This is how Cal justifies it to himself: he loves her.
That covers a multitude of fine print sins. He makes small talk with people he doesn't know (and politely, despite a myriad of interesting twists of facial muscles that makes him want to aggressively startled someone into confessing) because he loves Gillian. He doesn't grumble about the ache of his leg or the embarrassingly awkward way he has to move with his crutches and broken limbs (until Gillian rescues him with a chair. And everyone gives him shit for it, because there's something childishly fascinating about a woman coming to his crippled rescue. He takes it good naturedly though) because he loves her. He puts up with the probing questions about who he is and what he does for a living (well, before he wrote himself off in his 'skiing' accident), questions he can't answer properly (because he's not prepared) or truthfully, because he loves Gillian.
He loves her. He keeps reminding himself of that. He loves her, so it's worth putting on fake smiles and the like, and making up stories about having a boring office job, because Gillian stays close to him all evening (maybe in reward. Maybe to keep tabs on him. He doesn't know. He doesn't think they can leverage sex against each other at this point in their sexual history. Him being up five orgasms to Gillian's one) and even when he's relegated to a chair, she brings him food and beers and doesn't even really wander away too far (she's within grabbing distance); she makes them come to her (and they do, because she's funny and gracious and there's something about her that draws people in).
The truth is, he knows how to behave like a grown up and he knows that these things are important to Gillian and that if he wants to show her he cares then he has to do them too (because she's almost always done the things he's wanted to. Or maybe those don't count too much because they weren't sleeping with each other back then?) And really, it's not so bad. He was quick to deride these small-town people before he knew them, but host Steven can point to websites he's built that Cal knows (and has actually used) and his wife Mary-Ann is fantastically funny (and she spends almost two hours talking to Cal while he's parked on his ass). He constantly turns attention away from himself (because, well, what is he going to say anyway? Me? Oh I'm in witness protection) and Mary-Ann happily talks about herself. She calls her children over to meet him and they seem nice enough, polite and well brought up and all that (the boy Luke even insists on a left-handed shake). They go to the school where Gillian is a guidance counsellor and reluctantly admit, when their mother presses, that they've seen her around the halls.
They meet other people on the block and old friends of Steven and Mary-Ann (Cal thinks they said their last name was Porter) from when they used to live in another neighbourhood of Boulder. By the end of the night Cal knows far too much about them (more than he'd ever care, and still doesn't care, to know) but he does admit the evening is nice (the food is great and he's probably had a few too many beers, to be honest) and he doesn't feel grumpy about being there. Sometimes, when he looks over, he sees Gillian watching him, no matter where she is in the front yard (the Porter's have opened up their garage and turned the drive into a banquet, and even though it is cold, it's not entirely unbearable with a thick winter jacket and hat on) and when he catches her eye she does something cute like wave, or smile and one time, when she thinks no one else is looking (and no one else is, as far as Cal can tell) she gives him a lewd expression (it was suggestive. Of her. Her mouth. His body part. Say no more). When people start to drift off Gillian is quick with suggesting they go home. Cal agrees (kind of still thinking about the lewd suggestion that involved her tongue poking into her cheek to create a bulge).
At least they only have to go across the road. Cal spends more time walking on his broken leg than avoiding it, so when he gets back to the house he's sweaty and aching and maybe feeling a little agitated (alcohol can go either way). Gillian unlocks the door and pushes it open for him, then leans her shoulder on the frame to let him go in first. When he swings himself by her, she grabs at his bicep. Cal stops abruptly on the threshold to look at her; what does she want? She leans in to give him a kiss, shifting the hand to pet the hair at the back of his head. Then she gives him a smile that makes Cal feel funny inside and encourages him into the house. Cal doesn't want to get cocky about it, but he suddenly thinks his chances of getting laid tonight are pretty good (it would go a long way to make up for the interruption this morning).
He's not wrong about the sex either. But instead of their (what could be described as) usual habit of him lying on the bed and Gillian climbing on top of him, she makes him stand in the bedroom (with one crutch to help keep his balance) while she slowly undresses him. And then she gets down on her knees and the bit about suggestion is not a suggestion anymore. She takes him to the brink and then she stands and kisses his neck softly as he calms down again. She times it perfectly, because just as he's ready to suggest (beg) they do it now, she pulls back and tells him to get into bed. She leaves the room and Cal's disappointed, but complies with her request. He sits on the bed and he waits. Gillian's back within a minute, the box of condoms in her hand. She takes one out and flicks it at him, then puts the rest of the box in the drawer by the bed, telling him that that's probably a better home for them. Cal agrees. He goes to put the condom on as Gillian starts taking her clothes off. He gets distracted because she adds an extra shimmy to her movements, making it almost like a dance (a private little strip tease).
