A/N: For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue.

Sorry for the delay. I hope the long chapter makes up for it. This is the counterpart to the previous chapter, namely Gillian dealing with the aftermath and further revelations it brings along.

Thank you to the handful of people who are still reading this and leaving reviews that make my little writer's heart very happy. That includes the lovely guest reviewer. Thank you for your constant reviews and kind comments. It's very much appreciated.

Roadrunnerz: Thanks for being my sounding board.

The usual disclaimer applies (see prologue).

- Gill: Part One -

Gillian is drifting in and out of a dreamless sleep. The dreams only come when she scratches the surface of waking up. A blinding light, followed by a torrid heat that burns her skin and a blast wave that makes it impossible to breathe. She loses her grip and is in free fall, her body being flung through the air. It has to be a dream, hasn't it? A nightmare. Those horrible images can't be real.

When she eventually wakes up, it takes her a while to become adjusted to what she sees due to a vicious headache. Mainly, she sees white. White walls, white bed linens that are not her own. The only color comes from a picture at the wall that Gillian never would have chosen for her apartment. A slight wave of nausea and panic floods through her. Where is she? She feels but also hears her pulse quicken and only then notices the small device at her finger that monitors it. A hospital. She is in a hospital. Gillian calms down until another thought hits her that is worse than the physical pain. Cal. It wasn't a dream. The explosion and her free fall actually happened. Where is he? She looks around. It is a one-bed room; the doctors obviously want her to have her peace. There is no evidence that Cal is or was here. Save that she could swear he was even if Gillian can't link her assumption to anything specific.

Merely looking around has exhausted her. It's not only her head that hurts. Her entire body feels as if she was run over by a truck. Gillian lays her head back down on the pillow, fear raising its ugly head. What if she is wrong? What if Cal wasn't here? What if he didn't make it? But when she inhales, she smells it. Parts of the pillow, right next to her face, smell smoky, mixed with a faint scent of Cal. So he was here when she was asleep. Her heart skips a beat in relief. Cal is alive.

The more Gillian wakes up, the more the thoughts keep rushing in. What exactly happened? Is Cal hurt? Did Jack have to intervene? And moreover, what is she supposed to tell regarding the explosion? There was no time to get their stories straight and someone will ask her about it soon, now that she is awake. Maybe she should pretend that she is still asleep, but this would only delay the inevitable. Gillian hates feeling so tired and weak. She would like to get up, instead, and look for Cal or at least call Jack, but both of it implies the risk of linking them to what happened and she can't do that. More thoughts that make her head hurt even worse.

There is a knock at the door. Cal wouldn't knock. Here she goes.

Cal had been sleeping one or two hours in an uncomfortable position next to Gillian – half-crouched, half-lying. When he woke up, his body felt as if it was on fire. He should have asked the maybe-it-was-a-real-doctor from the previous night for more painkillers. The man apparently had been under the delusion that Cal would do what anybody else would do, namely go home and take care of himself. Well, he is in a hospital. It should be no problem to get more painkillers. That would require at least some explanation on his part, though, and Cal doesn't want his name in the files of any hospital currently. There is a reason why Terry is leaving the country right now and why they agreed not to get in touch with each other for some time. Their involvement has to remain under the radar. There can't be any traces.

When he woke up, Gillian still was sleeping next to him, drug-induced and oblivious of a harsh reality she would be confronted with soon enough. Cal envied her. She looked so peaceful in her sleep. If it hadn't been for the bruises, there would have been no indication that something bad had happened to her. He caressed her cheek, brushing away a strand of hair gently before he bent down to kiss her temple despite the vehement protests of his aching back. Driving home to get some rest and take some painkillers would have been the responsible thing to do in terms of taking care of himself, but it comes as no surprise that taking care of himself was the last thing on Cal's mind. Unless Gillian has woken up and he has gotten a chance to talk to her, he won't leave. So he decided to get some tea instead.

