The Lies We Tell (8/?)
The Lies We Tell 8/?
Pairing: None... yet
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: LTM, not mine. HT, mine.
Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.
A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. Going to stop apologizing for giant chaps. Grab a cuppa and get used to it. This chapter brought to you by Thelonious Monk and Ry Cummings. Hope you enjoy, thanks for commenting!
SEVEN
.::.::.::.
Back lit by the dim streetlamps outside, Gillian sat at a piano, examining the black lacquer wearing thin, the ivory on the keys aged from years of use. She felt the hot summer air blowing through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making her long sun-streaked brown hair blow haphazardly all around.
She took another swig from her bottle of wine and set it down on the bench, wiping her mouth dry with the back of her hand. Staring forlornly at the keys, she placed her fingers in familiar positions and pressed softly, as though the mellow tone could somehow distract from the mayhem of a late night in Valencia.
.::.
Cal climbed out of his car and strutted up to Gillian's door, knocking a couple times. She must've been close by because she answered quickly.
"Hey," said a clearly confused Gillian as she backed away for him to enter. Chagrined she stated, "you said you were going to call first."
There was a response somewhere in Cal's head, maybe even on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, he was too busy staring at a glistening Foster. Glistening. She wore tight dark blue calf-length spandex and a dark grey sports top that had a trail of sweat down the center of her back.
Cal swallowed hard and tried to think of innocent things, like… snowflakes. Snowflakes would have melted if they touched her at the moment. Fail.
"Forgot," was all he could manage. He stepped inside and turned to watch her lock the door. She shook her head as she passed. He breathed her scent of sweat and lotion then followed her into the kitchen.
"I literally just walked in the door," Gillian stated as she picked up her recently discarded fleece off the table. When he still didn't reply, she seemed to realize why he was so distracted. "What? I was at Bikram yoga."
Blank face.
"Hot yoga?" Cal nodded in understanding. The movement seemed to help clear away the Foster induced fog. Hot, sweaty Foster stretching to impossible positions. It wasn't helping.
It's just… It was Foster without make-up, all blue eyes and freckles, hair tied back with strands escaping, and a fine sheen of sweat on her neck and arms. She looked about ten years younger, standing in front of him as she chugged away at her glass of water. All he could do was follow the column of her throat down to other pleasant areas to admire.
"Want anything?" he could hear the amusement in her voice as she turned to grab him a glass.
You.
"D'you have any orange juice?" Cal croaked instead. "Em drank all ours this morning. She had two other banshees running around, causing mayhem every five minutes."
Gillian gracefully retrieved the juice, casually placing her hand on her hip as she poured. She bit her lip when he mentioned the banshees. He eyed her suspiciously as she slid the juice over to him.
"How'd you know about them?"
"Emily asked me what kind of a mood you were in before you visited my office yesterday. She was thinking about having a couple girlfriends over."
"You must've been exacting revenge if you said I'd be okay with it. Did she mention that they talked so high and so loud that dogs couldn't even understand them?"
Foster laughed that light and airy laugh he loved so much. "No, she failed to mention that. She must have been operating under the assumption that you speak teenage girl."
"Wonder where she got that idea," Cal snarked before he drained his glass. "The worst part was the awful film they watched. I don't even know the name of it. But there was this giant and an albino and a mean prince named Pumpernickel. Quite original this film."
"It's Prince Humperdinck. The Princess Bride," Gillian murmured. "You can blame me for that. She'd asked me what my favorite movie was when I was younger."
"And that was what you told her? Couldn't have been something like The Godfather?"
Gillian smiled at him as she picked up his glass and rinsed it in the sink. "No, shoot 'em up mobster movies aren't really my type."
"No, you prefer the mindless romantic comedies," Cal said knowingly. He expected a smile at his observation, but instead he got nothing.
Something was different about her lately, but he wasn't quite sure what. He'd been hoping to steal her away for lunch to determine what it was. She Turned to face him with her arms crossed loosely, her toe absently twisting in its spot on the ground. She seemed to be miles away, deep inside her head. Cal wondered why she was anxious.
It was then that he noticed the beads of sweat making the slow, enviable journey from the nape of her neck, gliding over her collarbone and sliding down the valley between her breasts.
