The Lies We Tell (11/15)
Title: The Lies We Tell (11/15)
Pairing: gen, possible C/G
Rating: K
Disclaimer: LtM not mind. Donnell is property DEK.
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 could also place one partner in mortal peril.
A/N: The whole of the story is 86% complete, without edits. In non-writer terms, I hope to churn this puppy out shortly. Please be patient, I'm battling a fierce case of writer's block. Thanks for reading.
TEN
.::.::.
They were lying in a field at a local park just after Thanksgiving dinner. Limbs sprawled aimlessly, Gillian's fingers traced the outline of the tattoo encircling Henri's wrist. He glanced over at her and smiled, one of those ridiculously full bodied, no holds barred kind of smiles. She immediately suspected something was amiss.
"What are you up to?"
Henri continued to grin as he turned his head back to the sky, suddenly very quiet. Feeling brazen, she rolled on top of him and straddled his waist, watching as his eyes worked their way up to hers. Ever so delicately, he lifted up her hand and kissed her palm softly then placed it above his heart. Gillian's brows pinched together, wary of his actions. But when his eyes met hers, she felt like a sack of bricks hit her in the chest.
She wondered if this was what it was like, to tie one's soul to another.
"Marry me."
Gillian's eyebrows shot upward. "Sorry?"
"You're right, I'm doing this wrong." Henri sat up, carefully easing her off his lap. He shoved his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a simple diamond ring.
"It was my grandmother's," he offered nervously. She placed her hand on his chest, smiling at him sympathetically. His heart was beating a mile a minute and she couldn't help but laugh as tears welled in her eyes.
"You know I can't do the sappy romantic stuff, that's all Luc," he whispered then swallowed hard. "Despite all we've been through, we've found our way back to each other time and again. That means something, right?"
Gillian nodded as he brushed a tear off her cheek.
"I've spent my whole life thinking that I didn't need anyone, that as long as I made everything an adventure, life wasn't so bad. But then I tried having adventures without you, and I realized that I was truly missing out, because you - you make it all worthwhile. I want you in my life forever and always. Through the good and the bad… everything. Gillian, will you marry me?"
"Yes," she whispered and immediately found herself lifted off the ground and spun in the air, the happy recipient of his kisses. They fell asleep that night, two people suffused with love for the other.
Two weeks later Henri's unit was assigned to the U.N. Peacekeeping mission in Rwanda. He was deploying in a month.
.::.::.
Gillian blew on her cup of coffee, trying to cool the brew. Icy conditions prevented her from making the trip further south to check out Le Fort's property. Gillian did the next best thing and scheduled a meeting to glean more information. She surveyed the other patrons of the coffee shop, ensuring that she hadn't been followed. The last couple days, she'd had that feeling that she was being watched. Every time she checked though, nothing.
The door chimed and in walked the witness that was supposed to go on Friday, but got pushed to Monday. Her supposed name was Ivana Ruzicka, but Gillian had her doubts. Making eye contact, Ivana bypassed the counter and slid into the chair opposite Gillian. She presented an air of frosty hostility, with her peeked nose, pale blue eyes, and white blond hair reinforcing the image.
"Better?" Gillian started as Ivana took in her surroundings.
"Much. Your office… far too open."
"Do you want any coffee?"
"No. I want to get this over with."
"Okay," Gillian nodded as she took out her recorder, the only device Ivana would agree to. "Are you prepared to testify in the defense of Jean Le Fort?"
No hesitation. "Yes."
"Are you being coerced to do so?"
"No." No hesitation, but there was a flicker of doubt. Her tone was even, however.
"Do you know who killed the victim?"
"I know the possibilities, but I did not witness the actual shooting."
So far so good. "Are you at will to name the… other possibilities?"
Fear. "No."
"Do you think any of them will appear at the trial? And if so, would you be willing to identify them?"
She faltered. Just as quickly her frozen ice queen front appeared. "Possibly."
Gillian nodded. She could work with possibly.
"Why don't you ask me what you really want to know?" Ivana cocked her head to the side, her hand slipping inside her bag. She pulled out a lighter and toyed with the lid. Nervous habit.
