The day after the interview (which she doesn't elaborate on, and Cal doesn't ask again), Gillian goes over to the neighbours'. She takes back their casserole dish and Cal watches from the window (he refused to go. Yeah it's a shocker) as she knocks on the door and is welcomed in (he feels like he should have binoculars and a notebook). She's gone nearly an hour and when she comes back she reports on what she found out (like she's still working for the Group). Mary-Anne and Steven. Fifties. Homemaker and web designer. Two teenagers; boy and girl; both at Boulder High (where Gillian's starting work on Monday); sophomore and a senior. Cal barely musters enough of a response (he figures they're not going to be there long, so why should he even care to get to know them?) and after talking for a while and getting minimal interest from him, Gillian gives it up (she can't be bothered pushing shit up hill).
They spend long hours sitting around. There is less TV watching and more internet trawling. Cal's so tempted, so, so, so tempted, to check up on the Group through the website (or worse, log in and literally check up on them through the cameras). He Google satellites his house (still standing) and Emily's dorm (doesn't spot her walking around...) and then sets up a new email account, adding the addresses he remembers (Emily's and Gillian's. Too much reliance on technology); he'll probably never end up using it (if they're going home soon, he can just go back to using his old one. Which has probably overflowed with messages by now. Gillian probably isn't even going to use her old account anyway, but that is the one he knows).
On the third day, the sun comes out brightly and Gillian suggests getting out of the house. Cal is reluctant (the idea of walking around tires his body before he even attempts it) but she seamlessly suggests a drive (not a walk), around the neighbourhood, to at least see where they live now. Cal agrees to that (because she has this optimistic expression on her face that he doesn't much relish destroying). But he doesn't like it (he doesn't want to get to know the neighbourhood. He just wants to go home). What would be great is if Gillian suggested talking about the case (because they still haven't done that) and Cal's not ever sure of when is the right time to bring it up. When it's on his mind, there seems to be something else going on with them or with Gillian (and he does at leave have the good sense to know when a bad time is).
They drive around the streets of their neighbourhood and look at the houses (Cal stares out the window, but he's not really looking. He doesn't care much and Gillian only breaks the silence intermittently), then they venture further, making bigger turns to get further away from their house, then end up taking the path up the Flatirons. The view is impressive and the weather is so nice and Cal does grudgingly admit to himself that it is good to be outside; to be doing something different. Sun, slight breeze, fresh air, the way Gillian stands close (far too close. Not complaining).
Binoculars would have been good.
As they stand and look out over the city of Boulder, Gillian rests her head on his shoulder. It's not easy to do, seeing as he's not actually standing at his real height (but at least he's not leaning over his crutches. That would have been quite comical), but she does it anyway and after a moment he works up the courage and reaches for her fingers (because he feels her hand knocking against his cast and hand a few times and think it might be a hint). He brushes her thigh before he contacts skin (not complaining about that either), hooking the digits of his broken hand around hers awkwardly. She readjusts, smoothing slender fingers against his until they fit together better. And it's nice. Really nice. They're standing together holding hands in the sunshine.
Cal starts thinking about them but there isn't much to say really, when he gets down to it. They were friends (are friends. They are friends). There might have been... something sort of developing before all of this. Now they are married (sort of/kind of/maybe) and sleeping together (sort of/kind of/maybe). But there is not much else. No dating or flirting or falling in love.
Gillian. Falling in love.
Cal is already in love with her. He thinks. No, he knows. He is. He used to think if he slept with her he'd get over it, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe it's too soon to tell, but so far, he's not over her; he wants more (but doesn't know how to ask for it). But he's also scared that she doesn't feel the same way and right now she gives mixed messages (mostly indifferent, uninterested kind of messages). There's hand holding and sleeping together in the same bed and then there's the sleeping together bit. But she doesn't talk about a relationship or what's happened or... how he makes her feel or anything like that. He's half afraid to say something in case it's too much pressure (how awkward would it be if it were too much too soon and he ruined it? What with them living together and having nowhere else to go). And he's certainly scared she's going to stop (that she might one day, just get over it; over him). It's complicated and he's making it complicated because Gillian's making it complicated and he doesn't know what to do.
When they go home, they have sex. Gillian instigates it and then she cooks him dinner.
