Uff, just about made it on time!

Thank you CommonFlower for throwing us this challenge, and crypticmessages for the intriguing prompts. I hope I did them justice, but had to put my spin on it.

I might be physically incapable to do short stuff, so this one is going to be a multy chapter.

It was pouring down rain, and it had been going on for hours.

The morning had started with a light drizzle, actually rather appreciated because it was an unusually warm start of autumn and a little refresh was more than welcome. Around lunch time the floodgates had opened and water had been coming down in buckets since then, leaving a widespread smell of wet ground and musty air. Cal loved it, it reminded him of kicking the ball around in the green patch behind the estate ironically named park by the local council, making fallen sleeves fly everywhere at every kick like a coloured backwards snowfall. And Gillian didn't mind either, especially when that kind of weather gave her the perfect excuse for a cosy night in.

That was exactly what she had in mind when Cal showed up, giving a single knock at the glass door with his knuckle and holding up his bottle of scotch and a glass with a big grin. Gillian rolled her eyes but smiled, not surprised by the unfolding scene. They had been working on a very complicated case for a week, all of them, possibly the longest it ever took them, but eventually they had found the answer and successfully put an end to it, therefore a little celebration was in the cards.

"One glass?" Gillian asked when he came in, heading straight to the couch and pouring some of the liquid. "We just cashed a big paycheck, I am sure we could afford to buy another one?"

"'Course we can," Cal quipped, all smug and placeant as he watched her come over and join him on the couch. "But since you got us that big paycheck with your amazing intuition I figured you'd want to have a proper party."

Gillian grinned, snuggling close with her arms around him, watching satisfied as he took the full glass for himself and passed her the bottle. Then she took that from him and invited him to a toast.

"To us."

"No love, to you." Cal touched the bottle with his glass but didn't drink, instead absently touching her face with his finger and looking at her with pure admiration. "We were all running around in the dark, myself included. You kept your wits about and saw the answer when nobody else did. We'd be still trying to sort this out if it hadn't been for you."

Gillian took a long sip from the bottle, something that always made Cal grin with silly satisfaction, then he put his arm around her and brought her closer. She leaned in easily, kicking off her shoes and stretching her legs on the side so that she could be more comfortable all up against him, stretching her neck to gently nuzzle his neck with her nose.

"You seem very grateful," she murmured, enjoying the way she shivered.

"I am," Cal confirmed, his hand having a life of its own caressing her leg.

"So how about we go home, stay out of this awful rain and have a nice quiet night in?'

Judging by the way she was touching him and by the sultry tone of her voice, Cal knew that 'quiet' wasn't really going to be the right word for what she had in mind, which made his coming response so much more difficult to get out.

"Sounds lovely, and naughty," he moaned softly, then sighed. "But…it's Wednesday."

At that Gillian, who had been nibbling at his ear with clear purpose, immediately let out a frustrated groan and pressed her mouth into the flesh of his neck. Cal chuckled, the possessive and wanting side of her had come out little by little as their intimacy grew and he absolutely loved it…and turning it down was a pain for him as much as it was for her.

"I forgot," she mumbled.

"I can skip a week, or reschedule for tomorrow-"

"No Cal, don't." Gillian pulled back a little and put one hand on his chest, the other softly riding his short hair. "It's your boys' night with Reynolds, you shouldn't miss it."

"I wouldn't, just postpone it," he tried to counter, but she was shaking her head.

"It's not necessary, we have every night we want but Reynolds is a busy man. I'm happy that you two reconciled, I always liked him-"

"Oi!" Cal quipped with a wiggling eyebrow which made her roll her eyes.

"-as a friend for you. He didn't take your crap and is always ready to call you out on your shenanigans, but he'd also have your back."

"I think you just described yourself there, love." Cal smiled and straightened up to kiss her cheek. "Only way more good looking." Gillian smiled back, leaning into his soft touch and the shameless compliment. "I really can reschedule Gillian, it's not the end of the world."

"And neither is going," she reassured him. "We all need friends, and it's important that you-"

"Play nice with Reynolds to get back in the FBI's good graces? Ouch!" She punched him in the stomach, playfully but precisely enough to make him cough out and smirk. "What's that for?!"

"Stop putting words in my mouth Cal, and for God's sake just go out with your friend." She stood up then and went back to her desk, ready to pack up her stuff. "Come to think of it, you're far easier to deal with after your little night out with him."

