DISCLAIMER: The Lie to Me characters
are the property of Imagine Television and 20th Century Fox Television. The story
contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2009 by
Djinn. This story is Rated R.
Passing Blame
by
Djinn
Foster had
definitely had it with him. She was
stomping around the office—if one can stomp on heels that narrow—as if her best
friend had, oh, slept with someone else in bloody Vegas.
Her best friend.
Not her lover. Because she still wanted
to wait. To respect that line she clung
to even when there was no reason to.
So he'd slept with
the hot blonde. So what? Foster kissed him and touched him and held
him and fucking smothered him, but the minute he got too close—Bam! Respect the line, Cal.
And the hell of it
was he knew she loved him. Just like he
knew he loved her. And now he had bloody
Reynolds in the mix, taking Foster out on the town in Vegas. And even back home the two of them were
whispering all the time like there was no goddamned line they had to respect.
Why did the line
only apply to him? Loker
and Torres were in the lab right now making googly eyes at each other despite
the fact they both were seeing other people.
Where was their soddin' line?
"Cal, if you
could look at this?" Foster walked
in without knocking like she always did, but she wasn't making eye
contact. And once she got to his desk,
she wasn't leaning in; in fact, she was leaning away, as if he smelled bad.
"Sure,
love."
He saw her tense at the endearment.
Waited for her to tell him not to call her that, but she didn't.
"So, you and
Reynolds seemed to have forged a new understanding."
"Don't
even..."
He held up a hand
as he glanced through the file she'd handed him, as if it was easy to let go of
the idea of her and Reynolds. Then, once
she'd relaxed a bit, he asked, "Asked you out, has he?"
She turned and
stomped toward the door.
"Simple
question, love. Yes or no."
She didn't look at
him as she muttered, "None of your goddamned business, you asshole."
"Strong
language, Foster. Good for
you." He made his voice as
condescending as he could.
And it worked. She spun and turned
back. For a moment, he thought she might
whap him a good one, but she stopped before she got within "Smack the shit
out of Cal" range.
"I hate you
right now."
"Why?"
"Why?" She was blinking hard, and he knew she was
about to cry. But with her, those tears
were as much a weapon as a reaction.
Foster wasn't innocent in this; she'd lived too long with one addict not
to know how to get to another.
"Because you betrayed me."
"How?" He shook his head, as if he didn't get
it. "That whole Poppy thing?"
"You had sex
with her."
"Yes, I
did. Very good sex, as a matter of
fact." He grabbed her arm as she turned to go. "But it was a distant runner up to the
sex I wanted to have. With you."
She was caught in
the irony of being angry on one hand and holding him back with the other. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and
then she tried again, but still no rebuttal.
"Yeah,
exactly, love. Go figure out what you
want before you tell me I'm the scum of the earth, all right?"
She stomped—her
shoes were not going to survive at this rate—to the door and fled.
He pushed away the
feeling of guilt and went back to the file that he actually did need to read.
##
Torres was
watching him too closely.
"Something on
your mind, girl?"
"I love the
way you completely trample any pretense of PC around here." She laughed softly. "And yes, there is. Why is Foster so pissed at you?"
Learned to speak
her mind, Torres had. He'd taught her
that, no doubt.
"I had too
much fun in Vegas." He gave her his
tell, the hand across the forehead that Poppy had figured out very fast. That woman would have been a natural, too,
but he didn't think she'd ever settle for a do-gooder life when high-stakes
poker awaited.
"You're
lying." She gave him her own
special half-smile of contempt. "Or
you want me to think you are. So either
you didn't have too much fun in Vegas, and Foster's way off base. Or you were beyond reprehensible. Which is it, boss man?"
"You've
gotten a lot sassier since you've been working here, Torres." He leaned back. "Little of both, actually. Foster's right angry with me."
"She's beyond
angry. She's hurt." Torres held his gaze. "She's in love with you."
