My first Lie to Me fic... And probably a terrible idea, because I should be writing a novel - and I really told myself I couldn't possibly take time out to write fanfiction, but then this story wouldn't leave me alone. I waited a week, and it still wouldn't leave me alone; then, I figured I would just keep writing it on my own and maybe, eventually, it would just... go away. But now I'm 20K words in and it's still not leaving me alone, so... Yeah. I'm posting it.
AU. The story takes place around the beginning of the first season, except that Zoe and Cal are still married and Emily is a little younger than she was when the series actually started. Standard disclaimers apply: I own nothing, no copyright infringement intended. T for strong language.
CHAPTER ONE
"Are you ready yet?" Zoe Landau peered into the bedroom, frowning. Cal glanced up from shaving. He didn't have to be an expert in facial expression analysis to read her annoyance. "We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago. Emily!" she called over her shoulder. "We're leaving."
"Foster's picking me up—I told you that," Cal said. He cringed inwardly at the flash of temper in her eyes.
"No, actually, you didn't tell me that. Emily!" she repeated, shouting now.
Emily appeared in the doorway a moment later, big brown eyes that much bigger at her mother's tone. "You don't have to yell—I heard you."
At twelve years old, his daughter already had a sense of order about her that Cal couldn't quite believe, given the loins she'd sprung from. Of course, he reasoned, that was probably exactly why she was so damned calm—she was the only one in the whole house who could keep her temper.
"When is Gillian getting here?" Zoe asked. The way she said his partner's name always made Cal uneasy; like she was uttering a bloody epithet. He stifled a sigh, preparing for battle. This was exactly why he hadn't said anything earlier.
"She'll be here any minute," he said. "We've got a meeting on the other side of town. I didn't want you to have to go out of your way, darling."
"Yes, I'm sure that's exactly the reason you didn't say anything, Cal. You're so thoughtful."
"I did say something!" he lied. "What, you want me to write you a bloody letter next time?"
"Guys?" Emily pleaded. "Do you really have to do this now?" Instantly, Cal felt badly. Wasn't this exactly what he used to hate about his own parents? Well—second only to the drinking and the beatings and his mum's suicidal tendencies.
"Sorry, love," he said. He wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face, went to his daughter, and kissed the top of her head quickly. Zoe was still steaming, but she managed to put a lid on it for the moment, for the sake of their daughter.
Lately, it felt like all they did was put a lid on it for Emily's sake.
"We're going to be late," Zoe said. She grabbed Emily's hand. "Come on, sweetie. Let's go."
"You're not coming?" Emily asked Cal.
He shook his head. If looks could kill, Zoe would have put him six feet under just then. "No, darling. Gill's gonna pick me up. Meeting 'cross town—you know, bringing home the bacon and all that."
"Oh… Well, tell her I said hi."
Zoe didn't say a word. She headed for the exit, Em's hand still in hers.
"I don't get a kiss goodbye then, love?" Cal called after his wife.
She paused at the door to flip him off. Cal frowned. He was working on his temper—really working, not just saying it for show. If he wanted this marriage to work… and he did. Despite everything, he desperately wanted his family to stay together. Zoe might drive him bonkers, but he was still mad about her. For just a second, he tried to put himself in her place.
What would he do, if the roles were reversed?
He knew exactly what he would do. If his wife had some gorgeous co-worker chauffeuring her all over hell and back, he'd lose his ever-loving mind.
Right.
He took a deep breath, put his pride on the backburner, and strode after her. This was the price you paid for marrying a bloody gorgeous lawyer with a hellcat's temper.
Zoe was already out the door by the time he got downstairs. He ran after her, stopping halfway down the front walk, and stood there in the freezing February air in an undershirt, trousers, and no shoes.
"Zoe," he said.
Zoe waved Emily into the car. Cal hated the way his daughter obliged, watching them both warily—like she expected them to tear each other's heads off right there on the street.
"You want to go out tonight?" he asked. "Take Em and get a good dinner—just the three of us. Maybe catch a movie after?"