"Fair enough," Gillian took a sip of her coffee, wincing as it burned her tongue. "How long were you with Le Fort?"
"A year-and-a-half. We lived together."
"Who ended the relationship?"
"I did. He was… He was gone a lot. I wanted someone who was there." Truth.
"Was he ever harmful to you, verbally or physically?"
"Outside of sex? No. I like it rough." Fear. Contempt.
Gillian filed that away for later. "Did he ever take you to his property in central Virginia?"
Confusion. Doubt. "He… doesn't have any other property. He even rents his apartment."
"He never took you on any trips south of here, never mentioned any land?"
"We rode his motorcycle on the Blue Ridge Parkway a couple times, but… no. Nothing else. I do not think."
Ah. There. "Are you sure? You said he travels a lot. How do you know he didn't go to his property one weekend?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be asking if you didn't have proof. Let me see it."
Gillian sighed. This was a big risk, showing her the document. She pulled it out regardless and set it on the table.
"He's had this for… six years? I don't understand. Jean never mentioned it before." Ivana was genuinely perplexed. This was going nowhere.
"What else could he have been hiding then?" Gillian waited a beat before continuing. "One more thing. Since you and Le Fort work for the same company and you're the office manager, what was it they primarily traded?"
"Textiles mainly." Lie.
"Are you sure about that?"
Ivana leaned forward and shut off the recorder. She glanced around and looked Gillian directly in the eyes. "You need to be careful. You keep asking questions like that and you won't be able to talk anymore."
"I'll take it that whatever they're trading isn't exactly legal."
"I'm serious Dr. Foster."
"Can you tell me what it is?"
"No," she replied sternly. "Because I don't know. All I can say is that we have official shipments, and then we have unofficial ones. I only manage the official shipments."
Gillian frowned. "Is there a way to find out?"
Ivana looked away, biting her lip as she flicked her lighter again. At first glance, Gillian would've said Ivana was in her late twenties with all the make-up and her world-weary eyes. But at that moment, she didn't look a day over eighteen. Young, vulnerable and in way over her head.
"This is important Ivana. I think you have an idea of what they're doing. Do really want to be associated with that?"
Ivana's gaze shot back to Gillian. "Give me a couple days. I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Ivana. Really."
"Don't thank me, yet," she said as she stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder. "Watch yourself, you're messing around with the wrong people."
As the young woman left the coffee shop, Gillian sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. She was hearing that a lot lately.
.::.::.
It was the day before Thanksgiving. Cal would've loved to say the trial was exciting. That it was an edge of his seat nail biter. Not so much. The room was cold, the witnesses were bland, and everyone looked like they'd rather be somewhere else. Still, the trial was moving full speed ahead. He figured wrap up by the end of the following week.
Cal's plate was full with two other cases, one with Torres and the other was solo. The Torres case was bound to wrap up soon, he was just waiting for her to figure out who it was. He'd give her until Friday. If it took any longer, he'd pull her off Foster's project and sit her in front of the computer and make her watch interviews until her eyes bled.
Exiting the elevator, Cal spotted Foster walking towards the break room, apple in hand. Just the person he wanted to see. She was on the phone, turning from the sink just as Cal entered. "Non, je sais pas. Parce-que je need to go. I'll talk to you later."
Foster smiled, but Cal wasn't buying it. "No need to stop on my behalf. Belgian lover?"
"Sure," Foster replied wryly then took a bite out of her apple. "Don't forget, we have a group meeting in fifteen. How was court?"
She was backpedalling toward her office, but truly curious. "Boring. I scratched our names in a heart into the bench. Look for it next time you're there."
"Cal!"
"Kidding."
Throughout the staff meeting, Cal kept his eyes on Foster, looking for signs of tension in her shoulders, quickly offered smiles that didn't meet her eyes, the sideways shrug she did when perhaps not all was well in Fosterland.
Nothing.
It was business as usual. Except the phone call in French.
After reminding Torres and Loker when to show up at his house the next day, Cal remained seated as the room emptied, watching Foster carefully. She stood at the opposite end of the table collecting a stack of folders.
"Something on your mind?" Gillian had a knowing grin on her face.
