A/N First let me say how pleased and proud I am that this story, together with its predecessors, Cottonwood House and Lost For Words have been nominated together in the series category of the "CSI FanFic Awards 2010". For more details, the full nominations list, and how to vote, do a search for the words I just put in quotation marks.
Secondly I want to say that I am going to put a real effort into getting what will be the final two chapters of this story up in a reasonable time. Unfortunately I can't do much about my very poorly hamster or my own health issues, but I am going to juggle my studying commitments and try and free up more time that way. The lengths of the chapters in this story make a weekly posting deadline hard to meet, but I will try not to go more than two weeks in future.
Finally, please read, enjoy and then leave me some comments.
Cottonwood House III
The Hand You're Dealt
Disclaimer: No, CSI: still isn't mine. *sigh*
Chapter 7
Jim
When I arrive at Gil's small apartment in the grounds of Cottonwood House I find the large glass sliding door which leads straight into the living area wide open, but there's no sign of either of the inhabitants. Fighting the urge to 'proceed with caution', I remind myself that one of the reasons I liked this place when Catherine and I came to check it out was the unobtrusive but effective security arrangements, and walk inside, calling out to ask if anyone's home.
Of course I'm not actually expecting to hear Gil call out in response, but I'm also not expecting the rhythmic thud, thud sound I hear coming from his bedroom instead of the whirr of his wheelchair's motor. As I turn in the direction of the sound, the powered door slides back and Gil comes through. Too my surprise he's on his feet and shuffle stomping along with the aid of a walking frame. He gives me a broad grin as a greeting.
"So, does Lucy know you've gotten hold of that thing again?"
I get a tooth filled smile in reply; my friend is looking distinctly smug.
"Yes, I do," says a female voice to my right, where the door into Lucy's private domain is. "Gil's physical therapist seems to think that it's a good idea to try the frame again now that Gil's legs are stronger. I'm less sure, but Gil always has the casting vote so I'm outnumbered. All the same it's strictly for indoors and short distances for the time being."
"You're not keen on Gil using the frame?"
Lucy drops her pseudo-stern attitude and smiles, although there's a slightly resigned air about her.
"I think it'll be fine, at least around the apartment, as long as Mr. Forgetful here remembers that he needs to hold on properly all the time."
Gil tries to look innocent, but I notice him surreptitiously place his left hand back on the frame's grip and I think Lucy does too, although she isn't showing it any more than I am. The forearm of his other arm rests on a platform attached to the modified frame and is held there by a couple of straps so he can use it to help lift the whole contraption while he moves along.
"Well, it's that time again," I say to Gil, showing him the case I use to carry any documents I want to show him as part of our monthly review of his financial and other arrangements. I'd already been given Medical Power of Attorney by Gil after Sara left him and the court temporarily extended that on his behalf while he was still unconscious so I could deal with his affairs for him while he slept. When he was able to, Gil indicated he wanted the situation to continue, so now I have legal responsibility for almost everything about his financials and other major stuff, but I make sure I involve him and run any decisions past him as much as possible; something that Lucy has always encouraged, even when Gil found it difficult to give much input.
Gil nods and, rather than lift his hand off the walker again, jerks his head in the direction of the table where his reading glasses have been placed and his touch screen computer is already up and running. While I go over and start to arrange the paperwork I brought, Gil resumes his stomp, shuffle towards his seat at the other end of the table.
I remember when Gil first tried to use a walking frame. He was obviously eager to leave behind his wheelchair, probably seeing it as a major symbol of his disability. I'm pretty sure he also thought that the frame itself would be temporary, a step on the way to walking unaided once again. Even after falling a few times he insisted on continuing to try, losing his temper big time anytime someone suggested he take a break and maybe try again further down the road.
Eventually one of the falls left Gil with a badly sprained left wrist. With his good arm in a sling for a few weeks Gil was back in a position where he was unable to do anything for himself and it was then that he finally seemed to accept that the frame wasn't working for him.
