A/N: I apologize for the wait. I have a life, it is real, and it is tumultuous. Thanks go out to Pineapple, Kelsey, and A_J for overall awesomeness. This was poorly edited, I apologize. Thanks for reading.
The Lies We Tell (14/15)
Everything took too damn long. It took an hour just to get a positive ID on Foster. Then, after a great bit of arguing of who ought to go versus who should go, Cal piled into the car with his daughter and left the others behind. The trip itself usually took two hours in good weather. Unfortunately the snow and car pile-ups along the highway made the journey almost eight hours.
And now Cal had to wait some more.
"What do you mean we can't see her!"
"We just got her up to the floor," said the unit clerk. "Her dressings are being changed."
"Dressings? Where? What?" Cal glanced at Emily, indicating that she needed to provide some distraction. He slid away as the unit clerk continued to talk, "yes, y'all should wait 'til the doctor gets out of surgery —"
Cal tuned her out as he flashed a smile to an exhausted nurse. She was carrying a pack of gauze to a room at the end of the hall and shut the door behind her. Frowning, he moseyed over to the window and peaked through the blinds inside the room.
All Cal could see was Gillian's torso and head. Those looked okay. Good. He quite enjoyed those parts of her body.
Gillian nodded at the nurse who laid the head of her bed flat. Then Gillian reached up with both her beautiful hands and hooked them through the grab bar above her head. She sucked in her bottom lip and stared at the ceiling. There were several fingertip-sized bruises dotting her arms. Brow furrowed, Cal watched the nurse work.
Carefully, the she unraveled Gillian's dressings to reveal a large angry blister on Gillian's right calf, nearly six inches long and full of fluid. The blister wrapped around her ankle and seemed to reach the bottom of her foot as well.
Cal straightened and pressed his forehead to the glass, rod-iron tense as Gillian shut her eyes tight against the pain, silent tears escaping slowly. At one point she opened her eyes, turned and looked directly at Cal. It nearly made him step backward.
There was nothing but pain. Excruciating pain.
She turned back and squeezed her eyes shut as the nurse finished dressing her burns, weaving the gauze between Gillian's toes and around her feet.
"Dad? Can we see her?" Emily tried to peak around him, but Cal stood in the way.
"Nah."
"What do you mean?"
Cal swung his arm around Emily's shoulder and turned towards the waiting room.
"She doesn't want to see anyone right now."
.::.
After sitting in the waiting room for several hours, a weary doctor came and sat with Cal and Emily.
"I'm Anne Stratton, Chief Trauma Resident," she shook their hands and dropped into the chair across from the pair. "I understand y'all have questions."
"Basically everything. No one's really told us much."
"Sorry about that. We generally raise high confidentiality around a patient who's suspected of any sexual or physical assault. Though Doctor Foster wasn't sexually assaulted, we didn't know that in the beginning."
"Fair enough. Out with it then; from the start."
Dr. Stratton's eyebrows shot upwards as she glanced at Emily, but Cal nodded. Shrugging, she took a long sip of her coffee and began. "I was paged around five thirty this morning: two women were brought in by a medevac chopper. There was a fire early this morning and a nearby farmer spotted the flames. He and his son rode their snowmobiles out to the property, found Doctor Foster and the Jane Doe, called nine-one-one and kept them warm. According to the flight nurse, the women were found bound and naked, and were quickly fading."
She paused for another sip and resumed. "I was there when Dr. Foster and our Jane Doe were brought in. At that point, they were unconscious but breathing. Both were hypothermic and severely dehydrated. The Jane Doe had her tongue cut out and a broken hand, but she'll be okay once we get her rehydrated and fed. Our biggest concern when Dr. Foster arrived was the manacle. We —"
"A what now?" Emily sputtered in disbelief.
"A manacle — a metal shackle. Whoever put it on, used a key to lock it around her neck. We needed to ensure an open airway because of all the smoke inhalation. Fortunately, we had a janitor get the damn thing off her. It had these tiny barbs on the inside that were actually piercing her neck, it was…," she paused and shook her head, "we got her to radiology, confirmed the fracture of several ribs and some bilateral shoulder damage. She also has a nasty laceration to the back of her head, which was stapled. Lastly, the burns..."
She stretched the stretch of someone standing in an O.R. for five hours. "If she weren't burned on the bottom of her feet and hadn't been kidnapped, she'd be able to go home today. Problem is, we have to worry about contractures of her feet, respiratory distress, psychological trauma, and the minor fact that she still won't speak."
