A/N: Set during and after 2x04, Honey. This story is very special to me and I am really happy with how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy it.
Pairing: Cal/Gillian
Rating: T (to be on the safe side; for mild swearing and adult themes)
Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to Me or its characters. I am making no profit from this work of fanfiction.
"Let him go. Please."
He can't shake the image of her standing there, pleading, with the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over the way Matheson has been threatening to shoot. They're not empty. He can't shake the memory of the way her voice breaks as she stretches herself over the words. And her obedience when he says her name and shakes his head. The way she understands and immediately schools her features. That just about breaks his heart more than anything else.
And so he goes to her house; hovers on the precipice between saying what he wants to and keeping still, neither of them quite willing to make the final decision. He doesn't want to leave and she doesn't want to shut the door, and so he argues with himself inside his head and one more flash of her face as she said the word please ends up being the deciding factor. He asks if he can stay and she says of course, like he didn't even need to ask, and then they're clinging to each other, half in and half out the doorway; the way they've been dancing around this matter for years. The ebb and flow of the tide between yes, I love you, Gill, and I'm too scared that by loving you I will pull you even deeper into my darkness.
He's still too scared now, but as they part and exchange a quick, grateful and still somewhat desperate kiss on the cheek, he somehow knows that it won't be forever; that someday soon they'll be brave enough to take a chance.
They spend a restless night a few feet apart; him in the spare room and her in her bed. She's too shaken up to find the courage to ask him to stay next to her, and he is a little too afraid to insist, so they wordlessly decide that separate beds will be better. Doesn't mean they're happy with the arrangement though.
Waking up the next morning, however... the sun streaming into his room, making him crack his eyelids open – had he been crying? – makes everything seem a little brighter.
He heads to the bathroom, washes his hands and face, and then goes to the kitchen. He finds her in her pyjamas, sitting at the counter cradling a mug of coffee in her hands and staring into the cup as if it holds all the answers.
"Hey," he says quietly as he slides into the chair opposite her.
She looks up and smiles a little. She's looking less fragile now than she did last night, but there's still something vulnerable surrounding her eyes and he begins to wonder if this hit her harder than he'd thought. If it hit them all harder than he thought..?
He's still somewhat flabbergasted at the lengths they all went to rescue him. Like he is something special; someone worth saving. What a concept.
"Hi," she answers, and reaches to the side where there's another mug. She pushes it towards him.
Tea. He lifts it with a small nod of thanks, and inhales deeply. His favourite. He's not sure how she found out, but even if it was tea he couldn't stand drinking he'd be grateful.
"Emily," she says suddenly.
"What?" He's so lost in thought he doesn't follow what she's saying.
"I asked her what tea you like," she says.
He frowns. How'd she know he was thinking that? Oh. Oh dear. Must've said it out loud.
The smile on her face is bigger now and he's thankful that he can make her do that; can still make her smile after the storm they've been through.
Why is he always doing this? Dragging her through his storms and messes like a lifeline that he can't let go of? Maybe because she is. She's the constant that he will always run to. The one he trusts to open the door and allow him inside; the one he knows will let him stay till the sea has calmed.
He reaches over the counter and pries her fingers loose from her coffee cup, wrapping his own around them and squeezing.
She smiles gratefully but it is tinged with residual pain and he just wants to hug her again. He doesn't know if it will help her, but it sure would help him.
So he gets up, doesn't let go of her hand, pulls her away from the chair and into his arms. She sinks into him, burying her face in his neck and holding on for dear life.
"I'm so glad you're okay, honey," she says and it's so soft he has to strain to catch the words. But catch them he does.
"As I am that you are," he replies, kissing the side of her head and closing his eyes as he lets everything go; all of his worry about the present and the future and just focuses on the feel of her in his arms. He lets himself fall into the unexpected comfort that the pet name she has decided to give him provides. Focuses on how damn thankful he is that she's here, alive, breathing, heart beating against his chest.
He's sure that she's doing the same as she's been shaking, but now it has slowed. She gives a slight sob and then he feels her body go limp as she relaxes... and somehow she is comforting him by allowing him to be the one to hold her up.
"Stay again tonight, Cal?" She speaks without lifting her head from his shoulder.
"Of course," he answers, echoing their earlier words, hugging her tighter and thinking that he'd be quite happy to just stay here standing in her arms and in her kitchen forever.
He dismisses the irrational thought quickly, but it does manage to bring a smile to his face.
"I mean, really stay with me," she repeats, pulling her head back to look into his eyes and emphasising the word.
She catches his slightly surprised look and rephrases. "Not quite like that. Yet," she pauses and behind the tears and the circles under her eyes he sees something he'd almost describe as playful. "I mean would you sleep next to me tonight? I don't want you to be so far away."
A few feet is too far; yeah, absolutely. He can't agree more. The amount of comfort they're giving each other from this embrace is proof enough of that.
She smiles when he nods and kisses her forehead. "Like that and like any other way you want, love," he says.
She gives him a soft slap on his shoulder. "It's not... not now." And then adds, after a pause, "One day, though."
"You promise?"
"If you do," she says cautiously, and he sees the vulnerability again. Oh. That's part of why she's scared.
"Absolutely. Every single day. Repeatedly. For the rest of our lives. Remind me if I ever forget to tell you that I promise."
She laughs then and it's like she's freed them both. Knocked the gun out of the future's hands.
He gathers her into his arms again, this time with happiness, and thinks once more how blessed he is to have Gillian Foster in his life; how blessed he is to have her as his lifeline. He'd trust her to rescue him any day.