I'm told that Gil's instability is more because of the damage to his inner ear than to any physical weakness in his legs. That's something that can never be fixed so, when Gil agreed to order a personalised motorised wheelchair to replace the loaner he was using, I thought that he'd pretty much given up on the idea of the walking frame. It's a real surprise to see him using it again.
With a final thump and an expressive grunt Gil reaches the table. Once he's safely sitting sideways on his chair, Lucy quietly disappears back through the door into her own bed-sitting room. I don't blame her. Other than her regular midweek days off, which coincide with the days when Gil has therapy all day instead of just in the morning, Lucy's on call around the clock, so taking time out while one of us is keeping Gil occupied is fair enough in my book and I know she'll be here in seconds if she's needed.
Meanwhile my friend is busy ripping off the Velcro straps securing his right arm and lifting the frame out of the way. Then he rotates in the chair and offers me a slightly weary smile.
"Hard work, huh?"
Gil responds with a slight grimace.
"That bad?"
He rolls his eyes in an 'isn't it obvious?' sort of way.
"But I guess it's worth it to be upright?"
A non-committal shrug.
Sometimes following Gil's unspoken half of the conversation can be surprisingly easy, I guess it's because I know him so well and, of course, I get a lot of practice at interpreting things which people aren't saying aloud. On other occasions it can be incredibly hard, especially when he gives an unexpected response like just now.
"So..." I pause, trying to find the right question to ask so that Gil can give me the answer easily, "...I guess it makes reaching for things easier, though, doesn't it?"
Gil shakes his head and then, in response to my puzzled frown, reaches over and grips the rail of the frame again. When he sees I'm still not getting it he lifts his hand off then rapidly puts it back again. Then he sighs at my density and points in the direction of Lucy's room before making 'talking' motions with his hand.
"Something Lucy said."
Yes he says with a nod.
"About keeping your hand on the frame?"
Finally you're getting there. I recognise that expression from whenever it took me a little too long to grasp some concept Gil was using to help solve a case. Even before all this happened Gil knew how to speak volumes without opening his mouth.
"You have to hold on all the time because you don't have a sense of balance to tell you you're about to fall, by the time you realise you're going over it's too late to grab on again?"
A sad smile while he nods says, yup, you've got it, and it's not something I'm very happy about.
"So, however strong your legs get you're going to be stuck holding onto that thing, so you can't use your hand to pick things up or take advantage of being upright?"
Gil makes a quick pointing gesture of the 'give the man a prize' variety, but his expression is far from humorous.
"Look, I'm sorry if I'm being particularly dense today, Gil, but it seems to me that you're putting in a lot of hard work, not to mention risking hurting yourself, for not much benefit, if you are never going to be able to do more using the frame than you can already manage with your chair."
I can see from Gil's face that my argument makes sense.
"So why..?" Damn, I stop myself, somehow I never learn. 'Why' is just about the worst question you can ask Gil, it's such a general query that he just doesn't have an easy way to answer. All the same, it looks like he's going to try. His hand is already moving over his computer's screen. I sit back slightly to allow him the time he needs, having asked the question I don't want to draw attention to his difficulties by trying to withdraw my mistake.
Gil keeps pressing different parts of the screen, it's taking him a while but then I'm told that it isn't just a case of knowing the word he wants and then finding it in the database, Gil doesn't process things like that anymore, he just has a nebulous, non-verbal, feeling of what he wants to say and then he has to work his way down through the various options until an appropriate word appears. That isn't so bad when he's looking for something concrete like a specific noun; if he wants an apple then he works his way through 'food', 'fruit', etc. until he sees a picture of an apple appear; but it takes longer for verbs and, when it comes to something less concrete like a feeling or emotion it's tougher still.
Watching Gil's face as he pores over the screen I realise that he must be struggling, his brow is deeply furrowed and, as I watch, his nostrils start to flare a little which is never a good sign.