Cal shifted uncomfortably. He did his best to treat Foster with respect and not breach any remaining propriety between them, but this was pushing it. Big time. He wasn't sure if this was punishment or a reward, but happening upon a pink-cheeked, spandex-clad Foster was tempting fate a little too strongly. If she didn't shower soon, he was afraid he'd have to forgo his plans and ravish her on the kitchen table.
.::.
Twisting her hair into a knot at her neck, she sat up and hiked her skirt up over her knees. She placed her feet on the pedals as her fingers stretched to their limit. Slowly, she eased into one of many songs in her repertoire, years of piano lessons and showcases ingrained in her mind.
She was of the belief that the best works were played to an empty room, and she certainly proved that in the darkness of the abandoned concert hall. Gillian found the room in her tipsy wanderings of the confused nightclub in which her friends were creating much pandemonium.
When she reached a break in the piece, she heard a soft click and looked over to find Henri leaning against the wall, camera in hand. Gillian scowled at him, frowning even more when she heard his chuckle. It was the first time in a week that he'd been able to get her alone. Their small group of friends was backpacking around Europe, and like a dutiful friend, Colette had stuck to Gillian's side throughout. Until now. Trust alcohol and a Spaniard with smooth hands to distract Colette.
.::.
Gillian leaned against the counter across from Cal, trying her hardest not to be self-conscious. It wasn't working. She felt ridiculously awkward and knew that he was either thinking dirty thoughts or wondering why she produced such an obscene amount of perspiration. She smelled like a gym bag, she looked a fright, and after spending the entire morning deep in thought, she was struggling to free herself from introspection. It was all those stupid dreams about Henri that were doing her in. They wouldn't stop.
Cal stood and retrieved a paper towel, folding it as he approached and stopped just in front of her. Miffed, she watched as he carefully, respectfully even, dabbed her chest, tracing a bead of sweat from the top of her cleavage up to the back of her neck.
And suddenly, all the air seemed to leave the room.
Her breathing shallow, she could only inhale his scent of aftershave and arrogance. God, what this man could do with a simple movement or look. The warmth emanating off his body was distracting enough, but she was mostly grateful that he hadn't touched her with his bare hand. Otherwise… she didn't want to think about what might have happened.
When she looked up, his eyes were hooded and she couldn't read him. She only hopped that he wouldn't notice the flush creeping up her neck and the chill erupting on her skin. He swallowed hard then blinked quickly. Finally he flicked his eyes up to hers and like always, they showed caring with a touch of smirk.
The moment vanished as quickly as his seriousness.
"Best get a shower," he murmured, voice husky. "I'm pretty sure the place we're going requires better hygiene and more clothing than what you've got on at the moment."
Gillian scoffed and smacked him on the chest, pushing him aside. Walking towards her bedroom, she failed to notice the way his hands curled at his sides, the way his eyes hungrily raked her form, the way his tongue poked out just so. She missed the way he banged his head against the wall in self-condemnation.
If only she could see that he wanted her more than a dozen blonde models or leggy brunettes.
If only he'd let her.
.::.
"You seemed to be having fun on the dance floor," Gillian muttered spitefully, keeping her eyes fixed on anything but Henri. She blinked away the image of the voluptuous dancer who'd had her hands all over Henri no more than ten minutes prior.
"Luc didn't seem to find fault with you either," he replied as he took a seat on the stripped wooden floor, hooking his arms around folded knees. "I'd be having more fun if you'd give in and dance with me."
Gillian didn't bother responding. It had been an entire year since they'd last seen each other. The only reason she'd agreed to this summer trip was because both Colette and Luc had sworn profusely that Henri would be unable to go with them. But, plans changed and at the last minute he'd hopped aboard their train three days into the trip and had been a thorn in her side ever since.
"Not going to talk? Fine. At least play something, or finish that song," Henri requested above the din of the bass from next door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grab her bottle and take a swig. She hated when he drank her drinks. She used to love it, but that was back when she knew where his lips had been.
.::.
