Gillian has to get dinner from the oven, but Cal insists on serving up the cheesy pasta concoction (which looks suspiciously like comfort food) even though Gillian has to carry their plates through to the dining room as well. Cal swings after her, a blur of black now instead of white. Gillian has to go back to the kitchen for forks and when she returns to the dining room for the second time, Cal is patiently waiting for her (not that he could start on his meal anyway). He takes his utensil politely and puts it in his right hand (Gillian figures, seeing as he doesn't have to cut his food, that he can manage it; he's been eating left-handed). Gillian takes her seat (her stomach just about audibly growling at this point) and tucks in. It's kind of like mac 'n' cheese but with chicken and maybe the left-overs of their dinner two nights ago (she hopes it was ok before Cal decided to throw it on in there).

She compliments him on his cooking and he politely responds and then she sits there for a moment dumbfounded. He wanted to talk, mentioned it mere minutes ago, and now nothing? The guy is just downright infuriating! Does he expect her to go first? She's not actually sure what they're meant to be talking about? Oh, no, wait, yeah, she remembers, Reece. Maybe? Cal's reaction to Reece, the bit about 'what are they telling other people?' A conversation they should have had weeks ago (but which they both, perhaps, have procrastinated on). Gillian chews her mouthful, thoughtfully, wondering where she should start this (and why does she have to go first?), watching Cal eat. His eyes flicker towards her but dart away without making proper contact and he concentrates on his meal. He seems to be sitting awkwardly and then Gillian clicks: he's nervous. He's also hilarious. She can't believe he's too nervous to talk to her. They've known each other so long. They talk all the time. Sometimes, they even talk about important things... But actually, when Gillian thinks about it, Cal doesn't actually try talking to her about their 'stuff'. Prying into her private life? No problem. Her marriage? Slight subtly. Her dating after said marriage dissolved? No holds barred.

So what is his problem now?

Or do they just not have the kind of relationship she thought they had?

"To be continued," Gillian finally prompts him (she'll be damned if she spends the rest of her life catering to his insecurities).

(Rest of her life?)

Cal looks over at her, chewing. He swallows, "Yeah." Then he watches her a moment, studies her really and she waits. He starts off cautiously, "So, you didn't tell that guy you and I are...?"

Gillian notices three things, the first is that Cal puts his fork down. The second is his use of distancing language (which means he's totally bothered...) and that he can't finish the sentence. "That we're what?" She pushes.

"Hiding out from the government at the government's request?" He tries facetious and it does make her smile.

"Funnily enough, no, I don't mention that bit."

"What people?"

"Across the road? The barbeque?" Gillian tries to remind him and she can't tell whether he really doesn't remember, doesn't know in that instant what she's talking about, or is messing with her.

"I'm Cal, I live across the road."

"Nothing about...? I don't know. Why we moved here?" It's easier if they're not talking about Reece. Or them. (Maybe she's just as bad as Cal is).

"That's your fault."

"Is it?" Gillian stiffens in her seat.

"You came for a job."

Gillian relaxes again, moves past any accusations over what happened at the meth house (which is no one's fault, though, possibly Ria's, seeing as she sent them there). "Did you say anything about where we moved from?" Gillian tries to entice him to volunteer information.

"Didn't come up," Cal answers, putting more food in his mouth. "All right. What's the story?"

Gillian thinks for a second. "I guess I've said about as little as you have."

"Not having big heart to hearts with friends at work?"

Gillian ignores that. "Moved here for my job then?"

Cal gives a shrug. Yes, she supposes that's as good a story as any.

"Broke your limbs in a ski accident?" Gillian gives him a slight pout as she eats more of her meal (she's glad there's some still left in the dish, because she's having seconds). They're silent for a moment.

"Is that really all there is?" Cal asks, surprised.

Gillian's eyes flicker away as she thinks. "I guess I've been asking more questions than I've answered."

"That was me on the weekend."

Gillian gives him a smile. "I'm really glad you came."

When Cal grins at her, she knows exactly how he took that. "Me too," he adds for no one's benefit and Gillian has to look away.

"My resume says I worked in California."

"Whereabouts?"

"San Diego."

Cal nods his agreement.

"Should we be writing this down?"

"Is there going to be a test?"

Gillian gives him a disparaging shake of her head.

