Title: Reason to Believe

Disclaimer: I don't own anything about Lie to Me. Also, Global TV (Canada) website has an excellent gallery of Tim Roth demonstrating the seven universal micro-expressions: anger, happiness, contempt, sadness, surprise, disgust and fear.

Chapter One

"Oi, Foster, what's this luv?" Cal calls out to me, waving around a single piece of paper, manically.

The clicking of my heels stops mid step, and I turn around to face him, hands resting firmly on my hips in defiance. "My resignation."

Cal shakes his head in puzzlement and disbelief, eyebrows furrowed. "What, now?"

I honestly don't understand his incredulity; like he hasn't given me enough reasons to resign for the past three years. I try to keep my personal and professional lives separate. But being partners? That's both personal and professional. Not only am I responsible for the company's wellbeing, but also for Cal's. Without Cal, The Lightman Group wouldn't be in existence. I used to look forward to going in to work, now I'm worried that Cal's gambling problem has returned, our company's going bankrupt, and worst of all, that Cal doesn't care. But the situation with Detective Wallowski, aside, I've stood by him, being supportive, whereas, when Alec and I divorced he told me to, "Buck up, mate," while giving me a pat on the back. That's it. He never brought it up again.

"Well, didn't you read it?" I ask him out of curiosity.

"Of course, I didn't read it!"

"You knew what it was then?"

My answer is met with complete silence. Yet, he doesn't have to say another to give away what he's feeling. His lips are tight with a frown, and curled upwards on one side. Contempt.

I smirk, "Well, goodbye Cal." I turn to walk away, taking a big stride, when I hear him rip up the sheet of paper. Then, I turn back around to face him. Absolutely everyone, including two male clients from a casino stop in their tracks. You could cut the tension with a knife. This is so like Cal, I remember thinking, to make a scene in front of everyone. Cal lives on dramatics.

"We're partners, remember?"

It's been a while since I've heard desperation apparent in Cal's voice.

"How could I forget? You remind me every two minutes," I reply with disgust. "But you like to play games. Cat and mouse. I'm tired, Cal. I'm tired of being your mouse."

Cal's eyes narrow. "When I said that to you, I meant I was the mouse that everyone seems to be chasing."

"Oh, really? You're the mouse? You? Cal? Nobody thinks that. Do you want to know why?"

"You're going to tell me anyways, aren't ya?"

He's right. I am.

"Cal, you have to be the predator. It's who you are. It's in your blood. You hunt things down."

He looks on stony faced, not giving away anything. I continue. "Meanwhile, I'm being chased by your ghosts of recent past, and I protect you from it."

"Yeah, you protect me. That's what partners do."

I give Cal a weak smile through the tears that are forming in my eyes. "Then how come it's so one-sided? That doesn't sound like a partnership to me."

Cal shakes his head, disappointed. Instead of answering my accusations, he walks towards the elevators.

"Cal!" I call out, distressed. "Cal, don't you dare walk away from me."

Still, nobody moves. Probably afraid if they get in Cal's way, they're fired. Which is probably, too true. He likes to leave the threat of their jobs in the air. Keeps them on their toes, he's told me, to do a good job. I think he prefers when people (in general) are frightened of him; he gets off on bullying people around. He plays bad cop, and I play good cop. He tells me it's a good balance, but I think he uses it as an excuse to exploit whatever weakness shows on my face.

Cal keeps walking down the hall, ignoring all the concerned looks from the rest of his staff.

Frustrated, I make a split second decision to go after him. "Cal!"

He is already at the elevators, pressing the button three times in quick succession. I know he's praying I won't catch up. I'm determined to catch up to him.

Everyone at the elevator is holding their breaths to see what Cal is going to do next. The entire staff is watching the numbers...21...20...19...18...and then, ding, the door to the elevator opens and nobody moves, except for Cal. He walks in, looks me straight in the eye, moves to press the button for the ground floor, and smiles triumphantly as the doors close.

"Damn it," I sigh. I'm looking around the room, incredibly annoyed for making a scene at work. I'm usually more professional than this. After the doors close, I look around the hall, which is still quiet. "Well," I snap, "Get back to work."

Even those who were waiting at the elevator shifts away and tries to make themselves look busy. Loker and Torres, however, are still staring at me, open-mouthed in shock. "What?" I snap at them.

"Nothing," Loker answers a little too quickly. Like either he's up to something or knows something.

I sigh, defeated. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"What? And get between you and Cal? No, thanks."

Still frustrated and angry, I punch the elevator button, hard.

"What's going on, Foster? What's with you and Cal?"

"None of your business."

"Okay, fair enough, it's none of my business. However," he points out, "if you expect my help, I want to know whether I'm risking my job to do it. I think that's a fair assumption, since, you know, it's Cal we're talking about. Oh, and, I don't want to get between a lover's quarrel."

"What?" I ask, surprised. "A lover's quarrel? That's not what this is."

Loker tilts his head, then replies, "Your eyes say otherwise."