"Goodnight," Gillian offered quietly as she put the light out, avoiding his eye and turning on her side to sleep.

"Night," Cal murmured, staring up at the ceiling, shifting the cover to dispel a little pocket of air that made his skin tingle. Three days practically of silence. Not the silent treatment, but just, not talking much. The funeral was yesterday and it was all very respectable and sombre; Dana was all about appearances. Matthew and Kate's kids cried. They were all teenagers now and Arianna got up with her sister and brother and said a few words about what a nice Granddad they had. Lewis was crying and Owen was probably more fascinated by why everyone was wearing black and acting upset, than understating what was going on. Gillian held him in her lap, murmuring in his ear but Cal had no idea what she said. He felt like an outsider. He'd never felt like he was looking in before.

Beside him, Gillian sighed and settled again on the mattress, turning over to her back, mimicking Cal's position. After they had taken Owen off the breathing monitor they stayed awake at night listening for his breaths on the baby monitor. After they took away the baby monitor, Cal used to get up a few times in the night to check on him. Now that he was three, the fear had lessened, but when Cal felt unsettled, he still got up to check on the boys. He did that now, quietly slipping out of the main bedroom and padding down the hall. Lewis had had a night light but Owen didn't and Cal suspected that was because Lewis had been alone but Owen had his big brother. Lewis was facing the wall and Cal could barely see him up on the top bunk. Owen was curled up in a ball around his pillow. Cal straightened the covers a little and brushed his hand against his boy's warm cheek, feeling a pang of emotion welling up in his stomach. He waited a moment, listening to both of them breathing and then pulled the door closed on the way out.

Gillian was not asleep when Cal came back and he wanted to talk to her or hold her but she hadn't let him in the last few days and really, he was still waiting for her cue that she wanted his comfort, or to let him back in. He understood, people grieved in their own way. With Lily it had been different because he had been right there with her and this time, well he had already buried his father so he wasn't exactly in the same place as she was right now and he got all that, he did, but he also missed her and he also felt useless. And he wondered what he was meant to do.

Within seconds of settling once again in bed, Gillian was on him, pressing her lips against his. Cal was surprised and still for a moment, until he felt her hand sliding down his body, stroking along the length of him. He jerked a little and dislodged her mouth. She shifted to his jaw. "Gill," he groaned out. 'What are you doin'?' He grabbed her hand and pulled it away and she gave a displeased squeak in her throat but she didn't give up teasing his skin with her teeth. "Gill," Cal tried again, pushing her away gently.

"Shh," Gillian responded softly. She found his mouth in the dark once more, sliding over his waist to straddle him.

Cal gave a little huff and tried to hold on to some clarity. But she was good and she knew exactly how to distract him and for a long moment he was giving in... he was giving in... and... "Gill," he tried again. "No." This wasn't right.

"Make love to me Cal," Gillian's voice was thin against his cheek and she pushed down with her hips and it wasn't fair. So wasn't fair.

Cal tipped her to the side, knocking her back to the mattress, but he was on her within a second, pressing kisses down her throat and chest, biting her breast, making her squirm beneath him. He knew all the ways too. He knew all the ways to make her forget and he did, sliding against her so slowly and carefully and then faster until it was almost too much and he forgot too. Her fingernails scratched at his lower back as she clung on to him and when she finally stopped shaking she held him for a moment longer.

Cal kicked himself. So much for being there for her; so much for being the one in control right now. He pressed a kiss against her damp hairline and tried to take some of his weight back on his arms but she clung tighter. "Don't go," she murmured. Cal dug his arm behind her shoulders, embracing her against his chest, pressing his cheek against hers, so his face was smothered by her hot hair. He waited. And then his arms started to ache and this time he really did move away, just to the side, so he was lying beside her, still holding her, still kissing her gently, hoping that he could make her feel loved and connected and not like her world had shattered recently.

"Talk to me," Cal murmured, smoothing a hand along her cheek, repeating the movement to push back the hair from her warm skin.

"That was great."

Cal smirked a little. "Not what I meant."

"I know," Gillian sighed but Cal could hear the tightness of her voice. She was smiling, or trying not to. "But still."

"Magic," Cal whispered.

Gillian snuggled closer and Cal had to throw back the blanket so he didn't black out from the smothering heat. He held his wife firmly, her sticky skin against his; he could feel his heart warming to the situation. They had made love and were talking more than two words in a sentence and Gillian was actually smiling again. That was a good thing. "My Dad," she started.

"I know," Cal cut in. And he did know. Suddenly he realised he knew. Her childhood, her whole life, had been scarred and while sometimes she might have been able to cover that up and forget for just a little while, Cal knew, scars never truly disappeared, they just faded. They were always there. Sometimes it was possible to forget but other times there were rude remembrances. He had his fair share of scars.

"Fuck," Gillian whispered and Cal felt her shudder and heard her sob and thought 'finally'. He let her cry on him, wetting his skin with her tears. He didn't know the entire ins and outs of it, but he knew some of the stories; when her father was too drunk to walk straight. When she'd made decisions to not get in the car with him and walk Matthew to school. How she had tried to talk to her mother. How he had slept drunkenly through many birthdays. How he was just never there. At one time she thought he was having an affair; and he was, with a bottle. How he had struck her mother once. How her mother refused to acknowledge anything, how she refused to talk about anything. How Gillian and Matthew used to hide in the backyard in a little hut they'd made, with a gap in the fence that led to the neighbours place so they could break out, just in case they needed it; their emergency escape hatch. The relief Gillian felt when she could finally leave and go to college; the guilt she felt at leaving Matthew behind; the relief when her mother finally kicked her father out; the guilt that Matthew had been there to witness it. How her mother despised her for leaving, for having the strength, for understanding more about drinking problems than she did.

