"Dr. Cal Lightman, please."
He nods, walking to the car with his phone pressed to his ear with one hand, jingling his keys impatiently with the other. It's pushing nine-thirty at night, and he's running late to grab Emily from the airport, home for her first summer as a college student. A thick rainstorm heralds her arrival and makes it difficult to hear.
"You've got 'im," he responds, squinting to hear better.
Through the rain the voice sounds terse, middle-aged, female. Like many a client calling in the evening, after trying to decide all day whether it's worth the expense of The Lightman Group to ask for a miracle.
"Dr. Lightman, this is Dr. Susan Hubanks. I'm calling from GW Hospital."
Well, Gill's the one can read voices. But he wasn't totally wrong – the tension is real. And its crackle over the phone finds a receptive lightning rod in his gut. Thank God he just left Gill an hour ago at her house, and Em's flight is still blinking on the online tracker. Zoe's miles away in Chicago. That's his girls accounted for.
Dr. Hubanks goes on: "I have a patient here – Alec Foster? He's asking to see you."
"Alec." He stands straight up by his car in surprise. "What's he gone and done? Doesn't he want Gillian? The other Foster, used to be married to 'im?"
Dr. Hubanks pauses with an awkward delicacy. "He asked for you to come alone, Dr. Lightman. I think – you may want to come soon."
Well, that's never a good thing.
"What, he's imminent? Tonight?"
"No, he's stabilized, but he's very ill. He's in the ICU under sedation. He's having trouble regulating his anxiety, it seems. He says you're his psychologist, or used to be."
The manipulative little shit.
"Will he survive till morning? You tell 'im I'll come by at a civilized hour, maybe that'll settle 'im down."
He's sure Dr. Hubanks is taken aback, but she maintains her poise. "If you can come at any time tonight, you'll be able to see him. Visiting hours are 24/7 in the ICU."
Ah, he's being a cad. She's an overworked night doctor doing her job. And who knows what Alec is up to.
"Right. Okay. You can tell 'im I'll be there later, Doctor. Alone."
They hang up. He gets into his car and sits a minute, his hair and raincoat dripping onto the seat.
It's clearly not an accident that's landed Alec in the ICU, or Gill's phone would have lit up, while they were still having their Friday after-work dinner at hers.
(Homemade dinner nights with an old classic film have become a bit of a Friday thing, over the last few months. They're being careful, so careful, but Claire's death drove home the passing of time in a way that's changed them. Changed the shape of their relationship, or at least stripped away a cloud covering part of it. The game hasn't changed but they've entered a new phase of it. Lighter. Clearer. Still breathless and charged, but not even trying to pretend it isn't real.)
A dug relapse and OD? Quite possibly, but it's less likely that he'd be aware enough to ask for Cal and convince the doctors not to call Gillian.
Suicide attempt? Could that be why they were willing to call a shrink at this hour? Possibly, but still odd. And suicide doesn't track with any read he ever got on Alec. Man's a fighter, in his way, and annoyingly optimistic, for a political operative. But then addiction warps everything.
Twenty-two minutes later, he's in the Arrivals lineup outside Reagan Airport. He's had his thumb ready to call Gillian's mobile eight times. He's not sure why he has any inclination to preserve Alec's privacy, but he knows that if Gillian gets any wind of her troubled ex being in the ICU, she will break speed limits to get there, because even if Alec is Alec, she's still Gillian.
Whatever's going on, he'll get the facts and call her later.
"Dad!"
Emily saves him from his brain, as usual, leaning down and peering in the open passenger window. Jesus, she's taking after her mother more every time he blinks. Same eyes and smile and all.
He hops out to wrestle her bags into the boot, which he still refuses to call the trunk, and two big suitcases into the back seat – crikey, how big are college dorm rooms these days? – and hugs her, drips and all. He lets her chitter at him for getting soaked in the rain and, but it's a useful cover for the part of his brain that's spinning over questions and possibilities.
"Just be glad you landed, love, with all this business," he says, gesturing to the storm after they are back in the car and buckled in.
"Where's Gillian?" is her next question. He mugs at her and flips on the wipers.
"Why, I'm not enough of a greeting committee for you anymore?"
"No, I just…"
Hoped, without really questioning it, that he and Gill would both be there to meet her, and bring her home.
Yeah. Him, too. Why didn't he ask her? She knew Emily was coming home. She didn't ask to come along because she's Gillian, and she tries not to intrude on his time with Emily. Why on earth didn't he just bring her?
"Nearly ten at night, Em. Send her a text, though. She'll like that."
Whatever Gillian texts back puts a hundred-watt smile on his daughter's face, as he eases the car into the exit lane. He suspects a cake date is in the offing.
"Home!" Emily sings.
He finds himself swallowing. He's going to have to leave her at home alone tonight. Maybe she's tired? Straight to bed?
