The Lies We Tell (15/15)
Title: The Lies We Tell (15/15)
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.
AN: Sorry this is freakishly long. Thanks for reading.
.::.::.::.
She didn't have nightmares. Not all the time. But when she did, it was the kind of nightmare she bore in silence.
When she dreamed, it was of a night at the circus.
.::.
It's a grand tent, multicolored and bright. It smells of cotton candy, stale popcorn, and elephant dung. She's always in different locations. Tonight, she's on the trapeze, and she is amazing.
She twists, she twirls, she flips, she flies.
It's exhilarating.
She's about to perform the final feat of gravity. Standing on the pedestal, she looks out at the crowd. Suddenly everyone evaporates and all that remain are Loker, Torres, and Henri. She looks across and sees Cal. He's hanging upside down from a bar ever so appropriately, waiting for gravity to take over.
She pushes off, clinging tightly to the bar. She twists and readies to let go, expecting to feel Cal's hand.
But he's not there, just an empty bar.
And she falls.
Falls.
Falls.
Into the arms of a monster.
.::.
One week. One week and two days since she'd been rescued. It had been rough and all things considered, Gillian wasn't sure she was handling it well. Her therapist visited regularly and they were making slow progress, but progress all the same. Her tri-weekly visits from her physical therapist were another matter entirely. Those were more along the lines of torture than anything else. All in all, it made her… moody. Yes. She'd been quite moody lately.
She walked out of her bathroom, clad only in her underwear and bra. Just as she opened her top dresser drawer, she heard a knock on the door.
"I'm changing. I'll be out in a minute."
"Oh, by all means, take your time." There was a shuffle and what sounded like someone sliding to the ground. Raising her eyebrow curiously, she continued to slide into her yoga pants and a t-shit - her uniform of convalescence.
"What happened?" It was soft at first, so soft that she thought she didn't hear anything. But then - "that night? What happened?"
She'd been waiting for this; surprised that it had taken him so long. Grabbing the throw blanket off her bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders and walked to her door. Leaning her forehead against the wood, she let out a long breath.
"I… was on the metro. That's when I last saw Susan and Larry. Le Fort took a seat right behind me and said that he'd shoot the woman behind him if I did anything to attract attention.
"What do you want?"
"I want you to shut up. Get out at the next stop. Walk to the stairs at the far end and toss your purse in the trash. You do anything different, and I'll shoot every person between me and you."
She did as she was told, angry that he used innocent people against her. He walked up behind her and followed her upstairs, well in view of the cameras. Once they got outside, he pushed her toward the lot where there was a fine layer of snow on the ground. She walked straight ahead, trying with all her might not to run for cover. Nearing the end of the parking lot, she didn't see a soul around.
Her next move was impetuous and completely lacking in any forethought whatsoever. She jerked away, elbowed him in the jaw, kneed him in the gut, then kicked him in the groin.
"You didn't!"
"I sure did," she replied as she smiled at the memory. "It was short-lived though. You see, I had to take off my heels so he wouldn't hear me, but then I was running in a snowy parking lot, leaving my trail."
"He caught up?"
"Yeah, and he wasn't happy."
"You rotten whore. You just made your ride that much more unpleasant." He had her face pressed into the ground, his knee digging into her back. She felt a sharp pinch in her upper arm, after which she slowly became paralyzed. He threw her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and then tossed her into his cold, damp trunk.
"He must've sedated me, because I woke up in his basement, bound and naked… and sick. I'd thrown up several times. It was completely dark and it smelled… like a rotting corpse bled to death in a port-a-potty."
"Lovely."
"You have no idea. He waited a while to come down stairs. When he did, he told me what he was going to do to me, to let me think about it a while, then came back later and let me watch as a young woman died. A lot of it was Le Fort exerting his control over me. Nothing really happened until much later."
"Is that when he hung you from that chain?"
Gillian bit her lip, trying to push aside the memory, but just thinking about it made her shoulders tense tightly. She continued on in cold, clinical efficiency, as though describing some horrific movie she'd watched.
"Yes. My hands were bound behind me and then he suspended me in the air with the chain so it felt like my shoulders were going to pop out of the socket with every breath."
"What about the manacle?"
Her hand glided to her neck, running over the scabs dotting her skin. "He did that in the beginning, after I woke up. It was so I wouldn't make any noise."
