A/N: Hello! And welcome to the penultimate chapter of A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving. This chapter has not even been looked over upon leaving my fingers, so if there are typos and the like, I do apologize, but I also kiiiinda don't care. :D This chapter miiiight not be what all of you were expecting, but it WAS what I had planned on from the beginning.
Writing this fic is rough-I've had a rough couple of days. So if you're inclined to be mean because the chapter isn't what you'd hoped-don't be. :) Thanks! :D
Chapter 6 - A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving
Cal and Gillian finished their football game by making out for a solid twenty minutes, their hands wandering over each other's bodies before they finally went inside and prepared to head over to Zoe's house.
Cal went into Gillian's kitchen and surveyed the various desserts she and Emily had baked—"Gill," He called, "How are we going to get all of these bloody things over there?"
Frowning, she entered her kitchen. "I hadn't really thought about it."
Cal looked at her, "My car's full of that audio equipment for the Sanderson case—there's just room for you, love." He said, his eyes shining.
Gillian tapped her fingers against the counter, "And my car only seats two," She said, smiling. "I guess we'll just have to take separate cars?" Gillian said, the end of her sentence rising indicating it was a suggestion.
Cal shrugged, "I suppose that works." He said, laughing as he picked up two desserts and headed for the car, "These smell delicious," He said. Gillian laughed, picking up a plate of cookies and a pie, "But, then, I'd expect nothing less from you," Cal said, waggling his eyebrows as he walked out of the kitchen.
Gillian shook her head and followed him with a smile.
Gillian and Cal made their way up Zoe's walk, each holding dessert in their hands. Cal looked over at Gillian and offered her a reassuring smile—
"Just remember to breathe, love." He said, chuckling lightly.
Gillian rolled her eyes as she felt nervousness overtake her. Cal watched as the feeling passed across her face and he shot her a sympathetic glance. "It's only a few hours," He said, nodding.
Cal balanced the desserts on his arm and raised his hand—knocking at the door, he felt a familiar sense of dread. Since his divorce, Thanksgiving had always given him pause and while Gillian usually acted as a calming agent to him, he couldn't help but feel as though he were about to step into a battle zone.
Emily opened the door, a bright smile on her face—"Dad!" She exclaimed, and took the desserts from Gillian's hands, "Gill!" She said, opening the door wider for them to enter the house. Setting the desserts on the table, Emily threw her arms around Gillian and embraced her in a hug—"Happy Thanksgiving!" She said as she released her and turned her attention to her father.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Gillian returned with a slight smile, but Cal didn't miss the slight look of discomfort she had plastered on her face.
Gillian felt awkward already, as though she shouldn't be hugging Emily in Zoe's house—Cal tried to catch her attention to offer her reassurance, but she was focused on examining her surroundings, taking in the modern décor of Zoe's abode.
Cal took in Emily's apparel—light blue sweatpants and a gray long sleeved shirt, "I see you've got your Thanksgiving pants on," Cal said, wagging his finger at her.
Emily beamed at him, "Yep." She said, laughing, she looked between Gillian, "I'm going to destroy some stuffing," She said, matter-of-factly, before she began heading into the living room, her brown ponytail swaying behind her, "Come on," She said, motioning to Cal and Gillian.
Gillian laughed and looked at Cal, raising an eyebrow. "Stuffing's her favorite." He explained with a shrug before he reached to take Gillian's coat from her shoulders. He squeezed her lightly on the shoulders before he began to help her take it off—as he slid the coat off her shoulders, he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled sharply, enjoying her scent. Feeling his proximity, Gillian smiled and she felt a bit of the nervousness dissipate—she was with Cal. Perhaps things would be alright after all.
Emily peeked her head around the corner, "Come on," She said.
Cal laughed and hung Gillian's coat on the rack, "Coming, Little Miss Bossy," He said. Emily giggled and turned away—
Cal and Gillian followed her down the hall. As they were walking, Cal nudged Gillian lightly with his shoulder, his playfulness earning him a smile.