Cal watched as Gillian ate her salad. Mercifully, she'd changed into a soft-looking cashmere sweater and jeans, dusted on a hint of make-up and got ready much quicker than he'd ever anticipated. As their large-bosomed waitress came by with a water refill, he maintained his slouch in his chair and kept his eyes on his plate. Not that he didn't enjoy a good set of bosoms, but he knew Foster would catch it and he was doing his best to keep the focus on her at the moment. She'd take that window in a heartbeat and make some appropriate comment about his lechery and he'd have to hem and haw for a few minutes.
He had more important things on his mind.
"So, you ever going to tell me about this Belgian fella?"
There was no surprise on her features. Seemed like she knew exactly why he'd drug her out to lunch. Glancing up at him, she sipped her water and swallowed her bite slowly.
"How about you tell me what you already know about him and I'll decide if I want to share more."
Cal covered up his frown with a flash of a grin. She was getting much better at opposing him in an interrogation. Still, she couldn't hide everything.
"You loved him once, possibly still keep in contact, but few people know about him."
He catalogued her reactions but her face was carefully blank - all except for the part where he said she loved him once. There was some hurt there.
"You still have feelings for him… unresolved feelings. So whenever you ended things, and I bet it was you who ended them, it wasn't because of the typical reason like cheating or lying. You still think he's a good person."
Once again, he got nothing out of her, and he wasn't sure what to think. She smiled when he mentioned good person. Then she set down her fork and propped her arm on the chair, resting her chin atop her closed fist. She gave him a crooked smile and he knew that he'd walked into something.
"I don't see why you're jealous, Cal," she murmured knowingly. "There's nothing to worry about. It's not like I'm going to hop on a plane bound for Belgium."
"Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout," Cal replied. He frowned because he was most certainly not jealous. Definitely not. "Just trying to figure out what this guy is to you."
"He's my past," Gillian stated evenly. She was being far too scrupulous for Cal not to be suspicious. He wished that he could believe her, but the sheer fact that he knew nothing about this man meant that he was someone to be concerned about.
"Am I your present then?"
Another crooked smile. It made him wary. "Something like that."
Cal recalled a time when he'd used that exact phrase and it was as evasive as a non-answer could get. "And what about your future?"
"I think the dessert menu is in charge of that one," Gillian said as she leaned back in her chair, allowing the busboy to remove her plate.
"Should have known there was an ulterior motive when you ordered a salad for lunch."
Grinning playfully she took the proffered menu. "There's always an ulterior motive."
Cal watched her pour over the dainty script. She meant something by that. Gillian always meant what she said. It was his job to figure out to what it applied. So many people underestimated the puzzle that was Gillian Foster. He figured it was rather serendipitous he learned early on that she spoke in code half the time.
"I know why you brought us here," she grinned as she leaned forward and glanced out the window down the street. "We just so happen to be two blocks from the record shop."
"You don't say?"
"Are you trying to bribe me into complacency?"
"No," he wobbled his head back and forth at her doubtful look. "Yes. Always."
"I doubt it'll work, but I won't stop you from trying."
"Way to take advantage, Foster."
"Just being resourceful," she replied with the same mock innocence. "I thought you'd appreciate that quality."
Her dessert was delivered with his tea. He marveled at how large her eyes grew at the sight of the chocolate-nutella something or other that was placed in front of her.
"Have you checked your blood sugar lately?"
"If I develop diabetes, it will be well worth it."
Laughing, he only shook his head and settled back in his chair, perfectly content to watch Foster enjoy her dessert.
.::.
Stubbornly, she shut her eyes to pretend Henri wasn't there, resuming the dark chords with speed and precision. It didn't work because she felt herself flushing beneath his steady gaze. The sexual tension between them ratcheted upward my the minute. It truly felt like the room was simmering.
Struggling to refocus, she tinkered and toyed, choosing to taper off from the classical piece and ease into a slow jazz tune. It was rich and warm and melancholy, just like her. Exhaling slowly, she lost herself in the rhythm, so much so that she momentarily forgot that Henri was there until she felt his breath upon her neck.
Plucking away, she punctuated notes with his bare lips on the base of her neck, her fingers danced frenetically when his slid along her side, and she faltered when she felt him inch the strap of her dress down her arm. His hand slid between the silky fabric and cupped bare skin. She gasped and caught his bottom lip with her teeth, grinning into his open mouth. When she turned fully, he grabbed her hips and picked her up, placing her on the edge of the piano as dissonant chords filled the air.
