TITLE: We Only Part to Meet Again
GENRE: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
CHARACTERS: Cal, Gillian
PAIRING: Cal/Gillian
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: None
WORDS: 6,600
SUMMARY: Six scenarios in which Gillian and Cal meet again after having parted one way or another.
Scenario 1 – Washington D.C. Metropolitan Police, Washington D.C.
Gillian stepped into the cramped interrogation room at the police station, her apprehension mounting as she wondered what awaited her. If she had known the truth and not been misled, she would have refused to ever set foot in there.
Judging by the surprise on his face, the man inside hadn't expected her arrival either.
"Oh no," she muttered under her breath and turned to leave without even greeting him. She walked out the door and confronted the FBI guy who had brought her here.
"I'm not doing this," she stated plainly, without any need for further explanation.
"Listen, I know you two have a history, but we just want your expert opinion," the guy pleaded. "This is obviously not going to hold up in court anyway. But if anybody can get a read on him, it's you."
Gillian glared at him. "You deliberately lied to me. You told me all about this case without ever mentioning who the suspect is? Come on."
"We called you because you're good. And so is he."
"How would whatever I say even be credible?" she retorted. "As you said, we have history."
"I trust your expert opinion," the man replied, pausing for a moment before adding, "And wouldn't you have just as much reason to screw him as to protect him?"
Gillian seethed inwardly. She was angry and hurt, but deep down she knew that the FBI agent, who probably knew little about her and Cal's true past, had a point. She had plenty of reasons to both protect and betray him.
With a dramatic roll of her eyes (something she had learned from Cal) and while opening the door to the interrogation room again, she told the guy curtly, "This better be a really good paycheck."
/
There was fear in his eyes when she sat down at the opposite side of the table, and she wondered what had caused it: being the suspect in a criminal case or Gillian Foster entering the room. Either way, he had every reason to be afraid.
"I didn't know they would bring you in, I swear," he said defensively.
So he was afraid of her. Good. "I believe you."
"I'm sorry about this."
"Well, you have a lot to be sorry for," she said, leaving it at that, trying to read his reaction. It was a sad kind of hurting before he diverted his eyes. He looked at the mirror behind her, aware of the fact that they were being watched. It made her think that he would have given her some kind of verbal response under different circumstances.
"Did you do it?" she asked bluntly without making any more small talk.
"No," he replied with his eyes wandering back to her and staying there. Holding her gaze, not blinking. Once upon a time he had taught her that it could be a sign of lying, but that in most cases it was not a sufficient indication of it. Lying was a complex act and who better to master the complexity of it all than him.
"Did you have anything to do with the assault? And I mean anything at all."
"No. Russo used to be a client of mine, but that's all that connects me to him. I haven't seen or talked to him in years." He held her gaze throughout his answer.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes."
She crossed her legs and wondered when she had worn pink for the last time. Her wardrobe these days consisted of navy blues, ashy grays, and mossy greens. Once upon a time, she felt free and joyful enough to be bold and colorful, but those days were gone.
"How did nearly two million dollars end up in an offshore bank account under your name?" she asked.
"I have no idea. Somebody is trying to set me up."
"Or did you lose control over your finances? Wouldn't be the first time," she probed.
There was the faintest idea of an admiring smile on his lips. "I give you that one, but I did not open this account, nor have I ever had access to it."
She took some time to search his face—for anything really. It was supposed to be about the case, but what she found instead was their joint past. Everything was there; the good, the bad, the ugly. The friendship, the trust, the understanding. The spite, the hurt, the end.
She felt like he deliberately allowed her to see it all.
"It's okay," he said quietly while she was still searching for answers. It was his permission for her to go out there and tell them that he was lying. He understood and so did she.
Without another word, she got up and left the room to face the FBI outside again.
"Is he lying?" they asked.
"No," she said firmly, "he's telling the truth."
/
He caught up with her as she walked towards her car. "Gill," he called and how did he even dare to still use her name like that? She stopped and turned towards him.
"Why did you do that?" he wanted to know.
"You were telling the truth."
"Did that even matter in there?" he asked.
"It did to me."
He nodded. "Would you have lied for me?"