The idea was to kill two birds with one stone. Get some tea and avoid contact with the hospital staff, if possible. Since medical rounds usually take place very early, Cal assumed that it was about time when he sneaked out of Gillian's room. And he was right. When he comes back, the doctors are just leaving. He craves for asking them about Gillian's injuries, but they most likely wouldn't provide information, anyway, since he is no relative. His phone vibrates again. Jack already called him twice while he was getting his tea. Strictly speaking, it's not his phone. Jack lent him his cell along with his car and keeps calling him from his landline. He probably hoped that Cal would return cell and car before work, whatever Captain America does for a living. Cal ignores the call just as he ignored the previous ones. Jack is the least of his worries. He will deal with him later.

Cal approaches Gillian's room when he notices two women who suspiciously look like detectives walking down the hallway in his direction or rather the direction of Gillian's room. Faking innocence, he walks past them, trying not to limp. Just a random visitor. When the younger one eyes him warily even so, he winks at her. She is an attractive woman after all. They both are. She smirks and makes an imperceptible move so that he catches a glimpse of her gun. Mine is bigger than yours. Then the women stop in front of Gillian's room, knock and go in as he assumed. However, Cal expects them to come out again immediately because Gillian is still asleep, but they don't. The upside is that this means Gillian woke up. The downside is that the detectives are able to interrogate her as a possible eye witness. They didn't have a chance to get their stories straight. Let alone that Gillian doesn't even know he is alive.

Worry and guilt almost prompt Cal to go inside and interrupt whatever is happening there right now. Then he remembers his and Gillian's encounter before the explosion and decides against it. Chances are that his appearance would make things worse, and all the more, he won't underestimate Gillian another time. She can handle this on her own.

"Dr. Foster," the older one of the two women approaches Gillian. "I am Detective Wallowski and this is my partner Detective Torres." Both women show her their badges and nod to her with the typical disinterested politeness of someone who is used to talking to people who more often than not don't want to talk to them. Gillian wishes they would leave. The doctors didn't ask any question during the medical round aside from how she was feeling. This will be different. She considers telling the detectives to leave because she isn't up to this. It wouldn't even be a lie, but it also would be of no use in the long run. They would come back later and she already has a plan how to handle the situation, at least for starters. A plan that doesn't require that she has to talk to Cal first.

"We want to talk to you about the explosion." They name the address of the building and the images come back. Fire. Smoke. Gillian remembers yelling Cal's name. Cal... No, she can't go there yet. First things first. "We understand that you were there when it happened and that the explosion is responsible for your injuries. Why were you there?"

"There was an explosion?" She fakes shock and surprise. Hopefully enough to be convincing.

The detectives bandy looks but ignore her question otherwise. No word about other people who were injured or killed. No word about possible suspects. Even if Cal survived, he still is in danger. The explosion might have eliminated his enemy, but the fact that you could classify his actions as morally justified – albeit in a very broad sense because can there ever be a justification for killing people? – it doesn't make them legal. Self-defense is legal but not luring others into a trap to kill them. If it ever comes out that Cal is the one responsible, he is facing life. Gillian closes her eyes. She was so busy to find out what Cal's plans were and how she could save him that she didn't spare a thought about the legal consequences until now.

The two women interpret her reaction as an indication of her poor physical condition. "It won't take long. Just tell us what you remember, especially if you saw someone there, so that we can leave you alone and you can get the rest you need to recover from your injuries," Detective Wallowski explains eagerly.

It doesn't sound as if they consider the possibility that she arranged the explosion. Gillian saw her purse earlier; someone put it down beside her bed. That's why everyone knows her name and profession. She carries business cards. Even if they don't suspect her, though, they must be suspicious as to what she was doing there. A woman like her in a place like that.

Gillian opens her eyes. Showtime. Detective Wallowski does the talking, but it is the other detective that worries her more. Detective Torres looks at her the way Cal does sometimes – as if she knows everything about her just from studying her face. Before Gillian met Cal, she would have laughed at the thought. However, Cal taught her better. Perhaps Torres is one of the naturals Cal told her about. People who have the skills he has albeit sans training. Gillian feels uncomfortable and sits up to cover up that she almost started to shift around in bed. The movement hurts and she gives a wince of pain.

