Because of popular demand (that makes me sound so much more popular than I am xD), a chapter two!
Rather fond of it, if you forget the ending, that is.
Enjoy! And I don't own Lie to Me, even though I'm ridiculously excited about the coming few episodes ^^ (the episode that's after this one... Darkness and Light... won't spoil, but I'm REALLY looking forward to that one!)
Nails that tightened against her stomach. Soft breathing, occasionally interrupted with a snore or a grunt, and the on-and-off sounds of early morning traffic.
The sounds were comforting, and she was about to drift back into sleep when something occurred to her.
The breathing wasn't hers. Nor were the nails.
For a few seconds, she panicked, before realizing that the breathing sounded familiar.
Cal.
And with that, memories of the last night came flooding back.
She remembered the previous night now, when Cal had suddenly sat on the edge of her bed, looking adorably sleepy but slightly wild. He'd had a panicked look in his eyes when he looked at her, and… had her mind realized what was happening, and arranged for this to happen? She remembered moving over a bit, so that he could lie down next to her; an action that seemed strange now, in the daylight, but that, she remembered, she had found completely logical the previous night.
She couldn't remember anything else, so she'd probably fallen asleep. And now she was here, and their legs were entangled, his hand was on her stomach (underneath her shirt, she noticed with a tinge of excitement), and they were basically spooning.
But strangely enough, she was comfortable. She couldn't imagine a better place to be right now, with the man she loved right beside her in her bed.
She didn't notice Cal waking up until his nails momentarily tightened against her stomach again, and he gave a whiny grunt before he was abruptly silent – probably realizing where he was.
Gillian, though amused by the way he acted like a reluctant teenager when waking up, stayed silent.
"Gillian?" Cal finally asked, his voice gruff.
She didn't dare turn around, realizing how close they would be when she did, but she wanted to see his face. So she turned her neck in his direction and saw him looking down at her, confusion and –was it fear? – clear in his eyes.
"Good morning," she replied softly, trying to shake off the awkward feeling that was trying to take possession of her – of them.
"Er…" Cal was distinctly uncomfortable and it amused Gillian to see the usually so confident Englishman in such a state. "We…" He retracted his hand from under Gillian's shirt with a tinge of embarrassment, and waved it between them, "we didn't… you know… do anything?"
"Like what, Cal?" She knew it was cruel, teasing him like that, but she couldn't resist.
He looked at her disbelievingly, but she was careful to keep her face in a state of genuine –or as genuine as she could manage– curiosity.
"You know," Cal said again. "The horizontal tango. The dance between sheets. The –"
"Okay, I get it," she told him, stifling a giggle. Then, deciding to release him from his misery, she continued. "No, we didn't."
A look of genuine relief washed over his face, but not before she saw the tiniest flash of something else, something that looked suspiciously much like disappointment.
Before she had time to analyze it, though, he continued, and he sounded much lighter.
"Alright, that's settled then."
Only then did she notice that, despite him having moved his hand, they were still in much the same position. Now that she had woken properly, she knew that she needed to get out of this bed soon, or something would happen that they might regret.
She moved out of her bed, feeling the cold hit her, and was halfway through undressing to put clothes on before it occurred to her that she shouldn't be doing that with Cal in the room.
But why, then, did it feel so natural?
Refusing to think about that particular question right now, she turned around, arms still raised in a movement to take her shirt off.
Cal was staring at her. More specifically, he was staring at her stomach, which, she noticed, was exposed till just underneath her breasts.
She quickly lowered her shirt again. God, she hated these little moments of morning-after awkwardness.
"Do you mind?" She asked, and at that moment she knew she had said that last night, too, and he had responded 'not at all'.
This time, he just shook his head, crossed his arms above his head and closed his eyes.
Despite knowing she could not really trust him to keep them closed, she picked out her clothes for the day and dressed. When she turned back around, he still had his eyes closed.
"Are you coming out of that bed anytime soon?" she asked, amusement clear in her voice.
He replied in a hoarse whisper. "Nah, it's comfy here!" He sounded so much like a teenage girl –although a rather strange and British version of it– that she could not keep her laughter in, and he opened one eye.
"All proper then, love?" he asked, and then he sat up reluctantly. The blankets fell off him and she tried not to stare at his chest.
"Come on, I'll make some breakfast."
She left the room, partially to actually start on breakfast, partially to escape the vision that was half-naked Cal.
A few moments later, as she was pouring milk with her cereal (she did not have much more in terms of breakfast food), she felt two arms around her waist.
Before she had time to react, Cal had twirled her around and she was leaning against the kitchen counter with him dangerously close to her.
