Title: Smile *epilogue*
Rating: K for theme
Pairing: none, Cal, Gillian FRIENDSHIP
Spoilers: A few vague ones for the back nine, based on previews, sort of includes Sweet Sixteen though 99% of this was written before SS aired.
Summary: "Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." An angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to me or it's characters. Smile is based off the song Smile, originally sung by the fabulous Nat King Cole.
A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. This is huge and I honestly don't have the time to snip it down. I apologize. But it's over. FINISHED.
.::.::.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."
-C.S. Lewis
.::.::.
After spending Friday night and the wee hours of Saturday morning manically cleaning her apartment, Gillian realized that no amount of cleaning was going to get her out of this… situation. More drastic measures were required and fortunately, she knew just what to do. She made a call, dropped off her spare key at Michael's, gave him a long kiss and said she'd return in a couple weeks.
Armed with a small suitcase, her passport, and a hefty wad of cash, Gillian booked a seat on the next available flight out to Paris. If her youth had taught her one thing, it was to always have a Plan B and to always, always cover her tracks.
Locking her deadbolt then tossing her bags into her trunk, Gillian drove to the office and dropped off the schedule. Contemplating for a moment, she pulled out a slip of paper and carefully composed a message. She pulled out her phone, scanning the contact list for a few numbers and copying them into her day planner.
Leaving the phone and the papers in the center of his desk, she took one look around then shut the door.
Gillian did not look back.
.::.::.
Scruffy and unshowered, Cal strolled into the office Sunday afternoon to pick up a couple files to work on at home. What he found on his desk gave his heart a little stutter; his chest squeezing painfully like all the air had left the room.
Cal-
I'm taking a two-week leave of absence. Enclosed is the master schedule for the duration. I've left Loker and Torres certain tasks that you won't want to deal with. You're in charge of my phone; I do not wish to be contacted while I'm away.
See you in two weeks,
Foster
Cal frowned at the way she signed the note, even in writing she was distancing herself. He also observed that she didn't apologize for leaving him hanging for two weeks. She was probably well into her anger stage when she'd written the note and considered it her right to leave.
Picking up Gillian's phone, he tried unlocking it, but frowned when he couldn't figure out the password. No worry; he'd have Loker hack it in the morning.
Plopping into his chair unceremoniously, Cal reflected on how ruffled Gillian had been the other night, and how badly the whole situation went. He wondered if more was going on than he initially suspected, though what he'd done to her was bad enough. Frowning, he tucked her phone into his pocket and left. Feeling rotten and cross should not be allowed on the weekend.
.::.::.::.
When Gillian arrived at Charles de Galle in Paris, she quickly took a moment to get her bearings, soaking in the sounds of the soft and slurred flow of the French language. First order of business, she stopped by a kiosk and purchased a cheap prepaid phone. Then she rented a convertible for the hell of it and got on the road, next stop: a small village outside Rouen.
During undergrad, Gillian spent an entire year abroad in France, It had been a life-changing experience and she had grown rather close to her sponsor family. So close, that she still kept in contact fifteen years later. The family had a summer home in the countryside near Rouen. Nothing fancy, just a small two-bedroom cottage full of whitewashed walls, sun-soaked linens, and blue glass of which the hostess, Julie, was so fond.
A couple hours of easy driving and Gillian pulled onto the gravel drive. Nearly a half-mile long, it was flanked on both sides by a field of wildflowers, basking in the warmth of the midday sun. After parking the car, she climbed out and grabbed her one piece of luggage then traced the slate path to the front door. There were a series of clay pots adorning the ledge near the doorway; underneath the third lay the key.
Opening the door, she set her bag on the floor and walked to the kitchen table where she found a bouquet of fresh flowers and a note from Julie awaiting her. Plucking up the thick paper, rich with the scent of lavender, Gillian smiled at its familiarity as she read the friendly welcome written in beautiful script.
Taking a look around, the sunlight hit the white walls in a fashion that made everything almost too bright, oversaturated even. Everything seemed sharper, rubbing off the age-tarnished memories she recalled fondly. It was still the same, for the blue bottles and sea glass lined every window ledge of the cottage, the walls were just as white and the linens — they were just as sun soaked.
A heavy fatigue set upon Gillian and rightfully so, for she'd been running solely on adrenaline for days. She pulled her suitcase into the bedroom, closed the blinds, stripped off her clothes and climbed into the most comfortable bed in creation. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes, asleep before she finished exhaling.
Gillian slept for nearly two days.
.::.::.
Before work on Monday, Cal was prepared to roll out of bed and trudge in, never mind what people thought. Then he realized that this was a big deal. Gillian not being at work was no small issue and he needed to marginalize the fallout as best he could. Otherwise, there would be questions and pestering and that would only make things worse for him.
Forty minutes later, Cal appeared at work, freshly shaven and showered, wearing a clean shirt. Calling a meeting in the conference room, he breezed in and casually announced the following:
"Alright, Foster's away for two weeks and she's left a couple of you things to do in her absence. Go about your normal routines. Those of you on the Oil Spill Case stay behind. Rest of you, out," he took a seat in a chair as several people filed out, murmuring among themselves and casting wary looks.
Cal looked across the table at Torres, his face completely blank, daring her to say a word. She swallowed hard and looked away, retreating for this round.
.::.::.
Slowly easing into consciousness, Gillian's eyes drifted open, hazy and unclear. For a good minute, she was completely disoriented and fear swept through her system. The past few days filtered in like the sunlight dappling her comforter and Gillian couldn't help but wish that it had all been an awful dream.