PJ
Gillian sets the alarm on her phone for 5.30am the following morning. She had good intentions to wake progressively earlier for a few days to get used to going from waking after ten to before seven. But that didn't quite happen. She set the alarm. The alarm woke her. She rolled over to turn it off and just went back to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be painful. But it's going to shock her system into a new routine. And there's not much else she can do about that now. Gillian puts her phone on the bedside table and turns over to face Cal. He's shuffling his way under the covers, little sections at a time, not too much pressure on his breaks as he goes. It would be comical if she didn't know how frustrated he was by it (a lot of bitching). The other day he announced it was one week down, five to go (it feels like it's going to be a long five weeks to go).
Gillian waits for Cal to settle and they lie together for a moment in the light from Cal's bedside lamp. The last handful of days have been an odd limbo. Really, in a new house, there isn't very much to do now that they've unpacked. There's no cleaning (they don't even have enough dirty clothes at this point to do a load of laundry) or yard work. They haven't even spent enough time with the furniture to think it might work better in a different arrangement in the room. Dragging Cal out of the house is tedious and effortful, and yet sitting around does nothing for her (and she's never been one to have something to do with every second of her day). Like Cal, Gillian spends time on the internet, but that only goes so far as well. While she's nervous about starting a new job, she's also grateful to be able to get out of the house and do something (especially because it means she can get on with her life as it now stands).
Cal turns his head on the pillow to look at her.
And then there's Cal. Aside from the grumpiness (and the bitching, which at times, has really gotten on her nerves, despite her best efforts to give him a break), she's kind of liked the undivided time with him (usually he's run off to look into something). Of course, there's also the making out bit, which is really quite nice. And the sex. Which is not mind-blowing (nope, still not). But it's not bad (if it were, she wouldn't really be enticed to go back for more). And she thinks about it quite a bit. At the end of the day, it's Cal and she does like him and she has, before now, thought about more. She's attracted to him. He's a good kisser. She likes his body. She likes him. She can't help but think they just have to practice to get better at it. It's awkward with his broken arm and leg. She can excuse it a million ways to Sunday. The truth is, if she didn't want to, then she wouldn't. And that's all there is to it.
"Want the light out?" Cal asks.
"Sure," Gillian agrees and then shoves herself up to lean over him to put it out herself (without him having to ask). She's not shy at all about leaning all over him (she's given up wearing much clothing to bed, now that she's better, so there isn't really much between them). She feels his hand at the back of her thigh, brushing briefly before resting lightly on her assn (she's kind of proud of him). She pushes into the touch, makes it more obvious so he's really grabbing a handful (he is still, even after six days, cautious). She puts the light out and pulls back, guesses where his head is and plants a kiss. She thinks she gets his temple and he gives a little huff of a laugh that makes her smile. He uses both hands to frame her waist and Gillian uses a hand to find his mouth. She presses her lips against is (can feel him still smiling) in a sloppy chaste kiss (that gets more of his cheek really), then settles her weight against the mattress, so she's still leaning over him (but her back isn't stressed), and tries again. She really does like kissing him. He's warm and thorough (when she initiates making the kiss a little more heated) and it makes her feel tingly inside (it's just a shame that she doesn't get there, when they take it further. And to be fair, she can't blame that on him. Not all of it).
Cal doesn't take it further and neither does Gillian (she does have an early start tomorrow). She eases off the kiss and moves to lie next to him. It sounds like he sighs a little. "Good night," Gillian offers.
"Night," Cal repeats.
Then it feels like Gillian lies awake for hours. When she does drift off, she feels Cal shifting around, that see-saw of his weight to stop his ass from getting numb, that keeps her in a shallow restlessness. And of course, just as she actually gets into a deep sleep, her alarm goes off. With a groan she moves to turn it off, her head pounding in time with her heart (she hopes that isn't going to be an all day thing). Cal gives a grumble from his side of the bed after Gillian shuts the noise off. Like last time she set the alert, Gillian moves in against him, resting her head on his pillow right next to his face. She figures he's not really awake and closes her eyes to steal a few more minutes while he's still unconscious. He's nice when he's like this.
