When Gillian gets home, Cal is quiet, but not abrasive (maybe thoughtful). She gives him non-comittance and he gives her indifference (or distraction), so she guesses that's fair. She cooks and they eat together, but they don't talk much beyond the necessities (it's definitely not hostile, just like they have nothing to say to each other; to tired of it all for small talk). Gillian has a tough time meeting his eye and Cal seems preoccupied, like he has something better to do, somewhere better to be. She can't imagine what (or where he would go), but he seems quite enamoured with the tablet. When she walks behind him (not snooping, but definitely looking), she only sees that he's playing a matching game with what looks like bright coloured candy.

After the first day of Cal probing about the sex thing, he drops it and leaves her alone (proper leaves her alone). And that makes Gillian feel a few things, none of them pleasant. She's not relieved, she's hurt. Firstly, he doesn't care enough to ferret out the root of the problem (like he does with everyone else), which means he doesn't care about her, and then, secondly, he goes into silent mode for the next few days. He's not hostile, not that kind of silent treatment, just... like he has nothing to say to her; like she's not even worth it (like she does to him, perhaps.) And that also makes her feel sad; it's been two weeks since they've been living in each other's pockets and they've run out of things to say to each other. Two weeks is all it took.

He doesn't ask her about her new job much either (he was polite about it in the start. And she might have purposefully played it down) but he didn't push and that's the point. So Gillian focuses on her work at the high school. The people she works with are nice enough (but she hasn't tried to make friends yet; been busy). There are four other counsellors and a secretary and they have their own suite in the main building. It's almost like going back in time to when she was first a therapist, when she had to do her clinical hours and was finishing her doctorate. Except the clients this time are teenagers, which is new (she's spent time working with younger children; grade school age). Her duties aren't overly strenuous (but that might just be because it's only the first week and they're easing her into it); she has a section of the school population she has to keep tabs on in regards to school career and post-high school career (if they're seniors), and if any students on that list get into trouble, she knows about it, has to deal with it, and vice versa, if they want to see her (or anyone can see her at any time), she does (dropping what she was doing to speak with them. It hasn't happened too often yet, thankfully).

The first few days, she spends her time keeping up with what the students in her alphabet section are doing (A through to G; she got some sparse letters); mostly the seniors who are graduating in a few months (so she's at least vaguely familiar with them). She has to sit in on two disciplinary meetings (and has to bring herself up to speed with the students' history really quickly). But mostly she is left to her own devices (where she reads through files and makes a few notes). The suite is usually pretty quiet; punctuated periodically by the bell or a phone ringing, so she gets a lot of work done.

By the end of the third day, she's just about dreading going home. And that is not a good space to be in at all. Cal has just been so difficult. And she's been chicken. The weekend is fast approaching, which means they're going to be in each other's pockets for two whole awkward days if they carry on the way they are. If Cal isn't going to do anything about it, then she will, because she can't live her life like this (it's exactly why she ended up leaving Alec. Which brings her to a harrowing thought: what if she can't fix it with Cal?)

But. She doesn't know how. Where to start. If he'll listen to her. If it will get her anywhere.

Trying to talk to him could just make the situation worse. They're kind of trapped together (maybe not forever. But two weeks and they're driving each other up the wall doesn't bode well for any long term kind of arrangement. And seeing as the marshals went ahead and put them together, she's not sure how well they would take a separation). It would be easy for her to talk herself out of it. And she hasn't quite talked herself into it yet either. She has to though. She really has to. Seriously cannot go on like they have been. So when she gets home, she's actually completely surprised.

Cal meets her at the door (was he waiting there for her?). It looks like he's showered, or something; his hair is wet and he smells clean and... sexy (yep, she can smell him from where she's standing). He's leaning on his crutches, like he was waiting for her to arrive and there's a look on his face, in his eye, that's not been there before. He's not angry or self-loathing or sending out any of the other frustrated and bitter energies. He's... It's hard to explain. It's like... It's like he's been waiting for her and he's a bit... turned on or something. It's predatory and kind of, enticing and attractive and it makes Gillian push the door shut absently behind her, unable to break eye contact, and then just stand there and wait (sort of stunned into immobility). There's just something different about him. He's in charge, in control. That's what it feels like. Confident. Wasn't she just complaining he wasn't confident with her and? Oh.