"Did he hang any weights from your feet? While you were suspended?"
"He was about to, but then there was a noise upstairs."
"The Bald Man?"
"Yeah. He ran upstairs to investigate and Ivana came over and got me down. When he returned, we were too weak to really fight back. He pulled us upstairs by our hair. Once we reached the top, he injected me with the paralytic again. While he was distracted, the Bald Man attacked him, and Ivana knocked over the kerosene lamp."
"I can't… I can't even imagine what it must've been like. How'd you even get out?"
"Ivana. I briefly had function of my arms, which helped. But then she had to drag me down the steps."
"That's how you got the gash on the back of your head?"
She reached up and ran her fingers over the scabbed staples keeping her scalp together. Those would be gone in a day or so.
"Yeah. We didn't make it very far, but the snow cooled the burns. I can't decide whether the hypothermia helped or hurt."
"What worries me is that we don't know whether Le Fort made it out or not."
Head bent, Gillian picked at a frayed end of her blanket, watching her fingers tug at the fabric. "He didn't."
"How do you know?"
"He was shot in the head."
"By the bald man?"
No hesitation, just steady, pitch-perfect flow. "Yes."
He exhaled loudly, letting the back of his head thump against her bedroom door. They sat in silence, him running over her words, her reliving that morning.
"Gill?"
She didn't respond, just slowly drew her knees to her chest, carefully easing her left leg as the skin stretched beyond its means.
"I miss you."
Huffing softly, she pressed her forehead to her knees. He could pack so much into three small words: apology, regret, fear, doubt, sorrow.
"All those times… that you risked your life, did it make you re-evaluate things? Sort of take stock of your life?"
A shuffle of fabric against the door. "Sometimes. Not always."
"Did it depend on how close you were to dying?"
"Nah. Just on how much I'd lose."
Her eyebrows jumped up then dipped low as her brow furrowed. His honesty was refreshing. It still hurt though. "And yet, you keep doing it."
"Maybe I'm hoping that one time I'll come home and feel differently."
She got his message, painful as it was. Maybe he'll come home and be ready for more than… this. Maybe.
"Who knows?" she replied archly. "Maybe you won't come home next time."
Her anger was still very real and very raw. He laughed then shuffled to a standing position.
"Fair enough," his voice was stiff. "Coming to the Christmas Party? Everyone'll want to see you."
She shrugged to no one. "We'll see. I need to… evaluate things."
"Right."
Frowning, she thought of something. "Oh and Cal? It's Gillian."
He didn't reply, just tapped her door with his hand familiarly then left.
.::.
A short while later, a fuming Gillian entered the kitchen and found Henri reading his newspaper at her kitchen table. "You visited Cal."
"Yes I did." He didn't bother looking up, just turned the page.
"You had no right to do that."
"Sure I did."
"Please explain to me how you, a guest in my home, took it upon yourself to talk to my business partner. If he doesn't want to see me, then by all means, he can stay the hell away."
At the rise in her voice, Henri finally looked up and carefully folded his newspaper. "You're acting childish."
"Me? You're the one who went over there behind my back."
"All I did was have a nice chat with him," Henri replied as he stood. "He was drowning in despair."
"Why should I care?"
"Because you're in love with him."
The mere utterance of the phrase sent fury through her body. "You couldn't be more mistaken."
Henri shook his head in disbelief. "That's just the fear talking."
"Okay, if I'm in love with Cal, why is he the star of all my nightmares? Why is it that every. single. night. he is the reason why I die? Why is it that the thought of that man only creates the feeling of betrayal? He has treated me horribly for the past year. I can assure you, Henri, that there is no amount of love that could make up for everything we've been through. None."
Silence rung out as the air around them grew tense.
"And for that matter, why the hell are you even here?" she yelled. "I'm alive and I'm fine. As appreciative as I am that you came out here, I don't need you to make sure I eat my dinner and take my pills. I…" her voice cracked as she tried to swallow the knot in her throat. "I am…"
Henri walked over to her slowly. She pushed him away, shaking her head. Still, he persisted, even as she beat her fists against his chest. Finally succumbing to the overwhelming anguish, she broke down in his arms, her tears falling freely. He remained silent and still, his chinned propped atop her head.
