Gillian has a crazy busy morning so when there's a knock on her open office door a few minutes after the bell has rung for the start of the third period, she's forgotten about her appointment with Jerome. He doesn't off her a smile (she barely gets eye contact) and there are no words of greeting. She welcomes him pleasantly anyway and suggests he come in, close the door and take a seat. He does (doesn't slam the door or anything obnoxious) and takes a seat on the couch, the one the furthest away from her desk, where she was working when he knocked. He drops his bag at his feet and slouches into the cushion (reminding her of Cal a bit), then rests his chin on his hand on the arm of the couch, slumps further over and proceeds to stare at the wall opposite, completely ignoring her.
Tough crowd.
Gillian gets up and heads over to the chair opposite the couch. She takes a seat and once she's settled she asks Jerome how he is. He gives a nod but doesn't look at her. The annoying thing is, he's not aggressive with her, not angry or obnoxious (which is something she could deal with straight away); he acts like he's merely completely bored with her. Like she is simply not worth his time. And that's the worst kind of punishment (and she can't work out why she's being punished, or feels like she's being punished, when really, all she's done is actually try to help him). There are few things more hurtful than being ignored.
"So I hear you've been turning up to your classes," Gillian starts. "That's great."
No response.
She opens his file and pretends to look through. She's killing time because this is the third meeting she's had with him and the silence is getting to her (teenagers... hmph). She's done her research into ways to connect with him, get him talking; she's looked into his background, home life, family etc. Either way she comes up trumps. The first two sessions, she talked almost nonstop, asking him questions and getting nothing but silence. Today, she's not in the mood. She's almost out of patience (which isn't great, really, considering she's met with him just three times and this is her job). She's made progress with her other charges, but not Jerome. He's stubborn (though she doubts he'd give Cal a run for his money).
Anyway, today, she's just going to sit and see who lasts in silence the longest. She's brought other work with her to the chair, so she flicks to it, starts working on it. She senses Jerome's eyes on her; a long steady inspection, before he's back to the wall. She can do silence like a pro (he should ask Cal about it, heh) and after half an hour, while she's ensconced in her paper work, she suddenly senses Jerome's uncomfortableness. He starts shifting around a bit. He reaches into his pocket for his phone but she raises her head straight away and coolly tells him to leave it where it is. He obliges, refuses to look at her, goes back to staring at the wall. So she goes back to her paper work and another ten minutes of that and Jerome is uncomfortable again. Gillian starts to think she's winning.
The ole silent treatment. Works every time.
Then the bell rings and Gillian closes up her folders as Jerome bends for his school bag and gets to his feet. Gillian leaves her work on the seat and walks to the door with him, reminding him that she'll see him tomorrow (after the first non-talkative session, she made them an everyday thing. Sucker. He is not going to win). She tells him to have a good afternoon as he reaches for the door handle, hurrying to get out of there and he half glances over his shoulder at her as he starts to walk away. But he hesitates, because standing there by the secretary's desk is Cal (he makes quite the sight leaning on his crutches, the giant black fibre-glass cast standing out only slightly less than the big white plaster one did). Gillian is as equally surprised.
"All right?" Cal greets, looking at her, then at Jerome, who is now hovering in an obvious way.
"Hi," Gillian says, wondering what he's doing there (two days in a row no less).
Cal shifts his body angle, hops towards her, holds out a plastic bag with something square in the bottom. "Forgot your lunch."
Gillian steps forward to take it (almost has to step around Jerome). "Thanks," she says, not sure what he means by forgot her lunch. She has her lunch in her office. "See you tomorrow Jerome," Gillian hints and he gives a 'yep' and strides off. Gillian looks back to Cal and he's waiting. "Want to?" She turns and gestures to her office with her head. Cal says 'yep' too and swings past her. She follows him, opening the carrier to see what he brought her. It's a plastic container. She pushes the door mostly closed and takes the container out. It's the pasta from the other night. Cal drops himself to the couch with an audible 'oooph'.
"I left this for your lunch," Gillian tells him, crossing the office to give it to him.
Cal refuses to take it. "You called dibs."
"And you said you wanted it, so I left it for you."
"But you called it," Cal tells her, looking up from his seat, his eyes almost innocent. Gillian suddenly wonders if he really is being chivalrous, or if there's something else.
