A/N: We are now in the middle of a virtual Season Four that, unfortunately, never took place on screen. Timeline-wise I needed Cal and Gillian to be together for a while before this could happen. Unlike the earlier chapter, this is angst. Pure and simple. Enjoy!
One more thing: I don't know whether you noticed or not, but FFN seems to have problems with reviews currently. You can't look at the reviews there. The good news is that I got the email alerts with your reviews. So, since I couldn't just klick reply and say thanks, let me do it here: StreakyStarr, Millibear, Artemis-Athene, stevieLUVSAlex and Roadrunnerz. Thanks a lot for reviewing the last chapter! It's very appreciated. As always, I'm surprised but happy that there are still people reading LTM/Callian and that the fandom is still alive.
The usual disclaimer applies. As it always will.
4x5 Negotiation Tactics
He senses that she is there before he actually sees her. His subconsciousness registers all the little things that disclose her presence. His jacket at the wardrobe (it has a life of its own, falling on the floor six times out of ten, oh well, make that nine times, but amazingly enough it never happens to her), the rug he tends to stumble over every day so that it always is slightly ruffled unless she smoothens it, a whiff of the perfume that surrounds her and hangs in the air even after a long workday like today.
Gillian is standing in the kitchen, a glass of red wine in front of her on the countertop. She has turned on a few lights only, but the way she has positioned herself ensures that he is able to see her face. And what Cal spots, he has never seen before. At least not to this extent. The wine in the glass swirls when she picks it up with a trembling hand to take a sip.
Cal approaches her. There is no empty glass waiting to be filled so that he can join her. This is not supposed to be a friendly talk.
"Just say it, luv."
If possible, her delicate features harden even more. She thinks she shouldn't have to say it because he already knows. And he does. For a split second, guilt gains the upper hand. Cal breaks off eye contact. He fiddles around with his keys, then deposits them on the countertop before he looks up again, holding her gaze this time.
"Turn on the TV!" Torres barges into Gillian's office, already searching for the remote. She changes the channels until she finds a newscast. Police cars in front of a shop; emergency lights switched on. The usual mayhem after something terrible happened, but all Gillian sees is the man walking out of the shop with a bruise on his cheek. Then the flash catches her attention. 'Well-known lie expert defuses hostage situation.' She cringes at the term 'lie expert' while, really, this is the least of her problems.
Because she listens to the anchor in the studio describing what she assumed the moment she saw that scenario. There was a hostage situation going on. The lie-expert ('Dr. Cal Lightman', she reads, his name displayed on the screen) walked by at that very instant and went into the shop without further ado to negotiate with the captor before the police could stop him. The usual coverage continues. 'Would you do something like that in a similar situation?' He is an everyday hero. It's not even about their science. It's about a man who saved the day. The captor was armed. There could have been casualties but due to Dr. Lightman's intervention, the man surrendered and everyone came out alive.
Gillian becomes aware that Loker also is in her office. She didn't notice him come in. Both, he and Torres, are darting concerned glances at her. Cal could have been killed. Situations like these have always strained them, their relationship as well as working together but now... Gillian swallows. There is not enough air in her office to breathe. She can't stand the pity in Torres' and Loker's eyes. She hates that she can't pull herself together. But most of all it chokes her that Cal did this. Just like that. Like always.
She takes her bag, leaves her coat, ignores Torres' offer to drive her and Loker's outstretched hand trying to hold her back. There is only one thought on her mind.
How could you?
"I saw him through the shop window," Cal explains. "He had no intention to kill anyone. But he had a gun and he wouldn't answer the phone. It kept ringing inside. I could hear it." He points at his ear, reliving the memory. "The police, they were about to go in, and he would have been shot. More people, innocent people, could have been hurt. You never know what happens once bullets start flying around." Cal screws up his face.
"So you decided it's better to let yourself get killed than him?" If she holds her rage in check any longer, she will suffocate.
"He was just a kid. Emily's age." He couldn't walk away, couldn't stand idly by.
152 days. That's how long they have made it without Cal volunteering to throw himself into a dangerous situation no matter what the cost. Gillian is not superstitious, but part of her hoped that marrying in Vegas had broken the spell. If Cal did something so pure and full of hope in a city that only had brought out the worst in him before, perhaps it would change him. Then again, Cal loves his daughter more than anything and even the tangible risk that Emily could lose her father never has stopped him. So why should it be different now? Plain and simple because...
"I'm your wife, Cal. Shouldn't it count for something?" In the end it all comes down to this. She loves him and his reckless behavior hurts her, always has. He knows that.
"Oh, it does, luv. Forever and all that. Wish I could do one thing without the other, without hurting you." Cal screws up his face some more. Remorse. "But you knew who I was when you married me."
She gasps. "So now it's my fault that I can't handle it?" It is her Achilles' heel. Gillian doesn't doubt that Cal is faithful to her. His former affairs, flings, whatever you might call them, she doesn't feel threatened by them. Not anymore. This, however, this is his one true love that he chooses over her every single time. Danger. The adrenaline rush that comes from putting his life at risk for a good cause.