"Are you sure you won't be too busy with Gillian Foster?" The anger in her eyes annoyed the piss out of him, but he saw what was underneath enough to keep his own temper in check: Hurt. Suspicion. Maybe the slightest hint of fear.
He took a step closer, putting on his best contrite face. "Come on, love—give us a kiss. I'll be home by five."
"I don't know if I can make it."
"Well, how about you try, and I'll try, and maybe we'll get a meal together by midnight." She didn't say anything. He took another step toward her. Pumped his eyebrows, taking her hand. "I'll make it worth your while, gorgeous."
She sighed. Rolled her eyes. The twitch of her lips, the softening at her brow, were all he needed to know he'd swayed her. "I'll try," she said.
"That's all I ask. I'll see you tonight."
He kissed her, there in his bare feet in the front yard with the nosy neighbors looking on and Em waiting in the car, watching their every move. "I love you," he said.
Zoe grimaced. "I love you too, Cal. Though God knows why, most days."
She got in the car just as Foster drove up. Cal watched them drive off as his partner strode up the walk.
"You're not dressed," she said unhappily.
"Nothing gets past you, does it, Foster? Just need shoes and a tie, and I'll be set. Two minutes."
She glanced at her watch and nodded, following him inside the house. He ran up the stairs, leaving her in the kitchen. There were still dishes on the table; a box of cereal open on the counter. Gill took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. This was the kind of chaos she and Alec had never really experienced—family chaos.
Well… with the exception of a blissful fifty-seven days nearly a year ago, the abrupt end of which had nearly killed her. She pushed the thought from her head and busied herself putting dishes in the dishwasher and re-sealing the cereal box. She put the butter in the fridge. Thought of the look on Cal's face when she'd driven up today. He and Zoe were fighting again—something they did on a nearly daily basis these days. Which meant he wouldn't be in the best frame of mind to meet with the lawyers currently waiting across town for them.
She sighed. She loved her job; loved the people she worked with (including Cal Lightman); loved the things she learned and the difference she made in people's lives… But every so often, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to work for someone just a little less brilliant and a little more… traditional, in his thinking.
"You said two minutes, Cal," she called up the stairs. "If we're late—"
Cal appeared at the top of the stairs, shoes on, tie undone. "I can't get my bloody fucking noose tied right."
"Come here," she said patiently. He flashed a grin, sauntering down the stairs toward her.
"I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Foster."
"Funny, I thought it was my advanced degree, people skills, years of study in the realm of vocal analysis, and the fact that you have no business acumen whatsoever."
"Well, sure—those are perks," he said with an amiable nod. He stood in front of her, hands at his side. "It's mostly this, though. And your legs, of course."
"Of course," she said dryly. She finished tying his necktie, noting the furrowed brow; the tension in his mouth. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fantastic, Foster. Come on, let's go. I promised Zoe I'd make it home for dinner tonight."
She looked after him as he strode out the door. It was pointless to remind him that, of the half-dozen times he had made a date to have dinner with his family at home recently, Zoe was invariably the one who had cancelled at the last minute. For as long as Gillian had known Cal—nearly six years now—Zoe had been his blind spot. She didn't see that changing anytime soon.
Of course, Gillian reminded herself, who was she to talk? She was in love with a former cocaine addict perpetually on the brink of relapse. When it came to romantic partners, it seemed both she and Cal wore blinders.
"Are you coming, or are you just going to stand back there staring at my ass, Foster? I thought we had an appointment."
She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. Of course.
Time to get to work.
"So, tell me again who the git is we're meeting with this morning?" Cal asked once they were in the car.
Gillian pulled away from the curb too slowly—as she was prone to do—and he forced himself to resettle in his seat. She glanced at him, lips quirked in amusement. "The 'git' needs us to confirm their key witness's testimony—which will put notorious crime boss Vinnie Rigatti and his crew out of business and in prison for the rest of their lives."
