A/N This is the hardest chapter I've ever had to write and has taken me longer to complete than any other as well. I can't even tell you why, it certainly hasn't been Real Life getting in the way, well no more than usual anyway; in fact it's been more like the opposite, because recently it's been the story that has got in the way of real life. This means I need to apologise to all the people whose recent chapters I've failed to review, I've even stopped reading other people's work for the last few days in an effort to finally get this chapter finished. I will do my best to get some serious reading and reviewing done over the next few days before I dive into the next chapter and, in the meantime, I'll just have to hope that none of you will decide to take your revenge and not leave feedback on this offering of mine. Thanks for sticking with me.
Cottonwood House III
The Hand You're Dealt
Chapter 9
Sara Again
This was meant to be the perfect conversation, a proper two way interaction instead of the monologues we've both seemed to resort to since my return. The big discussion in which, in spite of Gil's difficulties, we would somehow manage to figure out a solution to every problem that has ever arisen between us and then come up with a master plan for the solid foundation on which our relationship will develop in the future. It was going to be a great opportunity to employ the techniques which Lucy has been helping us with over the last few weeks without the inhibitions I've inevitably felt about discussing anything personal in front of someone who, whatever she has become to Gil, is still pretty much a stranger to me.
Right now, however, nearly ten minutes after I helped Gil balance while he took the few steps from the couch to a chair at my dining table, I am staring at a large, almost completely blank sheet of paper and Gil, his reading glasses perched at the end of his nose, has spent most of that time hunched over his computer plugging away through the various menus of his voice synthesizer software.
Part of me is already tempted to give up, to just tell Gil to forget about this and persuade him to return to the couch where we can spend the rest of the evening relaxing with the dog at our feet and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of us while some suitably familiar and undemanding DVD plays. Remembering Greg's comments about the kinds of things Gil finds easiest to watch these days I've already picked out a few old favourites from a box that Gil had placed in storage for me. Looking over at my friend I've decided to restrain myself for a little longer though, Gil's working so hard I'd hate to interrupt him now and risk breaking his concentration when he may be right on the brink of finding the exact word he's been looking for. Besides it hardly says much for my staying power in trying to rebuild a relationship with the 'new' Gil if I can't even give him the time he needs to express himself properly.
I wish I was a more patient person. Gil may be throwing the odd tantrum, something I know he's embarrassed about, but that's nothing to how I'd be reacting in the same situation. I've also started to realise that one of the things I misunderstood about Lucy was caused by my envy of her patience with Gil. I reasoned that for someone to be that perseverant with another person there must be more to it than altruism or even friendship, and that made me decide that Lucy was a challenger for Gil's affections – after all I once took a job because it would enable me to be close to him, so couldn't that be her reason too? I saw Lucy as a rival who'd stepped into my shoes because I wasn't there when Gil needed me and the combination of envy and guilt blinded me to reality to the point where I was stunned by Lucy's enthusiastic reaction when I 'confronted' her with the assertion that Gil should be socialising more and getting outside the confines of Cottonwood House and its grounds more often and that he should be doing at least some of it without her constant presence. Lucy's immediate suggestion that Brass and I learn how to deal with Gil taking a tumble suited me too, it allowed me to get stuck in and do something straight away, an instant achievement to go with my success at finally making my feelings about Gil's treatment known, even if they did happen to match what my 'nemesis' already had in mind.
Now I know that we're both aiming at the same target I'm getting along with Lucy better, but there's been a down side too. Since I've been trying to improve my communication with Gil I've come to better appreciate what Gil gets from working with Lucy, she's not just caring for his physical needs and certainly not just some stand in who has had to do these things because I wasn't there to do them instead. This isn't a case of me learning a few lifting techniques and then persuading Gil to let me take over Lucy's role, there's a whole lot more to what she gives him than that and, sitting here right now, I'm not sure I'll ever be up to doing her job.