Cal tilts his head back and pushes himself away from the countertop right into her personal space. "Your father was a drunk and you hated him for it but still loved him. Your ex-husband was an addict, but you married him in spite of that."
Gillian's eyes are ablaze with disbelief. "Don't..."
"Burns was an undercover agent."
"I didn't know that at the beginning."
"Sure. Didn't feel a thing that was off about him. Didn't see it, didn't hear it." He takes one more step forward. "Interesting how we see everything, and yet, turn a blind eye to the flaws of the ones close to us, yeah?"
Gillian wants to take another sip of wine, but her hands are trembling so badly by now that she can't hold the glass properly anymore. "I dated other men, normal men," she says shakily, aware how ridiculous it sounds once the words are out.
"Didn't love them," Cal's voice is quiet, tender even. A sharp contrast to the uncomfortable truth his words deliver. "No other woman would've stayed with me as long as you did. You never gave up, took all the blows. I wish I were a better man but you, you chose me for what I am. So don't chide me for something that made you fall in love with me in the first place."
"I need reliability," Gillian says in a strained voice.
"Don't think my love for you is reliable?"
The answer is written across her face that is red with embarrassment, anger, and pain. Of course, she knows that.
"I love you, but I'm not only that. Not only the husband who loves his wife, not only the father who loves his daughter. I can't be who I'm not. I tried that for Emily. Didn't work."
She didn't know that. His words cut deep. The truth always does. She should have known Cal wouldn't comfort her with a lie, wouldn't give her a promise he has no intention to keep. She should probably be grateful for his honesty, no matter how hard to take it is, but all Gillian feels is the burden of inevitability and the threat of impending loss. When he reaches out to touch her face, she steps back.
"Leave me alone."
The days when Cal would go to a bar after a fight and drink himself into oblivion are long gone. At least that part of reliability he is able to offer. Leave me alone. Cal gives Gillian time and space to let things sink in. There is nothing else he can do. He reads in his study before he goes to sleep.
Cal wakes up when Gillian gets to bed. The darkness and silence outside tell him that it must be in the dead of night. He rolls over sleepily, letting her know he is awake but making no move to touch her or talk to her otherwise. Cal is surprised when he feels her lips against his. She tastes of wine.
Their kiss gets more intense. Gillian pulls him on top of her and reaches for his pajama pants. Aside from the one or other exception, make-up sex is not their usual style. But what else is there to say? No explanations or excuses will change who he is. Sometimes this is the only way to reconcile.
With his pajama pants gone and things proceeding much faster than they normally would, Cal wants to make sure that she is ready before they take it any further. Gillian pushes his hand away though.
"No," her voice is a whisper, her breath caressing his face in the dark. He would give everything to see the expression in her eyes.
Gillian is not ready, at least not as much as he would prefer. By now he knows, though, that she sometimes likes it that way. She told him that it's even more intense. So Cal meets her desire, moving slowly as he balances them on the fine line between pleasure and pain and listens to the way her breathing changes until she arches up under him.
Afterwards he holds her, her head on his chest, sleep catching up with both of them fast.
"Just don't get killed."
Cal is not sure whether Gillian actually said it or not. Perhaps he dreamt it. It's not his intention either way. There is too much that is worth living for.
When Cal wakes up the next morning, he hears Gillian in the kitchen. She has made herself coffee, one of these sugared foam monsters. As he joins her downstairs, she hands him his tea; hereby telling him that they are fine. The way Gillian looks at him is different though, as if she has never seen him before. But maybe that is because she only now sees herself.
"You were right," she says. "Back then when you told me that I am not the good girl." Liar, she remembers her response although it was intuitive and not based on something she had seen in his face. "Truth or happiness, never both," she cites one of his favorite quotes. "You were right then, too. At least sort of."
Cal puts his tea away and closes the gap between them, reaching for her. "Don't do that. Don't stop being mad at me or hurt whenever I do stupid things. Don't stop... being you. Now, I know that's a lot to ask, I mean, being with me and all that. But can you do it? For me?" He watches her like a drowning man.
Gillian doesn't know what Cal once told another captor that held a gun to his head. About a pure soul he doesn't want to drag into his world. That he will fight like hell to keep her the way she is even if it is getting more and more difficult the longer they are together. But she sees him albeit her vision gets a bit blurry when he enfolds her in his arms. Their hugs have always been the best. Some things never change.
"I can do that," she mumbles against his neck. "For both of us."
So maybe there are no absolut truths. Maybe one moment truth and happiness can coexist even though the next they cannot. Life is a succession of trivialities after all. And nothing could be more important.
The End (?)
At this point, I'm not sure whether there will be more chapters or not because my muse has run out of ideas. At least for now. The advantage of this story concept being that I can always add more chapters in the future whenever my muse strikes again. So we'll see what happens.