"Not a word?" Cal felt Emily's hand tighten around his arm.
Inhale. Exhale. Sip. Dr. Stratton looked to the side and back at him, her ambivalence overwhelming.
"None."
.::.
Evening well under way, Cal tortured the staff enough that they let him have a few minutes with Foster. Standing at the entrance to her room, he stared at the heart monitor in the dim lighting, mesmerized by her beating heart. Judging by the tension in her upper body, she wasn't asleep — just resting.
He doubted she'd actually sleep for a while.
Scanning her body, he feared she'd be in quite a bit of pain for the next few days. She was pale, unwashed, and bundled up with several blankets. Outside of her burn wounds, her neck looked downright awful. Small puncture wounds and scratches marred the smooth, freckled skin. Only one arm peaked out, the ligature marks encircling her wrist were raw and chafed.
He slouched in the chair beside her bed, watching her breathe for nearly fifteen minutes. Though he could've done so all night, he had things that needed to be said. Leaning forward, he rubbed his index finger along her forearm.
She didn't open her eyes, didn't smile, didn't do much more than lift her eyebrows.
"When you screw up, you sure go all the way," Cal said lowly. She pursed her lips. Unapologetic. "That was a big risk you took… huge."
Eyebrows quirked, she squinted at him through one eye, slight shrug.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Cal murmured. "It was worth it."
Brief smile in agreement.
"Almost."
She cracked her eyes again, struggled to take a deeper breath.
"Easy now," Cal scooted closer and slid his fingers around the unmarred portion of her wrist. "See, it was brought to my attention that…the only reason why I'm still alive, not locked up, all in one piece even, is because of you." She relaxed somewhat as he continued: "I know that… I know I let you down and that you nearly died as a result, Gillian. For that I will never forgive myself."
Her face tightened as she gripped the sheets, twisting them tightly. She sucked in a breath and bit her lip.
"Foster?"
No response, just the grimace of pain.
"Gill?" He pushed off the chair and leaned over her. Glancing at the monitor, her heart was beating far too rapidly.
"Damn, damn, damnity, damn," Cal sprinted out of the room and called for help.
The nurse, Laura, rushed inside. "Gillian, I know you don't want any morphine, but when the pain gets your heart rate up to 160, I'm going to have to step in."
"Foster? That true? Take the bloody medicine, Darlin'."
"Sir, I need you to step out for a bit —"
"Now just you wait a minute,"
"Sir, Please leave," she fixed him with a look that held no compromise. It was leave willingly or forcefully.
"Fine. Call me the second she's better." Cal grabbed his coat and left her room begrudgingly. He wouldn't have left at all if he knew that security wasn't already irritated with him. Passing the nurse's station he gave the resident a foul look then headed to the waiting room. He found a surprisingly comfortable couch and settled in.
.::.
Poke.
Poke-poke.
Cal faded into consciousness slowly. Suffering from déjà-vu, he was chagrinned to find not only his daughter, but Loker standing before him.
"Morrrrrning." Loker dropped in the chair opposite.
"Here, drink this." Cal jumped and turned to find Torres. She certainly made herself comfortable. He took her proffered cup of coffee and straightened in his seat.
"Nice of you to wake me." Cal scowled at them and downed half his cup in one go.
Torres shrugged, "figured you could use it."
Cal warned Torres with a look. "I told that nurse to get me when Foster was better."
"Better?" "What do you mean?" "Better how?"
"Oi! None of that. She just had a fit of pain last night. That's all."
"You Lightman?" asked a nurse assistant, a kid in his early twenties.
"Maybe."
"Whatever, man. Dr. Foster agreed to visitors. See if you can talk her into eatin' her breakfast."
Emily led the way into Foster's room, the four of them taking seats where available. Foster looked ten times better than last night. Her color had returned and she was actually sitting up. She offered them a feeble smile but little else. They all sat around quietly surveying her wounds as the tension mounted by the second. Breakfast was delivered, but it was all liquids on account Foster's throat.
"That looks awful. Is that," Cal grabbed her spoon and poked at the orange gelatinous substance, "Jello? They really give you Jello here? What else?"
Foster uncovered the large bowl, only to reveal chicken broth.
"No wonder you won't eat anything." Cal frowned. "I'll fix that. There's a coffee shop in this hospital. I'll get you somethin' good and unhealthy. Lots of sprinkles and whipped cream."
Just as he stood, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned to see Foster shaking her head, whispering hoarsely that she was 'fine'.