"I don't know. I'm leaning towards no."
Her heart was so heavy. She didn't know how much longer she could take it. Something inside of her broke again when she saw their past reflected in his eyes earlier. She wasn't aware of the fact that it had mended in any kind of way, but apparently it had.
She turned around again to walk towards her car, but he stayed right behind her. "I know my apologies don't mean much to you—," he started and she stopped him right in his tracks.
"Cal—don't." She faced him again and glared at him with rage bubbling right under her surface. "You stripped me of any control of the company's finances because you didn't agree with my choices. You undermined my authority. You kept shady cases from me for month until they exploded in your face. And then you shagged yet another long-legged suspect while I was held captive by a lunatic you owed money to. You said what you said, and you did what you did. It's too late for apologies."
Her voice was shaky throughout her speech, and it broke as she was running out of breath towards the end. But what did it even matter?
The initial shock on his face gave way to the sad understanding that things were indeed broken beyond repair. She realized that he might have thought there was a chance after what she had just done for him inside the police station. But there wasn't and there never would be again.
"You know, you always told me that you cannot trust anyone in this world," she continued much more quietly and softer. "And it turned out to be true. I couldn't even trust you." Disappointment was all over her voice, her face, and her heart.
He bit his lip and apparently couldn't find any words appropriate enough inside of him.
"Stay away from me, Cal. Now you tell me – do I mean that?"
He nodded and must have heard his own words in there. In another lifetime he had once asked her the same thing. Looking back, it was the beginning of the end.
She opened the door to her car and got inside.
"You got even more fierce," he told her with admiration.
"Well, you taught me to be," she replied.
And then they went their separate ways again and continued to live with the broken pieces of a life once shared.
Scenario 2 – The Lightman Group, Washington D.C.
The time of the year was winter, and Cal's mood of the day was in need of improvement. It was only five o'clock, but it was pitch-black outside already and he didn't like it. Actually there was nothing he liked about this particular winter or this particular day.
The door to his office was open, and when he walked in, there she was. In his chair. Like she still belonged to this place.
"Hey Cal," she said with a smile. "Nobody here knows me anymore," she teased.
He tried to breathe, but it was brutal. For a brief second he thought about turning around and maybe trying again in five minutes. When she might have been gone or when he would have been better prepared to handle this. Both illusions, he knew.
He took a deep breath and sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk—there where she used to sit years ago. He studied her face, her smile not telling him anything and his brain not able to decipher it anyway. "I guess nobody who works here today was already with the Group ten years ago."
"You never talk about me?"
He tried not to. Because it almost always broke him. He just smiled her question away and let her find her own answer in his silence.
"It looks different now," she noted, taking in her surroundings.
"Yeah, you know that interior design is one of my passions."
Joking like he always did, but what he felt inside was a whole different story. He actually felt like throwing up. He had thought this was all done and over. All feelings attached to her carefully stored away in a closet he would surely never open up again. (But who was he kidding, really? He basically lived in that closet.)
It had been almost exactly ten years since she fell in love with a guy that wasn't him, said that she would be leaving the Group, and eventually moved to Canada to start a new life.
They never actually had a big fight or parted ways holding a grudge; it simply happened this way. In the beginning, they still stayed in touch, but eventually, it fizzled out. Or at least that's what he made it seem like. He broke ties as a conscious decision on his part, but he still thought about her every damn day. (Minute, second.)
When a wedding invitation arrived at his house a couple of years later, he apologized profusely, telling her that he had already taken an important case in Europe that came with a contractual penalty if he didn't go himself. One that the Group couldn't stem. He even flew to Europe to make the lie seem more plausible (like the expert on lying he was). He spent the time in Italy getting drunk on not even the good stuff and staring aimlessly into the void. Pathetic, really.
After studying his office, she studied him. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, though he really wasn't one to be easily embarrassed. With her, it was a different story, however.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to sound calm but maybe with a little hint of pleading for her to leave.
"I'm visiting a friend—you remember Carrie, right?" she said, putting a strand of hair behind her ear. One of her tells, he remembered that.
He nodded slowly, trying to think of his next move and realizing that thinking was not really a possibility open to him at the moment.