"I brought lunch with me," Gillian tells him, holding the container out again. "You have this." She shakes it at him and something inside rattles against the plastic. Cal still looks up at her, not reaching out, so she shakes it again. "We'll share," she decides, just to get him to comply (she doesn't want to eat it in front of him. She did actually genuinely leave it for him). He does. And she goes to her desk to get the lunch she made out of her bag. She joins him on the couch, tucking her legs under her, so she's sitting nice and close. Cal pries open the lid of the plastic and Gillian unwraps her sandwiches. She hands him one, and he hands her the pasta.
"Did you come all the way down here just to give me this?" Gillian asks, stabbing forkfuls of cold pasta, chicken and set sauce onto the fork. She could take it down to the staff room and heat it up but that would mean leaving. Or relocating this little picnic to a public setting.
"Well," Cal starts. He takes a bite of the sandwich she offered and chews for a while (which Gillian thinks is a nice deterrent from talking to give him time to think). "Yes."
She gives him a slight smile. She thinks it's sweet.
"And to have lunch with you," Cal adds before taking another large bite of the sandwich (just about gets half the thing in there).
Gillian's smile gets wider. "That's sweet."
Cal shrugs at her. On purpose. But she likes the look in his eyes. She eats more pasta. It's not quite as good cold, but it's still pretty yummy (and mostly, it's that he brought it all the way down here for her. Because, for him, that would have taken some effort. She doesn't entirely mean physically).
"Plus I got some weed."
Gillian swallows awkwardly. "Pardon?" But Cal is already laughing at her so she knows it's a joke (although she figures it doesn't matter if he did... It's not illegal in Colorado. She's not going to smoke any, but why should she care if he does?)
"I wouldn't bring that here," Cal finishes and takes another bite of his sandwich, finishing it off.
Gillian nudges his shoulder and he chuckles again. "If you go, get some for me too," she tells him and for a second he's not sure whether she's joking or not.
"Doctor Foster," he starts. "You...?"
But she shushes him quickly and looks to the door. It takes him longer to work out why she quietened him than it did to realise she wasn't serious about the weed. And then he remembers: she's not Foster anymore.
Heaviness falls over them, the jovialness gone. Gillian avoids his eye and he's not sure if that's because she's worried about how someone could have overheard them (yeah maybe talking about marijuana isn't appropriate in a high school counsellor's office either) or because of her tone (but he'll go with the first one, because she's not worried about overstepping boundaries with him. Or at least, she hasn't in the past. Quite happy to tell him when he's wrong).
Cal's about to break the silence when Gillian nudges his shoulder again. He turns his head to look at her, opening his mouth to make it right between them again (not apologise, just make it ok again) and she shoves a forkful of the pasta in. He's surprised, wasn't ready for it, but accepts it happily, because she's hand feeding him. Which is hokey but kind of cute (and that fork was in her mouth a moment ago and now it's his mouth and that's probably the closest he's ever going to get to swapping spit with her on this couch in her office in her place of work, which is with teenagers).
"So what are you up to today?" Gillian asks, taking a piece of chicken for herself.
Cal shrugs. The weed joke comes to mind again but he shoves that aside. "Did some groceries this morning."
"You did food shopping?" Gillian asks astounded. She looks at his casts and then back to his face, the fork poised to give him more pasta. Cal gestures to it with his chin and she raises is to his mouth.
"Yeah," Cal tells her before starting to chew. "They do deliver these days."
"Oh right," she murmurs and looks embarrassed. Cal doesn't start to speculate why, because he's totally hung up on how beautiful she looks. She just is. She picks another piece of chicken out of the container.
"You're stealing all the good bits," Cal whines. Gillian gives him a smirk but she finds him a piece of meat just to shut him up. "What time will you be home for dinner?"
"Later," Gillian tells him.
Cal nods. That will give him extra time to cook. He got out of the habit once Emily left, because then it was just him and he couldn't be bothered. Plus, he started pulling longer hours and often didn't have time (and that might have been because Emily had gone, and it was just him). He's rediscovering how much he likes to cook (and how much he likes to cook for someone. And Gillian is a very receptive audience).
Gillian feeds him more pasta and then starts on her sandwich. They eat in silence for a while. "Who was that kid?"
"Hm?" Gillian turns her head to him.
"The kid out there before. Seemed lost."