When she's ready (and she has to tell him to hurry up), she guides his left hand to her thigh, right up high, and he takes a hint. He gets to watch her face this time, every exquisite detail (and a very nice view of her body). Oh, and there is so much to see. So expressive and her eyes so dark. And she's not shy about giving him little hints as to what he should do or try, and combined with the little bit of experience he gained last night, Cal thinks he does a pretty good job of it... (excuse the pun). Before he can tip her over the edge though, she tears his hand away and grabs him, lowering herself down over his hips. Cal can feel the shudder of her body and the expression on her face (eyes nearly rolled back) has got to be close to his own pleasure. It's not perfect (they still stumble a little and lose their rhythm, juxtaposing against each other), but it's hot and exciting and their best effort yet (and he's glad that she actually tells him what he should do).
And Gillian definitely orgasms this time.
PJ
Mmm Sunday is the best day for warm sex-the-night-before lie-ins. Gillian still wakes early (early, even though she's overslept by an hour) but this time she doesn't care if she wakes Cal too. She snuggles into him, moving his arm out of the way so she can get in close against his chest (naked chest), then presses her breasts up against him (naked breasts) and drops a hand low to his hip (naked hip), brushes her fingers against the bone. It's not necessarily about the orgasm part (although that is pretty great!) It's the part where they connected. Where Cal came across the road to meet the neighbours with her and was pleasant and... she was kind of proud of him. Because he didn't complain, didn't even look grumpy (might have looked like he was enjoying himself).
It's not just about the orgasm part. It just feels like everything's changed. On Thursday, when she got home, he was cooking and was pleasant. And then on Friday he was down again and borderline hostile. Yesterday morning, even though she sort of started it, he took charge and used his... hand and... then there was also later that night. It feels like they're on the same page. She's not going to smother him and he's going to try and meet her half way and that feels about right for them right now. The situation has been stressful and tedious and they're coming into the third week since the explosion (god, really? has it been that long?) and maybe they're starting to let go of their old lives and moving on with the new?
Gillian's repositioning of Cal wakes him enough to squirm against her a little; he tilts his head against hers, pressing his jaw against her cheek. She stays still and it seems he goes back to sleep, however, eventually, she needs the bathroom and when she extricates herself from him, he wakes properly. They both get up and go through a quiet morning routine, bathroom swapping, coffee, food; it's snowing, which means they're going to be housebound (again), though being housebound with a suddenly sexually pleasing Cal might not be an entirely bad thing. So long as it wasn't a one off.
Gillian takes a shower (upstairs) and when she comes back down she can't find Cal. It spikes some fear to her heart (and her first thought is not that he's gone out, but that something has happened to him). She calls out and he yells back and she finds him in the bathroom (she knocks on the closed door). She doesn't know what to say though. Kind of embarrassing to pry into his bathroom time.
"Just having a wash love," Cal says to relieve her.
"Ok," Gillian says and goes to leave him to it.
"Thought you might do my hair?"
Gillian has to backtrack a few steps, but she did hear him through the door. "Yeah sure, if you want me to."
"My own attempt was abysmal," Cal goes on.
Gillian leans against the wall. She remembers his hair was wet the other night, yes, and that he smelt like soap, but she hadn't particularly noticed his hair wasn't clean.
"You can come in," Cal continues.
Gillian straightens up and twists the knob and her stomach does something weird when she sees him. He has no shirt on and just his briefs (it seems like so much white plaster cast exposed without clothes on, even though his clothes were by no means covering it up before now) and he's sitting on the closed toilet seat. There's no bath down here, just the shower cubicle, but it does, at least, have a nozzle that can be detached so that could make it easier. Not that Gillian's sure how she's going to do this.
"Ideas?" Cal asks her.
Making him get on the ground is going to be tough. When there was a bath, there was something for him to lean against. And getting him back off the ground seems cruel. "Chair from the dining room?" Gillian suggests.
"All right. I'll robe up."
