Hello all!
Tori: welcome back! I guess it's a good strategy, to read a few chapters in a row. I could see Gillian do something like this, she probably learned a thing or two from Cal's scheming and planning ahead. She certainly was in the best position to read the situation.
Now, I know this one probably won't make too much sense but bear with me.
There was still a little smile, on his lips and in his eyes, brought up as usual by the very thought of Emily. Then his face darkened briefly, his eyes empty all of a sudden.
"I haven't told them about all of this yet," Cal said then, eyes down, looking as if he didn't know what to do with himself.
Gillian didn't either. When he had left the office she had understood, he needed time and space to process like the rest of them, more so than the rest of them. She wasn't even going to try and tell him how he should feel, she barely knew how she felt about it really, and truly the only thing she could do for him was listen. So she waited. She watched the dark shadows pass on his face as his mind went to bleak thoughts, probably something along the lines of imagining Emily reacting to the news he had been shot, or worse. Then he took half a step back, once again pulling at that invisible bungee cord that had made him pace in and out of her house a few times already, but moved in again cocking his head on one side as his hand waved in the air randomly.
"Can I sleep in your spare bedroom tonight, if it's not too much of a problem?"
When he asked, Gillian felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. She didn't want him to leave, now that she had seen him she didn't think he should be alone and she had been desperately looking for a non patronising way to let him know that. She smiled then at his request, nodding and whispering a soft 'of course' while stepping back and letting him in.
Cal mumbled 'good' then climbed one step inside, stopping when Gillian pulled up her hands to his chest, not to stop him but to prepare him for what was about to come. One touch on his chest, one briefly lingering look, one smile almost turning into a grimace as she tried to fight back tears, then she hugged him. Cal's response was immediate, he stepped into her embrace and held her…and let her hold him, tight and desperate, sharing all the pain and fear of the day in one single gesture.
When they pulled back they smiled awkwardly at each other and exchanged a quick kiss on the cheek, then Cal came in and Gillian closed the door behind them. He had been there a few times already even if it hadn't been long since she had occupied the place, and of course he had helped with the move. He had been there for dinner, with Emily and on his own, made himself comfortable with that annoying ease of him, yet that night it took him a couple of minutes to decide what to do with himself.
"Would you like a drink?" She asked, thinking that would work well for the both of them.
Cal nodded, then she eyed the couch as to signal he could wait there. He obliged, taking off his jacket and only then realising how badly it smelled with him having sweat in it for hours on end. Cal sat on the couch, vaguely listening to something Gillian was saying but without paying much attention, not sure if he was supposed to just sit or lay down. Sitting would have been more appropriate perhaps, but the fatigue was now also settling in and Gillian's couch, packed with plucky pillows and a soft blanket, suddenly looked so damn inviting.
Gillian poured two glasses, wine for her and scotch for him, then walked over to him. She was coming from behind, noting how tense his neck, shoulders and back were now that he had taken off the jacket, and as she approached she noticed something else. There was something on the back of his neck, a small round smudge or some sort of stain… She nearly dropped the glasses when she realised, when she came closer enough and took a better look, noting the smooth edges of a mark that seemed to be a touch too red. It wasn't a stain, it was a burn, left by the hot muzzle of the gun pressed on the skin of his neck after the shot Matheson had fired at the wall in the reception. Gillian remembered that moment well, like the rest of that nightmarish day: she remembered the screams, the staff scrambling for cover, she remembered her own fear…she remembered Cal staying cool calm and collected, assessing the situation, getting Torres out of the man's hold and putting himself on the main stage so that others could be safe.
She stopped there, not looking forward to reliving the gallery of horror that day had been, then took a short breath and walked around the couch, handing him his glass as she sat next to him. Not too close, not as close as she would have wanted because she was still trying to assess Cal's state. Not physical, aside from the small burn and the ugly looking bump on his forehead he was ok on that front, but there was so much going on with him that she didn't know where to start.
Talking wasn't much of an option, the conversation on the threshold had been painfully fragmented, and whatever was going to be said Gillian felt should come from him. Then she noticed that Cal hadn't picked up the glass yet so she put it on the coffee table along with hers. Gillian stood up again and went back to the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with some ice cubes wrapped in a tea towel and the first aid kit she kept on top of the fridge.
Her first instinct was to put the ice on the burned skin but she realised it was probably useless since whatever Cal had felt there in the moment was probably long gone, but probably so was the pain in the sore spot on his head. That one needed tending, a bit of a clean up and maybe a couple of plasters, and eventually Gillian opted to offer Cal the ice and let him figure it out. He took it, reacting to the offer unlike the one for the glass, then put the ice on the back of his neck. With the face he made, Gillian figured out that it was more comfort than anything else, to jolt his brain back to life, then she took care of the wound. It wasn't too bad, it was mostly dry blood at that point and she tried to gently wipe it away with a alcohol soaked cotton ball, slowing down every time Cal flinched.