Emily led them into the living room—
When Cal and Gillian turned the corner, they saw a man with dark brown hair sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on the TV.
"Roger," Emily said, and the man turned to look at her, raising his eyebrows slightly—Emily smiled at him, "This," She said, indicating Cal with her hands, "Is my dad, Cal Lightman," She said as Roger stood up and rounded the couch, "and this is Gillian, his…" Emily trailed off, her face suddenly worried—Cal nearly laughed at the way it was quite nearly a study in panic, "…this is Gillian." Emily finished, coloring slightly.
Roger stood in front of Cal and Gillian and offered his hand first to Cal, who took it and shook it good naturedly, "Cal!" Roger said, grasping Cal's elbow as he shook his hand, "Pleasure to finally meet you." He said.
Cal smiled, back at him, "Same here." Cal replied.
Roger then turned his attention to Gillian, "Gillian," He said, a warm smile crossing his face, "Lovely to meet you," He said, extending his hand.
Cal watched the exchange intently, focusing on Roger's face. Roger stood at approximately five feet eleven inches, so Cal had to look up to do so. But Cal watched as a slight flicker of arousal passed over Roger's face. Despite the fact that Cal knew that it was absolutely harmless and that it was no more than the male response to an attractive woman, Cal clenched his fists at his side and struggled to quell an immense sense of rage that coursed through him.
Cal's face fell to Gillian as she took Roger's proffered hand into hers, "Nice to meet you, too, Roger," She said, smiling. The smile she gave was genuine, Cal noticed, but he saw no flicker from Gillian, and he expelled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Roger's eyes darted back to the television—"Cal, are you a fan?" He asked, nodding his head in the direction of the television.
Cal directed his attention to the television and saw another football game and pursed his lips, "I wasn't—" he said, but then his lips curved into a smile, "but after today," he said, looking intently at Gillian, "I don't mind it so much." His tone caused Gillian to color slightly, and Roger chuckled lightly, not really understanding, but guessing near correctly what had changed Cal's mind.
Just then, a noise came from behind them—Cal and Gillian turned around to see Zoe, who cleared her throat.
Gillian flushed deeper when she saw the look on Zoe's face, which indicated that she had heard everything that had just been said—and she understood the innuendo.
"Hello." Zoe said from the doorway of the kitchen.
"Hello, Zo." Cal said, while Gillian acknowledged her greeting by nodding her head and accompanying it with a small smile. "Happy Thanksgiving," He said, as he walked over to where she stood and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.
Zoe pressed her lips together tightly before she responded, "Indeed." She said, her voice tight, "I trust you all have met," She remarked, allowing her gaze to flicker between Roger, Cal and Gillian—though her gaze spent significantly less time on Gillian.
"We have," Roger said, his eyes still on the television.
"Good." Zoe said. Suddenly, her eyes fell to the desserts that Emily was busy arranging on a side table. "Gillian," Zoe said, with a forced smile, "Thanks so much for making dessert."
Gillian smiled at Zoe, "Oh, sure." She responded, meeting Zoe's gaze and allowing warmth to slip into her eyes—Gillian learned long ago that it was impossible to fight Zoe with anger or coldness—Zoe would win at that game every single time. What really unnerved Zoe was kindness, and that was one of Gillian's strongest suits.
"Cal." Zoe said, "A little help in the kitchen, please."
A particularly loud cheer from the television had Gillian turning her head toward the football game, and Cal smiled—"Go on, love." He said, indicating toward the couch. Gillian smiled at him and took a seat next to Roger—Emily sat down next to her and they began talking lightly in between plays.
"This is sufficiently awkward." Zoe said, as she checked the temperature on the turkey.
Cal shrugged, "Doesn't have to be." He said simply.
"Like hell it doesn't." Zoe said, stirring the mashed potatoes on the stove.
"You're fretting." Cal said, smiling at her.
"Shut up." She said.
"Is it almost ready?" Cal asked, changing the subject.
Zoe glared at him, "Yes." She said, "In fact, you can go ahead and take the turkey out of the oven now."
