The Lies We Tell (12/15)
Title: The Lies We Tell (12/15)
Pairing: gen, possible C/G
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: LtM not mine. Donnell is property of David E Kelley (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: No beta. This is a Gillian-centric chapter... FOR NUMEROUS reasons. Thank y'all for the delightful reviews last chapter. It helped me complete this ahead of schedule. That being said, it's a little rough. Please forgive.
ELEVEN
.::.::.
The Belgian peacekeepers returned from Rwanda two weeks later after the fated phone call. In the days and weeks that followed, it became apparent that all was not right with Henri. A little thing, here or there, that amounted to a great many things. The breaking point occurred six weeks after his arrival.
Gillian was up late, working. Henri had been at the local pub most of the night and walked in at… two in the morning. She was curled up in her chair with a report, watching as Henri banged around in the kitchen, searching for something to eat. Instead he emerged with a tumbler and a half empty bottle of Bourbon - a backhanded gift to Henri from her father. It was his drink of choice and was quickly becoming Henri's.
Plopping in the center of the couch, he filled the glass just shy of the brim then screwed on the cap. She frowned warily as he took a long gulp.
"I see the way you look at me. With that… disdain. If I want a drink before bed, I'm going to have one, damnit."
She didn't say anything, just sat quietly. All they seemed to have lately were arguments peppered with conversation. For once, she wanted to let it go.
"What's wrong Gill? Silent treatment tonight? Or just worried?" he slurred cruelly.
Gillian bit her lip, wishing for Henri, her Henri to come back. This man wasn't him and they both knew it.
Still, he kept poking: "Don't forget, anything you say can and will be used against you." It was low, to use that phrase. It would always draw a reaction from her.
"It's not just a drink before bed," she returned. "You drink until you pass out. You stopped 'sleeping' a while ago."
"Keeping tabs on me, Gill? Do you know when I piss and blink too?"
"I know that you don't eat. That you're isolating yourself. That you've lost at least fifteen pounds. I know that you can never sit still, even now. Look at your leg."
It wavered back and forth rapidly. "I've always done that. And I eat fine. There's nothing wrong."
"Right," she stood, getting fed up. "Then what about the other night?"
His bloodshot eyes met hers as he hiccuped. "Drop it."
"You were sitting in the bathtub holding your combat knife and… look at your arms, Henri! Those are not FINE." There were several fine scratches running perpendicularly along his forearms.
He stood as well, face growing flushed with anger. "I said drop it!"
"No, Henri. You need help. You need to talk to someone."
"Talk to someone? About what? About how my best friend got chopped to pieces? About the two thousand defenseless men and women and children that we left behind to get murdered? Do you know that they took the bear I gave that little girl and strung it up from the school's flag poll? It was covered in her blood! How am I supposed to sleep when that is all I ever see!"
Gillian stood across from him, speechless. Shaking her head, she replied, "I… I had no idea."
He laughed low and bitter then downed the remains of his glass. Grabbing the bottle by the neck, he turned toward the kitchen.
"Doesn't matter. What would you know about it anyway? You're no expert. All you do is sit behind a desk, crunching numbers and analyzing."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You claim you want to help people, but you hide behind your title and let other people do the real work. Face it, Gillian. You keep everyone at arms length because you're afraid! You'd rather spend your time with all the pretense and none of the reality."
"Henri -"
"You think you can fix me, Gillian?" Henri turned and shouted. "You think you can help me? I got news for you sweetheart. I don't need fixing." Gripping the bottle loosely, Henri turned from her and tossed it hard against the brick wall, shards of glass and alcohol flying everywhere.
"What the hell is your problem?"
Henri grabbed his jacket from the counter and walked to the door. "You. You're my problem."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone in their apartment. The smell of bourbon permeated the air, the splintered glass shinning on the floor. She stood numbly for a few moments, staring at the door. On auto-pilot, she pulled her long hair into a loose ponytail then grabbed the dustpan from the kitchen.