Staggering out of bed to the bathroom, she bypassed the mirror completely and turned on the shower, letting the water run until hot. She felt like death warmed over, not completely rejuvenated. Frowning, she didn't bother taking time to luxuriate in the shower, simply running through the motions.
After dressing, she walked into the kitchen and found it bare, save for a few essentials. Gillian walked into the village and stopped by the local grocer, grabbing a baguette, cheese and a couple bottles of wine. When she returned, Gillian walked to the back patio and ate her meal. A while later, she found herself wonderfully sloshed off the bottle of red she'd just consumed.
Mind blissfully numb once again, she drunkenly reasoned that if she couldn't escape her problems by putting in the distance, she'd certainly do her best to drink them away.
.::.::.
Cal stopped sleeping, and it showed. His temper was short and his behavior bordered on cruel when antagonism wouldn't suffice.
Most of the time he was left alone to pour over footage and glance over the files Gillian left for him to complete. During lunch one day, he walked into her office and took her favorite pen. Just having his fingers wrapped around an object the Gillian touched frequently improved his mood slightly.
Cal finished the rest of his paperwork for the week using that pen, even signing his name with a flourish, just like Foster.
.::.::.
The next day and Gillian had a hangover to make Frat boys cry. It was enough to make her atone for her idiocy and swear off drink for the rest of the week. Then again, she was in wine country. Make that a couple days.
Gillian showered, scrubbing her skin until it was raw. She couldn't explain why she felt filthy, but she did. So she scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was red and she wondered if she still had freckles. Gillian still had no idea what time it was, but didn't care much. Hunger evaded her once again, so she sat out back and watched the day pass her by.
Around four, she heard footsteps coming around the side of the house and was greeted with a face she hadn't seen in years.
"Monsieur Rousseau, how go to see you," Gillian smiled at him, kissing both cheeks and taking a step back. "I can't believe it's been so long since I last saw you."
This man was Julie's grand-pere, nearly ninety-two years old. His wrinkles had winkles, his eyes had long since developed cataracts, his skin thin, his hair wiry and his bones weak. But, he had the mentality of a twenty-year old, the health of a thirty year old, and a smile that could warm even the deadest of hearts.
"Come now, Laurent, if you please. Even after all these years, your French is fantastic," he replied as he took a seat across from her. "You've grown into a beautiful woman, Gillian."
Blushing because she was wearing an old pair of jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt, she shook her head and retreated to get him a glass of water.
"I'd offer you more, but I haven't done proper shopping," she said as she set the glass on the table before him.
"I find that surprising, since you've been here nearly four days. Are you well?" he asked with a calm smile.
"I forgot that you live just across the way," she deflected smoothly. "Please forgive me for not coming sooner. I've been… " she searched for a lie, then settled on the truth, "I've been in need of solitude."
"Oh, I didn't need you to tell me that," he replied, flashing a knowing smirk. "No one comes here alone, out of the blue, without wanting some form of solitude. The question is, will you do me the honor of joining me for dinner this evening? Nothing special, just ratatouille."
Gillian smiled at his off the cuff comment. Laurent was a world-renowned chef. Nothing special was equal to four-stars in Paris or New York. Unfortunately, Laurent was also remarkably perceptive and this drew Gillian's hesitation. The last thing she wanted was to be read.
"If you promise just a meal and civilized conversation, then certainly," Gillian reasoned.
He rose slowly and walked past her, patting her on the shoulder. "I'll drop by at seven 'o clock my dear. You know the wine I like."
Gillian smiled as he ambled away, ninety-two or not, he still had a spring in his step.
.::.::.
Zoe spotted it first.
"What's different about you?"
"Dunno what you mean."
"You've been like this for weeks, months even. But it's gotten worse lately. Is it because Gillian's gone?"
"Oh none of that rubbish again, this has nothing to do with Foster."
Zoe stood to her full height, blocking his path. She took a step closer and sighed.
"At least you're showering. Guess you're not that bad off, yet."
"Attacking my hygiene now? That's classy, even for a defense lawyer."
"Cal, she's coming back."
"I know that."
"What are you so afraid of?"
"Nothin', Zoe, now get out of my bloody office."
"If you aren't going to talk to me, fine. But don't take it out on Emily. She's coming over tomorrow, don't forget."
.::.::.
The following evening and Gillian was about to dine for the second time with Laurent. He was the consummate host, full of lively stories of his family and his days working in Paris. It was easy to fall under this man's spell, to watch him weave these long and winding tales that would make her forget her troubles.
After lulling her into a sense of complacency with wine and word, Laurent subtly launched his attack. "Goodness, Gillian," he said as he watched her take a bite of his white chocolate mousse. "I've been talking about my family since you've arrived, and other than the basics, I haven't a clue about what you've been up to."
"What do you want to know?"
"Start with why you're here and we can go from there," his voice was soft and caring, but she couldn't unclench the pain that was associated with her reasons.
"How about we have dessert talk tonight. Save the heavy stuff for another day?"
"Fair enough."
Laurent already knew of her background at the Pentagon and that she'd retired and started the company with Cal. She updated him on the recent events of the past couple years: Sophie, Alec and the divorce, the past six months. For some odd reason, she'd always been able to open up to this man, maybe because he let her approach her problems at her own pace, rather than making her run at them head-first like someone else she knew.
"Do you like what you do?" he asked as he set his chin on his closed fist. "Weeding around in other people's lives, trying to trip them up?"
"I like finding the truth, there's a difference."