"I'm happy to see the business is still thriving."
"More or less," he replied, knowing that he worked day and night to keep it going. Anything else would have just pushed him down some dark path without her by his side. With more work there was less time to think about her.
"Well, good."
One, two, three, inhale. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, but I have to finish this. It's urgent." He pointed to some paperwork on his desk (which of course was far from urgent). There where she was sitting, and where he had spent the last ten years on his own. "Maybe we can talk another time."
Her features turned into disappointment and he had to look away because he didn't know how to deal with it. "Yeah, yeah, sure," she replied, betraying the emotions on her face.
She got up and walked past him on the way out, a smile on her face that reminded him of happier times. "Good to see you, Cal."
He couldn't in all honesty say the same.
/
When she returned just a couple of minutes later, he had of course not gotten any work done. Instead he had just relived the past in his head, feeling sorry for himself in the process.
This was torture and he started believing that she was doing it on purpose.
"It's raining," she stated as if it was important information, but he only understood the significance when he saw that she had left her umbrella leaning against his desk.
He handed her the umbrella and couldn't help but notice something: no wedding ring.
She looked at him and something about her expression was softer than before. "I'm sorry I just dropped in like that," she said. "I should have called."
"It's okay," he replied, his tone also softened. Maybe they were meeting somewhere in the middle. The one that left and the one that got left behind. "I'm sorry I was so rude."
"I'm staying until Sunday. My number is still the same. You got it, right?"
He nodded. It was actually the only phone number he knew by heart. Dating back to a time when she was the only one he knew by heart. And vice versa.
"Well, I'm still happy to take your calls." The smile that accompanied her words was sincere. It was a whole chapter taken from the book of them.
He always thought their last chapter had already been written, but maybe there was an epilogue yet to come.
/
He grappled with the thought in his mind until he got exhausted. In the end, he made a conscious decision to stop overthinking, a habit that had previously led him into all kinds of bleak situations.
As expected, dialing her number came to him like a reflex. Muscle memory. It had barely been an hour since she left his office.
"You wanna meet at the Crown? They still serve the jerk chicken you used to love."
She said yes without any hesitation.
/
The Crown made you believe it was a bakery in the front, but hidden away in the back was one of the most authentic Caribbean places in the District. Jerk chicken, curried goat, oxtail stew. Nothing about its interior was fancy, but the food had always been divine, and Cal and Gillian had spent enough after-work hours here to still be recognized by the staff after so many years.
Jennifer's smile was warm as she took their orders. "I didn't think I'd see you two here again," she said. Well, neither did he.
Gillian didn't hesitate to go there where it hurt while they were waiting for the food to arrive. "Did you really have a case in Europe when I got married?"
"No," he replied with honesty. There was no point in lying.
"I thought so," she said, her tone suggesting she had already suspected the truth back then.
"I'm sorry. I just couldn't do it."
"I understand," she said, taking a sip of water.
"I went to Italy and got drunk. Worst vacation I ever took." He also banged three different strangers he had picked up in bars in just this one week. He was not going to tell her that, though.
"Sorry about that."
Out of politeness, he waited a couple of moments before putting out his next question into the air between them. "Did you guys break up?" He made a little gesture toward her ringless finger.
"Yeah, about a year ago," she said with a hint of sadness in her voice, but soberly enough for him to understand that she had moved on. "He had an affair."
Cal exhaled dismissively. He had not cheated on her in his head in years. There was not a single woman he had met who could even get close to where she was for him. She was not on a pedestal, no, he had built her a fucking 50 feet monument.
"I'm sorry about that, too," he said. He really was, because he never wanted her to be unhappy.
"Are you with someone?" she wanted to know in return.
"No."
"You're still playing the dating lottery?"
"Nah, haven't done that in a while." Italy had put him off, and being 60 didn't help.
"You became a monk?"
He had to laugh. "Something like that."
The truth was, the God he prayed to every day was her.
/
In front of her hotel, the showdown was supposed to happen. At least if this was a movie.
