The Lies We Tell: Epilogue
Title: The Lies We Tell: Epilogue
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: I said I'd write an epilogue and here it is. This will be my final offering to the fandom. Thanks for reading, please enjoy.
.::.::.::.
Previously:
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."
.::.::.::.::.::.
January
Foster returns looking sun-kissed and rejuvenated. At their weekly meeting, she glances at Cal then looks around the room and asks, "Do I need to clear any rumors or answer any questions?"
At first, no one says a word.
Then Anna raises her hand. Another is raised. And another. And so on.
Nearly an hour later and the meeting is over. Cal watches Foster as she leaves the empty conference room, her usual sway a little stiff, her shoulders a little curved.
A week passes unceremoniously. They don't talk much and he hates it. He never realized how comforting it was - knowing that she was working late with him at the office - until he didn't feel right stopping in for a drink and a chat.
Cal has a quiet dinner with his you know. They both agree that while it was great, perhaps he should find another trigger to squeeze.
A couple days later, Foster strolls into his office looking glum. She hides it well, but the pull at her eyes is hard to miss.
"Fancy a drink later?"
She looks up from her file, blinks slowly and shakes her head. "No, thanks."
The invisible wall erected and deafening silence that lapses is disheartening.
February
Ria sits on the floor of her office, files spread all around. She's working on another of Foster's projects. She finds herself overwhelmed and out of her league. She may be a natural, but it doesn't make up for lack of a strong foundation.
She dutifully inhales books that trip off Foster's tongue like she read them yesterday. Both Georgetown and American Universities have approached Foster with assistant professor positions. She doesn't say as much, but Ria knows Foster is considering part-time.
"Ria, what are you still doing here? It's nearly eight." Foster is leaning against the doorjamb, looking immaculate despite the hour.
"You wanted the results from the control group by tomorrow." She stretches and works her neck from side-to-side.
"Well, two is better than one. Let's relocate to the conference room. I'll order in."
They pour over files, cataloguing, hypothesizing, discussing classical and operant conditioning.
"Would you like to go to college?" Foster asks suddenly. Ria does a double take.
"Are you offering?" Ria jokes, because that's a borderline ludicrous question.
Foster observes as much, but only smiles the smile of one who knows how to talk her way out of a situation.
Three endless weeks later, Ria enters Foster's office and takes a seat. When her mentor gets off the phone with a client, she looks up and smiles at Ria knowingly.
"Change your mind?"
Ria takes a deep breath, "It's such a big -"
There's a knock at the door. Foster's smile falters in confusion. Ria turns to see Henri Toussaint standing in the doorway, looking hopeful and holding a yellow daisy like it's the sun that's been missing lately.
"Hi." Foster's voice is soft and warm in way that makes it seem she just woke from a deep hibernation. Ria clears the room without Foster or Toussaint noticing. All she hears is hushed French and musical laughter. An hour later, they're walking down the hall and stop outside Ria's office.
"Do you know any good places to Salsa?"
Ria swallows her surprise and directs them to her favorite spot in town. Just as they walk away, Foster stops and turns. "Ria? You'll need to talk to a counselor. I made an appointment with one of my friends at Georgetown. Also, I have an SAT prep book sitting behind my desk. You should sign up."
Eyebrows climbing upward, Ria watches in befuddlement as they walk away, hand-in-hand.
March
Henri stays for over a week, crossing over into March. On his second-to-last day, she feels his gaze over the tumble of sheets and duvet. He turns on his side, props himself up on an elbow and runs his other hand through her hair.
"I'm a mess."
"A beautiful mess." He leans in and nuzzles her neck, placing a kiss on her collarbone. His two-day scruff tickles as he presses his lips against her skin.
Biting her lip, she murmurs, "We're going to have to get out of this bed sometime."
"Why bother? You'll just give me that look then I'll have to cart you back here or wherever and do it all over again."
She laughs and smacks him on the shoulder. "Mmmm. Good point."
