L) Last Night Together
A/N: Big thanks to solveariddle who let me steal one of her beautiful tumblr pics to use as my new cover photo for this story. I didn't love the pic I had before but I love this one. :)
Also, sorry about the crazy long chapter length. But I really wanted to wrap up this story arc rather than drag it out for one more chapter. Huge thanks to those still reading (has it really been FIFTY chapters? I had to look up the Roman numeral for fifty. LOL) and taking the time to let me know what you think!
FBI Field Office, New York, New York
Gillian Foster had spent the last two hours sitting in the interrogation room with Franco, Lightman, the two special agents, Schmidt and Messino, as well as their boss, a no-nonsense African-American woman who'd worn the same unreadable expression the entire time they were in the room.
It was when the woman's face began to swim in her vision, that Gillian excused herself and went to get a drink of water from one of the fountains in the long, drab corridor outside. She'd come a long way from yesterday morning when she barely had the energy to stand up, but truth was, she still didn't feel great.
Agents wearing FBI badges walked by her as she leaned against the wall, stealing quick curious glances at her "visitor" badge. Gillian closed her eyes for a second, wondering what the point of this whole interrogation was.
It's a stall tactic, she answered her own question. Because we have no idea what the hell we're going to do.
Half of Lightman's questions for Franco were irrelevant and redundant. Part of her didn't even want to bother going back into the room. It was hard to focus on the interrogation when she had to channel every ounce of energy she had into pretending she didn't want to murder Special Agent Joey Schmidt with her bare hands.
"You alright, Dr. Foster?"
Gillian almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Special Agent Nate Messino suddenly standing next to her in the corridor.
"Yeah...fine."
"You were looking a little grey in there. Was kinda worried. So I followed you out."
Gillian eyed him, searching his face and voice for traces of deception. She didn't trust him either, not after what they now knew about his partner. But all she saw was genuine concern.
"I'm fine, thanks. Just needed to get a drink of water."
"Lightman told us..."
She raised her brows.
"About your heart condition."
"Really? He did?"
"It's not something you should feel like you have to hide," Nate told her with well practised sincerity. "My twenty-year old niece was born with a heart defect. Hasn't slowed her down one bit. She's amazing."
"I, uh...I bet she is." Heart condition, Cal? Really?
"You know, I feel bad you didn't get to enjoy last night's dinner. Any chance I can make up for it tonight? Take you somewhere nice...maybe something healthy, vegetarian?"
Gillian didn't know what to say. She could've sworn she saw him winking at her. "Look, I'm... flattered. But I'm also...married." For a second she glanced down at her hand to make sure her wedding band was still there. Double-checking that Cal hadn't removed it along with her dress two nights ago.
Special Agent Nate Messino pursed his lips, and she could see that he was stung by the rejection. Clearly, it didn't happen often. "Right. Of course. I'm sorry...didn't mean any offense."
Gillian nodded. "No offense taken. Really."
He gestured down the corridor. "Shall we head back inside?"
"Give me a minute." She wasn't quite ready to be back in that stifling room, where she had to look Franco in the eye while deciding what they would do to keep him alive.
Later
She was alone in the elevator with Cal, both of them ready to leave the building.
Lightman had somehow convinced the FBI that they needed to go over videotape of the interrogation one more time before he could give them a definitive analysis. Gillian was mildly surprised that they'd agreed, without accusing them of being the most incompetent deception experts they'd ever worked with. They probably hadn't worked with a lot of others.
"You know, next time you tell people I have a chronic illness maybe you could fill me in on it."
He looked at her, "Huh?"
"Heart condition?"
"Right. Sorry." He smirked a little. "S'alright though. You played the part pretty well. Couple of times I thought you were close to passing out in there today."
The elevator ride took forever and Gillian started biting one of her nails. An old nervous habit she rarely ever fell back into. "It's great that you're able to find something funny in all this."
"Isn't it?"
They walked out of the building into a city that was basking in the warmth and blue skies of summer.
"You keep any food down today?" Cal asked her.
"What does that matter right now?"
He put on his sunglasses. "Judging from how irritable you are, I take it that's a no."
