Distractions

A/N: Just a short drabble set during the events of 2.12 Sweet Sixteen. Just using the episode as a base for how Gillian's presence (or lack thereof) affects Cal.

Disclaimer: Lie to Me characters, concept, and episode Sweet Sixteen do not belong to me in any way, shape or form.

The thing was that he didn't like it when she wasn't there. There in his approximate vicinity, that is. It was just like when you find yourself carrying something you can't immediately put down, and you suddenly have that distracting sensation that you have a skew eyelash. And it doesn't hurt, and it's not unbearable, and you know that you'll be able to fix it as soon as you put down the hot dish of soup, but still, it irks you. And you function, and you carry on walking and you maintain your conversation, but you don't feel relaxed until you've put down the bowl and brushed your eye. And immediately, so simply, it's like it never happened.

That's what it was like when Gillian Foster wasn't there. When she was around again, all was normal, right, barely something to think about. But when she wasn't, it was wrong.

And so when he got back, with Mr Jimmy Doyle in tow, his only instinctive need was to find her. Because he needed to be able to think without that niggling sense of unrest. And Emily was there, and shaking hands with a very dazed-looking Jimmy Doyle, and he already had a bloody skew eyelash, so he didn't need that kind of disturbance right now. So, "Find Foster" was really the main message his subconscious self was trying to put through.

And when she walked in, it was over, she was there, and even though she was very clearly unimpressed with what she found in there, he didn't care, because the distraction was gone.

Until it was back again. Back when he realised she was hiding something from him, and she wasn't there again. But it was worse now. Now his eye was itching, and he couldn't scratch it, because she wouldn't let him. Because now her personality wasn't there, and only she could choose to come back to him. And this was more of a conscious distraction.

He became momentarily obsessed with it, unable to take his eyes off her for a moment while she spoke to Jimmy Doyle. He read her disdain, her annoyance. And that hint of fear and guilt that intrigued him. And he stared and stared until his brain suddenly kicked into gear, and the itch left to make way for a much more pressing matter. How had Doyle found Andrews?

But like hell if he was going to leave her behind again when they went to see the lawyer. He needed to have his wits about him. And he had them, because she was there, saying something about an almond bakery.

And then Doyle yelled, "Bomb!" and this was an all-consuming distraction, an urgent need, as though someone was pushing a pillow in his face, and he couldn't see or breathe, and all he could think was to keep her there with him. Because her not being there at all, ever, was not compatible with life. So nothing, nothing mattered as much as getting to her, diving on top of her, keeping her there.

The overpowering relief stunned him for a moment, as he got his breath back, and things slowly returned to equilibrium. But now he needed more than her presence to feel her there, he needed contact. Assurance. So he grabbed her hand and didn't let go. Didn't let go until he had to, to drive, and then he made sure she was talking, was a hundred percent part of his every thought. To remind him that he could still see, he could still breathe, she was there.

And it was later, much later that the itch returned, fiercer than before and with nothing left to distract him. And he went to her, and almost begged her to take it away, and tell him. And she did. But for a moment, it made everything worse. It hurt, hurt more than distracted, to know the truth. He felt disoriented, stunned.

Until he saw it in her eyes, too. The pain, the fear. Because she needed him there as much as he needed her. It was why she had lied. To keep him there. Physically, emotionally, in life. To keep him there with her, so she could function without distraction, great or small.

And how would he ever have survived without her? Without everything she had done for him? Without her lie? So he hugged her, drew her close, warm, tight. And this gave a different kind of distraction. The kind when you're having a conversation, and you suddenly have the most delicious bite you've ever tasted, and you stop talking, stop existing in reality for a moment, and savour it for as long as possible.

And when it's over, you curse whoever made it end, because now all you want is more.

A/N: :-) Thanks for reading!