Gillian rolls on top of him and braces her forearms on either side of his head. Instead of the lascivious grin she expected, he's frowning, brow furrowed.
"What?"
He deliberates for a moment, not meeting her gaze. "Do you think we could make this work?"
Stiffening, she huffs and sits up, still straddling him. Her stomach bottoms out in the process, replacing everything warm and fuzzy with dreadful cold. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she hesitates, looking up and out. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she slowly shakes her head.
"I have my company and you just got promoted. If either of us quit and moved, we'd be with each other, but the resentment would always be there… festering." Her words echo in the silence settling around them like sticky fog. She swallows hard and slides off, turning her back to him as she draws her knees towards her chest.
He murmurs, "I was afraid you'd say that."
"Then why'd you come?"
Silence lapses and she wonders if he's going to reply. Glancing back, she sees him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight.
"Because…" he frowns and exhales haggardly, "because I'd always wonder… Doing," he motions with his free hand between them, "this, being with you, feeling this way… it's is a risk I was willing to take."
Still looking at him over her shoulder, she presses her mouth against her arm, trying to hold in the sob begging to escape.
"… And I'd do it again in a heartbeat, because a week spent with you is worth waiting a year alone."
Gillian turns forward and with all the bravado of a two-year old, becomes a blubbering mess. Not even the warmth of his palm on the small of her back can augment the crushing sensation in her chest.
When she takes him to the airport a subdued two days later, she nearly leaves with him. By the time Autumn arrives, she will still wonder if she made the right decision.
APRIL
Anna is a morning person in every sense of the word. She loves the brisk morning air, she loves the first cup of coffee, she loves starting a new day.
She also loves watching everyone arrive. It's become a hobby to predict how the day will go based on the way her bosses enter. Lately though, she's dreaded coming to work. Dr. Foster left her smile in March and Dr. Lightman only communicates through monosyllables. The past three weeks have been particularly strained between the pair.
Needless to say it's been unpleasant.
They don't take cases together, they rarely eat together. Group meetings are practically the only interaction that she ever sees. It feels like they've separated and haven't told the kids about it yet.
It doesn't help that Dr. Foster has been… well, it's like whatever was keeping her together isn't there any more. Anna wonders what happened. It probably has something to do with that French guy with the beautiful brown eyes. Men.
Ah, there's the good doctor now. "Hey Dr. Foster," Anna sits up and smiles. "I have two messages for you."
"Thanks, Anna." Dr. Foster looks up from her file, devoid of all warmth. "I'm heading out for lunch. Would you mind asking around if anyone wants anything?"
"Certainly."
"Hold that thought," it's Dr. Lightman. He's just come from his office and has that look, that determined, dog on a scent look. "I'd like to take you out to lunch, Foster. Name the place."
Anna watches in silent awe as Dr. Foster looks from her file to Dr. Lightman. She can tell Dr. Foster is about to say no, the way her lips turn downward slightly and her eyes narrow a bit.
"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Foster. You and me. It doesn't have to be long."
"Cal…"
"Please?" he says quietly then clears his throat, as though it were an accident. Anna is surprised by the trace of desperation in his voice. She gathers this has been an ongoing theme between them lately. Him asking and her saying no. Maybe always.
Something worked, because the defeated slump of Dr. Foster's shoulders makes Dr. Lightman puff up. "Fine. Let me grab my coat."
"Brilliant."
A few minutes later, Dr. Foster glides down the corridor in that self-assured way she has and nods at Dr. Lightman. No smile, but it's a start. Dr. Lightman holds open the door and away they go. Anna isn't entirely sure what's going on, but it feels like the wind has suddenly shifted.
Maybe tomorrow, Dr. Foster will wear something other than grey or black.
MAY
"Do you think it's a stupid idea?" Ria flicks her gaze from the acceptance letter to Eli. He hesitates, revealing little.
"No. I think it's going to be really hard. I think it's going to take a long time. I think you already have a great opportunity here."
