If This Is All A Dream Chapter 6, a lie to me fanfic

AN: there is an increasing list of people I haven't been able to contact individually to say thank you for reviewing. So thank you to you all. I appreciate your thoughts, encouragement and time.

The air is tense and thick. Cal beats Gillian to the kitchen the next morning but he doesn't make her coffee. When she greets him he grunts a response. She can't help but feel like he's annoyed at her (annoyed might be putting it mildly). And she can't help but think it was because of last night, when they yelled goodnight at each other through walls and doors and went to bed alone. What he doesn't realise is that she spent so much time thinking about him (and her decision to stay in her room) while trying to sleep, that it took her forever to drift off; she's just as put out as heis. The unfamiliar bed, the strange surroundings, even the clothes that aren't hers, they all feel less disarming when he's around. Even making coffee (and then breakfast) in a kitchen that isn't hers (that she still has to go looking for items in) feels less odd when he's at the breakfast bar, grumbling and shifting around, uncomfortable, but at least there with her.

So she made a mistake in going to bed alone last night.

She gets it.

It's not just him. It's her too. They clearly both want it (maybe need it?). Ok, Cal might just be grumpy in the morning before caffeine, and yeah maybe he looks tired because she knows he's not sleeping easily with his broken leg and massive white cast. But the tone in his voice last night, when he said goodnight from the other room, and then turned away. She thinks about these things. She might, just might, be reading too much into it, but she's pretty sure her intuition isn't wrong; he's hurt she didn't sleep with him last night.

Not sleep with him, sleep with him. She's not... There isn't... She means sleep with him. Next to him. Sleep next to him. In the same bed. Sleep in the same bed as him. Not even next to him. On the other side of the bed. It's just the same mattress. And covers. That's all. Nothing... There's nothing...

"What do you want to do today?" Gillian changes the subject.

Cal, who is picking at the eggs she made him, (is there something wrong with her cooking? Hers tasted just fine. She's even managed to do the dishes and clean up in the time it's taken him to pick through half his breakfast. If he wasn't hungry, he should have just said and she wouldn't have gone to the effort) looks up. "Thought we could go for a hike, then rent a hot air balloon and take a tour of the lakes."

Gillian gives him a flat stare.

But it is kind of funny.

It's the tone that gets her. And yeah, she definitely feels like she's being punished somehow. There's a vibe, a tenseness that wasn't there yesterday. She thinks maybe they have cabin fever. She thinks she definitely feels claustrophobic (and she's getting annoyed again at how he's behaving). She thinks two hours in another room, alone, might be good for her. She tells him she's going to take a shower. He gives another grunt.

Back in her room, Gillian throws aside the curtains, half expects a familiar view, but is wrong all over again. At least the sun is attempting to come out from behind grey clouds, but it looks about as feeble as Gillian feels. Her mind goes back to the helplessness of the situation and she tries to ignore it. Thinking like that is not going to get her anywhere, and there is nothing she can do about it. She can only get on with it. She's not sure how she's going to get on with it (or just what exactly she is meant to be getting on with, seeing as they're stuck in limbo right now waiting for their new lives), but starting with a basic routine seems like a good place to begin; she's not unwell anymore (the extra medications she got at the second hospital visit two days ago have really made a difference), feels energetic and motivated (still not sure what she's meant to be motivated about but still... it's there). So she goes with it.

Gillian showers and washes her hair. She dresses in the jeans she bought herself and the comfortable twin hoodie to the sky blue one she's taken to sleeping in; this one is a pale green. She takes the time to dry her hair straight (as straight as she can get it), then rifles through the bathroom again to see if there are straightening irons, hair products, or something. She finds the bottles of nail polish again, moisturiser and mascara. She takes the polish (she put clear on her toes the other day. This time she's going to go for a colour. Because it's something to do), leaves the mascara and uses the moisturiser. It smells like vanilla. She heads to the living room to see what Cal is up to; she thinks she might be ready for some company again, no matter what he throws at her.

Cal is on the couch. Stretched out full length. Staring at the wall. Gillian watches him from the doorway for a moment but he doesn't shift (she's not sure he even blinks). He doesn't seem to notice she's there, because he doesn't speak, doesn't turn his head in her direction (though she is out of his line of sight). So she moves and as she comes around the couch she catches his attention. She goes for an arm chair, but he starts to shift to make room for her and so she hesitates a little and then he realises she was going to sit somewhere else. As she moves to sit with him he changes his mind and starts to settle back. So Gillian tries again for the arm chair as Cal notices she was going to sit with him after all and shifts to make room again. Gillian makes a quick decision (before this gets completely ridiculous. Or weirder): she wants to sit next to him. She makes a show of waiting for him to move out of the way and sits carefully next to his casted foot.