Ha. No such luck. Emily doesn't get tired, not until she crashes hard and suddenly. Like her mother. It's only seven pm on her California body clock, and she won't be sleeping anytime soon.
His saving grace is that Emily also inherited her mother's effortless social skills. Emily pouts a little when he tells her he has a work callout, but she's happy enough to get on her phone and her Twitter and Facebook and whatever else passes for human contact, and catch up with her old friend group in town.
"Can I ask Hannah over? If you're going out?" she calls from the dining room, looking up from a plate of steaming shepherd's pie (cheesy breadcrumbs on top for Emily) and a glass of milk. He pokes his head in.
"Bit late, innit? Oh, never mind. I'd nearly forgot about you lot and your sleepovers."
"She works graveyards, Dad. Actually, she thinks I can get a job with her - "
"Nope."
"Just for summer - "
"Nope."
"We'll talk about it later?"
"Pie's getting cold, Em. Listen, I dunno what time I'll be home. I'll shout if if looks like a late one. Sorry, darling. Ice cream in the freezer. Love you."
The rain has stopped, and it's just humid and sticky outside now.
ICUs all tend to look similar, the beige and neutral tones of moveable beds and hoists and angle-armed machines offset by a whole galaxy of colourful screens and LED signal lights. Even late at night, the room is dimly lit, so staff can move around and do their work. There are three beds in this unit, but Alec is the solitary patient at the moment, for which Cal is grateful.
"Alec."
"Cal. Thank you."
Cal can't hide his shock. Alec looks like hell. He's rail-thin, his cheekbones and unshaven jawline painfully sharp. His eyelids could rival Cal's for shadows. Under the pale blue gown, under the light sheet, his arms and legs are long and bony, splayed as if he hasn't much energy to deal with them. He's got oxygen prongs in his nose There are various tubes and beeping machines at work, and a catheter draped over the foot of his bed that Cal tries not to notice.
Alec isn't being a little shit and he's not trying to manipulate anyone. He's a very sick man, radiating apology and regret.
Cal shoves his hands deep in his pockets, a lifelong habit picked up the first week he started school as a grubby kid, when he'd gotten his knuckles rapped every ten minutes for fidgeting or touching things. He rubs his thumb along the side of his second index knuckle, and tries to breathe in time with it.
"What kind of trouble you in, eh? What d'you want me for?" He asks it softly, ironically, as if Alec is hale and healthy and might be up to his neck in gambling debts or something, instead of laid out incapacitated and wretched in front of the man he's nursed a pathological, silent jealousy over for ten years or more. Alec always made sure he was looking his professional best in front of Cal, or elegantly casual at his and Gillian's house. Playing up the contrast to Cal's habitual rumpledness. Not anymore.
Alec addresses Cal's unspoken question. "I stopped using three years ago. After the divorce came through. At least, that's the last time I used." He pulls a sideways smile, and. "You know addicts."
Cal pulls the visitor chair forward and slides into it much more gently than he normally would.
"Hepatitis?" he asks. "HIV?" There's no warnings on the door, but you never know. Alec's body is wracked. Far beyond what Cal's seen of typical coke addicts. This isn't coke-skinny. This is eaten up from the inside.
Alec turns his head slowly side to side on the pillow. "No. I never used needles. Christ, they checked every inch. Didn't believe me."
"You know addicts," Cal echoes, not unkindly.
"I never used needles, and I never overdosed, ever. Never needed much. Always had access to the best stuff, you know? No fillers. High grade."
"World-class stuff comes through DC." He should know. He's tried it himself, a couple of times. It's a beautiful lift, for a little while. Not worth the downer. not worth the risk of an untested bad batch, cut with God knows what. But recreational drugs have always been a controlled research project for him, and he's never felt a craving beyond curiosity. He has his own addictions, but they're not substance-induced.
"The best there is. Just enough to keep me going - but frequently, when I was on it. Never had any issues at work. Not even memory, or anger. Not till a couple years ago. I thought I'd dodged a bullet. Cleaned up for good just in time. But thirty years of using, even with all the years off in between…"
"What happened a couple years ago?"
"Started feeling run down. Thought it was just part of the cycle. Cravings always come back, you feel like you need it, like your world is falling apart but you'll be okay if you can get a little hit. Enough to get you back on your feet. So I ignored it. Tried to push through it. Really tried. Made sure I went to meetings, called my sponsor, stayed away from triggers."
"But it was real? I mean, medical?"
"Yeah." Alec is too tired to nod. "Chronic use of high-grade cocaine can still kill you. Just slower than an OD. Ironic, really. Washington's full of sudden heart attacks and strokes and kidney failures, and we all talk about the stress of politics and the alcohol. People don't talk about the cocaine and pharmaceuticals fuelling politics in this city. It's unseemly."