Later, when her hiccups dissipated and her cheeks were no longer flushed, he made her a cup of tea. She stared into her cup as silence lapsed. It wasn't uncomfortable, it just was.
"Miss Gillian?"
"Hmmm?"
"What do you say about you and I having an adventure this afternoon?"
For the first time in a week, her smile was bright and genuine. "I thought you'd never ask."
.::.
By the end of the week, their outings became the highlight of Gillian's day. Gillian took it upon herself to be Henri's personal tour guide. At first their brief outings were simple - to the Washington Monument or to The Smithsonian's American History Museum. All the while, they settled into the ease of two old friends, conversation and comfortable silence accompanying them throughout their days.
Today the weather was marked by cold blustery wind and inevitable snow. It made Gillian irritable and Henri didn't deserve that. Longing for solitude, she holed herself away in her office for most the morning.
A knock at the door stirred Gillian from her numbers-induced haze. "Yes?"
"I haven't heard any sound come from in here for a couple hours. Just making sure you haven't plotted the end of the world or anything."
"No, that's tomorrow. What's up?"
Henri flashed her a quick, excited smile. "I want to show you something."
Casting him a dubious look, she pushed away from the desk and stood slowly. He led the way into the living room where she was surprised to find that she was in the middle of a winter wonderland. Her mantle was covered with garland and poinsettias, complete with stockings and lights. Her fat Santas, skinny Santas, Santas with reindeer and Santas with presents sat on various surfaces. Her grand-mere's winter village took over her entry table. There was only one noticeable absence.
"I got out the tree skirt and the stand," Henri explained as her eyes fell on the skirt, "but you're going to have to come with me to get the tree, I couldn't figure out a way to get it inside without you hearing. Anyway, I know your favorite part is hanging the ornaments."
Speechless, Gillian shook her head to herself in disbelief. "I don't… how did you? Where did you even find all this?"
"The storage unit," Henri offered. "Do you like it?"
She clapped her hands together and brought them to her mouth, hiding her ridiculous smile. "It's perfect. Thank you… very much." She pulled him in for a hug, tight and firm, taking in his warmth and his scent. Gillian felt the strength in his hold, the way he tucked his chin against the top of her head.
Just the way he used to.
"You're welcome," he whispered. "That smile was certainly worth it, Miss Gillian."
He pulled away and grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Come on, we need to get out there and get our tree before the snow hits."
"Let me change clothes. I'll be out in ten." Excited, Gillian returned to her room to change. It wasn't until she emerged ten minutes later that she realized the smile hadn't left her face.
'Tis the season.
.::.
Tonight, she's in some ridiculous get-up: top hat, dress coat, and black sheer stockings.
She looks like a rockette reject.
Her elephant, affectionately referred to as Marshmallow, is feeling particularly mischievous. Gillian rubs behind his ears then climbs onto Marshmallow's back. The curtain lifts and she rides into the center ring.
Standing on the railing rousing the crowd, is the ringmaster - Cal. He's wearing a flamboyant orange coat and has a whimsical mustache that he twists fondly. He wields his whip as she balances on Marshmallow's back. She about to signal for her metal-rings while he calls for silence.
Cal has a surprise for the crowd and an excited chorus responds. Another curtain is lifted and Lucifer emerges.
He is a lion and hasn't eaten for days.
Marshmallow gets flustered and raises back on his hind legs, causing Gillian to fall off and hit her head on the dirt ground. Chaos ensues. The crowd clears as animals run amuck. Gillian tries to get up, falters, calls for help. Cal appears and holds out his hand. She reaches, but her fingers slip through as he is whisked away by Loker and Torres.
All that remains is her and Lucifer, licking his lips in delight.
He is a lion and hasn't eaten for days.
.::.
It was Wednesday afternoon, a couple days before the Christmas party. Gillian had already been quite productive, having seen her shrink, met with John Bradford, and most importantly - had a much-needed visit with her hair stylist. Not only that, but she had a fun-filled afternoon of agony with her physical therapist to look forward to.
Just after Gillian arrived at home, the doorbell rang.
"Emily!" Gillian opened the door wide to let her inside.
"Hey! I come bearing gifts," Emily said as she walked into the living room. "Wow! It looks great in here."
"Thanks, isn't it wonderful? Henri did most of it."
"Oh," said Emily as she smiled mischievously. Never a good sign.
"Want some tea?"