Normally, Cal would have turned Zoe's comment into some sort of double entendre, but things were different now—Gillian was in the other room talking with his daughter on one of the most important family holidays there was. Zoe didn't miss the fact that Cal said nothing as he grabbed two oven mitts, walked over to the oven, opened it and extracted the turkey.
Zoe called from the kitchen, "Emily! Set the table, please, it's nearly time to eat."
Emily and Gillian came through the door, at Zoe's look, Gillian shrugged, "I'll help."
Zoe couldn't contain the look of exasperation that crossed her face, but she turned around and busied herself with the yams.
"Zoe." Cal said, when Emily and Gillian had collected the place settings and left, "You've got to at least try to be civil." He said, his voice gentle.
Zoe sighed, "I'm trying." She said, turning off the burners.
"Try harder." Cal said.
Zoe did roll her eyes then. "Fine."
The meal was relatively quiet and peaceable—with Roger and Cal doing most of the talking. They got along famously, which Gillian could tell actually really irked Zoe.
Actually, nearly everything that happened was irking Zoe, and Gillian couldn't help but feel a little bubble of humor at that particular thought even as she felt the tension in the room growing by the minute.
When everyone was done eating, Roger unintentionally and unknowingly opened a can of worms. He leaned back in his chair, and said casually,
"So, Cal, how did you and Gillian meet?"
Gillian saw Zoe tense out of the corner of her eye and she nearly cringed—even eight years later, this was a sore spot for Zoe.
"At the Pentagon." Cal said, shrugging, and then he went into the details of precisely how they had met.
"Wow," Roger mused, "That's incredible," He said, a genuine smile spread across his face.
"Isn't it though?" Zoe said, sarcasm dripping from her words as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.
Gillian couldn't tell whether Roger missed the tone in Zoe's voice or whether he simply chose to ignore its warning quality (although she hoped it was the latter because the tone was certainly hard to miss), but either way he decided to delve deeper into the conversation instead of getting out while the water was still shallow.
"So, you guys began as partners and now you're…" Roger trailed off, genuinely curious. Nothing had really been explained to him, so he thought he'd go to the source.
Cal suddenly felt very uncomfortable as he felt all eyes in the room—including Emily's—shift to him. He wasn't sure why everyone felt this intense desire to put a name on whatever he and Gillian were.
Correctly reading the look on his face, Zoe spoke, "Yes, now you're…what, exactly?" Zoe inquired, a smirk spreading across her face.
Gillian watched as Cal faltered—his brain searching for a word.
Emily, sensing the rising tension, took matters into her own hands, "Well!" She said, injecting extra cheer into her voice, "Time for dessert!" She said, rising from her chair.
Gillian followed suit, and they went into the living room to collect the desserts while Cal shot daggers at Zoe and Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Emily and Gillian brought the desserts in one by one and set them on the table as Gillian simultaneously cleared everyone's plates.
"This is quite the assortment." Roger remarked, taking in the expanse of desserts that graced on the table before him.
Cal finally tore his angry gaze from Zoe and tried to relax it a little bit as he focused on Roger, "Gillian's quite the baker," Cal said, offering a small smile.
Cal heard Zoe say something under her breath and nearly said something to her, but stopped when he saw Emily and Gillian return from the kitchen carrying dessert plates and serving utensils.
"Alright, everyone," Emily said, smiling as she took her seat—Gillian slid into her seat next to Cal, "Dig in." Emily said.
Cal was the first to reach for a plate—he retrieved two and set one down in front of Gillian. She looked at him and offered a small smile of gratitude. He winked at her in a way that let her know that he knew with absolute certainty how excited she was to partake in dessert festivities. She beamed at him.
Everyone ate his or her dessert silently until Roger broke the silence,
"This pumpkin cheesecake is delicious," He said as he held a forkful up to his mouth, "You made this?" He asked, his tone near incredulity.
Gillian smiled and nodded—and Emily laughed, "Yep. She made the whole thing." She said around a mouthful of cookie, "From scratch." She added, still smiling.
