OK now, ready?
She should have gone in holding cell with him, she could have if she wanted to as she had been informed. But Gillian opted not to, deciding to let him stew a little longer while she took care of the bail and attached paperwork, and found someone who could tell her what was going on. Of course she was going to ask Cal too, but judging by the glimpse of him she had caught she already knew she couldn't count on a straightforward answer from him. The police had no reason to lie on how Cal had ended up there, and even if they did she could probably see that way easier than on him.
But knowing how to read faces and interpret speech patterns didn't do her any good as the explanation for Cal's arrest unfolded: truth or not, she just couldn't believe it.
The officer at the desk hadn't been really helpful, he was half-asleep and fully bored and told her Cal had been booked in by a couple of officers who were already back on their beat. Gillian didn't like to call in personal favours, especially to get someone out of trouble, but eventually the need to know what she was facing won and she contacted Detective Huertas. Patrick Huertas was a detective they had been working with a couple of times, he dealt mostly with narcotics and the Group was - sadly - more familiar with violent crimes: he was a big fan of what they did, truly appreciated their contribution and he and Gillian had struck up a friendship. Huertas had minored in psychology before choosing the law enforcement route and he still had a genuine interest for it, while his wife was a kindergarten teacher with a passion for true crime. Before becoming an item with Cal, Gillian had frequently spoken with the Huertas, discussing psychology with Patrick and sharing with his wife some of the more PG details of some of their cases, feeding the woman's need for a little escapade from everyday life.
They had double-dated once, nothing spectacular but still rather pleasant, and Gillian was way more inclined to call him rather than dig up Wallowski from whatever hole Cal had buried her since they had gotten together. So she called Huertas, spending three quarters of the call apologising in advance and telling him she'd understood if he didn't want to get involved, and the rest asking if he could find out what was going on, if that wasn't too much of a problem. He had no hesitation and told her he'd call back, which gave Gillian the time to go through the outrageous amount of paperwork required to bail someone out and at least find the names of the arresting officers for future references.
Huertas called back within 15 minutes, with a story that made no sense at all to her and, to his credit, neither to him. Apparently, Cal had been stopped by police during a routine patrol in an area south of the airport, known for drug trafficking. The report mentioned that the officers had observed him sitting in his car for more than one hour, saw him talking to a known pusher and other known dealers they had been keeping an eye on. Once he had been alone again, the officers had approached him and asked him to identify himself but Cal had been confrontational and refused to cooperate, leading to a scuffle and an additional charge of resisting arrest. And as if that wasn't unbelievable enough - except maybe for the part where Cal would indeed try to be a smug jerk about pretty much anything - was that they had found a small amount of drugs on him.
Huertas himself could not believe the words coming out of his mouth, but his profession led him to start with the facts and those seemed to be saying that Cal Lightman had a secret side business as a drug dealer, or at the very least a personal consumption problem. On the phone, he asked Gillian if she wanted him to come over to the precinct or put in some more calls but she was quick in turning down the offer: favours and under the desk dealings…they were more Cal's styles and clearly things could easily turn sour, and she didn't want to get a friend involved more than necessary before knowing exactly what was going on.
She did promise to keep him updated and then went back to finalise the bail process, thinking at the very least Cal owed one hell of a birthday present as she paid up. Then the officer told her to wait there as he went and retrieved Cal, who came out of the holding cells area with a grin that made her want to shout at the policeman to take him back immediately. But when Cal spotted her his demeanour quickly - and wisely - changed: his strut went from swag to composed, his back from hunched to straight and he rapidly wiped off his face the amused grin. By the time he caught up to her he was serious and focused, feeling the daggers coming out of her eyes as he signed to get back his wallet and watch.
"What happened to my car keys?"
"The car was left at the docks where they arrested you, I believe the keys were locked inside," the officer informed him in a flat and uninterested tone.
"And how am I supposed to get it back?" Cal asked, trying to hold the sarcasm in his voice, which was really hard to do when the cop shrugged.