"No, I just came by to drop off something." Emily bent and pulled something out of her bag. It was a tin. Her tin.
"Where'd you get that?"
"Me and Dad broke in during that snow storm. I saw this on your coffee table. And yes, I did go through it."
Gillian frowned. Oh God. What if -
"No, Dad hasn't seen it. I'm the only one who's looked through it." Emily set the tin in Gillian's lap. "I don't understand though. What were all these adventures about?"
"What do you mean?"
"You had over three hundred postcards with something written in French, signed by you and Henri then numbered and dated."
"It was something we used to do when we were younger, almost like a photo album," Gillian replied as contemplated the lid. "What else did you find?"
"You haven't looked in it?"
"Not in years."
Emily leaned over quickly and popped open the tin. She pulled out the stack of postcards and grabbed a smaller stack of photographs. Thumbing through them quickly, she pulled up one in question.
"How old were you in this?"
Gillian's eyes widened as she plucked the picture from Emily's grasp. It was a black and white photograph. Gillian was naked as the day she was born and sitting Indian-style, the shadows covering strategic locations.
"Old enough to know better. I can tell you right now, it will never, ever be a good idea to do anything like this."
"But you did it."
"Yes, before the internet. I'd never in a million years do anything like it again."
"I think you should put it up in the lobby."
Gillian arched her eyebrow in disapproval.
"Fine. What about… this post card? This is one of the only ones without anything written on the back." Gillian scanned the vintage post card with the banner 'Bienvenidos a Buenos Aires'.
"I don't even remember where this came from. It's always been somewhere I'd like to go though."
"Why haven't you?" Emily looked at Gillian with the innocent clarity of someone who's never had to travel alone.
Gillian shrugged, "You know, I don't have a good reason."
"No time like the present," Emily replied simply. She pulled out another picture and held it up with a questioning look on her face.
"I was twenty and spent a summer traveling through parts of Europe with my friends. This was in Munich and that was our very… well-endowed barmaid."
For the next fifteen minutes, Gillian looked through the pictures with Emily, laughing at intervals as she relayed some colorful events of her youth.
"I had no idea you did all of this. Do you still keep in touch with any of them?"
Gillian smiled at Emily who had squeezed closer to her on the sofa. "Some, yes. I talk to Colette the most. She married a barrister and lives in London.
"What about this one? Luc, right?"
Gillian's smile faltered as she picked up the photo. It was the photo of her, Henri, and Luc. It still made her chest hurt to look at.
"Luc was killed in Rwanda when we were twenty-four." It was strange to say it aloud, in English, no less.
"Oh," Emily bit her lip, frowning at touching on an unhappy subject. "Were you close?"
"Outside of Henri, Luc was my best friend. He had such a great sense of humor and this laugh… you could pick him out of a crowd."
Frowning, Gillian returned everything to the tin.
"I need to get back. I told Dad I was out getting his Christmas present."
"Oh? What are you getting him?"
"Coal."
"Emily!"
"He's getting other stuff too, but I thought the coal was appropriate."
Gillian cocked her head to the side then nodded, "Good point."
Emily pulled on her coat and gave Gillian a tight hug. "You look great, really. You're coming to the Christmas party, right? I got a tree and Liam's going to help me decorate tonight."
Gillian smiled at Emily's earnestness. "Of course, Em. Let me know if you need any help."
Emily said goodbye, giving Gillian a chance to reflect over the pictures. There was so much history contained in that one box. Someday, she'd be able to go through it with Henri.
Gillian picked up the tin and walked into her bedroom closet. Squatting gingerly, she lifted an aged shoebox and placed the tin on the carpet. Curious as to its contents, Gillian rocked back on her heels and cracked the lid of the shoebox, sighing.
She really did keep mementos of everything.
.::.
"Okay, you've imbibed me with spirits, filled me with gourmet food, and now I'm suspicious, so what's up?" asked Henri as he dried the dishes while she washed.
"I'd hardly say beer and pizza would qualify as gourmet," said Gillian as flicked some dish bubbles at him.
"Yeah, but that pizza was homemade. Is that the recipe you conned off that little Lothario when we were in Rome?"
Gillian smirked. "Which one?"
"Hmph," Henri rolled up his dishtowel and let it fly. "Seriously though, that was great."
"You're welcome. I figured it's the least I could do."