Gillian laughed, "Emily helped." She said, shrugging lightly.
Cal saw Zoe's gaze narrow and darken as what could only be accurately described as anger passed across her face.
"Oh, really?" She said, her gaze focused on Cal although it occasionally flickered to Gillian.
"Yes, really." Cal said, rolling his eyes.
"Kitchen?" Zoe said, her tone heavy as she looked at Cal.
Cal shook his head, "No thanks, darling." He said as he dipped his fork into his pumpkin pie. Bringing the fork to his mouth, he slipped it in his mouth and chewed—"This really is delicious, love." He said, looking at Gillian.
Gillian, though, had stopped eating, an uneasy feeling washing over her. She saw the look on Zoe's face and she knew Cal did, too, though he was choosing to ignore it.
Zoe was royally pissed.
"Fine." She said, her voice high-pitched, "Then we'll discuss this out here," She said, placing emphasis on the word, "You didn't think that maybe you should run this little Gillian's Bakery idea by me first?"
Cal shrugged and affected a cavalier tone, "No, not really."
"Interesting," Zoe said.
"Zoe…" Roger's voice cut in—he was silenced with an icy stare.
Gillian pushed her desserts around her plate, and Emily pleaded silently with her mother to abandon her current course of action. Zoe paid no mind.
"Emily's my daughter, Cal," She said, her tone making it clear that the phrase was actually for the benefit of Gillian, rather than Cal, "And I'd appreciate if any sort of mother-daughter activities that you choose to allow to go on between my daughter and…Gillian, are run by me, beforehand," She said, folding her arms across her chest.
"Zoe." Cal's tone was harsh.
"At least," Zoe continued, "Until you can tell me what she is to you." Zoe said.
At Zoe's words, Gillian felt a shiver run down her spine—she looked at Cal who was staring intently at Zoe and she avoided eye-contact with everyone else at the table. Suddenly, she stood from her position, placed her napkin on the table and spoke with a quiet, stern voice.
"Well, I had better get going," She said, and Cal's head snapped to look at her.
"Gillian," He said, his tone soft, bordering on pleading.
"No." She said simply, and she turned her attention to Zoe. Mustering up a smile, she regarded the woman, "Zoe." She said, with a slight nod of her head, "Thank you for a lovely meal, it was delicious." She said, as she stepped around the chair and headed for the door.
"Let me walk you out," Cal said, recognizing that he wasn't going to change her mind.
"No." She said, and her tone had a specific tenor of finality.
Cal wanted to leave with her, but he'd known her long enough and well enough to know that she'd have none of it—she wanted to leave dinner gracefully, and he'd allow her that.
Gillian made her way to the door, shrugged on her coat and walked to her car—choking back the feeling of sadness that swept through her.
She didn't stay long enough to hear Emily tell her mother how rude she was, "Gillian was just being nice, mom." She'd said, before walking up to her room.
She hadn't seen Cal lay into Zoe, never raising his voice, but letting her know in no uncertain terms that her behavior was unacceptable and despicable.
And Gillian didn't stay to watch as Cal shook Roger's hand and left without even touching Zoe—
Cal got in his car, berating himself for not responding quickly enough—for not shutting Zoe's tirade down soon enough. In trying to keep the peace he'd allowed things to go too far. Putting his key in the ignition, he drove to a store that he knew was open 24 hours a day, year round, looking for one specific thing.
He nearly kissed the employee—who happened to be a man—when he located the item, the last of its kind in the entire store.
Determined to make things right, he drove purposefully to Gillian's house—he parked outside her house and with his purchase tucked under his arm, he traveled up her walkway and issued a tentative knock on her door.
Cal felt the butterflies in his stomach as he saw the space behind the peephole darken as she looked through it. He grinned in anticipation as he heard her begin to click the lock—he would make things right, with the help of the present he'd just procured. His fingers gripped it tightly as the door began to open.
TBC.
Yes, Gillian's mad. Yes, I'm going to fix it.
kthxbai.