"But?"
Eli sighs, drawing his chair closer to her. They're in the lab, the screens replaying an interview on loop. He shakes his head, at a loss.
"I don't understand why it matters. Why do you need a degree? You're a natural. Do you know what I'd give to have an ounce of what you've got?"
"That's not the point."
"What is the point? Honestly? Why are you doing all this? Because Foster put you up to it?"
Ria frowns. "She made the suggestion and set up meetings for me, but not once has she pushed me. Has it occurred to you that I may want to be more than this? I like the research and I like working with Foster."
"So this is about getting published? Trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be."
Ria shakes her head and stands. "I see the lies, I can interpret them, but I won't always understand them. I want more than that... a lot more." What Eli can't seem to grasp, Ria muses, is that she doesn't want to end up like Lightman. She wants a little more substance when she holds an inquisition. It's taken a few years and quite a few discussions with Foster for Ria to come to this conclusion.
"Fine," he holds up his hands in surrender. Leaning back in his chair, he crosses a leg. "Just make sure you think this through, okay? Doing this and college full-time? It's a big deal."
"Yeah, I get that. Thanks." Ria leaves and walks into the hall. She stands between the offices of her two bosses, debating where she should seek advice. She peeks into Foster's office and finds it empty. Shrugging, she turns to Lightman's office. Well, he has been more communicative lately. Worth a shot.
She enters silently and finds her bosses sitting quietly. Foster is sitting at the couch with five files open and scattered around her, armed with a highlighter and pen. Lightman is sitting at his desk, transfixed on Foster.
Ria steps out quickly, taken aback. Such an intimate moment. She nearly turns to leave, but she hears Foster saying, Don't you have work to do?
Torres steels herself and enters, this time Lightman is typing while Foster has an amused expression on her face. She turns to Ria and smiles expectantly.
"Hey, I was just wondering if I could talk to both of you for a second…"
JUNE
Eli stretches, sore and exhausted. Things had been going great for a month or so. Foster and Lightman were buddy cops again, the cases were easy and plentiful, Ria was still talking to him… But now - it's like everything did a 180 in a matter of hours. He's spent the last three days working around the clock, scouring records and reviewing video. Normally, he'd just say this was all a wash, but this time there was reasonable doubt to the contrary.
The problem was that Foster said something wasn't right with this supposedly open-and-shut case. Nowadays, when she said something like that, the whole office dropped everything and listened. So here he was, 72 hours later, staring at mind-numbing footage. He knows he's been at it too long, but something about this case…
There's movement in the corridor, which surprises him, given the late hour. He creeps to the entrance of the lab and listens.
"You can't just walk away, Foster."
"Sure I can."
"I thought we talked about this. I thought you forgave me."
"You took me to lunch and hedged around the topic -"
"But your face -"
"Damnit Cal! You can't conjure up an expression to assuage your guilt. I can firmly say that at the time and now, I have not forgiven you."
"Since there are so many transgressions to forgive, please inform me as to which one I should be apologizing for." Eli frowns and shrinks away from the door. The patronizing tone in Lightman's voice is borderline cruel.
"Stop dismissing my claims. I'm telling you straight up that the man we're working with isn't right in the head." Eli can barely see Foster, but she sounds tightly wound. "You did this with Le Fort and you're doing it now."
"God, can we put that entire event to rest already!" Lightman pushes up his sleeves as Foster stalks over to him.
"Put it to rest?" Foster seethes lowly. "Put it to rest?" she growls. "No, it can't be put to rest. I was kidnapped and tortured. No amount of forgetting will make that go away. I have scars that I have to see every morning when I get dressed and nightmares every night. So a big, fat, emphatic NO, Cal. It can't be put to rest because it will always be with me."
Lightman is unfazed. "That's what this is about?"
"No, this is about you making me doubt myself. For making me feel anything less than great at my job. It's very difficult to do what I need to do, when I know that you never fully believe I'm doing it as good as you."