"I don't believe I've said good morning yet," he told her softly, and she nodded wordlessly.
"So good morning," he continued, whispering, and she couldn't breathe; he was so close, looking at her eyes and lips and she was sure he would kiss her; her eyes drifted close in anticipation, but a moment later, his hands left her and there was only cold air where he had stood only a moment earlier.
He stood a few metres away from her and was looking at her with a confusing mixture of frustration and desire, torn between two emotions.
She definitely understood his frustration.
"I think we need to talk," he said quietly. She nodded weakly and debated for a moment whether to bring her breakfast with her; then, she picked up the bowl and followed him to the couch.
"Sorry about last night," he began once she was seated.
She looked at him in surprise; out of anything, that was not the start she expected. She opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a hand and she closed it again.
"I know I shouldn't have done it, hopping into bed with you like that."
This time, she would not be silenced.
"Cal, it's fine. You know you're always welcome in my bed…not like that, that's not what I meant," she admonished when she saw the look in his eyes. Although...
"Really, don't worry about it."
"That's not what I'm worried about," he muttered, quiet but loud enough for her to hear.
"What's going on, Cal?" she asked him. She thought she had an idea, but with him, you never really knew.
"Us," he said simply, avoiding her eyes. Then, sitting up straight, he continued, waving a hand between them. "This. This… tension, or whatever you'll call it."
She could not tell what she was more surprised at: his words or the fact that he was actually talking like this, in this serious fashion that was so absolutely unlike the usual Cal.
"I don't think I can continue like this," he continued. Her mind immediately thought of possible scenarios –he wants me to quit, he wants to quit himself, he wants to quit the company– but nothing prepared her for what came next.
"I want to be with you, love," he said, his voice gentle but inquisitive, looking at her, gauging her reaction.
She looked at him wordlessly, instinctively knowing what he meant: for months –years, if she were completely honest with herself- she had wanted to hear those words from him, and now that she did, she did not know how to respond.
For once, he appeared not to be able to read her. He continued to look at her, but his face fell, and she knew he was thinking she was saying no; how could she explain that she just didn't know?
"Cal…" Her voice seemed to startle him back into reality. His face became a smooth mask with just a tiny bit of pain behind it, and his voice, though appearing light, carried an undertone of sadness.
"It's okay, Gill," he told her. "I thought… but it doesn't matter." He made a movement to stand up, and she stopped him with a hand on his leg.
"No Cal, wait."
He sat back down, looking at her without saying anything else.
"I'm not saying no," she began. "I'm not that stupid-" a small grin formed on his face, "of course I've noticed it too, how could I not? How could we not?"
He nodded with a bit more enthusiasm.
"I'm just… worried… about things." Noticing how lame she sounded, she rushed to explain.
"You know, what will happen to the company? To our friendship? What will happen if we break up?"
Despite her questions his face lighted up and she knew it was because she said "if", not "when", and because she had talked as if they were a couple already; which, objectively, she guessed they already were.
"I know, Gillian," he told her, and she could see in his eyes that he really did know, and that he had thought about all those things himself, "but it's a risk –and believe the gambler in me when I say it is a bit of a risk– I'm willing to take."
"Yeah?" She asked, realizing how doubtful she sounded. God, by now he probably thought she hated him, or something.
"Yeah," he confirmed. "We've been here for seven years, if you haven't noticed, leading the company, maintaining a friendship despite the fights we've had –and we've had a few– and we've managed." He shuffled a bit closer to her. "Like I said, I'm willing to take the risk. Because I don't think it's that much of a risk with us." He took a deep breath. "I believe in us, Gill – and in you. I know it doesn't always seem that way, what with me going off into danger, but I do, love. I really do."
She smiled despite her doubts. That was the loveliest speech she'd ever heard him say.
She gave in to the overwhelming urge to touch him and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. He immediately put his arm around her and they sat like that for a while, not saying anything.
Finally she raised her head, and looked at him. "I think I'll take the risk with you," she told him, and a wide grin spread over his face. "You're sure?" he asked nonetheless.
In response, she leaned over and kissed him; intending it to be a short peck, she already drew back when he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer to him, sealing his mouth firmly to hers.
Even though they'd exchanged pecks before, it had never quite felt like this before; this exhilarating and this passionate, with a promise of something more that had never been there before. Her mouth opened beneath his and their tongues touched, and it felt amazing. If just kissing made her feel this way, Gillian thought, she couldn't wait for the rest.
Before it got too heated, however, she broke it off. Neither of them were ready yet to face that next step.
She leaned her head against his and grinned. The moment was perfect.
He grinned, too, and grasped her hand in his.
Standing up, they faced the world together.