"Gil?" I decide to risk interrupting rather than let frustration spoil things so early on in my visit, but Gil's response is a hard glare after which he returns to the computer once more.
"Gil," I try again, "I'm sorry, you don't need to try and answer that, I shouldn't have asked. I'm just concerned that you're risking hurting yourself again if there isn't going to be much benefit for you from doing this but it's your choice, you don't have to justify it to me."
Gil stops and removes his glasses. For a moment he rests his head on his left hand and massages his temples with his thumb and fingertip. I allow him to try and compose himself, I'm not sure if he's frustrated at not being able to express himself, angry because he is struggling to use the walker, or mad at me for suggesting that this may be a bad idea, and that makes it dangerous to try and interfere. All I can do is take a step back and hope that the work Gil's been putting in with Lucy can help him master his turbulent emotions.
Of course I could get Lucy to come and help Gil out, but there are a few reasons why I don't; firstly Gil needs to have the chance to deal with this by himself, it'll really boost his confidence if he can. Next are the more practical issues; I don't want to leave my friend alone when he's like this, but shouting or trying to reach the radio call button that hangs around Gil's neck could be enough to trigger an outburst of rage. Gil used to be the most placid man I ever met, except for when he came up against the odd, easily predictable, trigger. I know Gil used to be attacked for not showing enough emotion, but I think they'd have kept quiet if they'd known how much losing that control would affect him. For me it's probably the most significant change caused by the brain damage, above even the more obvious physical stuff, for Gil I think it's the most frightening.
Gil pulls his hand away from his face but doesn't look up, he's staring at the table, glassy eyed. His paralysed hand lies limp on the tabletop in front of him and now he settles his left one beside it. I notice it's curled into a fist now, so tight that the tendons stand out and the knuckles are showing white.
I hold my breath, as long as Gil remains still there's a chance this can dissipate without too much trouble, but I ready myself to grab his precious computer and get it and myself clear if he erupts into violence.
Things seem to balance on a knife edge for an immeasurable length of time, but then I notice that Gil's breaths are becoming a little more measured. His gaze becomes less dead and more focussed although still fixed on his hands.
Slowly I realise that he's carefully uncurling the fingers of his left hand and I wonder if this is a trick he's learnt to help him diffuse tension, using his unresponsive hand as a pattern of perfect relaxation to help him release the feelings pent up in the rest of his body.
His good hand finally unfurled, Gil releases a gust of breath and then lowers his head until it rests on his folded arms, his expression hidden from my sight. I find myself hovering, unsure what to do. The crisis seems to be past, but should I still call Lucy? I wait to see if Gil himself will give me some clue.
It pains me to hear a slight sob escape from my friend's lips, but at least I know how to deal with that. At first I found it embarrassing to hug Gil, not because of his disabilities, but because neither of us used to be the hugging kind of guys, not even the macho, slap-on-the-back kinds of hugs. All the same I've gotten pretty used to it now, funnily enough just as Gil has regained some of his awareness of the social conventions and has begun to demand "'ugs" from his male friends less often.
Right now Gil seems glad of the contact, especially as I didn't wait for him to ask. Just a quick, sideways on, around the shoulders hug and then I move back, keeping my hand between his shoulder blades and moving it in circles in what I hope is a comforting way. I ask if he wants Lucy, but he shakes his head.
Being in my job I've learned that it's always useful to have a clean, unused, handkerchief in my pocket, I joke sometimes that I buy them wholesale. I take one out and hand it to Gil for clean up, although when he raises his head there are only a couple of teardrops visible. I receive a watery smile and a nod in response to my half whispered, "OK?" and so I return to my seat opposite.
Using an expansive gesture to indicate the collection of papers that I spread out earlier I change the subject by asking Gil if he wants to follow our usual pattern of routine stuff first and the hopefully more interesting one offs later. Looking for a response I notice that Gil is staring again, this time over my shoulder.