"Cal?" Gillian looked at him incredulously, squinting in the brightness of the afternoon sun because she couldn't be bothered to dig for her sunglasses in her purse. It was hard keeping up with his pace. "Can we be serious for two seconds? What the hell are we going to tell the FBI?"
"I have a plan."
"You have a plan?" Gillian stopped following him and put her hands on her hips, in the middle of the sidewalk. "Were you going to tell me what it is?"
He turned around and stopped as well. "No."
"No?"
"No," he repeated. "Because you're not gonna approve."
Great.
He suddenly stuck his arm out into the rush hour traffic, hailing a taxi.
"Cal...what are you doing?"
A yellow cab pulled up alongside the curb and Cal got into it. Gillian was about to follow suit, until he pressed a flat palm against her midsection and gave her a little push. "You're not coming with me."
"What? Why not?"
"You can't help me with this," he explained matter-of-factly. "Go back to the hotel. I'll meet you there in a couple of hours."
"Cal...come on," she pleaded. "What are you doing?"
"I'll let you know. But not now. Go back to the hotel, luv. I'll see you there."
"Will you at least tell me where you're going?"
He answered by slamming the taxi door shut.
That's a no then.
Gillian watched as the car turned left at the first intersection, shaking her head in disbelief, angry and worried all at once.
You are unbelievable. And I swear to god, I hope you know what you're doing.
Long Island, NY
Cal Lightman had been sitting in his parked rental car for nearly an hour when he finally spotted the vehicle he was looking for.
As soon as he got the address, he took a cab to a car rental company, rented a car and drove out here.
He figured that would give him a little time to think about a strategy that went beyond pouncing on Joey Schmidt the first chance he got.
He chewed on his lips when he saw Schmidt's wife and their two young kids coming home and entering the house before him.
This is not good. I don't want an audience.
Cal got out of the car and started walking around the block to check out the neighbourhood. It was full of identical cookie-cutter homes, white picket fences and manicured lawns. The kind of soul-gutting, homogenized suburbia that would do anyone's head in after a while.
No wonder you became a mole for the mafia. It was either that or internet porn, wasn't it?
One house, two doors down had an over-stuffed mailbox and a pile of flyers on the doorstep. Its occupants had been away at least a few days and it was next to a fenced walk-way that Cal hadn't seen used by a single pedestrian in the last hour.
Looks like that's where we'll have our meeting.
Cal paced a little longer than he needed to. Normally this sort of thing didn't make him nervous. But tonight was different. Too much was riding on this.
Finally he saw Joey Schmidt's car pull up into his driveway.
Schmidt spotted him right away and the Special Agent was understandably perturbed by his presence.
"Dr. Lightman," he addressed him as soon as he got out of the car. "What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?"
"My company has a contract with the FBI. Means I have access to some of the same sources that you do."
"I don't understand..." The unease was written all over the tall man's face. He towered over Cal when they walked alongside each other. "What can I do for you, Dr. Lightman?"
"I've got a problem," he explained, making a point to look distressed. Frazzled. "A big problem and I need your help."
"What kind of problem?" he asked. Without realizing it, Cal was leading them away from Schmidt's house. Towards the one with the absent vacationers.
Cal took a few, short nervous steps. Trying to make Schmidt believe he was seeing him because of the threats he got from the mob.
It was getting dark and the narrow pedestrian walk-way beside the empty house was poorly lit. No wonder no one was using it. People didn't walk in the suburbs anyway.
"I don't want anyone to hear us," he explained as he led them both into the deserted path.
"Dr. Lightman, what is this about?"
Damn...you're such a lousy actor.
Before he could ask another question, Cal swung his fist at him, so hard and fast that the guy barely had a chance to react before his head was whacked backwards into the fence. And as soon as he did react, Cal landed a second punch right on his nose and that one was hard enough to nearly knock him off his feet.
It was the one thing Cal had going for him. The element of surprise.
He almost got in a third punch but this time Special Agent Schmidt reacted and got in one of his own, right into the solar plexus, throwing Cal against the brick wall behind him.
But as soon as he rebounded, Cal did land that third punch, a side-jab right into his temple. It shut the tall man's eyes and sent him down to his knees.
