Cal woke up with a throbbing headache.

"Bloody hell," he thought, squinting against the bright light shining in through the window. He tried to sit up, suddenly becoming aware of a slender arm that was draped over his side. A woman's arm.

He couldn't remember going home with anyone—but these were certainly not familiar surroundings. "Where was he?" In a hotel room, he thought. "But who was in his bed?" He lay there, trying desperately to remember the night before. He remembered the casino. And he remembered the idiotic bet that had left him one million dollars lighter. He groaned inwardly, deciding he'd better get this over with, fully intending to tell the pretty girl in his bed go home.

He rolled over gingerly, finding himself face to face with a sleeping Gillian Foster. And it all came flooding back. He remembered ordering drink after drink, until he could barely see straight, much less walk. He remembered drunkenly staggering into a pool table, effectively ending their game—and earning a few bruises for his efforts. He remembered seeing stars, and slumping into a corner, intending to wait for the return of his senses.

And he remembered that it was Gillian who helped him up, Gillian who took him home, and Gillian who doctored his wounds. It had always been Gillian. He didn't know how or why she was always good to him. He knew he didn't deserve her kindness and unwavering loyalty.

Guilt overwhelmed him. He knew how much he'd worried her with his gambling and drinking. And he knew he'd hurt her deeply, pushing her away for a night of fun with Poppy. He had ignored most of her suggestions about the case, and accused her of being overbearing and "smothering." And just as she was starting to really trust and open up to him after her divorce, he'd replaced her.

He felt like scum.

Lower than scum.

He'd do his best to make it up to her. Even if it took forever.

He took in her still sleeping form. She lay perfectly still, her chest lightly rising and falling, and her hand now rested directly over his heart. He leaned over and gently kissed the corner of her mouth. Gillian smiled lazily, her eyes still closed. He took an errant strand of hair and tucked behind her ear, whispering softly, "Gill, wake up." Her eyelids fluttered, then opened slowly. "Good morning love."

Her eyes opened a little wider as she took in her surroundings. She realized that she was nestled up in Cal's shoulder, and began to pull back in embarrassment. Cal grabbed her hand as she tried to remove it from his chest, and kissed it gently. "I'm sorry love."

Gillian reluctantly pulled herself upright and out of his arms, knowing that there were some things that needed to be said before she lost her nerve. "Cal Lightman," she began. He started to interrupt, but she held up her hand to stop him. "I can't do this anymore, Cal," she said softly. He could see the hurt welling up in her eyes. "You've had me tied up in knots, worrying about you and trying to protect you from yourself. Trying to make excuses for your bad judgment, and pretending that it doesn't hurt when you push me aside." Cal cringed. If he could just take it all back, he would. He held his breath, waiting for her to finish.

"Cal, she whispered, stroking his cheek, "I love you dearly, and I will always be your anchor, your friend. But I need you to know, that this is not okay. You hurt me, and you have a choice to make. I don't want to see you give up everything we've built because of your past guilt, or because you fall into old habits.

He slumped back against the pillows, guilt overtaking him.

"You are a good man, Cal Lightman," she said, forcing his chin up to meet her eyes.

He saw no deception. She really believed that. Such faith. Such undeserved faith.

"Gill, love, I choose you."

Her heart melted. She couldn't hold back any longer. She never had been any good at staying mad at Cal. In one swift motion, she threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.

Cal exhaled in relief. He was so grateful for a chance to make things right. Grateful that something in her made her stay, made her care. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, holding on as if he'd never get enough.

As they finally broke apart, a tear rolled down his face. The great Cal Lightman was crying. Seeing this, Gillian leaned forward, kissing away a tear on his cheek and ruffling his hair. "I mean what I said Cal," she told him, "You are a good man, and it's time you start believing that." Cal clasped her hands in his and looked deep into her eyes.

"Take me home, love?"