He comes towards her, a little shuffle of his feet and crutches and Gillian forgets that she's sort of mad at him (or something). He straightens up, right in front of her, and leans in close, slowly, really slowly, so slowly that Gillian actually starts to feel a little frustrated that he's taking so damn long. She rocks forward to her toes to meet him and he presses his mouth against hers softly. His lips are warm and she catches a good whiff of how nice he smells (makes her want to grab him roughly. She doesn't. She holds on to restraint. She'd knock him square off his feet). She feels his fingers ghosting down her arm (over the shirt she's wearing. And blazer and coat) to her wrist, where his thumb scrapes firmly against her pulse a few times (makes it jump) before hooking his fingers into hers and pulling her towards him a little more. She takes a half step, her mouth sinking tighter against his. Then she feels his tongue tracing lightly along her lips. She half thinks to make him work for it, but her body completely betrays her and gives in almost immediately.

She shifts her weight, so that she's standing less rigidly, so that Cal gets a little height advantage (because she's in heels) and feels the huff of his breath against her cheek, before his tongue is gently exploring her mouth. She feels his other hand at her other wrist, pushing her away this time, but as she goes (she's trying to take the hint now that he's leading the way, instead of worrying about the weirdness of the last week. They'll deal with it later. And if he thinks he can just... kiss her really, really good and make her forgive him, then he's wrong), he goes with her. His crutches clatter to the floor and her back is against the front door. Cal breaks the kissing to hop closer but doesn't give her much respite before he's back, mouth tender but purposeful (she forgets the weirdness completely, because this feels really good. And entirely natural).

His right fingers tangle in her clothes, like he's holding her there (not that she can move far, with his body pinning her lightly against the wood of the front door), while his left goes to her shoulder, pushes at her coat. She helps him with it, using the break to get air (to get hold of herself). His gaze is steady on hers as he helps her take her coat off (he doesn't really help much because of his physical limitations, but he does encourage her) and hops over to the rack beside the door to hang it. Gillian stoops to pick up his crutches for him, so that when he turns around she's waiting with them. He looks... put out or embarrassed but he takes them then with a little nod and hooks them under his arms. Gillian doesn't get what that was about and in that split-second that Cal hesitates she decides to go to the living room. She kicks off her shoes and sinks into the couch and Cal follows.

It looks as though he hesitates for a second, but then he's dancing his awkward jig to get the crutches out of his way and turn and drop to the cushions next to her. He jostles her roughly but when he settles Gillian comes in closer, so she's hugging against his upper arm (even though it's his broken one). "How was your day?" She asks him.

"Uh, good. How was yours?" Cal runs his palm down the thigh of his jeans (he got dressed!) and Gillian suddenly realises she's missing something. There's a tension in the air, well, not tension... but an 'air' between them. She suddenly notices Cal seems nervous. He's sitting there quite tensely and it feels like he's holding his breath periodically.

Gillian pulls back and he looks over at her. "Are you ok?"

"Yes fine," he immediately responds. Gillian takes a second to let that sink in, in case he has something else to add, but he doesn't so she gives him a slight smile and leans back against his arm, cheek to the top of his shoulder.

"My day was okay," she answers his earlier question. Now that she's giving it more thought, he's acting strange. The kissing at the door, for one, while nice, is not usual and it's doubly weird after the two-three days of Mexican stand-off they just had (or are still having). Gillian sits back again and Cal turns to look at her. It's almost as though he's waiting on her to do something or say something. Gillian remembers her determination in the car for wanting to get to the bottom of their odd situation and represses a sigh (the kissing did distract her, damnit). She hesitates on the verge of saying something, wavering, but Cal meets her eyes and she can see that he's wanting her to say something now, no longer just hoping for it. Fine, she'll go first. She can take a hint.