He didn't say a word during the entire operation, he just sat there leaning forward so that she could work better, his right hand holding the ice on the back of his neck and the left one abandoned on his leg. Gillian was focused on what she was doing but she could still tell that Cal wasn't looking at her, although she wasn't able to pinpoint why exactly. There were many possible reasons of course, but she didn't know which one she should land on.
Once she was done Gillian put what she had used on the coffee table, then tentatively offered him the glass of scotch again. Cal smirked and mumbled something, maybe a thank you, but when his fingers closed around the glass they both realised how badly his hands were shaking. The liquid was just past the halfway mark but the movement was so strong that a couple of drips splashed over, landing on Cal's hand and then on the floor. Trying to stop the uncontrolled movement only seemed to make things worse, Cal bit at his bottom lip and tried to keep it together but the connection between his brain and body failed him. Instead of stopping the trembling his hand let go all together, the glass fell and hit the carpet with a soft thud and the liquor went all over the place, creating a small amber puddle at their feet.
"Damnit!" Cal grunted, scrambling to get on his knees and do something about it. "I'm sorry, love."
"It's ok Cal."
She tried to reassure him, but Cal seemed deaf to her words as he grabbed his jacket and tried to tampon the liquid stain. He clearly didn't know what he was doing, that was his body reacting and not his brain and Gillian chewed at her lip, truly worried about his state for the first time since he had knocked on the door, listening in near disbelief as he kept mumbling apologies and other gibberish that she couldn't identify.
"Cal, don't worry about it." Gillian tried with her words again but nothing changed, so she kneeled next to him and tried to grab hold of his scrambling hands. "Cal, it's nothing."
"I need to fix this. I'm sorry, Gill-"
"Cal stop." Gentle manners weren't going anywhere so Gillian had to steady her voice, forcing her hands around his wrists. "Listen to me, stop it." She felt him trying to jerk away, unable to look at her and maybe to really pull back, and she felt his muscles tense, his breath stumble coming in and out of his mouth. "Cal, look at me." She was pushing now, she knew he was in no condition to look at her but that wasn't the point. She knew what was coming, she knew Cal was on the edge…and as much as it pained her she knew that the best thing she could do for him was giving him the last push instead of trying to pull him back. "Look at me Cal, now."
It was an order, not a request, no mistake about it. Gillian could feel his body pulsing with fear, maybe a bit of rage, but mostly just a complete sense of helplessness. He was exposed, as much as someone like Cal Lightman could be exposed, he knew it and didn't like it but he was in no condition to see that it might be good for him. So he fought her, he tried again to free his hands from her, yanking and grumbling something, this time putting the force of his whole body into the act, but Gillian held steady. He pulled and so did she, he tried to drag her away and she stood her ground, he hissed words at her but she ignored them and instead kept repeating his name.
It was a battle of fear against comfort, one Cal was destined to lose. After a minute of the seemingly silly confrontation Cal let go, his entire body deflating first and then starting to shake violently before he curled down on the floor laying on the wet stain of alcohol he had created, his hands clenched in fists as he rested his head on her lap. Gillian immediately wrapped him up as best as she could, using her arms and hands to apply reassuring pressure the best she could, pulling him closer and folding down on him to rest her head on his back. They might have looked like a very badly executed sculpture, some kind of contemporary art wannabe masterpiece impossible to appreciate, but it felt good and was all that mattered.
Gillian held him in silence, focusing on the signs coming from his body. Cal was shaking but he wasn't crying or sobbing, after a while she felt his hands gripping the buttoned sweater she was wearing and pulled down with restrained force and when he released the hold it came with a more regular and less crazed breathing. She waited some more, knowing he was the one dictating the pace, and was extremely relieved when Cal eventually moved, slow and careful. Gillian pulled back just enough to leave him room and understand what he wanted to do, staying pretty much in his space as he sat on the floor, resting his back on the couch and bending his legs. He kept his head down in between his knees for a few minutes, breathing in and out and not showing any reaction as Gillian scooted closer and kept massaging his shoulder in a calming gesture.
"Talk to me, Cal," Gillian whispered to him after a while, her voice soft and gentle but also begging. "Not about this, not unless you want to. But talk to me."
She stopped herself short of saying please at the end, knowing it might have backfired. With all his roughness and inconsiderate behaviour Cal couldn't stand to see her beg in general, and certainly not that day. She had done it already, tears in her eyes, and it didn't matter what she had not been talking to him but to the man with the gun to his head. The way Cal had looked at her then, scolding her with his eyes and grinded teeth, even after Matheson had cocked the gun and pushed it into his neck for the hundredth times…Gillian was afraid that if she said that word again she would have to see that expression on his face again, and she couldn't take it.
Maybe Cal understood that, maybe he was just sobering up from his emotional breakdown enough to realise that she was right: either way, after he took a deep breath he started talking.