Just as I'm starting to worry that things are going downhill again I notice Gil's brow furrow in consternation. He turns and looks around quickly, first at his frame, then at where his wheelchair has been parked out of the way near his bedroom door. He seems almost panicked as once again he looks over my shoulder, craning a little this time. I follow his gaze myself just in time to see what looks like Sara Sidle's head disappear below my line of sight. That window looks onto the wide, wheelchair friendly, paved path that leads up to this building before dividing and coming around to the doors of the separate living units, so she'll be at the door in a few moments.
Gil has taken hold of the walking frame now and appears to be trying to hide it under the table. I doubt that it would fit easily at the best of times and Gil's attempts to do it one-handedly whilst remaining seated look like they're going to end in a buckled frame, a broken table, a damaged Gil Grissom or possibly all three.
"I take it you don't want Sara to know you're trying that?"
The glare tells me that the master detective strikes again.
"Here." I take the frame out of Gil's hand, lift it clear over the table and shove it into the corner behind the couch. It's a hiding place that won't stand close inspection, but at least it's an improvement on Gil's attempt. Just in time too, Sara is at the entrance just as I sit down again. It's still open from when I arrived, so she just steps inside smiling.
"Hey, Jim," she greets me, "hey, you," she continues in a softer voice, bending down to hug Gil. He returns Sara's embrace with enthusiasm, although his confused expression when he looks at me over the top of her head shows that he certainly wasn't expecting her arrival. His eyes flick towards his wheelchair again. It's not unusual for Gil to transfer to an ordinary chair when it's more convenient, comfortable or appropriate for what he's doing, but his wheelchair is normally left a lot closer to hand for when he needs it again. I respond wordlessly myself this time, merely shrugging, doing anything about the chair now would only draw attention to it. Whatever motives Gil has for not letting Sara know what he's trying to do, he's going to have to realise that his cover is almost certainly blown, if anyone knows that you can't get much past Sara Sidle, it should be him.
The pleading look he gives with his eyes looking so wide and blue must work every time with the ladies; and me too, it seems. As Gil finally releases Sara from his arms I find myself starting to dissemble.
"Ah, Sara today is supposed to be when Gil and I have our monthly stroll through his paper work, it's kind of boring so maybe..." Maybe what? Sara's driven quite a way out of Vegas to get here, so suggesting she comes back later isn't reasonable. No, may as well give up now, it's not going to work, I'll just have to apologise to Gil later. Sara is looking at me, better finish that sentence. "...Maybe I should put it away for now and come back to it later?"
Gil scowls at me for a moment, but then his eyes slide towards Sara and a little smile appears on his face, there's humour in his expression now, I think he likes the idea that he's not the only one Ms. Sidle can throw off balance.
"No, it's OK," Sara says smiling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I'll catch you guys later and maybe we can do something together then."
She touches Gil's shoulder gently. "For once seeing you isn't the main reason why I came," she tells him and then starts to walk across the room, "I'm actually here to see Lucy."
With that Sara taps gently on the door to Lucy's domain.
Apparently Lucy's expecting her, because she emerges straight away and, after suggesting they leave us to it, she and Sara grab a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator and head outside.
For a long moment Gil and I just look at each other, then I realise I should be taking advantage of the time. Sara and Lucy appear to be settling themselves on a couple of the chairs that, together with a few tables, are dotted around the grounds under the cottonwood trees that give this place its name. Once they're organized they'll probably be able to look through the large glass doors and see us, even though we're out of earshot, so I quickly go and grab the frame. I shoot the query "closet?" at Gil and he nods, so I put it out of sight in his bedroom. When I come out again the women seem to be exchanging pleasantries and rearranging the furniture a little to gather just the right balance of sun and shade so, while they're still distracted, I bring Gil's wheelchair back with me and park it in a more convenient place for him to use when he wants to leave the table. Now we just have to hope that Sara won't notice that it wasn't in that position before.