Gillian smiles in amusement and goes to retrieve the furniture. When she comes back, Cal has gotten towels to cover his casts with. Gillian puts the chair as close to the edge of the shower tray as she can get it. Cal hops to sit and she turns on the water, taking the nozzle down from its height. Cal tilts his head back as far as he can and Gillian guides the water and it seems to work (his hair gets clean and his casts don't get wet. And he manages to flirt with her too. But they don't talk about last night or anything that matters).
After that Cal goes to sit on the couch, complaining his neck hurts. Gillian tidies up the bathroom (mops up the spilt water on the floor) and then follows him with a towel to rub his hair dry. He's got his leg stretched out on the cushions so she climbs in against his back, making him sit forward so she can fit. He protests a little at the start but it doesn't last long, not when she's pressing up against his back and massaging his scalp and then tugging on his earlobe with her teeth, breathing in, telling him he smells good in a husky whisper.
Oh how she teases him.
"Cal?"
"Huh?" His eyes snap open; wasn't aware they had closed.
"Last night was really great."
"Yeah it was," Cal agrees.
Gillian plants a kiss at the side of his head. "Can I do anything else for you?"
That sounded like a lewd suggestion.
"Nah I'm all right."
Gillian untangles herself from him (he doesn't help, it's much more fun to try and tickle her thighs) and returns the towel to the bathroom. When she comes back she squishes herself onto the couch next to him, so she's half lying on him, a leg hooked over his knees, and it's easy between them, peaceful. They watch the snow for a bit. Watch a movie. Have a light dinner and go to bed early (only to fool around). It's a good day, settled and without conflict or tension. Gillian really does feel as though it's a turning point. But tomorrow is another day. And Cal is a rollercoaster.
PJ
Gillian rushes into the main building of Boulder High, shoulders hunched against the falling snow. It started up just before she left the house and now it's coming down thick and fast; dropping visibility to a few meters (lucky she wasn't too far from her destination). She pets the wetness into her hair as she goes along the corridor (to try and stop the frizz from forming), smiling hello to the staff she's starting to recognise who don't work in her immediate vicinity (it's too early for any number of students to be there). She's dusting more flakes off her coat as she gets to her office and unlocks the door, turns the lights on, puts down her coffee (was running a bit late this morning. Cal kept her up too late last night). She takes off her coat, turns on her computer, settles in with the cardboard coffee cup against her chest as she checks her messages.
There's a general broadcast about what's coming up for the school in the week ahead and a response from the University of California about a course a student was interested in taking; Gillian writes out a note for that student to come and see her in the third period. She makes times to see two other students in the late afternoon as well, then takes all three slips to the outbox (where they'll be passed on to the runner to be delivered).
"Good morning," a male voice greets her.
Gillian turns to see Reece. His dark coat is dusted with snowflakes, his cheeks are red, matching the scarf around his neck. He's a good looking man. Early thirties, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. His smile is easy and creates dimples in his cheeks. He's been friendly since she started, and helps her out when she's not sure what she's doing or where to go next. His office is next to hers and sometimes she can hear the rumble of his voice through the wall. He's been there a year, and was the newest employee until Gillian started. Now she's the newbie and he's having fun no longer getting the raw end of a deal if there is one (no one seems to care that Gillian is actually the most qualified of them all, with her doctorate. She doesn't mind it though, it's friendly ribbing; it's better for her to just go with it, than try to shove her weight around).
"Good morning," Gillian repeats with a friendly smile.
"How was your weekend?"
"Good," Gillian responds automatically (it's not a lie. It was a fantastic weekend). She thinks back to Cal, the weekend, the way he was sprawled in bed this morning when she quietly snuck out. "Yours?" She carries on without hesitation, even though she's now thinking about last night.
"Great," Reece responds with a winning smile (Gillian hasn't figured out yet if he's taken. They haven't had that much personal conversation). He starts to unwrap his scarf as he walks towards his office. "Glad the weather held off." (The snow on Sunday didn't stay around, just came down for a few hours and disappeared a few hours later.)
"Mm," Gillian agrees, turning back for her office as well. Apart from the barbeque across the road with the neighbours, she didn't leave the house (or bed) much; the truth is, she might not have noticed. Reece fishes for his keys and Gillian goes back to her desk. Within the hour she's busy, students back-to-back, phone calls. She meets with Jerome (Manning, not Willis...) but he's still silent on her. She talks to him for a while but then feels like she's talking at him and so goes quiet, notes down her observations and waits out the hour with him, sitting opposite him in the silent room.