"Cal. The last few days."

He turns his lips inward, so they disappear into his mouth, like he's trying to suck them away; it's not a happy expression.

Gillian plunges on, even though she doesn't know what to say to that. "I didn't mean for..."

Cal blinks. His attentiveness puts her off.

"I don't want it to be... like that," Gillian finishes lamely. Usually, she's quite good with words but that might be because usually she knows what it is she's trying to say. It's probably the closest she's going to get to actually apologising to him, because she simultaneously feels she should and should not actually say she's sorry; it's moot.

Cal lets his lips go and they give a little pout. "Yeah me either," he says cautiously. She watches the way his shoulders drop and he seems to relax into his seat. That 'air' lifts and Gillian relaxes herself. She figures that's about as much apology as she's going to get from him too (she also thinks he should and should not have to apologise).

"Want to eat?" She asks.

"Yeah," Cal agrees.

Gillian plants a kiss on him (why not? She likes kissing him. And that was some seriously hot and heavy by the front door. And, they seemed to have just taken a step forward) and gets up. She goes to the kitchen, trawls through the cupboards for inspiration and comes up lacking. Her feet hurt and she's wary, especially since she sat down; she should have just kept going as soon as she got in the door. If she hadn't been confronted by the front door. Ravished. She wonders what compelled him to do that? It was slightly out of the blue. It was a good ice breaker (she supposes) but maybe a little... Ah forget it. She's not in the mood for over analysing everything. Sometimes, it's fine to just go with the flow.

She goes through to the living room again. Cal looks up at her from the couch, tablet in his lap. "Pizza?" She asks.

"Sure," Cal responds with a slight grin.

Gillian goes back to the front door and fishes her purse off the floor (where she dropped it and didn't even realise she had until now). She digs out her phone. "Too tired for cooking," she tells him absently as she searches for a local pizza place and misses the odd expression on Cal's face. She doesn't ask him what he wants on it, because she knows already and within twenty minutes there's a knock at the door. For a second, panic hits Gillian's stomach; a stranger at the door. And at this hour? She talks herself out of it though, and checks through the peephole to make sure it is indeed the delivery boy (girl, actually, it's a young woman). Gillian takes the box through to Cal and curls her legs under her as she sits next to him on the cushions. For once he doesn't lie all stretched out, so they sit shoulder to shoulder (when they could have sat at opposite ends, or across the room) and eat while they watch the news together.

Cal puts on the history channel afterwards and Gillian shifts to rest her head on his shoulder, while he finishes off the pizza. Then she closes her eyes. Then she starts to feel herself drift off. Before she actually goes to sleep though, she pulls herself away. Cal's head turns towards her. "Time for bed for me," she tells him, half apologetic and sleepy. Cal reaches for the remote. "You don't have to come now," Gillian tells him as she gets up, pushing against his shoulder for leverage.

"No, it's all right," Cal counters almost eagerly. Gillian doesn't wait for him, but goes upstairs to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She changes into her pyjamas on autopilot but once she's dressed she stops. She's been sleeping up there for the last few nights. Because things have been entirely awkward between them. But there was a quasi-apology, or perhaps, just a clearing of the air between them, so maybe she should go back down there. To be honest, she doesn't like all the back and forth. She's been cowardly escaping to the first floor when something goes wrong between them. She might not know exactly where she stands with Cal, and she might not exactly know what she wants from Cal, but she knows that they're not going to get anywhere, to even test out the waters, if there isn't a little consistency (if there isn't, at least, trying). And he kind of started it tonight.

So Gillian goes back downstairs and finds Cal taking his shirt off before he gets into bed (very nice view). She catches the look on his face when he sees her and it's almost pure shock, which he then tries to cover over quickly. They stop where they are for a second, Cal by the bed, Gillian by the doorway, then Cal throws back the covers on the bed and continues on with getting in (that was her invitation to join him). Gillian goes around the bed and gets in the other side. Cal busies himself with the covers and yeah, it's between them, that barometer of their relationship. Gillian vows to not let it happen again.

