterns on her skin, along her neck again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Immediately, her eyes fall on the angry, pink scar that mars pale skin. Caroline lets Gillian's hair fall down again and leans back. Her breathing is steady now and Caroline stands and moves to the opposite sofa, pulling a blanket down to cover herself.

Briefly, she glances across the room to examine the wedding photo again, thinking of the word 'humiliations' and all of its implications.

Two.

She wakes to Gillian prodding her arm, bearing a cup of warm tea. Her head is pounding and she wants nothing more than to turn away, go back to sleep but Gillian is persistent and she reluctantly opens her eyes.

"Are you all right?" Caroline asks.

Gillian sits like a child at Sunday school, her head bowed forward, hands clasped against her knees. "I told you things," she says softly. She closes her eyes for a moment. "Are you angry? Do you hate me?"

Caroline feels a surge of irritation, then chides herself.

Gillian looks as if she is about to burst into tears. "Speak to me," she begs. "I need to know if you're going to the police."

She looks broken and fragile, as if she were about to shatter into a million, tiny pieces. Caroline imagines her sitting in the same spot fifteen years earlier, hiding purple bruises beneath long-sleeved tops, scared to leave the house. She runs her hand through her hair, pushing it back from her forehead, banishing the image away.

"Why did you tell me?" she asks, in lieu of answering.

Gillian shrugs. "I don't know."

-o-

Caroline sends Gillian upstairs to shower and get changed. She stays in the living room and stares at the chipped, ceramic mug in her hands.

Head in the log-splitter…

Nausea threatens to overwhelm her again and she nearly misses the faint sob above the dull patter of water. She rushes up the stairs and into the bathroom. Steam is billowing out from behind the curtain and she can see Gillian's pale silhouette as she stands with her face tilted up toward the steady stream of hot water. Caroline shifts the curtain aside but Gillian doesn't move. Her skin is red raw and Caroline's hand leaves a white print on her arm as she reaches inside and tugs her gently.

"Come on."

Gillian turns the taps off and steps out of the shower, onto the bathmat. She doesn't say a word, doesn't protest as Caroline wraps a white towel around her and steers her into the bedroom. Once there, she silently dries any trace of water from Gillian's body before sitting her down on the bed. White and pink scars mottle pale skin and she wonders if these are the result of Eddie's hands or farm work.

"Any clothes in particular?" she asks, moving across the room toward the cupboard.

Gillian gives an infinitesimal shrug of her shoulders. Caroline opens drawers to remove jeans, underwear, a couple of long-sleeved shirts and a grey hoodie which she throws onto the bed.

Gillian doesn't spare them a second glance.

"Do you want me to…?" Caroline says, unsure how to finish her sentence.

Gillian shakes her head, seeming to gain strength from somewhere and stands up.

She barely reaches Caroline's shoulder.

-o-

Caroline gathers the cups and glasses on the coffee table and rinses them in the sink. She's drying them with a tea towel when Gillian emerges, looking slightly more human.

"You didn't need to do that," she says with a faint smile. "I'm sorry." She shuffles her feet, looks down at the floor, uncertainty radiating from her every pore. Caroline crosses the room in a few short strides and pulls her close. Gillian stiffens for a moment, clearly shaken but soon clutches back just as tightly. "I'm sorry," she repeats into the base of her neck.

"Shh…" Acting on instinct, Caroline kisses her temple. "You don't have to be."

Gillian mutters something indistinguishable but doesn't let go.

-o-

It's only seven-thirty and the hotel reception doesn't open until nine so Caroline follows Gillian as she walks into the hallway and pulls on a pair of gumboots.

"May I join you?" she asks, nodding outside.

Gillian raises her eyebrows, clearly surprised, but nods. "Raff's boots will fit."

Caroline slips on the boots (her feet swim inside) but stays as close to Gillian as she can as she strides down the drive, taking a wide berth around the barn as she calls the dog.

"I've just got to move them a little way," Gillian says, nodding toward the sheep in the adjacent field. "It won't take long."

"Sure," Caroline responds, leaning against the stone wall.

Gillian slips through the gate and battles through the overgrown grass, looking to gain confidence as she keeps moving. She's soon a speck in the distance and Caroline stares down at the ground, letting tension release from her shoulders. She fancies she can feel the presence of the barn against her back, then reprimands herself for being foolish. She's not one to think like that, of ghosts and phantoms and bogie men.