Cal figured which approach to take. Sincere always worked best with Foster. "You can tell me, you know."
She stopped shuffling her papers and looked up at him, baffled. "Tell you what?"
"Whatever it is you have going on," Cal replied. "You can tell me."
She narrowed her eyes, eyebrows furrowing. Putting her hands on her hips she cocked her head to the side, matching his. Not even a shred of defensive posturing. Just curiosity.
"As much as I'd love to take you up on that offer, I'm doing alright, Cal. Thanks."
She gave him an assured smile then looked down. Her phone was vibrating. She picked up her files and gave him one last look, concerned this time.
"Gillian Foster."
.::.
"Promise me that you'll take care of each other," Gillian whispered to Luc.
They were gathered with a group of friends at their favorite restaurant. Luc and Henri were shipping out the next day with a large contingent of Belgian officers. They were headed to Rwanda, where the civil unrest between the Hutus and Tutsis had garnered the attention of the U.N. Both Luc and Henri would be members of the peacekeeping mission.
"Don't worry about Henri," Luc offered her a comforting smile as he rested his hand on her arm. "It's me you should be worried about."
"You? What for? You're the one that's a paratrooper. Who'd have thought you'd be good at all this?"
"Shocking, I know. Still, I don't have a beautiful woman to look forward to when I return."
"How about the night you get back, I'll take you and Henri out to dinner, just the three of us?"
"That may be more than my heart can handle," Luc whispered playfully as he slung an arm around her shoulder.
"Hey, are you putting the moves on my fiancé?" Henri grinned at them from across the table. Gillian was fighting hard not to blush because his hand was stroking her foot, which she'd worked up his thigh moments earlier.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Luc smiled as he gave Gillian a wet kiss on her temple. "Besides it's hard to be noticed when you've captured her heart so completely."
"God, stop it with that poetic nonsense," Henri replied as he moved his fingers along her ankle softly. "I'm pretty sure running around talking about that stuff is a good way to get slaughtered."
Gillian's smile slipped at his words. Their friendly banter continued on, but she sat quietly, feeling a tightness around her heart. The thought of parting wasn't what bothered her. It was the danger the two most important men in her life would face that was troubling.
That night, she and Henri lay facing each other in the quiet blueness of night. Hands caressed planes of skin and soft curves, whispers of promises glided over shoulder blades, murmurs of ecstasy at reaching the essence of perfection. She believed that she'd never know the closeness of another human as she did at that moment; their hands placed over the other's heart, feeling the steady rhythm as they beat in time.
In the morning, she woke to an empty apartment. On the pillow beside her was a yellow daisy and a note that made her cry for hours.
"The day I first met you, I knew what it was to live for another. Please know that I love you. All of you. Your imperfections, your freckles, your laugh, your quirks. But of all the parts of you I treasure, your patience and your innate goodness are what I love the most. Thank you for trusting me enough to get to know the real you, the side that you keep closed off from the rest of the world. It's truly an honor. With all the love a poor sap like me can possess, Henri."
.::.
It was late Thursday afternoon as Gillian pulled up in front of Cal's house. Hands full with bottles of wine and her purse, Gill frowned as her cell rang.
"Gillian Foster." She immediately regretted not checking to see who called. She wished she had more hands. Or better foresight.
"That name doesn't suit you. Foster. You sound like a real estate agent."
"I was wondering when I'd get this call, you're later than normal," Gillian said impatiently. "Have you been drinking?"
"Only a bit," Henri replied. "You knew it was me? All those other times?"
"Believe it or not, I'm pretty perceptive and so was Alec. You calling every year on the anniversary of our engagement wasn't too big a stretch."
"Huh."
Gillian absently tapped her back tire with her boot, waiting for Henri to say anything else. It was windy out. Cold too. He needed to speed up his yearly angst-fest.
"You know, it's a lot harder to read you now," by the way he slurred his words Gillian knew he was a little more than tipsy. "When we were younger I could never tell when you were lying, I'd just assume that it was likely. Now, I feel like all you do is tell the truth, and I still can't make heads or tails of anything."
Gillian exhaled slowly, wondering where he was going with this.
"That night was one of the best nights of my life," he whispered.