"Jerome," Gillian tells him. Cal stares at her (clearly that name doesn't bother him). "He's... I don't know," she sighs.
"He's getting the better of you?" Cal asks quietly.
"I'm not sure yet," Gillian shakes back the hair from her face. "Too soon to tell."
"Good luck then," Cal offers.
"No sage advice?" Gillian asks, giving him the last of their lunch.
Cal chew for a moment. "That's your department, love. I've never been good with feelings."
Gillian gives him a tight-lipped smile and pats his thigh (perfectly finds the gap before the fibre-glass starts and his hip). She doesn't say anything though (or doesn't get to) because the bell rings.
"Guess that's my cue," Cal tells her. Gillian says 'uh huh' and moves back to get up. She puts the plastic container into the plastic bag but stashes it under her desk so he doesn't have to carry it home. When Cal's standing (and a little puffed with it; he forgot how hard it was to get up from that couch) Gillian approaches again to walk him to the door. "So I'll see you at home," he starts congenially.
"Hey," Gillian reaches out a hand and grips the front of the jersey he's wearing. She grabs a fistful, but instead of pulling him towards her (which would have unsettled his balance) she moves in closer to him. She presses her mouth against his for a long moment and then breaks away, her eyes slightly darker. Cal's heart beats wildly in response; caught off guard. "Thanks for lunch," she murmurs, all intimate and sexy, making Cal not want to leave in the slightest. He gruffs out a response (more of a clearing of his throat really) and Gillian reaches for the door for him, while he stares hard at the back of her head and down the side of her body. He swings his way out of the small room, trying to concentrate and clear his head; she disarms him too easily sometimes. Gillian walks with him to the front entrance. She leaves him there though, has to meet someone, she says, so Cal swings himself outside and pulls his phone from his pocket. He did this last time too, forgot to call for a cab when he was still inside. But that's fine. It's not raining or snowing and doesn't even seem that cold. He swings his way to the street and perches on the low sign that announces the school to wait.
Every time Cal's ordered a cab in the last week or so, the driver pulls up and Cal gets an odd look. Yeah, he figures it's a lot of cast for one man. This time, the driver is a woman and she's much more helpful. She puts the passenger seat right back for him and hovers to take his crutches when he's in and puts them in the back. Instead of heading home though, Cal asks to be taken to the post office. He needs to open a post office box. The rest of his conversation with Ria went like this: Still looking into the house?
Then she said: Yes. Unofficially. Where should I send the stuff? (Which sounded like a drug deal... Which is what started this whole stupid mess.)
Cal said: I'll work on it.
Because he couldn't have her email through all the case files and investigation and anything else, like photos and video footage. Could he? He couldn't. That would just be... far too obvious for anyone trying to trace them, and then difficult to look at on a tablet, and how was he going to hide that from Gillian? So post office box is his next best idea. He can open it under his false name, using his new credit card (although, explaining the charge on the account to Gillian is going to be difficult. But he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. There's a good chance she may not even notice. Even though it's a joint account. Ok, he's going to have to really think about a good excuse for that one. But later) and then check on it relatively anonymously (although, when he does get to the post office he looks around for cameras and thinks he might wear a cap next time he comes in).
The cabbie makes a little small talk as they drive and asks him if he would like her to wait while he does his business. Cal tells her she really doesn't have to, he'll just call another one. But she insists (and he watches her turn off the meter) so that's nice. And afterwards she's still there waiting on him, like she said she would, so Cal goes home. He's done laundry (stripped their bed and put the sheets through, which took some serious effort and maybe falling down once or twice. Maybe), ordered food online (and clothes as well. Not that he really needs them... but something other than cut off jeans and a million grey t-shirts could be nice), brought Gillian her lunch and set up the post box. When he gets to the house the cabbie helps him out of the car (which is where he starts getting irritated; he doesn't like to be patronised) and tries to undercharge him (he's not a blood charity case. He's got a broken leg is all...) so he over-tips and starts to swing away before she can hopefully do anything about it (not that he's under any illusion that he could outrun her, no, he just doesn't think she'd follow him to the door or inside to give him the money back). She doesn't.