Gil is aware of my failings too, I suppose he observed most of them back when he was my supervisor; the knowledge definitely affects some of his choices and interactions with me now. For example; Lucy has been gradually introducing Gil to a whole toolbox of different techniques to help him communicate but, to avoid confusion, it's better if he uses the minimum possible number of those to deal with any specific situation. Gil takes the lead on picking how he'd like to work and the techniques he selects vary according to how his concentration is at the time, what the conversation is about and who it's with. Usually with me he likes to use his synthesizer, even though it can often be the slowest of all the methods he uses and I'm pretty sure I know why. I don't know if it's just my lack of patience or if my mind can't help trying to solve a puzzle, but whenever Gil uses a visual image or prewritten cards I find it almost impossible not to 'help' by looking at the materials he's gathered in front of him and trying to deduce what he might be trying to say. Some guess work can be necessary of course, but throwing in too many suggestions can just leave Gil flustered and, as he often pointed out when he was my CSI supervisor, I do have a tendency to interpret evidence to suit what I want the answers to be. Lucy has pulled me up a few times herself for not stopping and taking the time to really 'listen' to what Gil wants to say before I try to confirm that I've understood and putting my own words into his mouth instead. After a while I think Gil gave up and resorted to his computer because, unless I lean right over his shoulder to look, I don't get to know what he might be trying to say until he touches the 'speak' icon.
"Shock...Pressure."
As if on cue, Gil's artificial voice finally springs to life. Between the time it's taken Gil to reach this point and the depth of my reverie I actually have to check the sheet of paper that occupies the tabletop between us to remind myself what Gil is responding to. That is why the paper is there, although more for Gil's use than mine of course. It's not a cue sheet in that it started off completely blank, there's no helpful list of potentially useful words, but I have some thick marker pens at hand and, whenever I say a word that Gil thinks will be useful to him as a reminder or that he might want to use in his response he'll tap the table and I'll add the word to the sheet. At the moment the only two words are "ANGRY" and "BATHROOM". I made the mistake of starting the session asking about what had upset Gil earlier. It made sense to me to try and clear the air about that first, both because I really want to know what upset him and because he's been on edge ever since his outburst, in spite of napping for a while afterwards to give his medications time to work. Even ordering our food seemed to be a cause of anxiety with Gil looking at me uncertainly before pointing at one of the meat dishes on the menu I'd given him. I'd picked Mediterranean food so that there were plenty of dishes that Gil could eat with his fingers instead of wielding a fork and so there would be a good combination of both vegetarian and non-vegetarian food. I actually had to remind Gil that I've never objected to him ordering cooked meat before and tell him that if I'm prepared to buy meat based food for Bru...Hank then I'm hardly going to object to ordering it for Gil. I did briefly consider buying vegetarian dog food, but decided I didn't want to force Hank completely away from his natural diet; you only have to look at a dog's teeth to see they're carnivores. Gil's cutely uneven teeth say he's an omnivore like all humans evolved to be and I don't force my choices on other people, so I told him once again that I'm happy for him to have meat, provided I'm not expected to handle the raw stuff.
Anyway, Gil finally seemed to relax a little while we were eating and when my dog, Bruno; who seems to have somehow become Gil's dog, Hank, over the last few hours; happily pranced back through from the kitchen, where he'd been left to have his own food instead of begging for ours, and over to his new friend the two of them greeted each other with great affection. All the same I wanted to clear the air properly before we moved deeper into our conversation, so I asked what the problem was. Unfortunately it turned out not to be an easy answer for Gil to give.
"I wanted it to be a surprise, Gil, but a pleasant one, and I'm really sorry if it didn't work out that way. And I certainly didn't want you to feel pressurized; I'm not even sure why you're seeing it that way.
"When Jim gave me the cheque you had him cut for such a large amount I asked him what it was meant for. He told me you'd used your computer to say 'home', so I used the money to make this a home for you."
Gil tapped the table hard each time I said the word 'home' and looks agitated and upset. Did I get it wrong? Did I misinterpret his word, or is he misinterpreting mine? I write "HOME" on the paper and ask if the problem is something to do with that. He nods so I try to explain my thinking more thoroughly.
"Gil, I didn't forget that you told me that you intend Cottonwood House to be your permanent home, but I wanted my home to be somewhere you could come to and feel relaxed and your generosity meant that I could do that even better than I'd first hoped. I know that the bathroom really upset you and I don't understand why. I had the work done so that you could manage without Lucy needing to be here and you could both get a break. If my hopes went any further it was that maybe you'd gain some confidence and perhaps feel able to try a hotel with disabled facilities in the future. I just don't want you to feel you're going to have to be in the same accommodation every night for the rest of your life.