PJ
Cal's not sure what the hell is going on. It feels like de ja vu in a dream. That electrical ringing that cuts through his sleep, he's heard it before. And the weight of Gillian at his shoulder is like last time too. He settles his head so it's resting against hers, something in his heart that's excited and relaxed at the same time. It feels good, being with her like this; the darkness is silent and still. They lie together for a moment (could be minutes or more, Cal's not sure. It's dark and he doesn't really know what time it is, let alone which day; or why Gillian set an alarm. To get up?). Gillian stirs at his shoulder, like she can follow his train of thoughts. He feels her push herself up, remembers that she's practically naked (tank top and underwear only these days) and opens his eyes a little. But it's dark and he can't see anything except a vague outline of her body. He can't even see if the blanket has slipped away from her chest.
"Go back to sleep," Gillian murmurs and starts to move away.
Cal grabs her arm, jamming the cast against her bone. She winces and he's apologetic, withdrawing again. "Don't go yet," he croaks.
"I gotta get up and shower," she sighs.
"Just," Cal tries. He needs to think faster. "One more minute."
Lame.
But Gillian settles. He remembers now that she's starting her new job, and he's not going to see her all day. A long day (it's going to be a long day on his own). Last time she snuck out and he missed having the morning with her (she actually tends to sneak out of bed before him most mornings, but at least when he gets up himself, she's there waiting for him). She settles in a slightly different position and as Cal turns his head to... check on her? (find that sweet spot he had a moment ago) he finds his nose brushes against hers. She gives a hum and it stirs something inside him. He re-angles his jaw, moving in to where he thinks her mouth might be. He's not far off and she shifts to align their lips. It's sweet but when Gillian pulls away a little, Cal follows her. She makes it deeper though, braving it past his lips. Her hands are on his body, smoothing, tracing, torching, teasing. He's awake now. He brings his left hand to her jaw, cups the bone, moves her head where he wants it; feels a little in control. But the hand beneath the covers undoes him and he feels that desperate tug inside him that wants him to get his leg over. He literally can't. He's at Gillian's mercy. And she reads him so well. Just as he's starting to think he's going to have to ask her (he can't make her, can't physically suggest anything), she pulls abruptly away from him.
"Wait," he gruffs, grasping at air.
She's already half way across the room. "Just a second," she tells him, opening the door. The street light silhouettes the hallway, and Cal can see the silvery figure of Gillian going across the way. He shifts, pushing himself to a sitting position, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain from his broken arm as he puts pressure on it. This is already his least favourite position, him sitting and Gillian straddling his hips, but it's pretty much all he's got. He wonders if they could try other positions, if he could even... but just thinking of the logistics of his broken leg and two bodies...
Gillian's back, and she leaves the door open, so that the light makes the room just that little bit easier to see. To at least see her. Cal flicks back the covers, invites her, and she complies. She crashes her mouth against his and Cal goes for it and wraps his broken arm at her back, tugging her in close (hoping the long expanse of the plaster will hurt less than the rounded edges of it). Gillian goes with the movement, her other hand going back to teasing him exploringly. There are no awkward pauses. They kind of know what they're doing now; now that they've had the practice.
Cal feels the sharp edge of the condom packet poke against his wrist, turns his hand to take it from her fingers, and Gillian waits while he puts it on himself, her body still bent over his (so he's knocking knuckles against her pelvis as he works and she watches). It feels so much more fluid though, the two of them, like they've done this before (well, they have) and know each other (starting to at least get familiar). Gillian makes noises in her throat. Dirty, hot, moaning kind of noises, which just makes Cal feel more excited. He pushes up with his hips, the pressure down on his legs, and winces against the pain. Gillian stops immediately (much to Cal's frustration). "What?" She whispers. "Did I?"
"No you, me," Cal mutters. He brings a hand to her hip, encourages her to move again, his blood pounding. "Go."
He's not doing that again. Two reasons. The first: it hurts. The second: Gillian stops.
Gillian does go again. Cal gets braver with his left hand, smoothing up her body (loves the way her muscles feel working under her skin, on top of him), brushes a thumb over her breast. Gillian arches into his touch and Cal feels emboldened. He tries it with his right hand too; so long as he sticks to his fingertips only, she doesn't complain. He gets a moan for his efforts, definitely feels as though he's getting the hang of this; the feel of her. He tugs her shirt up, but she has to help him take it off her. Gillian drops her head, bites at his neck; she's getting the hang of him too. He grins into her ear, tries a few nips at hers, checking for a reaction. He gets a good one (she gives up on his neck to let him), so he takes her lobe between his teeth (not easy when her whole body is moving). He brings up his left hand to her head, holds her in place, tries again, teases with his tongue. His reward? She rides him harder.