"I told you
we don't—"
"Oh, like you
don't know every little thing that goes on here. And not just from your phenomenal natural
skill but from all these damn 'hidden' cameras." She pointed to where three of his supposedly
hidden cameras were. "You're in our
business every second we're here. And
possibly when we're not. So don't tell
me to mind my own business on this one."
He wasn't sure
what to say, was still wondering why she hadn't found the other two
cameras. Maybe she had, but didn't want
to let him know—keep the upper hand and all that.
Torres snapped her
fingers. "Yo,
still talking to you."
"I'm
aware." He turned back to the
computer. "I've never talked about
Foster with you, and I don't intend to start now."
He could tell she
was staring at him. He kept working,
waiting to see if she'd be ballsy enough to push him just a little further.
She wasn't.
##
Em gave him the
silent treatment when Zoe dropped her off.
"I don't know
what you did, Cal, but you really have her wound up." Zoe hugged him, in that way she had that
immediately set his lower regions to reminiscing. Damn woman.
"I may have
misbehaved a little. In Vegas."
"Say no
more." Zoe rolled her eyes. "I thought you were banned from
there."
"Yeah, well,
never say never and all that."
She laughed, then
looked at Em, who was slamming things around in the
kitchen. "So why's she upset? She wouldn't talk to me about this at all,
just got surlier the closer we got to your place."
He wanted to tell
her that somehow Em had found out what he'd done,
which irritated him more than a little, but since she was his daughter, it also
made him a bit proud that she'd gotten to the truth so fast. And Zoe might like to know that, too, except
it seemed like a betrayal of Foster—much worse than sleeping with Poppy had
been—to tell Zoe anything. "I'll
work it out with her. Don't worry."
"I do
worry. I'm her mom."
"And I'm her
dad. And we'll work this out, Em and I. So go on
now." He gave her a quick kiss and
waited until she was to her car before he closed the door.
Walking with
studied casualness, he nodded to Em as she seemed to
be moving things around the kitchen with no real purpose other than to make
noise. "So, what's with you?"
"I'm not
talking to you."
"You're
not?"
"Nope."
"And why
not?"
Em turned her back
on him, the way she did when she didn't want him reading her. "I'm mad at you."
"Yeah, I got
that bit. It's the why part I'm fuzzy
on. Help me out, Em."
She took a very
long time digging through the refrigerator for something to drink. Then she got a glass and filled it with
ice. All without looking at him. He had to give her credit for getting very
good at avoiding.
Finally, she said,
"I stopped by the office today."
He'd seen her
there, walking through the halls with Loker, but
she'd left by the time he got out of the lab.
"You didn't wait for me."
"That's
'cause I ran into Gil there. She was
coming out of your office. She was
crying."
Damn Foster with
her damn tears. And had she told his
daughter what he'd done? Would she do
that to him—to Em?
He tried a
misdirection. "Yeah, well, she's
having a hard time right now. Alec and—"
Em whirled. "Don't.
Don't you dare lie to me."
She stalked over to him.
"She was crying because of you.
She didn't say that, but she didn't have to. I know her, and I know how she looks when
you've been with Mom, and this was worse.
What did you do?"
"What I did
is between me and Foster."
"Bullshit."
"Em. Enough. I mean it." He wasn't kidding, could feel the tension in
his voice, the anger rising. Damn
Foster.
"She loves
you. And I love her. Why can't you wake up and figure out that we
could be a real family if you'd just keep your di—"
He popped his hand
over her mouth, hard enough to startle her, not hard enough to be a slap. "I know you were not going to say
that. Were you?"
She seemed to
realize she'd gone too far and shook her head, her eyes wide.
He pulled her into
a hug, holding her fiercely, saying, "Em, Em, let this go for now.
I'll handle it."
Now Em was crying. Damn
it all to hell.
"Sweetheart,
I'll handle it. I promise."
"Okay. Okay, sure." She pulled away, grabbed her drink, and
headed to her bedroom.