"Don't you have a spare key?" Cal jaw clenched but he didn't reply. "If you get a move one you might get there before it gets towed."
Great! Gillian thought, rolling her eyes. One more thing to worry about. Then she looked at Cal, practically seeing his tongue hitching to share some remark with the uniformed man, and quickly grabbed his arm and started pulling him away.
"Thank you officer, that's really good advice," she jumped in with a polite smile. "Good night."
Cal knew better not to interfere with Gillian's attempt to smooth things over and silently followed, letting her first pull him and then push him out of the precinct. It was well past midnight and it was still raining, but they both knew the night wasn't over. Sarcastic suggestion aside, retrieving Cal's car was certainly a priority and it helped that Gillian had brought the spare keys with her. She always kept them on her, one of the many habits she had picked up since they had moved in together, and she thanked her own control freak streak that night: she was tired and wet, it was late and she was pissed and confused and scared, and the last thing she wanted to do was to drive for nearly one hour home to get the keys and then all the way back to the docks south of the airport.
Trying to look at the bright side was usually her thing, but when she saw Cal standing next to her and found him silent, carefully avoiding eye-contact and waiting for her to explode, Gillian struggled to see the positives in having to share the car with him for the time being. Then Cal took the umbrella from her hand and opened it, possibly looking to speed up the process and get his ass whooping sooner rather than later. They squeezed together under the umbrella seeking refuge from the rain, then Gillian led the way to where she had parked her car and they got in. Once inside, shrugging off some of the water, Gillian put the keys in the ignition then held the steering wheel tightly, sighing loud and clear to release her frustration.
"Where to?"
Cal tried to maintain a quiet and non-confrontational demeanour and told her where to go, not surprised that the drive went on in a heavy and dark silence. He wasn't surprised by her cold behaviour, it was easily understandable: he had gotten himself arrested, she'd had to bail him out in the middle of a miserable rainy night and had certainly already come to the conclusion that he had lied to her about going out with Reynolds…in his book, that justified her rage big time.
Even more so when they arrived at the location and his car was nowhere to be seen.
The rain had finally slowed down, not really stopped but it seemed like it had taken a little pause and was coming down lighter and sparse. Cal got out of the car, staring at the dark warehouse by the empty lot of muddy ground and smirking at it absently, then sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Guess it was too late," he mumbled when Gillian got out of the car and stood next to him.
He looked at her, at the way she was studying the surroundings, likely to imagine what had happened and asking herself why he might have been there to begin with. He knew what she was seeing, the things she was picking up. The warehouse wasn't huge and looked abandoned, there were a couple of shipping containers seemingly blocking the entrance but a portion of the shutter had been pried open for access. Then she looked up, noticing how there was not much in terms of illumination around except for a small lightbulb randomly hanging on the side of one of the containers, close enough to cast a deem light on the roughly manufactured entrance to the building. The second look at the surroundings, Cal guessed, was to scan for security cameras or other surveillance signs which, he had to agree, would have been extremely helpful.
But there was nothing of the sort, he knew that already, and stood silent in the spot where he could see the tyre marks of his car waiting for her to say something.
"What happened?" Gillian asked eventually in a flat and distant voice.
"Not what they say it did."
He didn't mean to be funny or sarcastic, and in hindsight he might have chosen something different for his first real chance to explain himself. But his snarkiness or lack-thereof was clearly not on Gillian's mind, as it became evident by the stern look she gave him: not to warn him about his behaviour, but to clarify that no matter how mad and confused she might have been there was no chance in hell she would believe the accusations made against him.
Still, that didn't mean that she wasn't going to make clear how she felt about the whole situation.
"So you didn't come here in the middle of night?" She hissed, almost daring.
"Oh, I was here alright," Cal answered, shuffling his feet on the spot where, if his memories were correct, one of the cops had slammed his face on the hood of their patrol car.
"Doing what?"