"Keep it simple and we'll remember," Cal suggests.

"And if someone probes for more details?"

"Tell them to not be so bloody nosey."

Gillian doesn't know if that's going to quite cut it, but she thinks it might do for now. How much does she really know about any of the people in her life? Not much. She knows Reece's last name and that's about it. The people across the road, well they weren't handing out life stories either. She only knew precursory information about her employees back in DC. Most of that kind of information tends to come up organically anyway, and she doubts anyone is going to start suddenly interrogating her about her background. She doesn't have to lie about all of it, can still tell them partial truths; those are the easiest lies to tell. Probably the hardest bit will be to not slip into telling the truth.

She finishes her meal and gets up. Cal looks up at her, startled. "I'm going to get more," she soothes. "You want some?" He shakes his head but his relief his obvious. He's so funny sometimes (and equally as annoying). Gillian serves herself another spoonful and when she's back Cal is finishing up (twisting the plate to meet the angle of his wrist as he scrapes up the sauce with his fork). She sits and Cal starts speaking immediately, even though he's still concentrating on the last of the food on his plate.

"You didn't tell Reece you're?" Cal tries again, and again, the words don't come out. He does actually look like he's struggling a little. "What are we?" He finally asks directly.

"Hiding?" Gillian tries because humour also serves her well when she wants to cover up an answer she doesn't know or doesn't want to give. This time, it's Cal that gives her the disparaging expression. He scrapes another forkful of pasta sauce, glancing up at her, expecting an answer. Damn, now the ball is in her court.

"I don't know Cal. What are we?"

"Married, for all intents and purposes."

Gillian supposes that's true. The house, the car, the bank accounts; the surname. There's no marriage license, but it certainly looks as though it's meant to look as though they're together together in some way. "I guess we wouldn't really pass for brother and sister."

Cal breaks into an amused grin. "No."

"Whatever we tell other people, it also doesn't have to be the truth," Gillian points out.

"You're saying we tell them we're married but we're actually not?" Cal says, sounding bold. "Or something like that," he adds with a mumble, clearly thinking he's over stepped his bounds.

Gillian gives him a frown. "No. I mean. We're not, technically, married are we? There's no marriage certificate. It just looks as though we're in a relationship."

"Aren't we?" Cal winces a little.

"Well," Gillian hesitates. "Are we?"

Cal sighs.

"Do you want to be?" Gillian asks directly.

"Maybe," Cal mumbles as he puts his fork down, busies himself.

"Cal," Gillian starts, her tone careful but losing its patience.

"Yeah maybe," Cal says again. He meets her eye. "Aren't we sort of in one now? We are… sleeping together… Is that what you would want? To be… Relationship?" He goes on before she can answer him (she's chewing anyway, so she's not leaping in there to cut him off either. Which helps, because she's not quite sure how to respond. Liking someone, and sleeping with someone, and being in a relationship with someone are different things).

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Cal speaks again, before Gillian has the chance to.

"That's not fair," Gillian swallows. "This whole situation is complicated and complex. I'm not sure I would want to make it something... intense so quickly. We're just staring out," her tone is gentle. Cal seems to consider this. "But if people ask, then yes, I would tell them that... you and I are... together." That feels right. She thinks back to the girls in her class, asking her about her boyfriend. But she doesn't tell him that story (she doesn't think of him as her boyfriend; it's more than that already).

"Well, if you decide you want a divorce... better offer..." He tries to be glib, but doesn't quite make it. He seems scared and then hurt and Gillian starts to think that them being together is something that he actually really, really wants (and her being… cautious about it is unsettling him). Which is kind of scary for her because she's only just started to think about them in that way (ok, not only just started to think about them that way. But it hasn't been real until now and there was no easy prelude into this. They fell into it headlong).

"Reece is gay so you don't even have to worry about him," Gillian says.

Cal raises his eyebrows in the shock he wants her to see. "Is he?"

"Probably," Gillian backs down a little. "If you're noticing he's good looking then he's not sending out those vibes to me, is he?" She gets up from the table to take her plate out to the kitchen (she's so stuffed but it was so good). Cal gives a slight smirk to that, amused, not impressed or relieved (or disgusted, for the record).

Gillian's spooning the last of the pasta dinner into a plastic container when Cal swings his way in. "This is my lunch tomorrow," she tells him, pushing it onto the bench to cool down further before she puts it away.