And then dread. She's asked to substitute a 'life education' class before lunch. A teacher has called in sick. She's the most junior in the guidance suit. She's given half an hour to read through the lesson's material. At least this is a class with a set plan; she just might be able to bluff her way through it. When the bell goes to signal the start of the fourth period (or lunch, for half the student body), Gillian gets up from her desk and heads out into the hall.
As soon as she steps out of the guidance suit she can hear the thrum of a hundred teenage voices and the sharp slams of locker doors in the next hallway over. She pulls open the double doors at the end of the administrative section of the building and confronts the noise head on. She's ignored as she walks down the hall, glancing up at the classroom numbers to make sure she's going in the right direction (she's barely ventured out of the guidance suite before now). She rounds the corner, the students parting to let her walk past (she's ignored, but not disrespected) and bangs straight into somebody.
"Bloody hell."
It's Cal.
"Are you ok?" She asks him, astonished, reaching out for his shoulder to steady him as he struggles with her knocking him off balance (he manages to hold onto his crutches though; he's got skills). "What are you doing here?" Adolescents now part around the both of them and she's not accusing, she's just surprised to see him there (and out of the house).
"Came to have lunch," Cal hops a little on his left foot, and finally straightens up, looking a little hopeful. He's dressed in jeans and a jacket and has shaved; he looks good (something's different with him).
"I'm sorry," Gillian goes on. "I have to go take a class," she gestures up the hall, which is emptying out.
Cal looks bewildered as he leans down on his crutches. "You're teaching?"
"Babysitting," Gillian corrects. The hallway gets quieter and a second bell rings.
Cal is thoughtful for a split second. "Isn't it lunchtime?" He makes to look at his wrist (but unless he's taken himself shopping, he doesn't have a watch anymore).
"Not for me. I take lunch in the second period. But you could wait for me?"
Cal gives a huff. "How long are you going to be?"
"Forty minutes."
Cal straightens up again. "Oh all right. That's not so bad."
"You could wait in my office," she gives him hurried directions. The hallway is empty and now she's late.
"All right," Cal agrees and Gillian steps around him to walk away (resisting the urge to kiss him before leaving). She barely hears the tap of his swinging gait as her heels clip on the hallway floor. She rounds another corner and finds her class and strides into the room, head high; teenagers can smell fear...
It's actually not as bad as she feared. It's a group of about fifteen fifteen year old girls and even though some of them are sitting on the desks while on their phones, the noise isn't so bad; there's no riot. Her simply entering the room gets their attention and when she asks the girls to take a seat, they do so promptly. She explains that she's going to take over the class for the period while their regular teacher is out and there's not scoffing or objection; so far so good.
"So," Gillian starts taking the seat from behind the teacher's desk and dragging it around so she's sitting in front of it, so she's level with the other young women. "Does someone want to catch me up on what you were talking about last week?" That's where she gets some sniggers, because, well, no one really wants to put up their hand and announce to the room (and in front of their friends) they were talking about ejaculation or thrush, or something else equally embarrassing.
"Generally?" Gillian queries a little warily. She knows the topic. She knows the lesson plan. But that doesn't mean that she knows exactly what was discussed last time; conversation tends to be free flowing.
A hand rises cautiously into the air. "Yes?" Gillian prompts. Eyes turn to the girl in the second row with light brown hair.
"Uh we were talking about condoms."
Gillian wants to ask 'what about them' but figures that's about as good as she's going to get. She can feel the atmosphere in the room is different; they're not sure of her and she doesn't know them. Another girl by the window has gone red and she's having a hard time meeting Gillian's eye. The other girls are looking at furniture and at their hands (and at Gillian's shoes) and she suddenly remembers what it was like for her in school, talking about this kind of stuff back in the eighties (gasp) and it wasn't any easier back then either.
"So you guys talked about how effective they are for pregnancy and STDs?"
There are nods.
"Did you get to practice putting one on?"
Nods. And sniggers. The girl by the window goes redder, poor thing.
"With bananas?" Gillian goes on.
"We got these wooden..." one girl in the front row speaks up with a look of disgust. Her hair is so long she's practically sitting on it. "Things," she finishes. The other girls laugh and at least relax a little.