Cal settles back on the pillow and is still. The light is still on so Gillian leans over him to put it out. She can feel him stiff beneath her as she leans over his torso. She gives him another kiss as she moves back to her side. "Goodnight Cal," she murmurs in the darkness, eyes already closed.

"Night Gill," he responds.

PJ

Sometimes it's nice to have the house quiet and for Gillian to feel like she's possibly the only person alive left on the earth. She thinks about how it would be if that were true, if she left the house this morning to find there was no traffic on the streets, no one trekking the sidewalks; no teenagers waiting for her at school. She thinks she might not care too much, considering all these people in this town are strangers who she hasn't known long enough to even miss. But there are other people in her life (her former life) she does wonder about. How are Ria and Eli coping? (And also, what have they done about the Lightman Group?) Her parents, of course. And then there's Cal. If he were gone... She really can't imagine her life without him in it in some way or other. Before (before, before. Before all of this), when things weren't great between them, she used to think about the process of leaving him. But even then, when she pictured herself not going into the Lightman Group building every day, she couldn't imagine letting go of Cal (she figured, after a while, after he got over being hurt that she had gone, they might be friends again. Proper friends. Without the business always between them). It's been years since she's gone more than a day without even speaking to him.

They really are practically married.

(And might have been acting that way for a little while.)

Gillian starts on her coffee at the kitchen sink while she waits for her breakfast to cook. She looks out into the yard (no snow) at the bare trees without seeing them (she knows they're there, can see outlines from the streetlights, but it's still dark). She keeps an ear out for Cal, half hoping that he's going to join her, grumbling about the hour, so they can talk about... anything really; it's the company she's hoping for. Because even though it's kind of nice to have the peacefulness, she's also... kind of lonely. She didn't spend every waking minute of her marriage with Alec so perhaps today she's just feeling melancholy. Or perhaps it's just that it's Cal and she likes him and wants to spend time with him (at least when they're angry with each other that explains the distance, but when they're not, it might be nice to have him... around).

She eats at the dining table by herself and moves around the house quietly, showering upstairs and dressing for her day. Before she leaves, she goes back to Cal's bedroom and pushes the door open softly. He's pretty much where she left him, on his back, head to the side; she can't see his face but she can hear him breathing steadily. She's tempted to give him a kiss goodbye but suddenly feels silly and girly. She's not sure what's come over her this morning, but it's probably to do with what happened last night.

Maybe she just wants to know that last night meant something more significant than a half apology. She wants it to be a turning point.

There's not a lot of traffic on the road this early and Gillian travels to Boulder High in the quasi-darkness listening to the weather report. They're predicting snow by lunch time, consistent for most of the weekend. Gillian's mood depresses a little so she stops at her new cafe to buy herself something silly (a snowman cookie) to make herself feel better (it's the small things, she discovered a long time ago, that can make all the difference. And why deny herself that? It's not like she's snorting cocaine). The young man behind the counter is starting to recognise her (she's forgone coffee at the house to pick up something creamy on her way to work a few times this week) so she gets a friendly greeting and a nice smile and that helps make her feel better too.

The campus is still quiet this early (Gillian has to be at the school by seven thirty on Mondays, Thursday and Fridays. She thinks she's lucked out) but the heat and lights are on as Gillian goes inside and to her office. She unlocks it, turns her own lights on, powers up the computer, deposits her treat on the desk, then strips off her winter layers. She should have checked the weather before leaving the house; she's rethinking her footwear (she looked last night, but there was no snow forecast. At least she's not in her Louboutins. Has she mentioned she misses them?)

Gillian logs onto the school's network and checks her mail. There's a broadcast from the vice-principals desk (it goes to all staff and is posted on the website) reminding the school community about the school events on, on the weekend. There's a football game that night but Gillian hadn't planned on attending (it might not be so much fun sitting there in the cold by herself) and there is a math tournament for the elite mathematicians on Saturday afternoon (she's also going to pass on that one). After that, Gillian checks her other more personal messages (as in, they're specifically for her; they're not personal, personal, like from her family or anything) and works on the requests within them.