The television isn't on, so it seems Cal really was staring at the wall. Gillian takes out the bottles of nail polish from her pockets and looks over to Cal. He's watching her. She wonders if he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, or if he really is mad at her for not coming to sleep in his bed. She's not sure why the second thought makes her cheeks feel warm; pleased or embarrassed?

This could be a really long day.

Gillian decides on a colour, tucks a leg up so her knee was under her chin and pushes back the sleeves of her hoodie, preparing to paint her toenails. Dark red. It's called 'blood rose'. She gives the little bottle a shake and twists the top off and wonders why there would be nail polish in the safe house. Working under the assumption that someone stocks the house for guests such as her and Cal, why would they think of nail polish? (Maybe they just went to the pharmacy and grabbed one of everything off the shelf. Seems odd).

"What happened to your wrist?"

Gillian looks to her left, where Cal is sitting against the arm of the couch, watching her. She looks down at her wrists, not sure what he means; her right has a large red mark on the edge of her palm. It only hurts if she presses it (which she does. To see if it hurts). "It's a bruise," she tells him and goes back to her toes. Should have grabbed some cotton buds.

"That from the accident?"

For a second, Gillian feels startled panic. How does he know about the accident? But then she realises he means the explosion nearing on a week ago, not her fall in the street the other day (which until now, she's actually managed to not over analyse. Probably because the rush to the hospital afterwards over shadowed it. But now that he brings it up, she feels foolish for freaking out in the middle of the city). Everything feels like forever ago. Even a few days feels more like a week. Cal must sense something in her hesitation, because he presses her again.

"I fell," Gillian admits, glancing over at him, avoiding his eye.

"When?"

"The other day."

"Here?"

"When I was in town," Gillian mumbles while trying to sound nonchalant. There's a moment of silence and she thinks he might leave it at that. But she's so wrong.

"You didn't say."

"It didn't really come up," she tries to flash a reassuring smile, but now she's thinking about the panic she felt on the street that day, with the howling bitter cold and strangers all around. She's not been one to suffer from anxiety, certainly not panic attacks, and she feels irrational all over again; looking back on it, she doesn't really know what the problem was.

"You get that checked out?"

He means her wrist, when she was back in the hospital, getting treated again for her lungs. This one though, has an easy answer. "It's fine. Just a bruise." She's managed to forget about it. And if it were broken, she would not.

"Not broken?"

It doesn't sound much like a question and Gillian finishes up on her little toe to look over at him again, amused this time. He gives her surprise in response, a slightly raised eyebrow that invites her to explain. "Can you imagine it? Both of us in plaster?" She smiles and there's a tremor of Cal's lip as he gives in to a slight grin too.
"We'd be a right pair."

Gillian smiles deeper, genuine (pleased the hostility seems to have died down, at least for a moment. She doesn't know what to do with him, but the talking seems to be working). She moves so her foot is on the coffee table so her toes can dry without her smudging them. She shifts her left foot so it's on the edge of the couch cushion, and her knee is under her chin, so she can start on the other toes.

"How did you fall?"

And now it feels like an interrogation.

"How does anyone fall Cal?" She looks over at him, briefly, then back to her toes and the dark red nail polish.

"You slipped, someone pushed you, you tripped..."

"I slipped," Gillian answered. Really, the more she thinks about it now, the sillier it seems.

"Icy?"

"Yeah I guess."

There's a pause. "Should be more careful," Cal mumbles.

It doesn't warrant an answer.

When Gillian's done with her feet, and has both of them on the coffee table to dry, they find a movie to watch (something by Dreamworks, as it turns out. Their latest animation) and Cal falls asleep half way through. He sleeps for several long hours (pretty soundly it seems) and Gillian finds something else to watch once the first movie finishes. And then she starts to feel like she's going out of her mind. She folds the laundry. Then she puts it away. She cooks dinner and puts it in the oven. Then she cleans the kitchen, does the dishes, finds she's run out of things to do. The timer on the oven says there is fifteen minutes left until their meal has finished cooking. So she goes to wake Cal.

Maybe she needs him after all.

Cal stands at the toilet. It's ridiculous, but he has to hold on to the wall to keep his balance while he goes (like he's had too much to drink or something; been a while since that happened), because it hurts too much to actually put his broken foot down on the ground and rest his weight on it, even a little. When he's redressing, looking down to see, he notices there is something black on the cast on his right leg. He flushes the loo and hops backwards, angling his leg in the light so he can see what it is. Gillian was here, is written in black marker on top of his foot (the right way up, so he can read it; so he will see it every time he looks down now). And his toenails are painted a dark red.