"You've already had seconds," Cal says, leaning against the bench.

"I'm working," Gillian tosses back, like that gives her an advantage.

"I cooked it," Cal pouts back.

"I paid for it," Gillian shoots, but that's not true. Yes, she earns a salary but Cal also gets a stipend and their money goes into the same account. It's an old cliché (about the breadwinner and the home-stayer).

"Ouch," Cal complains. "I'm invalided. Can't feed myself properly."

They laugh at the same time. Gillian moves on to the dishes. "Where's your plate?"

Cal looks abashed. Gillian huffs at him, but it's good natured, and goes to get it from the table. When she comes back Cal seems serious again. "One more question?" He asks.

"Sure," Gillian agrees, starting to rinse the dishes and stack the washer. She wonders what else there is to cover. Probably a lot, but they've already done more talking tonight than they have in weeks, so she considers that a victory; there's nothing else that could be pressing.

"Why didn't you tell me you didn't have an orgasm," Cal mumbles.

"Are we still talking about that?" Gillian looks over at him exasperatedly.

Cal looks abashed. "I just don't get it. Why would you keep... sleeping with me if it... wasn't any good?"

Gillian gives a softer sigh this time and shuts the water off. She goes to him, sliding her hands to fit into the slight curve of his waist and looking him in the eyes. She has his absolute full attention and that's good, because she means for him to hear her this time. "Because I like you Cal," (and oh how his face lights up, even though he tries to hide it. It makes her feel funny inside saying it too). "I wouldn't sleep with you if I didn't like you," she reassures. She's right to, he relaxes a little.

"Even though," he starts, shifting their weight (but not dislodging her), holding onto her hips now.

"Even though," Gillian confirms. "Because it's not just about getting... getting off," she tells him gently. "It still feels really good."

She's not sure, but she thinks Cal's ears go red.

He licks his lips quickly and the gesture draws her eye. She wonders what it would be like for him to use that tongue on...

"I just didn't imagine it happening that way."

Gillian looks up at his eyes again. "How did you imagine it?" She asks without thinking much. It occurs to her in the next second that he's spent time thinking about their first time together (which is kind of nice). She wonders how much time. The second before he kissed her the other week, or a bit more time than that?

"Better than that," Cal tells her, which gives her nothing. She wonders if he planned some big romantic evening that was meant to sweep her off her feet, but she can't imagine it; that's not really Cal's style.

"You used to think about it?"

Cal gives a slight smirk. "Yeah."

That makes her feel warm inside. She knew he... there was flirting, she wasn't blind to that. And she flirted back, because yes, she was trying to hint that she might be interested in something more with him. But he didn't make a move and so she wasn't sure he was serious but maybe he has. All this time. Maybe he has.

"Have you?" He asks.

It catches her off guard, but she tells him the truth, "Yes."

"Oh aye," Cal murmurs and pulls her closer to press his mouth against hers. He's warm and surprisingly gentle and it sends a flurry of butterflies to Gillian's stomach. Sometimes (most of the time) with all the stress and crap to deal with in her life, she forgets there's this side to Cal, and how it makes her feel. Even with that soft kiss she feels lightheaded when he pulls away, and she forgets for a second that she's showing him her cards.

"So you thought about us as an 'us' before now?" He goes on, like he's not even bothered by her standing so close and she can breathe in the smell of him, with his arms tangible at her sides. Her knees give a little so she sways into him for a second before regaining her balance.

"Maybe," Gillian tries belatedly for coy.

"You should have told me," Cal goes on gently.

"I did."

"Did not," Cal immediately scoffs.

"I did to. You never made a move."

"I asked you out once and you turned me down flat. Thought you weren't interested."

"When was that?" Gillian asks incredulously.

"Ages ago."

"How was I meant to know one of the many dinner suggestions we've made to each other over the years was a date?"

"Well," Cal mutters, looking away. "If you'd come out with me then you would have known."

Gillian narrows her eyes at him. "That's the stupidest argument I've ever heard." But she can see, that in his mind, he had actually asked her out on a date, and she had, unwittingly, by turning him down, crushed a little bit of his confidence (and maybe hope). "You're silly," she grips at his side in a light pinch and he squirms appropriately.