"I lied to you earlier," she said, confirming what he already knew. "I came back to see you, really. I miss you and I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry that I did." She closed her eyes to take a breath and when she opened them again, a tear escaped. She didn't bother wiping it away and he just watched it roll down her face.
He was speechless, but his heart was racing. He had hoped for this moment for so long, but now what? "I don't know what to say," he replied, feeling the weight of her words.
"Maybe we both need to get some sleep."
"Yeah," he said, looking at her with a mix of hope and uncertainty. He took a deep breath, as if to gather courage. "I'm sorry, but can I hug you?" he asked and realized that it sounded a bit desperate.
She looked surprised and hesitated for a moment, before a warm expression lit up her face again. She nodded.
As he wrapped his arms around her, he felt her warmth and her scent, and all the memories flooded back to him. The ones he had tried to unsuccessfully lock away in the metaphorical closet.
The hug told him everything he needed to know:
a) That time does not in fact heal all wounds.
b) That nothing would ever be the same again.
c) That maybe they could still have a chance.
d) That he will forever be in love with her.
He kissed her cheek gently and relied on his muscle memory to call her number again tomorrow.
Scenario 3 – Georgetown University, Washington D.C.
There he was. Again.
She couldn't help but smile, and he sure as hell would read it as a kind of victory. It's actually one she could grant him, but knowing him, she suspected that he was after more victories than just this one.
He didn't even try to blend in with the students in the lecture hall. And anyway: How could he?
"Question, Dr. Foster," he interrupted her at one point.
"Dr. Lightman," she replied, playing along, "this better be a really good question, because this is a lecture primarily for students."
"Oh, it's a really good question, I promise. What's your take on Peter Monfort's recent criticism on the theory of universal facial expressions? He said—and I quote—that trying to assess internal mental states from external markers is like trying to measure intelligence in inches."
He seemed pleased with himself for asking that question. But she knew that in reality he was pissed at the guy who had been trying to take apart his research in recent years. A fellow Brit after all—even worse.
"Well, I believe that concluding that the theory on universal expressions is wrong on the basis of just a few counterexamples is an overstatement. A culture with a slightly different idea of what constitutes an angry face doesn't negate the entire theory. Most people can recognize an angry face when they see it, don't they, Dr. Lightman?"
She saw the pleasure on his face for playing along. "Oh yes, they do, Dr. Foster, they certainly do."
/
After the lecture, he approached her at the front, smiling that familiar smile that used to make her heart race.
It had been three years since their romantic involvement had ended, two years since their business relationship had as well. Amicably, mostly. He had been on a mission to win her back ever since. Every couple of months, he casually danced into her life again and tried something new. He was quite creative with it; she had to give him that.
After a while she began to understand how he used to end up in bed with Zoe again and again after their divorce. He could be charming like that, persistent.
As she packed up her teaching materials, she asked, "Did you learn something new?"
"From you? Always. I liked your take on Monfort. He's written me yet another email that makes me want to set my whole computer on fire."
"God, I hope you two never meet. Somebody will lose an eye or two and never be able to spot emotions again."
Cal grinned, amused by her remark, until he finally stated his real business. "I was just wondering whether you wanted to go for a coffee."
She let out a sigh, feeling somewhat guilty. "Cal, we've been there."
"It's a no, right? Just for clarification."
"It's a no, Cal," she replied, her voice softening, because sometimes she actually felt bad for him for trying again and again and hitting the stone wall that was her.
/
A couple of dances-into-her-life later, however, they ended up together in bed again. Damn, she thought. She wanted to be stronger than that. But damn, he also knew all the right spots to make her squirm under his touch. No regrets.
They lay next to each other face to face after quite frankly phenomenal sex, and she sensed by looking at his face that he was about to say something weighty. Up until here, everything had been light and playful, but apparently things were about to change.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "but I can't live without you. I would if I was able to."
"Did you tell Zoe the same when you landed back in bed with her?"
He looked almost sad about this remark. "No, I didn't." No joke or quip—he really was hurt.
She reached out and gently touched his bare chest to say sorry, but his features remained thoughtful.
"I've been working on myself," he said eventually, and she wondered whether he finally took the leap of faith into therapy. "Not for you. For me. So I could be the person you would maybe want to be with."