"White collar invisibility. Never get any drug legislation passed, if people knew," Cal agrees. "Or be able to pull 72-hour negotiations."
"You know how many NA meetings there are just for politicians and judges?" Alec asks. He sounds peeved. Actually, he sounds like he'd rather be ranting about it, delivering a harsh rebuke on the Floor of the House, but he hasn't got the focus. His pulse jumps somewhat alarmingly on the monitor. "People would lose all faith in Washington."
"So if I read your chart, what would it say?" Cal asks after a thoughtful pause, bringing them back on track, "And why me here? Why not Gillian?"
"I'm dying," Alec says matter of factly. "Soon, I think. I'm not leaving here this time. Heart enlarged and inflamed. Tachy as hell - races if I move at all. I can't keep food down. I'm barely a hundred and ten pounds now. They have me whacked out on anti-psychotics and blood pressure meds till I can barely move, because my brain has a cluster of aneurysms waiting to happen. It turns out that I've had a couple of strokes at some point, but I thought they were bad migraines."
"Weakened connective tissue around the major vessels," Cal murmurs, equally matter of factly. "They're trying to keep you quiet as possible." Now that they're here, there's no point in tiptoeing. He thinks Alec needs straightforward talk now. The time has passed for anything like reconciliation, if it ever existed. Cal's issues with Alec were only to do with his effect on Gillian, anyway. "But Gillian – "
"I don't want her seeing me like this," Alec says firmly. "She's going to take it hard. I don't mean – "
"No, I know." He's not flattering himself, or projecting outdated emotional responses onto his ex-wife. Gillian will blame herself and wonder what she could have done, and wish she could have been there to comfort him, despite everything, because she's Gillian. "Won't they call her, sooner or later? Isn't she still your emergency contact?"
"Not anymore. I changed it when they brought me in two weeks ago. Nobody asked any questions. We've been divorced for three years."
"Right. So who is it now?"
"You are. If you will."
Cal stands up and looks down at the man in the bed. Feels a weltering-up of pity, anger, abject panic over Gillian is going to kill me, and frustration at being put in this position.
"And what d'you want me to do?" he asks. "You know that's as good as keeping Gillian as your contact."
"Don't tell her. Please. I don't want her to see me and I don't want her to know until I'm gone. It'll be better for her that way. You know it will."
He concedes Alec may have a point, though his brain starts kicking up hell. Keep something like this from Gill? Are you daft?
"What'd you call me for, then? What'm I supposed to do for you that she can't?"
"I want to give you a list of names. To pass along when I'm gone. Suppliers. Elected officials whose influence was bought in exchange for drugs. Or girls. Usually both."
Prime intel, then. Currency, in DC terms. It's going to mean coaxing some high level FBI contacts out of hiding, to keep this out of reach of all the players in DC Law Enforcement who'll happily disappear the list or use it for political graft.
A compliment, in a way, that he called Cal. Alec was always as transparent and aboveboard as Cal preferred to work in the shadows, but he knew he could trust Cal with this.
"You don't wanna give it to me now?"
"Soon. I need to remember more. My memory's turning to Swiss cheese. It's to ease my mind, Lightman, knowing you'll remember to ask me if I don't remember to tell you."
He's telling the truth. No wonder he can't digest anything: he's been rotting from the inside out for years with this inside him. He always was too idealistic for Washington.
And yes, he is being a supremely manipulative little shit.
And yes, Gillian is going to kill him if he doesn't tell her, even though it would almost certainly be better for her if she doesn't find out till after. He'll have denied a dying man his last bit of dignity if he tells her. And he knows Alec won't give up any more names once Gill's involved. He wouldn't put her in the path of danger.
Well. Can't solve that one right now.
He looks around and spies a pamphlet for a hospital donation drive in a plastic sconce on the wall. Plucking it out, he finds an emptyish spot on the back of the envelope, and borrows the pen attached to the chart rack on the foot of the bed.
"Start talking," he says, sitting down again. "Before your next round. D'you need water?"
It's a little before midnight when he unlocks his front door and steps inside. Immediately he hears two voices and his heart plummets and rattles around near his stomach. Emily. And Gillian. Not Hannah.
"Gillian?"
"Hey!" she wanders around the living room doorway into the hall, in her jeans and stocking feet, mug of tea comfortably in hand, as if it's totally normal for her to greet him there at this time of night. "Emily thought you had a work callout? But I didn't hear anything, so…"
"So you thought you'd come beard me in my own home, that it?"
"And keep your daughter company till you got back. At her invitation. So?" her elegant eyebrows indicate it's time for him to explain himself. The softness of her voice carries a bite. He loves her.
"Ah, nothing really. A false lead. Probably nothing, anyway."
Her eyes flicker over his face, unfooled. "You at a fight night again? You said you'd stay away."