She meets with three of her seniors, talks about colleges and test scores. She has lunch in the second lunch period, which is later in the afternoon (because a counsellor always has to be available to students, and it seems two is required because there are always students milling around in the counsellors' suite) and that means her afternoon goes rather quickly. But just as she's thinking she might get a quieter afternoon, she's wrong. There's a buzz on her phone and she's asked if she can take a meeting; someone's in trouble.

Jerome Manning. When Gillian hears the name her heart almost stops. She flashes back to the moment the meth lab exploded in her face, the fierce rush of heat and feels her cheeks flush. She doesn't miss the concerned expression on her vice-principle's face and quickly takes a chair (she finds her palms are sweating). Jerome is sixteen and, in general, having difficulty in school. Academically, he's about average, but behaviourally he's in trouble most of the time for not showing up to class, showing up late, causing disruptions and threatening other students. He sounds like a tough nut and Gillian is so glad to take on something that seems difficult and prolonged in her first week; hell of a test, one she's totally up for; she's good at a challenge.

But when she puts her self-pity aside for the step down she's taken (for the boredom she can feel setting in and she's only on day four) she reminds herself that she's there to do a job, and not just that, but she does actually enjoy helping people, thinks she's not too bad at it, and really does want to figure this kid out (obviously, there is something else going on with him that no one else knows about). The meeting goes for close to forty-five minutes and one of the first things Gillian notices is that no one in the room actually talks to Jerome (the VP or Jerome's homeroom teacher, or the baseball coach, who seems bored; Jerome is on the team. Or he was. That's a bit iffy right now), even though he is sitting there in the middle of the room. Cal would immediately point out that putting him in a situation where he feels threatened or cornered is not going to be the best for getting a response; he'd immediately be on the kid's side (and so is Gillian).

She doesn't do too much talking in the meeting, mostly, she sits back and listens, occasionally jots something down to work out later, and, interestingly, finds herself watching Jerome's face and noting down the expression's she sees and when (as in, what was being discussed). The long or short of it is, Jerome is on his last chance. He's missing too much school and is at risk of being held back (but not because is grades are poor, he has to meet attendance requirements). He basically has to show up to every class from now on. Not only that, he has to take twice weekly meetings with his guidance counsellor (Gillian, now, seeing as she was available at the time of this meeting), and there has to be marked improvements in his behaviour. Not so easy, by the look of it, Gillian thinks to herself.

The bell signals the end of the period, and also the end of the meeting and also the end of Gillian's work day. She starts early and gets to go home early. As Gillian's getting into her car to go home, she realises two things. The first is that it's not snowing and it hasn't, in fact, snowed that day at all. The second, is that she was half tempted to text Cal and let him know she was on her way home. She's looking forward to seeing him but she's not sure if that's because of the nice surprise she got yesterday evening, or because it's nearly been a whole week now of her working, and she's barely seen him (well, not barely, but certainly a whole lot less than the 24 hours of the previous weeks) and, maybe, she misses him a little bit (and that that might be why she was in a funny mood that morning).

Cal seems... a little antsy when she gets back to the house. He's in the kitchen cooking. She equally likes that he's got dinner (not really) on the table (about half way through, it looks like; he started really early...) when she gets in (so she doesn't have to cook when she's tired) and that he's actually making something that smells incredible and that isn't just fish and a salad (not that she's complaining about that, there's just something nice about a complex meal put together from scratch, with maybe a little love.) So when Gillian half-sneaks up on Cal at the stove, she's not sure he's jumpy because she surprised him, or for another reason (a surprise like that should be easier to get over, but acts weird for longer than she thinks he should. Like he has a guilty conscience).

"I didn't hear you come in," Cal states the obvious.

