A/N: It would be wrong to describe this chapter as fluff but compared to the previous chapters, it is probably a little sunshine after the rain. I guess Gillian and Cal are finally on the right track. The main (and third) part of the chapter is my version of 3x5 "The canary's song". Always wanted to give that special episode the deserved attention.
To the guest reviewer who pointed out that Cal also had something going on with Naomi. Yes, that's right. I mentioned her briefly in the 1st chapter as "a possible female suspect" Cal "messed around with" (not sure if I mentioned her again in later chapters, rather not). It's really a blink-and-you-miss-it mention. So, it is good to know that there are people like you reading this who pay attention to the details.
Thank you all for your support – your reviews and alerts. I appreciate it more than you know and hope you will enjoy this chapter, too.
Disclaimer: *sighs* I don't own neither the show LTM nor its characters. That goes as well for the dialogue from 3x5 "The canary's song" that I used in this chapter (not much, only a few lines, I'm pretty sure you'll recognize it...).
Cal is determined to give Gillian time to come to terms with herself. No matter what it will take – awkward situations, uncomfortable silences or flippant arguments – he is prepared for it.
The morning after their talk, he arrives early at the office, before Gillian. It is completely uncharacteristic. Usually Gillian starts her office day much earlier than he unless they have a midmorning appointment (well, even then, she usually is there before him, commenting his delay with a not so subtle, reproachful flash). On that particular morning, though, Cal wants to show her that it is her choice how to deal with the situation. He is there (there for her), waiting (for her to decide). She can address it or leave it at that. Cal knows she will understand his intention the moment she comes in and realizes that he is already there.
Gillian arrives approximately half an hour later. Cal hears her footsteps stop briefly in passing when she notices the light in his office and the ajar door. He types something on his keyboard and clears his throat to make a noise and confirm her assumption that he is there. Yet, she goes straight on to her office. But when he not so accidentally meets her in the coffee kitchen shortly after, she nods to him, letting him know that she understands and appreciates his approach.
The day and the time they spend together is less awkward or uncomfortable than he feared. Cal is aware that Gillian tries to limit the time she (has to) spend with him alone as far as practicable. It hurts but not too much because he gets why; the tense look on her face tells him everything he needs to know. She is also determined to come to terms with herself and is adjusting to the new situation. They more or less agreed the previous night that his purposes are no secret even if it was anything but romantic. He loves her; she knows it. In contrast, her purposes are a secret no one is allowed to reveal yet. She loves him, too; he knows it although she didn't say it (confess probably being the more accurate term here). As long as she avoids the elephant in the room, though, they are stuck.
When Gillian is about to head home, passing his office again, Cal is still there, his door still ajar. This time, she pushes it open and goes in, walking straight up to Cal who is sitting behind his desk. She stops right in front of it, doesn't take a seat.
"I am confused, worried and my own worst enemy," she admits without preamble.
Cal leans back. Well, hello, elephant. Nice to meet you.
Her outward appearance is as perfect as usual. Hair. Dress. Make-up. Cal could look at Gillian all day and never be bored. Of course, however, he is able to look beyond, sees the fatigue in her posture and the shadows under her eyes. Neither of them slept last night.
"But...," Gillian's facial expression brightens up and when she continues to speak, something changes – she straightens herself, resolve replacing the resigned tiredness. "I also feel alive as if I finally awoke from a bad dream. I won't screw up another time, Cal. Promise!"
Cal wants to tell her that it wasn't only her who screwed up, that they both made mistakes, but she won't have it.
"Don't say anything, Cal. Just listen," Gillian requests. "I appreciate that you left the choice to me how to go on. And this is my choice. I'm here. You are here. We both will be here every day, and we will see how it goes. No pressure, no expectations."
She doesn't want him to say anything. Hence, Cal doesn't point out that her last four words are a lie or at least fall in a gray area. He can tell that she knows and is trying very hard to convince herself that she means it. Since this is Gillian Foster talking, though, there will be pressure and expectations; she isn't able to live for the moment and have no aim. Gillian did exactly that when she came to him at night, and it almost broke her. This is the hardest part regarding her request and not questioning her statement. Cal wants to know so bad what her aim is because she has one; he is dead certain. Is her aim solely not to screw up another time or not to screw them up? And even if it is the latter, there are many layers of them she could prefer as an outcome. Just friends? Or more? She may love him, even that way; still, Gillian Foster is a woman who tends to let reason outdo urge. He saw her do it many times in the past and hopes she will make an exception for him because he will never ever fall in the category of reason.
Gillian watches his inner struggle, how difficult it is for him to keep quiet. Of course, he wants to add his two cents. This is Cal, after all. The man who feels strongly about anything. She appreciates him and his decision to let her set the pace even more after he somehow managed to remain silent throughout her little monologue.