Despite that flare of annoyance though, Cal feels pretty good. He's more mobile than he was a week ago (practice and the fact that his casts are half the weight they were before) and he's doing something active (laundry, cooking, shopping... investigating). He takes a rest in the first available seat (dining room, because he thinks if he gets to the couch he won't get up again) until he feels energetic enough to deal with the wet sheets. He puts them in the dryer, looking out the window to see what the weather is doing (he's not needed to pay attention before now). The Flatirons loom over the house, dominating the skyline; foreboding. The sky is grey and Cal thinks better of trying to carry the wash basket out to the line in his condition. He twists the dial on the drying machine and hops his way out of the narrow space to where he left his crutches against the hall wall.
He emails Ria back with the post box details, then takes the paper work for it and stashes it at the back of one of his drawers, under the clothing. He doesn't think Gillian will look there, but it makes him realise he doesn't have anything in the house that is his alone; his own space. This is not at all like how it would be if they had been dating and then moved in together, and it reminds him all over again about how odd the situation is, how messed up and backwards everything has become and of course, that makes him think about how things are with Gillian. He's tried to adopt a 'get on with it' attitude (without being a moody bastard either) but feels like that kind of behaviour might also be glossing over some real or imagined issues. She said she's fine with the sex thing, but fine isn't mind-alteringly great (she seems ok with keeping her hands off him). And they haven't talked properly about whether they're dating or just having sex or whether this is a marriage (which honestly, when he thinks about the marriage part so blatantly like that, gives him a fright; he's not sure he or they are ready for marriage. And yet here they are).
Cal sits again, this time on the couch, and with the tablet. He's got a few hours before he should start dinner and he's feeling melancholy. He opens up his email to see if Ria has got back to him but she hasn't. Instead, there's an email from his daughter. It was even harder trying to get a message to her that was vague enough to see innocent, but not so off the farm that she deletes it as spam and he never hears from her again. He feared her first response, the inevitable 'Dad is this you?' but she didn't ask that and it makes him proud (maybe scared) of how smart she is. He feels lonely, with no one to talk to, which is silly, because he's not always been the kind of guy to have to have someone to have a heart to heart with, but there have always been people around otherwise to maybe take a few snippets of that here and there. There was Emily to talk to about her mother, to push him into talking about his mother or the women he dated (and sometimes she asked probing questions about Gillian that he didn't know how to answer).
And there was Gillian on the other side, talking to him about business, science, politics, finance, his life (even though he pretended he didn't want to), her life (how he liked to pry); she kept him grounded. But now... well things are kind of odd between them. Not odd like weird odd, like it was last week, but more odd like, it's just not how it used to be. Maybe that's to do with the sex bit. But he can't be sure. He does wonder what it might have been like if they had been at home, in DC, in their normal environment and if he had worked up the courage to ask her on a proper date or something (maybe she would have asked him out. Maybe they already had, and just didn't know it). He guesses, ironically, that he'll just have to 'get on with it' and hope that it gets easier, more natural (maybe he'll stop doubting himself). He'll try.
So he emails his daughter back and feels a prickle on his neck, like someone is watching him. No one is watching him and he doesn't spend too much time worrying about it. He distracts himself with making beef chilli con carn on rice for dinner (he feels much more confident with cooking knowing it doesn't matter if he makes a mess of his cast; he can wash it) and it simmers away in its pot, waiting on Gillian to get home. Cal takes the last of the laundry out of the dryer and detangles the sheets, leaning against the wall for balance. He shoves his clothes (mostly underwear) back in the correct drawer, and then hesitates over what's left. It's Gillian's. Underwear. He doesn't know how she likes her clothes folded (if he should fold that top or if it needs to be ironed first, or if he folds it the wrong way, it might get all messed up) so he has to leave them. He takes the sheets to the bedroom though, trailing them on the ground as he uses one crutch and tries to stay off his leg (he's gotten much better at that too).
Gillian calls out when she comes through the door, so Cal grabs his other crutch from the hallway and swings his way down. She gives him a warm smile when she sees him and leans in for an interestingly hot kiss (Gillian actually has to grab him to stop him from falling over, which makes her laugh). Cal asks about her day as she takes off her coat and she's all warm smiles as she responds. He tells her dinner is ready and she looks delighted. Of course, she has to serve it up (which takes a little out of the romance of cooking for her) but she compliments him on the food quite genuinely and they settle into an easiness Cal was looking for earlier. They talk about the rest of his afternoon (and he proudly recounts all his domesticity), which leads to other conversation about the house, finances. Cal isn't actually sure of exactly what happens with Gillian's pay, like when she gets paid and has to admit he's charged things up to the credit card (because he also doesn't know when he gets the stipend from the government either. Or how much it is. He just remembers it's enough to live on).