Cal knew the question was bound to come, and he wasn't surprised it had taken so long. He could easily imagine what Gillian was going through mentally, the whirlwind of thoughts and fears that must have been mixing in her mind since she had gotten the call from the police, not to mention finding out what he was accused of and that he had lied to her. She was owed an answer and an explanation, he couldn't agree more…but the time was not right.
"Listen love, you don't have to worry, ok?" He didn't try to dismiss the situation, she'd have eaten him alive if he did, but he really hoped he could switch the focus to something else. "I'm no drug dealer and I didn't meet with anybody. Yes, I wasn't exactly on board with identifying myself and I didn't have a good enough explanation for them as to what I was doing here, but they planted that bag of drugs on me." He stepped closer and spoke in a low voice, waving his hand around and aimlessly pointing at the surroundings. "There are no cameras here, it's their word against mine and they know it. You speak with them 5 minutes and you'll see they're lying-"
"Why?" Gillian cut him off with a loud scoff. "Why would they try to frame you, just like that, out of nowhere? Cal, what were even you doing here?"
"I can't tell you that love, not yet."
"No, you can't say that." She walked up to him, grabbing his arm and pulling harshly to force him to look at her. "Those days are over, Cal. You take on a case under the table, you tell me about it. And if you are in trouble you should tell me about it, I am-"
"Then you should trust me when I say I can't explain, not now." It was his turn to cut her off, and for the first time since she had arrived at the police station he showed he was ready to fight back if he had to. "Gillian, I promise you this is all just a big misunderstanding-"
"You were arrested, Cal. There's going to be a record, police report…Do you have any idea what this could do to our work? To your reputation?"
"It will sort itself out, Gill."
"How do you know that?" She stepped closer, her eyes shining with sad rage and deep disappointment. "How do you expect me to accept that when I don't know what's going on?"
Cal had no answer, nothing he could say to placate her or reassure her. It killed him, he knew how much she was hurting and that somehow to let her know that he couldn't tell her what was happening hurt her more than all the times he kept things from her without Gillian even knowing. His silence was enough of an answer for her, providing a nurturing environment for her frustration to grow as new realisations kept coming her way.
"Your nights out with Reynolds," she mumbled then, stepping away and recoiling from the apologies she saw on his face. "How long has this been going on?"
"About a month," Cal confirmed, realising she was now even more infuriated by the fact that he was picking and choosing the information to share with her. "I'm sorry love, I know this is a lot but I can't-"
"Let's go home," she sighed, shaking her head and going back towards the car without even waiting to see if he followed. "It's raining again, and there's no point in trying to get the car back until the morning."
"Gillian."
She didn't reply, not with words at least. Instead she went to the car, got in and slammed the door shut before firing up the engine. The body language was clear: get in the car or find another way to get home. Cal sighed and hurried up, feeling the rain intensifying again, and when it got in Gillian was quick to drive off without saying a word. The silence during the drive home was even deeper than before, this time weighed down by the partial revelations and hinted secrets, and Cal gave up on trying. He didn't have much more to offer in addition to what he had said, he could only wait for her to ask questions and hope they were the kind of ones he could answer.
It was still dark and raining by the time they got home, and despite none of them feeling like they could get any sleep, going to bed seemed like the only option. Conversation certainly wasn't in the cards: Cal had very little to say and he'd fare better by keeping his mouth shut, and Gillian was wildly upset and knowing Cal wasn't going to answer her questions she'd rather spare herself the frustration of trying.
Once in the bedroom Cal mumbled something about getting a shower, beating her to it and recognising that he wasn't getting into bed while smelling like mud, piss and whatever 'aroma' he might have picked up in the holding cell. He took his time, needing the hot water to wash away the dirt and to focus on the situation. It was still early into the game and the move had come out of nowhere, but Cal had a fair understanding of what was going on, which was precisely why he couldn't come clean with Gillian, not yet at least. He believed what he had told her, that what they had against him was a joke and things would work out eventually…he just hoped they would before everything could blow up in his face.