Laurent nodded as he leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath of air. They spent the evening on his patio, watching the sunlight fade into the distance. The soft chirp of crickets and rush of the river was all that could be heard at the moment. Sipping her tea, Gillian glanced at Laurent and by the crinkle of his brow, knew he was deep in thought.
"You've always tried to see the best in others, Gillian, even when they're obviously at fault. That still hasn't changed, even after all that has happened."
She smiled, but it was slow and didn't reach her eyes. She wasn't so sure if she saw the best in people anymore. Not after everything she'd seen through work.
"I find it interesting that you and your partner are both divorced now. Odd how that works out," Laurent said as he toyed with the handle of his cup.
"I know what you're thinking and you can stop. All we've ever been is partners," she stated calmly. "At most, we're good friends."
"Okay," Laurent replied, his eyes shifting across her own.
Gillian rolled her eyes and sighed. "My husband and I divorced because of entirely different reasons, none of which had to do with Cal."
"Ex."
"Excuse me?"
"Ex-husband. You just referred to Alec as your husband. I don't need a degree to know that carelessness is not the reason."
"I think it's time I go," Gillian stated evenly, "thank you the lovely meal, Laurent."
As she passed him and reached the white picket gate, she heard his soft voice calling after her, "Have a good evening, I'll be here Gillian."
Gillian trudged back to the cottage, bitter and angry with herself. Of course she knew Alec wasn't her husband. The pregnant fiancé made that abundantly clear. She had no idea how that slipped out. She never misspoke.
Changing into her pajamas, she walked out to the back and took a seat on the patio, her cell phone in hand. She played with the device, turning it in her hands as she contemplated. Taking a deep breath she unleashed a few thoughts and allowed herself to feel the hurt, sharp and painful as it was.
Seeing Alec… it was an indescribable type of pain. She'd spent the majority of her adulthood loving him, whispering goodnight when he'd wrap his arm around her torso, making breakfast together on Sundays, spending hours reading books and sharing the newspaper. Up until the last three years of marriage, theirs had been good. Both even-tempered, they rarely fought, supported each other in their endeavors, and loved as only two people who were highly compatible did.
Unfortunately, the last three were full of heartache and sorrow. Throughout the duration, their love remained, but their ability to be with each other suffered. When he started using again, it was the final nail in the coffin. She knew that she would not win the battle, even though she tried to fight.
Gillian always fought for lost causes.
Searching her soul for a few minutes, she asked herself what she wanted for Alec. She'd loved him once and a part of her always would. That didn't say much, because she loved easily, it was in her nature. Letting someone love her back? That was another story. Reciprocal love imparted a type of trust that was unlike any other; it required the relinquishment of control as an offering to another.
Gillian knew that the other day, learning that Alec had officially started over, it not only turned a page in his life, but hers as well. Once and for all, it was time to say goodbye to that chapter in her life. Dialing his number, she took a breath as she waited for the call to go through.
"Alec Foster."
She was frozen, unable to speak. Only a sharp intake of break could be heard. In a moment of panic, she pushed the end button. Slamming the phone down on the bench, she pulled her knees to her chest and set her chin upon her arms crossed over top. Not yet.
.::.::.
"Where've you been?" asked Emily as Cal walked in through the door, removing his jacket.
"Stopped by Foster's for a bit."
"I thought Gillian was out of town."
"She is… look, I'm going to take a shower," he stated as he moved past her, not looking her in the eyes.
"I can't believe you broke into her house!"
"I did no such thing."
"Dad!'" she scrambled up the stairs after him, "What did you do? Why'd she leave?"
"I didn't do anything, Em. She's had a rough few months and decided to take off for a bit."
"Look me in the eyes and tell me you had nothing to do with this."
Cal stopped just before his room and pivoted quickly. He stalked over to his daughter at full-speed, stopping only when she hit the wall, surprise and regret on her features.
"For the last time, Foster leaving was her own decision. I don't want to talk about her anymore," he said brusquely. "If you don't mind, I'm going to get clean and then we're going out to dinner. Got it?"
Emily swallowed and nodded.
.::.::.
Saturday evening Gillian wandered into town looking for company that didn't qualify for a senior citizen's discount. As the cool night air settled in, Gillian claimed a dark corner in an old café. A chanteuse and her guitarist were in the opposite corner and the tables were comfortably packed with listeners.
Sipping her wine, Gillian leaned her head back against the wall and let the soft flow of the woman's words run over her like water. The chanteuse sang of bitter heartbreak and redeeming love, the music the sun makes and of clouds with indefinable color. She had a deep, sultry voice, and Gillian imagined that the woman could break a man down with only a couple words.
Feeling the chair next to her skirt away she opened her eyes to find a tall man standing before her. Scruffy yet attractive, he smiled kindly and asked if he could take a seat since all the others were occupied. Gillian shrugged and the man quietly slid into position, turning his chair to face the chanteuse, his shoulder brushing her own.
At one point, they fell into casual conversation, discussing the town and other frivolity. Then he motioned to the book she had placed in her lap. She realized she'd carried it with her into town and smiled bashfully. For the next three hours, they discussed some of her favorites, Baudelaire, Flaubert, and Hugo. He recounted his time spent studying art, staring for days at Delacroix, Gericault, but his favorite was Manet — particularly Olympia.
"Who do you think my favorite artist is?" asked Gillian as she drained the last of her third glass, leaning forward on her elbows to discern the exact color of his eyes. She was fairly certain they were black. He gazed back at her, crooked smile on his wine-stained lips and leaned even closer.
"When we first started talking, I'd have said someone typical, like Monet, or Degas. But for you? I think your tastes run darker and foreign, like Goya or perhaps someone from a completely different movement, someone like Mary Cassat."
