Gillian let herself in and stood for a moment taking in the familiar view. It should have been warm, inviting, but somehow it seemed colder than before. She knew that wasn't the case though. The chill was emanating from her.

It had been like cutting into a melon. A solid impact before the sharp blade easily disappeared into the flesh.

A shudder ran through her as nausea rippled her insides. For a moment she was sure she was going to have to make a bathroom dash.

Breathing slowly and carefully, the feeling began to ease slightly. She started to move about her home making sure everything was locked securely while turning on all the lights. The brightness should have been comforting but instead it seemed harsh. She kept them on anyway.

Shower. A long hot shower would help wash away the events of the last twenty-four hours. Steam so she could breath a little easier. No thinking. Need a lot of focus to clear the mind.

Rummaging in her top drawer, she pulled out loose pajama bottoms and a ribbed Henley. The chill inside was spilling onto the outside. She couldn't seem to get warm. Gill headed to the bathroom.

Blank staring eyes. They'd been light blue. She wondered if he'd inherited his father's or mother's eyes. Or maybe they'd been recessive.

Stopping, she leaned against the wall, legs trembling.

He didn't remember. But why did she feel like such an idiot? It wasn't like she'd drunkenly thrown herself at him. In the face of extreme danger, they'd confessed their feelings. If he hadn't been drugged, would he have said what he said? She wasn't really sure.

Ben had contacted her before she left the hospital. Cal not remembering had been the plan. The old man hadn't wanted him to remember anything. It had been meant to be a set up that involved a prostitute, a fleabag hotel, cocaine and the complete trashing of Cal's reputation. Of course Bainbridge Junior had moved in and attempted to modify the plan. Because of his extreme hatred, it had involved torture and murder. It wasn't like Ben needed to voice that part.

Heart suddenly pounding, Gillian felt her forehead prickle with heat and sweat but strangely enough, she was still cold. She found herself on the carpet, still clutching her pajamas to her chest.

Finn had been so excited when he'd been removing his tools from the knapsack. It was a child-like level of excitement that was completely incongruous with a grown man. He had briefly reminded her of her nephew when he'd received a Labrador puppy for his 10th birthday, except the man's exuberance involved a variety of knives, pliers, fish line and an ice pick. She wondered briefly about the fish line but stopped herself.

Breath. She couldn't. Her lungs wouldn't work to suck the air into her lungs for a moment. When they finally did, it was scalding, painful. She tried again. Each breath was agony.

Closing her eyes, hot tears pushed past her lids and burned down her cheeks.

(BREAK)

Cal quickly dressed before using the hospital phone to call a cab. He had no idea where his cell went. Probably in that accursed cabin somewhere.

He cautiously slipped out into the hallway before hastily moving toward the bank of elevators.

The night was cool with a threat of rain in the air. He could smell it and hoped that the cab would arrive before the clouds opened up all over him.

As he waited, the wind began to kick up and send a deep chill through the thin fabric of his polo. Didn't he have a jacket on yesterday? He couldn't really remember. No matter. The cab was pulling up.

"Nearest pub." The words came out automatically. He hadn't meant to say them. Maybe it would be better. A bit of liquid courage before he faced Gillian. Fucking coward.

Maybe he shouldn't even tell her what he remembered. That way things could stay as they were. Close but not too close. Yeah, that would definitely be better.

She had been holding all her emotions behind a disintegrating mask when she'd come to see him earlier. The pain and hope had been colliding with the horror of their experience. She was a strong person. One of the strongest he knew but when is enough, enough? When does it all come crumbling down? Would he be the catalyst?

Shit.

Cal rolled his head back against the seat and shut his eyes. Fatigue pulled him down, making the edges a little hazy.

Love you…and I…always have.

How could he just pretend? Of course he'd been doing it for years but now it was different. She loved him too and not in a platonic friend kind of way. It was much deeper than that.

Shit.

He moved his head forward, only to slam it back against the seat. When fireworks went off behind his left eye and rattled around the bruising of the socket, he immediately regretted the action. Everything was so surreal. All the horror held a fuzzy dream like quality. Of course for Gillian, it had been anything but dream-like. The edges were hard, sharp and steeped in reality. It must have been terrifying.

"Here ya go." The driver looked up at him through the rear view mirror as the car came to a halt. "Closest bar. You have a couple of hours before closing time."

Cal didn't open his eyes or make any move to get out. "Change of plans, mate."

(BREAK)

The temperature had dropped again when the cab left him off.

Hugging himself for warmth, he stared at Gillian's house. It appeared as if every single light in the place was on. Definitely not like her. She was a stickler for energy conservation.

Shivering, he strode up the path and hit the doorbell.

Nothing.

He did it again and followed up with a quick rap with his knuckles.

Still nothing.

She could be sleeping. It was, after all, past midnight but his instincts said no.

Fuck. He didn't have her key. Emily had brought him his spare house keys but they didn't include Gillian's.

Starting to panic, he stepped back to think. She kept an emergency key…somewhere. His eyes swept the front patio before scanning the foliage growing against the house. Wait a minute. He squatted near one of the bushes and reached for the 'rock' hiding underneath. One of those hollow plastic jobs. He let out a sigh of relief that edged in frustration. He was happy that he found the key, unhappy with her methods of hiding it. A tad too trusting.

Giving another perfunctory knock, he let himself in. The house was warm, possibly a little too warm but it felt good against his chilled skin.

"Gill?"

He stepped further in the living room before hearing the shower. Relief started to flow through him before stopping short. For whatever reason his instincts were buzzing.

Moving down the hall, he noted that the bathroom door was ajar. Steam wafted out as the shower continued to spray. Underneath he could hear her sobs and his chest clenched painfully.

Giving a tentative knock, he kept his voice soft but loud enough to be heard. "Gill, luv? It's me."

The sobs broke briefly but her words were soaked in them. "I can't get warm Cal." If she was surprised that he was there, she gave no indication. The tone of her voice was hollow.

"Do you want to come on out? Dry off and I'll find every spare blanket in the place for you." His own voice was slightly strangled. He wondered if she was in shock.

"Will you come in?" The sobs were back.

"Do you want me to?"

"Uh huh."

Pausing, he kept his eyes carefully averted as he entered the small bathroom. "Do you need me to get anything for you?"

"No. Just you. Could you help me get warm?"

Cal swallowed thickly before slowly turning to face her.

She was curled up on the floor of the tub, hugging her knees to her chest and still wearing the dress from earlier. Gillian looked up at him with such a broken expression that he felt tears form behind his own eyes.

Oh my God.

"We should get you dry."

She shook her head. "Not yet. Still have more hot water."

"Alright."

Holding a hand out to him, she looked just like a lost little girl. Without thought, he pushed off his boots with his toes and stepped into the spray. It wasn't a huge tub but he managed to maneuver enough to settle behind her. Gillian immediately turned to nestle against him as he wrapped his arms protectively around her.