"Here. Let me help you." Detective Wallowski pulls her pillow up a little so that Gillian can settle back. She even smiles at her whereas Detective Torres doesn't move – neither body nor face. So good cop, bad cop it is.

"Thank you." Gillian's voice is hoarse due to the smoke she inhaled. Cal will probably find it sexy. Cal again. Damnit, she has to stop thinking of him. It only worries and distracts her. She clears her throat. Her act as the pitiful victim will not buy her time for much longer.

"I don't know anything about an explosion. I don't remember anything." There. She said it and forces herself not to look at Detective Torres.

"Nothing?" Detective Wallowski again, trying to get to the bottom of it. Determined but aside from that her voice doesn't give away whether she believes Gillian or not. She is a professional interrogator after all.

"No, nothing." Gillian tries to empty her mind to sound and look convincingly, but it doesn't work. Her free fall, the moment of impact when she hit the ground expecting to die. Would it hurt? Would she feel anything? And then the realization that the impact had been mitigated by a mattress, old and filthy but still, before her body tumbled and turned some more until it finally hit hard concrete. She probably wouldn't have survived otherwise, has received enough injuries as it is.

Knowing that the more you say when you lie, the more you risk that your lie is exposed, Gillian remains silent after her statement.

"So you saw no one?"

"I can't say. I don't remember." Repeat a lie often enough and you will start to believe it yourself. "What happened?"

Again, Detective Wallowski ignores her question. "And you don't remember why you were there either?" For the first time, Gillian hears disbelief in her voice, but there is no way back even if she can revoke her statement any time in the future and come up with another version of the truth, pretending that she remembers all of a sudden.

"No."

"What is the last thing you remember?" Shit! Albeit it's a logical question, Gillian didn't expect it, her concussion and general state of health taking their toll. She can't tell them that she was with Cal, and for a brief moment, she actually doesn't remember what she had done before she spent time with him. Work. She had been working. Of course. She tells them. It's relieving to tell the truth for once.

"And after that you don't remember anything until...?"

"Until I woke up here just moments ago." The pitiful victim is no act anymore. Gillian feels terrible. Every breath hurts and her head pounds as if it is going to explode. The machine that monitors her pulse has started to beep wildly. Gillian closes her eyes again. She doesn't want to lie or talk or do anything except sleeping.

The door opens and a nurse rushes in.

"I think you're done here," she tells the detectives.

Gillian hears the two women walk out. She doesn't open her eyes. The nurse fumbles around with her drip, and a moment later, Gillian's pain and anxiety are carried away when the effect of the medicine sets in.

Cal watches the detectives leave from a safe distance. He is close enough, though, to overhear parts of their conversation.

"So what do you think?" the older detective asks her partner. "Since you're the lie detector of us."

Lie detector? Interesting. Cal makes a mental note to find out who that woman is if he will ever find the time, given what is going on momentarily.

"She's lying through her teeth. The only part that was true was that she was working yesterday."

Even more interesting. Cal can't wait to find out what Gillian told them.

They enter the elevator. The last thing Cal hears before the doors close and they are out of earshot is the voice of the older woman. "Maybe she's lying, maybe not. Either way, we can't prove it. At least not now."

Sounds as if it wasn't their last visit. They obviously don't plan to let Gillian off the hook so easily.

Cal had seen the nurse rush in Gillian's room and had had to pull himself together in order not to follow her inside. When the two women came out shortly afterwards, followed by the nurse, he felt reassured that nothing serious had happened. And as it seems, the nurse won't come back. Nevertheless, he waits some more before he sneaks in Gillian's room.

She looks even paler than before. At first Cal thinks she fell asleep again but when he slowly approaches her and his shoes make a squeaking noise, she opens her eyes and smiles.

"Thought that was you," Gillian mumbles. "All I smell is fire and smoke. You have to change clothes."