"What, after making me spend the last," he counted out on his fingers, "one, two, three weeks at your beck and call, catering to your every need?"
"I'd hardly say you were my slave."
"Don't act like it's never crossed your mind." Henri bent beneath the counter to pull out a container to store the remaining pizza. "Really, though, I'd say your were mostly fine after the first week. Watching you go through PT was…. comical at times."
"I'm glad you found delight in my misfortune." Gillian replied as they lapsed into silence. Wiping down the counter, something he said struck her as curious. "Why… If you thought I was doing okay, then… why did you stay?"
She watched him closely as he considered his words. "You were fine physically, Gill. But mentally?" He shook his head. He was telling the truth, but he was holding something back.
"Hey, I was doing okay."
"Sure, you were okay. If you call sleeping two hours a night, barely eating, and staring into the fireplace for hours on end 'Okay'."
She frowned. He was right. In retrospect, his recollection of events was more accurate than hers. She'd been a zombie much of the time.
"You didn't really turn the corner until Lightman came that one day."
Gillian remained silent, picking at the sponge. She glanced at her wrist, mostly healed, save for a mark that would likely remain a scar. At least she'd figured out what to do where Cal was concerned. She'd even visited Zoe to get her opinion.
"Hey." Henri stood beside her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the counter. His hand slid beneath her chin as he cupped her cheek, turning her to him. "You're doing great now. You're sleeping more and eating, you're not as…" he searched for a non-vulgar term, "shrew-like?"
Gillian pulled away, scoffing. Henri shrugged and took one last swig of his beer, looking away.
"Regardless, if you want the truth from me," Henri said, his voice hard and serious, "all you have to do is ask. I've been nothing but honest with you since I've been here. No need to look at me like I'm one of your suspects." He set his bottle in the recycling and left the kitchen.
Chastened, Gillian left him alone; her guilt growing as evening became night. Later, she found him standing out on her balcony in the cold. She was hesitant to go out, but her need to apologize was too strong.
"What are you doing?" Henri admonished. "Get back inside, it's freezing."
"You're out here."
"I didn't recently suffer hypothermia."
Gillian defiantly wrapped her arms around herself as she leaned her back against the rail, facing him. "I'm sorry," she started bluntly. "I don't even know when I do it anymore. I just… I guess I've grown a lot more weary of others in the past couple years. Professional hazard."
Henri nodded, frowning as he watched the street below. "And that's the problem, isn't it? You view me as… as them." He tapped the rail with his fingers idly, nervous. "Whereas when I look at you, I still see the woman I wanted to marry, the woman I wanted to be the mother of my children. The woman I wanted to grow old with."
Gillian, taken aback, stared at her feet as she searched for something to say. "I didn't… I didn't know you felt that way," she murmured. "The whole time you've been here, you've acted like -"
"Like a friend who wanted to make sure you were taken care of and wanted you to get better? I had no design when I came out here, Gill. It was a reflex."
Gillian raised her left shoulder sheepishly as she glanced at him, an apologetic smile on her face. "Yes, but you've been so cold… distant."
He let out a gruff laugh. "View it as a measure of self-preservation… It wasn't easy, I assure you."
Gillian's head fell to the side as she watched him, the way he kept his gaze fixed stubbornly away from her. There was a reason for that.
"Look at me," she asked as she placed her hand on his arm. He bit his lip, shaking his head to himself. "Henri -"
Slowly, he turned to her, eyes glistening. She saw the doubt in the pinch of his brow, the fear in the downward pull of his lips. But mostly, she saw the desire in his eyes as they wavered between her eyes and her lips. Oh.
And suddenly, they were kissing with years of anguish and longing and sadness fueling them. Gillian wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he pulled her close. She was overwhelmed. His heat, his taste, the feel of him. So familiar, yet so different. It was all too much. Somewhere along the way, she felt their kiss change from impetuous to fraught with mutual fear.
Few things were sadder than a kiss tinged with remorse and tears.
She wasn't sure who pulled away, but it was Henri who spoke. "I can't do this right now."
"Neither can I," she replied, her chest heaving in the same manner as his. Neither spoke for a moment, their eyes averted.
"You should go back in where it's warm. I'll come inside in a minute."
She did as was suggested and went to her kitchen where she set her kettle to boil for tea. Sitting at her table, she glanced up when he entered, looking properly chilled. He didn't say anything, just leaned against the counter, looking anywhere but at her.