"No, you told me to stay away. I never said I would." Fine, let her believe that's the story, then.
"Cal!" she sighs. "Don't you remember how bad things got – "
"Sure, love. Just had to see this one fellow about something. Over and done."
Your ex-husband is dying in hospital and doesn't want you to know.
She peers harder into his face.
"All right, I may have to see him once more. And I wasn't anywhere near a fight. Honest, Gill."
They're going to call me if he codes, not you. I'll have to be the one to tell you.
She nods, somewhat mollified.
Christ, he hates lying to her.
"Hey, Dad." Emily appears now, her smile bright. She heads for his armpit and wiggles herself underneath till he's got her in something like a headlock. "We're watching old Addams Families."
"Nearly morning, Em."
"Not according to me it isn't," she mumbles, muffled in his side. Gillian beams softly upon them. Ah, shit, why can't it be like this always?
"You're going to be a wreck in the morning, and I was gonna wake you up with pancakes and all."
"You wouldn't wake me up when I'm all jet-lagged, would you?" Emily pouts. "We can do pancakes for dinner instead."
"If you let Gillian go get her beauty sleep and you go to bed."
"Gillian doesn't need any beauty sleep, she was born like that," says Emily.
"That's very sweet and very not true." Gillian replies. "But Cal's right, it's late and I should go home now he's back."
"You should stay and finish your tea," Emily protests. Cal swallows.
The sooner Gill's safely away from his face and his voice, the better, but shooing her out the door was always a dead giveaway that he had something on his mind. And he's pulled in two because he doesn't want her out of his sight right now either. Not looking all warm and like she belongs here, the two of them hanging out at home with Emily. Not with all this Alec business going on.
"Right, then, stay and finish your tea," he hears himself agreeing. "And you, Miss, upstairs to bed."
"I'm a college student now," she reminds him, unwrapping his arm from around her. "You can't order me around."
"This isn't bloody Canada. You're still a minor."
Gillian giggles into her mug and turns back to the living room.
Cal watches their departing backs and wonders if this is the one that'll blow it all apart. Just when he's starting to believe he's not imagining things, that he and Gill are inching a little nearer for real, feeling a little less like it's an impossible idea…
Loyalty on him looks like not letting someone die, not letting them get mired in a hole because he's promised them that much, even if it turns out to be a bad idea. Loyalty on Gillian means being a good friend and considering what's best for the other person. Most times, they end up at the same place. Not always. Sometimes the promises he's made to protect people backfire spectacularly.
Like this one?
He doesn't have to decide tonight. But every hour means more sins of omission, if not outright lies. And that's something that'll push her away again, farther than before. Loyalty is way up on Gillian's list of Big Red Buttons.
He finds himself detouring past the kitchen to heat up the leftover shepherd's pie. Every now and then it gets late enough that Gillian can be convinced to stay in the guest room. A midnight bellyful of pie should get her nicely sleepy.
Addictions indeed. Like the sound of his girls breathing safely under his roof.
She accepts the pie, but laughingly turns down his standard offer of a bed, either one, with or without him in it.
Bugger it, bugger it. That's a "Not yet," in her eyes if ever he saw one.
Alec never asks Cal if he and Gillian are together. It's not until the third visit, a week later and in daylight, that Cal realizes Alec's been assuming they are. He'd been assuming that since the separation, it turns out.
"Never," Cal tells him. He doesn't try to act surprised, or offended, or anything but straight-up honest with him. "Aw, you know we tease each other, but that's it. All it ever was." Which is the truth, more or less.
"She wanted you so bad…"
This is a raw nerve coming up to the surface. Cal squirms a little. It's not like Alec didn't have plenty of reason to have wondered, even if they'd never given him any reason to suspect. There was nothing to suspect. They were careful about that.
"You're wanderin' again, man. Let's get back to the parties at Lidmore's house. What else d'you remember?"
"Could've handled that. Marry a woman like that, you know she's gonna get all the attention in the room. You know what that's like. But she liked you. She just always had to be around you. Everyone else, you'd piss off till they walked away, but not her. You made her more...more Gillian. Just being you. That's all you had to do, damn you."
"Steady on. Easy on th' breathing. This is old stuff you used to stress over, comin' up again. You've got too much thinking time. Just you and me here. We're here to do a job, right?"
Sometimes he's still a shrink when he needs to be.
"She'll be a widow when I'm gone."
Well…yes. That's the term for it.
"She'll be able to marry again."
Cal regards the pale man in the bed. Alec's eyes are closed and one hand is rhythmically opening and closing, self-soothing in a sort of way.
"She's not that Catholic, mate. Lapsed decades ago. Marry anyone she wanted to." He means it as a comfort. He and Gill aren't married, therefore, there's still nothing going on. Right? Because if there were, if they ever got together for real, that would be it. Final. They know this. It's one of the reasons they're taking it slow, even if they haven't talked about that bit. Or any of it, really.
