A/N: People have a tendency to write a lot of Gillian!angst in this fandom. I decided to give Cal his due with a bit of Cal!angst. I labeled this story "Complete," but I may come back to it later.
Disclaimer: Don't own "Lie to Me." Named for the Alkaline Trio song "Mercy Me," which I also do not own. A few lyrics are included.
Mercy Me
I used to long for broken bones.
I used to long for a casket to call my own.
I never had a problem facing fear.
But I'm done, over and out, my dear.
And oh, mercy me. God bless catastrophe.
"Cal, wait. There has to be another way." She had her hand poised over his arm, hovering but not touching.
"What way, Foster? Name it, and I'll do it."
"We just have to think rationally for a moment..."
"Those people inside may not have a moment for us to think." His tone was sharp.
"So it's a good idea, then." In contrast to his harsh voice, hers was low and bitter. "Just send you in there. Without thinking things through, without looking for any other options. Just Cal Lightman, running heedlessly into danger."
"There are innocent people in there! And the only thing, the only thing the gunman holding 'em all hostage wants, is me." He tried to appeal to her humanity. His head was cocked to the side, eyebrows drawn so low that deep lines marred his forehead.
"And you think we should just give him what he wants?"
"I'm trying to save lives!"
"No, Cal," her voice rose in pitch. "I'm trying to save lives. You, however, are being unnecessarily casual with your own!"
"Oh, spare me the psycho-babble, Dr. Foster." He turned from her, disgusted.
"You can try and brush me off, but you know it's true. This guy is a madman, Cal. He's absolutely crazy, and you think we should just give him exactly what he wants?"
"To save lives! How can you not grasp that?" Then he made the mistake of looking at her face. He saw her stark fear and concern for his well-being, spelled out so clearly. Her blue eyes were wide and wet.
"You said it before. You're all he wants." She spoke with such conviction, despite the way her words wavered dangerously. "And when he has you, what then? We'll have nothing left to bargain with."
"I've got to try."
She tilted her chin towards the ground, hair falling forward to frame her face. She shook her head and said, "No. You're not a police officer. You have nothing to prove."
"I'll be careful, love. But if I don't go, and he hurts any more people..." He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, trying to duck his head to catch her gaze.
She turned away.
He held onto his tumbler of scotch with a tight hand, the condensation making his skin slick.
He had survived the hostage situation, but not due to any real effort on his part. The police special tactics team had been able to situate several snipers and take out the gunman. And just like that, it was over.
Standing in front of a dozen hostages, having a mentally unstable bloke shouting and waving a gun, had been beyond frightening. Even now, sitting alone on an uneven bar stool in some seedy pub, the memory was enough to quicken his heart rate.
He imagined he could feel the remaining vestiges of the adrenaline that had, hours before, been surging through his veins. That heady tonic made him forget himself, whipping him into a frenzy. He relished that thrill. But the comedown was always the worst.
He took a deep, burning gulp of the liquor.
He could feel the weight of his cellphone in his pocket, and the heaviness made him feel empty. He wanted to call Foster because the absolute last thing he wanted was to be alone. But when he had emerged from the bank, as victorious as he could be, given the circumstances, all hostages alive and unharmed, he had met her stare through the crowd.
She had held his gaze, steady and unyielding, until he had been forced to look away from the utter broken resignation he found in her eyes.
Her expression had startled him, initially. It consumed his thoughts and filled him with dread. This fear, however, was not one in which he wished to revel. This caused the muscles in his jaw to clench and his stomach to roil. Despite the unease in his gut, he threw back the rest of his scotch, blinking against the tears the bite of the liquor brought to his eyes.
He tried not to think about Foster's desolate expression and eyes stripped of all hope. He tried to remember her pleading with him to reason, when she had been full of worry and love, and life had been honest and beautiful.
He thought of his insatiable need for that rush, and how he may have finally pushed away the one person he had thought tenacious to a fault.
He knew she would not be in to work tomorrow.
He thought about how he was finally getting exactly what he deserved.
A/N: I tried to make the first part fast-paced. The second part was a bit if Cal!angst, the poor guy. I apologize for any mistakes. I was listening to Alkaline Trio and just had to spit out this idea. Feel free to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading! =]