"I don't know if I can stomach anything but I can cook you some breakfast if you'd like."

Gillian's voice jolts her from her ruminations. She hadn't been lying, she'd only been about twenty minutes and the sheep were where they were meant to be, the dog at her heels.

"How about another cup of tea?" Caroline says.

Gillian gives a faint smile. "I'd like that."

Three.

The drive back to the hotel is silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Caroline pulls in beside Gillian's battered Land Rover and turns off the ignition.

"Are you sure you're fit to drive?"

Gillian fiddles with a thread in her jacket. "Not entirely. What about you?"

"God knows." She takes a deep breath. "Better get my telephone."

She doesn't look at Gillian as she gets out of the car and walks away but hears the sound of the passenger door slamming and footsteps following close behind. The receptionist's eyes widen when she sees them approaching.

"Ladies …"

Caroline watches as the other woman's eyes rake over Gillian; across the worn jeans, rumpled shirt, threadbare jacket and she can almost hear the derogatory adjectives running through her mind. Low-life, trailer trash…

Anger flares as she holds her hand out. "My phone?"

The woman places her mobile into her out-stretched palm and she snaps a cursory 'thank you' before she spins around and stalks back outside. She glances at her phone, surprised to find nine new voice messages. Lawrence, Lawrence, Lawrence… She quickly rings 'message bank' and her eyes widen as she listens. Lawrence, John, Kate, John…

"What's the matter?" Gillian asks from beside her.

She shakes her head, holds up a hand as she hits 're-dial'.

"Where's Lawrence?" she demands, not bothering with a greeting the second John answers.

He mumbles something about Judith, about Kate, about Lawrence and she soon gathers that Lawrence is safe, her primary concern. She says she'll be home soon and ends the call without a 'goodbye'.

Gillian is still beside her, hands in her pockets. "Everything okay?" she asks.

Caroline nods, wanting to stay a bit longer but the pull towards Lawrence is too strong.

-o-

She can't truly believe her son is safe until she's looked inside his bedroom to find him sleeping soundly. Once she has, she goes back downstairs, feeling tired and hung-over. John is in the kitchen, making something but she barely pays attention to him as she sits in the corner, giving cursory answers, wondering how her night may have been if she hadn't left her phone at the hotel. They wouldn't have drunk the brandy, wouldn't have got so drunk and Gillian wouldn't have told her about Eddie.

Her life would still be normal.

"Lawrence couldn't get a hold of you or me so he rang Kate …" John says, pulling her from her reverie.

Kate.

Kate.

She's on her feet before John has finished his sentence, heading upstairs.

-o-

Caroline knows that Kate can easily see that something is the matter and she's greatly relieved when she allows her to come inside. Her leg jitters up and down as she looks from Kate, to the floor, to her own clasped hands and back again. She can recognise the worry and concern Kate's eyes and wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in her arms, told that it's going to be all right.

But Kate doesn't.

Instead, Kate asks her softly to leave and walks her back to the front door, closing it behind her. And though Caroline isn't surprised by Kate's gentle refusal of her proposal, it still sends a sharp pain through her chest. She sits for several minutes behind the wheel of her car, forcing her tears to stay back. She thinks of everything that she had got wrong with their relationship, of the happiness she had felt before it had fallen apart.

She wants to turn back time, to the moment she had booked a two-room hotel for their romantic evening. Thinks that she would scream at her past self not to be such a fool.

Her thoughts shift, to other things that would be different.

She wouldn't have gone to the hotel to organise her mother's wedding with Gillian. They wouldn't have gone back to the cottage, got so drunk and she wouldn't know…

She pushes that thought away and turns on the ignition.

-o-

To her utmost annoyance, she finds that John hasn't left by the time she's got home. He's gone in to speak with Lawrence who has just woken up. However, she hadn't known that when she'd entered the study and sat down on one of the armchairs with a book.

He looks bemused now, having noticed her reaction to him calling her name.

"Can you please leave, John?" she says, aware that her voice cracks mid-sentence. "Just until…" She doesn't finish her sentence as she hurries past him, into her bedroom and hurls herself onto her mattress, finally letting out the tears – about Gillian and about Kate - that she'd been keeping so well at bay

Perhaps John notices for when she goes back downstairs he's no longer in the house.

A little slow and a very odd format but I hope you enjoyed.

Please review.