So after they eat (and Gillian refuses seconds this time. There'll be enough for lunches tomorrow anyway) Gillian takes him through the budget. It's kind of like conversations they've had for the Lightman Group and Cal does much better with simply knowing how much money he's allowed to spend a month before he'd force them into a deficit. It's kind of odd being a kept man. The last time he was unemployed was when he'd left the Department of Defence and Zoe had been the one earning (she'd give him a cash allowance every week which was exactly as patronising as it sounds). This time around it's a little different though (and Gillian is much kinder); Cal actually finds himself listening (and caring) and willing to play along. Besides, how much money does he really want to spend? He's not an overly big fan of possessions (he does miss his Rolex though, and they already have laptops, tablets and phones) but Gillian does tell him he can pretty much do whatever he wants with his half (yes, half!) of the disposable income, even though it's not a lot (even though his stipend is not half).
"You're really willing to let me have half of it?" Cal asks her, curious more than challenging.
"Yeah sure," Gillian tells him. "I'll spend my half on shoes and you can spend your half on whatever."
Cal gives a lazy grin, "I did like your shoes."
Gillian sighs, "me too." And then her eyes flash. "So you were looking?"
"Oh yeah," Cal tells her. "I was looking."
Gillian gives him a kind of smirk and leans in.
"How could I not?" Cal adds and she gives a short laugh before she presses a kiss against his mouth. Cal makes it deeper, feeling warm. She shifts closer, a thigh against his (she sits on his left side) and her hands are almost in his lap as she grasps for balance. Cal pries one of her hands loose to link their fingers and ends up tugging her closer. Gillian pulls away from his mouth but climbs into his lap instead, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leans in to kiss him again. This is the most 'energetic' she's been after a work day and he is so not complaining. Kissing leads to undressing but before it gets too far Gillian is pulling away from him, getting to her feet. She holds out her hand as Cal looks up at her from the couch, his breath heavy. "Come on," she coaxes and Cal bypasses that double entendre to make a request of his own.
"Here."
"Here?" Gillian asks him, her cheeks red and her hair tousled. Her shirt is hanging open so he can see her bra and breasts and her bellybutton.
"Yeah here?" Cal asks.
"Mm ok," Gillian agrees. She goes to move off again.
Cal reaches out his hand to her and she stops. "Where are you going?" He asks, feeling a little unsure (has he mentioned he's at her mercy? Because he is. If she decides she doesn't want to and goes to bed, then he doesn't have much choice but to follow her). He has to trust that she'll come back (and not think about how she might not. Because she's given much indication that she does want to, at least, have sex with him).
"Still have to get... protection," Gillian tells him, a very slight hesitation before she mentions condoms. She also gets red in the face and Cal wonders what that's about; there has been no embarrassment about condoms before.
Cal lets her go and waits (quasi) patiently. It's odd to sit there and just wait but at least Gillian doesn't make him twiddle his... thumbs for long. When she's back they fall into what's becoming a predictable routine of removing their own clothes, kissing, touching, putting the condom on and Gillian controlling when she slides into his lap. Cal doesn't like that bit still (the bit where she controls it) but he does like the couch very much. With sitting much further upright, he's that much closer to Gillian. He can reach every inch of her, kiss where he wants and touch even more. In that way, he gains some of the power and he uses it to his advantage. There are times when he can be more forceful with Gillian, turn her neck a certain way, frustrate her despite requests; he has fun with it. And Gillian has fun too (it's quite easy to tell).
She's heavy against him afterwards, her face pressed in close against his neck and hair and Cal wraps his good arm tightly against her back, his casted arm more loosely; he gets to hold her! He feels the way she absently clings, then comes to her senses and grips him tighter. She turns her head and presses a kiss against his neck, below his ear. She squirms and he thinks she's trying to get away, but she merely shifts her weight, actually sinks further against him, belly pressed to belly. Her hands dig between his back and the couch cushions and she hugs him back. They don't sit that way for long (it gets cold quickly) but it's nice, content; it's what Cal's been looking for and it does something to sooth his heart. He strokes down her spine, feeling the ridges of her spine, the shiver of body against his.