She admired his effort and his unwavering belief in their love. "Cal," she said softly, continuing to trace shapes on his skin. Their breakup wasn't just his fault. She had done a lot of thinking about this, too. "I have to learn that love isn't about rescuing someone. Wanting to fix parts of your partner isn't the basis of a relationship."
He smiled reassuringly. "Would still be better if there wasn't so much to fix to begin with."
She chuckled, and he did too.
"So, where do we go from here?" she wanted to know, without having an answer herself.
"Preferably nowhere at all. Let's just stay here forever."
She gazed into his eyes, realizing that she had not thought about how fascinating they were in a long time.
Scenario 4 – George Washington University Hospital, Washington D.C.
She was the last person he ever expected when he opened his eyes. A few failed attempts to focus first, but he didn't need to rely on his vision to know it was her. He would have picked her out in a lineup blindfolded; one in a million.
Every inch of him ached—body, mind, and soul.
He only realized that she had been holding his hand when she took it away to wipe some sweat from his forehead. Her touch was home and would always be, no matter what happened, no matter what will.
Then her hand returned to his, and she squeezed it gently. "You had a heart attack. Do you remember?"
It was a blur. He remembered getting out of his car. Then all he could think back to was fear consuming him like he had never felt before. She might have seen the remnants of that fear in his eyes and squeezed his hand again a little more firmly. "You're gonna be okay. They gave you a pacemaker, it all went fine."
He swallowed, and some taste of the end washed away. "Thanks for coming," he managed to say, but speaking was hard and strenuous, so he wasn't sure if any of the words were actually intelligible. She helped him drink some water and settle back into the pillow.
"I'm still listed as your next of kin," she said with a tender smile. "Did you just forget?"
A good question. An excellent question even. Always a strength of hers. "I'd assumed, you'd put me off life support faster than anybody else. Which might be good."
Her little laugh was made of genuine amusement, the skin around her eyes wrinkling. "I actually have no intention of killing you. Never had."
Astonishing, he had to admit. When the company had failed financially, a lot of other things in his life had as well. He had made some poor choices, alcohol being one of them. And that had led to even poorer choices. Her being a victim of those.
"I'm sorry they called you."
"I'm glad they did."
He wasn't really sorry, he was glad as well. While his heart tried to find a rhythm worthy of life again, his head tried to find ways to be worthy of her love again. It was the rotten root of everything that had happened—him believing that he was not. But perspectives change (literally) when you're lying down; on a bed, monitors beeping, and the air smelling of something that could very well have been the end.
"Do you want me to stay?"
"Would you?"
She nodded and smiled.
He fell asleep with the thought of her on his mind. Actually something he was quite familiar with.
Scenario 5 – Newport, Rhode Island
She had arrived on her own. He hadn't. Good for him.
During the ceremony, Gillian desperately tried to focus on Emily and her husband-to-be, but instead her eyes kept wandering over to Cal in the front row. Proud, happy and a little sad at the same time. She knew him well enough to sense his emotions, even without seeing his face.
At the wedding reception later on, they were seated far apart from each other. Emily had probably done so on purpose. But every now and then, Gillian caught a glimpse of Cal and his female companion. His arm draped over the back of her chair, smiling, nudging her shoulder, kissing. She had no right to, but she still kept looking. Intruding. Imagining. A hint of regret always tearing at her heart.
It went like this all evening until she had to get away.
/
Breathe in, breathe out, a breeze of cool air on her face. She had gone outside after dinner and now she wasn't sure whether she really wanted to return to the party. Simply leaving without any kind of goodbye to Emily seemed like an unfriendly gesture, though. Cowardly also.
She debated it in her head, looking out at the little lake that was lit up with lanterns. How utterly romantic. Like in all of those romance novels she had given up. The last one that she never got around to finish, abandoned in the drawer of her nightstand.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice him approach until he stood beside her, looking out at the lake as well.
"Congratulations on becoming a father-in-law," she said softly, breaking the silence.
He snorted a little with laughter. "The guy doesn't know what he got himself into. Surely Thanksgivings with Zoe and me are no fun, and now he gets to do it every year."