Gillian's eyes widened briefly and his grin grew larger. "Ah, Cassat? She depicts maternal relations so intimately. Are you a mother?"
Frowning, she leaned back in her chair and pulled out some Euros. Giving him a weak smile, she pushed away from the table and exhaled sadly.
"I was a mother… once."
Leaving the man somewhat dumbfounded, she returned to the cottage, still clutching Les Fleurs du Mal. Suddenly angry at everything, she threw the book across the room and swept the contents of the kitchen table onto the floor. Crumbling in on herself instantly, she slid against the wall to the dusty floor and wept.
.::.::.
"Tell me about Sophie," Laurent asked the following morning over croissants and Nutella. She wondered if he somehow knew the man from the café.
"There's nothing much to say. I only knew her for fifty-seven days."
"But you fell in love at first sight, yes? Entire books have been written on much less."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Do you want to cry about it instead?" his tone was soft, but Gillian shot him a sharp look.
"You've changed over the years. I remember when you'd always have an acerbic remark at the ready, but now, you must save those for when it's truly justified. Remember when you were twenty and you didn't trust a soul?"
"I remember being twenty and you pestering me all the time."
"Do you think that's what I'm doing now?"
"I know that's what you're doing now."
"Why haven't you asked me to leave then?"
Gillian sat quietly, not meeting his eyes. She watched a flock of birds fly overhead, tracking the movement of the clouds as they passed. Glancing at Laurent, she frowned. He never judged, just carefully prodded and teased until she could face her reality.
"I blamed him," Gillian whispered.
"Alec?"
"Yeah. I blamed him for the whole thing. I never said it outright. But he'd taken it upon his own initiative to set up the adoption with the mother, set everything in motion. He'd wanted so… badly to give me a child, for us to have a family. We'd been so outrageously happy when we had her."
"And just like that — it got taken away. I imagine he blamed himself as well. But you probably tried to reassure him, right?"
Gillian nodded, biting her lip as she pushed her fist to her mouth, holding back the bitter tears.
"Did you ever fully mourn her loss?"
Gillian shrugged, looking up at Laurent with watery eyes. "You can't mourn the loss of something you never had to begin with."
"Sure you can. It's just like unrequited love, no? Look at it this way, Gillian. You and Alec, you both took the chance, you both opened your hearts to this innocent creature and loved her with everything you had."
"We still got burned."
"At least you took the chance."
"I don't think I could ever do that again. The pain? It's… I can't… go through that again."
"Try."
"What?"
"Let yourself feel the pain. When my Yvette died, I was inconsolable. She passed the winter before you arrived. Remember what you said to me the day we met?"
Gillian squinted into the distance, searching for memories of her youth. "To love at all is to be vulnerable…?" She glanced over at him and he nodded. "I was on a C.S. Lewis kick at the time, I had no idea what I was talking about."
"Gillian, at twenty, you had lived more life than most people twice your age. I imagine you were well aware of what you were talking about. Perhaps not the type of love you've experienced now, but you knew plenty."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Your twenty-year-old self and Mr. Lewis were correct. If you keep your heart in that casket, it will most certainly change. It will not be broken, that is certain. But it will also never know the wonder of love and the fulfillment it can bring."
"So I should take solace that I had the chance to love Sophie at all? Satisfied that even though Alec and I didn't work out, we at least got to share in that love for a brief time?"
Laurent quirked his head to the side and propped his chin on his hand.
"You should be whatever you want to be Gillian. Sad, angry, happy, sorry… Be them all. Just... be something more than nothing."
Gillian tossed her croissant on her plate, her appetite gone.
.::.::.
Cal stood in front of the mirror, staring at the lines in his face. For all intents and purposes, he looked just like he did everyday — slightly rumpled, careless appearance. Though closer examination illuminated the sorrow etched into every feature. Being at work was becoming painful, if only because every time he forgot himself and heard the soft click of heels, he'd glance up expecting to see Gillian. Only, it was just some nameless intern, hesitant and nervous.
Gillian was the one that eased the interns into the company; she was the one who greeted them with warm smiles and a soft pat on the arm. She was the one who injected heart and soul into this otherwise haphazard sham they called the pursuit of truth.
Cal was the wizard behind the curtain. Or so he'd always thought.
But as he left his library and walked down the hall to the exit, disregarding the averted glances and cautious postures, he was becoming painfully aware that he was just a man. A man without a cape or a cause. Just barely human, and even that was questionable.
.::.::.
Gillian's days were blurring together. She could hardly remember the last conversation she'd had with Laurent and figured it had to do with all the wine she'd been drinking lately. Silently promising to stay away from that false comfort, she filled a bottle with water, grabbed a baguette and tossed them in her bag.
She'd taken up a soft footpath near the river; it was steady and meandered carelessly. Perfect for afternoon musings. Spotting a shade tree up ahead, she sat beneath it, watching as the sun-dappled greenery shifted with each breeze. After eating and drinking her fill, she lay in the grass and stared at the sky peaking through the leaves above.
There were no more tears to cry over Sophie. Gillian believed that she had moved on, but she'd never truly allowed herself to grieve. Sure, she'd given in to sporadic bouts, but nothing truly cathartic.
Did she really need catharsis? Or did she need to find resolution? There was only one way to achieve it, though she longed for an alternative. She walked back to the cottage slowly; each step was like opening a fresh wound. When she reached the back patio, she took a seat in the shade and plucked up some hidden reserve of courage. Pulling out the prepaid phone, she dialed one of two numbers she had committed to memory.