Even so he, fought back and this time Cal took an upper-cut to the jaw that left his ears ringing and filled his mouth with the metallic taste of blood.
The FBI agent was taller, stronger and better trained and had it not been for the first two punches, Cal would have lost this one in seconds. But because of them he kept at it, striking relentlessly every chance he got until finally he had him pinned to the ground, lying on the concrete sidewalk, in obvious pain.
All the fist fights he'd gotten into as a teen were serving him well right now.
There was blood dripping from Cal's face too, right onto the agent's black suit, little drops of it, staying the white collar of his shirt. But he was oblivious to it, the adrenaline running much too high to feel anything but sheer satisfaction.
"That," he explained. "Was for what you did to my partner, you dirty, filthy piece of..."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, you psycho!"
"Don't..." Cal hissed. "Even try."
Schmidt's bloodied face hesitated for a second before he decided not to bother. At least he wasn't that stupid to think he could try to deceive him.
"What do you want from me?"
"You..." Cal couldn't catch his breath. "Are going to help me keep Franco and Foster alive."
Marriott East Side, New York City
Gillian Foster sat on the couch in her room and picked up her cell phone again, turning it on to leave a third message.
"Cal...you said two hours, it's been almost four. What the hell are you..."
She hadn't finished her sentence yet when she heard a knock on the door.
Gillian tossed the phone onto the couch and jumped to open the door. As soon as she saw it was Cal she undid the security latch and moved a hand to her mouth in shock.
"Oh my god..."
His face was a mess. Bloodied and bruised, with one eye closed shut, nestling inside what would soon be a massive bruise. One of Cal's arms was draped around his ribs and the other one held a plastic bag from a nearby pharmacy.
"What happened to you?" Her words came out in a whisper as she held on to one of his arms and led him to her couch.
"Went to see Special Agent Joey Schmidt."
"And you decided to beat each other up? That was your big plan?" Gillian looked at him with stunned disbelief. "You're right...I wouldn't have approved."
He winced when he sat down, pain etched all over his face when she helped him out of his suit jacket. One of the sleeves on his shirt had a tear that ran from the wrist to his elbow.
"Little more to it than that." Cal handed her the plastic bag he'd been holding. "Bought a first aid kit on the way back. Thought maybe you could help..."
Gillian didn't let him finish, she was already taking it out of the bag, ripping off the plastic seal on it. It was hard to look at his face and hard to turn away. Blood was filling the creases on his face, criss-crossing it in a macabre pattern of red, jagged lines.
"Don't move," she told him, getting up to wet a facecloth with warm water in the bathroom. Soaking it in the empty ice bucket that was next to the TV before taking it back out to where Cal was sitting.
She didn't say anything while starting to fix up the mess that was his face with careful, gentle precision.
"It's not what you think..." he started but Gillian put an index finger on his lips.
"After," she said quietly. "Can't do this if you're talking and fidgeting."
He did as she asked and aside from the occasional wince when she dabbed a little too hard, Cal didn't say much either. At one point his eyes met hers and they lingered there for a few seconds longer than either of them intended before Gillian turned her attention back to the cuts and bruises that covered him. Gratitude was what she saw in them. That and something else she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge.
The ice bucket she'd filled with warm water soon turned a crimson colour, so Gillian got up, emptied it, grabbed a clean facecloth and started the whole process again, squeezing out more ointment from the now half-empty tube.
There was one last cut on his face that she'd missed, that was still bleeding. She took her time fixing it, gently pressing a large band-aid against his skin when she was done, careful to avoid the cut itself before she examined the features of his familiar face. She was relieved to see that he was starting to look human again. Aside from the ghastly swelling around his left eye. That one would take more than her care. It would take time. A couple weeks, probably, she guessed.
There was a bottle of ibuprofen tablets in the first aid it too. Gillian opened it and poured two into the palm of his hands as she handed him a glass of water.
He swallowed them wordlessly and when he did, she noticed that he still had one arm draped around his ribs.
Her fingers started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Hey, hey...hands off," he protested, grabbing her hand. "Nice try, Foster."
Gillian rolled her eyes. "You're hurt. Let me see."