"So, I guess that tells me why you're trying the frame again, you want to surprise Sara with your 'progress'." I'm not sure if that's a good idea. While it might be a nice surprise for Sara to see that Gil isn't totally dependent on a wheelchair to get around it might give her a false impression of improvement in Gil's condition and lead to disappointment further on. I decide not to say anything though, I'm not exactly a relationship expert and Gil's relationship with Sara is their business; but I will be there if either of them ever wants my help.
Gil is staring through the glass doors at Sara and Lucy and doesn't respond to my comment. At first I assume it's because he's too interested in what they're doing to notice me, but then the red marks on his earlobe that are only just fading into scars remind me that he has his deaf ear towards me. When there isn't much background noise Gil manages pretty well with just one working ear, if the sound comes from the front or his right, but when sounds come from the other side he runs into trouble, sometimes missing them altogether.
"Hey, Buddy!" I raise my voice and Gil turns back to face me, blinking. "So, what are they talking about?"
Gil points at himself.
"Yeah, that part I'd figured out, I was just wondering if you'd managed to lip read anything juicy?"
Gil shakes his head.
"Too far away, huh?"
Gil smiles slightly as if in confirmation but his left hand comes up and scratches behind his ear where the worst of his scarring is hidden by his hair. It's a 'tell' he's developed when he's thinking about his injuries and their effects and it occurs to me that, if he can no longer figure out how to form words for himself, maybe he can no longer do the reverse and work out what others are saying from the shapes their mouths make. I'm sure I've noticed him lip-reading me on some occasions, but maybe it's easier if he's just filling in gaps here and there. And then there's the fact that he can't produce language himself but can understand everything he reads or hears just fine; how does that affect lip-reading? All this stuff's way too complicated for me, I just know that it would be a sad irony if the injury that left him partially deaf also robbed him of one of the tools he should have been able to use to overcome it.
"Well, if there's no way of knowing what those two are up to I guess we should get on with our own business." I pass Gil his latest credit card statement. He can no longer sign to make payments but he still has a card for internet purchases and for Lucy to use on his behalf. While I'm confident that Lucy won't misuse the power, mainly because I performed a little vetting of my own on top of the paperwork Cottonwood House provided, with the card also being used over the internet it's wise to check for any unexpected activity on the account.
Putting his glasses back on, Gil briefly scans the document before nodding and I pass over his latest bank statement for a similar perusal, ready to explain any changes to the various payments going in and out. Gil just glances at the page and passes it back to me before turning his head to glance outside again, clearly more interested in what's going on out there than in here. Who could blame him though, not many men would be comfortable with the two most important women in their lives having a conversation to which they're not invited.
"It could be worse, you know," I say, loudly enough for him to hear me. Gil gives me a sharp glance. "Heather Kessler could have been out there too."
The only response is a raised eyebrow on an otherwise blank face. Gil always seems to turn enigmatic when Ms. Kessler is mentioned, I don't think he realises it only makes for more scuttlebutt or maybe he does and he likes the 'reputation' it gives him. Of course there may be another reason. Lady Heather seems to care about him enough that she visited Gil in hospital and has even be known to call on him here, but those calls are becoming increasingly rare and I've come to wonder if she's struggling to maintain her 'friendship' with Gil now that they can't indulge in the old verbal sparring. Still at least she hasn't cut contact altogether, so far anyhow.
Gil's turns away again. I should be encouraging him to go over his mail, but my own curiosity has me following his gaze.
I soon see why Gil is so distracted; although the women seemed friendly enough when Sara first arrived something seems to have changed. Sara is out of her seat and pacing, her arms folded over her chest. Lucy, who is pretty sharp when it comes to body language, is clearly aware of the meaning of this half aggressive, half defensive behaviour and is trying to diffuse it by remaining seated, leaning back and keeping a friendly smile on her face. She's letting Sara vent about something, I think.