"Alec Foster."
Once again, she was frozen, but it was transient.
"Hello?" She could tell he was checking the screen, looking to see who dialed. "Gill?"
She exhaled loudly, shaking her head at the knowing tone in his voice.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?"
She was silent for a moment more, and then summoned all her courage.
"Are you happy?"
"What?"
"Are you happy?" her voice was a little more desperate this time, but he was busy trying to figure out what was going on.
"How'd you find out?"
"Doesn't matter, just answer the question."
"Fine. Yes, I'm happy." Though he said the words in frustration, they were true. It stung a bit more than she cared for. "I can't tell you how many times I've picked up the phone, trying to decide how to tell you. It feels wrong, you know? That I'm getting to have this second chance when you're the one who deserves it more."
"Don't say that, you wanted a child just as badly…." She sighed and took a deep breath. "I don't know if you need to hear it, but… I am sorry, for all that happened with Sophie. It truly wasn't your fault."
He was silent for a moment then began speaking again, his voice soft, "Gillian, I've never met anyone who wanted to be a mother as much as you. No one. It's so odd how everything turned out. I always figured you'd be swept off your feet by now, or that Lightman would've finally gotten his act together."
"Alec," she warned.
"C'mon, we've had enough time to clear the air. Don't tell me that Lightman's only ever been your partner. You owe me that much."
"I don't owe you anything. But for the sake of clarification, I'd say he was my best friend, but that's it."
"Was? What he'd do this time?"
Gillian bit her lip and rolled her eyes. How did she keep slipping? How?
"Listen, I've only got a few minutes left. I…" she took a breath, "I'm glad you're happy. Everyone deserves a second chance, I mean that."
"Thank you," he replied quietly. "Gill? I really wish that'd we'd been able to work it out. You're not someone that can be gotten over and I think I'll love you 'til the day I die. I just… I just wanted you to know that."
Gillian felt the knot forming in her throat, but no tears this time.
"Goodnight, Alec."
.::.::.
Gillian walked over to Laurent's the following morning, but found the door locked and the lights off. No longer able to drive, she knew he rode his bicycle frequently to town in order to gather groceries. Frowning, she figured she'd run into him later and decided to go for another walk.
As she walked along, she realized she felt… lighter somehow. Not that she felt talking with Alec made her turn a new leaf over night, but the closure it provided restored her with a quiet type of strength.
She took a different route today, choosing to head towards town. She picked her way across a field of wild flowers, spotting a tree that was destined to be climbed. Looking around, Gillian couldn't see anyone approaching. Slipping off her shoes, she began her ascent until she was happily situated on a branch half way up the tree. Recalling a time in her childhood, Gillian smiled at the memory of being chastised by her mother for unladylike behavior, ordered to settle on the ground. Out of spite, young Gillian only climbed higher and spent the entire afternoon and part of the evening in the tree. Her mother always said Gillian got her stubbornness from her father.
Hours later with a sore bum and a mild sunburn, Gillian returned to find a note on her door — Foie de gras? If in keeping with tradition, she'd have her dinner guest over this evening. She kept the wine decanter in the cupboard this time, selecting the sparkling water instead.
.::.::.
"Lightman. I was wondering when you'd turn up."
"What for?"
"Well, Gillian called me last night, so I imagine you're here for damage control."
The confusion was apparent on Cal's face and Alec sat up a little straighter in his chair, suddenly aware that he had the upper hand.
"So, you don't even know why she called me?"
"Depends."
Alec smirked. This was fun. "So, you must have done something…. something pretty awful if she's not talking to you. Because, let's face it. This is Gillian we're talking about."
"Where is she?"
"No clue."
"Then why'd she call you?"
"You really have no idea?" Cal shook his head. "My fiancé is pregnant." The words, though proud, had a hint of sadness, a type of wishfullness in them that was hard to miss. Alec was happy, but his fiancé wasn't the one he wanted to be happy with. He still wanted Gillian.
Cal pushed off from the doorframe, preparing to leave.
"Can I offer you some advice?" Cal shrugged, sizing up the other man. "Don't push her. That's the worst thing you can do. She spends all her energy fighting for you, to be there for you, to be with you. She fights so hard day in and day out, that in the end, she has nothing left to fight with. When you back her into a corner, she won't stay and fight… she'll find a way out. She leaves. I did that once and she came back. The second time…"
And suddenly, the dissolution of Gillian Foster's marriage made so much more sense.
.::..::.
Gillian was completely satiated as she leaned back in her chair, watching the drizzle streak down the windows.
"I can't decide if the Coq au vin was better than the Foie de gras."
Glancing up at Laurent, a slow smile crept across his face as he propped his elbows on the table. "Well, I think your inner woman is telling you how unhealthy Foie de gras is," he replied as she gathered the plates and took them to the sink. "You're an excellent student, Gillian. If your current work doesn't pan out, I'm certain you could work in a fine restaurant somewhere."
"I don't think I'm cut out for that lifestyle," she grinned at him as she put the kettle on the stove.
"You seem in better spirits," he observed as she moved about the kitchen. Laurent reminded her so much of Cal sometimes, it was eerie.
"I was wondering if you'd tell me what your partner has done to make you so angry," he said simply, as though he weren't opening an ugly can of worms.
"I'd rather not."
"Are you in love with him?"
The question surprised her, not because it wasn't warranted, but because of the nonchalant way he asked it. With the span of the kitchen between them, she turned and surveyed the older man, his legs crossed and his arm draped casually across the back of his chair.
"It's complicated," she hedged.