"No, I know. She's just too romantic. Death do us part. She meant it."
Huh. That's a point he hadn't considered. Maybe Alec learned a thing or two about his ex-wife over ten years of marriage.
"Loyal to the end."
"That's Gillian."
"I know." Does he, hell.
"You haven't told her."
"She'd be right here if I did."
"Why didn't you?"
"'Cos you asked so nicely."
Alec opens his eyes at his tone. "You're protecting her."
"And I'm gonna pay for it, believe me."
"You can't tell her."
"Not plannin' on it."
Why is he so certain of that, while he's sitting with the dying man, but he's in ragged knots as soon as he's away?
"Lidmore's house," he tries again, switching on his little mini-cassette recorder again. It's an antique by now, but it's unhackable and requires hard-to-find playback equipment these days, and that's worth something in this game. He's not letting anyone digitize it anytime soon.
"Giesbrecht, O'Fallon, Kravitz and Riordan. Junior congressmen then. They were the messengers. Arranged the buys, brought party supplies with them everywhere. They got plenty of kickback for being the fall guys if the place got raided or photos came out. Riordan threw in escorts like tips for good service or to sweeten deals. You know where he ended up."
Senior congressman elected three times, so far, with his eyes on Governor of Delaware.
"And this was during the 2007 disarmament talks? With Pakistan?"
"Mm. And whether we should meddle with the Indonesian monarchy crisis."
"Did we?" Cal can't honestly remember. There was talk of meddling and talk of non-interference all going around at the time.
"You know how much international cooperation a couple dozen untraceable Indonesian refugee girls and an actual yacht load of drugs gets you?"
"Ah. Take it we left them alone then."
"Why you doing this, Alec?" Cal wants to know.
It's two weeks later, a Thursday evening. The visits are shorter: Alec can't handle much. He's tapped out his memory, and doesn't trust the bits that filter through his consciousness now. It's impossible to tell a drug-tinted memory from a dream.
"Truth," Alec says, too quickly.
"Nah, that's not it. Some, but not all, anyway."
"Revenge?" Alec murmurs, "You think I want revenge?"
"I dunno. Is that it?"
It might be. Something's keeping Alec going beyond the strength of his body.
"Poison," Alec says flatly. "It's in everything. It's in me. It got in me. It's all over. Got to clean it up. It's not right."
"Still an idealist," Cal replies. This may also explain the scratches down Alec's arms, these past couple of days, that the doctor agreed were self-inflicted, but they suspected a dermal irritation from some combination of the drugs he's on. Cal thinks it's more of a ritual scourging.
"Wanted to get away, y'now? Far 'way. Get out of politics. Should've run. Colorado, Oregon, I dunno. But it got in me and I couldn't get out. "
Politics or cocaine? Probably both.
"Not her fault. None of it. No kids. Sophie…Sophie...four times in rehab. Never forgive myself what I did to her."
Cal reminds himself it would be a killing blow to agree with Alec right now over the effect he had on Gillian.
"Took the light out of her eyes," Alec sighs.
At last we understand each other, Cal thinks.
"Redemption," he says quietly. "That's what you're after."
Alec meets his eyes and doesn't reply. Is that something a dying may should even have to admit to? Cal doesn't know. Probably not.
"I haven't told her," Cal says, into the false quiet of the ICU. It's become something of a mantra that Alec needs to hear, or a lullabye.
Sure enough, Alec closes his eyes again, and his breathing begins to even out. He's so still that Cal has to watch the monitors to check his pulse and breath.
Cal's own response to this routine has gone from she's going to kill me to she's going to leave me. He's not sure which is worse.
When Alec dies, when Gillian finds out, the new world that was just beginning to reveal itself as a real possibility is going to come apart at the seams.
He should have told her that first night, if he was ever going to.
Except she's been happy. He'll do everything he can to comfort her after, but surely she doesn't need this?
It's been two Fridays since he and Gillian last stopped off at the market on the way to her house or his, and cooked dinner together. He assumed it was because of Emily, because Gill's over every few days anyway, to spend time with them both for a while after work. Gillian's genuinely interested in Berkeley life and everything Emily's studying. She's better at getting Emily to open up - at least, she's far gentler than he is - and Cal loves it, loves having them there. But she doesn't stay for dinner often, and never stays late.
She's sometimes at the house when he comes home, after detouring to the hospital to see Alec. He loves coming home to her, despite the split-reality number it does on his head, knowing he can't tell her where he's been. She knows he has contacts and meetings that go on outside of work. She doesn't seem bothered. If anything, her goodnight hugs are a little…clingier.
At five thirty on the third Friday, he goes to find her in her office. She's collecting up her things very quickly.
