Gillian wakes to her alarm. She switches it off and rolls out of bed. It's easier to just get moving when she has these early starts (if she tries to lie in bed for a bit of a snuggle in the warmth, she's just going to fall straight back to sleep. And there is no back up alarm). She slept surprisingly well after talking with Cal last night (but it's still always so hard to wake up this early). She scuffs upstairs and has a shower, does her hair and makeup and dresses, facing the day. She goes to the kitchen, makes coffee, has breakfast, packs lunch, goes through her routine. Like usual, there's no sign of Cal but that doesn't worry Gillian anymore. She doesn't think about the confession to the marshals until she gets to work and so she doesn't think about their argument(s) yesterday, or even Emily; she's pretty much on autopilot (she might be still half asleep, even with coffee). She's at the door putting on her coat when there's a knock on it. She freezes for a second, then her heart races with the fright, and then she frets. Who is it? Who is knocking on the door so early? And where's her phone? (In case she needs to make an emergency call).
She hesitates too long (fumbles in her pocket for her phone) and there's another knock (more insistent this time). Gillian can't decide what to do. She thinks about going to wake Cal and after that thought she realises she's being silly and acting out of character (she's actually usually quite a confident, secure kind of person) and if it were danger knocking on the door, well, they probably wouldn't knock and be so polite about it. She opens the door (a little silver at first just to check who it is) and finds Emily standing there. "Good morning," she greets, opening the door wide.
Emily smiles broadly, her eyes bright (despite the early hour). "Morning." Gillian lets her in and closes the door behind her. Emily is looking into the living room while she pulls at the scarf around her neck.
"I'll go get your Dad. There's coffee in the kitchen if you want some."
"Thanks."
"Help yourself," Gillian suggests as she goes down the hall. The bedroom is dark, just how she left it, and it seems Cal hasn't stirred (pretty typically). She leans down and shakes his shoulder to wake him and he startles, confused. "Emily's here," she tells him gently (he's nice when he's asleep and she has a strong urge to crawl into bed next to him and cuddle up).
"Huh?"
"Emily's here," Gillian repeats a little louder. "To say goodbye."
Cal groans something that has syllables but not proper words. "Come on," Gillian encourages, already heading for the door, and then leaves him again. Cal lies in bed for a moment, his eyes feeling scratchy and swollen as he picks the sleep from them. He can't remember the last time he was awake this early (he's not sure he is awake), and it's hard (he wonders how many hours sleep he's had; can't be that many). He gets out of bed and pulls on some clothes (not quickly, because he can't manage that), and heads out of the bedroom, stopping to itch the stubble on his chin. He swings into the kitchen and finds Emily there, leaning against the bench with her back to the door, a coffee cupped in her hands. Gillian's at the sink, rinsing out her own mug. She gives him a slight smile (that familiar intimate kind of smile that makes him feel like he's the only man left in the world. And how is it that she can do that when they had such a shitty day yesterday?) and breezes out of the room (how is it she looks so amazing when the sun isn't even up yet?). He suddenly remembers what he was dreaming about before she woke him: warm, yellow sunlight illuminating the kitchen like it's the middle of summer. It should be hot, but it barely creates enough heat when it touches his skin. The wooden floor is cold beneath his foot (apparently his leg is still broken in this dream). His daughter is talking to him, but he is distracted. The light in the room makes it feel so very surreal (a suspicion that he is, in fact, dreaming) and he isn't sure what he is doing there, standing at the sink. He thinks Colorado might be nice in the summer (if he were here in another life).
"Good morning Dad," Emily greets him and he responds with a mumble (caught out of the reverie). She laughs and offers to make him coffee, which he readily accepts. He hops his way to the breakfast bar and leans on it, his head feeling fuzzy; he's not awake yet. He turns, as if on instinct, and Gillian's there, coat on, wrapping a scarf around her throat. His daughter lights over to him, a farewell hug of his good arm; but she's not saying goodbye, just leaving the room (he feels so sleepy). He gives his attention to his closest friend, can't keep his eyes off her; it still feels like he's dreaming (he wishes these quiet moments would last longer, would come back to him when he feels the need to drag her down, remind him that he loves her, that he can be better for her). She gives him a slight smile. But she stops him from going to her (and he thinks her smiles don't match with how that feels) and moves towards him instead, placing sure fingers against his head, on either side, palms pressing against his ears. She kisses him. A press of her lips against his. Like she has done it a hundred times before, when really, this is the first time (the first time he's got a goodbye kiss before she goes to work). It surprises him and it makes him stare. Her eyes are so blue, and so tranquil (and he really is having a hard time reconciling yesterday with this behaviour). She kisses him again; definitely a farewell, and she doesn't care who sees (Emily could walk in at any moment). She tells him she'll see him later, and goes to the front door. He can't go after her; grounded by her kiss (and he's got a bloody broken leg). She goes without him saying anything. He can't think of anything to say anyway. She kissed him. Twice. Maybe she's not so mad at him.