Zoe, and him, and his girlfriend, she thought. He turned to her a little, but she honestly didn't know if she could look him in the eye.
"You didn't say hi, so I thought I'd catch you out here."
Embarrassment rose up inside of her, right into her cheeks. "Sorry I…I didn't want to disturb you guys." Breathe in, breathe out. "What's her name?" She didn't really want to know, but it was the polite thing to ask. Putting a name to her face and the way he had kissed her at the table earlier, was just making it unnecessarily harder.
"Ariana." He fell silent for a bit before speaking again. "I would leave her for you in a heartbeat, you know."
Boom. Right into her already confused and heavy heart. His blows always hit the hardest—probably because they used to be so close. And he always knew where to aim the metaphorical punch at.
"Don't say that." She shook her head as if to shake his words out of it by doing so. She still hadn't looked him directly in the eye and felt like she never possibly could again.
"Well, it's just the truth." It was followed by a shoulder shrug that she could detect from the corner of her eye.
"Let's not go there," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cal sighed. "I wish I had never gone there. Telling you how I really feel about you and then it all falling apart afterwards was my biggest fear. I wish I hadn't. It was better to just love you from afar, but have you in my life as my friend, than to not have you at all."
His words cut deep, leaving her heart burning with confusion and regret. A burning sensation that would probably stay with her for a couple of hours. Or years, who knows.
There was nothing to be said in return and he knew it, too. "Did you take lessons from Loker in Radical Honesty?", she asked, side-stepping what he had really said and putting back on her protective armor.
He just shrugged his shoulders again. "It's not like there's anything left to lose."
She tried so hard to control her body, but after this, some tears escaped her eyes and it was impossible to hide. "Sorry," she apologized out of reflex and he handed her a tissue that he had probably saved from the ceremony earlier.
"It's okay," he said, offering her a gentle smile.
She thanked him and blew her nose, still embarrassed and more than anything else confused by her own feelings. She had been the one who had decided to leave him after all. She had been the one who had thought that them was not a very good idea. And now she was ruining it all over again.
"This is supposed to be a happy day, sorry about that," she said, trying to compose herself.
"Well, it can be both happy and sad. Like most things in life," he said, looking out at the lake. Gillian remembered the both of them standing on the roof of The Lightman Group in the heart of Washington D.C., when everything was similar but different. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact, that they were both in fact the same people.
"Cal?" a voice inquired behind them and they both turned around. It was Ariana, who looked a little puzzled, but then changed her expression to a warm smile directed at Cal. "Emily needs you for a family picture before you're drunk."
He chuckled. "I'll be there in a minute."
Ariana went back inside and Cal turned toward Gillian. "Well, if you ever feel like there's a chance again, call me. Or write. Or send an airplane pulling a banner."
She met his gaze for the first time, feeling a lump form in her throat.
"You can also call if there's not a chance. For old times' sake."
With that he left and went on to take a picture that she could have been part of if she had chosen to be. Perhaps she would call him someday, but for now, she just stood there, breathing in the cool night air and contemplating what it would cost to hire an airplane.
Scenario 6 – Paris, France
In the city of love, his heart ached like never before.
It took him five days to finally ring her doorbell somewhere in the 14th Arrondissement. It only took her five seconds to open the door and stare at him in disbelief. This was already harder than he ever had imagined it to be. And he really had imagined this a lot.
He had prepared a couple of openings; none of which he could remember now. So while he just stared back at her, trying to concentrate on anything that wasn't the freakin' pain in his chest that made it almost impossible to breathe, it was her who took the lead instead.
"What are you doing here?" she asked with concern etched on her face. As if it had just been five minutes since they last spoke and not five years. He still knew her—or at least he thought he did. Something about her, about this felt familiar, but of course everything was different. Nothing would ever be the same again.
"I'd like to say that I was in the neighborhood, but I flew 3,800 miles just to see you." His voice broke at the end of the sentence, but he didn't mind. With it, about a million emotions escaped from his body and it actually felt like the kind of relief he had needed for a long time.
He could see that he was worrying her, though. "Is Emily okay?" she wanted to know.