Gillian gives a shrug, takes the wooden spoon from his left hand after watching him awkwardly try to stir the thickening sauce. He doesn't protest, hops away to give her more room. Her other hand goes to his waist, feels his torso through the thin material of the t-shirt he's wearing (he seems to have brought all the grey from the safe house. Which to be fair, doesn't look half bad on him. He might be wearing a half size too small, because she can see the definition of his pecs. And the flash of a tattoo.)

"Did you have a good day?" Cal mumbles his question, checking on the other pots (it looks like chicken cacciatore with rice.) Gillian, distracted, takes a second to respond. Her hand drifts to the hair at the back of his head and his eyes come up to meet hers, surprised for a second before giving into it. He turns his body towards her (conscious or not) and Gillian leans in to kiss him softly. He gives her more surprise when she pulls away (she supposes she doesn't do that too often; maybe ever) and she asks, "Is that ok?"

Cal looks taken aback for a split second. "Yes," he says but it sounds a bit like a question. He gives a slight smile (like he can't help it) and Gillian returns it, feeling her cheeks heat. Cal breaks into a grin and Gillian mirrors it and there's a strange feeling in her chest. She feels lighter and warmer and pleased with his reaction. She suspects it's because she's actually being honest. Not just with telling him something that's true, or acting on an impulse to taste his lips, but because she did it without thinking about how he was going to take it, without obsessing over that twitch of his mouth or the crinkle of his eye. (Oh dear god, she's become him.) She did it without him having to break the ice first.

"You're home early," Cal points out. "Kind of ruining my surprise here."

"Oh sorry," Gillian responds, feeling her cheeks warm again. "Want me to go out and come back in another hour?"

Cal smirks. "No, but you'll have to help me finish up now."

Gillian stops daydreaming and gives him another smile. "Sure." She is anyway. Cal directs more liquid to the sauce, turns down the heat on another element, goes to the fridge for more ingredients.

"So, home early?" Cal asks again.

Gillian reminds him of her hours again. "Oh right," he mumbles and stands behind her to chop. Gillian listens to the slow thunk of the knife against the wooden board, thinks belatedly that maybe she should offer to do the cutting, and realises that he probably started cooking so early because he's so slow. Poor guy. (But also kudos for firstly cooking her dinner, and secondly attempting to have it ready for when she got home. If she had gotten home at the normal time).

When Cal deems the food ready, he hops to the cupboard and takes out two plates, while Gillian turns off the heat and grabs a serving spoon. She carries their plates to the dining room and they sit together. Gillian compliments the food after the first bite (it really is that good) and then they're quiet as they eat their meal. Cal clears his throat and Gillian looks up, expecting conversation but he only glances over at her as he chews and so she lets her mind drift away again.

It's just about the weekend and she's tired. She's looking forward to sleeping in. And maybe a long bath at some point during those next two days, before she has to go to work. She also wouldn't mind a bit more shopping, as long as the weather holds out (coffee maker. Desperately. Instant is just not right).

"No snow today," Gillian notes, the silence, while not uncomfortable, has been long and maybe a little strange.

Cal looks like he's been pulled from thought. "Was it meant to snow?"

"They forecast it this morning."

Cal looks to the window but its dark out, like he's just noticed, and Gillian gives up on conversation; he's clearly a million miles away. And that's okay, she supposes. Maybe he has things on his mind. Maybe they've run out of things to say to each other. Maybe, he just enjoys a bit of silence. She's seen all three of those sides of him. But she suspects its things on his mind because she finishes her meal first and he's started to play with his a bit. She presses a kiss to his temple as she gets up (doesn't think, just acts) and goes to clear the kitchen away. He hobbles in a few minutes later with his empty plate (he must have wolfed down the last of it) and helps stack the dishwasher.

They sit and watch the evening news. Gillian closes her eyes for a second and then she's being shaken gently awake by Cal. "Bedtime," he tells her.

Gillian blinks, confused.

"Let's go," Cal tells her gently. "Bed."