Cal stares for a second, not sure if he's imagining it, then quickly deduces his partner is having a laugh at his expense. He washes his hands (well, just the one, plus the fingertips of his right hand, really, really carefully, so he doesn't get the plaster wet) and dries them vigilantly. He picks up the one crutch he can favour on his left side and uses the wall of the hallway to hobble to the dining room.

Gillian woke him for dinner out of a deep sleep but he feels refreshed now (even though he also thinks he's probably going to have a shit time of trying to get to sleep tonight. He really should work on correcting that). He thinks about how he's going to get back at her for writing on his cast, but can't come up with anything good; an opportune moment will have to present itself (maybe he's still too sleepy at present). She's too nimble for him at the moment and his usual methods of evening the score aren't going to be practical right now either, while he's in plaster (and seeing as it could be at least six weeks, retaliation could be a long term process).

Cal gets to the dining room just as Gillian is serving up their dinner. She has set the table. Placemats, plates, knives and forks, wine glasses (for water), the works. Wow. This is... unexpected. And kind of nice. Gillian looks over her shoulder at him. "Come sit," she gestures to the steaming food on his plate. It looks like a casserole. Or some concoction. But it smells great and Cal is hungry (they skipped lunch). He manoeuvres himself around the table, grabbing on to Gillian's chair and hopping, switching the crutch to his other hand (fingers) and ignoring it now.

"I got your note," Cal says as he falls awkwardly into his seat, his arm brushing heavily against Gillian as he goes by so he almost takes her down with him.

"My note?" Gillian muses as she puts plates in front of their places.

Cal shifts in his seat, trying to move his bulky leg further under the table so he is at least facing the right way. It takes a moment and he bangs against the wood several times, jolting the point of the break, making it ache. As Cal moves, he gestures to the cast at his thigh and watches her face. She looks embarrassed, but also amused.

Gillian gives a little huff of a laugh. "Oh you did?"

"Uh huh. And lucky burgundy is in my wheelhouse of colours."

Gillian gives another small laugh. "Mine too." She sits and they eat.

Cal takes up one of his crutches and uses it and the door frame to propel himself out of the bathroom and towards the bed. As he's coming out of the smaller room, Gillian comes into the bigger one, with an armful of pillows. He's surprised but he doesn't say anything, even as she hesitates in the door way, waiting for a moment (maybe for invitation), before coming slowly into the room and heading over to the bed, where Cal has already started the awkward dance of dumping the crutch so he can get it in the morning and swinging his body around to the mattress without getting caught up in his cast or putting his weight on the break. It's probably something he wouldn't want Gillian to witness but she doesn't tease him about it and for that he's grateful (he feels his frustration just below his diaphragm and is sure the slightest provocation is going to unleash it).

Cal still doesn't say anything when Gillian puts the extra pillows down on the bed and pulls back the covers like she's going to get in there with him. Nope, definitely not going to complain about that. He doesn't even say anything when she makes him lie back while she puts one of the spare pillows under his broken leg. And then she practically tucks him in (still not complaining). She puts the light out, goes around the bed in the dark, and gets in next to him, like she does this every night, like it's completely normal. Maybe her getting into bed with him has become a little normal. It's certainly not great when she isn't there (he might have caught himself sulking about it a little earlier this morning).

Gillian settles easily and quickly and then the room is silent. It's a little different when she crawls in at some ungodly hour and he's half asleep. It's less awkward then.

"Does it feel better with the pillow?"

Cal takes a moment to think, to notice, to feel. "Yes," he grudgingly admits. Why didn't she do it days ago? Would have saved him a world of discomfort. He might even possibly, maybe, have slept better. It's been quiet for too long now. How could it be this weird when they've known each other so long? When they've shared a bed a few nights this week anyway? "Thank you."

Not easy getting those words out, but he is trying.

"You're welcome," Gillian responds pleasantly. She might have been waiting for it.

"Personal experience?"

"Alec."

Silence.

Heavy silence.

Cal is surprised, startled, not expecting her to bring up her ex like that. But he supposes it's not completely out of line. He's just caught off guard. It must have happened before he knew her, the broken leg, because she would have mentioned it if Alec was laid up like he was. Which just reminds him that she had a whole other life before she met him, that it hasn't always been the two of them (it's not the two of them; it sort of is), even if it feels like just the two of them now. And it just makes him feel weird, like he mentioned her recently deceased grandmother or something else equally awkward. He feels a bit like an idiot, getting closer to her when she's... not even married anymore, so why is he feeling so ridiculous about it? Gillian probably doesn't react like this to Zoe. He knows she doesn't react like this to Zoe. Or maybe it's because she has gotten used to it because Zoe was still around for a while and Alec seems to have just dropped off the face of the earth.

And maybe he's totally over thinking it.