"Whoa, what time's the race? You off on a date?"
She pauses, one hand on the collar of her jacket on the back of her chair, and eyes him a little warily. There's guilt there, too.
"What, you are?" he asks her. "Trying to slip away without me seein'?"
Yes, trying to slip away, but not because of a date, he thinks.
"It's Friday," he says, "We've missed a few. Thought you might want to cook somethin' up for supper. We can put Em to work. Even let you two pick the film."
Her tongue comes out to moisten her lips. A stress reflex. "I just thought maybe. It's been a while. For you, I mean. Since you had company. A new woman friend, I mean. And I've loved - I love spending these evenings with you. But if something's going on in your life, Cal, and you can't tell me, I'm not sure I can - "
"No! Gillian, no."
"I'm not complaining! You've been wonderful lately. Really. Whatever's going on, it's - "
"Will you - just stand still and listen. There." He manages to prevent her from sailing clean past him by grabbing her shoulders.
She doesn't want to give him her eyes, but she's gutsy as hell, his Gillian, and meets him head-on anyways.
"Something's changed," she tells him. She's trying not to let sadness seep into her voice, and it guts him.. "You're treating me like you do when you've got a new woman in your life. Being too nice. Locking your phone like you're supposed to. Vanishing. Emily's noticed. You call me Gillian more. Did you know that?"
"Something, but not someone," he tells her. "It's not like that. Yeah, I've got something on the go, and I'll tell you soon, but it's nothing I want to worry you about. That's - "
Absolutely the wrong thing to blurt out, in retrospect, he thinks.
"So I should be worrying."
"That's not what I - "
"I know. I know you." she taps his chest. His heart thuds happily at the contact. He grabs her chilly little hand and tries again.
"Please. Come over tonight. Like always." (Or at least, like these last few months of spring and summer, all piling up with memories of time spent with her, not just being each other's day job.) "Miss you. Em misses you."
"Emily's only been home a few weeks."
"Yeah, 'cos she missed you. That's the whole reason she came back, innit."
"You're being dreadfully cute."
"So you'll come?"
She gives him that look that always gets him fizzing, the one that says he's being a rapscallion and a rogue and she'll probably regret it, but she's game.
"Come over, Gill. We'll make pizza from scratch, a'right? All healthy stuff on top, just how you like it."
"And ice cream."
"Well, yeah."
So the crisis is narrowly averted, and there's a stop at a Whole Foods on the way home for overly expensive pizza dough and sauces (tomato and pesto), and all kinds of fresh vegetables and chorizo and tiny spicy meatballs and two kinds of vegan cheese for the girls to try, along with fresh mozzarella.
He's got to tell her soon. Tonight.
Emily's ridiculous special crispy-crust-making pizza trays are loaded down, and the oven is heating and the girls are laughing, and he's laughing, and Gillian looks at him over her wine glass with that kiss lingering on her mouth, the one he could almost reach out for and claim if he was actually brave. Tonight?
And then. And then it all.
Shreds.
His phone, muffled, ringing.
Where is it?
Out in the hall, in his coat pocket.
"Dr. Lightman? Dr. Hubanks here. I'm calling to say that Alec has been unresponsive for some time. I think - if you want to come, I would come very soon."
"Yeah," he replies, carefully non-committal. "An hour, you think? Less?"
"As soon as possible, Dr. Lightman."
"Righto. I'll be there."
He hangs up. There's not nearly enough time to gather his thoughts, or decide what to do - there's barely time to breathe.
He stands in the kitchen doorway and gathers up a lifetimes' worth of dice and throws them up to the heavens.
"Gillian."
She turns. His voice hits before she even sees his face. Her brilliant smile fades and falls. Trusting soul that she is, she reaches to meet his outstretched hand halfway. He wonders if it's the last time she'll do that. He wouldn't blame her if she never speaks to him again after this.
"Gill, it's Alec. It's…come with me, love. Please."
Her hand drops before it touches his. She whirls past him into the hall.
"Is he alive?" she asks, clipped and cold, straight into crisis mode as they both make for the coat closet.
"Right now, yes," he replies, then: "Em! Turn the oven off."
"Dad!" his daughter sounds as panicky as Gillian is calm. "What's going on?"
Gillian looks up from pulling on her sneakers, and meets his eyes. They share a glance that's more parental than anything else. She nods. This is too much for a child. But Emily isn't anymore, and this is a family thing. Leaving her at home alone to wait and wonder would be cruel.
He grabs up Emily's jacket too and tosses it at her.
"C'mon. Explain in the car. Oven off?"
"Yeah. Dad…was Alec in an accident?"
"Car."
Gillian's too quiet as they strap in, watching him, and he nearly grazes the car roof with the rising garage door. Emily is big eyed and a different kind of silent, in the back seat.