For a brief moment, she allowed herself to ponder if this is what her mother went through after her father returned from the Vietnam War. The similarities alone frightened a hard sense of reality in her. She cleaned up the mess, collected her reports, and crawled into bed.
She stared at the ceiling until sunrise, formulating plans and considering possibilities - a favorite pastime of hers. When she rose and took a shower, she had a new resolve and a course of action.
.::.::.::.
It had been nearly a week and today was closing arguments. Both Gillian and Zoe listened to Bobby's the previous evening. Gillian concluded that he truly was a phenomenal orator.
The event itself held a lot of mixed feelings for Gillian. She'd met with Ivana once more on the Sunday after Thanksgiving and was mostly unproductive. Ever since, she'd been largely absent from the trial. Gillian tried not to worry, but like everything else surrounding this entire ordeal, her intuition told her that something was distinctly off.
Gillian was surprised to see Cal at the courthouse. He'd been busy lately, what with several new cases and trying to pretend that he hadn't been gambling. Who'd he think he was fooling? The darkened eyes, rumpled clothing reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, that off-centered grin indicating the success of his previous evening. She wasn't sure what led him to the tables time and again, but she certainly hoped he'd defeat that particular demon soon. There were only so many fires she could fight.
The courtroom wasn't very large and today seemed to be more than the usual crowd to watch the closing arguments. Having come directly from a meeting, Gillian took one of the few empty seats available. She was sitting behind two men, one a tall white-haired gentleman dressed in a dark grey pinstriped suit; the other was balding and wore a black suit. As Gillian removed her coat, she heard the white haired man mutter to the bald one: 'If this lawyer's as good as I hear, Le Fort's gonna walk. Take care of it.'
It wasn't the words that gave her pause - it was who was speaking them. Frozen in her seat, Gillian felt the hair on her arms stand up on end. White Haired Man was the killer. Of all the times not to sit next to Cal, she cursed herself as the judge just called court into session.
Next best thing: she stared at Cal until he felt her gaze. Sure enough, a few minutes later he turned to look over his shoulder across the aisle to her position. With the most pointed expressions she could manage, she indicated White Haired Man to her partner. He nodded his understanding and turned around. Only then did Gillian's heart return to a normal rhythm.
.::.
It was late evening and Gillian was sitting alone in her kitchen. She'd spoken briefly with Cal at the courthouse. He said he'd figure out something and left abruptly. All Gillian had to do was wait for the verdict. She was growing tense with thoughts of the impending fiasco. She absently spun the wine around in her glass watching the plum liquid swirl about. The buzzing from her purse broke her reverie.
"Hey! So, what's the word? Is Le Fort a free man? All I'm waiting for is the lab to certify the new evidence and we'll be free to move ahead."
Gillian's eyebrows rose. "Are you highly caffeinated right now?"
"Perhaps. I just pulled a double and I'm trying to get everything ready to fax over to you later. It's imperative that once he's clear, you get a tail on him immediately."
"Even though we don't even have solid evidence that he's the one who committed those murders?"
"I may have an ace or two up my sleeve; have faith Miss Gillian. Just let me know once they reach a verdict. I'll need to put in a call to the Office of International Affairs."
"Will do." Gillian took a sip of her tea, waiting for him to continue. "Anything else?"
A long beat and an intake of air on his end.
"Truth or dare, Gill. Truth?." Her mind flashed back to the first evening they spent together, her dared her to collect all those phone numbers. It was a game they continued to play and she always went for dare. Their last day together, he asked her the same, except she opted for truth.
"Why'd you give up?" His voice was doleful.
She sat in quizzical silence. "What?"
"Why'd you give up on us? Why'd you leave? You're one of the most loyal people I know. To a fault, even. I stopped wondering a while ago, but now, with all this, I figured it was worth a shot before we go another fifteen years without speaking."
"I won't stop talking to you." She suddenly lost her appetite and tossed her salad in the trash.
"C'mon, Gill. I swear I'll let it go. I just… can't believe you'd leave over one fight."
"One fight? We had several. It wasn't just that argument. My leaving was the culmination of several things: work was awful, all our friends were depressed because of Luc, and you had PTSD. The fight was what pushed me over the edge."