"Maybe it's selfish of me to want this place to be a second home for you, Gil, but I hope that means I'm giving you more options, not denying you your choices." I move my head forwards so that Gil can't avoid looking me in the eye. "Is that OK?"
I can't analyse every emotion that is crossing Gil's face right now, I can't even count them, there seem to be so many and often one conflicts another. I'm not surprised when he turns his face away and stares at the table, resting his forehead in his left hand. I wait, I've learned now that Gil needs time to think about how he feels and what he wants to say before he even starts to tackle the practicalities of how to express himself. Lucy explained it to me as a side effect of his injuries, but my knowledge of what he was like long before he was hurt lets me see it as an exaggeration of the struggle Gil has always had with his emotions, something that I wasn't always patient with in the past, but which I intend to work doubly hard at accepting now.
A deep breath and a sigh can be heard before Gil's head comes back up and he nods, as much to himself as to me. He reaches out his good hand; "OK. Thank you." A couple of touches later, "sorry" follows.
Why is he apologising? I need to find a way to ask that will let Gil answer without having to start with the voice software all over again.
"Sorry you got angry?" I ask first, lifting my right hand in a fist, "or sorry that you misunderstood my intentions?" I continue, this time raising my left hand, palm out, to represent the second option. Gil's eyes flick quickly from one of my hands to the other a few times, his way of saying both suggestions are true, but then he looks at a point halfway between my hands before flicking his gaze downwards, something that translates as 'neither' or 'something else'.
"So lots of reasons, huh?"
Gil sighs and nods. I desperately want to reach out and hug him and I know that it's something he accepts quite readily these days, but now he's turning back to his computer, maybe because he wants to try and explain what else he feels he should be sorry about.
"Pick word bad," is what eventually emerges from the machine's speaker. Gil points at where I've written HOME. "Sorry."
"You didn't mean 'home'?"
Gil shakes his head and his face screws up, deepening the wrinkles there, both old ones and new, as he desperately struggles to find a way to express his real intent. It 's almost physically painful to me to see him so bereft of words and that, together with the knowledge that there will be many other battles tonight in Gil's war with his communication disability, which makes me decide to put an end to this particular fight.
I touch Gil's arm before he can turn back to his machine; "Gil," I say, "even if 'home' wasn't quite the right word, I take it you meant for me to have the money to use for something to do with where I was going to live?"
Gil confirms this with a nod, his blue eyes looking sad and almost lonely, as if he feels shut off from me and maybe the whole world by his disability, are fixed on my face.
"OK, so as far as you've been able to tell, have I paid for anything that you did mean that money to be used for?"
To my relief the affirmative comes without hesitation.
"Alright, well, whatever you had in mind, let's assume that that's what I spent the money you gave me on. That means I didn't have to use my own money for that purpose, therefore I had some extra to spend on whatever I wanted, yes?" Gil has to agree. Although he still looks sad there's just the tiniest glint in his eye that shows he knows where I'm going with this. He nods his head.
"Well I chose to spend the freed up money on making this place convenient and comfortable for you." I take Gil's uninjured hand in mine, even though I know only one can feel me and grip back. "I hope you know that that is what I would have tried to do anyway; with or without the money you gave me."
Gil nods. His expression still isn't entirely happy though. I lift his uninjured hand and shake it a little, trying to lighten his mood.
"Look, maybe you still feel I haven't really understood your intentions properly, but that's never stopped us being friends before has it?" Gil lifts an eyebrow and I'm reminded that it has led to a few good arguments even if our friendship did survive – eventually. I grin to acknowledge his unspoken reminder but carry on anyway. "So unless there's something else that's been making you so uncomfortable around me today maybe we can move onto a different subject."
While I'm finishing speaking, Gil pulls his hand out of my grasp. Have I upset him again somehow? He's using the touch screen of his computer again, clearly he has something more to say, perhaps that will explain why he didn't want to hold my hand any more.
Press, press, press, I watch as Gil travels through the menus. Oh no, suddenly it dawns on me, Gil isn't necessarily angry with me, it's just that while I was holding his hand he couldn't use his voice synthesiser, I may as well have gagged him.