As we watch Sara seems to come to the end of whatever she's trying to say. She halts in her pacing and allows he hands to drop to her sides but stays on her feet. Lucy has started to talk now and after a few sentences I see Sara's head come up sharply as if she's surprised by what she's hearing. A few sentences more and Sara pulls up a chair. Within a matter of minutes the two of them have their heads together and seem to be discussing things in some detail. Occasionally Sara makes frustrated or angry gestures with her arms but generally the atmosphere between them seems to be moving from confrontation to collaboration.
I touch Gil on his arm.
"Shall we get on?" I ask, although maybe Gil has more to worry about if those two start to work together than he would have if they were at odds.
Gil sighs and turns back to the table. I grab a few letters from my case that he should see. Although I've taken over most of this stuff, Catherine helps by doing her bit. Except for a few magazine subscriptions that come straight here, and account statements which come to me, most of Gil's mail and email goes to Catherine; either directly, by forwarding, or because it's been sent to the lab. Obviously Cath would be dealing with the lab related stuff anyway, but she's also created a few standard letters that cover the various invitations Gil gets to speak or write. More personal stuff she passes on to me to give to Gil and then he uses his computer to make very brief notes that Catherine then refers to when writing back. He hasn't really kept up with much correspondence for obvious reasons, but there are a few people who are making a real effort to keep in touch with him via Catherine. Any mail that doesn't fit into a standard category or requires a decision that isn't obvious I also bring for Gil to see.
"I have an interesting one here for you Gil. You remember you were supposed to speak at that conference a couple of months after you got hit?"
Gil's eyes narrow briefly as he thinks, although the only memories he's completely lost are those for about ten hours immediately before he was attacked, it does seem to take extra concentration for him to recall general events from about six months before that, which is probably when that conference was arranged. Eventually he nods.
"Well obviously Catherine told them you couldn't attend then but we didn't have a solid prognosis for you so we just said not that year. They asked again last year and Catherine just sent one of her usual letters saying that you were unable to attend for health reasons."
Gil nods, looking slightly surprised that the conference organisers were so keen to have him. He looks even more surprised when I tell him that they tried again this year too.
"Catherine wrote back saying that although you're improving they shouldn't expect you to make sufficient progress ever to be a speaker and that she'd let them know if that changes in the future. This was the reply."
I hand him the sheet. Gil reads it, but I can tell what his response is before he's half way through. Gil's head has a perpetual slight wobbling motion, but the movement clearly becomes more negative and side to side the further through the letter he gets.
When he finally reaches the end he pushes the paper back towards me with a clearer and more fervent shake of the head, he's not interested.
"Are you sure, Buddy? They've made it clear that if you don't want to accept the lifetime achievement award formally you don't have to. They're at the Convention Center here in Vegas this year and, now that you're starting to get more confident about getting out and about I thought you might enjoy hearing some of the talks and meeting old friends."
Gil gives an expressive shudder and shakes his head again, gesturing at his appearance with a wave of his hand.
"You don't want those people to see you like this?"
He nods. He's obviously still feeling insecure about how people will react to him.
"I take it that you're more worried about the reactions from the people there that know you than the strangers?"
Gil actually ponders over that for a moment before agreeing.
"OK, well I think that the very fact they've voted to give you this award shows how much they like and respect you. It may be a little awkward when they're first confronted with what's happened, but they're smart guys who know you; they'll soon adjust and treat you just fine. Those who can't cope will probably just avoid you, and it'll be their loss, not yours."
I have to raise my voice to make sure Gil hears the end of that; he turned to look out at Sara and Lucy again about halfway through what I was saying. Remembering Catherine's confession about what happened when she first brought Sara here I can understand why. I touch his arm gently to get his attention back.
"Maybe you could have Sara go with you? She's shown an interest in entomology before hasn't she? Or maybe Nick, who's been trying to partially fill your bug hunting shoes at the lab? I'm sure Catherine would give him the time off to develop his job skills and Ecklie's bound to go for it once he finds out you've got a free pass for as many 'assistants' as you need. Did you know he promoted Ray Langston before he'd covered the required number of cases because he'd funded extra training courses out of his own pocket?"
