She stopped and stared.

The headline was eye-catching, sensationalistic and she hated it.

"Prominent Scientist Returns from Dead."

A photo accompanied the pseudo news story. It was one from about four years ago and it featured the two of them. A fundraiser she'd talked him into attending. He'd looked good. They'd looked good. Of course it had been taken before Cal had disappeared with some redhead with a short, tight dress and daisies tattooed around her wrist.

He was a different man back then.

He was a different man now.

At least that was the perception. She'd held him tightly during his emotional release (would her Cal have cried like that?), after which she'd drawn him a bath. He had followed dutifully and hadn't hesitated when removing his pungent smelling clothing. She'd seen his ribs and vertebrae a little too easily before slipping away to give him some privacy.

Of course he still could be a figment of her imagination too.

It was hard to say. She would have thought a hallucination would be more… interactive. After all, he would be a deep-rooted part of her to do with as she pleased. In theory it made sense, in reality, not so much.

She read the headline again. Six times, actually.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. Calls had begun yesterday afternoon and it wasn't long before "no comment" scratched out with uncharacteristic venom. She'd protect him from the circling vultures even if she was teetering or falling over the ledge. It was her nature. She'd always done everything she could to protect him. It didn't make a difference it the threat was real or imagined.

The rags had taken her silence as a green light to fiction.

At least she expected it was fiction.

The quiet figure in her home wasn't saying either way.

At the clearing of the throat behind her, she moved up in the grocery line. She had gone out in an attempt to escape from the pervasive haze and it seemed logical to fill her empty pantry and refrigerator. Cal needed to gain some weight back and hot cocoa and ice cream weren't the best means to that end.

The cashier smiled and Gillian exchanged pleasantries with him. Seconds later she wasn't even sure what he'd said. Something about the unseasonable heat but she couldn't be sure.

She waited as he packed her reusable bags. Yes, even in her teetering and sloping world, she was environmentally conscious. It was part of who she was.

Before stepping toward the door, she glanced over her shoulder toward the impulse items. The pseudo newspaper was gone.

He was still asleep, curled on his side, brows pulled together in a pervasive frown.

Gillian watched him from the doorway, a sudden troubling yet oddly comforting thought occurring to her. What if they'd somehow changed places? Maybe he was the one on the ledge looking for her. Maybe everything had twisted and warped, resulting in her death and his mourning. It would explain his appearance and withdrawal.

Was it possible?

Anything was possible. Her reality was so askew that she couldn't be sure of anything. At this point she wouldn't be surprised if her slippers began to recite Shakespearean soliloquies to her.

They needed to talk and figure it all out. Just the two of them. One figment of imagination to another.

Her hesitant steps became stronger as she approached the side of the bed and lowered herself next to him.

He was clean, the welcome scent of his flesh in her nose. Reaching out, she brushed through his hair, expecting him to startle, expecting the need to apologize.

He didn't.

His eyes opened, blinked once before he turned his head and kissed her palm. His lips were scratchy but his face was soft in wonder.

"You really here darlin'?" The voice, usually silky, came out tinged with gravel.

"You don't think this is real?" Gillian breathed as a quiver ran up her arm and settled in her heart.

"Dunno. I've had so many dreams. They were the only place I could find any peace."

Gillian's insides curdled as she digested his statement. She took a shaky breath and allowed her fingers to sift through his beard, deciding she didn't like it. She wanted to see more of his face. "You're not alone."

"Are you sure?"

She wasn't. She was probably the last person he should be asking that. "We're together."

"Were in my dreams too."

The smile was tiny, a flickering flame easy to blow out if they weren't careful. "I suppose we might be at an impasse."

"Hmmm…maybe." He appeared to consider this for a moment before she felt his hand curl into hers. His flesh was rough and she remembered the faint lines of blood. "When I left I asked if you'd accept me back into your bed." The tug was firm but gentle. "I honestly hadn't meant to be in it on my own."

She allowed him to pull her down under the comforter, aligned with his frame, face tucked into the hollow of his neck. A sigh escaped her even as a sob followed and stuck somewhere behind her soft palate.

"Don't cry, luv." Cal whispered into her hair, obviously having heard the tiny catch.

He knew her so damned well. Better than anyone. Her parents, her brother, her husband – none of them had known her like Cal did. They'd gone into a relationship emotionally naked. It had been frightening but ultimately empowering. The bond was cemented. Forever.

"I'm afraid this isn't real." Her breath pulsed against his skin and she could feel it warm to sultry.

"I know."

"In the morning you'll be gone." A tear pushed past her defenses. "You always are."

"I'll try not to be this time." He pressed his lips to the top of her head, his soft exhalation causing a tiny cascade of movement in her hair. "But you need to promise the same."

"Okay."

His arms tightened around her, his body filling every single gap against hers. It reminded her how well they fit. "How 'bout we take one moment at a time? Maybe as the moments pass, reality will make itself known…one way or another."

This sounded reasonable. If he was still there in the morning, maybe she'd even make some omelets or maybe he would. It would be just like before he went away. It was a good theory at least. "Do you think it'll work?"

Cal paused, as if contemplating his words. That hadn't been the norm before. "Not sure." His lips pressed against her again and she closed her eyes. "Figure it can't hurt. I mean, doesn't everyone sleepwalk through life in one way or another? This could very well be a waking dream for both of us but God I hope not. I don't want to open my eyes and still be in the other place."

She wondered what "the other place" was but didn't ask. If reality presented itself, he might tell her but if not, she wanted to stay within his embrace and keep the darkness at bay. She didn't want to stand and peer over the ledge but if she had to, she wanted him to be by her side.

Kissing his neck, she felt and heard the low rumble of contentment go through him. She decided in that moment that she didn't care if they tumbled off the ledge together. Wherever this was, whether it was reality or the delusion of a mind in irreversible mourning, it didn't matter. This was where she wanted to stay. This was a carefully woven tapestry of love, tenderness, warmth, with a hint of loss balanced with acceptance. And she was okay with that.