"But you're not fine."
She narrowed her eyes and sat back in her bed, rubbing her ribs. Good. He could still get her exasperated in less than two minutes. Everything would be back to normal in no time.
Before Cal could say anything further, his phone buzzed. He stepped out in the hall, took the call then returned.
"That was Reynolds. He's at Le Fort's. Or what's left of it, that is. He wants me to come out, take a look." Cal didn't really want to leave Foster's side, but he did want to see Le Fort's house of horrors.
"Can we come with you?" Torres blurted as Loker nodded, both unable to bear the awkwardness. Foster seemed to be absorbed by fixing her tea at the moment and waved them all off.
"Do as you like," said Cal. "Just keep your mouths shut. Emily, stay here."
Emily looked to Foster who smiled and nodded. "Sure. As long as it doesn't bother you."
Foster shook her head, shrugging. Cal watched Foster a beat longer then took his leave.
.::.
Gillian slept a lot. The drugs took away most her pain, but they also made her drowsy. It also made it hard for her to focus on anything worthwhile.
"Have you seen this movie?" Emily asked from Gillian's side. "To Kill a Mockingbird?"
"Been a while," Gillian rasped out and immediately regretted it. It wasn't that she couldn't talk or didn't want to; it was just incredibly painful. She had smoke inhalation damage on the inside, and the manacle damage on the outside. Besides, she doubted anyone would listen to her anyway.
"Do you want me to get some more tea? Your throat has to be killing you."
Gillian shook her head and shifted as much as she could with her limited ability to move. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Atticus talk to Scout. Gillian started dozing off when she felt Emily grab her hand. Gillian looked over to Emily, who slowly leaned her head down on the bed, facing Gillian. The poor girl looked exhausted and sad. She sniffed and let out a few tears.
"I don't think it's actually hit Dad yet… everything that happened," Emily whispered as she wiped away her tears. "Just… be patient with him, okay?"
Gillian's eyebrows pinched together. She used her other hand to run it over Emily's long hair. "What do you mean?"
Emily's hand tightened around Gillian's. "I don't want you to leave."
Even through the foggy haze of the pain medication, Emily's plea struck Gillian to her core. Despite her broken ribs, Gillian bent her head and kissed Emily on her temple. Gillian leaned back, biting down the pain.
"Sleep," Emily whispered. "I'll protect you."
Gillian believed her.
.::.
It was early afternoon before Cal returned with Torres and Loker. "Here, take this and get us some lunch. Go to that deli across the street."
Loker took the twenty. "What do you want?"
"Something big and unhealthy?" Torres muttered.
"Ten points for the girl in the leather coat. Now, out with ya," Cal pushed them out the automatic doors and walked to the elevator. He boarded behind a group of Attendings, apparently coming from a meeting.
"I can't believe this happened only forty miles away," said a tall African American doctor. "So far the F.B.I have found the remains of at least twenty-six women around Le Fort's property."
"No kidding," said a younger doctor, a woman. "Our house is out that way. And to think, he's been doing it for at least five years!"
"One of the news reports said he was questioned in a serial killer investigation in Belgium. Who the hell are we letting into our country?"
Another doctor, a surgeon based on the ever-present O.R. cap, "Who knows? All that matters is that someone figured it out and made sure he couldn't do it again."
"Do you think it was Doctor Foster?"
"It sure wasn't the mute girl. She's practically catatonic."
"I for one think it was Doctor Foster," said the tall African American. "I met her once at a conference. She's pretty brilliant. No doubt in my mind that she was on to him."
"Regardless, she's got a long road of rehab ahead of her," said the woman doctor. "You don't go through what she did without a little wear and tear."
The elevator dinged on his floor. Cal debated staying to eavesdrop, but he wanted to see Foster more. He entered the room to find both his daughter and Foster soundly asleep. He wanted to sit close to her, to hold her hand, to feel her pulse beneath his fingers. No. Not yet. Instead he watched over them, musing over the elevator conversation.
Torres and Loker came in carrying the food, causing Emily to stir. Cal glanced at Gillian. She too was awake, but was starting to look a little pale.
"You feel alright, Foster?"
Gillian scowled at him. Cal realized that perhaps eating in front of her wasn't the best idea. "Fine. How 'bout we take this show downstairs?"
Before anyone could respond, they were graced by a presence in the doorway. There stood doppleganger!Foster. She looked much more polished this time around, charcoal suit, make-up, hair pulled back in a clip.