Once they're safely pointed in the right direction, Gillian says, in that clinical voice: "Tell me what's going on. Before we get there."
And Jesus, it comes out like a penitential prayer, a tumbling handful of words he's been holding too tight in his fist for weeks.
"He's so sick. He's clean, Gill. Swear to God, he's been clean for years. But too much damage done. Multi system failure. That was the ICU. He's unresponsive now. He asked me - he bloody well begged me not to tell you. Not till it was over. Didn't want you seeing him like he is now. Not much left of him, is there. But I can't - it's not my call. Bloody stubborn bugger kept holding on. I thought maybe he'd come out of it, but he knew. S'why he called me in the first place."
"Oh God!" There are tears welling up and over, but she seems unaware. She's still disconnected from the shock of it, even if her body isn't. "Alec, you idiot."
"You don't have to go in and see him," he reminds her, "But I couldn't – I couldn't not give you the choice. Not now. Not after all."
"No, that's right," she agrees, leaning her head heavily against the headrest and swiping at her eyes. "Wait. How long? How long have you known?"
"Three weeks."
He can see the wheels turning neatly. "The night Emily came home."
"That's the one."
"That's why you wanted me to stay? That night?"
"Yeah." Well, that's one reason. Hardly the only one.
Even Emily can hear the raw admission in his voice, but she keeps her silence.
"I knew something had happened. Alec must've known you'd tell me eventually. I don't know why he'd ever ask you not to."
"Man's got nothing left but a shred of dignity," he says, "Had to think before taking that away from him."
"…or why it took a summons from the hospital for you to tell me now," she goes on as if he hadn't spoken. Her focus is clearing now and she's getting colour back in her cheeks. "Were you really going to tell me?"
"I was," he insists. "Been making me sick. He's in a bad way now. I get why he asked me to keep you out of it. I get it, Gill. It's going to be a shock, seeing him. And honest, he didn't want to burden you any more. Didn't want you waiting on him dyin'. But yeah. I'd made up my mind I was gonna tell you about it. All quiet, after supper tonight."
"Am I not his emergency contact any more?" she leaps ahead again. "Why didn't they call me ages ago?"
"He changed it, he said."
"To you?"
"Yeah."
"But why?"
"Ah, well, that's – " He glances in the rear view mirror at his daughter, who is still too big-eyed, but taking in more than he guesses, he's sure. "Not because he wanted to. He had some information he had to get out. Before. And I think I'm the only bastard he knows who'd do the right thing with it."
"What information?" Gill just sounds weary now, as if the years of cleaning up Alec's messes are coming back to her now.
"'Bout those who got him into the sort of stuff that got him in trouble," he paraphrases, more for Emily's sake.
"What, drug suppliers?" she pipes up from the back seat. He sighs.
"Yes, drug suppliers, Em. And politicians taking favours in drugs. Voting promises. That sort of thing."
"Well, that's pretty badass," his daughter says, tactlessly and with horrible timing. "Making sure that's the last thing he does."
"Em. Zip it. I mean it."
But Gillian lets out a tearful gasping sniffle.
"Yeah, it sort of is," she says. "But Cal, you still should have told me right way."
"What would you've done?" He doesn't mean, what would you have done in my place, she knows, but what would you have done if you knew Alec was slipping away in hospital these past three weeks?
Honestly, isn't it better she didn't have that hanging over her head?
He didn't want her to get around to forgiving Alec, he realizes, with a bitter swallow. She'd have overflowed with compassion and found a way to finally forgive him for blaming his relapses on their lost pregnancies and lost daughter, and for shutting her out completely. Which is – fine, all very healthy, no doubt – but then she'd have chewed herself up inside with fresh regret about what else she might have done to keep him healthy. And un-forgiven him a few times and felt rubbish about it. And she'd have dug her damn line even more deeply in the sand between them while she worked it all out.
Maybe. Or maybe she'd have kept her hard-won perspective on how much she'd sacrificed for Alec and their marriage. Maybe their recent slow drift towards real intimacy would continue. But he hadn't given her the chance to prove him wrong.
He's going to hear about this later, he's sure.
"I don't know what I'd have done. But I…"
Silence falls again. Nobody has to say what all three of them are thinking.
They nearly don't let her into the ICU, since only Cal is listed as any sort of contact. Alec's brother hasn't spoken to him in years and his parents are long passed on.
"This is Doctor Foster," Cal points out to the thin-lipped nurse at the ICU station. She has her orders and policies too, and the legal definition of family casts her in the Large Bitchy Nurse role far too often. "Ex-spouse of Mister Foster in there, and they need a moment. God's sake, Kimberly, didn't I bring you tea twice this week?"
The nurse gives a single unsmiling head-tilt toward the door. "Only one visitor at a time," she mutters.