So they go to bed. Gillian brushes her teeth half heartedly in the bathroom downstairs (she has re-migrated her toothbrush; did that this morning while she was creeping around) and starts stripping off her clothes before she's even in the bedroom. She goes to Cal's dresser and takes a t-shirt, slipping it on and getting under the covers. She's not even really aware of where Cal is in all of this (she's mostly asleep), and she's only half aware of him getting into bed with her (can't miss the earthquake of him bouncing onto the mattress) but once he's settled, she has enough presence of mind left to scoot closer and snuggle up against his shoulder. Then she's out.

She doesn't notice him press a kiss to her hair.

PJ

Cal drifts awake, emerging from a dream he immediately forgets (but thinks was nice enough) and automatically shifts his ass on the mattress to let the blood flow slide in again. He attempts to bend his right knee (forgetting in his half-awake state) and is constricted by the plaster cast. But it doesn't hurt the point of the break this time and he thinks there might be a turning point there, somewhere, a little bit. Like there was one with Gillian the other night (and last night too. There was some serious cuddling even though they weren't post-coital and she was mostly asleep already) and Cal comes more awake, sensing that he might be alone in the bed. A quick tearing of his eyes open confirms this and he gives a little groan. It might have been nice to wake up with her there (he's spent a whole week waking alone). He forces himself more conscious and sits (and when he presses his broken arm to the mattress for leverage, he notes that it doesn't seem to hurt either). The bedroom is dim and the door is closed; he can't hear if Gillian is across the hall in the bathroom or if she is even still in the house. Cal turns his head to check the time; it's late in the morning (his usual wake up time). So she woke ages ago and has already gone to work. And he's missed her again.

Cal works himself out of bed, finds a t-shirt to put on and some pants (cut off pyjamas. Home wear. He has some cut off jeans for when he leaves the house. But that hasn't been often). Then he half hops and shuffles across the hall to the bathroom (and when he stands on his broken leg, that doesn't hurt half as much as it used to). He goes to the kitchen, helps himself to the coffee Gillian's already partook in, by the look of the dirty cup in the sink (and she had breakfast too; those dishes are also there). Cal has a quick bowl of cereal while he's standing at the bench and then, with his coffee cup half empty, goes through to the living room and plants himself on the couch (carefully, doesn't want to spill). He starts with morning TV just to see if there's anything that's going to hold his attention (while he's waking up) and when it doesn't, he turns it off and looks around for the tablet. It's not in there with him, though he was sure he had left it on the coffee table yesterday evening. A surge of frustration bubbles up inside him; he can't be bothered going through the whole frigging rigmarole of getting up again and going into the other room, hopping and leaning on one crutch with his leg hurting (the more cumulative standing he does, the more it aches), just to get the fricking device.

Instead, he turns and scoots his body down the couch so he's lying stretched out full length along all the cushions, his neck against one arm (as a pillow) and his broken foot on top of the other arm rest at the other end (he's meant to have been elevating it. He doubts it's going to help him at all now, nearly three weeks later, but it is comfortable). He closes his eyes, ruing his poor luck (with all his broken bones) and frustration. He takes a deep breath and holds it, hearing his blood pulsing, then pounding, then threatening in his ears.

He tells himself to calm down. He tells himself that the broken limbs are only temporary and he has bigger goals in mind right now. Mostly, he needs to get his shit together. And maybe he can't jump in the shower and wash his hair and have a shave (which is usually how he gets himself back together) but that doesn't mean he can't wash, or wash his hair (actually, that one is trickier as he found out the other day, attempting it by himself), or have a shave. So he gets up again to do just that but after the wash part he can't be bothered with either of the other two. It all seems to take so much energy (and it takes so long) that he just goes back to the couch. He has an afternoon nap and when he wakes his mood hasn't much improved. When Gillian gets home that evening there's no dinner and he's barely moved all day. He can tell immediately that she's disappointed, and instead of telling himself that he should be making more effort, he gets annoyed at her reaction. Never mind that yesterday he was telling himself that half their problem was him (not the sex bit, he's trying to move on from/ignore that) and that he was promising to work on it; to be less grumpy, to stop taking it out on her.