Thankfully, Gillian doesn't elaborate on that story and the weird silence just becomes a silence and after a while, it sounds like Gillian has gone to sleep. Her breathing gets even, slow and soft (and even more thankfully, doesn't sound like she's drowning in shallow water). She twitches gently a few times and gets quieter and Cal knows for sure she's gone. But he's wide awake. And he's thinking now about how he thinks about Gillian.

They're meant to be starting over, a new leaf, fresh chances. This is meant to be a whole new life and he doesn't know what else. There are possibilities but they have baggage. No one else would know, but they would. He's done things in the past and sometimes he honestly wonders why Gillian is still with him. And now she doesn't really have a choice. Which might not be as consoling as it seems. Truthfully, she could go and there would be little he could do to stop her (though he thinks the marshals would probably like it better if they were in the same place; easier to keep track of them that way).

Gillian shifts and rolls towards him. He feels the brush of her hand against his upper arm, thinks she might have curled up and tucked a hand under her pillow (has to rely on his imagination for lack of light). The fingers of his broken arm twitch towards her and he wants to tell her that he can't imagine his life without her in it, that if he has to be trapped in this hell of a situation, he's glad it's with her (even though he doesn't feel great about the bit where she got hurt in the explosion).

"You're still awake?" Gillian asks and she doesn't sound sleepy. It can't be that long since she drifted off (since Cal thought she had).

"Yeah," he whispers back when he starts to realise her question wasn't rhetorical.

"I let you nap too long today."

Cal chuckles and he hears Gillian give a short huff of amusement. "Well. You might have to keep me company now."

"No," Gillian grumbles. "I'm going to go to sleep."

"Yes," Cal shifts his left hand towards where he thinks her torso is and attempts to poke her. He's not sure, but he thinks he might have, it feels like it, but he's not sure; he thinks he accidentally touched her breast (or at least something else that was soft and fleshy). Which is how he starts speculating about the lack of sweatshirt. She was definitely wearing it before she put the light out. And he was pretty sure she hadn't taken it off before she got into bed. She might have, but she was quiet about it. And it isn't exactly pitch black; he didn't notice her removing a bulky item of clothing. But it feels like it is gone now. Not that he is really purposefully trying to cop a feel. But now that he might have...

"No," Gillian complains, shoving his hand away.

"Yep," Cal tells her, sounding bolder (even if he has to lie still for a moment, his heart beating noticeably). "You graffiti-ed my cast. You owe me." He attempts another jab to her abdomen (thinks he gets stomach this time; which is equally relieving and disappointing and a realisation that last time, he might have crossed over a line. And he is frigging pushing it, attempting to jab her again).

(Then there's also the bit where she didn't jump up with exclamation, or roll away from him in protest. Not that he's saying she wanted him to touch her in that way. He's just saying, she didn't recoil. Maybe he didn't touch her in any untoward way after all).

"If I black it out, am I off the hook?" Gillian mumbles, half heartedly fending him off (but somehow just moving closer).

"I dunno. There's also the issue of my toenails."

Gillian gives a louder laugh, sounding more awake and Cal smiles in the darkness; he likes the way she laughs. He can't see every detail of her face, but enough of her outline to know where she lies in proximity to him (right on the edge of her pillow, by the way; he can feel her body warmth across the small gap).

Impulsively, he angles his hand back and turns on the lamp next to his side of the bed, cutting off Gillian's 'what are you do?' Gillian is facing towards him and she immediately frowns and tries burying her face into her pillow. She lets out a grumble, "you're cruel," and throws a hand at his chest.

Cal turns back towards her, eager. "Gill."

"What?" She grouches.

He wants to ask her 'what next' but he's not sure if this is the right time for the conversation (it's late, after all). And then he thinks about how the marshals are working to put together a new life for them and he and Gillian have made no demands about how that life is going to be. He feels like they're running out of time; they've spent days wasting it (it's actually a week now since the explosion, six days since he's been here and four since Gillian joined him). So maybe the conversation is pressing. What he wants to know is: what does Gillian want?

But it's late and it's dark and it doesn't feel like the right time. He hesitates.

"Wanna play cards?" He quips instead.

Gillian groans. "Go to sleep."

"I can't," he complains and he's completely aware that he sounds like a petulant child. It was safe in the darkness and it's made him feel bold.

"You didn't even try."

"I did."

"Did not," Gillian grumps back. "What time is it?"

"Dunno," Cal tells her truthfully. There is a clock beside his bed but he can't easily just roll towards it and have a gander. He has to sit up on one arm and lean in. Bloody awkward being this broken up.

"Have a look."

"You have a look," he bites out a bit more sharply than he intended.