He sits down on the bed, has to be as close to her as possible. "Happy to see you, too, darling." Cal touches her arm carefully and when she doesn't wince, he extends his gentle caress to her shoulder first and then to her hip and legs that are covered by the blanket. Cal has to convince himself by touching her that this is real, that Gillian is actually alive.

"We made it," she says, somehow reading his thoughts.

Judging by the slightly slurred way she talks, Cal can tell that the nurse just gave Gillian some medicine against the pain and to relax. However, her expression is clear.

"Aye, we made it," he confirms and only now notices that she has teared up. "No need to cry, luv."

But she has already bursted into tears and reaches for his shirt to close the distance between them. Then they hug and she clings to him. It has to hurt, but Gillian doesn't seem to feel it, her body trembling as she holds on to him. These are tears of happiness and relief.

After a couple of minutes, she calms down and loosens her firm grip on him. When Cal leans back, she smiles at him. Then she remembers the detectives. Cal observes the change in her eyes from happiness and love to worry and concern.

"There were two detectives here," she tells him.

"I know; I saw them."

"I told them I didn't remember anything even though I do. I remember everything."

Cal doesn't know what to respond to that. In a way, he expected her to cover up for him. Hearing her say out loud that she lied for him is a different matter though. If this comes out, it could be the end of her career. Let alone the legal consequences. Either way, he simply nods. Thank you. It is as it is. They love each other and if it takes a lie to save one of them, they will lie. Cal takes Gillian's hand and kisses it gently.

"I don't know what to say, Gill," he admits.

She holds his gaze. "I will stick to this version until I will be released and we will have time and leisure to think and talk things through. They can't prove the opposite since I have a severe concussion and that is one of the possible side effects – sometimes temporary, sometimes permanent." Then Gillian remembers something else. "Are you out of danger? There was more than one man involved in threatening you."

"I am," Cal assures her, aware that she hears that he is telling the truth. He needs her to concentrate on her own healing process and not worry about him.

"OK." Gillian leans back, exhaustion written all over her face. There are so many questions she wants to ask him. If his trap actually worked and he managed to kill his enemies. (Although she assumes the answer is yes because of what he just told her about him not being in danger anymore.) How he survived. And Cal most likely has just as many questions as to what happened to her. There is not enough energy left in her body, though, to ask or tell him. Gillian is certain that Cal sees it and shares her exhaustion. The questions have to wait for now.

Cal is about to lie down next to her on the bed when she stops him or rather tries to stop him to no avail. "What are you doing?"

"Only slept one or two hours. Let me just lie here next to you, just a little while."

The tiredness and affection in his voice breaks her heart, but the way he keeps shifting back and forth while he is trying to lie down implies that he is not comfortable at all. The bed is too small for both of them and he obviously needs painkillers. Moreover, it won't take long until she will be uncomfortable, too, considering that his body doesn't leave hers much space to move. As much as both of them want him to stay, he can't.

"I would love that, Cal," Gillian says tenderly. "But it will do no good to neither of us." He shifts around some more beside her. "See. It's not comfortable for neither of us. Go home. Take some painkillers and sleep. I am going nowhere. I still will be here when you come back. By the way, it would be great if you took a shower. Otherwise, I will have to keep explaining why my bed smells like smoked ham."

He looks at her contritely even if he appreciates her concern. One of them has to act reasonably and it comes as no surprise that it's her. "Oi! You know that you're a cruel woman, don't you? And your hoarse voice is very sexy. It's not fair. All I get from the explosion is a body that is aching all over and you get a sexy voice."

They both laugh as she kisses him and gently pushes him away because – of course – he still doesn't move. When his phone rings, Cal looks at the display and sighs.

"What?" Gillian asks. "Who is it?"

"He wants his car back and his phone, I guess."

"Who?"

"Your friend."

Jack. So he did intervene. "Give me the phone," Gillian demands, vitalizing her energy reserves.

She answers the call. Cal doesn't like the sweetness of her voice or the fondness of her face. She really likes this guy. "Yes, he will bring back your car and phone." Gillian darts a glance at Cal, taking in his condition. "But only later today. And Jack... thanks for everything." She doesn't exactly know what it is she has to thank him for, but considering that Cal is here, alive and breathing, it is a lot.