Gil looks up as if he's been listening to my thoughts; smiling gently he reaches out and gently pats my hand before going back to the screen. I want to keep that comforting physical contact so I reach out and gently rub his back while he works. Gil smiles at me when he realises what I'm doing, but his look becomes serious again just before he hits 'speak' on his machine.
"Mad. Scare you."
That's not quite what I expected to hear, but not completely unexpected either. Gil has always thought that he should be able to keep a tight rein on his so called 'negative' emotions.
"I was warned that your temper isn't completely under control Gil, just because today was the first time I experienced it doesn't mean I was freaked out."
He shakes his head, that isn't what he meant.
"Your Father."
My Father? I must look confused, Gil points at where 'ANGRY' is written on the paper sheet.
"You think getting angry makes you like my Father?"
Gil nods and, at my look of incredulity, curls his lip into a snarl and makes punching motions with his left fist, spoiling the effect slightly when the movement aggravates his bruised shoulder, making him wince. Clearly he considers his tantrum an outburst of violence comparable to those of my Father before Mom was driven to murder him. I almost laugh at the thought, but I'm stopped by the look on Gil's face which is so full of concern that it's almost fearful.
"Let me ask you a couple of questions Gil," I say gently, "don't worry, they won't need complicated answers."
Gil indicates his acceptance, but the fear is still there so I resume my gentle rubbing of his back to try and defuse his anxiety.
"First, did you choose to let your anger get the better of you today?"
Gil shakes his head, of course he didn't.
"OK then, second question; are you doing the best you can to control your anger?"
I watch Gil blink once slowly to signal 'yes' even though I already knew the answer to that one, Lucy told me about Gil's anger management efforts the very first time I met her.
"And when you realised that you couldn't control it this time, did you just let go, or did you do as much as you possibly could to contain any damage?"
Gil looks unsure, but I point out that he got himself away from me and Hank as fast as he could, tried to keep us out by closing the door behind him and took all his anger out on soft furnishings. Nothing got broken and the only injuries that occurred were to Gil himself. Even when my Father didn't try to physically hurt someone something always got broken. If it had been him in Gil's place I'd probably be in the ER right now and at the very least I'd need to replace the spare room's TV and probably the door would have a large hole through it. Gil has to admit that, however out of control he felt he was still making positive decisions to control his temper.
He reaches towards his speech synthesizer again but this time I deliberately stop him by taking his good hand and holding it tightly. He squeezes back and I'm reminded of the day he came to my apartment and got me to open up about my family background. The memory gives me an idea of how to continue reassuring the man I love.
"Gil, apart from you, nearly everyone who I've ever had to tell about my home life as a child has either asked if my Father was a drinker or, worse still, just assumed it. It's one of the reasons I stopped talking about those things, because it always felt like they were looking for an excuse for him, that it wasn't him doing what he did, it was the drink.
"Dad was not an alcoholic. Sure there were some nights when he did go out and get drunk and yes, the beatings were worse when he'd given up the small amount of self control that he did have; but there were also days when he hadn't touched a drop and still managed to find a reason to lash out at one or all of us. He never made the choice to get out of the house while he calmed down or to take things out on inanimate objects, he just kicked out at whatever was in the way. Even if he had been an addict he would have had the choice to seek help to stop him hurting his family, but I doubt he would have because he never chose to acknowledge that anything he did might be wrong."
Gil is looking at me with the same pained sympathy he showed on the day I first told him about what happened all those years ago; sympathy, but not pity. He was silent that day too, for different reasons of course, just letting me know he was listening without judging, wanting to hear exactly as much as I wanted to tell him nothing more, nothing less. I loved him for it then and I love him for it now.
"Gil, you didn't choose what happened to you, never wanted to give up control of your feelings or actions, but every choice that you do have, every decision that you can make, you choose to fight the results of your injuries."
Releasing Gil's left hand at last I cup his cheek gently and look into his eyes.
"It's all about choices, Gil, and your choices have been very different from my Father's. Please don't ever compare yourself to him again. I know I don't and I never will unless your choices change."
Gil looks at me steadily for a moment and then turns back to his computer.
"Your Mother."
I was hoping that Gil would be satisfied with my dismissal of the idea that he in any way resembles my father, but it seems that he's not ready to let go yet. Perhaps he's right; if we're going to deal properly with our relationship maybe it's necessary to tackle the issue of my parents.