"That's nothing personal, it's human nature." Eli cringes at Lightman's admission. Way to go.
"No, it's a lack of trust. For all you've said about me losing faith in you, you sure haven't shown you have much in me."
"Foster -" his voice softens, just a touch.
"Leave me alone. Right now." Her footsteps echo down the hall. "Just… leave me alone. I'm done doing this with you." Eli isn't quite sure, but something about the way she says it sends a chill down his spine, like her words are injected with this insidious frost.
Eli arrives late the next morning, feeling worn and weary. Walking down the hall, he passes a gentleman with a toolbox, chattering on the phone. Eli needs to speak with Foster, but isn't quite sure how to go about it, because frankly, he's concerned about much more than the status of this case. He drops his bag in the lab then musters his exhausted courage.
Stopping just outside Foster's office, Eli spots Lightman standing just inside holding the door open. They're talking, less heated than before.
"…Did you really need to change the sign, Cal? It's a bit over the top, don't you think?"
He shrugs uncertainly. "I know you're not one for grand gestures, but I don't know what else to do to demonstrate that I have the utmost faith in you."
"Putting my name on the wall isn't going to change that. It's how you treat me. Until that changes, I don't see there being much of a solution."
"I know I buggered it up, Foster, I get that. And I did apologize to you for that. But you holding this grudge against me is only hurting us."
"I'm not holding a grudge."
"Why are you being so obstinate! I'm completely at a loss here. What do you want me to do so I can fix this?"
"I already told you, Cal. Respect me."
Eli backs away and shakes his head to himself. Perhaps he'll spend the rest of the day in the lab.
Thankfully, it's Foster that discovers the lone anomaly with the footage. Something about a pair of fresh eyes always helps when a case desperately needs to be closed.
JULY
She's sitting in her office, the lights are dim and the outside world is quiet. Beside her sits a bottle of wine and a half-full coffee cup.
"Sorry we don't have any glasses," Gillian says with a smile as she looks across to her guest. "Best I could do, I'm afraid."
"Not a problem," Bobby takes a plentiful sip. "You look good. Very good actually. Much better than when I saw you last."
"When was that? About a month ago?"
"Thereabouts. Zoe said Lightman was up to something and that you weren't having any of it."
Gillian offers a bemused smile, yet remains quiet as she sips from her mug. He acknowledges her silence on the matter, but, as lawyers are wont to do, refuses to let it drop.
"I noticed that the sign in the hall went back to normal. Lightman and Foster didn't work for you?" She shakes her head no, with a subtle roll of the eyes. "I imagine you're prone to subtle, heartfelt gestures."
"Yeah, Lindsay's the one who loves the over the top stuff," Gillian replies smartly. "Besides, it's not my ego that was on the line, it was his."
Bobby smirks. "You sure about that? You may not be egomaniacal, but your name is attached to this company regardless of the letterhead."
"What do you mean?" she crosses her legs and cocks her head to the side. "Do you think I'm acting this way because of a bruised ego?"
Bobby swirls his mug and gulps, deliberating. "I think that when we don't have families, our sense of self gets wrapped up in our work, in what we do and how we perform. I think that case last month just reminded you that you're still on unequal footing with him and it alarms you." She feels Bobby's scrutinizing gaze and doesn't bother hiding her scowl. "I can say one thing with the utmost certainty. Lightman does a lot of shoddy things, but he is very clear on his high opinion of you and never hides it… from anyone."
His implication rests in the air between them. Like a hard pill to swallow, Gillian weighs his words, frowning. "I know he cares and doesn't want anything bad to happen to me. Regardless, his behavior and attitude towards me and my work reflect very little of his… belief in my abilities."
Bobby nods in a way that shows he expects this argument and it infuriates her. "You disagree?"