Cal stands up awkwardly, partly due to his aching body and partly to show off and make a point. Gillian is right. He needs to go home, take some painkillers and sleep. Yet, she is the one sending him away. Let alone that she took Jack's call and oozed charm.

"Did you even see a doctor?" she asks, ignoring his act but well aware that he probably stayed away from medical practices and hospitals for obvious reasons. Well, at least as long as it's not about visiting her.

"I did." Cal doesn't point out that it was Rader who took him there. She will put one and one together, anyway.

He stands next to her bed, ready to walk out, and yet, not wanting to leave. Somehow, one of his hands has grabbed one of hers automatically.

"Will you be OK?" Gillian worriedly refers to his injuries. "Because, you know, all of this... it's not worth it if you..." She tears up again. "I thought I had lost you, Cal. The moment I heard the explosion and fell, I thought..." She swallows. "I am not able to take more of that."

Cal leans forward to kiss her. He tends to forget how deeply all of this has to hurt and confuse her. Gillian doesn't live in his rogue world that more often than not consists of unexpected twists and turns, right up to life threatening situations, due to his undercover missions or other assignments. Her world more or less had been a constant flow of planned events until she met him. As dangerous as the situation was, what happened still took place within the limits of a world as Cal knows it whereas Gillian's world vanished along with the explosion. At the latest. Nothing is the same anymore for her and he will do anything to spare her more pain, starting with going home and taking care of himself. Whatever it takes to be the man she needs at her side.

"You don't have to take more, luv. From now on things will get better. Promise!"

Gillian had fallen asleep before the door closed behind Cal when he walked out. When she wakes up, she feels much better. Her head still hurts; it will take a couple of weeks until the aftereffects of the concussion will have worn off, but she immediately knows where she is and remembers everything, including that Cal is alive and as stubborn as usual. Even if she sent him away to get some sleep and take care of himself, she misses him and hopes he will be back soon.

She stretches out and even this feels better. Her body doesn't protest in pain as much as before. Only then she notices that someone else is in the room with her. A man, standing at the door as if he was about to leave. Her first thought is Cal, but the man is much taller and his voice much deeper when he speaks.

"I'm sorry; I hope I didn't wake you. Just wanted to leave because you were still asleep." He keeps looking at her as if he expects a reaction until he realizes that she has no idea who he is. "Burns. Dave Burns. I am the hospital psychologist. Given the circumstances, I thought it would be a good idea if I stopped by." Gillian recognizes his ID. He isn't wearing a white coat as the other doctors but jeans and a shirt.

A psychologist. Great. Now she not only has to lie to the police but also to a colleague. They should make a contest who finds out the truth first. Or perhaps she should ask Cal to train her to lie, should have asked him for some tricks sooner. Right now, Gillian feels like the second cast who had to step in and has forgotten her lines.

"That's...," she starts, not sure what to say or how to handle the situation, "...nice, but I don't think I need psychological care. I, um, I don't remember anything about the explosion. The..." She has to be careful; otherwise her lies will catch up with her. "The detectives told me about it, but I don't remember anything."

He looks at her thoughtfully. "Sometimes what we don't remember is more disturbing than what we do because our imagination fills the gaps with pictures that can be worse than reality." Gillian has to suppress a bitter laugh. Even if she actually didn't remember, she highly doubts that her imagination could be worse than reality in this case. At the same time, she realizes how much she would like to talk to him. Everything that happened, the secrets and lies – it weighs heavily on her. This is not life as she knows it anymore and she has to find a way back, either to her old self or to a new version she recognizes at least halfway. If this was a movie, she would be a miscast. And she won't be able to play that role much longer.

"I know how it works, Dr. Burns," Gillian politely says. "I'm a psychologist myself as you probably already know."