Maybe it's also making me realise that there's been a change in me over the last couple of years because, instead of deflecting the conversation elsewhere, I'm going to indulge Gil.
"My Mom had choices too, although I've come to appreciate that she had fewer options than my Father did, particularly when it was nearing the end.
"We've both seen it as CSIs Gil, even in this new century, the abused partner, male or female, who is so desperate not to admit that they fell in love with the wrong person, so convinced the problem lies with them, or so desperate not to split up their family that, by the time they realise that their partner will never change, they're already running out of options, they've lost touch with the friends or family they could once have turned to and have lost access to any money or income of their own.
"Mom reached that situation in the 1970s which must have made it even harder to see a way out. She worked running the business with Dad so she had no way of putting away any money and she may have genuinely believed that my brother and I were better off in a 'proper' family, single parents were still so stigmatised then. She tried living according to her Hippie beliefs for a while, 'dropping out' of the life she was caught up in, but that just left her even more dependent on my Father for money and 'supplies'.
"I've come to realise that she truly believed, at least in the few short minutes when the knife was in her hand, that killing my Father was her only option other than the loss of the lives of herself and the rest of her family."
Gil reaches out with his good arm and pulls me to his chest, a safe place to be as the images of that terrible time spring into life for me once more. Hank, who had been drowsing under the table, tries to join in as well, attempting to clamber onto my lap, even though he's way too big to fit.
My attempts to convince the dog that I'm fine just so he'll quit trying to get up while Gil tries to stop the table being knocked over by Hank's efforts certainly break the sombre mood until I am crying tears of laughter instead of grief and Hank gives up his attempted ascent in favour of running madly around the room.
"I think I'd better put Hank in the yard for a while, he can take some of that energy out on one of my old running shoes. Then we can talk in peace for a while before I have to take the D.O.G. for his R.U.N. in the P.A.R.K."
Gil nods, but I see some uncertainty in his eyes, perhaps he's worried about being left alone while I take Hank out.
"You could join us if you like, it's pretty level going all the way there."
Gil shakes his head at that suggestion and then frowns and points at Hank before making walking movements with his fingers along his leg. He's asking if Hank needs to be walked. Didn't he get what I just said? Maybe he didn't hear me properly? But when I helped him transfer from the couch he chose to sit at that end of the table so he'd have his good ear towards me, even though that means I'm next to his injured shoulder and hand, so why'd he miss half of what I said?
Finally it dawns on me, Gil heard me fine, but he just couldn't make out what I was spelling. I'd assumed that because Gil can read he can spell too, but obviously hearing one letter at a time is different from seeing the whole thing printed on a page, so my efforts to avoid Hank getting excited all over again have ended up confusing Gil as much as the dog.
"It's OK, Gil, he's used to going out later; I've found it helps both of us settle for the night. I was thinking you might be glad of a break from us both by then, but if you did want to come I could tire him out by throwing his... throwing something for him to chase instead of actually ru..." The dog's ears prick up. "Doing what we'd normally do." I hastily correct myself. It's not exactly easy to get one half of my audience to understand me while trying to make sure the other half doesn't.
Gil nods and, as I lead Hank out of the room, he turns back to his computer. By the time I get back, leaving Hank settled with his favourite old shoe and a brand new rawhide chew, Gil is sitting ready and waiting to continue. I sit down and Gil, his expression grave again, presses the screen once more.
"Your Mother", he repeats.
What else does Gil want me to say? He's always been so good about letting me decide how much or, more usually, how little I want to say on the subject of my history.
"Murder gene."
Wow, Gil has been busy while I was out of the room; those aren't exactly words that will be in the most commonly accessed parts of the software's dictionary. Perhaps he paid extra for the special crime-enthusiast's add-on.
"You're afraid that if you get angry enough you'll switch on some genetic marker I've got and I'll decide to finish you off?"
In spite of his sombre demeanour Gil breaks into a grin at the suggestion. It disappears almost as fast as it arrived and then he points at himself, shaking his head before pointing at me and raising one eyebrow.