She didn't sound
at all convinced.
##
He knocked on
Foster's door, stepping back, the way he always did when he came here. Why did he do that? Why did he always give her room, wait for her
to come to him?
Why did she never
do it? Why was there always this damn
line between them?
She opened the
door, seemed surprised to see him this early on a weekend. "Is something wrong?"
"Yeah, you
might say that." He moved
closer. "Can I come in?"
"No. I have someone here."
He could have told
she was lying with his eyes closed. Her
voice was shaking and went up at the end, like a question.
"Oh, then
we're even, love. Tell whoever it is to
get the hell out so we can talk."
"I'm so mad
at you."
"Yeah, I
know. Now let me in." This time he didn't wait, didn't hem and haw,
he just pushed past her, into the house, leaving her standing at the still open
door staring back at him.
"You'll let
in flies, Gil."
She closed the
door and took a deep breath.
"That's
right. Gird yourself for this. Because it's a battle, isn't it? You and your line on one side. Me and my bad behavior on the other."
She turned red,
and he saw her reaching for the door.
She'd be asking him to leave in a moment.
He didn't give her the chance, was to her, grabbing her by the upper arms,
before she could open the door.
"Why are we even talking about this, Gil?"
"Because it's
not going to just go away and I—"
He kissed
her. Hard and rough, nothing like their
friendly pecks, nothing like the sweet hugs.
This was war.
She pushed him
away. "I'm not one of your sluts,
Cal."
"Oh, you
think that's what I like. Sluts?"
"I think you
like people you can't read. I think you
like women who are bad and make you work for it."
He decided not to
tell her that what she'd said made very little sense. Bad girls by definition did not make you work
for it. But he knew what she meant. "And you don't think you've made me work
for it, Foster? Jesus God, how long have
I been wanting you and respecting your everlastin'
line?" He pulled her back to him
and kissed her again, felt her kissing him back, even as she halfheartedly
tried to push him off her. "You
want to know who the bad girl is, here?
You are, Gil. You with your rules
and your kisses that go nowhere."
"Oh, so this
is my fault? What? I'm a
tease?" She blinked furiously, and
he had to fight to not let the tears welling up in her eyes get to him. "You sleep with Zoe. All the time.
You act like you love me and then you do that. And in Vegas.
I was right there. And I know I
looked good. Two men who could have had
anyone wanted me. Reynolds wanted
me. But did you? No.
You wanted Poppy. And if it
hadn't been Poppy, it would have been someone else. I can't trust you, Cal. I just can't."
"You've never
tried to trust me. Not that way. If I were yours, if you were mine, things
would be different. But I'm not yours
and you're not mine. So things aren't
different." He took a deep breath
and pulled back. "I promised Em I'd come work things out. But maybe that's not a promise
I can keep. Maybe I just need to tell
her that you and I aren't going to make up this time."
"Maybe
so." Foster had given up the battle
with her tears.
He reached for the
door, then glanced back at her. "I
love you, you know. I've waited a long
time."
"You haven't
waited. It's been inertia. You've been
there with other distractions."
"I just can't
win with you, can I? Guess that's the
downside of knowing each other too well."
He opened the door and left, hoping she'd call him back.
She didn't.
##
He and Em were just sitting down to eat, and he was dreading
telling her things didn't go well with Foster.
Em was happy with him right now, smiling and
laughing at silly things he said—she obviously thought he'd fixed it like he
fixed everything. He could read that,
her confidence in him. And in her own
ability to get through to him, to make him do the right thing.
To fix the mess she
thought he'd been the only one to make.
"Em, I—" The doorbell rang. "Hang on." He went to open it and was surprised to see
Foster standing there. She didn't say
anything, just stepped inside, slammed him up against the door, and kissed him
the same way he'd kissed her earlier.
Hard. Fiercely.
And then something he hadn't done, she was letting her hands roam all
over his body.
"Wow. I guess you two really made up,
huh?"