"Hey you," Lindsay murmured, tears in her eyes.
"Hey Linds," Foster whispered with a soft smile.
"You look awful."
Foster rolled her eyes and shrugged. "All in a day's work."
Lindsay shook her head and peaked out into the hall then took a few more steps inside. "Sorry it took so long. I came as soon as I got out of court. Fortunately the warm front took care of the snow."
Cal spoke up, "You didn't miss much. Just a lot of drooling and snoring."
Foster smacked him on the arm as Lindsay fixed him with a lethal glare. No, Foster didn't have that expression in her arsenal. Lindsay took a few more steps inside, tugging her purse a little closer in discomfort.
Loker stood and held out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you face-to-face. I find you much more intimidating in person."
Gillian rolled her eyes while Lindsay grinned at him, shaking his hand. "You're just as Gillian described you."
"Which is?"
"Something tells me you don't want to know," said Torres. She slid around him and shook Lindsay's hand as well. "Thanks for clearing your schedule, it must've been hard."
"Completely worth it," Lindsay said as she pointedly passed Cal and dropped her bag on the ground. "You must be Emily. You certainly take after your mom, absolutely beautiful."
Emily smiled bashfully then shook Lindsay's hand. "Where's Bobby junior?"
"He's in Boston with my friend Helen." Lindsay finally reached Gillian and gave her a hug. She whispered something in her ear, but Cal couldn't figure out what it was. It provoked a surprised response from Gillian, who pulled away with her deer caught in headlights expression.
Cal looked at Torres whose gaze was fixed on the door.
On Henri Toussaint, to be exact. Exhausted, disheveled, overwhelmingly relieved Henri Toussaint. For one long moment, everything was silent as Foster and Toussaint looked at each other for the first time in nearly fifteen years. Cal absently wondered if this was what it was like for others when he and Gillian were in the zone and no one else existed.
Proper etiquette would dictate that everyone clear out. Unfortunately, no one in that room except for Gillian observed anything near proper.
"Hey, Miss Gillian."
Foster looked down at her blanket and picked at a loose thread. Her shyness was borderline adorable. She looked up at Toussaint, gave him the flicker of an unfamiliar smile and responded softly, "Hi."
Lindsay cleared her throat and looked around. Oddly enough, Loker spoke up, "Maybe we should head down to the cafeteria. I think my sandwich is getting cold."
Cal frowned, but could tell Foster didn't want any of them around at the moment. At all, actually.
"Right," Cal glanced at his daughter. "C'mon Em, time to eat."
Emily and Foster exchanged a meaningful look. Walking around the bed, Emily grabbed Cal's hand and led him out of Foster's room.
When they returned a while later, it was to find Foster signing release papers. Apparently she was free to go home. Unsurprisingly, Lindsey was taking her back.
"How long are you staying for?" Cal asked Lindsay in the waiting room while Gillian got her final clearance from the staff psychiatrist.
"Just until tomorrow," she replied stiffly. "Henri is coming back with us, so I think we'll manage just fine."
"Of course he is," Cal said as he shoved his fists in his pockets. That was… perfect. Absolutely marvelous.
Lindsay glared at him reproachfully. "Listen, I know that you feel guilty about all this, but really? Get over yourself. Gillian knew what she was doing. She's alive and she'll be just fine. The best thing you can do is suck it up and provide her with the support she will no doubt need. Just… be there and listen."
Before he could reply, Gillian was being wheeled down the hall by the nurse's aid. Time to go.
"Can we have a minute?" he requested once they got off the elevator.
Lindsay looked to Gillian who nodded. "Fine, I'll meet you out front, Henri is getting the car."
Cal waited until Lindsay was gone before turning to Foster and kneeling on the ground. She wouldn't meet his eyes. She barely looked at him at all. "Is this how it's going to be?"
Gillian's shoulder inched upwards as she clasped her hands in her lap. "I just want to go home and feel safe. They can bring me that."
"You sure?"
Finally, her eyes inched upward and met his. He was crushed by the loss in them. It wasn't that she didn't even trust him anymore.
She'd lost faith in him completely.
"I guess I deserve that." Cal stood and wheeled her out. He watched scornfully as Henri bent and lifted her out of the wheelchair like she was a sack of feathers. Safely loaded in the car, Cal frowned at Lindsay waving meagerly while Henri gave a respectful nod before climbing inside.
Cal stood outside until he was completely numb.
.::.
When they arrived at Gillian's home late that evening, it was to find a gentleman replacing the panes of glass in her front door.