"I think you both are two brilliant people, two brilliant minds. I think you both have traits that complement each other and sometimes both of you take advantage of the other's weaknesses. You know he loves the attention and the limelight. You know that he will stop at nothing to get to the truth, no matter who or what comes to harm in the process. Knowing all this, you remain. You've turned down perfectly bland, complacent jobs to stay here, putting up with his bullshit. No one is holding a gun to your head, Gillian. If you're unhappy here, then take one of the many offers that come your way."
Bobby's characteristic monologue complete, he stands and sets his empty mug on the edge of the coffee table. "Once I get to Boston, I'll tell Lindsey to give you a call. She's going to want you with us at Thanksgiving."
She sighs and nods. "I'm stuck with you for life, aren't I?"
"Apparently that's the way family works, Gill." She stands and gives him a hug goodbye. "Watch out for Zoe, will you? Make sure she doesn't team up with some lackey with a nice ass."
Gillian smiles as she pulls away. "I'll be sure to let Lightman screen all the applicants."
"Thanks."
"Good luck with the move and make sure you bring Linds some roses. Two dozen should do it."
"Right," Bobby sighs. "Seriously Gillian, give it some thought. If you aren't happy, it's time to cut him loose."
Gillian settles back on her couch with a newly filled mug and more to ponder. To stay, or to go?
Just then, her phone buzzes. It's a text from Cal, asking if she needs sustenance. An unbidden smile forms as she replies.
No thanks, I think I'll stay here a while longer.
AUGUST
"What?"
"You, sittin' there on the grass, lookin' like the Queen of Sheba."
She grins in reply and continues basking in the sun outside the courthouse housing their clandestine clients. Cal watches her for a moment, then decides to follow suit and slips off his socks and shoes. Blast his pasty Englishman feet.
"Makes you think, doesn't it?" she asks after a bit.
"About what?" Cal picks at the grass around them, his eyes glued to Gillian.
"Them. Walking into a relationship without any fears, just love."
"Rather idealistic perspective of the whole situation, Foster. They have a great many things to be afraid of."
"Like forever?"
"Forever?" Cal looks over at her quizzically, but her sunglasses have shielded her most revealing feature.
"People put a simple label on a complex emotion and expect it to last, regardless of circumstance or outside influence. Promising to love someone for the rest of one's life is idealistic, yes, but it's also brave… in a naive sort of way."
Cal scoffs at her words, the underlying cynicism tinged with relentless hope. It's hard to refute an eternal optimist. "So you're sayin' that if a sad sap dropped to one knee in front of you right now, you'd smile at him, but wave him on?"
She shrugs, and he shakes his head. "I don't believe it. You, Gillian Foster, believer of seeing the good through all the bad, wisher on stars and ladybugs, would turn a bloke down, just like that?"
"Noooo," she exhales the word and smiles at him patiently. "I'd ask him what his idea of love was and why he thought he could sustain that feeling for the rest of his life. I'd ask him for a time-line. I'd ask him where he pictured us two, five, ten… twenty years down the road. I'd ask him what he'd do when he couldn't stand the sight of me; or how he'd act when tempted by another woman; I'd ask what he thought of adopting a child. Because… let's face it, the fleeting gain of a couple years of passionate love is not worth the solitary loss of several years of heartache."
Cal's jaw, fallen slack in surprise from Foster's outburst, only pulls shut when he realizes she has yet to look at him. He sits back and takes in her words, knowing that he has some serious questions to contemplate.
"Sad sap indeed," Cal murmurs as the couple emerge from the courthouse.
SEPTEMBER
"Does it ever bother you?" Ria questions over her intro to psychology textbook as she blatantly catalogues every flicker upon Foster's face.
"Does what?" She's only halfway paying attention, preoccupied with a document that has Top Secret stamped across the top.
"The way Lightman acts sometimes," Ria states carefully. "I mean, for months, he's been groveling and pretty much at your beck and call, and one day, a pretty skirt shows up and he's done a one-eighty."
Oddly, a sly grin creeps across Foster's face, drawing Ria up straighter in her chair.