"Yeah, yeah, she is fine," he replied swiftly.
She took a small step forward and touched his arm lightly. Electricity. Fireworks. Love. "Are you okay?"
He could hear his own blood rushing through his veins. Why? Why would she still care? He felt unworthy of her concern, because he sure as hell didn't deserve it. It wasn't his right to come here, to be here, and even less to be the subject of her concern.
"Yeah," he said, and without hesitation she invited him into her cozy French home to catch up on five years of lost time.
/
At some point, there was a hug in her kitchen, a couple of tears escaping the corner of the eye, and truths that were both sweet and harsh.
"I love you," he whispered in her ear. "I love you so much that I love that you didn't speak to me in five years." His desperation was as big as his admiration for her.
"I don't hate you, you know," she replied softly. "I never did."
/
Later that night, he made love to her like it was the first time (which it was) and also the last time (which it probably was as well, he thought). All of it tinged with an overwhelming sense of bittersweetness.
She was even more stunning than he remembered, and he couldn't help but wonder if his memory had somehow diminished her beauty over the years, shielding him from the full force of his longing. A defense mechanism of his brain to make it hurt a little less. If that was even possible, because it surely had hurt like hell anyway.
As their bodies moved together in ease and harmony, he felt regret. Not about the moment, but regret about all the time lost, regret that he had been too foolish to make things work, and regret that this moment would be fleeting. And yet with her body pressed against his, he enjoyed what they had, however brief it may be.
/
When the sun rose outside, he curled up behind her and held her close. He knew she was awake, but he didn't know what to say. In the past, he would have filled the silence with a meaningless quip, but he had learned the value of being comfortable in silence. Progress maybe. After all, he had made it through five and a half therapy sessions about four years ago.
Some lazy minutes later, accompanied by the loud ticking of the wooden clock on her nightstand, her index finger traced over the tattooed 'G' on his arm. A simple letter taken from a language of the past; just below the other letters and numbers that meant something to him.
"Who's G?" she asked, and made it sound like it was a real question.
"Most amazing person I've ever met." Damn, it hurt to say it.
She just let out a small whimper in return.
"Also stands for 'Greatest idiot on earth', just in case I forget," he added. "That would be me."
"I can't argue against that."
"Nobody can."
They lay there in silence for a while longer, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies and the peacefulness of the morning. How can one make a moment last forever? He would have liked to have this one tattooed on his arm as well.
/
He was supposed to leave Paris the very same day they woke up together. When he told her, she just shook her head and gave him a half-smile that conveyed both amusement and disappointment. He had no doubt that she thought of him as brilliant and very, very stupid at the same time.
She asked him if he wanted to have breakfast with her at a nearby café, and he would have done anything with her, just to breathe in her presence a little longer, but this option sounded especially lovely. They were seated on the sidewalk of a charming little street with the warm sun gently kissing their faces, and he watched as she effortlessly ordered for the both of them in perfect French.
"You actually sound happier when you're speaking French," he observed after the waiter was gone.
"I am happier here," she responded, and he felt both elated and guilty at the same time. It was a reminder of what he had done to her and the pain he had caused.
/
They stood in front of the security check, lost in the limbo between their hurtful past and an unknown future that might be theirs or might be not.
He couldn't bring himself to kiss her goodbye, not wanting to impose himself in her life once again without a clear invitation.
Instead, he held her tight, imprinting the feeling of her body against his and the scent of her hair in his mind. Saving a copy of this physical and emotional sensation to retrieve it again and again from his memories. It might never happen again. This or her delicate fingers touching his bare chest, the wrinkles around her eyes coming out because of something funny he said, the sound of happiness in her French voice.
"Bye," he said, reluctantly letting go and picking up his bag to leave. He could have said sorry again, but he put all the apologies for who he was and what he had done to her in the letter he had left on her kitchen counter somewhere in the 14th Arrondissement. There was not much more to add.
As he walked away, he couldn't resist the urge to turn back and look at her. She hadn't moved an inch.
He took a few steps back towards her. He had to know if there was a chance. "Would it be okay if I came back?"
She hesitated for a moment before nodding. It was something.
THE END