Gillian pushes against his shoulders and looks down at him with a slight smile. She gives him a brief kiss and murmurs against his lips that she's going to go shower. It takes some fumbling for her to disengage from him, but then she's walking from the room, kicking off the last tangle of her clothes, leaving Cal sitting almost naked on the couch (still not an easy thing to take his pants off, so they haven't bothered once again). Cal sits for a moment, hears Gillian on the stairs and gets himself to his feet. He goes through the awkward process of tugging off his jeans and underwear and then the tedious process of going up to the second level after Gillian.
It's probably incredibly amusing to watch, Cal hopping his way upstairs with one crutch, a long black cast, gripping onto the banister heavily with everything hanging free, but by the time he reaches the top, and he's a little breathless with the effort (because he doesn't stand on his broken leg once), he's feeling lightheaded and grumpy (why can't she just shower downstairs?). He stands at the landing, catching his breath, listening to the crash of spattering water in the next room, imagining Gillian naked, looking forward to the time he can sneak up on her and not be crippled; it will be easy.
Cal hops to the door and twists the handle, he's uncoordinated with trying not to stand on his broken leg and one crutch, and bangs his leg cast against the wood, giving his position away. Gillian is predictably looking for him when he finally comes into the room and she's immediately asking him what's doing.
"Thought that would be obvious," Cal answers, hopping further into the room, using the wall to help keep his balance (it's another awkward dance to get into the room, turn and close the door behind him, and then make his way to the shower curtain). Gillian stands out of the stream of the water, at the edge of the shower curtain, waiting on him. Cal's grateful she doesn't attempt to help him (doesn't suggest that she does either) but he does get the impression she's fretting a little. He comes closer.
"No, what are you doing?" Gillian asks him sharply.
"Move," Cal requests gently. He almost reaches for the shower curtain to hang on to, but that would come down in a second.
"You can't get in."
"Why not?" Cal stands before her (she's slightly taller than him, because of the shower tray, and he remembers that he likes that about her; just a slight difference). "Waterproof, remember?"
"You'll fall," Gillian objects.
"I'll hang on," Cal promises. He looks down at the slight step up and thinks for a second how he's going to manage it. He might just have to take his walking implement in there with him. Could be a bit crowded.
"You'll slip and fall and I'm not taking you to hospital with your other leg broken."
Cal looks up at Gillian's face. Her tone isn't quite confrontational yet, but she's edgy, he can see it in the lines on her face, the set of her eyes. He, however, is frustrated. "Just let me in," he just about growls and Gillian does. She steps back and lets him in and even lets him grip at her shoulder to make sure he's got his balance. But then she stays quiet and he knows he's pissed her off, or crossed the line where she's actually ok with this situation (and yet she doesn't say any more about it. He's not sure if that's a blessing or a curse). She lets him stand before her under the water and after a while sneaks her hands around his waist and presses up against his back to try and get some water herself. She's warm against his skin and he can feel her breasts (and his heart rate goes back up, just when it was calming after the climb on the stairs). He wants to turn within her embrace but he would have to dislodge her completely to be able to do that. And there's a good chance he might fall down (and take her with him. He's pretty sure she's not going to be happy with him at all if he breaks her leg for her as well).
Cal leans forward and dips his head under the water. Gillian combs her fingers against the back of his head and when he emerges and wipes the water from his eyes, she presses a kiss against the back of his neck. Cal does move then, slowly and carefully, Gillian giving him a wide berth while he turns. He leans against the wall (which is uncomfortably cold for a second) looking at Gillian (looking at everything) and wanting to sit. "Won't stay long," he tells her and he's wary (and some of that might be that he's tired of always fighting her; or realising that he always makes a dumb decision long after he's made it).
"You better hurry up then," Gillian reaches for the soap and crams it into his hand. Cal smirks and she raises a hand to seemingly wipe it from his mouth (but there are no smiles for him). Cal runs the soap quickly over his body while Gillian rinses her hair (it's only then that Cal notices there's shampoo in it) and the smell is incredibly nice. Gillian puts conditioner through her short strands and Cal eyes her up. She takes the soap from him, puts it back in the dish, then presses her mouth against his in a long hot press (just a press though). Cal loves how languidly affectionate she is with him right after they've had sex (and rues the slight tension in the water between them). He squeezes at her waist and can feel her smile (it's only small).