"I know, thank you," Gillian tells her politely. She's got her gracious face back on and her hair combed and a trace of fresh lipstick in place, but she's got a couple of tissues in her jacket pocket too. While there's no being ready for this sort of thing, she's as prepared as possible under the circumstances.
He feels Emily's hands grasping his coat sleeve as Gillian moves toward the dimly-lit doorway. Gill turns to look back at them before she goes in. He gives her a quick chin-up nod. We're here.
Gillian smiles slightly. They wait until she's in Alec's room before turning away.
Emily holds onto his arm as they settle into the slippery tan pleather seats in the waiting zone. "You think he's really dying in there?" she whispers. She doesn't sound overwhelmed or scared, but awed. Life is very big sometimes, never moreso than at its close. One's childhood grownups tend to take on an immortal aspect, until suddenly they don't, and Emily's known Alec since she was eight.
(The first night she met Alec, he'd read her a bedtime story, and asked her for a review of how he did, because he was practising for his own little girl one day. He was charming and she was charmed. Cal thought he was harmless and too nice for Washington and that he and Gillian were almost but fatally not quite right for each other.)
"I think so, darling. Tough bugger to hold on for so long, really."
"If it was Mom…"
"Your mum and I are still each other's medical contacts, love. Gillian's one of mine, too, and I'm one of hers. Any city, any time zone, we'd get a call, and we'd call you. Promise."
"So why didn't you say anything when Alec called you? Really?"
"Tried to explain it earlier, Em. I wasn't waffling around."
"No, I know, but you didn't say everything."
"Oh, you got that, did you?"
"Yeah, I got that."
"What if I said it was between Gillian and me, and not your bizzy-wizzy?" he leans over and pinches her nose to make it stick together. She throws him a look and rubs at her nose.
"Why, were you jealous of him?"
"Emily. Man's breathing his last in there." All right, so his kid is as much him as Zoe. She'll have to learn to deal with it the hard way, too, just like him.
"Well, you can't be jealous of him now, so were you?"
"I wronged him, I did," he says, mostly to himself. "Never was jealous. More like mystified. Why Gill put up with him so long. But he's a good man, Em. No way Gill would have gotten anywhere near him otherwise. A good man who got very sick. And he tried to get well, over and over."
He has a piercing moment of wondering what would have happened if even one of Gill's IVF courses had taken. If Sophie's adoption had been finalized. If that would have been Alec's reason to stay clean, instead of an excuse to use again.
He might've been jealous then. Watching Gill growing someone else's baby. Feeling her (gently, politely) turn her back on that spark that was always there between them, to protect her family. Yeah, he'd be a right jealous sod. Maybe even enough to make a full-on advance some unwise late night at the office, and then where'd they be now? Strangers to each other, likely.
Funny thing, life.
He closes his eyes, hunkers down into his jacket and wraps an arm around his daughter's shoulders, preparing for a long wait into the night. The vigil is Gillian's, but he can make sure she has anything she needs.
He's not expecting to hear her soft footfalls so soon, but it can't be more than fifteen minutes. Emily stirs beside him, surprised.
"Hey," Gillian says, sniffling a little, but composed.
"Hi, darling," he holds out his free hand, and she takes it and drops into the chair beside him. They wait for her to speak.
"It was very quick," she tells them. "We were really just in time. But I think – I want to think he knew I was there. I just held his hand and his heart rate slowed down and went steady. And then. All the doctors say hand twitches are just spasms, I know, but - it felt like him."
"Don't see why not," Call offers, sincerely. "Doctor with him now?"
She nods. "They won't give me the certificate. But they will to you. Legalities. He's got no family of power of attorney listed, and I'm not his wife, so."
He shrugs uncomfortably. Is he going to be dealing the mortuary staff and funeral home, then? It's a sick joke of fate, that. "Gill, I never thought – not in a million years – he'd want me to - "
"No, I know. But I'm glad he knew he could pass along the information he had. That would have made a difference to him. Knowing you'll find a way to make it matter." Her eyes are the serene, ocean-deep blue he adores, but it's a mite worrisome. She's very calm, but not with the clipped control of before. She seems a little trancey.
"You feeling shocky at all, love?"
She shakes her head. "Not at all. You think you were saving me from a deathwatch? I just realized this is the first night in over fifteen years I don't have to wonder if I'll get a call that he's died."
At that, Emily gets up and switches seats so she's on Gillian's other side. She snuggles her head into Gillian's shoulder and wraps both arms around Gillian's. Gillian smiles and nuzzles a kiss into the messy crown.
"So you'll stay with us then?" Emily asks, clog-stomping in where hardened MI6 veterans fear to tread. She doesn't say tonight? Or for a while? Or forever? She doesn't have to. As what? doesn't even matter. Not anymore.
Cal feels Gillian's hand slide warm in his, her fingers stroking along his palm.
"I'll stay."