She knocks his hand loose so he switches to holding on. He attempts another push of his hips (it's early morning, he's still slow) and it hurts just as badly as last time. But it makes Gillian lean forward into his chest and the change in angle takes him to the brink. Noises appear in his own throat and Gillian matches them, her breath huffing against his skin. It feels like they're there together so he lets go, his body in a violent shudder that feels nothing but ecstatic.
Cal feels Gillian drop to the bed next to him. He shifts his arm out of her way and again tries to turn over to cuddle her. He struggles for a second with it, then gives up. Because she's naked, there's nothing really to grip and tug on and it's an awkward angle. In half a minute she's pushing herself up and away from him, murmuring something about having to get ready. Yeah he gets that she has somewhere to go this morning; first day of a new job and all that. But he is a little thrown off, or put out, or unsettled by the fact that she can just get up and go. Unless sex in the morning really sets her up for the day. It makes him feel warm and a little sentimental (wouldn't mind that cuddle; wouldn't mind if Gillian wanted it too. She hasn't initiated so far).
Hang on.
Cal shoots out his right arm, crashing his fingers into her upper arm before she can move too far away from him. She turns her head, surprised, to meet his eyes and frowns. Cal has a sinking feeling in his stomach before the words even spill out of his mouth. "Did you?" He says with an implied tone.
Gillian is like a deer in the headlights. She knows exactly what he's asking (she even blushes a little, though he doesn't see, because it's still dark). Her lips part slightly (he doesn't see that either, those little details, but he senses her hesitation), and no words come out. He thinks about it for a second. The handful of times they've been together. He wasn't really expecting... dramatics, but usually he gets a least some kind of compliment, some indication that a woman had a good time with him; it's usually obvious.
And there has been a distinct lack of it with Gillian.
"You didn't come at all did you?" Cal accuses.
Gillian tugs her arm free and gets out of bed.
"Gill?" Cal sits himself up, pushing down on his broken arm too harshly, making sharp slivers of pain shoot to his elbow. "Tell me."
"Cal," she tries, her tone full of warning and impatience. "I need to go shower." She's pulling on a shirt and already walking around the door. It doesn't matter. He doesn't need her to say the words. He doesn't even need to see her face to know: she didn't.
She didn't.
He fucked it. And not in a good way.
Gillian escapes the room, leaving the door open (which Cal totally takes as a goddamn invitation) and he can hear the soft thuds of her feet as she goes stairs. That's mean, going upstairs; she knows he can't follow her. Easily. But damnit if he's going to let her get away with not talking about this, explaining herself, explaining what happened (and where he went wrong). He doesn't want to be arrogant, but he's not had a complaint before.
Or maybe that's the point. It's just that no one's complained?
Nah, he can tell. He can always tell when it's faked (deception expert, remember?), and he can usually tell when a woman he's with might need... a little... extra to get there. But he's pretty sure he's never not noticed when it doesn't happen. Which means he just wasn't paying attention this time. And that might even be worse.
(Oh god. Every time?)
Cal hooks himself out of bed, his foot landing in something soft on the carpet. He picks it up with his toes until he can reach with his hand and tosses it to the bed. He hops the short distance to the dresser, finds a shirt in the second drawer down, has to lean a hip against the furniture to put it on. If he listens carefully he can hear the water running upstairs (at least she didn't lie about the shower bit. It wasn't just to avoid him. Probably should shower if she's going to work). When he stands still, not only can he hear the water, he can feel the devastation in his chest; he's shocked and appalled.
When he's dressed, he works his way across the room, down the hall, leaning on the wall, stepping on his broken leg (winching because it fricking hurts) and finds his crutches in the living room. Then he looks up at the stairs. There's a streetlight situated to light up parts of the house and he can see enough to know its daunting (and he probably shouldn't try to even entertain going up in the dark). He could always wait for her to come down again; she's going to have to eventually. He wonders what the time is now, and how much of it he can waste on a conversation she's obviously reluctant to have; there will be time wasted on just the argument of discussion in the first place. Might be better to get started as soon as possible. Because she is leaving the house at some point and he's in no position to stop her.