Cal shakes himself out of it (equally loves and hates that she has that kind of effect on him). He can hear the two women conversing in the hall, saying goodbye. It could be goodbye for a while and it makes Cal feel sad. Everything is so messed up. He wishes so hard for normal, but can't seem to make it happen. He can't seem to help himself from acting so very badly sometimes (most of the time).
"Dad?"
"Hm?" He realises Emily is talking to him.
"Breakfast?" She prompts. "I have to leave in an hour."
"Right, yeah," he agrees. So they cook and Cal warms up (wakes up) and then they're sitting at the dining room table with a hot, hearty meal (although Cal's not sure his stomach is awake for this either).
"So," Emily speaks up, absently forking her eggs while staring at her father from across the table (she doesn't sit in Gillian's spot). Cal, distracted with thinking they should have had breakfast with Gillian (and that it was actually quite nice to see her before she went to work; felt kind of domestic), takes a second to acknowledge his child is talking to him. "How long you guys been sleeping together?"
Cal just about chokes on his toast. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh come on," Emily scoffs, her hand going still, but her gaze remaining intense. "Don't even try to deny it."
He doesn't know why, but there's a part of him that just wants to flat out refute it. But instead he's a deer caught in the headlights; he says nothing. But the fact that he's let the silence go on too long now (as opposed to denying it too quickly) is basically an admission. Emily certainly takes it that way.
"When did this happen? Before… this?" She raises her eyebrows, suggesting the house (or the city).
And then another part of Cal isn't sure if he should be talking about it, like it's a secret or something and he should be discrete (not the first time he's had to be discrete). Like maybe he should ask Gillian what she would want to tell people (if she even wants to admit to 'them') and not just assume (under different circumstances, he'd be gloating his ass off). And then he feels stupid and slightly embarrassed because of this weekend and his behaviour yesterday, and also, they've already had this conversation. Him and Emily. Sort of. Except, the awkward bit here is that Emily is from their old life, which means she knows all about… how things were before. Plus, she's his daughter. (Also, he admitted to her that he loves Gillian. That he proper loves her. And she asked him what he was waiting for. So how does he explain…?)
"What happened? Dad? What happened?"
It's hard to tell if she's eager (like gleeful) or serious (like this is life altering).
"It just kind of started," he starts talking. And then it gets even more awkward. He has to explain, without admitting to too much, that actually, even though he kissed Gillian first, he's not sure who escalated it to the actual sex part and that it was generally not amazing even though it really was amazing. So he tells her they had obviously spending time alone together and getting closer (all true) and that he kissed Gillian one night (also true), because it felt right (sorry about the rhyming). And it went from there. (He doesn't mention either, that they were sleeping together at the time it started. Sleeping in the same bed, that is. Because that would take even more explanation and really, that part feels like a betrayal if he were to voice it. Gillian was really vulnerable then.)
Emily has the good grace to not squeal in delight and clap her hands and twirl around the room happy for him (he might have to leave the house himself). She smiles and she means it (all the delight is in her eyes. He knows she's wanted it for a long time. She actually might be more excited about it than Gillian has been. Which makes Cal feel not great all over again and he keeps thinking about how this hasn't worked out at all how he wanted it to). And she's mature enough to not ask for details (Cal is not giving them; never mind that they're not details to be proud of). She tells him its great and the thing is, if Gillian hadn't reacted the way she had this weekend, and if they hadn't just had the oddest… what? Three weeks? Living under the same roof. (And if they weren't stuck in Colorado and living with false identities and all that kind of weird stuff.) Well, it might have been something great.
She's ruining it for him. (Or he's ruining it for them.) Either way, that sinking feeling that he's blown it keeps nagging him.