Gillian doesn't seem fazed by it. The atmosphere doesn't go tense or weird. She just picks herself up and leans against him so she can see the clock.

Cal uses his left hand to squeeze at her side, to steady her, that's his reasoning (he can definitely see there's no hoodie, just a t-shirt) and Gillian flinches away from him. But she's laughing a little so Cal takes that as a good sign; she might not be entirely mad that he won't let her go to sleep (he wonders if she did fall asleep before, or whether she just got quiet for a while, trying. Maybe slipping into stage one). She reaches for the clock to turn it further towards her (he doesn't protest. Kind of likes the way she feels pressed against his chest, to be honest).

"Well at least it's not yet midnight."

Which means it's probably pretty close. Time can play tricks when it wants to. Cal could have sworn it had been maybe half an hour since they got into bed, but really, it's been more like an hour and a half. He thinks Gillian really must have gone to sleep before and now he does feel bad for stopping her from getting back there. Gillian puts the light out again and when she settles once more, it's with her head on his shoulder and he can smell her hair and feel her body warm and solid against his (absent in the places where she curls around his casts).

"Gill?" He tries again. He doesn't know why he doesn't want the conversation to end just yet, he just knows that he doesn't. They spent all day together, all of yesterday, and yet right now is the time he decides he wants to talk.

"Yeah?"

"If you could live anywhere, where would it be?"

"Southern France," Gillian answers immediately.

Cal's surprised by her conviction; she's thought about this already. "Don't think the marshals will put us up in Europe."

"Oh you meant in America?"

"Sure."

"Mmm. New York," she answers, sounding wistful.

Cal doesn't like New York. The culture doesn't appeal to him. But he thinks he would tolerate it for her. Which is stupid because what scenario puts them in New York together? He's pretty sure the witness protection program involves staying away from the major cities; the idea is low key.

"What about you?" Gillian prompts. "Anywhere in the world?"

Cal has to think for a moment, because he hasn't put any thought into this kind of scenario. "Germany," he decides.

"Why Germany?"

"Why not?"

"Fair enough." Gillian shifts, her body smoothing out along the edge of his casts, and her head repositioning on the pillow next to his, but close, so they can see each other (outlines, now their eyes have readjusted. Cal thinks the room has gotten lighter but there is no way that's true if it's nearly midnight). Even though Cal's on his back, his head is turned towards her. "What about in America? If you could pick where the marshals put us?" Gillian asks next.

Cal almost smiles (she sees through him) but has to take a moment to think about his answer. He half contemplates telling her something cheesy like 'I'd ask to go where you are' but manages to reign himself in before it escapes into his mouth. He's always liked DC though. He likes the climate and the atmosphere and he likes the politics of it. Boston pops into his head but a split second behind that is Zoe and so he moves on. New England might be nice though. Then of course there's the west coast, closer to Emily.

"Too many choices?" Gillian queries lightly when he hasn't answered yet.

"I like DC," he admits.

When Gillian answers, her tone is soft, and Cal can imagine the facial expression that goes with it. "Me too."

"Toronto," Cal settles on.

"That's not in America."

"You didn't say the United States of."

Gillian's tone gets more amused. "Fair point. I didn't."

Cal closes his eyes for a moment, pictures her leaning over him. She's beautiful and adorable and even though it's the dead of the night and he hasn't seen her with make up on in days, she still looks gorgeous (in his mind). And the way she looks at him sometimes (more often since they've been here), like she can see right through him to his heart, it makes Cal feel strange things inside, things he hasn't felt since he was a young man.

He's not sure he's thinking about that, or what he's thinking about, when he shifts forward to kiss her. Just a press of his mouth against hers; he wants to feel her lips (he wants to feel more than that, has for a while now).

Even that steals his breath.

He thinks he surprises himself with being bold and he's amazed more that she doesn't shove him off. She doesn't ask him what he's doing either, so he doesn't have to come up with an awkward explanation that would pale to how he really feels; he hasn't been able to put a name on it properly (even though he admitted to his daughter that he loves her. Sometimes it feels like it's more than that. If that is even possible). When he pulls back a little, it's impossible to read Gillian in the dark, so he's got nothing to go on, no clue from her eyes or mouth or jaw to tell him if he did right or wrong. He thinks sometimes there might have been something between them, clues that he missed, that he saw sometimes but was never sure about. He's even less sure now but she doesn't say anything discouraging (doesn't say anything either, actually, which could be considered discouraging), doesn't move away, doesn't get out of bed, doesn't attempt to slap him (he's imagined too many scenarios where that's happened); but he can't see her face.