"Thank you." The tiredness found its way back into her eyes. Gillian came by to tell him, and now that she did it, her body demands some rest. "Goodnight, Cal," she says softly, turning around to walk out.
"Night, luv," he responds. "Hope I am allowed to say that."
Gillian doesn't reply, but right before she turns the corner, Cal sees her shrug her shoulders. She is chuckling.
They both will sleep much better tonight.
Yes, Cal is determined to give Gillian time to come to terms with herself. He was prepared for awkward situations, uncomfortable silences and flippant arguments. He wasn't prepared for it to be fun.
It's as if somebody pushed a reset button. They are back. The Cal and Gillian of the good old times. The banter, the closeness, even the innuendo. The staff notices it, sharing an inaudible sigh of relief. Everyone around them relaxes because they do.
Cal sometimes catches himself almost forgetting that they are not only friends and business partners. They were more in the past, and as much as he wants to do it the right way this time, he wants the whole package. Therefore, he is willing to do the two-steps-back-one-step-forward thing, but for now they only took two steps back. Everything is as it was, and it is not enough. Not nearly.
So, whenever he steps into her personal space these days, he comes a little bit closer than in former times so that his body practically brushes against hers. Cal feels the tingling sensation in his body, feels the echo of it in Gillian's body. It's a dance they should patent.
In the past, it was one step into her personal space, waiting for her response (tilting her head back, her hands softly pushing him away, or sometimes, there was his favorite reaction when she gave him a provocative look that melted his inside). Then, one of them created some distance (most of the time her), and it was over (most of the time not unless he checked her out thoroughly when she walked away). These days, it is one step into her personal space and then another so that personal space feels like miles away in comparison, reaching out to touch her (hand, arm or, if he is daring enough, hip or waist), waiting for her response (breathing fitfully, swallowing, or sometimes, there is his favorite reaction when she just closes her eyes; he likes to think she does it because otherwise she wouldn't be able to resist him). Then, and this is the most significant change, it's never her who breaks the contact as if she dares him to screw it up, but he never does, just steps back after some moments that are never long enough to fulfill his desires. It takes an incredible amount of strength to pull away from her like stepping out of a magnetic field. Then again, she probably knows that because she's the magnet.
It is their mutual test. Cal needs to test whether she still wants him, afraid that the fact that they get along so well again will tempt her to settle for this and nothing more. She never fails the test; her physical response surprises and excites him every time anew. Gillian needs to test whether he sticks to his offer to give her time and let it be her choice how to go on. He never disappoints her either.
It is not the desperately required step forward, but it comes pretty close.
Then, eventually, Cal finds Gillian on the balcony of their office building after a rough day for both of them. He was in mortal danger in a mine (or perhaps it was an ordinary day for him because isn't he always in mortal danger somewhere?). She dealt with the Feds to, well, save his ass another time, extinguish proof of one of his well-known sins since they had a recording how he more than willingly had participated in illegal gambling and wanted their expertise on a case in return for ignoring his misstep. But instead of being exhausted or frustrated, Gillian is drunk, very drunk as it turns out when Cal sees his bottle of Scotch that Gillian and Ria obviously emptied together, the latter sound asleep on a couch inside.
Somewhere, there is music playing so that it feels as if they are dancing when Gillian sways back and forth, embracing him one moment and stepping back the next. Sometimes she is so close to Cal that he almost expects her to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, but all he hears is an occasional humming, and somehow, this is even better because it vibrates through her body when she presses herself against him in all the right places. She is different, and it is exciting. Then again, Cal learned the hard way that a different Gillian can be dangerous. So, maybe he should be careful. She never whispered sweet nothings into his ear before. Why would she start now? Because it's what you want, his inner voice points out the obvious in an annoyed tone of voice. Cal can imagine it so clearly that it almost hurts. Gillian being as relaxed around him as she is now but sans alcohol. That is what he wants, and that is what she hopefully wants, too, but is apparently only able to give to him with the help of Mr. Scotch. Considering her family history, especially her father, Gillian is not someone to indulge in alcohol excessively. Tonight, though, she indulged in more than moderate drinking, and as much as he likes the outcome (because she is really sweet, sweet and sexy, in her tipsiness), he worries about the reasons.
However, it's job first and fun later. Gillian tells Cal that she wants him to thank her for dealing with the FBI so that they let him off the hook. His initial reaction is irritation. Why should he thank her? She did her job; he did his. Then he realizes that even if his thoughts revolve around her constantly, it doesn't include her professionality, how often it was her in the past who saved his face for the sake of the company or simply for his sake. He takes it, her, for granted when he shouldn't. If he doesn't respect her as his co-partner, how can he expect her to take his interest in her as a woman seriously?
"Thank you for cleaning up my mess, Gillian."
It is more than a thank you. It is an apology, an admission that this is how it usually goes and that he is aware of it – she covering his back and not vice versa; there rarely is a reason for him to cover her back.