Foster pulled back
like she'd been burned, her face flaming.
She met his eyes, and he knew his were as amused as hers were
chagrined. "Oh, Em,
honey. I didn't know you'd be here
and..."
Emily was
beaming. "Hey, don't let me
interrupt. I have homework and stuff. I'll just take dinner to my room and you can
do, well, whatever you're doing."
She looked ready to burst, made a sound that only an excited teenage
girl can make. "Okay, this is me
leaving."
And whirlwind-Em managed to grab her dinner, extra soda, and her glass
and rush off to her bedroom before Foster had even let go of him.
"Okay, that
was totally embarrassing." Foster
was smiling, though. In a way that said
she was enjoying the moment, even if she was still blushing furiously.
"Yeah, it
kind of was, wasn't it?" He pulled
her to him, gently this time. "So,
you wanted to tell me something?"
"I'm still
really mad at you." She punctuated
the sentiment with a kiss, long and sweet and with lots of tongue.
"Well, I
probably deserve that." He kissed
her, the same kind of kiss. A kiss well
past friendly, definitely not a peck, but also not a declaration of war. They'd gotten past battling, it looked like.
He knew better
than to count on that, though.
Foster pulled
away. "I love you and you didn't
want me."
"That's not
true." He eased her in and shut the
door, pulling her to the couch.
"I've wanted you for such a long time. I keep thinking we're almost there and then
that barrier goes up. You know the
one?"
She nodded and cuddled
against him, holding him and nuzzling his neck.
"I'm terrified that we'll wreck this. I need you so much. I can't lose you."
"You're not
going to lose me." He kissed her
again, gently, softly, the easy kiss of a friend. "We're partners. We're friends. And we can be lovers, too. It doesn't have to ruin everything."
"What if it does?"
"I've stayed
friends with Zoe."
"You still
screw her."
He didn't think
that was a very good counter to his argument, but decided to not say it. "I'll stop doing that."
"That's not
what I mean. And you two have Em. You have a
reason to make it work."
"And we have
the company. A company that provides a
lot of good in this world. It's a
fabulous reason for us to make it work if we can't make it as a couple, don't
you think?"
She was still
cuddled against him, and he couldn't see her face. She didn't say anything, just held onto
him. And for a moment, he could feel the
line being drawn back between them.
"Gil?"
She met his
eyes. "I love you."
"And I love
you."
"I'm going to
need some time."
He sighed.
"I don't mean
with the line in place. I mean with
you. Being with you before I sleep with
you."
"Well, we
don't have to sleep." He tried to
give her the grin that said he was joking, that said it was all right.
She laughed. "You know what I mean."
"But you're
with me? You're mine? And I'm yours?" Funny how important that was to him,
still. He never got very far from the
boy who'd had so little to call his own in life.
"Yes. But I'm worried."
"Don't
worry. For tonight, don't
worry." He smoothed back her
hair. "You're tired, aren't
you?"
She nodded.
"Sleep. I'll watch over you. I promise." He pulled her closer, gently ran his fingers
through her hair, down her neck, around her shoulders.
She was asleep in
moments and he held her, relaxing and wishing that he could push away the
guilt. That he could also bat away the
worry—that this was temporary, this respite.
That she'd wake up and change her mind.
That she wouldn't be his at all.
He heard Em in the hall and looked up. She was smiling, and she tiptoed over and
kissed him on the forehead, like he was the kid and she the parent.
"I love
you," she said softly, and then she leaned down and let her lips linger on
Foster's hair. "Stay with us,"
she whispered, and he wasn't sure if he'd been meant to catch the words or not.
She smiled at him
and headed back to her bedroom.
Foster stirred as
soon as she was gone. "I love her,
Cal."
"She loves
you, darlin'."
Foster nodded.
"She wants us to be a family."
Was it unfair to use his daughter against her this way, to play off the
need Foster had for a child of her own?
Did it
matter? All was fair in love and war,
wasn't it?
FIN