And then she's closing the gap to press her mouth against his and it sends a jolt through him. He kisses her back, tries to lean up into her but finds the angle awkward. His left hand cups around her jaw and it's clumsy as they bump off each other. Gillian breaks away and gives him a little push, suggesting he lie down again, and he goes with it as she sits up to shift closer to him, pressing her hip against his, her thigh against his cast (that can't be comfortable at all), her chest against his rib, a hand at his shoulder. She presses her mouth against his again, but it's a little more open; she's a little more breathless. So Cal goes with it, kissing her firmer, warmer, working against her lips purposefully.

At first, Gillian's not sure what's happening. She feels Cal move towards her and she feels something against her mouth but it takes a split second longer to comprehend what he's doing. He's kissing her. Finally, actually, just went for it, and now he's kissing her. In the dead darkness of the bedroom, but still, he took the plunge. She decides she likes it, despite the surprise; likes that he's made a move, likes how his mouth feels on hers, likes how it makes her feel inside. She's thought about it, of course, how it might feel to kiss him, or have him kiss her, and sometimes she's honestly thought that it could be weird. They're friends and they're business partners (or were. Were business partners) but maybe not. Maybe the business partner's bit doesn't matter anymore because god only knows what's happened to the Group since they've been gone (she still figures people have been told they're dead. But it would be hard trying to get around funerals and the legal ramifications. So maybe they've just disappeared and no one knows anything about where they've gone. Maybe everyone can work out they've gone into witness protection).

Cal pushes against her, trying to get leverage, but it sets her off balance and that sets him off balance and they bump against each other in the dark for a moment. Gillian pushes back at Cal's chest, making him lie back again and shifts in close to kiss him, reassuring that she's still there, still wants him; still wants to do this. Her thighs are pressed against his cast and she can feel the rough brush of the one on his arm against her hips and waist, where he wants to grab her. When he finally makes his way under her shirt, he scrapes the plaster right up her rib cage and she flinches away from him.

"Sorry," he whispers tightly.

"Mm," Gillian kind of hums with a little displeasure, reaching for his arm, not wanting him to pull away but unable to find the words to explain that quickly. She presses her mouth against his again (gets quite a bit of cheek in there before aligning their lips in the dark) and curls her fingers into his right hand. She feels him try to tug away, but she pulls him closer, pressing the mass of their fingers against the flat of her stomach, wanting him to touch, but hoping he gets that his cast is uncomfortable against her flesh. She feels the exact moment he gets restless, even as they explore each other's mouths; his whole body goes into motion. His fingers tug and pull from hers, coming back to stroke at her skin (so she slides her hand against his jaw), and his torso comes up to attempt to press into her again. His right leg pushes against her too, and she gets that he's trying to turn over, so he's not on his back. His mouth breaks from hers and it's awkward. Not only can he not manoeuvre all that plaster, but he can't lie on it either, and she's on the right side of his body. Gillian isn't encumbered, so she shifts up so she's on her hands and knees and Cal has no choice but to move back. She leans over him, sensing where his mouth is easily this time, and kisses him again, firmly, hoping he'll realise his limitations too. His left hand comes into play, squeezing at her waist, his right hand mimicking on the other side; the cast doesn't feel so bad when it doesn't scrape against her skin.

They settle into that position, Gillian relaxing her arms a bit more so their bodies touch and she focuses on the kisses, the scratch of his stubble (and trying to avoid it), the tease of his tongue. He's a very good kisser and it tightens her stomach into knots of wanting and excitement. Honestly? When she's watched him kiss other women, she's been a little jealous.

They start exploring bodies, Cal's hands more daring and Gillian shifting her weight so she can touch his torso without falling all over him. She traces the patterns of his muscles, his flesh, feeling her way in the dark, letting the images bloom behind her eyes, periodically disrupted by the electrical jolts of his fingers on her skin. He curves around her waist, hips, ass, breasts (over and under clothing); he's not shy or restrained. And interestingly, she doesn't seem to mind.

She feels Cal move again, drops the right arm, shifts his weight, like the roll of an ocean. Gillian goes with it (warm and enthralled), moving with the ripple of his body, until she finds that he's pulling away from her. He's reaching for... She hears the drawer open on his bedside table and then he's practically ignoring her, bumping her out of the way so he can reach. She thinks he might be putting the light back on (she might be a little mortified by that; this is much easier in the dark) but he's fumbling around in the drawer so that can't be right. And when he gives a grunt of displeasure, obviously not finding whatever he was looking for, she suddenly clicks. She moves away from him, crawling across the bed to the other side table and tugging open the drawer. She's not sure if she should be offended that he's presuming this is going to lead to sex, or whether she should maybe be glad she doesn't have to insist on protection if it does lead to sex, or if she does want this to lead to sex (nah, ok, who's she kidding? Yes she does), or if this is just sex, or something more, and if she wants it to just be sex, or something more, and if they should talk about it before they do it or whether it's just better to go with it and maybe talk about it in the morning. Or not at all? As her hand slides against the wood inside the empty drawer Cal angles himself out of bed and she hears him hop, thump and wince to the door to the bathroom. The light goes on. She gives up on the drawer, tries to ignore the nervousness threatening the arousal.