In passing, Emily says 'why didn't you tell me sooner?' And Cal brushes it off as no big deal or something about seeing how things go, or he's not quite sure what to make of it yet; lets her mostly deduce herself (and tries for self-depreciation). She's good at that. She infers a lot; fills in the blanks. He doesn't have to explain much about anything. He doesn't know what she fathoms, but it's apparently good enough (she stops questioning him; at least it wasn't an interrogation). They switch to talking about other things. Menial, irrelevant things, while they finish their food and stack the dirty dishes. Emily reluctantly checks her watch and an awkwardness passes through them. Cal's mouth feels dry. His heart rate starts to go up. "Look Em," he starts (before he can chicken out). "I've really loved seeing you this weekend."
"Me too," Emily jumps in, a broad smile.
Cal feels nervous (he doesn't want to disappoint her). "But the thing is love," he swallows, meets her eyes (the warm brown; her mother's eyes) and leans forward on his crutches to take his weight while they stand in the middle of the kitchen. It's the worst kind of farewell: I don't know when I'll see you again.
"What's wrong?" The young woman asks.
"You know things are…" He hesitates. "Tough right now. You know why we're here?" Emily nods and he's glad he doesn't have to spell it out. "You're not supposed to know where we are." He gives her a pained expression (he wants her to know that if it were up to him, he wouldn't be saying this).
Emily's face frowns. "What does that mean?"
Emily's face frowns. "What does that mean?"
"Well, it means that…"
"No," Emily cuts him off. "I know what I means. I mean, what does it mean now? What are…? What's going to happen?" She looks so worried, Cal feels so bad.
"It means you need to go home. And you need to be careful about where you go and who with. And it means…" he pauses again, because he doesn't want to say it. "It means we can't see each other for a while."
"Dad," Emily murmurs and she does not look happy at all; she looks hurt.
"The thing is, I have to call the people looking after us and they're probably going to move me and Gillian somewhere else."
"So," Emily pauses too, giving him that chance to jump in and lay out the solution, fix the problem; super-dad.
"I promise, I'll get in touch somehow."
Emily's eyes suddenly well up with tears and Cal knows she knows what it means: he can't and won't tell her where they'll be moved to, and that means that they won't be able to say when the next time they see each other will be; there's no 'see you at Christmas'. She rushes into him (nearly knocks him flat over, but he grabs the edge of the bench to regain his balance), sliding slender arms around his waist and clinging on like she used to do when she was ten and was rationing out the affection (even though she still really needed it). Cal feels awful (can't really even hug her back, seeing as it's taking so much to just stay upright). He wishes he could make it better, to tell her 'hey I'll see you in a few weeks' but ugly thoughts course through him about missing her graduation and what if this stupid thing lasted until she got married!?
"Sorry, darling. I have to…"
"No I get it," Emily mutters into his shirt. She steps back, wipes a tear. "This is serious. You have to stay safe. You and Gillian." Cal nods, lump in his throat. "I get it, but it sucks."
"It does."
Emily sniffs, wipes at her cheek, wipes that onto her jeans. "Just get in touch when you can. I'll know it's you."
Cal gives a lop-sided grin. "Promise." But he'll do it differently next time.
There's the sound of a horn and Emily says quietly, "I better go." They stand for a moment and then she turns for the door. Cal swings after her and they hug again. They murmur things like 'take care' and 'I love you' and then Emily is reluctantly leaving and Cal feels weird inside, tingly and hot and nervous for her. He feels unsettled and anxious and he doesn't like it; it's an awful way to feel. He stays at the door until Emily has gotten into the cab she obviously pre-arranged, and the vehicle has disappeared out of sight. That was almost as hard as when she left for college in the first place. Except then he knew he'd see her at Thanksgiving and now he doesn't know when they'll be in the same room again. His second thought is: I wish Gillian was here.
Harrowing, because he wants her, needs her, loves her, but insists on ruining it for the both of them (though, to be fair, he's not sure if she loves him. He's not surprised though). She'd make him feel better nevertheless, even if it were just the chance of putting his arms around her.
The next thing he has to do is call the marshals. So he goes back to bed.
PJ
Gillian gets a text from Cal at about eleven-thirty. It reads: I called them. And that's all. She texts back: ok. (Even though she hummed and hawed over 'thanks' and 'good' and 'finally'.) She also wants to know 'what next?' but doesn't ask. She figures she'll find out this evening (and she half hopes Cal might actually just tell her, instead of her always having to ask for information) when she gets home, if the marshals don't come and pull her out of school in the next hour. But they don't and so she continues through her day and manages to put it to the back of her mind. Today, she is busy. This morning, when she came into the building, she ran into the baseball coach, Faraday, in the main office. She had every intention of bringing up Jerome (the opportunity was begging to be acted on), but he did it first. He mentioned Jerome hanging around practice and getting himself involved. Gillian wasn't quite sure what is point was, but she jumped in, explaining that Jerome wants to be back on the team and is showing that he's dedicated and the like. They kind of sniped back and forth a bit until Coach Faraday crossed his arms in front of his chest and Gillian knew he still wasn't impressed. She flat out asked him what Jerome had to do to get back on the team. The answer? Apologise.