"Last time I checked you're not a medical doctor."
"Cal?"
He raised his arms. "I'm fine, Gill. "
"No, you're not," she shot back. She was even angrier when she did manage to undo his shirt and saw the darkening bruise on his ribs. "This is crazy...me patching you up with a cheap first aid kit! You could be bleeding internally. I'm taking you to a hospital."
"No, you're not."
Gillian's fingers trailed along his bruised ribs, along the warmth of his skin, suddenly grateful that she could feel the beating of his heart underneath them. Resting them there until she felt his fingers wrap themselves around her wrist, gently taking her hand and cupping it inside both of his. As if he knew that she needed to feel his skin against hers.
Her heart was pounding and what her body was craving now gave her goose bumps. She forced herself to turn away from him, not wanting to risk him seeing all the things she felt.
"Your hands are a little shaky, doc," he whispered.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded once she dared to meet his eyes again. "If anything happened to you..." Gillian didn't finish the sentence, not willing to go there. Or even think of it.
"Got into a fight, luv. That's all. Wasn't the first time and it won't be the last."
Gillian nodded, not trusting her voice right now. Or appreciating his honesty.
"Hey...I'm gonna live. And in a few days I'm sure I'll do something that'll make you regret that."
Never.
"You know..." Gillian smiled a lop-sided smile. "When you pull stunts like this. It's really not good for my heart condition."
Cal looked at her, puzzled just for an instant, before he started to laugh. "Don't...don't do that. Don't make me laugh."
"Serves you right," she mumbled.
One of his hands was still holding hers. Apparently he didn't want to let go anymore than she did.
"Are you... going to tell me what the point of this fist fight was?"
"It occurred to me this morning," Cal told her. "That once I found out that Joey was the mole, that was our leverage right there. That we didn't even need to tell the FBI what we knew. All we have to do is tell him that we know."
"I'm not following you."
"You think Special Agent Joey can risk being found out? The second the mob thinks he's no longer useful they'll kill him. And if the FBI finds out he'll spend the rest of his life scrubbing toilets in prison. If some offended cell mate doesn't kill him first."
"So...you're going to turn the tables and blackmail him into making sure Franco stays alive?"
"Basically."
"Basically?"
"Brilliant, isn't it?"
Gillian narrowed her brows. Brilliant wasn't the word she was thinking of. "But how...can you make sure he keeps his part of the bargain? Does he even have the resources to keep Franco alive?"
"You don't think with all my connections I can keep tabs on one guy staying alive? And you don't think with his own life is on the line, he'll find a way? If anyone can keep the mob's hands of Franco, it's the mole who's working for them."
"I'm more concerned about you staying alive!" Gillian told him. "What makes you think Schmidt won't just decide to kill you to solve the problem?"
"Because if he kills me the Lightman Group sends the FBI a tape where Schmidt confesses he works for the mob."
"What? You actually got him to confess that...on tape?"
"Yeah..." Cal pointed to his smart phone. "After I cracked two of his ribs. One copy's already in your inbox, another one's with our company lawyer."
Gillian winced. "You broke two of his ribs?"
"That part was particularly satisfying."
No wonder your face looks like something out of horror film.
"I'm starting to think this FBI contract was the worst idea we ever had."
"It did get off to a lousy start," Cal agreed.
Gillian contemplated what it all meant.
"So we tell the FBI that Franco's lying. Which means his testimony is worthless and we help a bunch of criminals get away with murder. All while we turn a blind eye to Schmidt sabotaging them from inside..." Gillian shook her head. "It's madness, Cal."
"We said we're gonna find a way to keep you and Franco alive. I found a way."
Gillian turned to him, wishing he'd have found another way. Wishing that he'd feel as guilty about it all as she did. But there was neither guilt nor regret on his messed-up face. Determination was the only thing she saw.
"You got a better plan, you lemme know, otherwise we're sticking with this one."
"Let's come clean about everything...what they did to me, about Schmidt..."
"No," he cut her off. "Not an option."
"Cal..."
"No," he was adamant. "There's some risks I'm not willing to take."