"Complex love often is," he reasoned. "When you speak of him, I can tell there is a deep bond between you both, but there's something more… something untapped. Am I correct?"
Gillian shrugged and turned to the cupboard, pulling down two mugs.
"What's stopping you from taking that extra step? Do you not trust him?"
"Not… not after all he's done lately. The way he's behaved, it's… I don't know."
"Why do you think he did it?"
"Because I was pulling away from him, and he tried to fix it his way."
"Do you resent him for his recklessness? For the way seeks out these women and his cavalier attitude towards your work?"
Gillian pursed her lips, choosing to pour the hot water instead of answering.
"It doesn't make you an awful person, for being angry with him. It's warranted even. Is that why you won't fully open up to him? Because you think he'll destroy you?"
"There's no doubt in my mind that he's fully capable of it. But I'm more concerned that he'll destroy himself and take others down with him."
Laurent nodded, playing with the edge of the tablecloth. He seemed to be weighing her words before he spoke. "Remember when I told you I fought in world war two? And I said I did… things I would never forgive myself for?"
Gillian nodded. Laurent had been shot twice and nearly died the second time. He'd been discharged because of his injuries, but was recruited for the French Resistance, and later, the French Forces of the Interior.
"When I was younger, I was brash and irresponsible and invincible. Before I joined the FFI, I participated in a lot of… guerilla warfare. A lot of unfair fights. I had this hatred so strong, that nothing could pull me back. Nothing."
"Until you met Yvette," Gillian replied as she carried the mugs over and sat down, cradling her own. Yvette had been a fellow resistance member and they had fallen in love in the winter of 1944. "To put up with you and your stubbornness, she must have been a saint."
"Actually, she had a temper that could empty a room. But she was patient and loyal. To a fault, even. She learned how to work with me, how to manage me. She taught me how to let go of my anger and didn't let me get away with anything."
"I am not that person for Cal. If anything, I let him get away with too much."
"Well, it appears that you've stopped letting him get away with it now."
"What do you mean?"
"Isn't that what you've done with this little trip across the ocean? Your big warning sign? Do that again and I'm gone?"
"No… I just… I needed to get away. I let things build up to the point that I couldn't handle it anymore."
"And none of that had anything to do with getting fed up with your partner?"
"Oh, it did. But that wasn't the only reason."
Laurent nodded at her, giving her a knowing smile. "I'm going to call it a night. Thank you for dinner."
Gillian frowned. He hadn't even touched his tea. "Are you okay?"
Nodding, he stood slowly and made his way to the door. "Would you grant me a request?"
Eyebrows pinching together, Gillian nodded hesitantly.
"I mean this with all the love in the world," he said as he placed his hand over his heart, "but you being here, doing all this? Means nothing until you are honest with yourself. You claim to be in the business of searching for truth amongst all the lies. Perhaps it's time to turn that searching inwards."
After he left, Gillian spent the rest of her night in her kitchen, contemplating honesty and deceit — the fine line distinguishing the two.
.::.::.
"Is there something you want to tell me Loker?"
Leaning against the counter in the breakroom, Loker pretended to contemplate for a moment, then shook his head. "No, don't think so."
"Right then. Did Foster tell you to keep your mouth shut? About her ex-husband?"
Loker didn't reply, just stared blankly at Cal.
"Oh come on, now isn't the time to be loyal."
Clenching his jaw, Cal saw regret then anger flash over Loker's face. "Leave her alone."
"Ah, there it is, just what I was lookin' for. You really are startin' to change, aren't ya? Baby steps though, hard to undo two decades worth of damage a womanizer has ground into your head."
Loker looked away at the comment and Cal felt a twinge of regret, but pushed it away. Daddy issues could wait for another day.
"What's so different about Foster? Why do you put so much faith in her?"
Loker shrugged, exhaling slowly as he stuffed his hands into his jeans. "Even when I screw up, or treat her badly, she forgives me. She always puts other people before herself. She's the most selfless person I've ever met."
"Quite a pedestal you have her on."
"No," Loker shook his head, squaring his jaw. "It'd be a pedestal if it weren't true. I know she has a dark side, but she keeps it private and I can respect that because she doesn't inflict it upon others relentlessly."
"So now we're talkin' about me." Cal circled about Loker.
Drawing to his full height, Loker replied, "No, we're talking about what you need to change in order for her to stay because you cannot replace someone like Gillian Foster. You need to put your demons to rest and move on."
"Watch it," Cal warned.
Loker scowled and headed towards the door, shaking his head. "No one said the truth was easy."
.::.::.::.
Two days later, Gillian walked along the trail past Laurent's house heading to the river. She'd spent far too much time on introspection and had nothing to show for it. Sighing, she walked along the dock and stopped at the end, sitting down and letting her legs dangle over the edge.
No more than ten minutes later and she heard the soft shuffle of Laurent as he drew closer. He had his cane today and she reminded herself that he wasn't as young as he used to be.
"Arthritis acting up?"
"Other than Alzheimer's it is the great foe of getting old."
Blocking the sunlight with her hand, she smiled at him as he eased into the bench along the side of the dock. They sat in comfortable silence, watching ducks float by in the steady stream. Her thoughts wandered aimlessly, sliding back to that day when she watched Summerton get shot.
"You can't save everyone," he observed quietly.
"I know."
"Then why do you feel guilty about that man? You didn't pull the trigger."
"Still… I could have saved him."
"You can't rescue someone who doesn't want to be saved."
They sat for a while longer, then Gillian took her leave, wandering slowly back to the cottage. Instead of heading inside, she got in the car, lowered the top and started to drive. Gillian didn't return until morning.