"You don't think that but you're concerned that I might? I guess I did ask you about that once, didn't I? And that was before they actually did find some genes that might influence violent tendencies. Well, I guess I'd be just as likely to have inherited one of those from my Father as from Mom, but even if I had got it from one or both of them I'm sure it would have manifested long before now.
"But it's back to the choice thing isn't it Gil? Even those with the gene still have the choice to resist its effects and, unlike my Father, you are neither cruel nor controlling nor manipulative; I know you'll never put me in a situation where I would feel trapped with no way out other than a violent one."
Gil taps the table when I say the word 'trapped' and, after I've written it down, he repeats the 'me, no, you maybe' routine, then gestures at himself and his wheelchair where it is currently parked near the couch. Then he points at 'TRAPPED' on the paper.
It takes a moment to try and figure out his meaning and I'm hesitant when I suggest what I think he wanted to say.
"You think I'll trap myself because I won't let myself leave you now that you're disabled?
Gil keeps nodding while I speak, indicating I'm on the right track. I guess he's often felt that I've stuck with a case or cause in the past because I've empathised too much with a victim. Does he think I'd be the same with him? If I am, it's not because of empathy, it's because I love this man, whether he's what others would call 'whole' or not. All the same, even if the situation feels different to me, I know that Gil has always been concerned about my options becoming limited if I have a relationship with him, even before this happened he fretted about affecting my career progress or the effects of him being more than a decade older than me. I do need to make an effort to ease his concerns rather than denying their validity like I've sometimes done in the past.
"OK," I say, letting out a deep breath, "how about I promise you a couple of things?
"First, I'll promise you that murder will be right at the bottom of my list of things I'll do to you if you upset me in the future," I grin just in case Gil doesn't realise that that's a joke, before adding more seriously, "and I swear that, if ever I find you've chosen the easy option and struck out at me instead of fighting to control your temper – and I do mean making a choice and not because you tried but failed because you were tired or ill – I will remove myself from your life permanently."
I sigh again, I hate sounding so brutal, but I'm only making Gil aware of a promise that I made to myself years ago, before I even started doing any serious dating, about what I'd do if I ever found myself in a violent relationship.
"It isn't something I'd ever expect or want to do, believe me; I'm just stating what I'm prepared to do, for both our sakes."
Looking at my watch I realise just how long it's taken us to get to this point. Even after the interlude caused by Hank's reaction to my distress I'm ready to take a break and thirsty as well. I establish that Gil would like some water and, on the way to fetch some from the kitchen I unthinkingly pause to drop a kiss on top of Gil's head and whisper, "I love you".
"Don't love me," is the first thing I hear when I get back.
The words are stark and, thanks to the voice synthesizer, flat and without emotion. I'm not even sure if they're a command or an observation.
"Yes I do Gil, I've loved you for years and the more I analyse my feelings about what's happened to you, to both of us, the more certain of that I become."
He shakes his head and tries again.
"Gil Grissom love. 'Gu-il Gu-rissom' not." While he was using his own halting voice he also used the same sweeping gesture along his body that he often uses to indicate his changed physical state. Does he really think I'm so shallow that I'd let his disabilities change how I feel about him?
"When have I ever let myself be swayed by what's on the surface Gil?" I'd have given up on him long ago if I had. "You're still the Gil Grissom I remember inside, where it really matters."
Gil sighs and I glimpse a haunted look in his eyes before he turns back to the computer screen. His brow furrows as he tries to work out how to respond.
"I hope you're not trying to come up with another reason why I should abandon you, because it would be a waste of time." My frustration finally gets the better of my resolve to be patient.
"Sa-Ra." Gil's own annoyance produces the best attempt at saying my name that he's managed yet, if he didn't look so angry I'd point it out. Gil really seems to be battling to control himself. He tries the computer again.
Can't love, don't know. Just as I'm about to ask what I don't know Gil tries to indicate himself by punching himself on the sternum, but hits his right hand where it's slung across his chest instead. He should grimace in pain, but he looks down at his chest in mild surprise instead, it seems he'd forgotten his hand was even there. It's sad to see, but he's not hurt and the conversation we're having is more important right now.
"You're saying I don't know you?" Gil nods. "You once told me I know you better than yourself sometimes." And that was due to those little glimpses I was allowed to see in his more relaxed moments at home, surely no-one has been allowed that close since I left? That's with the possible exception of Lucy, of course.