Cal's back. He hops and winces over to the bed and Gillian shuffles over on her knees to meet him, gripping the back of his head to angle his mouth to kiss him. The tug in her stomach is harder, sharper, and even though there's light now to see him by, she closes her eyes and uses her imagination. She uses her right hand to grip at his shoulder, goes with the sway as he keeps his balance, feels around the curve of his neck, then down against his chest. He's solid under fingers, hard, his muscles tighter than she might have thought; she likes it.

They kiss and explore (at least he's not rushing her into going further) and she gets bold and tugs his shirt over his head, smoothing her hands down his bare chest. He's breathing heavily but so is she and she feels the scratch of foil against her skin, reminding her (maybe asking her). She shifts back, tugs him towards her, down to the bed and he gets the point. But it's an awkward jig of their bodies so she gives it up, moves right back, gives him the room to angle himself to the bed. He turns and balances, then drops himself to the mattress, and while Gillian waits, she takes her clothes off (the bottom half). He's left the bathroom light on and the door wide open, so she can't hide in the dark anymore and she feels a little self-conscious as she realises he's watching her from his position propped up by the head of the bed (like he would do anything else but have a good look). She tries to ignore it, that prickly feeling of being naked in front of someone for the first time and crawls into his lap. She closes her eyes again and kisses him. She balances her hands on his shoulders, dropping back her weight to see where she is, to see what she can feel. His hands glide over her bare flesh, fingers of one hand, palm of the other. She feels exploration on her thigh, trailing up and she squirms away from it, wanting him to, but being too logical; she warns him about getting his cast dirty (irreparably wet) and he half smirks at her, his eyes dark in the dim light. She drops her head to kiss him slowly again, the tempo building gradually; he doesn't attempt to touch her there anymore but it doesn't stop her from exploring him, feeling and gauging, guessing with her eyes closed what he looks like exposed and under her hand. Cal gives a grunt and Gillian pulls back to look at him, to give him the chance to say what he wanted to say against her lips. His eyes are careful but lustful, as if he's asking her if she's ready to do this now.

Yes, she supposes yes, she is.

She gives him room to put the condom on, trailing her lips around his neck, leaning over him on her hands and knees. He squeezes her thighs when he's ready and she can feel the tight coil of his body in waiting, wanting. When she shifts back and can feel him, she almost hesitates: the point of no return. But he wants it so badly, she can practically taste the desperation and she wants it too, a sharp spike of desire (if not just to get it over with). She goes for it, talks herself into it.

Cal's tense and gripping at her harshly, pushing and quick; quick in every sense of the word. She's just starting to get into it (shutting up that nagging insecure voice and listening to her body instead) and it's over, heavy breaths held in the air and the shudder of his body beneath hers. She half forms a 'no' in her head to tell him to wait, that she's not ready, but she's too slow; she doesn't know until now the cues of his pleasure. She doesn't think to fake it. But she doesn't let on that she's disappointed; she thinks he might not notice anyway (he's distracted with himself). And if he does ask, she'll just tell him the truth.

He sits up against her and she holds him, keeps a slow tempo of her hips (she might get something out of it after all...), pressing her chest against his and soft kisses against his skin. When he comes back to her, he wraps his arms around her back (cast pressed against her spine), holding her tightly, and she thinks this might be the nicest part of it all. She slows to a still and they just hold each other for a long time, her face pressed against his neck, her breath puffing gently against his throat, unwinding slowly and tensely (she didn't get anything out of it, but it almost doesn't seem to matter too much). It's dark here and it feels safe and it's so nice to be held but when he shivers one last time she pulls back, a slight smile for him, another kiss on the mouth and moves away. They fumble and fight to regain balance. Gillian finds her clothes and pulls them back on; she can hear Cal shift and adjust behind her. She slips back under the covers, settles on her side of the mattress and still Cal is not motionless beside her. She finally looks over, sees him trying to settle on his side, troubled by the bulky cast on his leg (he kicks her twice but doesn't seem to notice, and she doesn't protest). At last, he settles on practically lying on her and when she tries to shift and move away he holds up his left arm, an embrace open and waiting for her. She sees him try to form the words to ask her to cuddle with him but she works it out before he can voice them (saves him the embarrassment), and as she moves in closer (an obtuse angle to avoid the plaster on his leg, but still get close to his chest), she catches the relief on his face. That's ok, she wants it too. She tucks in against him; her arms folded up between them and rests her head against his cheek. He kisses her forehead. And it feels sweet and secure. Gillian closes her eyes, wonders where they go from here. It's not just this night, but all the others to come; it's all the things unsaid between them, and the feel of his body against hers.