.::.::.
Cal didn't go into work for a whole day. The lack of sleep caught up with him and he finally drank himself into a stupor, passing out on the couch. When he woke, his tongue felt like he'd licked the bottom of a broom and his head felt like elephants hosted a party inside. A bottle of water and a couple aspirin later he leaned back on his couch and stared at the ceiling.
For nearly two months now, unbeknownst to anyone, he'd been attending these bloody meetings for gamblers. He never had any intentions of abstaining from gambling, or even considered that he was all that reckless. But as heard the stories of the others, how they exaggerated certain parts and downplayed others, he'd started to realize that perhaps he wasn't different from the worthless lumps on either side of him.
The night before there was one man, FBI from the looks of him, who stood up and talked about how he'd seen rock bottom, how nights spent playing poker became mornings. It was all an escape, he said as he looked around the room, meeting each and every eye. He said he had a great kid and was very good at his work, but it didn't matter, didn't keep him from getting shot at or throwing down his paycheck on a horse race. He'd done too many things, committed too many atrocities that risking his life day in and day out couldn't balance it out.
Then he met a woman. Cal rolled his eyes as he slouched even further in his chair. The Agent shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled to himself, describing her quirks and her intelligence, her beauty and her patience.
"What I'm trying to say here… is that I don't put all my hope or all my faith in her. But we're a team and even when I don't realize I'm stumbling, she's there to pick me up. I'm not one for having a rock or a north or any of that crap, but I can recognize that she is what keeps me grounded… She keeps me human and… alive."
After the Agent finished speaking, Cal slid his chair back and left, ignoring the burn of his two-month chip in the pocket of his pants leg.
.::.::.
Gillian awoke, feeling different somehow. Like she'd been waking up on the wrong side of the bed for months, and today she'd finally gotten out the proper way.
Her mind wasn't the cluttered web of confusion it had been for the past few days. Instead, the fog was lifted and she could see her problems for what they were. Breathing deeply, she climbed out of bed and got ready. No more introspection for the day, just a day of fun in Paris.
Long ago, when she was young, she'd always set out to try new things when on vacation. Considering she had only two days left, Gillian felt it was time to make good on that promise. It was an entire day of newness: new dessert, new perfume, new shoes, new museums, new paths to be taken. It was all a whirlwind, but she still found time to stop by a favorite of hers, Jardin des Tuileries. She took a seat in one of the chairs lining the gravel path. With coffee in hand she watched the world in quiet wonder.
.::.
Torres stomped into Cal's office, fed up and frustrated.
"What's going on? You had the chance to go into that room and stop that guy, but instead, you let the SWAT team take over. Do you feel okay?"
Cal clasped his hands over his abdomen, surveying his protégé carefully.
"Wasn't worth it. They handled the situation just fine."
"But you wanted to go in there, I can tell."
"Congratulations."
"Is this because of Foster?"
Face carefully blank, Cal gave her a mocking smile, watching as Torres frowned in turn. For a second, he let go and watched her eyes widen at all she saw.
"Is this going to be a permanent thing?"
"Taking it as it comes."
Nodding carefully she stepped away. From the side, he caught her brief smile of pride before she exited his office.
.::.::.
Gillian met Laurent for lunch one last time, for she was leaving the following day.
"It seems you've figured out a few things since we last met," he observed.
"Perhaps," Gillian smiled coyly.
"Care to share?"
"Only with the person it's intended for," she glanced at him over her coffee, grinning at the way he rolled his eyes at her.
"This has been nice, having someone visit me. You should return in the spring, I have a wonderful crop of strawberries that you'd love."
"I'll see what I can do," Gillian replied. "I wanted to thank you. I know I haven't been the best of company, but I appreciate you taking the time to listen."
"What else was I going to do? Watch the flowers grow? You're the most exciting thing that's happened around here in months."
She smiled at him and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. They sat in comfortable silence for the rest of the afternoon.
.::.::.
Cal got a call from the mayor around lunchtime on Saturday. It was a quick and simple job, not too painful. Which was good, because he was distracted by thoughts of Gillian and the company and his daughter. There was no way he was going to be able to spend the rest of his life on the sidelines. None. Though, he amended in his mind at least, that he could do with practicing a bit more caution.
Cal swore to himself that it had nothing to do with Foster and more with his own willingness to at least make a compromise. Frowning, he let an ounce of truth weigh in.
Okay, a little bit of it had to do with Foster.
Foster, who would be returning sometime tomorrow. Cal definitely ignored the way his heart sped up at that thought. There was only so much honesty one could take.
.::.::.
"Julie!" Gillian smiled as she opened the door, "I'm so glad you were able to drop by."
"Allo, Gillian," she kissed both Gillian's cheeks as she stepped inside. "I know you are leaving soon, I just wanted to stop by before you took off."
"Thank you," she said as Julie took a seat at the table.
"This place looks the same, no?"
"It certainly does," Gillian glanced around. "Though, I don't think I remember that couch always being there."
"Oh, we brought it over from grand-pere's… after he passed away."
Gillian stiffened at the counter; fortunately she was facing away from her guest. All those meals, eating only outside, he never seemed to finish a drink, his house always looked dark. Oh, this was not good. Taking a shallow breath, she turned slowly with their glasses. Finding her voice, she began speaking again.
"When… when did Laurent pass away?"
"Last winter. Exactly Fifteen years to the day after his wife. I think it's kind of romantic, in a way."
"Yeah," Gillian smiled feebly, feeling a little faint. "Something like that."
.::.::.