"How come you never asked me out then," Cal pushes back, eyes back on her, studying her face intently.

Gillian pauses. That's a good question. One she's asking herself now. She could have taken the plunge. "I wasn't sure you were interested." She says but doesn't add the 'anymore' part. There were times when he flirted with her when she was married and she thought it was cute; thought it was just a friendship thing, a type of bonding or whatever. But then the flirting kept on after she was divorced, and she still thought it was just Cal being Cal, until it wasn't light flirting anymore and it felt more serious (and oh, that dinner invite, the one that felt intense and pressured after he drowned and she talked with Helen) and she started to think that maybe, they could... And then that whole thing with Wallowski happened. It took time to recover from that. When it all died down again, she did let him know. Which she thought was taking a giant leap. Especially because he didn't act on it.

Cal scoffs but that's all the response he's got. She wonders if he's thinking about all the things that just went through her mind. Really, they're as bad as each other. She wonders if Cal would find that as funny as she does.

"Does it matter anymore?" Gillian asks gently. "It didn't happen how either of us thought it would. None of this was something I thought would happen, ever, anyway." Cal gives a shrug of his mouth in acquiescence (to the second part). "But it has happened. So maybe we could just... go with it."

"Go with it," Cal repeats.
"Go with the flow," Gillian adds.

"All right," Cal agrees. Gillian gives him a smile, and he returns it, though cautiously, like he's not sure what's so amusing.

"All right," Gillian cements. She steps back to finish the dishes. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Yeah all right," Cal tucks his crutches under his arms. "But can you make it and bring it through for me?"

"Want me to drink it for you too?" Gillian quips under her breath.

"Oh could you!?" Cal says enthusiastically, before swinging himself out of the room.

"I'll get the dishes," Gillian adds.

"I heard that," Cal calls from the other room.

Gillian smiles at the plate in her hand. When she's done with the dishes she sits on the couch with him. Cal sits in the middle, but isn't lying all over all the cushions (though he does rest his casted leg on the coffee table; big expanse of black this time). So Gillian tucks up against his left side, feet under her, full body curled around his arm. He shifts his hand to her leg, curls fingers around her thigh and asks what she wants to watch (Heh. Is that his idea of chivalry? Letting her pick the channel?). She doesn't care so he goes for national geographic and they watch something about penguins. Even though it's the start of the week, the horrifically early morning has Gillian sleepy by seven. By seven-thirty she thinks she might have been asleep for a few moments at a time, so by seven thirty-five she's excusing herself to bed (at least tomorrow she gets a slight sleep in).

Cal turns the television off straight away.

"I didn't mean you had to come now too," Gillian says as she extricates herself from him (he's got a comfy shoulder for napping against).

"Well," Cal starts struggling to his feet. But he doesn't elaborate even though Gillian stands there for a second waiting for it. When he gets to his feet he looks a little red in the cheek but he does gesture for her to get out of the room. She goes to organise her clothes for the morning (and she's pretty sure Cal checks her out from behind as she ascends the stairs), because it gives Cal a chance to use the bathroom before her, and because she gets up so early she's pretty sure if she doesn't get organised the night before, that she'll accidentally go to work with no pants on (really not something she wants to risk when working in a high school).

She puts clean pyjamas on and heads downstairs again, going to the bathroom first to brush her teeth and use the toilet. When she gets into the bedroom Cal is in bed already, waiting for her. She pushes the door closed and goes to the bed, leaning in to put out the lamp out as she lifts the edge of the blanket. "Move over."

"No," Cal answers in the dark.

Gillian kneels on the mattress. "Yes. Move over."

"Go around," Cal grumbles at her.

She nudges in closer, pushing against his shoulder. "Just scoot over a bit."

"This is my side," Cal protests, but he does start to move. Gillian worms her way in further, encouraging him to give her another foot. Finally, there's enough room for her to lie on, even though he's still in the middle of the bed. "Can't get up now."

"Oh you can too," Gillian settles against the pillow, flicking the blanket down against her back so there isn't a draught. She's half lying on Cal and settles with her leg hooked over his, an arm across his chest. "Isn't this better?" There are no casts on this side.

