The little room behind the reception desk smelt like hot chemicals and Cal thought again that they should have a window in there. Poor Kim must be completely intoxicated going in there to pick up the printing when it was really going for it. To be fair, they lived in an almost paperless world. If something was printed out it was a rarity considering everyone had a tablet these days or a phone that was capable of a back rub and a cup of coffee in the morning. But Cal was a little bit old school and so he was blasting the copier with his massive printing incentive because having a physical copy just felt right. Normally, gathering the printing and binding it was Kim's job but this was actually a personal project.

Once the printer finally whirred to a stop and the room went quiet, Cal pulled the last twenty pages from the tray and flipped them over. He went to the punch and cut the holes, then threaded the end of the book onto the stack already on the binder and placed the back cover on the very top. He closed the spirals and picked up the entire hefty weight. There was something satisfying about holding a tangible copy of his work. A bit like the first day he'd opened the box to pull out his FACS manuals; or the first time he'd held his baby. Cal studied the cover and felt a little pang of nerves. Then he headed out of the copy room and out into the hallway.

He'd picked this day specifically because Gillian was here. Five year old Owen had started school and Gillian was back at the Lightman Group every day, albeit she finished the day earlier to get the boys from school. But she was back. That was the point. And Cal felt better for that. He liked having her close. He always had.

She was at her desk when he found her, working on the mound that tended to pile up when she was busy being a mother; the stuff she didn't delegate away. She gave Cal a smile when he came in and then a curious second glance when she noticed what was in his hands. Cal gave the tomb to her and she looked at the title page, then back up at him, surprised. "What's this?'

"I wrote a book."

"Another one?"

"Yeah."

"You've been bitten by the writing bug."

Cal gave a slight grin. He sat on the edge of her desk, facing her. "You rememba when I hurt my head?"

"Yes," her light demeanour faded quickly.

"Do you rememba before that? I was writin' a book?"

Gillian looked away to recall. "I remember you said you were writing one, but that was after you came home from the hospital. You didn't mention it to me before hand."

"Well that's it there," Cal indicated the manuscript she was now resting against the edge of her desk.

"This is the book?" Gillian looked up at him, surprised again.

"Yeah."

"You finished it?"

"Obviously."

Gillian gave him a disapproving expression. "What I meant to say was 'when did you finish this?' I didn't see you writing?"

Cal gave a slightly sheepish response. "What do you think I do in my office all day?"

"I'm not sure I want to know," Gillian responded dryly. "Working I had hoped."

"Nah no one round here really needs my help."

"They do," Gillian insisted.

"Occasionally," Cal countered. "So I wrote instead."

Gillian looked at the book in her hands. "What am I doing with it?" She asked gently, already knowing the answer but looking for confirmation.

"I want you to read it," Cal told her. "First."

"Does your agent know about this?" Gillian raised her eyebrows slightly, and a hand, bringing it to rest on the cover sheet, over his name.

"Not yet. Actually," Cal stood again. "Wasn't sure I was gonna pass it on."

"Why not?" Gillian was surprised once more.

"Well you read it and see," Cal told her heading for the door.

PJ

Cal finished his teeth and rinsed his mouth out with water by scooping it from the running tap into his hand. He turned off the faucet and wiped his mouth and headed for the door, flipping out the light. Gillian was propped up in bed, his manuscript on her knees, her glasses perched on her nose. She'd ignored it for a few days, or not found the time to start, but within twenty-four hours she was hooked. She hadn't put it down since then. Which Cal supposed was a good thing. He could see by the weighting of the paper that she was practically finished. He got into bed beside her and leaned over to press a kiss against her temple. She gave him a half-hearted 'hm' but continued to read avidly.

That was probably a really good thing, when Cal thought about it, that she was so absorbed in the words; she knew how the story ended. He'd had no idea what he was supposed to be writing about before his accident. The first ten pages had sort of rambled on about nothing in particular and Cal couldn't work out from his notes what his point had been. They were written in a code he could no longer decipher. So he changed tact. The first ten pages had talked a bit about his past, so he went on. He talked about his past and his present, essentially telling the story of his life. But in a non-autobiographical way. He wasn't out to write a history, merely observations from his life. What he had learnt the hard way. What had inspired him to look into micro-expressions. What it meant to be a father. A good one. And a husband.

Which is why he wanted Gillian to read the book first. Because it was so personal. It wasn't just about him but her too and their kids. He didn't alter the truth but there were some things glossed over, and others not in any way. He wasn't even sure how Zoe or Emily would take it. There were things in there he wasn't entirely proud of doing. But the manuscript was more about how he had made up for those mistakes.

Cal grabbed the newspaper from his bedside table and also slipped his reading glasses on. He hardly ever got to read the paper. Mostly the news he got were information blurbs on his phone; snappy little updates about the really important things. There would probably come a day when newspapers went out of print. Cal hoped that wasn't in his lifetime. Reading the paper reminded him of his father, who would always go through the weekend edition on a Sunday morning at the breakfast table while eating marmalade toast and drinking milky tea. Before heading down to the pub.

Cal had just folded the paper into a readable section when Gillian practically launched herself at him, crushing his arms beneath her chest and crumpling the paper. He was about to complain when he realised she was hugging him awfully fiercely. He relaxed his grip on the paper, letting it go and tried to shift to hug his wife. She wasn't making it easy. Instead she pulled away and stared at him through her glasses and he could see she had tears in her eyes.

Uh oh.

Cal opened his mouth but Gillian beat him to words. "It was amazing."

Cal's eyebrows went up in surprise. He pulled his glasses off, not liking how they distorted her face. "It was so amazing," Gillian went on. "So." She stopped to search for the right word and Cal waited. But it seemed she couldn't and so her eyes met his again. "I really loved it." She wiggled a little to get closer and pressed a kiss against his lips before resting against his chest again. "You have such a way with words Cal."

"It was all right then?" Cal noted.

Gillian nodded. "Yeah," she agreed with meaning. "Are you going to send it to your agent?"

"I wasn't sure," Cal admitted. "She doesn't know I wrote it."

Gillian looked a little surprised at that. "Then why did you?"

He gave a shrug. "I found I'd started somethin' a while ago, before the accident. But I called my agent afta the accident, to tell her there might be a bit of a delay gettin' it, but she said I didn't have any books due so..."

"And she didn't infer that there...?"

"I guess not," Cal responded.

"Are you going to give it to her?"

Cal watched her for a moment, trying to deduce how his wife felt about that. She waited him out. "I'm not sure," Cal admitted.

"How come?"

"It's very... personal."

"It is," Gillian agreed slowly. "It's also incredibly insightful and so beautifully written."

Cal watched her again. Was she saying 'yes'? Was he even really asking for her permission? "What do you think?" Cal finally just asked directly.