What he doesn't get, as he leans on the crutches and grabs the banister, moving his left foot up first, is why she didn't say something, or tell him, or just... make it obvious for him... after the first time.
Why didn't she say?
PJ
It didn't quite bother her until this morning. There have been times in her life when sex wasn't the mind blowing experience she knew it could be (and then there were times when it really was). Sometimes it took a while for a couple to get to know each other, figure out what made them tick. And she likes Cal, she really does; she's attracted to him in physical and non-physical ways. It's the non that drives her to him, and then when their bodies come together it's all the physical aspects. It just doesn't seem to culminate in... that mind blowing bit. Admittedly, she hasn't been trying to work out why (no long thoughtful internal discussions), was kind of just going with it (maybe trying to be a bit more flexible, seeing as her entire life has turned upside down and if she dwells on it, she's going to start falling apart). She had faith that they were going to figure it out. Or that it was just going to fall into place.
She didn't see Cal's face clearly downstairs a moment ago, when he asked, when he finally brought it up, but she absolutely could tell, without a doubt, that he was hurt (and maybe surprised too, like he has literally only just noticed). Which just makes her feel worse about it. And now that attention has been called to the fact that she hasn't had an orgasm (and if she counts the months before she even started sleeping with Cal, it's been too long), her body is craving it. It's tingly and weak and she's thinking about having a go herself under the warm water (if she rushes through washing her hair, because screwing around with Cal this morning has put her behind schedule). Keeps thinking about it. Keeps thinking about Cal. Keeps thinking about...
"Gillian."
She jumps, her heart pounding with the fright, the shampoo bottle leaping out of her hand to clatter against the wall and drop at her feet, knocking painfully into her ankle as it skirts around and then settles by the plug hole. She puts a hand out instinctively to steady herself against the shower wall. "Cal!" She admonishes. "You gave me a fright." Hand on heart for added effect.
At the edge of the curtain, Cal's head is watching her (his eyes are all over her, to be honest and there's something in his expression that makes heat flood low in her stomach. She almost reaches for him, but his eyes come back to hers and the moment passes). "We should talk," he says and he does not look happy at all (actually, he also looks a little flushed).
"I don't really have time right now," Gillian tries. She wants to get on with her shower, but is self-conscious enough with him watching her while she's naked without also bending over to retrieve the shampoo.
"Too bad," Cal grumps and disappears. Gillian hears the toilet lid bang and is horrified to think he would actually go while she was in the room. She pulls back the curtain a little to look (not look look, but just to see if her suspicions are true), but Cal is simply lowering himself to sit on the closed lid (all awkward with his broken leg. How did he even get up the stairs?)
Gillian stands under the water, silent while she thinks. She really doesn't know what to say about it. It just didn't happen and... she likes him enough for that to not be a deterrent. Maybe she should tell him that? But would it be tipping her hand? Because when it comes to Cal she just feels so reluctant to give him any kind of signal that any of it means something to her when he doesn't give her much of an indication of the same (and she really doesn't want to be pouring her heart out only to be rejected. On a normal day, that would be bad enough, but now that they're trapped here together...). Cal doesn't look like he wants to talk about it (but he did follow her up here, with all the effort that must have taken) and he's not exactly leading the conversation now. Gillian bends for the shampoo bottle (wonders if he can see her through the curtain) and works shampoo into her hair while she waits. If he wants to talk about it, then he can start.
"So you haven't... this whole time?"
He sounds small. And it's disarming (there's a part of her that wants to comfort and make it better for him).
Gillian's just working up the courage to admit she hasn't when Cal goes on. "How come you didn't say?"
She doesn't think, she just speaks: "How come you didn't notice?"
Touché. But she doesn't feel great about it, because really, how come he didn't notice? Is he that self-absorbed?
Silence.
Gillian rinses the shampoo out.
"I guess that's fair enough," Cal's voice comes over the water, just loud enough to be heard but not overly voluminous; he's not happy. It makes Gillian feel bad; his words. She didn't really mean to throw that at him (but now she's really thinking about it. Is he that self-absorbed and she's never noticed?)
"It doesn't matter," she tries.
"Kind of does Gillian," Cal counters.
"It's not your problem," Gillian adds, seriously trying to let him off the hook for this (she is a fan of taking responsibility for her actions. She didn't say anything. And besides that, it takes two to tango).
"Kind of is," Cal repeats.