Now Gil is pointing at himself and shaking his head. Next he points at me with a questioning look and a shrug.
"You don't think so but I might?" That's how I've been translating similar movements up until now, but this time it doesn't make sense. Did that shrug alter their meaning? Gil's repeating himself now, I need to watch carefully and pick up on every clue to work out his meaning.
This time, after Gil points at himself, he taps himself on the forehead before shaking his head.
"You don't know you?" Gil confirms I'm right and then continues by gently touching my forehead, pointing at himself and then shrugging again, more expressively this time.
Me know you how? Would probably be the literal translation, so I guess what he actually means might be something like; "You don't know yourself anymore, so how can I?"
Gil sits back with a very positive nod when I say that, behaving like he's just won some logical argument definitively and completely. I can't help laughing a little when, after trying to convince me of how much he has changed, Gil should revert to such familiar behaviour.
Gil looks hurt by my reaction.
"You really don't recognise yourself anymore?" The thought that Gil really does feel that alienated from his own personality has a sobering effect on me.
Gil shakes his head gloomily.
"Well I certainly do and so do the rest of the old team, I know because they've all told me so." I reach my arm around Gil pulling him towards me and, instinctively, he leans his head on my shoulder in response. I decide that now probably isn't the time to tell him that these sudden swaps between him behaving like an independent adult and this new, affection seeking side are a very endearing part of his 'new' personality, the last thing I want to do his highlight something that would he would consider a major, and embarrassing, change to his nature. I also don't want him to pull away from me right now. Instead I lightly caress his hair for a moment. These days it's long enough to curl at the sides as well as on top, the Cottonwood House hairdresser, who also helps Gil keep his beard under control, is an expert on hiding the physical after effects of head injuries and changed Gil's style a little to hide the scarring that lies above and behind Gil's left ear.
"Sure, there have been changes, but nothing that I've observed so far makes me think any less of you," I whisper into his good ear, "let alone changes the way I feel."
Gil makes one of his rare vocalisations at this point, a sort of grumbling, dissenting moan.
"Hush now, let me finish. I appreciate that you want me to take more time to understand what difference the changes in both of us will make to our relationship, and that you need some time to think about that as well. While that's happening I'll try to love and care for you as a friend instead of as a partner, but don't expect me to stop loving you and doing my best to look after you, because I can't just turn those emotions off." And, after the way Gil reacted while I was talking about my parents, I don't think he can do that now either – if he ever could.
Gil lifts his head from my shoulder now. He seems to understand what I've been saying, but there's something that's still making him unhappy. I decide to carry on talking and really push my point home.
"You've been such huge positive influence on my life, I wouldn't be who I am today without your help. Now I want to return the favour and be here for you, Gil, giving you as much help as you need. You're family to me now, even if there's no paperwork or blood connection to prove it. If you were my cousin, brother, uncle or husband you wouldn't expect me to walk away. Please don't punish me for wanting to sort myself out before you put a ring on my finger instead of after."
Gil keeps shaking his head while I talk and now he returns to his computer.
"Don't need."
"You must need to be helped Gil, otherwise Lucy would be out of job."
"Don't need you."
"Because you have Lucy, I know, but I kind of hoped you'd need me too."
"Don't need."
That hurts, I really want a role in Gil's life, but he's rejecting all my offers to be a real part of it. I won't let him see me cry though, even though I'm close. I'm good at not letting people see my weaknesses. I stare at my hands for a few moments, trying to think of a way to shrug off the huge weight of disappointment that is washing over me so that I can go through with the rest of Gil's stay. Lost in my unhappiness I start to drift and then I feel a nudge from my left, followed by, "want".
I look sharply at Gil, who managed to bump me with his elbow in spite of the sling restricting his right arm.
"You don't need my help, but you want it?
"Caretaker no. You."
"It's my help you're objecting to, not me?"
Gil nods and honours me with a smile; I've got it.
"You don't want my help at all?
"Some." There's a pause as he hunts down the next word he needs. At least I now know that he's not completely averse to accepting my assistance. I didn't want to remind him I had to help him up off the floor earlier; I don't think he'd really have preferred to stay there until Lucy could arrive.