Never mind that yesterday, when he cooked for her, and kissed her, and was nice to her she fully responded (she responded so easily and so well, he was kind of surprised. He thought it might take a lot more effort than that). Never mind that it led to a lot of affection and cuddling and basically all the things he was craving. Never mind that he could forget about the explosion (well not really. Kind of hard to ignore a giant plaster cast on his leg and another on his arm), and the awkward foray into having sex with each other (which turned out to be a total bust...), and that they might have had a chance at starting over and doing it properly this time (because, yeah, he is totally aware that they've gone about this all wrong). Never mind all that. Now he's grumpy and frustrated and he wants to be alone (even though he woke up that morning wishing he wasn't). But Gillian is there and he can see the confusion, then hurt, in her eyes, and even though it's a bit like kicking a puppy, he can't seem to stop himself. But because he's trying to be less of a moody prick, by bed time he does manage to tone it down (and even though he's been grumpy, he hasn't bitched at her; he's just been... well, sullen, actually, which might be construed as grumpy at her).

When it's bed time (Gillian calls it), Cal gets up with her. He's really, really hoping that she won't go upstairs (after his sulking) but she does and he gives a brusque 'goodnight' at the foot of the stairs. She turns her head away but he still catches the way her eyes fade and he berates himself for being... too... he doesn't even know what anymore. Moody? Or just himself? He watches her ass for a few seconds as she climbs (until he thinks she might think he's being creepy) and then moves down the hall to his room. He's getting much better at using his crutches with his broken arm. It helps that it doesn't hurt much anymore (unless he does something really extreme) and he knows the right angle and the right amount of pressure to be able to support his weight without causing the limb to ache.

He uses the bathroom and brushes his teeth, then hops it across the hall to his bedroom and flicks on the light. He goes to the lamp and puts that on, then leans his crutches against the little bedside table so he can get them in the morning. Balancing mostly on one leg (because while his arm seems to be hurting less, and his leg is doing better, it still sends him sharp enough signals to be weary if he pushes it too hard), he takes his shirt off and tosses it to land on top of the dresser (no accessories or photos on top of there to worry about). He has to stand for a second to regain his balance, then grips the elastic of his cut off pyjama pants to tug them down. He catches something out of the corner of his eye and looks over to the door. It's Gillian, but the surprise still catches his heart and makes him have to swing abruptly around to sit heavily on the mattress.

She watches him impassively (thank god she's not laughing at him) as she moves to lean against the door frame, "Want some company?" She doesn't ask it casually. She asks it like she can't tell anymore and is actually asking him.

"Yes," Cal answers after a beat (could have been a beat too long. He doesn't want to seem too keen, nor too distant; he's an idiot for playing these games with her. Just tell her what he wants, it worked for him yesterday). She comes into the room, pushing the door almost closed and turning off the overhead light. She's dressed for bed (she went upstairs to get pyjamas, so he totally called that wrong) and she goes around the room to the side of the bed Cal doesn't sleep on. While Cal finishes the awkward move of taking his pants off, Gillian slips beneath the covers. He likes that she's there, but he's really starting to hate that she's forcing sleeping in the same bed as him to be a barometer of how their relationship is going (or maybe it's a good thing, because then he'll know where he stands). He stands again to pull back the covers and Gillian helps him and he's pretty sure he catches some bare thigh (which is also very nice). Then he does his awkward dance to get onto the mattress and Gillian flicks the covers up over him (kind of tucking him in again). Then she leans right over him to put the light out, and as she moves back, her mouth is searching against his (with cute little laughs as she finds her way in the dark). She kisses him hotly and thoroughly and when she pulls back she whispers 'goodnight Cal' before she settles on her side of the bed and goes almost straight to sleep.

And he's fully amazed, because even though he's kind of been a jerk once again, Gillian hasn't gone to hide upstairs... and he feels worse. She's clearly making some effort and he's back to acting like a child. He can do better. He swears he's going to do better. It's not her fault he's broken and it's not her fault that they're there. He's got to stop.

He has to.

He's already done something stupid.

And he's not sure what she's going to do when she finds out.

She's going to find out.

She always does.