Gillian puts conditioner in her hair. She does feel better for being able to go to the supermarket and get the brand she actually likes. It smells familiar; reminds her of being at home. Her stomach is nervous with this new job. It's not that she thinks she can't do it; just fear of the unknown. Like everyone else.
"It's my," Gillian starts to raise her voice over the water but Cal cuts her off.
"Kind of got a reputation to uphold," comes back immediately, like he didn't hear her starting to speak.
It actually makes Gillian smile.
And then she frowns because there might have been the possibility that he might actually care about her (her experience, how she feels), but now it sounds like he's just worried about himself. Which, she she's trying not to convince herself, was half the problem. But she has a tough time with that kind of logic; the evidence just doesn't point to it (the other women...) At the moment, he's a little disadvantaged (and she figures not really up to his usual standard), and so goes back to: considering she was (is) doing most of the work, it wouldn't be unreasonable to suggest that it was (is), in fact, she who was (is) doing a poor job. Gillian folds her arms in front of her abdomen, faces towards him, the shower curtain between them (she can't see him, so maybe he can't see her).
"Just forget about it," Gillian suggests, because she doesn't much want to have this conversation anymore than he clearly does (and she's really not sure which argument she's leaning towards, or should be listening to).
There's a beat and then Cal comes back with: "I'm not going to."
But he doesn't elaborate and despite a spike of reaction in her stomach, Gillian doesn't know what else to say (she doesn't need this right now). They've been sleeping together; she hasn't had an orgasm. Not the first time it's happened to her. What else is there to add? Gillian rinses the conditioner from her hair and turns the water off. She hears the creak of the toilet lid as Cal shifts his weight and she grabs for her towel with the curtain still closed. She dries off a little, wraps the cloth around her body and then steps out. Cal is still there, waiting, almost expectant (like he wants her to solve this, like she knows how); his eyes meeting hers (he's not ashamed then).
Gillian moves to the bedroom. She sees the time, finishes drying herself off quickly and is pulling on underwear as Cal comes in (which makes her rush). He's moving slowly (slower than usual, even with the crutches), affords her a once over (he's subtle though), before going to the bed and throwing himself down heavily. Gillian glances over at him and sees his eyes closed. She wonders if he's started sleeping properly yet, because if he hasn't, she woke him up probably before he got any decent sleep last night (and if they want to talk about not noticing, then she could be just as guilty as he is).
She goes to the wardrobe and pulls out the shirt she pre-determined she would wear today. She slips into a grey skirt and gets out the sensible dark heels (misses her Louboutins. Like crazy) that will go with the outfit. Cal doesn't say anything as she dresses, she doesn't know if he watches her (she doesn't check. Not sure if she wants him to or doesn't. Doesn't know how to think or feel about any of this; just needs to get through this day: her first day of a new job). She plugs her hair dryer in and stands in front of the full length mirror. The white noise drowns out any conversation either of them might have attempted and Gillian relaxes a little as she manages to forget about him. She needs a watch, she muses to herself, as she brushes and dries her hair as straight as she can manage it.
When she switches the device off again, the silence is deafening.
PJ
Cal's just working up the courage to speak when Gillian turns off the hair dryer but she leaves the room, so he waits for her to come back (though he's not confident that she will). He hears her in the bathroom, finishing her hair probably and doing her make-up. He closes his eyes while he waits (pictures her the way she used to be, not the way he's gotten used to since the incident) and figures he fell asleep when Gillian came back for her shoes (or, she just went downstairs and left him there). He doesn't know if she tried to talk to him or not (figures not) because he doesn't see her again until that evening. He sleeps on her bed for several hours and wakes disorientated and groggy and uncomfortable. He limps his way downstairs (which is a lot scarier than going up), feeds himself and then wastes the day away waiting for her get home (feeling stupid and inadequate. Can't even have a conversation with her, let alone make her orgasm...). When she does come home, they act like nothing has happened. Which at first, Cal doesn't mind too much, seeing as he doesn't know what to say to her anyway. She doesn't seem interested in an apology, even though he really does feel bad about the fact that she hasn't... since they've been sleeping together (and he doesn't care what she tries to say about it, he does feel responsible. He's been selfish.)
(And, to be fair, he doesn't actually attempt to say the words 'I'm sorry'.)