Gillian smiles herself. "We got bananas."
"They didn't have wooden thingies back in your day miss?" Another girl in the front row asks.
"Uh no, only the boys got any wooden thingies," Gillian quips and the group breaks out in laughter (some more confident than others. The girl by the window seems to chuckle quietly). "Ok, so you know how they go on and what they're supposed to do, but did you talk about in which situations you should be using them?"
"Uh that would be sex," the same girl says.
"Right, that would be the obvious one," Gillian answers. She inclines her head and the girl tells her her name. "But, Annabeth, what does sex entail exactly."
Annabeth looks put out, with half an eye roll in there, like she's going to have to explain what sex is to a three year old, but Gillian jumps in again. "I'm not just talking about actual intercourse sex," her cheeks feel warm. She so hopes she's not blushing. "What about oral sex? Do you use a condom then?"
The girls look baffled and no one volunteers an answer. So Gillian plunges on and after a while they warm to her and start asking more questions, volunteering more answers, solutions and ideas.
They move on to talk about condom negotiation and then another moment that makes Gillian's cheeks feel warm: Annabeth asks her about Cal. Or, more accurately, 'the guy she lives with'.
"Is he your boyfriend?" Lucy asks (the girl with the really long hair. A popular girl, from what Gillian can deduce, or, at least, confident. She and Annabeth have done most of the talking today).
"That's personal," Gillian tries (because really, she doesn't know what to do in this kind of situation. Usually, in a session with a patient who tries to glean personal information, she just shuts it down. They're not there to talk about her. But this is a high school. She's not sure the same rules apply).
"Go on Miss, you're not wearing a ring, so you're not married," Annabeth immediately jumps in (she's bolshy).
Gillian looks down at her hand, startled. No, she's not wearing a wedding ring and it hasn't occurred to her before now to even think about it (plus, glancing down at her hand like that has just given away... something. It gives the girls confidence). The girls press her again, the scent of blood in the water. Gillian wants to argue with them, be coy, but really, these kids are not quite adults yet and she is and that demands a little bit of respect: she doesn't have to answer to them. "Never mind him," Gillian dismisses. "We're talking about the decisions you make."
"But if he's your boyfriend," Lucy says thoughtfully. "Did you guys talk about condoms?"
Gillian's thrown off by that question too, but not as much as the wedding ring comment. She tries to keep it vague, says that of course she uses and talks about condoms with every man she's with in an intimate way (which is true) because she respects her body and her health. But what isn't entirely the truth is that while she's talked about it with every guy she's been with (even when she was a teenager, not that she always got her way. Which was stupid, but in the past now) she hasn't talked to Cal about it. There has been no condom negotiation because neither of them have protested using them; there was nothing to discuss, it was implied.
Kind of like a lot of their relationship in the last few weeks actually.
The girls seem satisfied enough with that answer and then the bells goes to signal the end of the period (a really long forty minutes...) and they get up to go. Gillian does the same, putting the chair back where she got it, thinking she might not have done too badly after all. Some of the girls say goodbye to her and the poor girl by the window with a tendency to blush, whose name Gillian didn't catch, comes up to offer a quick thank you, before quickening out of the room. Gillian smiles at her back, waits for the last girls to traipse out, and then merges into the stream of bodies in the hallway. She's forgotten completely about Cal until she gets back
to her office (the secretary gives her a bright knowing kind of smile, like she knows something that Gillian doesn't) and finds him sitting on the couch waiting for her (that explains the smile then).
"Hey," Cal greets her, looking bored (but perking up).
"Did you eat?" Gillian crosses to her desk, dumping the paperwork she had taken with her, but not used. She suddenly realises something else: all that talk of condoms and she's done things for Cal without using them. It didn't even occur to her; and she was encouraging those girls a moment ago to keep themselves safe.
"Uh, I didn't actually bring any food with me."
Gillian looks over at him, his broken leg on the little table in front of the couch. "Okay, what happened?"
His casts have been replaced. They're both black now. And much thinner. Fibreglass, she would guess. Cal grins, raises his hand to wave as Gillian approaches. "I knew you didn't notice before."
"I was kind of distracted."
"Yeah did you have fun with your sex ed class?" Cal's tone is light with teasing.
Gillian stands in front of him, a hand on her hip, giving him a disparaging expression. "How do you know?"