"You broke my heart," he said suddenly, his voice raspy. "Shattered it, actually."
Wasn't that the crux of the matter? "You broke mine too."
Henri nodded as he shoved his hands in his pockets stubbornly. "Well, then I guess we're at an impasse."
Gillian didn't reply, just took a sip of her tea.
"I'm leaving the day after Christmas, unless you want me gone sooner."
"No, that's fine."
Henri turned and left without saying goodnight. Gillian remained in the kitchen until her tea grew cold, ignoring the sharp pain in her chest.
.::.
This is the worst yet.
The atmosphere is not jovial. Instead it is a garish mockery of a circus - all distorted figures and obtrusive music. Like a bad trip on absinthe at a German metal concert.
She staggers through the crowd, spots Loker - a sad clown with a crushed flower. Torres is a gypsy, pulling tarot cards and carrying her crystal ball. Henri is peddling peanuts. And Cal?
He's a firebreather.
She walks to the base of an impossibly tall ladder and starts to climb, climb, climb. When she reaches the top she finds her balancing pole and tests its weight in her hands. She takes one step then another and another.
This is her life, walking a tightrope.
She walks forward, dips low, slides back, switches feet.
The crowd gasps. She looks ahead and spots Cal. He takes a swig and lets loose a puff of fire, far-reaching and determined. She tries to back up, but he's behind her. In front of her. All around her.
He creates the fire, encourages the fire, lets the fire consume her.
Summoning some untapped fount of strength, she breaks free, reborn.
.::.
It was Christmas Eve, the night of the party. Gillian zipped up her knee-high boots and finished getting ready. Poor Henri was busy laboring over which wine to bring.
Much of the previous day had been spent uncomfortably, until Gillian broke down and properly apologized for leaving Henri after Luc's death. They'd also discussed his coming to Boston all those years ago with the actual intention of persuading her not to marry Alec. The most painful part was discussing the loss of the baby, but it was a long overdue conversation. Tears were shed, hugs were exchanged. It didn't fix everything, but it was a start.
Afterward, Henri grabbed her hand and had taken her out to dinner. It had been a lovely, comfortable evening between two old friends. Henri had done his best to retreat into that territory, and succeeded mostly… until now.
"You look," Henri's eyes raked her form as he cleared his throat. "You look gorgeous."
Gillian smiled demurely. "Thank you. You look handsome as well."
"Don't make me blush." Henri held up her black dress coat. "Your coat, Miss Gillian."
"Why thank you, kind sir," she replied as he helped her into her coat. "Are you ready for this?"
Henri picked up the wine and opened the door. "Only if you are."
"Fine. Let's do this."
.::.
Cal anchored a corner, admiring Emily's work. Lights were strung to and fro, garland was hung, and the abnormally large tree was decorated. There were even a few snowflakes here and there. Besides, Sinatra's Christmas was playing, none of that other rubbish.
"Em, it looks great," Cal said honestly, earning a dubious look from his daughter. "Really, it does."
"Thanks, but it wasn't all me. I had help."
"Ah yes, wouldn't want to forget Liam or the minions," Cal said as he looked around at all the graduate students that kept this place running.
"They're your employees Dad, be nice," Emily chided. Then he felt her stiffen beside him. "Dad… why is your… you know here?"
Cal turned in time to see Wallowski hand her coat to Loker and accept a flute of champagne from Anna.
"Because," Cal turned to face Emily, "I invited her."
Emily shook her head, mouth agape. "I can't believe you."
"Yes you can. Look, there's your Mum. Go say 'hi'."
"And keep her away from Shazzer?"
"It's Detective Wallowski, Now go." He turned her towards Zoe who'd just entered with Donnell. "And make sure you let her have a chat with Liam."
"Hey, you." Wallowski sidled up to him and kissed him on the cheek. "I can't stay long, I've got to get to Mass."
"Hey, if you want to get on your knees -"
"Oh, stop. " She punched him in the arm, hard. "Look, it's the conquering hero."
Cal turned to see Foster enter with Toussaint. No one had noticed her yet. She seemed to be giving Toussaint a brief tour, motioning to various areas with her hands as he nodded.