So now Gillian had to talk Jerome into doing that. Their last conversation about apologies hadn't gone very well (but at least there had been conversation! Still a win), she is going to have to approach this one a little differently. The good news though, is that if Jerome says the words, he's back on the team, Faraday assured her. He also assured her it was Jerome's last chance and that he, Faraday, wasn't going to put up with another punk teenager (yep he used punk as an adjective) crapping all over his team. Gillian pegged him as a military reject (and when she looks into it later, she's right). This guy has authority issues, in the sense that he must be seen as important and doesn't like to have that power challenged by someone deemed lesser than he is, like a young black man attempting to establish himself in the world… and she's gotten way off track. Analysing the wrong person (she misses the Lightman Group a little bit. She also misses the Lightman).
Gillian sees Jerome after lunch for their usual appointment, and she's right, he's not sold on the apology idea. But he does give positive indications that he wants to be back on the team and that he will do what it takes to get there; it's just the apology bit that's hard to swallow. They talk it out for an hour and he promises he'll think about it (and they talk about possible wording of such an apology) and let her know tomorrow what he has decided. Gillian is mightily pleased with that, because they're still connecting and she feels like she's helping. Even though Jerome doesn't say anything, she can see that he's happier. That makes her feel good. It makes it easier to forget about the mess happening at home.
Oh the mess at home!
That means... No more Jerome. She probably won't see him again.
Ever again.
She hates this shitty fucking situation.
It feels like an awful way to let him down. And she won't get to see him play ball. Or see him grow up a bit more. She won't get to follow up with any of her other students either. It overwhelms her, puts tears in her eyes. For half a minute, she's genuinely afraid she's going to lose it. She feels nauseatingly angry and upset, but mostly angry. Just, super pissed off with how this is panning out (not even angry with Cal right now). And feeling useless and two-faced and… just… completely unsettled. She checks the time, wonders if she can leave early. She has nothing booked for the afternoon but she is supposed to stay in case a student wants to talk to her. That being said, there are other counsellors in the suite and, the thing is, if she can't concentrate, if her own mind is a mess, how is she supposed to help anyone else with theirs? She packs her things and goes to the office, tells the secretary there that she's not feeling well and needs to go lie down (that's not entirely untrue). She gets a sympathetic response which helps her feel a little less bad about skipping out on the work day early.
She heads outside, finds the air cool but the sun bright. The sun always does something to her and she walks towards her car with her head a little higher. She'll go home (only an hour early) and relax a bit, maybe cook Cal dinner, talk with him about where their lives are going, try to make things right again (as right as possible anyway); smooth over the hurt (again). She starts fishing her keys from her purse when she suddenly feels the prickle of someone coming up to her from behind. And quickly. There's something different in the air and she raises her head to find a man in a dark suit also purposefully approaching from in front. He's wearing dark sunglasses and is otherwise nondescript. She realises too late that it's sinister but she's not sure what she can do.
"Ma'am," the man speaks and she stops walking. The man behind her comes up close, framing her and she feels trapped, awkward, cold; her stomach sets on edge. "You need to come with us."
That's it. Just the command.
"Why?" She stammers.
"Ma'am," the man repeats. His tone is flat and deadened, and he is not interested in her resistance. It happens quickly. He takes her elbow and drags her towards a waiting van, which is just a few feet away. The man behind her blocks them, making sure she can't escape. But she doesn't think to. Barely struggles (only resists when she's forced to move in a way she wasn't expecting. She can't when this man is making decisions for her), doesn't think to call out (she does a quick glance around but there's no one there). She knows they're not marshals, and she knows they're not another government or police agency come to take her to safety. No, these are probably Willis's men and she's too afraid to make decisions that could potentially end in retaliated violence. What she wants is to stay alive and so she doesn't do much to counter what they demand. They shove her into the side of the van, her purse spilling to the floor around her knees as she's forced down. She hears the door starting to slide shut behind her and almost as soon as it's closed off they're moving.