Surely, he couldn't have read that off her face?
"And you're changing the subject," she adds.
"Mary told me," Cal answers (the guidance suite's secretary) Gillian just knows he completely wooed her (which might make Gillian feel a little jealous). She sits on the table next to his encased ankle and tweaks his exposed big toe. When Cal flinches, his whole limb lifts off the table and he winces. "All right, all right. It's been three weeks. Had to go in for a check up."
"And they redid your casts?"
"They took x-rays," Cal goes on. "Arm is healing fine, can get the cast off completely soon and leg is..." he trails off.
"Leg is what?" Gillian jumps in.
"Leg is too."
Gillian narrows her eyes at him. "Really?"
"It's taking a bit longer than the arm."
Gillian suspects there's more to it than that. "Because?"
"It was a worse break."
Gillian rolls her eyes, but she's not interested in pushing him. The conversation could go around in circles for hours if she continues to play. So she gives it up and stands, thinking they should go get some lunch, maybe from the cafeteria (she's not sure they have time to go off campus now).
"It's a worse break and I've kind of not really been taking it easy," Cal finishes anyway. Gillian stops and looks down at him, surprised he volunteered, but hopefully not giving that away. Cal looks a little sheepish, then meets her eye. It's a confession. It might even be a concession. She has no idea what to say to that (she's not much one for rubbing it in) but it seems Cal is waiting for a response from her (this could be a test).
"You'll have to get more calcium," she says haltingly. "Milk for breakfast."
"Yeah," Cal agrees with a slight twitch of his mouth (that might have been the start of a smile).
Gillian goes to her desk again (for want of somewhere to go, since she was on her feet) and once there decides to get out the lunch she made for herself that morning. Cal watches her as she comes back over to offer him half a sandwich. He takes it carefully with his left hand, she assumes because it's not his given hand, and their fingers brush. It makes her chest flutter. It really does. And she hesitates leaning over him and there's the urge to straddle his lap and kiss him. She's not sure what it is, that he's dressed or that he's just out of the house (or maybe because he took the time to come and see her. Specifically).
"Next time," Cal says around a polite mouthful of bread. "I'll bring food with me."
"We could go down to the cafeteria," Gillian offers, taking a perch on the edge of her desk.
"No I meant, I won't show up to an impromptu lunch date empty handed. I forget that you're..." He hesitates and Gillian looks over at him curious. "Not working... That you have to take a set lunch time."
He means that she's not working for herself/ with him anymore.
They get quiet. Gillian finishes her sandwich. Cal licks mayonnaise off his thumb. Gillian imagines him doing dirty things to her on that couch. She's really got to stop that.
"Hey Gillian?"
She turns to the door quickly, straightens up a little. It's Reece. He comes in, distracted, eyes down on a folder in his hands. "Did you get the...?" And then he looks up, sees her and Cal on the couch. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't realise you were with someone."
Cal clears his throat a little and shifts and Gillian's attention is drawn to him. It's hard to read the expression on his face, but it looks somewhere between unimpressed and aggressive.
"It's ok," Gillian tells him as he turns to leave again. "The?" She prompts.
"Uh," Reece hesitates, eyeing up Cal now, who is staring at him from his seat. Gillian imagines them brawling on the ground. "Indiana Tech?"
"Yeah sure," Gillian starts to go around her desk. "Cal this is Reece, he works in the guidance suite with me," Gillian says as she starts to retrieve the enrolment forms. Reece says hi.
"I'm Cal," he says from the couch and there's something in his tone that is facetious. Gillian wonders if he does his finger wave to indicate he can't (or won't shake hands) but her back is to the room while she hunts for the forms Reece was looking for (she got some in for a student of hers; she figures Reece needs some too). "Gillian's complication," Cal adds and Gillian fumbles the papers in her hand. When she turns around Reece and Cal are almost standing off (they would be, if they were being more overt about this weird little display of machismo. And Cal could stand).
Gillian takes the forms back to Reece, half guides him to the door to get rid of him, while wondering what Cal's problem is, and why he had to say 'complication'. Now he's just complicated the situation. "I'll get these back to you," Reece says but she puts him off; she's got enough copies for herself anyway. "Thanks," Reece gives her a smile as he goes but it's not his thousand watt one she usually gets, and she suddenly realises that he might have been flirting with her this whole time after all. Which means that Cal probably picked up on that in an instant which is why he's got his nose all out of joint.