"How could I forget?" he said, frowning. "Nothing I like better than starting the day off reading a Neanderthal while he looks at pictures of naked dead girls…"
"Did you talk to Reynolds about beefing up security for the next couple of weeks?" she asked.
He stretched out in his seat, shaking his head. "No need. I told you—these guys won't even know we're involved, Gill. And if they do, it'll only be in the eleventh hour—which is why we're meeting them at the safe house instead of our office."
"They have ways of finding these things out."
"Well, so do I," he said. He waved his hand dismissively. "Forget it, Foster. It's all under control."
The Beltway was backed up when they got on. Cal twitched and stretched and fretted for a few seconds before he contented himself fiddling with the radio. It took another twenty minutes before they started moving again. Sam Cooke sang softly, and Cal contentedly hummed along.
Up ahead, he caught sight of a silver Prius weaving effortlessly—if a bit aggressively—through traffic.
"Isn't that Zoe and Em?" Foster asked.
If he'd been driving, he would have raced right up to her—would have driven alongside, just to get a rise out of his wife. But Foster was at the wheel. Not only was she not a fan of daredevil stunts, Cal figured Zoe would run them right off the road given half a chance.
They hung back—Cal watching, Gill focused on traffic. Zoe always listened to NPR on the way to work; Gillian didn't care for it. Neither did Cal, to be honest. When he drove Emily to school, they sang along to classic rock while he tested his daughter's musical knowledge. Which was impressive, for her young age. Zoe said NPR was a better way to get blood flowing to the brain. Cal would take the Stones over economic summits and melting ice caps any day of the week.
He realized after a moment that Foster was talking to him, but he wasn't really paying any attention—something about the meeting today, and how important it was. How they needed this account, so he'd better put his best foot forward.
He was too busy watching his car up ahead, though. Zoe was half a mile ahead of them, no more now. A black SUV drove alongside the Prius. Something about the scene bothered him—though he couldn't place what, exactly. But their car… Something there.
A knot formed in his stomach.
"Cal—are you listening to me?"
He got out his cell phone and dialed Zoe, that knot tightening.
"I'm not mad anymore, Cal—let it go," Zoe answered.
"The car driving all right today, love?" he asked.
There was a pause on the line. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. There's an SUV next to you—"
"What? Where the hell are you?" she demanded, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Are you following me now?"
"Listen to me," he said. "The right tire in your rear end —"
What came next happened in a sort of slow motion/fast motion blur that Cal couldn't make sense of. It started with a sudden listing of the Prius to the right. Zoe veered into the next lane. Cal's stomach flipped inside-out. Then, he saw the flash of steel from the SUV window—on Zoe's side. Right next to her.
Zoe screamed on the line. He could hear their daughter shout something.
Cal dropped the phone, slamming his foot down on an imaginary brake while Gill swerved and then, in an instant… Everything happened at once.
The flash of steel. A burst of gunfire. The rear tire on the Prius exploded, ahead of them and two lanes over. Someone in the SUV kept firing, and Cal shouted for Gill to stop and let him out, his voice hoarse and his stomach lodged in his throat. The Prius skidded out of control across three lanes of traffic. The SUV kept driving away from the scene, while cars in all directions slammed on their brakes. He heard the squeal of tires, the crunch of metal behind them, but Cal couldn't take his eyes off his wife's car.
The Prius glanced off the side of a Ford Fiesta, gaining momentum in a backward spin. Gill came to a complete stop, their own car miraculously unscathed, past the rumble strip and onto the median on the left side of the highway. Cal was out of the car before he even knew what he was doing—watching, watching, watching while the Prius skidded, hit another car, and rolled. He stood there frozen while other cars squealed to a stop behind. The car containing his wife and daughter—containing his entire life—rolled one more time before it finally came to a stop, upside down, a quarter of a mile away.
TBC
And... That's chapter one. Chapter two will be posted on Sunday. I'd love to hear your thoughts - especially since this is my first LTM fic! Are the voices ringing true so far? Thanks for reading!