"Same." Gil frowns and shakes his head, clearly not having got the word he really wanted. Surprisingly, instead of turning back to the screen he grabs the pen I'd put on the table to use myself and, with great concentration, uses it in his left hand to draw two slightly wonky parallel horizontal lines.
I'm ashamed to say that it's only when I put those marks together with his not quite right "same" that I realise he's written a math symbol.
"Equals?"
Gil nods and points back and forth between us.
You want it to be more equal than just me helping you?" I wonder how he sees himself helping me.
Clearly by mindreading on occasion; it seems that Gil has already considered the answer to my unspoken question. He points at his mouth and shakes his head.
"You can't talk?"
Nod, followed by him pointing to his good ear and nodding again.
"But you can hear."
He nods again before pointing at my mouth this time and then his ear again.
"You want me to talk to you? That's what we're doing isn't it?"
Gil utters a groan of frustration and glares at me over his glasses.
"More."
"I'm already trying to cover all the big stuff," I defend myself; Gil taps the table when I say 'big'. "I'm doing my best to remember to tell you everything that's important." Gil indicates that he wants 'important' added to the paper too. I write down both words while he's finding something on his computer again.
"Everything." Gil points at 'BIG' and then indicates something tiny between his finger and thumb. Next he taps 'IMPORTANT' before picking up my pen and clumsily drawing an 'X' over the word.
"Unimportant?" I ask him and he nods that I'm correct. Finally Gil draws a wobbly smiley face and then points at 'ANGRY', the word that's been up there since the beginning of our session.
"OK," I take a deep breath, "you want me to talk to you about everything, big and small, important and unimportant, the stuff that makes me happy and the stuff that makes me mad?"
I'm treated to a big bearded grin and Gil drops the pen he's been holding awkwardly in his 'wrong' hand with a satisfied plonk. He points at me again and then makes a talking gesture with his hand.
"I talk?"
He gives me a nod, and then Gil points at first himself and then his right ear.
"You listen?"
Gil's eyes say 'yes' and then his mouth says "'Ug."
"Any hug from you sounds good to me, but..."
Gil's face falls and I stop my objection before it goes any further. He looks so miserable; would it really hurt me to share a little more, however unnatural it feels to me? There's desperation in his expression as well, he really wants me to try and do this, just like he did when I was struggling with burnout and the after effects of my encounter with Natalie. It hits me now, suddenly and almost like a bullet to the chest; how different things might be right now if I'd only opened up to him then, instead of disappearing the way I did. I could have saved him so much heartbreak and, if that small change in history hadn't saved him from being attacked altogether, at least I would have been here for him right from the start and we'd have already gone through all these changes together instead of struggling to find a balance between us now.
I pick up Gil's hand and bring it to my lips, gently kissing his fingers.
"I'm sorry Gil, you're right; I have to learn not to cut you out. Even if I tell myself it's to protect you I'd only be covering up my own problems with opening up and admitting I need help. I've always been pretty useless at that, haven't I?"
Gil smiles indulgently and nods before making a 'me too' sort of gesture.
"Yes, that's true," I grin, "but circumstances have forced you to learn to accept what other people have to offer, and the least I can do now is try to learn that lesson along with you. And yes, I will try and remember that it's not just about sharing the bad stuff, I guess I've always felt that I shouldn't talk about those things because why would anyone be interested in how I feel?"
Gil tilts his head at that and looks at me as steadily as his constantly moving head will allow.
"OK, you're interested, I get it, I get it!" I throw up my hands in mock surrender.
Gil laughs and I remember how good that sounds; maybe I can use that to help me learn to talk to him more, I can try and make him laugh at something at least once every time I see him. Between Gil's reduced inhibitions and Hank's antics it surely won't be too difficult.
"OK, so I'll do my best to let you in more and give you the chance to be there for me; but you need to accept that I want to be there for you and that it's not because of some misguided sense of loyalty or an over attachment to the past.
"I want us to have a future together, Gil, and I think that you do too, so shall we agree to slowly work towards that and take any problems as they come instead of trying to protect each other by giving up before anything has even gone wrong?"
I stop and wait, holding my breath, I hope I'm right in guessing that Gil wants a relationship with me in spite of all the efforts he's been making to put me off. Will he accept my deal?
Gil reaches out and offers me his left hand to shake. Suddenly words are unnecessary.