Then, someone spotted her and all hell broke loose. It was like Foster was sharing the secrets of the universe as people came out of the woodwork, clamoring for a hug and a smile. He never got this kind of reception when he returned from any off his… activities. Of course, he'd never made national news and launched a PTSD defense program at the same time either.
"Jealous?" asked Torres from his other side. He frowned, no use in replying. "She looks good, don't you think?"
Cal watched as Foster finally got a second to breathe. Toussaint helped her with her coat; the range of motion in her shoulders was still limited. She wore a beautifully cut red dress with those knee-length boots that he figured he'd see a lot more of, considering the still healing scar on her leg. With her understated beauty, she looked like she always looked: effortlessly sophisticated and elegant.
"Better than when I last saw her," Cal replied, ignoring the way Torres scrutinized his features. Exasperated, she left them to greet Foster.
His eyes drawn to his partner, Cal turned back to an irritable Wallowski.
"You still haven't told her about us, have you?"
"When should I have done that?"
She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. "You're unbelievable, you know that? You asked me to keep a patrol on her place 24/7 since she got back, and I did, no questions asked."
Cal grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. "Which I appreciate, I do. But you need to understand one thing: I lied," he stopped himself and began again, "I have been lying to her - my best friend, for you and about you. So don't -"
"And you thought, now would be a good time to give her a heads up?"
"I imagine she's figured it out -" he paused at the alarm tightening around her eyes. Turning, he stood face-to-face with Gillian and Toussaint. Cal received a warning look from Toussaint before he turned to Foster.
"Hello, Detective, it's been a while," Gillian said as she held out her hand. "I'm afraid if you're trying to make Cal an honest man you have your work cut out for you, Lord knows I couldn't pull it off."
Ouch. "Hey, I'm right here."
"Glad you're safe and doing well, Dr. Foster. It's great to see you," replied Wallowski, completely ignoring Cal. Foster placed her hand on Toussaint's arm and introduced them, saying he was 'an old friend of hers.' Sure he was.
Foster still hadn't looked him straight in the eyes and until then, Cal wasn't budging. Wallowski continued a stilted conversation with Foster until she had to leave for Church, giving his hand a squeeze before leaving.
"I'm going to get a drink," said Henri. "Do either of you want anything?"
"Nah," Cal replied while Foster shook her head.
Foster turned to him, the model of passivity. "We need to talk."
Cal motioned for her to enter his office, well aware of the several pairs of eyes trailing them. Shutting the door behind him, Cal was unsettled at the thought that he had no idea where this could go. With her back to him, Gillian lowered her bag to the ground and turned around slowly, her shoulders back and chin held high.
They watched each other for an interminable moment, sizing each other up. Surprising them both, it was Cal who started first.
"You look lovely, Gillian."
Her jaw clenched as she nodded at him in thanks. She took a seat on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. Cal complied silently. She pulled a package out of her bag and set it between them.
"What's this?"
"What does it look like?"
"A box."
She nodded. "Do you remember our first official day working together?"
"Yeah. We drew out a plan in my kitchen, signed it with that shite pen that kept leaking and split a bottle of wine at ten in the morning."
She nudged the box forward. With all the care of a two year old, Cal ripped off the paper to reveal a tattered shoebox. Inside was a worn piece of paper, ripped from a legal pad. Beside it was that blasted pen, cap screwed tight. Rolling back and forth were the corks from the first bottle of wine and every anniversary bottle thereafter.
"I believe some would call you a hoarder."
Gillian smiled, looking at her hands clasped in her lap, then back to him. Cal felt unease settle in his stomach.
"Our contract," Cal whispered as he unfolded the piece of paper, scanning the outline and their promise to each other scribbled at the bottom.
Cal pursed his lips, uncertain as to how he should proceed. "I… don't know what to say. Why are you giving me this?"
Foster smiled sadly as she studied her hands in her lap for a moment, then up to him. He knew that look, it didn't bode well.
"When we started all this, it was you and me and the contents of that box. That was it. We came into this agreement as partners." Cal scratched his cheek and leaned to where he could see her features better. "Somewhere along the way - that changed… and I don't know why."
"Is this part of your re-evaluation, Foster? Are you trying to see where I fit in your new world?"
She smirked. "Yes. Yes I am. Because, what you seem so eager to overlook, Cal, is that I almost died." She paused, her tone softening. "Though, I think that I understand you a little better now, why you're always chasing that elusive sensation of near-death. It imparts this… extreme sense of invincibility. And it's dangerous. Because you're never going to feel that again."