It was early evening on Sunday when Cal returned to the office. Emily was going to pick him up and drive them to dinner shortly. He still couldn't reconcile the fact that his daughter was able to transport him anywhere.
Most the lights were off including those in Gillian's office, but he didn't falter. He imagined she'd be there first thing on Monday, like nothing changed. She was a fan of that approach.
When he stepped inside his office, the sight before him drew him to a halt.
Behind his desk, legs crossed and elbows propped on the arms of his chair, sat Gillian. Her head tilted to the side, she wore a quizzical smile as she surveyed him slowly. Drawing up to his full height, he approached his desk and took a seat opposite. They sat for a few moments, taking each other in.
Something was different, though he couldn't quite place it. Gillian's eyes were much clearer and her gaze was steady and unflinching. She looked well rested and still maintained that sense of calmness about her. Just being in her presence, Cal felt more at ease.
Pursing her lips at him, she picked an object off his desk. "You stole my pen."
"Lost mine."
"I see," she smiled knowingly. She looked good, sitting behind his desk. "I spent the last two weeks talking to a dead man."
Cal's eyebrows darted upward, completely thrown for a moment. "Did he talk back?"
"Yes."
"Do you still see him?"
"No."
Cal shrugged, not nearly as worried. "Then I guess we can rule out schizophrenia."
She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. He merely settled further in his chair, glad to have her with him.
"I owe you an apology," she said quietly. "What I said before, about making you choose… that was wrong of me. One thing I learned at a very young age is that people don't change, the circumstances might, but no amount of hoping, loving, or caring, will get that person to change. I've experienced a lot of grief over my inability to truly accept that."
"You think I can't change?"
Gillian frowned looking down as she spoke, "I think it's wrong to make yourself something that you're not. I think what I really wanted was for you to acknowledge that the current path you're on isn't healthy and it's hurting others, not just you."
"What if I told you I've decided to take a different path?"
Gillian's brows pinched together in doubt and confusion.
"Let me rephrase that, actually I was hoping that we could take a different path... together."
"What are you saying?"
Cal caught the brief flash of uncertainty and doubt, then interest as he started speaking. "Maybe I'm starting to realize that a compromise needs to be made, but from what I understand, those take at least two people to work properly," he stated smartly.
Gillian's lip quirked upwards as she swiveled slightly in the chair. "What are you proposing?"
"Nothin' flashy, more just an agreement of sorts," he said casually. "If you agree not to… shut me out like you have been, I'll do my best not to create situations in which you feel the need to do so."
Gillian nodded slowly, biting her lip. "Remember what I just said about change? I think you're asking a lot without fully realizing the implications."
"No, I've thought quite a bit about it," he said assuredly. "I mean, it's hard to do unless you have someone to be accountable to, right? You and me, we're partners. We're a team. It's what we do."
A flicker of a smile glanced off her lips at his words. She rose from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. Leaning against the hard wood with her head bowed, Cal watched as she contemplated his proposal. Gillian was wearing this blue wrap dress that matched her eyes perfectly, had on minimal make up, and her freckles popped out beneath her darkened lashes. The overall effect made her look much younger and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her.
Sometime… sometime in the near future, when the dust had settled, he would take that extra step. Because sooner or later, he wasn't going to be able to hold back when she stood before him, looking so beautiful and open. Standing carefully, Cal stopped just before her. Placing a hand on her cheek, he tilted her head upward he could meet her eyes.
Gillian was still worrying her lip between her teeth, but she was completely open to him. It nearly took his breath away, to see how much she was offering. To prove he meant business, Call did the same, letting his mask fall.
"I lied before," she whispered as her hand came up and wrapped around his wrist. "I said I didn't need anyone, but I did," she let out a soft breath, "I needed my best friend… I needed you."
Cal knew what she meant immediately. She didn't want the man who forced her to open up and manipulated situations. She wanted the one who was willing to meet her halfway.
"Well, I'm here now," he said quietly, matching her tone. "If you'll have me."
The smile that crossed her face went past her eyebrows and he couldn't help but reciprocate. That type of happiness was infectious. She stood fully and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Arms clenched tightly around her, he buried his head in her neck and breathed in, smiling against her neck when she said it tickled.
"Gillian!" Cal groaned inwardly. He'd forgotten Emily was coming. They pulled away as Emily skipped up in front of them and completely engulfed Gillian in a hug.
Pulling away, Emily smiled at Gillian. "Oh my God, you have no idea how good it is to see you. This place was not the same without you. Where'd you go? How've you been? Are you hungry? Do you want to come to dinner with us? I'm driving!"
Based off Gillian's dumbfounded look, Cal intervened. "Em, darling, give Foster a second to breathe. She only just arrived."
"Then you must be hungry," she replied sensibly. "Come with us to dinner. Please?"
Gillian looked between father and daughter knowing that there was no way she'd win this one. Casting one last look at Cal, she nodded at Emily, smiling brightly.
"I'm game, just as long as we aren't out too late," she said as the three of them headed down the corridor to the exit. Standing just behind them, Cal watched Emily wrapped her arm around Gillian who in turn draped her arm across Emily's shoulders. As they spoke with each other, all Cal could do was watch the two women before him and how much they meant to him, how much they made him feel. How, when he was around them, he was human.
"Cal? Are you okay?" Gillian was looking back at him, holding the door open. He smiled at her and took the door.
"Never better, love," he said as he grabbed her free hand in his own, the three of them walking out into the night together. "So... tell me about this dead guy..."
"Cal!"
.::.::.
A/N: Thanks to all... twelve of you *g* for reading and commenting. Hope you enjoyed.