Gillian cooks dinner (which they eat with very little conversation beyond 'how was your first day?' 'Good thank you') and they watch TV. News and then sitcoms and the more Cal sits there (slouches) the more the question goes around and around and around his mind until he starts working up the courage to ask her, to initiate that conversation they're not having and it blurts out of his mouth, "Why did you keep coming back if you weren't enjoying it?"
Gillian seems to pause for a second and then she slowly looks over at him, a slight aversion of her eyes that tells him there's some shame in there and he can't even fathom why she would feel that way. (She's never had good sex? As in, she's never... He can't believe that. Flat our refuses to.) (Or maybe she had some weird... notion... that she had to? Like she was obliged... Or that... He doesn't know.)
"I thought it would get better," Gillian says quietly after she mutes the television and that feels like a sucker punch.
This time, Cal looks away, because that's statement enough: I thought it would get better. I thought you would get better. I didn't think you'd be so lousy in bed.
At least she didn't say 'I felt sorry for you'. Because that really would be the lowest.
"Sorry," Cal murmurs.
"Me too," Gillian echoes and Cal does feel worse. So she regrets it. That's... That's probably worse. Yep. Worse. Definitely. But, not something that didn't fleetingly cross his mind once (before he tried to deny that he had even thought it). Which was one of the reasons he's never told her (and probably never will) that he loves her.
They're both staring at the muted television and not saying anything. Cal feels a strange sensation in his chest that seems familiar but he can't place it. He knows that what he's hearing is something he never wanted to hear but he has no idea where to go next, because he asked the question. And he got his answer. They're kind of trapped there together and really, they shouldn't have done this in the first place. Should have just kept it platonic; simple. Not that he was hoping to start something when he kissed her. He just felt... compelled, like it was a good opportunity (but apparently not the best one). Maybe he's gone about it all wrong. He always figured Gillian was the kind of woman to be dated, not the kind of woman to fall into bed with. Even though she was in his bed at the time.
He's screwed it up completely.
And he's an idiot.
He's so completely off balance with himself, that he doesn't even raise his voice and be obnoxious and try to intimidate her to make himself feel better. What has always made him feel better with Gillian is when she's soft and caring. She's been his almost perfect opposite but maybe that's the problem. Maybe they're just too different, just so completely unsuited that he's been kidding himself all along. He should stop loving her (would be easier if they weren't living together) but she puts her hand on his upper arm (because almost his entire body on the right side is in plaster and unless she was going to touch him in rude places, she doesn't have many options) and gives it a gentle squeeze while telling him she's going to go to bed (even though its early). It makes his stomach feel weird. And he wants to say 'ok I'll come too'.
But that's the problem, isn't it?
Gillian sleeps upstairs and that is a sufficient statement. Cal feels miserable about that enough to stay where he is on the couch, watching crappy movies until the early hours of the morning and he falls asleep where he is. So on the second day, Gillian's well gone to work by the time Cal comes around an hour before midday. He didn't even hear her in the kitchen, even though it's just the next room over (which means he was completely out of it, or she was being incredibly quiet, or maybe she just didn't make coffee or eat breakfast at all). He wakes on the couch, disorientated and groggy and uncomfortable, with his neck bent over and holding too much tension in his broken leg. Cal gets himself cereal (finds Gillian's breakfast dishes) and goes back to the couch. He catches the end of morning television (disgustingly chipper personalities). And then he is bored.
When Gillian gets home that evening (he's actually bloody excited because it's someone to talk to, something to do, he can step outside of his mind for a moment, because he's had nothing to do all day but think, about them and this situation and the explosion and it goes around and around), she looks tired. He asks her again how her day was and she gives another of her noncommittal answers. So Cal tries probing a little deeper ('you settling in all right?' 'Yes'), but even though she doesn't ignore him, she is shut off and he's rarely seen her like this: closed to him. Sometimes she's mad, and sometimes she's quiet, but she's never been so... unreachable. He's not entirely sure it's because of the sex thing (he thinks she's been like this in some way or another, well at least since the explosion, but possibly before. He hates to admit it, but he might not have been paying close enough attention. And this, the woman he considers his best friend. The woman he apparently loves). He knows there's only the two of them (except he's wrong. She's out in the big wide world now, with new work colleagues and he never envisioned a time when they wouldn't be working with each other anymore. If he did, it was because of a falling out. Not like this), but that doesn't mean she can't find someone else. Someone, who will give her more. Which honestly scares him enough to take action, but he doesn't know what to do exactly.