"Nope. Cut the bullshit. Those were all external factors. I remember very clearly, you left because of you."
Gillian left her kitchen and started pacing around her darkened living room, willfully ignoring the tin housing scores of pictures on her coffee table. She'd dug it out of her closet, but had yet to look at them. Still too painful.
"Henri -" She rubbed her hand down her forehead, over her eyes and exhaled: "I was pregnant."
Silence. Crickets chirped around the world.
"What do you mean you were pregnant?"
"Remember the week before you and Luc deployed? All the sex we had? I… missed a pill or something, I don't remember. Anyway, I got pregnant."
"What happened then?"
Gillian bit her lip. There was only one other person she'd ever told about this. Saying the words aloud were nearly as painful as remembering the event.
"I… had a miscarriage."
"…How… how far along were you?"
"Thirteen weeks and four days. I lost the baby the weekend before Luc was killed."
He set down his phone, the same way he used to do when he didn't want her to hear whatever was going on. He picked up the phone not long after.
"Were… were you okay? What happened?"
"That's not important. Just know that for a short time… we were going to be parents."
"Gill," he admonished. "What happened?"
She rolled her eyes at the stubborn darkness. "I got really bad cramps. Then I started bleeding… and I didn't stop."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they admitted me to the hospital and I had surgery to remove... the baby. I hemorrhaged a lot of blood and they had to give me two transfusions. I'd been released the day before the plane crash. Right before…" Luc was killed.
"I can't…. Why didn't you ever tell me?" The accusation in his voice was hard to miss.
Gillian let out a huff of disbelief. "It's not like you were in the right state of mind to receive that kind of information."
They sat in silence for a few moments until Gillian found it too unbearable.
"I never thought I could fix you," she whispered. "Two broken people can't fix each other." She swiped at a tear running down her cheek, trying to force aside the grief. "I have to go, Bobby's on the other line. I think the verdict is in."
"Gillian, you can't pretend like none of this ever happened."
"I'm not. I told you. That makes it real. I've got to go."
"Fine… I'll be here. If you need me."
Gillian willed herself calm, then switched lines.
"Hey, Bobby…"
.::.::.
Le Fort was a free man. Bobby Donnell won a case against all odds.
Gillian arrived to the office the following morning, steeling herself for the day. She hoped to meet with Cal as soon as possible. She had yet to hear from Henri, but that was something she didn't want to dwell upon at the moment.
Exiting the elevator, Gillian's heels clicked loudly in the corridor. She read a text regarding tickets to that night's basketball game. Finally, something other than a quiet meal in her empty home. It would be a much needed break from this mess. The sound of another pair of footsteps alerted her to the figure approaching from the opposite end of the hall. She tried to quell the sudden urge to turn away as they met in the middle.
"Ah, Gillian," said Le Fort. "It appears this is the end of our time together. I thank you for everything you have done to ensure my freedom."
Gillian gave a flicker of a smile. Even that was difficult. "It's my job, Monsieur Le Fort. What will you do now?"
His eyes narrowed incrementally, but his face was otherwise blank. Like always. "I'm uncertain. I have… some matters to take care of then only time will tell."
"Please, don't let me keep you," she replied as she stepped aside.
"Thank you again. And might I add, that coat looks fantastic on you." She ignored his gaze as it traveled her form. With that, he nodded and took his leave.
Gillian made a note to burn her coat.
She entered her office, grabbed the select files she would need and mentally prepared for battle. Cal would not only be angry with her for continuing to pursue the investigation, but he'd also take issue with whom she did it. Gillian squared her shoulders and walked in Cal's office. This wasn't going to be pretty.
"Where've you been?" Cal asked. "Me 'n Reynolds already talked to Le Fort, gave him a heads up. He refused protection."
"I passed him on his way out," Gillian replied, not hiding her chagrin at being excluded. "Hey, Ben. You look great."
"Thanks, Gillian." Reynolds smiled and walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I feel great. I'll be off desk duty in a week."