Cal gives a 'hmph' that she will take as confirmation. She doesn't sleep this close on his broken side. Sometimes she does cuddle up, but it doesn't take long before its uncomfortable and he probably can't feel much seeing as she's pressed up against plaster. When his unencumbered left hand turns inside her thigh (making her squirm) she knows for sure he's really not that bothered. His fingers tickle against her flesh making her jump again and he laughs lightly. She shushes him, grabs at his hand to still him. He gives a big sigh and shifts around. "Keep still," she requests.

"I'm getting comfortable," Cal pouts at her (she can just picture his face). After a second more, he goes motionless.

Gillian closes her eyes, breathes in the scent of him, feels the warmth of his body, their contact points (she really is lying all over him). She thinks about her day tomorrow, what she has to do (meeting with Jerome).

"It's probably not even eight," Cal interrupts.

"Cal," Gillian warns.

"I'm just saying," he adds.

"You didn't have to come to bed now."

"What else was I going to do?"

"Watch TV," Gillian suggests. "Not talk to me so I can go to sleep."

"You're always gone so early," Cal grumbles but when Gillian doesn't respond to that he goes quiet again. She opens her eyes but she can't see him. She can tell his throat must be mere centimetres away from her mouth but she doesn't reach out to kiss him (she wants to, but she's pretty sure that would only encourage him).

"It's hot," Cal speaks again, raising his right arm to push the covers back. "Are you hot?"

"I'm fine," Gillian murmurs; toasty warm.

"It's pretty warm," Cal goes on.

Gillian pulls back from him, moving her leg, withdrawing her arm. "Sorry," she almost whispers. Cal shifts again, and she hears him wince, figures he put too my pressure on his leg (or arm). He half turns towards her and his right hand comes across to grip at her waist and pull her back against him in an awkward embrace. "Can't do this on the other side," Gillian tells him.

He huffs at her again, plants a kiss on her forehead (gets most of her eyebrow to be fair). "Maybe," he grumbles. He goes still and she settles, closes her eyes, feels sleep pulling at her consciousness. "I'm glad we talked tonight."

"Me too," Gillian says immediately. "But please let me go to sleep."

Cal gives a short laugh (good that he's not offended by her brush off but not good that he's not taking her seriously). "All right sorry."

Gillian pushes herself up to look at him (silly, really, considering its dark). "Why are you so manic?" She almost whines.

"Manic?"

"Talkative. I want to go to sleep," she does whine.

"There's just so much of you here," he answers and damnit, but she does melt a little. She leans down closer to his face, senses where his mouth is, gives him a kiss. His hand tightens on her waist, the fibreglass of his cast starting to press against her flesh.

"Please let me go to sleep," Gillian murmurs against his mouth. "Or I'll make sure I wake you up when my alarm goes off in the morning."

Cal presses his lips against hers in another brief but hard kiss. He moves so he's lying on his back again. "You think I even hear that anymore?"

"Let me go to sleep and I won't care if you talk to me," Gillian settles herself. Thinking he might just oblige this time. It's quiet for a long time and Gillian's mind starts pulling away.

"Could do other things to you."

"Cal," Gillian's tone is hard.

He chuckles but that's the last time he talks. Or, Gillian just doesn't notice. Because she falls asleep.

PJ

Cal jerks awake, thinking he's somewhere else but it doesn't take long to realise he's safe, right in the middle of the bed. And Gillian is gone, of course she is, so he struggles himself to the edge of the bed and gets up. He picks up his crutches and goes across the hall to the bathroom. Then he scuffs back the bedroom to dress before doubling back to the kitchen. It's lucky he's gotten used to his crutches, because that would have been something that would have driven him nuts, all the back and forth. He's marvelling at his progress (not just with the crutches) as he drinks coffee at the kitchen bench. He has cereal for breakfast, then takes himself to the living room and picks up the tablet from the coffee table. He swings his leg to fill the empty spot and taps it awake.

The first thing he does is check his email. There is just one and it's from Ria at the Lightman Group. Adrenaline spikes through Cal, making his skin prickle and his stomach tense. It's taken her a week to get back to him. He was starting to think his first message was too cryptic for her (he tries not to think other snide things about her ability to work it out) and that she might have just discarded it as junk. He opens the message, heart pounding (a little voice in the back of his head telling him all the reasons all over again why he shouldn't be doing this.)