"I'll bet it was," she shot back, recalling what happened later that evening after he proposed.
"No. It wasn't because of the sex, though… that was pretty amazing," his tone bore the smile she couldn't see. "It was the look on your face. It was those few moments where you truly let down your guard. I could see all of you and you weren't afraid."
Henri exhaled sharply, letting out years of pent-up anguish. "When you said 'yes' I don't think I've ever felt more confident about anything in my life as I did at that moment."
Gillian looked at the ground and bit her lip. "Don't do this," she replied, the knot in her throat making it difficult to speak.
"Gill. I… can we just… I need to talk to you about all this."
"Not right now. I have a dinner to go to, and… we need to finish this case. After that, then we'll talk."
"Don't brush me off. I know what that means. Just hear me out, please?"
"Later." Gillian ended the call. Impeccable timing, that Henri Toussaint. Just then, Loker pulled up and parked right behind her. Swell. At least he could help her carry in the wine.
.::.::.
Emily answered the knock at the door as Cal took the pumpkin pie out of the oven. Both Loker and Foster entered, looking chilled from the frosty weather.
"Mmmm smells great." Gillian walked over to him and tugged at his new apron. "I like this one."
"Em' picked it out last Christmas. Said it brings out my eyes." Setting the pies near the open kitchen window, Cal turned around to find Loker handing off the last of the wine to Gillian. "Six bottles? It's Thanksgiving, not the last night before the start of prohibition."
"I asked Gillian to bring one extra," said Zoe as she entered the kitchen. "Bobby's bringing his neighbor as well, so I wanted to be safe."
"Still…" Cal frowned at the thought of one more person at his table. This was all Zoe's doing. It was like she felt the need to take in everyone who needed a place to be for Thanksgiving. But did she offer her house? 'Course not.
"How can I help?" asked Foster.
"You can get yourself outta my kitchen and go watch your American football with Torres."
"Don't need to tell me twice," Loker grabbed a beer and headed into Cal's living room. Foster remained.
"Seriously, out with ya," he tried to shoo her away. "I've already got these two driven' me insane."
Emily scoffed while he felt the daggers Zoe sent his way. "It's the truth. Can't leave a man to cook in his own bloody kitchen."
"That's because you were going to make Shepard's Pie!" Zoe was still irked.
"I'll have you know that it's a family recipe."
A phone started ringing, sounded like Foster's from the sound.
"Excuse me," Gillian hopped off the stool and answered her phone. She was speaking in English this time, but was still quiet.
"Stop eavesdropping," Zoe berated. "Now, I want you to be on your best behavior when Bobby gets here. His father passed away around this time a couple years ago and he's still having a rough time. Please, take it easy. "
Cal glanced up at her and saw doubt and fear. He could understand the pain of having lost a loved one. Even if it was that tosser. Cal nodded and began carving the turkey.
When Foster returned, it was with Bobby and his neighbor. Cal immediately liked the neighbor, if only because he bore a t-shirt with The Clash on it. He looked a bit rough around the edges, which surprised Cal, considering Donnell was the poster child for upper-middle class America.
"Cal, this is Scotty Pierce," said Bobby. "Scotty, Cal Lightman. You remember my partner, Zoe?"
"How could I forget? With legs like those it's a wonder you get any work done around her."
Cal watched as Zoe blushed and rolled her eyes, shaking Scotty's hand. If only Cal got a quarter for every time someone commented on her blasted legs.
"What's your poison?' Cal asked as he opened the fridge.
"Beer," Scotty and Bobby requested in unison.
"Suit yourselves. Game's on in the living room. I believe Foster can show you the way," Cal said as he received a pointed look from Foster.
Regardless, she led the gentlemen away and left him to do his worst on the turkey. Listening to Zoe and Emily's chatter, Cal pushed aside the fleeting sensation of loss. Then he heard an eruption of cheers from the family room and was reminded once again that sometimes, family wasn't nearly as conventional as it used to be.
.::.
Gillian was on her second glass of wine and half way through her meal. She didn't want to overdo it because she was heading to the shelter shortly. Surprisingly, she was having a good time, but found she wasn't able to focus as well as she'd have liked.
