So, I'm not really in a fic writing mood at the moment since I'm still so angry about Cal's behaviour in In the Red. Today, however, is my 'ficiversary' – one year ago today I posted my first ever piece of fanfiction. I'd hoped to write something to celebrate, but I've been busy and, as I said, too pissed off with Cal to write. I did, however, find this on my computer. It was prompted by the photos and tweets from Tim about the upcoming episode set in a mine. And yes, the title has double meaning ;-) Anyway – it's not great, but I wanted to do ~something~ to mark today, so here it is.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Lie to Me. If I did, Cal wouldn't have been such a *%^"~*& in 3.01. Just sayin'.
She was biting her lip so hard she tasted blood; she didn't care though. There were only two things that mattered right now. One, she'd told Cal earlier that he could go to hell, and two, he was stuck in a mine that was collapsing, possibly dying or already dead.
The moments of waiting seemed to last an eternity; she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to leave. She was rooted to the spot, aware only of the fact that Cal was trapped down there, and she wasn't leaving until he was rescued.
She heard the voices of the men raise, noted from the pitch and the tone that they were pulling someone up. She tried to inch closer, despite being restricted by yellow tape, and craned her neck to see. There were the rescuers, and there was rubble, and there was noise and confusion and so much dirt... and then there was him. Stumbling out of the hole, filthy and coughing but very much alive.
Bursting forwards, she ignored the shouts to stay back, rushing towards him and hurtling into his arms. She wanted to say something; explain, somehow, that she was sorry, that she hadn't meant what she said earlier, that she loved him. But no words formed except his name, choked out as a sob.
"Shh, I'm alright darling," he said soothingly, stroking her hair as she clung tightly to him. She pulled back slightly, but before she could think what she was going to say, she was kissing him. She didn't know why she'd chosen this moment – it all seemed so clichéd – but he was here, he was alive, and despite the fact that he was black from head to foot, she thought he'd never looked hotter.
He returned the kiss hungrily, gripping her body tightly as he held her against him. Eventually they broke apart, and he was slightly breathless as he spoke. "I'm filthy."
"You're gorgeous." She kissed him again, insistently, and he had to force his lips to part with hers to speak.
"I'm making you filthy too."
"So let's go home." Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "Take a shower." She could tell her words surprised him, but there was also deep arousal on his face.
"You sure, love?" A hint of concern – he thought, no doubt, that this was just her responding to the drama of the afternoon, and wasn't based on any real feelings at all. How wrong he was.
She didn't answer; she didn't have to. For once she was happy to let him read her, and the look he gave her when he realised the truth of her words was intoxicating. The medics had started to fuss around him, and their conversation – spoken aloud – had ceased. As they continued to flirt without words, Gillian thought back to the agonising wait earlier, not knowing whether Cal had survived. Now she was facing another excruciating wait – until he was free to go home with her – but this outcome, at least, she could be certain of. And what an amazing outcome it was going to be.