She breaks away from him and starts rinsing her hair out. Cal stays where he is, leaning against the wall, watching her, letting her have all the water, trying not to put his broken foot on the ground (and the effort, combined with climbing the stairs, sex, and their pseudo-fight has done him in). When she's finished, there are droplets on her lashes and her eyes meet his and if she doesn't look incredible...
"You still with me?" She asks him softly.
"Yeah," Cal sighs.
"Let's get you out of here," she offers, twisting off the water. She steps out and Cal watches her go (very nice view, much to occupy him). She pulls a towel from the rack and steps towards him with it, holding it out, like she intends to wrap it around him. He pushes himself off the wall to oblige her and she starts with gently pressing the cloth against his face, around his neck, down along the lines of his shoulders. She's careful and uses very little pressure, so Cal is able to stand there without holding onto anything and without losing his balance. She doesn't tease him much further, shaking the towel out and draping it around his back and shoulders. Gillian gets herself another towel from the cupboard under the sink and Cal just stands there watching as she runs the blue cloth all along very inch of her body (makes him want to trace his hands in the exact same pattern).
When she's dry she looks over at him as she wraps the towel around her body, under her arms, tucking in a corner at the top above her breast. She doesn't wait for him (maybe she's figured out he finds it so annoying if she panders to his broken limbs, picking up his crutches for him, that kind of thing) but heads into the bedroom. By the time Cal gets himself there (little bit slower with only one crutch and having to use the doorframes), Gillian is in pyjama pants and a light tank top (that leaves very little to his imagination) and is rubbing the ends of her damp hair with her towel.
Cal stands next to the bed (just in case he falls) and dries his top half as best he can. He wipes as much of the skin under his cast as he can reach and when Gillian leaves the room he quickly sits to do his lower half while she's not watching. And once he's done with as much of that as he can manage and be bothered with, he works himself under the covers (which is kind of like a worm squirming on the concrete in the spring sun). Cal's just burying his face in the pillow (he's on his stomach, where he basically crawled to) when Gillian comes back in. She grabs his bare ass and makes him flinch all awkwardly (squirming worm on the sun warmed concrete...). She leans over him, laughing, while he protests, grumbles at her really; he's already half asleep.
"You're just staying there then?" Gillian asks him.
"Mh hmm," Cal tells the pillow. He feels Gillian tug the comforter over him properly, hears the swipe of his towel over the sheet as she picks it up, the dip and pressure of her weight on the mattress as she leans over him. She massages his damp hair with the towel and Cal's jaw slackens open, a drawl escaping his throat. "Feels so good," he groans, the sensations shivering over his skull and down his neck. Gillian stops. "Aw," Cal complains sharply, trying to turn over and look at her. But she's sitting on his back and so he can't. "Why'd you stop?"
"I can't really reach," she tells him and climbs off.
"Tease," Cal mutters. He hears the lilt of Gillian's returning laugh but he doesn't bother to move for her. He doesn't move at all actually, so Gillian slides into the bed opposite him, sneaking in close so he's half lying on her. She moves his arm to get under it and Cal tries hard not to smile; he loves that she's so affectionate after sex (especially because in the beginning he worried that she was too distant). He doesn't mind being smothered by her. He's aware of the irony. He likes that he's getting used to them being together more and more.
Gillian works a finger beneath his cast. "Your skin feels damp."
"Hm," Cal answers, not sure what her point is.
"Might get all swampy in there."
Well, yeah, that might not be pleasant but, "Are you telling me off for joining you in the shower?"
"No," Gillian answers and her tone is tight. "Just don't want you to rot under there," she adds on a whisper
Cal huffs a laugh and tightens his arm over her stomach, so that he's pressing her closer. Gillian doesn't squirm to be released, she wiggles her way closer. Her fingers play in his hair and she strains to lean over to give the side of his head a kiss.
"Is bed ok?" Cal asks her, thinking it's probably early and they're already in bed in the dark. He just feels tired.
"Yes, bed is ok," Gillian whispers. "The shower is ok too," she tells him but he's starting to drift off. And when he wakes up in the morning, he's alone. Alone and naked in her bed, disorientated for a second and that familiar disappointment of her being gone. When he finally works his way downstairs the house has that odd empty feeling; a sense of melancholy. Cal sighs at the kitchen bench and resigns himself to another day of mindless occupation until Gillian comes home again.