Gil nods with a wry smile; I expect it was Catherine who told him about that one, she was not pleased; not so much because of the decision as because Ecklie didn't involve her. She was just getting her head around having to take over from Gil and learning to assert herself as the boss and, even if Ecklie didn't feel his decision was up for discussion, he should still have let Catherine give Langston the news. Instead he undermined what authority she'd been trying to build.
I can see Gil still isn't quite buying the idea of attending this year's 'Bugology' convention, but there comes a point where he will turn stubborn if you push too hard, so I'll leave it for now.
"Just think about it Gil, it's not for a few weeks yet and, with no accommodation to fix up, you could even register on the first day." Gil half nods at that, still distracted by the women outside. I think Catherine or I should probably see if the organisers will send us a programme of events Gil can see, maybe there will be something specific he'll want to go see.
There's not much more to go through, I hand Gil the remaining personal letters for him to read later and start to pack the other documents away. Gil looks thoughtful for a moment and then starts to play with his computer again – I hope he'll be more successful this time.
"'Im?"
I turn my attention back to my friend and he continues.
"S-ara."
It sounds like Gil and his speech therapist have decided to work on initial 'S' sounds now the 'G's have started to work; now there's a surprising choice!
"Sara, yes?"
"Mad me, no tell?" The computer voice takes over. I take a moment to figure out what he means; Gil's word order can be pretty erratic.
"You'd rather Sara didn't know you got mad earlier?"
Gil smiles sadly and nods to confirm my interpretation.
"OK, I probably wouldn't have bothered to mention it in front of Sara anyway, although I'd like Lucy to know how well you coped if that's OK?"
I get a shrug in response; I don't think Gil's as pleased with his anger management as I am.
"Does this mean that you don't think Sara knows that you get mad sometimes?" He shakes his head. "You mean she hasn't seen it happen?"
Gil mimes wiping away a tear and then nods. Next he raises his fist before shaking his head.
"She's seen you cry, but not really lose your temper."
This time I only get a long blink in confirmation; this is clearly an emotional issue for Gil.
"Are you frightened about what will happen if she does?
My friend just hangs his head.
I stand up and put an arm around his shoulders again.
"Then don't you think it would be an idea to raise the problem with Sara? Sooner or later she's going to see it happen and I'm sure she'll find it a lot less disturbing if it doesn't hit her from out of the blue."
Right when the words 'hit her' come out of my mouth I feel Gil tense beneath my loose embrace. Suddenly I realise what he's afraid of but, before I can think of anything to say, Lucy and Sara arrive.
They're both smiling. Lucy heads to drop their water bottles in the recycling bin in the kitchen area while Sara asks if we're all done. She doesn't seem to find it odd that I'm holding Gil like this, probably putting it down to one of Gil's random requests for hugs. With the paperwork all cleared from the table I can't deny we're finished.
"Well, in that case, maybe we can come up with something we can do as a threesome?" Sara asks, smiling, before rolling her eyes when she sees my eyebrow quirk at her accidental double-entendre.
"Actually, I had more of a foursome in mind." Lucy says, coming over to us. She's met by three inquisitive looks.
"Well, now that Gil's getting up and about so much more," Lucy continues, "I've decided that it shouldn't always have to be me who picks him off the floor if there's an accident so, Jim and Sara, with Gil playing the role of himself, I am going to teach you two how to check Gil for injuries after a fall and then how to safely get him back on his feet and onto a chair afterwards."
Oh, great. I can see that Gil thinks this will be as much fun as I do, but Sara and Lucy are grinning; Sara with enthusiasm and Lucy with a slightly worrying glint in her eye. I realise I was right to think that these two are going to be more trouble now that they seem to have forged an alliance; somehow I don't think there's going to be any chance of escape for me and Gil.