"Let's get out of here," he murmured against her neck.
"Why bother?" she whispered, his hands creeping up her gauzy skirt. Henri moaned into her mouth as he pressed against her. The bench made a resounding thud as it was kicked backwards. Her hands clutched and tugged until his trousers hit the ground.
They lost themselves amid the pulsating beat of the nearby tango music and the delicious heat of a Spanish summer night.
.::.
Something was up. Something more than Cal just trying to get information out of her. She'd been trying to figure out what it was the entire afternoon. Then the realization struck her in the 'M' section and she froze for a moment.
He was seeing someone. And it wasn't Zoe.
She glanced at Cal walking towards the window talking quietly on his phone. The only time he was ever quiet on his phone was when he was doing something he ought not or… well, that was the only time. As she reviewed the last couple weeks, mentally ticking off things that fit, she felt the sudden tightening in her chest that made it mildly difficult to breathe.
Once again, she cursed Henri Toussaint and his insistence that she look at that ridiculous photograph.
When all was said and done, she'd come away with two records and Cal had three, one for Emily. He was trying to ease her into the finer world of jazz and was trying to start easy with big band. Gillian simply smiled at his attempt, knowing that if one wasn't immediately drawn to jazz, they'd have to learn to love it.
Before Gillian could take two steps toward the car, Cal's hand snuck around her elbow and steered her toward Eastern Market.
Off her curious look, Cal finally bothered with words. "I can't make us dinner if I don't have anything to cook."
"Aren't you Mister Sensible?" Gillian elbowed him in the side. "Who said I was staying for dinner?"
"I figured it'd be a given after you found out what I was cooking."
She watched him for a minute, trying to tease out the possibilities. "Okay, I can read a good many things off you, but your dinner plans are not one of them."
"Paella," he said as he held open the door. "While I'm getting the essentials, go off and find us a decent bottle to knock back tonight, you being a burgeoning sommelier and all."
Gillian gave Cal a disparaging glance then procured a bottle of wine, meeting him ten minutes later at the car.
"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," Cal stated after he'd gotten the car started, "is to devise some form of dessert that will not give me a cavity or send me into a sugar coma."
"But that's the best way to have you."
"What, my senses dulled by sugar?"
"No. Catatonic," Gillian ribbed him playfully as he drove onto the expressway. She smiled at his laughter, that gentle huff off air that he produced with the light timbre at the start.
"Aren't we feisty this evening?"
.::.::.
That night in the dance hall marked the rekindling of Henri and Gillian's romance the summer between her third and final years of school. Just as before, they'd been partners in mischief, easy to please and indisputably magnetic in their attraction.
The motley group of six danced from Spain down to Portugal, drank their way through Germany, hiked through Austria and Switzerland, and ate their way along the coast of Italy. It was the best summer Gillian ever had.
On her last day before she returned to the States, she had her first of many life-altering conversations.
.::.
Dinner was surprisingly relaxed. Cal contemplated prodding Gillian a bit further, but he was enjoying their light banter and easy camaraderie too much. He only had a couple things hanging over his head, but most of them could wait.
All except one.
Cal glanced at Gillian as she swirled her tea around in its mug. She still wore a smile from the crack he'd just made and seemed to have finally loosened up. They were in the middle of listening to her Thelonious Monk album and she was tapping her fingers idly on the table.
"Do you remember this song?"
Cal squinted at her, his mind searching its bank for that particular riff on the piano. Frowning, he shook his head.
"That one night, when you came to my office at the Pentagon? This was the song I was listening to. You said you could listen to it all day."
"Did I now?" He smiled at her as she rolled her eyes. He remembered exactly what she was talking about and wondered for the thousandth time how she retained those details. He figured it was a woman thing; or a Foster thing. She was the epitome of a woman, after all.
He cleared his throat as his fork glided over the completely bare plate. They'd had vanilla bean cheesecake. Foster certainly knew her dessert.
"Relocate? My bum is getting' sore from these chairs," he muttered as he stood and carried their empty plates to the sink. She rose and planted herself firmly on his overstuffed couch, fitting in like she belonged there.