Cal held his wife until his arms ached and still didn't let go. He didn't say anything, just let her cry; he had no idea what to say anyway. Words were not a requirement. When she started to sniff and blubber a little Cal leaned over her to retrieve tissues from the box on the table beside the bed. Gillian took them and Cal heard the rustle of paper over skin; his chest and her nose. He shifted on to his back, letting the blood flow back into other parts of his body, his skin tingling without the warmth of her pressed so tightly. His heart felt heavy for her. And he murmured that he was sorry.

"I'm sorry," Gillian echoed.

"What for?"

"Crying all over you."

"That's a legal requirement in marriage."

"Funny, I don't remember reading that in our marriage license."

"Was in the small print." Cal felt the shift of Gillian's arm as she threw the tissues to the floor and leaned against him again. "I'm sorry Gill," Cal smoothed his fingers up her arm.

"I don't even know how to feel about it."

Cal waited for her to go on. This was out of his depth, this touchy feely type of conversation. He needed Gillian to lead it.

"My whole childhood... and then... Mom kicking him out... and I thought..." she paused a little. "And then him and Mom reconciling..."

At least his family history was black and white, Cal thought to himself. It was a lot less complicated than Gillian's. His mother had killed herself. There wasn't any confusion about that; there was no way she could rectify that. Cal stroked his wife's arm again.

"I have to tell you something."

"All right," Cal agreed, focussing once again on her. That sounded ominous.

"Mom told me... Dad was... drinking again."

"Oh darlin'," Cal murmured. Drink induced stroke? Could be a very real possibility.

"I think she wanted me to do something you know? I don't know what. I didn't know what to do when she told me."

That could also explain why she didn't call Gillian first.

"Wait," Cal interrupted gently. "When was this?"

There was a pause before Gillian answered. "A few months ago," she admitted weakly.

"A few months ago!" Cal repeated surprised.

"Six months ago."

"Six months! Gill!" He started and then his mind cottoned on to another implication. "Fuck Gillian our boys went ova there! They stayed with your parents." He sat up, Gillian falling away abruptly. "How could you? When he was drunk?"

"He wasn't drunk," Gillian offered meekly. "I said he was drinking. He had it under control."

"He's a fuckin' alcoholic Gillian!" Cal spat. "He can't control it. By definition!" Cal dug his hand through his hair, feeling the edge of the scar on his temple. "I can't believe you. You knew and you let our children go ova there?" He turned to her, eyes accusing even in the dark. His heart was beating uncomfortably. "God anythin' could have happened."

"Mom was there the whole time. She never left them alone with him."

"Not the fuckin' point. It's our job to protect them. I would neva have let him in this house if I knew he was drinkin' again."

"I know," Gillian responded softly. She was sitting too now, beside him, but not touching. Cal could see her head hung low, ashamed in the deepest way. He wanted to tell her she was stupid and she had betrayed him. He wanted to scream at her for being weak and for exposing their children to all the shit in the world before he had a chance to prepare them for it and then a little voice told him it wasn't always that easy. It wasn't black and white.

"You lied to me."

"I didn't," Gillian's head came up.

"No you did," Cal told her firmly, feeling sick. "You kept somethin' from me that was important. On purpose." And he wanted to add that she always did this to him. She shut him out when he really should be there for her the most and New York came to mind and he was afraid and he knew she was upset, grieving and he should be supportive but... God... she did this to him. Things happened to Cal, but Gillian did this to him, on purpose.

"Cal, let's talk about it. I can explain."

"No I don't wanna hear your explanation," Cal spit out. It was like he wasn't even talk to Gillian anymore and he thought about going to sleep on the couch. He really was so very tempted but he had never done that. Ever. And he wasn't going to start now because, while he was pissed off, freaking livid with her right now, he didn't want to shit on their marriage. It was in the past, and her father was dead, and no one was worse off, except maybe Gillian, and him too now because she had done this to them...

Cal threw himself back down on the mattress. He couldn't believe it. He really couldn't. It just did not sit right. How could she? How did she even think she could justify it?

"You're not going to talk?" Gillian asked meekly, trying to fight back but knowing she had no legs to stand on and nothing for support. And Cal realised, if her mother had told her about David's drinking it was because she had wanted help, or support in some way and Gillian had not done that either. It was all very messed up and most certainly warranted a discussion. But... but... he was fucked off with her.

"Not right now," Cal answered tightly, his throat burning with all the horrible things he wanted to say but would never allow himself to utter. Once they were said, there was no way to take them back. "Let me sleep on it. So I'm not so fuckin' angry." He took a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice was calmer, he was more in control. "I need to sleep on it Gill. We'll talk tomorrow." And he closed his eyes and turned his back on her and that felt bad enough but was necessary. He felt the mattress shift as she laid herself down too and then there was a deathly, tense kind of silence and Cal felt the need to get up to check on the boys again, to remind himself that they were just fine.