"I can't wait until tomorrow. I get better looking every day," she says in response.
It takes Cal a moment to get it, but then he recognizes the words. Gillian just recited the lines she had heard Cal say when they had made her watch the recording of his gambling. Cal's thank-you changes something between them that had been waiting much too long to be approved. And Gillian chose to requote Cal to bring to his mind that she knows everything about another secret he tried to hide and still is at his side. Save that the words create a completely different context here and now. When Gillian recited them, she wasn't referring to herself, of course. Yet, it was a chance too good to miss to aim for a reaction from him.
He doesn't make her wait. His instinctive reaction are no words though. Gillian is beautiful, gets indeed better looking every day, but Cal never told her explicitly if you ignore the innuendos. Therefore, saying it at this moment would feel cheap, not enough, as if he was only accomplishing an obligation. Instead, he lets her see the truth. She is more than a beautiful face he likes to study, more than a body he desires. His gaze drops to her lips, and he swallows. Attraction. Moreover, there is an expression in his eyes that is not quite a smile but something else, something more, a longing, admiration. Love.
Gillian took off her shoes, holding them casually in one hand as if she did that every day at the office. He loves her in high heels, but the sudden height difference is a huge turn on for him (and probably for her, too, although they never talked about it). In high heels, she is Dr. Foster, all business, the woman who meets him at eye level literally and figuratively speaking. Without them, she is Gillian, or just Gill, the woman he shared a bed with, and to be honest, that's all he can think of right now. Cal has no idea where this is going. However, he is highly aware that this is a version of her that will be almost impossible to resist.
She turns off the lamp of the helmet he is still wearing and then takes it off to run her fingers through his tousled hair. Cal closes his eyes; he has missed her touch so much. Gillian leans back, increasing the pressure of her hip against his (yes, right there) only to lean forward again and give him a squeeze. She gives the best hugs, even sober, and the alcohol seems to have doubled her ability. He hugs her back, his hands finding their way under her shirt in the process, touching bare skin. Cal tries (albeit not too hard) but can't keep them still, starting to caress her. In return, Gillian's lips brush hesitantly across his neck and jaw until they find his mouth. Cause and effect usually is a simple equation. At this point, though, it is impossible to distinguish between what or how or why.
She tastes like Scotch and her. Despite the arousal, Cal immediately attempts to evaluate what kind of kiss it is. A needy, desperate kiss of the Gillian who used to come to him at night or a raw, honest kiss of the Gillian he wants to be with, who kissed him only once before in spite of the many kisses they already shared. He thinks it's the latter. Yet, he can't tell for sure because of the alcohol. It lowers defenses, but it also builds walls and creates imaginary worlds. She breaks off their kiss, panting, pressing her curves even more against his body thereby. As if it wasn't difficult enough. Cal is supposed to be the reasonable one since his thoughts and actions are not alcohol induced unlike hers. Given the circumstances, it is more complex.
"Was that the alcohol or you kissing me?" Cal needs to know.
"Both," Gillian answers after a brief pause.
Good. At least she goes for the truth. Then her eyes darken. There is something else.
"Why do you always have do to it, Cal?" she asks almost timidly, and at first, he doesn't understand what she means. "Just when I thought... there you are again in the middle of gambling so that they have something they can hold against us, blackmail us."
There is not much he can say. She is right. Maybe this...
"They can only hold it against me, luv, not against you or us."
Gillian snorts, and Cal can't blame her. Even according to him, it sounded lame. They run a company together. It would be presumptuous if it wasn't the truth. He is the center of her existence in more than one way – emotionally and financially. Ruin one piece of their fragile mosaic and watch the rest fall apart. Maybe exhaustion and frustration were among the reasons why she got drunk. But not because of the case, because of him.
"Everything they can hold against you, they can hold against me, and don't you dare to pretend this is news to you," she points out. Suddenly, Gillian doesn't appear to be that drunk anymore, her words faster and better articulated.
She touches Cal's face, his cheek, his jawline. She did it before but not like that, never like that. The intensity of her touch burns his skin, and the intensity of her next whispered words cuts right into his heart.
"Every time somebody hurts you, I hurt, too, even more if it's you hurting yourself or exposing yourself to unnecessary risks. I don't know why you do it. In some cases, maybe, but all things considered..." She pauses to take a deep breath. "I will never understand you no matter how hard I try, and sometimes I just don't know how to deal with it any longer, don't know if I can stand it any longer."