Cal smirked and watched her, knowing that she was not in any way mad at him or his plans despite that little act. She did value friendship, and she had been honestly elated to find out he had reconnected with Reynolds after those ugly events, and as great as things were between them and how much they loved each other one evening apart every now and then didn't certainly hurt. So he jumped on his feet and came closer, standing behind her with his hands in his pockets and inched with his body a hair away from her.

"Thanks love," he whispered. "But just so you know, I will be thinking of you the entire time."

"You better!" She threatened him softly, then she quickly turned around and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately before he could add a single sound. Then she pulled back just as suddenly and patted his shoulders, sending him on his merry way with a sultry smile. "Just to help you out a little with that."

"Not helping, love." Cal loudly objected as she put on her jacket and walked away. "Not helping at all!"

But she was gone, hearing him clearly and ignoring him even more evidently in his frustrated plea: a masterful exit from the only person who truly didn't take his crap, was ready to call him out on his shenanigans and always had his back.

She wasn't going to tell Cal, never ever if she could avoid it, but she had come to make the most of her evening when he was on his boys night out.

When they had moved in together it had been painful to give up her bathtub; long hot showers - even with good company - couldn't really replace the soothing laziness of a bubble bath, but she had found a good enough replacement in the fireplace in the living room. Cal had never used it, confessing he was too lazy to look after it and clean it, not to mention buying wood or pellets or whatever else it was needed, but Gillian had jumped on the task with enthusiasm, deaf to his protest that it was a pointless hassle to do all that work for a few nights a year because it hardly got that cold in D.C anyway.

What she hadn't told him, and wasn't going to, was that if it was for her she'd have a fire lit up there every day of the year, regardless of season, temperature and weather.

Every time Cal had gone out she had ordered her favourite dish and dessert from an Italian takeout, opened a bottle of red wine and lit up the fire. Most of those things Cal had come to learn from the little signs she left behind, like the empty food containers in the trash, the unwashed glass in the sink and the lingering smell of burned wood in the room, and he had no problem with any of it. If he was going out and having fun, why shouldn't she after all? What he didn't know was that she was going all out, sitting on the floor with her back to the couch and using the coffee table as a dining surface while watching trash horror movies.

That was what she was doing, absorbed in the climax of the movie when the Green Goblin truck was about to get his comeuppance, when her phone rang. She honestly thought about letting it ring and checking later, the survivors were minutes away from what looked like safety, but the phone kept ringing. Gillian huffed and paused the movie, checking the time and thinking it was a little to early for Cal to be calling to get picked up, besides he knew better. She had no problem with him coming home late, but she had made it clear that she wasn't going to be a taxi service for him. Then she got up and took the phone, still ringing with no pause, and she frowned at the unknown number.

The first instinct was to let it go, but after all in her line of work a call late at night probably meant incoming business or update and she knew she couldn't afford to just ignore it, then she huffed and accepted the call.

The umbrella didn't do her much good as she walked across the parking lot, a strong side wind had joined the unceasing rain that evening, and by the time she was inside the left side of her body was pretty much soaked. Not that she cared, she barely even registered it: since the moment she had picked up the call she had been in some sort of daze, moving and executing actions like a drunk zombie.

It didn't make any sense, it was nearly impossible for her to believe even with all his history and rough personality. How could it be? How could a night out with a friend have turned into that?

With those questions and many others running wild inside her head, Gillian looked around the bleakly lit place trying to see where she had to go, her frazzled state strangely heightening her senses. She felt her own hand stone cold around the umbrella, the water and some sweat running down her back and skiing under her clothes, her eyes were struggling in reading signs and directions she should have been kind of familiar with, and a sudden smell of cheap burnt coffee hit her nostrils as she approached what looked like a reception desk. On top of that, her mouth was dry and she felt nauseous, to the point that when she opened her mouth to speak she was positive a different version of her dinner would have come out.

Somehow, she managed to only say his name and then watched as the man behind the glass checked his log before waving at someone else to come over and take care of her. Still somehow stiff and on automatic pilot, Gillian followed the man behind a series of doors that required badges and keys to be opened, until she was told to go ahead and look for the first door on the right. Gillian swallowed, glancing back at her chaperon who seemed rather uninterested in the whole thing, then gathered her courage and walked on.

She stopped in front of the door and turned, and the first thing she saw was the purple bruise on the left side of his face and the dried blood all around it. Under any other circumstances, that sight would have been enough to divert her emotions to worry and caring: but since Cal was sitting on the thin dirty bed of a holding cell and not the clean stretcher of an ER, Gillian felt more inclined to feel in a very different way.

"Let's be honest, love," Cal smirked when he saw her. "It's frankly astonishing this is only the first time you've had to bail me out of jail."