Cal wakes early. His ass is numb and painful and when he shifts his weight a little to one side, the relief is incredible, and awkward. He's flat on his back again. He woke in the night, had to move, had to dislodge Gillian (he only really has one option for sleeping: on his back. But maybe now he can manage a few hours lying on his broken side). Before Gillian got here, those few days he was in the house alone and going out of his mind, he would get up and go to the couch to watch television. But the first night she came back from the hospital was the first night he stayed in bed; he didn't want to accidentally wake her and he tended to knock into things with his crutches and bung leg (especially if he was moving around in the dark). And as it turned out, it was fortuitous that he had stayed in bed, because she came in. She is still here now, her breath soft and not strained on the pillow next to him. Even though it was scary that she was coughing up blood, Cal half thinks it was a good thing, because the extra treatment she got at the hospital has helped a lot already.

Cal tries shifting again, trying to get his weight somewhere that isn't dying but he's awkward and it's frustrating. He thinks about just getting out of bed anyway, but figures it's highly likely he's going to wake Gillian if he does (he's like a turtle trapped on its back), and he's already disturbed her twice in the night. He tries turning onto his left side a little but the weight of both casts tries to pull him back again. So he tries his right side a little (he can't make it all the way over without sitting up and throwing himself right over, and that would definitely wake Gillian) and its better (even if the pressure on his leg makes the point of the break ache heavily. He can take it for a few minutes until his ass isn't so numb, until the blood gets moving again).

"You ok?" A sleepy voice asks him in the dimness. It's far too early for the sun to be up and he hopes that it is at least morning, not the dead of the night. He left the bathroom light on and it still shines a rectangle of light across the bed.

"Yeah," Cal whispers back, keeping it short. So, he woke her anyway. He goes quiet, hopes she'll just go straight back to sleep, but she shifts towards him, even grabbing at his ribs to pull herself in closer. She also upsets his balance and he tips onto her. They fumble in the sheets and against each other until they settle again.

Gillian clears her throat but doesn't speak and Cal finds himself waiting to hear her voice. He wants to her to go back to sleep, but he doesn't. Now that he's awake again, he's awake. And he wants her to talk to him, distract him. When she keeps his mind occupied, he doesn't seem to notice how much his leg hurts, how badly uncomfortable he feels; how horrific the situation is.

Last night.

"You're awake?" Gillian notes and she doesn't sound half as asleep as she did a moment ago.

"Yeah," Cal whispers back, waiting to see where this is going.

Gillian turns her face towards him, squinting her eyes so they're practically closed. "What time is it?"

"Dunno," Cal tries again.

Gillian's face slackens into a dealthy unimpressed expression. "What time is it?" She asks again, as if she's convinced he does actually know.

"Uh, probably early," he almost winces.
"Cal," she complains and shifts so she can lean against him to see the clock. She groans louder when she identifies the numbers and slaps at his chest again, "it's nearly ten o'clock."

Wow he totally misread that.

They both startle at the loud knock on the door. Gillian shoots him a look but he doesn't know who it is (or what she means by the look). She pushes off his chest and slides out of bed, stopping to readjust the clothes she's sleeping in (he looks, but there isn't much to see. She drops beneath the edge of the bed, crouching, not bending over to maybe do something with her feet?). Cal pulls himself to sit with his abdominal muscles (which is better than leaning on his arm) but Gillian is already out of the room before he even swings a leg from the mattress.

Gillian hurriedly straightens her shirt, finger combs her hair and picks the sleep from her eyes as she makes her way down the hallway. But she needn't have rushed, because the person at the door has a key, and they're letting themselves in. Her heart hammers for a second with surprise and fear but it's Agent Walker. He pokes his head into the frame, looks around and spots her and straightens up, coming in. "Oh good. Gillian. Where's Cal?"

"Asleep," she mutters, not thinking about the question, but more about the man's presence. They've been left to themselves for days, waiting, and now it occurs to her that the marshal showing up again probably means one thing.

"Oh," Walker says in return, and at least he doesn't make a show of looking at the time. Yeah, she gets it, they slept in and it looks lazy (but at least he didn't see them coming out of the same bedroom. Or worse. Coming into the bedroom to find them. That would have been far more embarrassing). Walker comes in further and swings two empty, black, duffel bags towards Gillian. She takes them. Cal approaches behind her using the wall and one of the crutches. "Pack your things. We're leaving in an hour," the Agent tells them.