Cal wanted raw and honest, and he gets it. Her kiss was a mixture of alcohol induced bravery and feelings pushing to the surface. This is her and not a detached version that knocked on his door in the middle of the night. Gillian struggles and fights for them right in front of him. Just did it today despite the fact that she doesn't understand him and more often than not even despises his missteps. Nevertheless, she cleaned up his mess another time, and yet, she had to ask him for thanking her. Cal thought he was the one who hurt the most because of her behavior when all along it had been her hurting the most – long before him and because of him. He realizes how much he must have hurt Gillian in the past. How often. How much courage it will take if she actually decides to give them a chance. Like jumping off a cliff without a rope or safety net to break her free fall in case he fails her. How many sorries will be needed to make it up to her? Cal wants to say something, anything, but Gillian puts her fingers on his lips. She isn't finished yet
"And then, just when I'm about to give up, you are nice and apologize and show me everything you feel in your face, in your eyes." She tears up. "You have beautiful eyes, do you know that? They lull me into a sense of nearness, but the moment I think you'll let me in, you close the door. I'm done waiting outside, Cal. Loving you from a distance. If you want me to love you, you've got to let me in." Gillian presses her hands against his chest, unaware of the instinctive self response to protect herself from him. "Let me in, Cal. Please," she slurs, her voice trailing off, her head leaning on his shoulder. It has exhausted her to concentrate through the haze of the alcohol and tell him what she needed him to know. Now, the intoxication takes over.
Cal strokes her hair affectionately, kissing her on the back of her head. "I want you to love me," he mumbles. "I'm just very bad at letting myself be loved." He lifts her chin so that she has to look at him. "If I promise to try harder to let you in, will you give it a try?"
Cause and effect. Maybe it is too little, too late. Or maybe the what or how or why matters after all.
Gillian tries to focus. "I'm trying, Cal. Every day. I'm trying."
She blinks, her expression losing focus, and almost stumbles when she straightens herself. Cal catches her, making sure that Gillian remains within touching distance so that he can hold her. As sudden as she teared up, her mood changes again due to the alcohol. Her eyes darken even more, but this time not because she is has something else to tell him. It is because her pupils dilate.
"You have beautiful eyes," she repeats her earlier words. Cal smiles. No matter what, drunk Gillian is sweet and sexy. "And beautiful lips," she adds, staring at them. Cal doesn't smile anymore. The tingling that started when they embraced and kissed is back.
She gets closer; her lips are right next to his ear. And here come the sweet nothings he imagined her saying to him before, save that they are real now.
"I promised not to screw up again. But if you decide to screw up tonight, I won't tell anyone." Cal freezes, doesn't dare to move. "So, will you? I can be quiet." Her last words are a reminder that Ria is inside and could hear them. Moreover, though, they seem to have a direct connection to his groin because Gillian is never quiet. She knows how to play games with him. The sweet, yet drunk, good girl and beneath the woman who knows exactly how to push the right buttons and string him along.
Cal wants to screw up as she put it. They confessed and reconciled with each other; she is here, in his arms, sweet and sexy and... drunk. No, he will not screw up. The wording of her question was supposed to be funny; the truth would be anything but. Drunk sex rarely is a good idea and for them it would probably be worse. It won't be the needed step forward; it would be another step back.
"Ah, no, you won't," Gillian slurs. Bloody hell. Even drunk she can read him. "I could make you, you know..." She falls silent when his hands trace the curves of her body – her hip, her waist, her back, right up to her shoulders and the back of her neck, holding her tight. She hums contentedly. Yes, she can make him do anything, but tonight there are promises to keep.
"Wicked woman you are," Cal teases. "No, I won't. I will take you home instead. But first...," he whispers into her ear, "...may I have this dance?"
There is no music anymore, but they sway back and forth slowly in their most intimate embrace ever. Two bodies in unison. A perfect dance.
When Cal eventually manages to get Gillian into his car later (after he made sure Ria was still sound asleep and had a blanket to warm her), there is a lot of giggling and touching involved and even some fleeting kisses. "So glad you're here," she mumbles sleepily after he has fastened her seatbelt. "Always miss you when you're not." It probably is the alcohol that made her say those words aloud. Yet, their raw honesty is killing him. What else did she never tell him because he slammed the invisible door in her face just when she thought he would let her in? During the drive, he makes sure that his right hand touches her whenever possible to assure her that he is still there.
He tucks her in (still fully dressed, save for her shoes, she can worry about rumpled clothes and having to take them to the cleansers later) and sends Emily a text that Gillian is sick and that he will stay with her overnight (close enough to the truth, everything else would be way too complicated for a text message). Then he falls asleep on her (rather uncomfortable) couch and leaves before sunrise (after he checked on Gillian, putting a glass of water and some aspirin on her nightstand, wondering how he can feel so good and fresh after way too few hours of sleep).
The state of her undressing that didn't take place will assure Gillian that she, they, didn't screw up. Nevertheless, Cal left her a note in addition. When she wakes up and reaches for the glass of water and the painkillers she will need desperately, she will see it.
Damn right. You owe me.
Thank you so much for sticking with the story.
Next chapter: The badly needed step forward. They're almost there. ;)