He's not sure what to expect. Maybe gushing and fawning 'wow you're still alive!', 'we've been wondering where you are', that kind of thing, but the message is simple and direct and... vague enough to be careful (except that it's not. She's emailed from her work computer from her work email. If Jerome Willis has people watching the Lightman Group, and hacking emails, well... this could turn to shit quickly if they're not extremely cautious).

Been busy, she says. Just got your message. Disciple for eons.

Cal smiles. "Good girl," he murmurs to himself. He goes back to the inbox to refresh the page but there are no more emails there for him. He taps a finger against the tablet's plastic outer case, thinking about what he's going to say next, and how he's going to say it (have to word it carefully just in case other people are reading...)

But after ten minutes he's drawing blanks. Nothing seems subtle enough. He feels edgy and restless. The new fibreglass casts are much, much lighter than the old plaster ones, and he got a sponge bath while he was at the hospital getting x-rayed and examined (was difficult to explain everything to the doctor...) so he's feeling like he's got a new lease on this. But the hyper-activeness is more difficult to deal with because he's still broken (the doctor straight out called him on standing and walking on his broken leg. It's slowed his progress right down to almost nothing).

The tablet's screen goes dark and Cal puts the device down on the couch cushion next to him. He's spent so much time sitting there the cushion must have an imprint of his ass about now. He wonders what else he could possibly do with his time. Speaking of time, he picks up the tablet again to check it. It's creeping closer to twelve. Gillian will be home in six hours (ish). So what's he going to do with all that time? Apart from think about what he wants to email back to Ria (he's definitely not going to think about how he's going to confess to Gillian about the emails in the first place. She'll kill him.)

He gets up again and goes to the fridge, decides what he's going to make for dinner. He sees the plastic container Gillian spooned last night's dinner into still there on the shelf (missed it when he went for the milk); she forgot her lunch. If it were simple enough to jump in a car and take it to her, he would. But as it is, he'd have to call a cab (like he did yesterday for his hospital appointment) try and fold himself into it. The ride is uncomfortable and even if he did go to the school, he doesn't know when Gillian's lunchtime is (yes, he could ring and find out if he really wanted to go to the effort) and the truth is, he can't be bothered.

Cal goes back to the couch, energetic intentions spent. He picks up the tablet, brings up the email again. Stops and thinks and then wastes an hour playing games. And then after sitting on his ass again for that amount of time, he goes back to restless. It's a terrible cycle for him and one he hasn't broken. He's not really thought about how to, and, more importantly, he hasn't thought about it being a problem. Sure, it's frustrating when he feels restless and wants to be able to move around, but after he does get up, something as simple as going to the bathroom takes so much effort, that afterwards he's physically tired enough to go rest and once he's sitting again, he's happy. He naps in the afternoon for just over an hour and then thinks about going to start dinner so it will be ready somewhere near the time Gillian will be home.

Gillian didn't go shopping for food on the weekend, so there's not much to be had. Cal uses up the last of the potatoes, and odds and ends from the fridge (couple of handfuls of spinach, some olives and a chicken breast) and sets about making a warm salad. The thing is not as well stocked as any refrigerator he's ever opened; no assortment of condiments or containers of whatever that have been pushed right to the back and forgotten. It reminds him that they haven't been there long enough to have that kind of relaxed familiarity (he'd say messy, but their lives are plenty messy enough as it is). He pan fries the chicken with some dried sage, boils the last two eggs as well (hopes Gillian didn't want that for her breakfast tomorrow). He half thinks about texting her to tell her (or remind her) that there's not much food left but it feels awkward before he's even reached for his phone because they haven't really worked out a schedule and why should he just assume that she's the one to do it? He's not bed ridden (which guiltily reminds him that he's spent another day sitting around doing nothing while she works. Plus, he never sent that email) and he is capable of leaving the house (he proved that to her yesterday) even if it is a giant pain the ass.

Maybe he should just not mention it to her at all and just take the initiative and go do it. Surprise her. Pull his weight a little. He feels confident enough to say that she would actually be really pleasantly surprised (maybe relieved; sometimes he thinks she's starting to wear thin). Which isn't so much to say that she's easy to please (first hand attest to the fact that she is not) but more that she appreciates the little things that other people might not consider important, and let's him know about it. The warmth she gave him when she came home to find dinner ready (yes, he noticed) was a bit of a thrill actually (that's why he's cooking now. Well, not just for the reward, he does think it makes sense for him to cook seeing as he's there). He might not be able to do many things for her (not just in the bedroom; mind out of the gutter thanks) like he thinks he ought to (stuff like being the breadwinner; oh god he doesn't really believe that does he?!) but that doesn't mean he's completely useless. Not bedridden right?