Foster takes her time responding, choosing to finish reading the document first, then placing it safely in the confines of its manila envelope. She leans forward and places her chin daintily atop her closed fist.
"I am… beyond happy that he has resumed his old ways. One: it means that things will return to normal around here. We've been… stuck in this odd state of limbo for months and frankly, it was beginning to get old. Two: anything that draws his attention away from me is always a positive in my book."
Ria nods in understanding, knowing first-hand what it's like to bear the brunt of his unwavering scrutiny. Just one thing catches her attention.
"So… you're happy he's back to his old ways? That's a little surprising."
Foster emits a cheshire smile and leans back in her chair, stretching out her long legs before crossing them.
"I've forgiven him, he's not nearly as reckless as he used to be, and… let's face it, Ria," Foster runs her hand through her hair, giving away the subtle anxiety surrounding this admission, "Lightman is a good many things, but restrained is not one of them. The day he stops chasing pretty skirts will be a day worth noting."
Ria shakes her head, understanding the unspoken words in Foster's comment. That day, whenever it comes, will only mean one thing and Foster better be ready.
Two days later, Ria sits in the conference room writing a paper for colonial history while conspicuously watching as Lightman politely refuses the leggy blonde in a pretty skirt. As the blonde shakes his hand and turns to depart, Foster turns a corner, her head buried in a file. Lightman reaches out and grabs her forearm, his hand sliding down the smooth skin and stopping just at her wrist.
As he hangs on lightly, Ria observes in complete wonder and shock as Lightman almost sheepishly asks Foster a question, complete with a nervous scratch to the back of his head. Judging by Foster's quick flush and apologetic smile, the poor man is on his own for dinner tonight.
As Foster walks away, Lightman shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath of fortitude. The man will not be shaken in his resolve.
Good thing too, because it'll take him nearly a month before he gets that evening with his partner.
October
It's early yet, just barely dusk. He is not following her. No, it's more like… attentive shadowing.
He finds her in a bar in a semi-shady part of the city. A jazz bar to be exact. Upon entering, he sizes up the relaxed room and spots Foster perched on a piano bench in the corner, tinkering away. Nodding at the bar tender, he motions for tumbler of something from the top shelf.
Cal grabs a chair and slides up to the piano where he's facing Gillian and takes a seat. She shows no surprise at his presence, merely nodding her head as she continues to play a warm, rich melody.
For a few moments he takes in the scene, how the saxophonist is seated at the bar, how there are only two other patrons, one of whom appears to have come with the establishment.
Cal takes a pull of his drink and rests it on his leg, his eyes tracking her fingers as they work across the keys by muscle memory and experimentation.
"I've got some important questions for you," Cal finally states, his voice a little too gravelly. She glances up at him and nods her head, but says no more.
"So…" he resettles himself and prepares for battle. "Toilet paper. Do you have it coming over or under?"
She is thrown by his opener, but responds all the same. "Over."
"Milk a day or two past it's expiration date but it smells fine. Toss or drink?"
She screws up her face briefly and shrugs. "Drink, I guess? My stomach will tell me if that was a mistake."
He smiles again, appreciating her surrender to blunt honesty. "Do you do the dishes as you cook or let them pile up and have a heaping mess at the end?"
"Uh… depends on what I'm making?" she's growing a little impatient with this line of questioning, but they're important to him.
"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?"
Doesn't skip a beat. "The middle. And yes, I'm a blanket hog. And… I've been known to throw an elbow or two."
"Well… I kick."
"Noted."
"Sunday mornings. Sleep in and lazy or up before the sun?"
"It's called the day of rest for a reason, right?" She shoots back, smirking at him as her fingers tickle the pale keys.
"Right you are," Cal replies, enjoying the way her music is wrapping around him comfortably. "When you're attracted to another man, what stops you from going that extra step and crossing the line?"