Gillian cooks. They eat. Gillian does the dishes. Cal tries to help, but she politely (and with a smile) shoos him away (he can do the dishes, it will just take some time) so he leaves, annoyed, to sit on the couch. It's been two weeks now, and he is officially sick of television. Which leaves him the internet. He's trawling through pages on the tablet when Gillian joins him. She puts the TV on and watches the news (Cal does keep half an eye on that). He gets an idea (and curiosity has never been subtle on him). He searches for the explosion that put them there. He finds news websites, goes back through archives to the right days. There are stories about the house in the suburbs, the intense explosion. It's not hidden that it was a meth lab, or that people died in it; three (Cal wasn't actually aware there were other people in the house aside from them).
Three deaths.
That could include them. The online news articles don't name names. Cal supposes even if he checks records of deaths or perhaps even the obituaries, their names wouldn't appear either. Unless the marshals wanted everyone to know they were dead. But that wasn't always the case with witness protection. And besides, neighbours saw them being loaded into ambulances (he was obviously alive, because he was trying to watch what was going on with Gillian's rescue). Police were on the scene as well. That makes too many witnesses to keep quiet about the number of bodies. And they were treated in hospitals. That's even more people who know they survived it. The articles don't mention anyone being taken into protective custody, but it does talk about witnesses and Cal's not sure if that means himself and Gillian, or the neighbours who lived on that street who had 'no idea someone had set up a meth lab in number forty-two'.
Cal reads tens of articles (one in each of the major local papers, it barely makes a dent in regional, certainly not national) and then hits the end of the information. He looks up ownership of the house, refreshes his memory, but this is not new knowledge. He starts saving information in a file, and before he realises what he's really doing, he's managed to start an investigation of sorts. With Gillian sitting right next to him on the couch no less (at least she didn't go sit in the arm chair, because that would have been one more indication she was avoiding him. Hard to do when they are in each other's pockets. He can't believe they were, up until two days ago, having sex. And he can't help feel as though he might have blown it completely. He's not sure what to do about it, he definitely doesn't want it to be like this, long silences and indifference, but he's not good at relationships, has admitted that before; they scare him. And yet with Gillian it's probably been inevitable. She's not a love-them-and-leave-them kind of woman. So maybe he should have thought this through a lot better before he kissed her that night. It felt like they were getting closer. And it was safe in the dark. But that still leaves him with 'what now?' and for now, he's avoiding it).
Gillian goes to bed early. She goes alone and she goes upstairs (that is strike one of avoidance. Conversation makes two. If she starts eating alone it would be three. And not being in the room with him would make four. Four strikes is definitely beyond failure). Cal takes himself to bed too (he's not watching the television) and carries the tablet with him (which is really bloody awkward with crutches and a broken leg). He doesn't know how to lock the file he's created and he thinks setting a password onto the tablet itself will only cause Gillian suspicion (it's not his. It's theirs). So he renames it something innocuous, puts a lot of crap at the start of it and a few photos, so if Gillian does open it, she's not going to find much, unless she scrolls all the way through to the bottom (and he doesn't think she'll be that nosey. She's had opportunity enough over the years, and he's never found her to be overly invasive; trusting).
Cal notes down what he remembers about the case from before the shit it the fan (like he tried to do before Gillian came back from the hospital. But this time, he doesn't have to suffer through is poor handwriting, just the tedious tapping of his index finger; no touch typing for him). He figures any kind of investigation would have moved on since the Lightman Group started working on it so he goes on with where he would take it next (distributors, cooks, money laundering etc). He can't do much more then speculate but he works on into the early hours of the morning before he has to close his eyes for a second. When he wakes up again, its midday. The house is quiet and of course, Gillian would be at work. Cal pushes himself up, his arm aching sharply (but maybe not as bad as a few days ago). The tablet is gone (sharp spike of panic for a second there) and the light is off. He didn't do it, and the only other person who could have was Gillian. He hops and limps to the toilet (because he's desperate) and when he comes back into the bedroom to put on pants, he sees the tablet on the bedside table. Gillian came in to check on him this morning; or tucked him in.
That makes Cal feel funny.
He missed it. And he didn't want to.