"Delusions of immortality," Cal muttered as he picked up one of the corks.
"Sorry?"
"It's a delusion of immortality, Foster. And by the way, you're right. I am eager to forget that you almost died. Because you asked for my help, you came to me when you needed me most, and I turned you away. I haven't treated you properly for months and I know that." Cal stood up, needing distance.
"I don't even know why I do it. I'm hardest on those I love the most, I reckon. Still, testing your loyalty, getting you to lie for me, all of it." He could've gone on, but from her guarded expression, she knew his grievances well. "It makes me the worst kind of friend and…" he licked his lips and looked her straight in the eyes. "And I'm sorry."
Her eyes wavered back and forth as she read his genuine sorrow. She smiled at him, soft and familiar. "I believe you're a good man, Cal Lightman. I think you're too Machiavellian and definitely too hard on yourself. Still, you always try to do what you think is right, and I can't fault you for that."
Cal felt a 'but' coming.
"But it's time for things to change around here." She pulled a manila envelope out of her bag and stood as well, walking closer to him. "We always said that if we made it to the end of the decade, we'd make it all official. Here's your chance, Cal. A new contract for you to review and sign by January first."
Cal took the proffered envelope. It wasn't too heavy, but he had a feeling it contained a bit more detail than that slip of paper.
"This is… unexpected." Cal frowned as he set the envelope on the coffee table.
Gillian, somehow seeming taller than she used to, took a step closer. "If you meant everything you just said, then you'll at least take a look. You owe me that much."
She was right. He did. He owed her plenty. Looking up, he finally saw a crack in all that bravado. She was afraid. Afraid of him and what he might do. He hated that look. She watched him as he nodded, sincere and fully willing to do whatever it took to keep her. When understanding set in, a smile crept across her face, warm and comforting.
Cal took a step closer and wrapped her up in his arms, feeling the way she settled against him. They stood in silence, feeling the weight of the world lift off their shoulders as it righted itself again.
Her breath was hot on his neck as she whispered, "I missed you too."
Cal smiled, closing his eyes tight as squeezed her tighter. When they pulled away, she gave him a soft kiss on his forehead and smiled brightly. She was coming back, his Foster.
"I'll see you out there?"
"You bet," Cal replied as he followed her to the door. Leaning against the ledge, Cal watched as she glided her Fosterly way over to Toussaint, giving him a radiant smile. He pulled her in briefly and kissed her temple, then let her go as he continued talking with Donnell. Figures they'd like each other.
Gillian looked back at Cal and winked, motioning for him to join them. Rolling his eyes, Cal shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed off from the doorframe. Approaching her, it struck him how clever she'd been in his office. Well played, Foster. Well played. She seemed to read some of this revelation on his face, grinning at him mischievously.
"Welcome back Doctor Foster." I'll sign the contract, no matter what it says.
Her smiled dropped for a moment, then she nodded. "Thank you, Doctor Lightman. It's good to be back."
.::.
The night after the party, Gillian slept long and hard. She woke the next morning to hot cocoa and presents with Henri. They enjoyed their last day together, reveling in the quiet familiarity. When she drove him to the airport the next morning, they kissed each other soundly, promising to keep in contact.
The following day, Gillian returned to the same airport with a carry-on bag in tow. She scanned the list of departures then walked up to the ticket counter where a tall blonde stood, smiling.
"Happy Holidays, ma'am," she stated with a southern drawl. "How can I help you?"
Gillian smiled warmly as she pulled out her passport and credit card. "I'd like a round-trip ticket to Buenos Aires, please. I'd like to be back by the first."
"Alrighty, and how many passengers?"
Taking a fortifying breath, Gillian replied, "One…. Just one."
No time like the present, indeed.
fin
.::.::.::.
AN: I'd apologize for the length, but I don't care anymore and I liked all those parts, so whatever. Thanks to all of you who've reviewed, your comments kept me going when I wanted to quit. 2. I will be converting this story into a PDF. If anyone wishes to have a copy, please leave a comment or go to my LJ page and I'll send you one.
3. OH. RIGHT. ONE MORE THING. THERE WILL BE A SHORT EPILOGUE. In a couple days.