"Dave," he corrects her. "I don't prefer the Dr. title when I'm talking to patients. And yes, I know you're a psychologist, but in here you are also a patient, and as the saying goes, doctors make the worst patients. So even if I believe that you are fully qualified to make a self-diagnosis, my offer stands. I'm here if you want to talk, Dr. Foster." He smiles at her.

"Gillian." It's her turn now to correct him. She never lets her patients address her by her first name but if he wants it that way, she won't complain. "And thank you, but the answer is still no. I don't think I need your professional expertise."

Dr. Dave Burns is the type of man she would be interest in if there wasn't that certain, grumpy someone else. Burns has a winning manner. And it doesn't hurt that he is tall, handsome and intelligent. Let alone that he doesn't bring along Cal's complications. It's not as if Dave just pretends to be a hospital psychologist and actually is working undercover for the DEA or something.

"All right, Gillian." He pauses for a moment. "There is something else I would like to talk to you about." He points at the chair next to her bed. "Would you mind if I sit down?"

She doesn't like the tone of his voice. Wary. Sympathetic. As if she was fragile and about to break. It turns her stomach. What is it now? Nevertheless, she nods. When he sits down, she notices that he holds her medical file in his hand. The medical round is already over. What does a psychologist want with her medical file?

"What is it?" Her instincts are on red alert. Why did she send Cal home? She needs him here because she knows now that Burns will tell her something awful.

"When you were brought here, you already had lost a lot of blood," he begins, using that well-known tactic when doctors describe the circumstances only to end with telling you that someone died. But she is alive and so is Cal. Gillian doesn't understand what he is trying to tell her. A lot of blood? She has bruises, some of them very nasty and painful. Aside from that, she has no wounds, though, that could have caused heavy bleeding. He must be mistaken. "They had to make a curettage." Gillian has stopped breathing. "It will take some time to be sure that there is no permanent damage and that you are still able to conceive a child, but the prognosis is very good. You need to keep that in mind." He pauses again and when he continues to speak, she begins to anticipate what he is going to say, like a silent scream that spreads out inside of her body. "The heavy bleeding that had been triggered by your fall led to a miscarriage. You lost your child. I'm very sorry about that."

Everything stops. If you had asked her right then and there, Gillian wouldn't even have been able to tell her own name. She is transfixed with shock and despair. You lost your child. Your child... She didn't even know there was the possibility that she would have one. They. Wait. Her inner state of shock gives way to a gallimaufry of thoughts. Approximately two weeks ago, she and Cal had sex for the first time. It was the only time they didn't use protection. Simply forgot about it. That never had happened to her before. Then again, nothing about that first time was like anything that ever had happened to her before. Therefore it could have been Cal's child in absolute terms, provided she was in the middle of her menstrual cycle then. Pregnancy tests are applicable 28 days after the last period. Thinking about it, she doesn't remember the last time she had her period. Then again, stress can cause irregularities and she's had a lot of stress lately. Either way, she doubts that such an early pregnancy would have been able to cause heavy bleeding.

Given the situation, the doctors must have decided that it would be better to let the psychologist tell her and not address it during the medical round. They were right. Gillian still isn't able to speak or move. She just looks at Burns, begging him to take his words back while he is holding her gaze in an effort to comfort her with his sheer presence, giving her time to digest what he just told her. As a hospital psychologist, Gillian is not the first patient he was sent to in order to bring bad news.

"You were eight weeks pregnant. Did you even know?"

A burning sets in. It starts in her stomach and creeps into her chest and throat.

"No." Did she actually speak? It didn't sound like her voice. Alec. She lost Alec's child. And because her entire body hurt after the fall, she didn't even feel it.

"Is there anyone I can call? We tried your emergency contact but weren't able to reach him, an Alec..."

Gillian edits his voice out. Of course. Alec is still her emergency contact; she didn't notice to change it. It's too much, any of it.

From now on things will get better. Cal's words sound false in her ears as she remembers them. As if he made a promise, he wasn't able to keep. What happened in the building felt like war and someone told her once that there are no winners in a war, only survivors. Gillian has no idea, though, how she is supposed to survive this.

- To be continued -