So while he's slicing up half a tomato and red pepper for the mid-week-end-of-the-week-salad, he starts thinking about the things he can actually do. Like... cook. Like possibly making a little extra for her lunch tomorrow. Like... laundry! (That should have been an easy one to come up with). He thinks he might pass on cleaning (can't imagine dragging around a vacuum cleaner) but he can empty the dishwasher (which he does while he's still waiting on the potatoes, chicken and eggs to cook). It's a process of taking one plate at a time to the cupboard but he gets the hang of swinging his body and fibreglass cast around without stepping on the break or breaking anything else; a little time consuming, but achievable. As he's slicing the chicken up (freaking carefully, because he's the knife in his broken hand which isn't the greatest grip) he hears keys in the door and Gillian's home.

It honestly sends a thrill through him and he's tempted to walk (not rush, no, not rush) to the door to greet her. He has to wait for her to come to him and she takes her time which makes him feel impatient. But then she's there and the tip of her nose is red (so cute) and her hair looks messy (so sexy) and she comes towards him with a smile. She leans in to kiss him straight away, and Cal is glad. Two reasons: the first is that he doesn't have to go to her to get a kiss, and the second is that she wants to kiss him; the first (maybe second actually) thing she goes when she gets in the door. And that feels pretty good.

"Dinner's ready," Cal tells her (he timed that perfectly). He's already laid out the salads in large bowls so he only has to scoop up the chicken and place it on top.

"This looks great," Gillian notes as she reaches for the servings and Cal hops out of the way so she can get to them. As he grabs forks from the drawer, he thinks he could have set the table all nicely (and tries to hold back the laughter at how soppy it seems); Gillian would like that kind of thing. He thinks. He's pretty sure she would. She's waiting for him in the dining room and he hands over a utensil so she can make a start while he takes his seat. But she waits for him and as he finally jerks the chair forward so he's close enough (without jamming his casted knee against the wood of the table) she starts.

"This is really good," she compliments almost instantly.

"Forgot dressing," Cal suddenly realises it and starts to turn to get up.

"I'll get it," Gillian says immediately, already easily lighting from her seat to go to the fridge. Cal wonders if she notices how empty it is now that he's practically thrown everything in there into their meals for tonight; and then he thinks about wine. Gillian drinks wine. Wine would be nice (he could actually go all out and cook something amazing and wasn't he complaining the other week that he didn't get the chance to romance her? He's not trying hard enough.)

Gillian sets down some low fat thing and the mayonnaise in front of Cal. He reaches for the mayonnaise and she sits. "Hey," she says. He looks over at her. "Are you ok?"

"Yes," he answers, shoving down the frustration at his consternation.

"How was your day?" She asks, watching him while she reaches for her own dressing.

"Fine," Cal answers, not liking the scrutiny, fearing that she'll see something he doesn't want to give away (oh how the tables have turned!) "How was your day?" He tries to change the subject.

Gillian bites. "Not too bad. It's freezing outside." And she's off. She gives a brief rundown of her day but no details. Then she asks Cal what he got up to and he (a little bashfully) admits that he basically did nothing (tomorrow when she asks, he's going to be able to actually give a proper answer, because he actually plans to do something). They finish eating and Gillian clears the table. Cal takes nothing back to the kitchen (too hard to carry anything even in one hand while using two crutches) but stands there while Gillian cleans up after him. And then while he's standing there watching Gillian scrub at the pan that cooked the chicken, Cal reaches for a cloth to wipe down the bench. He runs it under the tap, leaning in close against Gillian (might be a little too close, a little on purpose; she smells nice).

"Cal!" She exclaims. "Your cast!"

"Is waterproof," Cal finishes leaving his hand under the running water. She looks at him, still slightly aghast. "I got them to put on the waterproof liner too, so I can shower in these," he adds.

"Oh," Gillian's face goes back to calm. Cal squeezes the excess water out of the sponge and starts on the bench (feeling good about helping a little). "Guess you don't need me to wash your hair anymore either."