The seriousness of his question makes her fingers trip, but she resumes admirably. She talks to the keys quietly, the truth spilling out like staccato notes.
"The possibility… the… chance that it might… hurt… you."
He welcomes the truth so much so, that he leans forward and rests his hand on his chin.
"Do you believe that it works the same way for me?" He murmurs and bites his lip. "That maybe it always has? That perhaps, it's… why I stopped?"
She slows in her playing, but not quite. He wishes that she would stop, but knows how fragile this conversation is and that this piano is her lifeline.
Breathing in, he resumes: "I can say that without fail, even when I'm beyond angry with you, I still check your office every night before I go home, making sure you're not too angry to eat. That… when I see a beautiful woman, I unconsciously compare her to you, and figure that she'd fall short somehow… even if she's a double D."
Gillian laughs softly and rolls her eyes.
"And here's the part where you might get a little angry. I may have… forged your signature on a document."
She stops and looks at him, disapproval and disappointment at the ready.
"Hold on, there Foster. I resubmitted the paperwork to the adoption agency. You're uh… we're getting a home visit in two weeks."
Gobsmacked, she goldfishes for a moment, at a complete loss. "Cal, I don't… I don't know what to say."
"You don't need to say much, Darlin'. Just… promise me you'll consider the offer."
"Offer?" Her eyes convey the uncertainty her words do not.
He'd love for his heart to stop hammering in his chest, but it starts to skitter about and his hesitation undercuts his intended nonchalance. She seizes upon this and resumes playing, arrhythmically delving deep into the lower octaves, matching his syncopated heart.
Setting his mostly full glass on the piano, he leans forward on his knees and runs his index finger underneath her left arm, lightly wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pulling her hand away. Her hand encased in his, Cal finally looks up and finds her gaze resting on their joined hands.
"Everything," he whispers as he rubs his thumb along her ring finger, mustering some bravado. "Two-thousand Sundays, spent with yours truly. This offer comes complete with brunch on Saturdays, dinner on most days, sex on any day, arguments over blankets and dishes and thermostats and any assortment of marital trifles, but mostly…" he reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, "mostly it'll be love. In every way, every day, till we're weathered and nearly blind."
Tears in her eyes, she smiles this… luminous smile, taking his breath away. But then she breaks eye contact and looks down at their hands. Too long. The hesitation, it's not the ponderous kind. It's the I can't do this kind. His whole body plummets as she squeezes his hand and pulls away, leaving him grasping at nothing.
He hears only the pounding in his ears and marvels at her ability to simply resume playing like nothing happened. She mumbles something, but he doesn't catch it.
"Come again?"
"I said… make it twenty five hundred Sundays," she says with an twisted little smirk, "and you have yourself a deal."
Cal's shock is quickly replaced with elation as he huffs out an incredulous laugh. He leans back in his seat and shakes his head at her stunt. Grabbing his glass, he crosses his leg and rids the tumbler of its contents with one swallow.
He hunkers down as this woman, this incredibly strong and brave and endlessly beautiful woman continues to play, each note with a lilt upwards.
"You, my dear Gillian," he states in the absence of sporadic flats and sharps, "have yourself a deal."
He keeps his seat beside her, watching over the brim of his glass in rapt, ponderous silence. Lip quirked knowingly, she plays on into the night with her fingers creeping along the keys. Her movements, at first hesitant, grow more assured, plucking and picking their way to higher notes until she reaches the end.
le fin
.::.::.::.::.
A/N: The ending was cheesy and the epilogue disjointed, but I'm liquored up and it felt right. Thanks to the ten of you that repeatedly reviewed. 2. Farewell, Lie to Me. In the end, I grew to hate Cal, and that was reflected in this story. Regardless, I believe most importantly that Gillian deserves to be happy. So in my dream world, she's found herself a good man, one who will love her and not drive her insane. May they rest in peace. Once again, thanks and good night.
http://gwassh0ppa.livejournal.com/16887.html#cutid1