He sat at the opposite end and tucked a foot beneath him, turning towards her slightly. He needed to watch her fully when he made this request. Eyes running over her features, Foster's head was pillowed against the back of the couch, her feat placed on the edge of the table, and her mug ensconced in her hands. She looked the picture of calmness.
"Foster," he began quietly. "I was wondering if I might trouble you with something."
His tone was too serious. As her head perked up immediately, he knew he'd started too strong.
"No, nothing like that. It's just… I know that you badly want to get this guy, Le Fort or Thomas or whatever his name is. I do too. But… can you promise me that you'll wait 'til after the trial is over before you become Nancy Drew?"
.::.
It was dawn and they were in bed, wide awake.
"You're graduating early, Gill. I'll come to you in January and we'll go from there," Henri whispered in the quiet of his small apartment. "Don't try denying that The World Bank has been recruiting you. I know they've offered you the Paris job. Just... don't rule out anything yet. Can you promise me that?"
.::.
Gillian watched the honesty on his face and fear in his eyes, observed his posture and heard the concern in his voice. There was no way she could deny this man anything when he looked at her like that. None.
In the interminable silence that lapsed, she weighed the odds, knowing that she'd be able to resume her investigation of sorts in a couple weeks if Bobby was successful with the case. She could wait that long, no problem.
Turning back to Cal, she looked him in the eyes and nodded slowly. "Yes, I'll do my best."
He seemed to accept the truth in her reply, but didn't like her wording. Gillian had a problem with absolutes. Promises were only good if the foundation they were made upon was solid. At this point in time, she couldn't verify that. Still, Cal somehow managed to understand that and smiled warmly at her.
Gillian resumed her position and leaned her head back slowly, letting the rich, warm, melancholy sound of Thelonious Monk seep inside her mind among their casual conversation. As her eyes closed, she failed to acknowledge the nearly reverent way Cal watched her with his chin perched on his closed fist.
She'd have never made that promise if she had.
.::.
Gillian bit her lip as Henri wiped a wayward tear from her cheek. She sat Indian style on his bed with the sheet wrapped tightly around her, cocooned against the world. She could see the fear and the sadness in his eyes and knew that he was in the same position.
The exchanging of one's heart was a precarious affair.
.::.
Emily shut the front door quietly behind her as she eased into her father's house. She had a dual purpose for being here, one was that she'd gotten in an argument with her mom and couldn't stand to be in the house at the moment. The other was to get a peek at who it was that her dad seemed to think he'd been so discreet in dating.
Inhaling deeply, the strong aroma of spicy sausage and seafood filled her lungs. Whoever it was, her dad had gone all out when he'd cooked dinner. She could hear the low melody of a sad saxophone coming from the speakers located throughout the house. Emily wondered why he'd play something so doleful when he was trying to woo a woman.
Peaking around the corner she spotted her dad sitting in the recliner facing the couch, legs extended casually with his chin resting in his palm, elbow bent on the armrest. He seemed to have dozed off. She feared that his evening hadn't gone nearly as well as he'd intended. Not that she wanted to catch him doing anything untoward, because she didn't need to be scarred for life. Still, he didn't look unhappy, just… misplaced.
If he was going to fall asleep in the chair, he could at least have a blanket. But when she padded over to the couch, she found that it was already in use by one of her favorite people in the entire world. Well, that explained it. Emily no longer wondered at her father pulling out all the stops, just surprised at his timing. Then again, he mustn't have made any earth shattering confessions, because they were still down here. Maybe it was just a regular night in for those two.
Emily looked down at Gillian. She was curled on her side with her head tucked and hand shoved beneath the pillow while little puffs of air escaped her mouth. Emily smiled at the sight then ensured that Gillian was fully covered with the blanket.
Just as she was about to turn off the light a thought struck her and she glanced up at her dad one more time. Tracing his line of sight, she figured he'd probably fallen asleep watching his partner. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head at their stubbornness then turned off the light and music. Emily made her way upstairs to her room and sent a text to her mom, assuring her that she'd arrived safely.
.::.
Six months, that was all Gillian had left of school. Once she graduated in December, she'd be snatched up by one of several companies; it was just a matter of which one. Sucking in a deep breath, she exhaled slowly as she weighed the odds of accepting the unlikely position in Paris.