Oh damn. He didn't think of that.

And he thinks Gillian sounds disappointed about that too. When he turns to look at her face she's simply concentrating on the pan. If she were being flippant, she probably would have teased him about doing his own dishes from now on. Gillian bends to put the pan in the dishwasher and Cal hops around it to get to the stove top. He puts out a hand to lean on Gillian as he hops by and when she doesn't shrug him off (oh good, she's not actually mad at him) he leans heavily against her, bumping her back into the bench, and plants a kiss on the edge of her jaw, by her ear (first time he's been able to do that! Instigate.) She sighs into him, wraps her arms around his neck, turns her head to place her mouth against the corner of his. He closes the distance, kisses her properly; a warm pressing of their mouths. He takes note of how she feels against him (soft and warm) and how she holds her body (pressed against him along the length), how she smells (kind of sweet, like faded perfume), the way she breathes against him (holds her breath a while, then lets it out slowly); the little noise she makes (almost a hum, but not quite; it sounds content). They stand that way for a long while, until Cal realises he's been holding his breath while taking note of everything, and has to pull away for air. He can see now the darkness of her eyes, the slight smile on her mouth, the hint of colour in her cheeks; she's beautiful.

Nothing is said, but then it doesn't need to be. Since 'the talk' things have already been easier between them, more how Cal thinks it should be (not fraught with tensions and things unsaid and guessing), but perhaps not yet perfect (what is perfect anyway? He could spend his life waiting for perfect and be forever disappointed). They finish up with the kitchen in peaceful quiet and Cal notes each and every time Gillian finds a way to touch him (brushes an arm against his ass, a hand on his shoulder, thigh against his; she always seems more affectionate after he starts it, so he's going to remember that for every other time from now on); a process of gaining knowledge.

This evening felt a bit like a date.

Cal follows Gillian to the living room. She's put the TV on but she has the tablet in her lap and Cal's heart jumps to his throat. But she's not suspicious or making exaggerated accusations (yet) so she can't have found anything he doesn't want her to see (yet?). He takes his seat next to her, on her right side, and her hand immediately falls to his thigh, curves over the top of it to rest dangerously close to his groin. Cal feels his body temperature ratchet up as he focuses on the hand (she did that to him another time and it was entirely too difficult to concentrate then as well).

After half an hour or so Gillian gives up the tablet and watches television with him (he's not been following what's on the screen at all) and within a few hours, typically, she's sleepy. She calls bed time and gets up and Cal follows. He hears her going up stairs and knows now that it's not to avoid him; she gets dressed in the morning up there, so he figures that's where her pyjamas are. He gets up after her, tucking the tablet into the waistband of his pants, before swinging his way to the bedroom. He puts the device under a pillow quickly, and then heads back to use the bathroom first (he knows Gillian lets him have it before her). As he's exiting Gillian comes down the stairs, so he tugs off his clothes and gets into bed. He gets into her former side of the bed (where it smells like her!) which is awkward, what with it being the opposite angle to how he's been practicing getting into bed for the last month. By the time Gillian comes in, he's already settled and he gets a perfect view of the split-second of surprise on her face when she sees him; he can take a hint, he smirks to himself.

Gillian slips under the covers, puts out the light, and scoots right across the mattress to press all her softness all over him. She gives him searching kisses until she finds his mouth and then gives him a warm wet kiss goodnight. Cal tightens his left hand against whatever part of her is basically pressed into his palm anyway and Gillian stays where she is for a long time, until Cal admits he's getting too hot (the skin under the cast on his leg tingles). Gillian gives him another kiss, another murmured 'goodnight' and moves away to her side of the bed. Whatever was in his hand slips away (thinks he might have been holding onto thigh) but his replaced with her hand. Cal smiles in the darkness. He wants to follow her over there, curl up beside her so he's closer but not being smothered (he wasn't complaining about the smothering. He liked it). But he can't. So he stays put and when he thinks Gillian has gone to sleep he waits longer for the hypnic jerks that tell him she's definitely under. He listens to hear breathing even out and thinks he's safe. He carefully withdraws his hand and reaches for the tablet under the pillow and taps it to life. He angles the screen so it's not in Gillian's face and brings up that email. And then he thinks about what he's going to say to Ria.