Before Gillian could say anything further, in walked Torres and Loker. Great.
"I have everything ready for our dry-run, Foster," said Torres. "Bradford is coming by on Monday to see the final product."
Reynolds looked curious and Gillian smiled while shaking her head. "Is a side project that's getting launched in January," she offered before turning her attention to Torres. "Great. Any problems tagging the files?"
"No, everything went pretty smoothly. I just had a couple things to ask you about, but they can wait." By the way Torres said it, Gillian knew as well as everyone else, that she didn't want to share her particular queries with Cal still in the room.
"Loker? Did you need something?" Gillian asked, hoping to move them along.
"Just waiting on Lightman. He needs to sign some paperwork for my dissertation."
"You do realize that he gives it all to me and I fill it out, right?"
"Are you serious?" Loker frowned at Cal who remained seated, watching all the activity. Cal shrugged and stretched his arms, twining them behind his head.
"And what is it you're here for Foster? Might as well make this a group meeting if you're here for what I think you're here for." Cal was already primed for an argument.
Gillian sighed in exasperation while the others got comfortable on the couch. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Cal sat up in his chair, leveling her with a wary look. "Why not?"
"I'm not here to discuss his protection. I'm here to talk about the trafficking."
"I thought we decided he had nothing to do with that."
"No," Gillian frowned. "You decided. I have evidence that supports my theory."
"If I may interrupt," said Reynolds as he walked to Gillian, taking her proffered file. "Trafficking? Are you talking about Le Fort? He checked out fine when I ran his background."
Gillian nodded, "Yes, but that's his American alias. In Belgium he's known as Martin Thomas."
"Woah, hold up," Loker said as he approached Reynolds, wanting to look at the file. "No one ever said anything about that guy not being who we thought he was."
"Oh Foster's known all along," said Cal flippantly. "She also thinks he's a sociopath."
"You what?" "Are you sure?" "Now hold on, just a second."
Gillian ignored the cries from the gallery and focused her attention on Cal. "So you think I'm wrong?"
"No, I didn't say that," Cal hedged. "I just don't think you're right."
There it was, that inherent doubt. She knew, deep down, that he believed himself to be the better scientist. He'd never outright stated it though.
"I can link him to several murders in Belgium, he has land south of here, and was in charge of an unofficial shipment when his partner was murdered."
"I can't even read most of this information, it's all in French," interrupted Reynolds who was looking over the file with Loker. "Where'd you get this anyway?"
Gillian ignored Reynolds and watched Cal, the way he scrutinized her every feature, every wrinkle and flicker of emotion. With each passing second, she could see the tension in his jaw and shoulders grow.
"You promised me you'd quit." Cal rounded his desk, snatching a sheet off the top of the folder. "Doesn't matter though. All your evidence? Doesn't make him a sociopath and you know it."
"Because you've had so much experience diagnosing sociopaths?" Gillian didn't want to fight dirty, but she'd do what it took to get his attention.
"Got the last one didn't I?" Touché. Cal stood before her, eyes fixed on hers.
"Putting aside the possibility that he's a potential sociopath," Reynolds intervened quickly as he took a step forward, "we still need to corroborate all this information. How'd you get a hold of it?"
Gillian finally slid her gaze from Cal and replied, "an Inspector working in Belgium. Henri Toussaint. His number is attached to the post-it note on the front."
"Finally. A bloody name. So he's the one?" Cal smirked. It wasn't friendly. "Your past?"
"This is not the time or the place."
"It isn't? So you're saying that your history with that Inspector has absolutely nothing to do with your interest in this case?" Waiting a beat, he continued, "That if you hadn't had someone else backing you, encouraging your suppositions, then we'd be writing off Le Fort and be none the wiser?"
"Why are you so eager to be rid of Le Fort without consequence? I have physical proof that he's a dangerous man, forget sociopath."
They watched each other, ignoring the others. He knew. He knew she wouldn't be able to let it go and had been sitting on that knowledge for weeks. Biding his time, he was a veritable volcano, waiting to explode.