After the shower he checked the bruises on his face in the mirror and judged it wasn't so bad, although it might be a good idea to snap a couple of pictures, just in case. When he finally went back to the bedroom he wasn't surprised to find Gillian already under the cover, her back to him and tightly wrapped under the duvet with the lights off. He doubted that she was sleeping, but it was clear that she wasn't interested in cuddles or pillow talks: frankly, the way things had been going Cal considered himself lucky that he was even allowed in bed and not banished to the couch.
He didn't quite know what time it was, and neither did care. By the grace of God he had fallen asleep, exhaustion eventually winning over the strange sensation of feeling utterly alone and abandoned in bed despite Gillian being right next to him. But he had woken up at the first light of dawn coming through the window, a wet and grey start of the day that found him looking at the bulge under the covers next to him and wondering if she had moved at all during the short night.
She hadn't, and she hadn't been so lucky when it came to sleep. Pretending that he wasn't there had not helped, and the night excursion had pumped too much adrenaline in her system for her to be able to sleep. She laid there for hours, immobile on her side, holding onto the cover tight, her whole body tensed and possibly ready to jump on nerves alone if he was to move too close. Perhaps it was too much, but then again the events of that night were too much for her to deal with. The arrest, the insane charges, the possible repercussions the accusations could have on their work, true or not… Yes, all of that was bad enough but what truly rubbed her the wrong way was the repeated lie about going out with Reynolds and the fact that he was openly keeping things from her. Perhaps she had been too naive, expecting the massive shift in their relationship to bring along an equally big change to his reckless behaviour, but his stubborn silence was a hard pill to swallow.
The past hour or so, Gillian had spent trying to figure out how to move forward. Her rage and disappointment were certainly justified, no doubts about that, but she knew she couldn't hold on to them forever. Lies or not, secrets or not, they had to move forward: how to get out of there? How could they go about fighting the charges? Would their connections and experience with law enforcement prove to be an advantage of hindrance? Should they have prepared from worried calls from investors and clients following Cal's brief detention?
Those were only some of many questions running around her head when the weak sun of another rainy autumn day started to rise, and they were still churning a little later when a loud banging started to come from downstairs. They both jolted on the mattress at the unexpected and aggressive noise, immediately looking at each other and recognising the sound was rather insistent and, likely, bearer of nothing good. They got out of bed, putting on clothes suitable to welcome early morning visitors, then looked at each other with a moment of hesitation before making their way downstairs.
Cal was the one going for the door, stopping short of opening to ask who it was as the loud knocking continued, not in the least bit surprised when a rather impatient voice announced that it was the police. Before opening he looked back at Gillian, who stood just a couple of steps behind him wrapped up in her clothes with a terrified look on her face which was in no way tamed by the honest apologetic expression on his face. Then Gillian stepped closer and reached for his hand, squeezing it tight and giving him a small nod before he opened the door.
"Cal Lightman?"
A detective they didn't know asked the second the door was open, holding up her badge and asking the dumb question with the dismissive tone of someone who wasn't really expecting an answer. Cal nodded, feeling as stupid as the question, but looking at the two officers standing behind her and knowing what was about to follow he didn't see what else he could have done. Then the detective put away the badge and got something else out of her pocket, holding up a folded piece of paper she half-assedly handed to Gillian before taking a step inside. Cal was confused, he had a pretty fair understanding of what was going on but the fact that the detective had given the warrant to Gillian instead of him didn't quite fit. He turned around to follow the cop and try to read Gillian's face as she checked out the warrant, but when he did that one of officers grabbed his hands and pull them behind his back, and before he knew it Cal felt the cold metal of the handcuffs closing around his wrists for the second time in less than 12 hours.
"Cal Lightman," the officer started to recite, his voice a mix of boredom and efficiency. "You're under arrest for possession with intent to distribute. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"
Gillian didn't know where to look, desperately divided between the words on paper explaining the warrant had been signed based on the 5 kg of cocaine found in the trunk of Cal's car and the scene of him being handcuffed and taken away right before her eyes, all before she could have her morning coffee.