"Courtesy of Doctor Lightman," said the repairman as he grabbed his toolbox and left. Lindsay sighed in exasperation beside Gillian.
Gillian led the way inside on her crutches. The front half of her left foot had been spared in the fire, enabling her a way to hobble around. Were she not exhausted; she'd have cared about the appearance of everything in her home. Right now, she just wanted to get comfortable.
"C'mon. Let's get you a bath because no offense, but you stink."
Gillian shot Lindsay a disparaging glance. She turned to Henri and offered a weak smile. "You can stay in the guest room, you must be tired."
"Worry about yourself," he replied. "I'll be fine."
When they emerged from Gillian's bedroom nearly an hour later, Gillian had bathed and changed into her most comfortable pair of pajamas, complete with snowflakes and fluffy slippers.
"Much better," Henri observed as he brought in two mugs of tea for Lindsay and Gillian. "The soup will be ready in a few minutes if you can stay awake that long."
Disregarding how he managed to make a meal in her kitchen, Gillian rolled her eyes at Henri. "I'm fine," Gillian grumbled. "I'm not taking anything else until I go to sleep."
She caught the worried exchange between Lindsay and Henri and fought the urge to kick them out. Sure, the pain was nearly overwhelming, but she was finally aware of everything around her. Including the awkwardness of this entire situation. There was… so much to consider.
When Gillian broke up with Henri, she gave him a year to get his act together. It took over three. When he finally turned up, Gillian was a month away from marrying Alec and nearing the completion of her doctorate. Unfortunately Henri had the misfortune of crossing paths with Gillian's overprotective, yet well-meaning cousin first and was sent packing. Gillian didn't even find out that Henri came by until Lindsay let it slip a week before her wedding.
It was not a pretty argument.
"Have you two…?" Gillian started, unsure as to how she should proceed.
"Yes," Lindsay replied as she looked across to Henri. "I apologized… For everything."
"I'm not quite sure an apology was necessary," Henri offered. "As you rightfully pointed out, I did miss my chance. Showing up when I did was in poor form."
"You didn't know she was getting married in a month," Lindsay replied. Gillian caught the quick pinch in his eyebrow, the flash of tension in his shoulders. Sure he didn't.
"I knew that something was going on though, Colette said as much." Henri stood and retreated to the kitchen. Gillian remained quiet in her comfortable position on the couch, feeling no need to intervene in this conversation. At least it would be cathartic for those two. She had years to reconcile with Lindsay.
"Regardless," Lindsay said as they tucked in. "It's all in the past. All that matters now is getting you better." Gillian glanced over at her cousin, saw the warmth and certainty in her eyes, and felt genuine reassurance.
.::.
It was nearly two in the morning and Gillian couldn't fall asleep, despite the comfort of Lindsay's presence beside her. Henri had passed out shortly after dinner and Lindsay spent the evening getting everything in order for the week ahead. Setting up meetings and speaking with the authorities was a necessary evil with which Lindsay had experience.
"I can't sleep," Lindsay turned on her side and propped her head up with her fist. "What does your throat feel like?"
"Like I swallowed a cat with all its nails pointing out," Gillian absently ran her hand over the bandage around her throat. "I'm trying to block out my feet all together."
"I can't even fathom the pain."
They lay in silence for a few moments trying to not think about the pain. "Any advice on how to handle all this?"
Lindsay's eyebrows furrowed in thought as she stared in the space between them. It wasn't often that Gillian asked for advice. She always seemed to have an answer for everything.
"Don't let anyone tell you what you ought to feel or how you should act and don't make excuses either. Just because you prepared yourself for the chance of this happening, doesn't mean that you've been affected any less. Just…" Lindsay stopped a moment and shook her head. "Just don't shut everyone out. Pretending like nothing is wrong doesn't make it go away."
Gillian was surprised by this outburst. Something told her Lindsay wanted to impart this hard and unfortunate earned knowledge from the start. She frowned at the silence encasing the room, mocking them both. Two women, so alike, yet so different. Lindsay was only person in the entire world to whom she could entrust every emotion without manipulation or ridicule.
"I'm terrified," Gillian blurted, breaking the somber spell. She felt Lindsay reach over and grab her hand, the same way she used to when they were kids — afraid of the terrors of the night.
Minutes later: "Are you okay with Henri staying here?"
Gillian shrugged. "I'm not the best patient. He'll be begging to go by the end of the week."
"Somehow I doubt that," Lindsay replied. "Is it weird, seeing him again?"