"I don't want to do this because you're baiting me. That, and how can we trust this information?" Cal posited as he stepped closer. "How do we know Toussaint wasn't just trying to keep your interest by feeding you lies?"
She could take assaults on her character, but would not stand for any made against Henri. "I'd stake my entire career on our evidence. I trust him implicitly."
Judging by the tense silence and raised eyebrows, Gillian may have gone a bit too far. She did say 'our evidence' and gave Henri the highest stamp of approval: Implicit Trust.
The flash of anger on Cal's face made it very clear that she was treading a thin line.
"Right. Just what I thought," Cal pushed past her and grabbed his coat hanging off the back of the couch. "If Le Fort is still alive on Monday, then we'll deal with… all this."
She wasn't sure if he was refusing to pursue because of Henri, or because he legitimately thought she was wrong and couldn't be bothered. Either way, it was unlike him to refuse an investigation of anything suspect, and this was the very definition. She was starting to believe that his jealousy was getting the better of him and fueling his denial.
"Cal, we're not done here."
He turned, working his jaw as his face flushed with anger. "Yes, Foster, we are," he yelled. "I told you not to pursue this and you disregarded me entirely and did it anyway." With Toussaint, no less.
"It's awful, isn't it?" Gillian shot back. Karma's a bitch. Cal's eyes narrowed in fury before he turned around and left.
Gillian turned to find the others standing around awkwardly.
"Loker, I need you to set up the lab. I want you both to review the interviews that were held by the Belgian police."
"I thought we weren't doing anything until Monday."
"Lightman isn't doing anything until Monday. We are getting to work right now. Forget that the interviews are in French. I want you to categorize any expressions and unusual vocal patterns exhibited during the interviews. Then we'll compare them with what we've already got."
There was a moment of silence as the others contemplated what she just told them to do: move ahead without Cal's blessing. Loker looked at Torres then Reynolds who shrugged in response.
"Got it." Loker nodded and walked out.
"I'm going to get a warrant to pull the shipping logs and see if we can get a look at that warehouse. We're currently trying to track down the boss - that guy you identified from the courtroom."
"Thank you. Can you get a local unit to check out the property in central Virginia?" asked Gillian.
"I'll see what I can do."
Reynolds pulled out his phone and got started, walking out into the hall. Gillian turned to Torres who'd remained in her seat throughout, watching Gillian. For once, she didn't anything, but gave Gillian a long, measured look, then rose quietly and left.
As much as she'd have loved to follow up on that, she had about ten other things to do and was trying very hard not to get worked up over Cal's tantrum.
.::.
Gillian sat in the passenger seat of the car, staring ahead at the departure terminal. A week after their argument, Gillian quit her job, packed her things, and booked a one-way ticket to Boston.
"Here's your grandmother's ring," she slid it off her finger and held it out. Henri glanced at it then turned straight ahead.
"No, I want you to hold on to it. You're the only person who should ever wear it and one day, I will put a matching ring on that finger."
"Henri -"
"Give me a year. Wait a year, that's all I ask. After that, find someone who'll make you happy."
Gillian swallowed hard. The thought of being happy at all was such a foreign concept. Becoming happy without him seemed impossible.
"Will you call?" asked Henri.
"Only if you decide to get help. You have to want it for you. Not because I'm forcing you."
"Isn't that what you're doing? Forcing my hand by leaving?"
"No," Gillian replied sadly. "I'm leaving because… because so much has happened and I feel stuck here. You were right."
"I was drunk."
"You were still right. There's more that I should be doing, more than sitting in a tall building staring at financial reports of countries that need aid."
He nodded, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "I love you."
"I know."
"Don't ever forget it."
They climbed out of the car and pulled her bags out of the trunk. Her entire life, condensed to one large suitcase and a backpack. She turned to him, the darkness under his eyes, his unshaven face, his overwhelming despair. She was leaving him when he needed her most and she couldn't find it within herself to care. She didn't care much about anything anymore.
"Truth or dare?"
"Truth." It was the first time she'd ever chosen the option and surprised them both.