The table was impressively long, with Cal at one end and Emily at the other. Gillian was seated at Emily's end and couldn't be more relieved. The thought of having to bear Cal's scrutiny throughout the meal almost made her lose her appetite.
Bobby's friend Scotty was a blessing in disguise, for he was unaware of all the potential awkwardness and tension of this gathering. Aside from that, Cal appeared to have taken a liking to him, most likely for something petty, like his t-shirt selection or the tattoo on his neck. Together, they'd delved into a deep discussion on punk rock in the U.K. and who'd seen more impressive shows as teens. She was pretty sure Scotty was winning that competition.
"How are you doing?" Gillian asked quietly across the table where Bobby was sitting.
He glanced up and smiled, eyes a little bleary. "Not too bad, all things considered. Sad my team lost though. When do you have to go to the shelter?"
"In about an hour. We have the second shift, so it won't be too bad."
"Good," Bobby pushed his sleeves up and placed his elbows on the table, leaning a bit closer. "I talked to Linds earlier. She told me to say 'hi' and to 'enjoy the pie' whatever that means."
Gillian smiled. "One year at Thanksgiving, Lindsay dared me to steal our Gram's pumpkin pie, which I skillfully did, mind you. Then she dared me to eat the whole pie."
"And you did?" Emily butted in, her eyes wide.
"Most of it. Then I got sick to my stomach and had to make a few trips to the restroom. Haven't been able to eat it ever since."
"That's… so sad," said Emily.
"And disgusting," observed Bobby. "I can't believe you were able to do that."
"I was never one for turning down a dare," Gillian admitted. It was a fault of hers; one that Lindsay took frequent advantage of in their youth.
"What'd your Gram do?"
"To me? Nothing," Gillian shrugged. "I blamed it on Lindsay."
"You lied!"
Loker, sitting next to Gillian, cut in. "Gillian's been known to do it a time or two. Though I always thought your reasons were noble."
"You didn't know my Gram. Exacting revenge and avoiding Gram's wrath was noble in my nine-year old mind."
"Completely understandable," Emily blurted. "Now. Who wants pie? Pumpkin pie?"
Gillian smirked at Emily and shook her head as the others held up their hands.
"Do you have anything stronger than this lovely wine?" asked Scotty. "Some bourbon perhaps?"
"Sure thing," Cal said as helped Zoe collect the plates. "Who wants some?"
"Bobby and I do," replied Scotty. "What about you Gillian?"
"Definite 'no' for Foster. She hates the stuff," Cal stated as he looked to Loker, who nodded while Torres wisely requested coffee.
"I'll have coffee as well." Gillian requested. Emily entered with several plates balanced precariously on her arms. "I'm impressed Emily. Do you have a job you haven't told us about?"
Gillian didn't even think about what the 'us' implied, though based on Emily's expression, it suggested Gillian and Cal. Glad that Zoe wasn't near to seize that opportunity, Gillian gave Emily a measured look.
"No," Emily replied, receiving Gillian's message loud and clear. "I'm just good at handling a lot of things at one time."
Instead of returning to his previous seat, Cal entered with another set of plates and usurped Emily's chair. He set a piece of apple pie with crumb topping in front of her, murmuring, "Mum's recipe."
Gillian wasn't hungry, not even a little. She hadn't saved room for dessert because she assumed it'd just be coffee for her. Then Cal made pie. Correction. He made her a pie. Scratch that. He made her his mum's pie. He might as well have said, "Zoe, let's have an argument in front of all these people about how much I favor Fostah."
Eying him warily, she found him largely innocent and took a bite for his trouble.
"Wow. This… you've been holding out on me, Cal Lightman," Gillian licked the crumbs off her fork and took another bite, missing the way Cal's eyes followed the flight pattern of her fork. "Why didn't you tell me you had a recipe?"
"Never came up," he replied as he took a gulp of his bourbon and set it on the table. Then he leaned over a little as conversation carried around the table, Zoe and Emily chatting with Scotty and Loker about who knows what. "Anything the matter?"