Gillian considered her words for a second, "It's easier to let your guard down when there's an ocean separating you."
"True… Did you finally tell him? About the baby?"
Gillian bit her lip and nodded. "I don't think he took it well."
Lindsay wisely kept her mouth shut. Silence lapsed for so long that Gillian wondered if Lindsay fell asleep.
"Hey Linds?"
"Hmmm?"
"Is Bobby the one who sucks your elbows?"
Gillian felt a pinch at her side and a huff from Lindsay. "Bite me."
.::.
Lindsay left on Wednesday after securing a stack of books, magazines, and a hearty supply of teeth-rotting sweets. By the end of the week Gillian was able to walk relatively well, but still used the crutches for ease of use. Other than that, things were pretty quiet. Henri was around, but not. It was all very peculiar. He'd tidy up, read books, watch movies, and make them dinner. He kept a caring, watchful eye on her at all times, but that was it. The emotional distance he created would give Cal a run for his money.
Sitting in her living room, Gillian looked out over the assortment of flowers, cards, and balloons. Of the many guests that had come to visit, one person had been distinctly absent —the most important of them all. She wasn't sure what to think of his absence, but she knew what she felt, and it was extreme hurt and frustration.
"Gill?" called Henri. "You have a visitor — Torres." Henri led Torres into her living room. "I'm going to pick up stuff for dinner. Do you want to join us?"
Eyebrows darting upwards, Torres fumbled a moment. "Uh, no? No. Thank you. I… have plans."
Henri, befuddled, glanced at Gillian who waved him off. "She's busy with Loker. I imagine he feeds her well. Please don't forget the peppers."
Henri smirked as he grabbed her keys. "As you wish."
Torres arched her eyebrow at Gillian as Henri took his leave. "So, how are things going?"
"I'm going to assume you intended that in the professional sense. I finished payroll and took a look at those files as you requested. Why didn't you bring it up with Lightman?"
"He won't leave his office."
"Of course he would resort to this," Gillian rolled her eyes. "That explains a lot."
Not wanting to get stuck in the middle, Torres bit her lip indecisively and changed subjects. "Has John Bradford stopped by?"
"Yes, he still wants to move forward with the project. The official announcement will be on Monday."
Torres's eyebrows drew together, perplexed. "But… without you?"
"Actually," Gillian sat up a little and cocked her head to the side, surveying Torres. "I suggested that you attend the meeting with him."
Torres was already shaking her head before Gillian could finish. "No. This meeting is in front of the heads of Homeland Security, Department of Defense, and the Chiefs of Staff. There is no way I'm going to be able to stand up there and discuss your life's work. No way."
"Ria, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you could handle it," Gillian stated. "I have the utmost confidence in you."
The irony of their situation was not lost on Torres. Gillian's words had the intended effect, causing Torres to clench her jaw and look away in shame.
"Gillian —"
"Don't worry about it," Gillian replied, reading the sincerity of Torres's apology across her face. "I should have made a stronger case to get everyone to help me."
"You shouldn't have had to ask at all."
Gillian reached out and squeezed her hand. "What do you say? A meeting at the Pentagon on Monday?"
Torres smiled weakly. "I appreciate your faith in me, but… I respectfully decline. Let's see if we can postpone it for another week. I think you have a credible excuse."
"Yeah, we'll see," Gillian shrugged. They talked a bit longer, Torres dutifully supplying Gillian an update of all the goings-on in the office. Standing to leave, she turned once more to face Gillian, finally letting the alarm and fear show.
"What do I do about Lightman?"
"Nothing," Gillian replied as she pulled open the front door. "He dug his own hole. Let him get out on his own."
.::.
Monday night and it was late.
Cal wasn't sure of the time exactly, but he hadn't heard any rumblings outside his office in several hours. Slowly rising from his spot on the floor, he gathered his energy to shuffle into the staff lounge. Pilfering someone's lunch, he returned to his office, the dim lights casting a melancholy glow.
Sitting at his desk was the proverbial thorn in his side, Henri Toussaint.
"What the hell are you doin' here?"
Leaning back in the chair and swiveling slowly, he leveled Cal with an assured look. No fear, no bravado, no doubt — just wholehearted determination.
"We need to talk."
.::.::.::.
A/N: 1. Next chapter will deal with the psychological fallout. 2. If this chapter seems awful and disjointed, I apologize. I can hardly write anymore. 3. Thanks for reading. Any concrit is greatly appreciated.