"Anything else?" Gillian challenges Cal.
He looks bewildered for a second. "He seems nice."
Gillian barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Sometimes he can be so damning annoying.
"What?" Cal presses.
"My complication?" Gillian asks.
"Well. What would you introduce me as?" Cal challenges lightly.
"My," Gillian starts and then stops. Her, what? Acquaintance, friend, partner, roommate, lover, boyfriend, husband... "Complication," she finishes. Cal looks a tiny, little bit smug. But at least it's not full blown (she might have to punch him). "Fine," Gillian grouses.
"So you don't tell people we're?"
"We're what?"
But Cal looks uncomfortable, like he can't answer that question. Or maybe it's that he doesn't know how to anymore than Gillian does.
"Are we having the 'talk'?" Gillian asks, more thinking aloud than demanding an answer out of him. She thinks again of the condoms.
Cal gives her a steady expression for a beat, then agrees, "Maybe?"
Gillian prickles with exquisite anticipation. Not only will this be a very revealing conversation (because she can not work Cal out. He's so up and down all the time. Him just telling her sounds good), it will be the first proper conversation they've had in weeks. And, it'll be the first real conversation they've had in years. Even their business discussions had come down to short, sharp arguments in the hallways of the Lightman Group building. Cal has not wanted to talk to her and when he did, she didn't want to talk to him. They' haven't really been at their best for a long while now and this whole witness protection thing has just made that glaringly obvious, at least for Gillian it has.
They're silent for a moment, neither of them wanting to start. Gillian's heart rate steadily increases, along with her body temperature, not sure what he's going to say, not sure what she would say if she had to go first. It's a tricky balance. She wants to protect herself, but she also wants... Well, maybe, if he also wanted to, she would be interested in...
The bell rings.
Cal startles and looks towards the door, then back to her. "That the end of lunch?"
"Yes," Gillian says quietly. Hope fizzles out but she's already in a light sweat. Her mouth feels dry.
Cal stares at her a moment longer but they can't do this now and they both know it. He doesn't show disappointment though. Gillian might have expected relief but there's none of that either. "To be continued?" Cal asks.
"Okay," Gillian agrees. She's actually quite pleased with that, because this would have been a good excuse to conveniently forget about it. He's intimating that he really does want to have the conversation though.
Cal struggles to the edge of the couch, then reaches for his crutches. He stands then tucks them under his arm, and even though he's gone a little red in the face, he does seem quite fluid in his movements, like it's not much effort anymore. Gillian also gets to her feet to walk him to the door. She actually walks all the way to the front entrance with him. They both look out through the glass and then at each other. They're not alone in the main building entrance; aside from the school secretaries there are a few students, teachers, other adults who are possibly parents. It's stopped snowing again (which Gillian figures means Cal's going to have a dry run home).
Gillian has an urge to kiss Cal goodbye, but she doesn't think that's a good idea when her bosses is only a few meters away in their office. Instead, she brushes her hand against his, enough for him to notice, because he looks down where she touched him. And then he casually looks away, around, a loop, meets her eyes and gives her another steady look that makes her feel flushed all over again. It's different.
Something's different.
PJ
The rest of the afternoon drags like a glacier in a valley. Gillian stares at the clock so frequently, at one point she's convinced it's gone backwards twenty minutes. There is not enough work in the world to distract her from the fact that she's going to have a conversation with Cal about 'them' (and possibly other things) because it's been such a long time coming that it's now overdue (by years, to be fair. All that flirting needs to be explained. She even gave stronger hints and he still did nothing. Now she needs to know where she stands, where any of this is going).
She is pretty convinced they are actually going to have a discussion. He gave every indication he also wanted to have the talk and she's pretty determined to hold him to it. She doesn't wait for the final bell; she's not obliged to be there after hours today. So she gets her things together and sneaks out five minutes early (she really hopes she's not going to get busted for five minutes). She drives home with a nervous stomach and when she twists her key in the lock it crescendos. Of course, she can get to Cal before he can get to her, and she finds him in the kitchen, looking as though he was heading out of the room. "Oh," he says when she comes in.
"Hi," Gillian responds, putting down her keys and bag on the kitchen counter.
"Dinner's nearly ready," he tells her.
"Ok."
"Then... you wanna talk?"