His one good eye kept looking at her and it was only then that Gillian noticed his hand was still linked with hers. It shouldn't have felt as good and as perfectly natural for him to hold on to it as long as he did.
"I won't," he repeated. Making it clear that she wouldn't win this one.
Gillian nodded. "Okay."
"Know what you're thinking," he told her. "I can see it."
Of course he could.
"You hate what we're doing. Don't like it either. We lost a battle here, a big one," he admitted. "But we're gonna lose it so we can keep fighting the war. So I can keep fighting it with you."
Exhaling, she slowly slid her hand out of his. Feeling guilty for not wanting to let go, on top of all the other guilt she felt at the moment.
"I'll put together a report for the FBI," she said softly. "Find a way to make our science fit the lies we're going to tell them."
It was the least she could do after everything he'd done for her.
Later
It was late. Almost midnight. He should have been sleeping by now but no matter how many pillows he'd put on his bed to cushion his body, Cal still couldn't get comfortable.
So he gave up trying and turned on the TV, hoping he'd find something so mind-numbingly boring it might lull him into some sort of stupor.
They'd should've flown back to DC tonight but by the time Foster put the report together for the FBI it was late and they were about to miss their flight. And truthfully, neither of them were in any shape or the mood be sitting at LaGuardia hoping for a stand-by seat.
Dinner had been a hot dog from a vendor. He ate it in silence on bench in Central Park, next to a sombre Gillian.
"What a god-awful case," Cal mumbled to himself. Instead of helping the FBI, they'd helped sabotage their case against the mob, Foster could've gotten killed and his face was such a mess he'd be unable to work with clients for at least a week.
Cal reached for his second bottle from the mini-bar. A miniature version of the same scotch he had in his office. He figured that would help dull his pain better than the tablets in his cheap first aid kit.
Suddenly he heard a pounding on his hotel door and it made his heart race.
"Go away," he yelled. "Didn't order it and don't want it."
"It's me!"
Cal recognized Foster's voice from the other side.
He winced when he got up. "Foster, it's bloody midnight..." he mumbled as he slowly made his way to the door. He looked through the peephole half-afraid that someone was holding a knife to her neck. That's how paranoid this case was making him.
"Hi," was all she said when he swung it open and saw her standing in the hallway wearing a white hotel bathrobe with matching slippers.
"Everything alright?" he asked her because he couldn't tell by looking at her.
"Yeah...everything's alright."
"Come on in," he gestured for her to come inside. Obviously everything wasn't alright if she was knocking on his hotel room door at midnight.
"I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "And I was worried that maybe...are you okay?"
"I feel like shit but I haven't died of internal bleeding yet, if that's what you're worried about."
Gillian frowned. "That's not funny."
He chuckled. "Ah come on...just a little. Admit it."
"No. Not even a little."
He focused on her face, making a second attempt to read her.
"You could just ask, you know," she chided him.
Cal smirked. Funny how she could that. Turn his irritation into amusement from one minute to the next. "I did. But then you answered with a lie."
He saw a bit of amusement in her eyes and that made him happy too. That he still had that effect on her. Even after all these years of working together.
"I'm okay," she told him. "Just... didn't want to be alone tonight. I keep thinking about what we did."
Of course she would. It's why he loved her. Because she had a heart and a conscience and she wore both of them on her sleeve.
"And after what happened..." Foster paused, embarrassed. "I'm scared to fall asleep...I know, I know it sounds ridiculous. But it terrifies me. The thought of falling asleep and not waking up."
Cal chewed the inside of his cheek wondering if he'd really hurt Schmidt enough for what he'd done to Foster. Thinking now that two cracked ribs, a broken nose and a busted lip probably wasn't payback enough.
"It'll pass, I know."
Cal put an arm around her shoulders. She was such a perfect height for him. "You don't have to explain." He gestured to his king sized bed. "Stay here. There's enough space for four people in that thing."
He gingerly made his way back into the bed. Tossing back the covers and taking one of the pillows from his mound and throwing it to Foster.
"If you want more you'll have to bring them from your room. I'm injured."
Foster gave him one of those beautiful smiles that lit up her entire face and that he hadn't seen much of lately. "One's good."