"Why are you really leaving?"
"Because…"
Because it takes all my energy to get out of bed, because I love you so much and I can't help you stop hurting, because I can't even look at you without wanting to cry. Because I was going to be a mother and a wife and now I will be neither.
"Because I don't love you enough to stay."
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him hard, then grabbed her suitcase. She entered the airport without looking back. She didn't fail to notice that he never asked her to stay.
Never before had she ever told a lie so hurtful or so grievous. It was then that she resolved to never do it again. Not lie well, at least.
.::.
Gillian stormed out of the lab, where she'd just left Cal. He'd returned, ready for round two and held no punches. She was beginning to think that this rift had been a long time coming, but now wondered at being able to repair the damage.
"Alright, it's past five. Let's call it a day. None of you care enough to be here anyway," Gillian said as she returned to the conference room. She was frustrated by the lack of support shown by her co-workers. Cal had more sway over them than she imagined.
"Take some files home over the weekend, in case you both happen to be free. Just be safe. We're supposed to get a couple inches of snow tonight."
Both Loker and Torres had the sense to not look at each other. "And if we come up with something?" asked Loker as he pulled on his coat.
"You know my number."
Torres remained after Loker left the room. "What are you going to do?"
"Right now? Go watch the Hoyas demolish Utah State. Then I'm going to figure out how to catch Martin Thomas in the act." Gillian felt the younger woman's pensive gaze. "What? Don't believe me?"
Torres grinned, "No. I do. That's the problem."
Gillian gathered her notes and headed to her office, waving goodbye to Torres. Glancing at the clock, she realized she'd be late for the start of the game. It didn't matter. As long as she had an hour and a half to numb her mind, then all was well.
Calling her friends to let them know she was on her way, she parked at the nearest metro and headed to Georgetown.
.::.
Gillian smiled at Larry and Susan as they sat in the seat across from her. Larry was affiliated with the Hoyas athletic department and Susan was an editor at the Washington Post. The three of them could talk basketball for hours and still not tire of it. Even better, they could talk of non-basketball related things and continue to have a good time.
Despite having such a good evening with her friends, she still felt that sensation deep down, that guilty gut-twisting feeling that she hated so much. It was the primary reason she hated lying, but it was even worse because there were so many people angry with her over so many different things. She knew it'd blow over eventually, but she wasn't sure if her relationship with Cal would ever be the same.
Then again, he'd lied to her so many times and she'd taken him back. But life wasn't always a two-way street. There was nothing that said Cal Lightman had to be anywhere near as forgiving as she. Gillian figured she'd find out how true a friend he was after all this.
"Gillian, I hope you've been to the grocery store and stocked up on food. The weather is supposed to be atrocious this weekend."
"I sure did. If this winter is anything like the last, then we're in for a lot of snow."
"No kidding," Susan replied. Susan and Larry's stop arrived, just two ahead of Gillian. She smiled as Susan leaned over and gave her a quick hug while Larry patted her on the shoulder the way he always did. Just before they got off, Larry turned and said, "Make sure you text me when you get home, you know how nervous I get."
Smiling, Gillian replied, "Always do. Don't worry."
The doors opened and Larry and Susan stepped off, giving Gillian one last wave. Gillian settled into her seat while passengers boarded. As the metro resumed its journey, Gillian's gaze fell on the reflection of the person sitting behind her. Her heart skid to a shuddering halt.
Staring directly at her with his cold, dead grey eyes and a fiendish grin was none other than Jean Le Fort.
.::.::.
A/N: 1. I'd love to take credit for the dissolution of Henri and Gill's relationship. However it is loosely based on a patient I once had, but instead of sitting in a bathtub with a combat knife, he was alone in the woods, staring down the barrel of his shotgun. I'm happy to say that he is with his wife and two kids, doing much better. 2. If any of you were ever curious as to where the SUSPENSE part was going to come in to play, THIS would be it. 3. Cal's behavior will be elaborated upon next chap. Until then, thanks for reading and leaving your lovely comments, I do enjoy them.
THIRTEEN