Gillian was half way through her slice, but two things turned her stomach and reinforced that she needed to leave. 1) Cal's breath smelled strongly of bourbon. He wasn't lying earlier. She hated the smell of bourbon almost as much as she hated the drink itself. 2) Cal was looking at her like he was trying to unravel her frayed ends.
Calmly, so as not to even raise the slightest interest, she set down the fork, wiped her mouth and folded her napkin. She turned ever so slightly and looked him square in the eyes, her face devoid of all emotion. They sat quietly with him watching for the slightest flicker to betray the raging storm brewing inside. Forget Zoe. He was trying to pick a fight with her. Problem was, she could give as good as she got.
Propping her elbow on the table, she placed her chin on her hand and stated quietly, "Stop."
The crazy thing was that he watched her a beat longer then dropped his gaze and leaned back in his chair. Surrender.
"Cal?" Zoe looked between the two of them as though she could read from their practiced expressions what was going on. "Scotty was asking about a show at the 9:30 Club? Don't you know a guy that works there?"
Of course he did. Cal had a guy everywhere. If he weren't so ornery, he'd probably have a direct line to God.
"Yeah, he owes me too, I imagine I can getchya in," Cal replied, ignoring the palpable tension.
"I better head out, I need to be at the shelter in twenty minutes," Gillian stated quietly as she stood. Cal also tried to get up, but she pushed him back down as she passed behind his chair. "I can show myself out. It was a lovely meal, thank you for inviting all of us."
"It was a pleasure Gillian," said Zoe, her voice having lost the warmth it had earlier in the day. "Thanks for bringing the wine, it was delicious."
Gillian nodded and carried her plate and mug into the kitchen. Gathering her things, she ignored the sound of someone approaching.
"I uh…" it was Bobby. "I just wanted to say thanks. For… listening all those times, and for coming over today. The only reason I agreed was because Zoe said you were coming."
Gillian turned as she buttoned up her coat, stunned at his admission. He smelled faintly of bourbon and sadness, two things that went hand in hand. She reached out and gave Bobby's hand a squeeze, offering a commiserating smile. He surprised her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders, brief and brotherly. When he pulled away, he whispered his thanks again and returned to the dinning room.
Closing the door shut quietly, Gillian welcomed the sharp cold that greeted her, wishing it would freeze the emotions whirling inside.
.::.
The boys had been gone almost fourteen weeks. Twice a week, Gillian got a call from Henri - only five minutes each time. Every week she tried to think of the wittiest, most exciting things imaginable to tell him, but they always paled in comparison to his stories.
He told of the unrest between the minority of the Tutsis, the scapegoats for political unrest, and the Hutus. He told of a little girl that lived in the technical school that housed nearly two thousand refuges; how she'd give him the brightest smile and hold her arms up in hopes for a ride on his shoulders. Henri once gave her a teddy bear that she never went anywhere without and always made him kiss it hello.
It was early April and at a time when everything was going wrong, she received a phone call that made everything worse.
"Henri?" her voice sounded hollow. "Is everything okay? I saw the news report, about President Habyarimana's plane crash and the ten soldiers that were kidnapped."
"Gill -" Henri's voice cracked."It's Luc…"
She waited. Listened to him set down the receiver. Listened to his breathing, and with each passing second, the fear within her grew. Finally, he sucked in a breath and said what she already knew.
"They were sent to search the site of the crash. Four died first. Slaughtered, actually. They were unarmed, Gill. No weapons. Then the Hutus rushed their position and destroyed them."
Gillian slid down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She remained on the phone for the remainder of his five minutes, neither one talking, just listening to the sound of his breathing.
Just before his time was up, she made one last plea: "Don't do anything stupid down there, Henri. I want you back all in one piece."
She heard him sniff once and tried to ignore the way his voice broke as he replied, "As you wish, Miss Gillian."
That night, Gillian crawled in bed and lay awake until dawn, staring at a picture of her squished in a chair with Henri and Luc. When the sunlight filtered in and shone in her eyes, she was surprised to find her cheeks damp. Not even the start of a new day could make the pain fade or the tears dry.
.::.::.
A/N: Hi. I'm working my tail off on this. If you like it or if you don't like it, I'd love to hear why. Thank you and good night.
TWELVE