A/N: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. They propel me forward, though I often wonder if I measure up; I'm awfully new at this. Wasn't quite ready for their morning to properly begin yet, so…

She had planned to let him sleep as much of last night's performance off as possible. So at 8:22 when she awoke to sun filtering in the room, she was elated to find him still beside her. True, he had rolled over and had an arm flopped across her waist, losing the comforter, and his breath smelled like the inside of a week-old garbage bag; still, she was glad he wasn't yet awake. Carefully, she inched herself out from under his arm, and softly padded over to the window, easing down the shade. She then proceeded to the bathroom, where she shook a couple aspirin into her hand, and ran water into a small beveled glass. These she carried into the bedroom, and was just depositing them on the bedside table when she heard a groan and watched a green version of Cal Lightman sway to a sitting position . She had time to blurt, "Are you going to be sick?" and kick the bucket under him before he let loose with a smaller performance of last night's stomach opera. She supported his head over the bucket until she was reasonably sure he was done, then rested her hand on his back as he sat up. A flushed face had replaced the green tint, and Cal had obviously seen better Saturdays.

"Bloody hell," Cal ground out miserably as he pushed his palms into his eye sockets to try and calm the power drill that was driving holes in his skull. Gillian rubbed his back gently, and said "Stay here a minute." She went into the bathroom and grabbed a clean wash cloth, wetting it with luke warm water, and headed back to Cal. He was in roughly the same position, though had slid over a bit so as not to be staring into last night's bourbon. Gillian moved the bucket to the corner of the room, then sat back down beside him. She gently pulled his hands from his eyes, and ran the cloth over his face, eyelids, mouth and neck. He sat immobile, head lolled slightly to the right, eyes closed, the red flush retreating to a wan pallor.

"Cal, do you think you can sleep some more?"

He opened his eyes and blearily looked at her. Then he briefly took in his surroundings before sighing and glancing away.

"Gotta hit the loo. Might need some 'elp," he replied, somewhat weakly.

"Of course," Gillian said, and they slowly stood him up. She waited while he tried to steady both his body and his vision, then they gradually made their way down the hall, her hand holding onto his left arm. At the doorway to the bathroom, Cal looked at the floor in front of Gillian and said, "Got this part, luv" and she let go and closed the door behind him as he shuffled through. With Cal occupied, Gillian went into the kitchen to put a kettle of water on.

When she returned, Cal had made his way back to the bedroom and was sitting down on the side of the bed. Gillian crossed the room and silently handed Cal the aspirin & water. He took them without looking at her, and when he was done, set the glass on the bedside table. He was about to ease back down on his side when Gillian said, "Take off your pants, Cal."

Cal looked askance at Gillian before replying, "I can think of better times, luv."

Gillian laughed – which felt foreign, given the circumstances – and swatted him on the shoulder.

"No, Cal, not that. Since you can get all the way under the covers now, there's no reason why you still need your slacks on. Plus, you're perfectly capable of taking them off yourself, socks too. " She discreetly moved over to the dresser and pretended to be looking for something in one of the drawers.

All Cal really wanted to do was inch back down, but he did what Gillian asked, grimacing and groaning. After flinging the last sock onto the pile, he eased the covers down and stiffly crawled underneath. An "Oy, my bleedin' 'ead" escaped him as he reached the pillow, and he groaned pitifully. "Make the room stop spinnin', Foster."

Gillian sat down on the bed at his waist, and gently stroked his forehead. He relaxed under her hand, and shortly she could see his facial lines were starting to soften. As his features evened out, all the things she was going to say, all the versions of "Don't you think you've punished yourself enough, Cal?" retreated to the back of her mind. She didn't think he'd be receptive yet to dialogue, and she didn't want to make him feel any worse. With a whispered, "I'll be right back," Gillian got up from the bed and went into the kitchen, turning the kettle off. Then she went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and returned to the bedroom. Cal was laying on his left side, and she quietly swung her legs under the covers, and over next to him. She slid an arm under his neck, and eased his head onto her shoulder, hoping his forehead against her neck would provide some headache relief. Cal sighed and murmured "Thanks, luv" as he looped an arm around her waist and snuggled in.

Gillian pressed a sideways kiss against his forehead, then settled down to hold Cal through the rest of act two.