Not sure
Something was off. It was 7am, and Dr. Gillian Foster sat at her desk rubbing her temples as she tried to focus on the task at hand. She had meant to finish the presentation for some important perspective clients last night at home, but the headache that had taken permanent residence in her head had prevented her. She had fallen asleep on her couch, so when she woke at 5 am this morning, she rushed to the office to get a head start. But again she was having the same trouble focusing. She was starting to believe that maybe Lightman had been right, that maybe she should seek further medical attention for her concussed brain. But really, what was the doctor going to tell her? The same thing he'd said before: headaches, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, fatigue, light-sensitivity, all are expected symptoms. They would subside in a few weeks. No, she just had to soldier on, and try to rest as much as the demands of her job allowed.
"Oi, Foster! What in the devil are you doing here at this early hour!" He immediately felt bad when he saw how much his loud unexpected voice startled her, and how much it magnified the ringing pain in her head.
"I'm sorry Luv. Here I am trying to look out for you, and I'm only making it worse" he said as he touched her lightly on the shoulder, seeing how she rubbed her temples and struggled to conceal her discomfort.
"I say again. I have a concussion Cal, I'm not disabled." She sounded more irritated than she had meant to. To soften things a bit she immediately added "to quote a very wise man 'stop smothering'" with her best attempt at a genuine Fosterly smile. He was not convinced by the brave face she put on. The same brave face she had been putting on for the last three days. He still felt guilty that his recklessness had gotten her hurt. While he was off on one of his adrenaline-seeking chases, she'd been forced to go on her own to conduct an interview, resulting in her getting surprised in the stairwell of the office building with a massive blow to the head. He'd tried to make it up to her since then, bringing her chocolate ice cream, lowering the lights to the entire office, and imposing quiet hours on the staff to help her injured brain heal. He had tried to convince her to take some time off. 'Rest is, after all, the best thing one can do for a concussion' he'd often told her, only to have her dismiss him with comment about how he can't be trusted alone in the office.
"What are you doing here so early luv?" He asked her with a concerned look. "It's bad enough you insist on coming to work, but must you even come in early?" He said as he sat across from her.
"I repeat. I'm fine Cal. It's not that bad. I'm already feeling better than I did three days ago." Lie, lie, lie, he thought. How to approach this? Stubborn as she is, she was not making things easy for him. So, he just slumped in his chair, exhaling with a pout of resignation that spoke millions more about his concern, his guilt, and his need to take care of her than anything his mouth uttered.
Noting this, she felt bad, and said, "really Cal. The headaches are better. You don't have to make the whole office tip toe around me and treat me with kid gloves." At first it was nice, the whole staff waited on her hand and foot, bringing her sweets, dimming the lights, etc. But the best part of it was that they were all on their best behavior. Everyone had orders to get things done smoothly and quietly, and to keep her stress levels down. Why can't they always be this good? she wondered. Particularly Cal. If usually he was the first to instigate confrontations, to create awkward situations with clients, and to send the staff's stress rocketing through the roof, now he a model citizen. He was doing everything in his power to help her work through this concussion. Too much, even. But she had to admit, she found it endearing.
"Define better," he said unconvinced. "Are you still feeling dizzy and nauseous?" he asked her as matter-of-factly as he could. It was a rare sight, Cal Lightman asking questions out of nothing more than genuine concern, trying his mightiest not to be invasive. As she pondered how best to answer without worrying him, he gathered that the answer was 'no.'
Damn. My poor battered brain doesn't stand a chance against him, she thought as she merely readjusted in her chair. "Still vomiting?" he asked unable to mask his hopefulness. Again, the answer was not what he'd hoped.
Damn. I did this to her. Noticing the effect her condition was having on Cal, she had no idea how to assuage his guilt. Now it was her turn to slump down in resignation. They sat slumped on their chairs for a while, mirror images, with the table and a gulf of unspoken emotions between them. He finally broke the silence. "Look, at least let me finish the report and handle the presentation on my own today." Noticing that her answer was going to be no, he continued immediately. "Knowing you, you probably have it nearly done." Then he added "pretty please" with that pathetic and crooked smile of his. Gets her every time. A few seconds later he realized it wasn't defeat he had seen on her face. In a flash she bolted to the nearest bathroom.
"Knock knock." He said as he gingerly made his way into the dark women's room several minutes later, water-filled glass in hand. He found her sitting on the floor by the sink, her back pressed against the cold tiles, face turned toward the ceiling, and eyes shut. He sat next to her and handed her the glass. Not knowing what else to say or do, he gently patted her on the leg to let her know he was right there, giving her a chance to collect herself.
"I guess you're right. I'm of no use here like this. I should go home." He was about to stand up, saying "right then, I'll take you home," but her hand against his thigh stopped him, "there's no need Cal. I can drive myself. Besides, the presentation is not finished, that's all on you now," she said.
Just as she finished her sentence Ria Torres walked into the restroom and flashed three consecutive emotions: surprise, amusement, concern. Never in her life would she have expected to come into this room of all places, and find her bosses in such an awkwardly tender moment. She was also amused by their indifference to being found in such a state, it was as if Ria were not even there, like they were the only two people in the planet. After these fleeting thoughts, Ria finally realized that Foster's condition might have deteriorated, and she grew concerned.
Looking at Lightman, she asked "is she okay?" Letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, Lightman exhaled "that's is the question, now isn't Luv?" without moving an inch, and looking first at his protégé, and then at his partner.
His partner could care less what the other two people in the room were saying. The cold tiles felt nice. She wanted to just sit there and bask in the pleasant sensation of silence, the darkness, and coolness surrounding her body. But she knew she had to respond to him soon, or he and the younger woman would soon worry.
Her eyes still closed, she could sense the worried look being fired in her direction. "I give up. I'm going to see my doctor now. You can both stop looking at me like that," that agitated tone had found its way back. She didn't have to open her eyes to know they had both smiled and exhaled a with sigh of relief. "But, on one condition. You two must stay here and finish the presentation. Make sure all the t's are crossed and the i's are dotted," she said without opening her eyes.
"Absolutely boss. You have our word. We will hold ourselves to the highest standards. Foster Standards." Ria's comment incited a slight chuckle from each of her bosses.
"Right then. Can you stand up?" He looked at her as he put his arm around her.
"I hate you" was the only response he received from his partner who still sat there with her eyes shut. Although her words were harsh, the tone of her voice was lost, it had lost all of the tension it'd had earlier, indicating that she needed more time, but that she was well enough to tease him.
No one moved. "Presentation. Now. Go. Promise to keep, and all that," It took Ria a few seconds to realize that she was being addressed and shewed off. "The file is open on Foster's computer," he added as he further insisted in her prompt disappearance. Ria was gone in no time. And 4 minutes late, Foster asked him to help her up. Before allowing her to drive off, Cal had made sure she had made and appointment to see her doctor, that she drank water, and that she was okay to drive. "Keep me posted" was the last thing he said to her as she came into the lab to announce she was leaving.
"I will," she said. And the added, "make me proud," and she was off with that beautiful Foster smile he loved missed so much.