She settled into the bed, inching much closer to his side of it than Cal thought she would.
"You sure you don't mind?"
No. Never.
"This...it's not...awkward, is it? Come to think of it...it is, isn't it?"
You sleeping in my bed? Have a feeling your husband might think so.
Foster's expression made him wonder whether she'd suddenly come to the same realization. "What in the world was I thinking?"
"Gill?"
"What?"
"Stop it."
"I shouldn't be here..."
"After everything that's happened in the last two days, this...you, coming here 'cause you need some company, is...perfectly bloody normal. Could use some company myself."
"You sure?"
Hell yes.
"Did you talk to Alec?" he asked her, trying in vain to get comfortable again. The TV was still on too, but he'd turned down the volume. If he thought that Foster wanted to talk he'd have turned it off, but he knew her better than that. Even though there were moments when she needed him and needed to be close to him, like now, there was still so much she wouldn't confide in him. Especially when it concerned her husband.
"Yeah, he called."
"You tell him what happened?"
"No."
Her fingers fiddled with the belt on her bathrobe, while her eyes stared at the wall.
"You want to tell him?" Cal asked.
If you were my wife I'd wanna know.
"If I tell him what happened to me, I'd have to tell him the rest too," Gillian explained. "I can't really do that, can I?"
You could if you felt like you could trust him to keep his mouth shut.
Except I don't. And apparently neither do you.
Truthfully, Cal was glad she hadn't told Alec. He didn't trust the guy not to do something stupid with the information.
"Probably for the best," he agreed. He held up one of the mini-bar bottles and offered her one but Gillian declined with a shake of her head. "Fine then. More for me."
She yawned and stole another pillow from his mound.
"Hey!"
"I can't see the TV when I'm lying down with one."
"You said one was enough."
Her lips curled into another smile. "I lied and you didn't even see it. Then again, you can barely see out of one of your eyes. Won't hold it against you this time."
Funny.
She yawned again. "What are we watching?"
"You're not getting the remote."
She giggled. "I don't want it. Knock yourself out."
That was the truth. Foster was so tired she wouldn't last long.
And she didn't. Didn't even make it through the first set of commercials of the cop show they were watching.
She turned sideways in her sleep, towards him, inching well into his half of the huge bed. The bath robe she still wore slid off one of her shoulders, exposing the beige silk top she wore underneath.
It didn't exactly compare to the red lace underwear he'd seen her in two nights ago that he still couldn't get out of his mind. Like this morning, in the interrogation room at the FBI, when at one point he lost interest in Franco and wondered if she was wearing something similar underneath her navy suit. Still, what she wore now was enticing enough that he suddenly found himself watching her instead of the TV.
He observed the subtle rise and fall of her chest, and the way it slowly inched the spaghetti strap off her bare shoulder. The way the curls draped around her slender neck, making him want to brush them aside for a better view.
His breathing quickened in response to what he saw and he had to fight back his desires.
The urge to move closer and touch her was so strong it almost overwhelmed him.
I want to touch you. Kiss you. Undress you. Hold you. Make love you to you.
All of it.
I want you.
Cal swallowed, stunned by all the things he was feeling. Things he didn't have a right to feel.
He turned off the TV and the lights. It plunged him into darkness so that all he could hear was the harsh, rapid intake of his own breath.
He'd loved Foster for some time now. Just as she loved him.
But this... this was different.
I'm falling in love with you. And it needs to stop.
Cal had a gut feeling that Foster's marriage wouldn't last much longer. If he were to take a guess he'd give it a year or so.
But I'm not gonna be the one who breaks it apart. If you and me...if it happens, and damn I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it to... then I want you to come to me 'cause you want it too. 'Cause you want me, not 'cause you're running from him.
Even though it was painful, Cal turned on his side, away from her. Away from all the things that would tempt him if he were to look the other way.
There were so many things that had brought them closer in the last couple of years. His divorce. Her losing Sophie. It was time to take a turn in the opposite direction. To find a another natural for the group. To train Loker so they could work on separate cases more often. It was time to put some distance between them again.
Because if we don't, I'm gonna do something stupid. Like grab you and kiss you and never let go.