A slow, tentative mile crept across her face and she nodded. His resulting grin was enough to make her heart explode. Henri leaned forward and kissed her soundly, overcome with delight. Tugging her down to the mattress, he hovered over her and placed soft kisses to her forehead and one more just to the right of her temple, the way he always did.
.::.
Gillian awoke with a start. Disoriented, she blinked hard to figure out what it was that woke her. The phone vibrating on the end table next to her seemed to be the culprit. Just as she grabbed the wretched device it stopped vibrating. Just as well. She stretched languorously and heaved herself upward.
She glanced at Cal's clock, three in the morning. Way too early for any American to be calling her. Frowning, she called her voicemail and listened to the messages quietly.
Speak of the devil. It was Henri. He'd left three messages, the last one sounding quite worried. Unbearably curious, Gillian fought her desire to call him immediately. Instead, she stood quietly and carried the blanket over to Cal sitting in the armchair. She was certain he'd hate himself in the morning for not bothering to go to bed. Why was he still down here anyway?
She left a short note on a post-it. Grabbing her purse and coat, she stuffed her feat into her knee-high boots and carefully let herself out. Once inside her car with the heat running full blast, she headed home. Just after she arrived, she plopped down heavily on her sofa without even bothering to remove her coat and dialed Henri's number.
"God, I've been trying to reach you all day. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, what's going on?"
"Wait. What time is it there? Three thirty? What are you doing getting home at three-thirty?"
Gillian rolled her eyes and ignored his question. "Henri, why did you need to talk to me?"
"Fine, fine. Sorry I asked. We've got a problem. Remember those interviewers you wanted me to look into?"
"Yeah? Can't find them?"
"Worse. The shy one you were particularly interested in? She was murdered. The same year Martin Thomas left Belgium. Even worse, the killer was never found."
Gillian suddenly felt a chill run down her spine and wished that she'd checked all the rooms in her home before stupidly dropping on her couch. All she could hear was the faint ticking of her grandfather clock and the dull throbbing of her heartbeat.
"Gillian?"
"Yeah. Sorry. I wasn't expecting that. Did they have any leads in the case?"
"No. Unfortunately, her body was too badly mutilated to get any trace evidence."
"Was she murdered the same way as the previous women in that serial killer case?"
"For the most part, yes. So we either incarcerated the wrong man, or we have a copycat on our hands. I've requested her autopsy report and am currently awaiting clearance to get access to the evidence locker. The problem is everything takes longer on the weekend."
"I understand," Gillian replied. "Keep me posted?"
"You bet. And Gill? Do me a favor and call when you wake up?"
"Why? Are you my keeper now?" Gillian was one part cross and one part glad that he cared so much. Odd.
"Don't get huffy. Just reduce my stress level by letting me know you're okay. Is that too much a hassle?"
"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."
"Gillian…"
"It's late. Goodnight, Henri." Gillian was getting fed up with all the men in her life demanding that she do this or that in order to ensure her safety. Well, she had an alarm system now, she had mace, and she knew how to wield a frying pan. She'd be fine.
Just before she collapsed into bed, she received a text. It was from Cal.
You forgot to cover up my feet. Blasted toes are freezing. Get home safe?
Once again, she cursed and delighted in the concern. Responding quickly, she tossed her phone down the hall and dove back under the covers. Sleep was much more desirous than the men in her life at the moment.
Just as she fell asleep, she tried to ignore the fear that had begun to bloom and take hold within her heart. For the first time ever, she might have to break a promise to her partner. She hoped he'd forgive her for it in the end.
.::.
"Promise me one more thing?" Henri whispered as he unwrapped the sheet from her body, covering her with his own. He met her questioning gaze with another smile and soft kiss.
"Never ever forget how much I love you. In this moment, we are perfect in our love. Never doubt that."
Her hand slid around his neck and pulled him close, breathing each other's air for a few seconds. She sealed his lips with hers and poured every ounce of belief into him.
Perfect or not, it was the closest she'd ever come to attaining it.
.::.::.::.
A/N: I know the format was wonky, but I quite like it. Especially the parallels at the end. Ignore Henri's cheesiness. He's french. They do that ;) JK. 2. My board exam is in two weeks. I will be MIA until then, so this is my present to you fine people. Leave some love if you like, and please enjoy!
NINE