She loses her balance quickly, falls to a wrist which jars painfully against the hard exposed floor. When she regains herself she finds she's alone in the back (surely not) of a van that contains nothing at all but suspended seatbelts where extra seating could, or used to, be. The windows are tinted out and the two men sitting in the front drive quickly and without speaking. She loses track of the turns, can't make out anything through the windshield and gives up. She thinks 'my phone!' and searches through the spillage on the van floor, but she can't find it. It might have slid away. Or they might have taken it when she wasn't paying attention.
There's a sharp corner and Gillian slides awkwardly across the metallic floor of the van. There are grooves in the surface but also the ends of screws sticking up for the fitting of the back seat. Gillian's knee crushes into one while the palm of her hand cops another one. Her palm holds out, but her knee does not and it stings like a bitch as it starts to bleed. She tries to sit more comfortably (rues her decision to swear a skirt today) but it's a struggle and she flails around like a baby giraffe. For preservation, she spends so much time worrying about sliding around in the back (and finding a tissue for her bleeding knee) that she almost forgets about the fact that she's been kidnapped. That is, until the van stops, and her heart starts to beat as the two men get out of the front and come around the side. They reach in for her, strong groping hands that she fends off feebly. She kicks out weakly and starts to make noise (like someone would be able to hear her pathetic whimpering) but they over power her far too easily and she succumbs because she has no choice (she just feels like she has no choice). They put a black sack over her head and bind her arms at the wrist into the small of her back (those plastic ties with edges that cuts into her flesh). Then they make her stand, her legs shaking and her knee stinging and her arms aching and she feels nauseated and panicked; she breathes in dust through the material of the sack. She cringes, waiting for a strike, the slap of a hand against her head; a bullet. But there's nothing. She stands for a long time and she starts to listen and as the blood rushing in her ears quietens down, she can hear the muffled sound of a man talking.
PJ
Cal goes back to sleep and when he wakes he makes the phone call to the marshals. Then he texts Gillian to let her know he's made the call. She texts back 'ok' but nothing else and he thinks 'fine then, be like that' (which he's very well sounds childish, thanks) and puts his phone down on the kitchen bench and goes to sit on the couch (so if she does text something else, he can plausibly deny getting it promptly). He emails Ria and tells her he's been busted. He'll try to get back to her sometime but for now, if he goes silent, that's why. In his inbox are the emails from Emily and so he reads them over again, feeling sorry for himself and alone. He figures she'll be almost back in LA by now and she'll pick her life up where she left it, like Colorado never happened. Cal wishes Colorado never happened to him either. The marshals were not happy with him (actually, he just talked to their handler, Walker). Not at all. He could tell from the tone (Gillian would be so proud) and the clipped words. They're coming over to sort things out (he was told quite explicitly to not leave the house), which means they're probably going to get told off and moved. Or completely abandoned (which makes Cal feel incredibly guilty. Because as Gillian said, this doesn't just involve him).
Eventually, Cal gets up and tidies up the house (particularly the kitchen where he and Emily had breakfast together just a few hours ago), then tidies up himself (has a bit of a wash) and as he's going to the kitchen to make a start on dinner (and check his phone, because he does hope that Gillian has text him something else) there's a bang on the door. He figures that's the marshals then, so he swings to the front entrance and pulls it open and in the split second that he sees who is there, he knows he's wrong. They're not the marshals. Its two men in black suits and dark sunglasses and Cal can just tell straight away that these men are not official. He takes a half hop back and grabs for the door but the two men read him easily and barge in, knocking Cal back so that he falls to the floor. He falls heavily, his crutches clattering away, no way to break his fall (he bruises his ass). His head strikes the floor hard, blackens his vision for a second and his good leg bends awkwardly under him. The front door slams shut. A second later the men grab him and he struggles against them in a feeble way (because he's feeling like a turtle on his back again). It takes them no effort to tie his good arm to his bad arm and pull him up to stand on his feet. Of course, that's no good, and he lists to one side and then slides to the floor again in an uncouth heap as they're trying to put a black sack over his head. They do it anyway, jerking his head around when he doesn't cooperate (he's a bit dazed actually) while he's slouched in a heap on the floor. They leave him there, where he is, his head throbbing and his breaks protesting the awkward angles his body has been pulled into.
He suddenly feels nauseated and the enormity of what's happening washes over him in a panicked sweat. With it dark, Cal can hear his own breathing loudly in his ears, but he does catch something else, something, a noise, that doesn't come from him. A cuss. And the click of a gun.