Author's note: I'm stepping off on an unstable limb here with this. Here's a story that could become completely AU after the next episode or so. If it does, I promise to keep the characters true to well, their character.

Monday's child is fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is full of woe
Thursday's child has far to go
Friday's child is caring and giving
Saturday's child works hard for a living…

Wednesday's Child
Chapter One:

Knock. Knock. Tap. Knock. Tap. Knock. Knock. Whack!

A gifted psychologist once told him that a person's entire demeanor could be determined by the way they knocked on doors. Two times softly, you had a new secretary. Three times heavy and loud, you had yourself an angry client or spouse. No knock, just chatter, you had Loker. Knock a little ditty, she'd warned, eyes glinting from under thick eyelashes, and you had an asocial, highly unstable man.

Well, good. Let Gillian think he had bipolar disorder, ADHD, or a case of Parkinson's. He didn't care as long as it got the job done.

"Foster, open up!" Knock. Knock. Whack! Whack!

"Not in her office, Boss," the sloppily thrown-together research psychologist stated helpfully, his hands in his blue jeans—incredible knack for showing up and leaning again perfectly clean walls, that man had. "I was busy admiring her outfit, that red dress, V-Neck," he demonstrated by gesturing toward his chest and then pointing down. "Nice fit…"

"Point, Loker. Make one, I haven't got all day."

"Well, I was in the middle of explaining why certain men are attracted to freckles when she told me, quote 'I'm going to go get lunch. Don't follow me. Tell Lightman that I've left if he comes knocking.' End quote"

Tapping the handle with his index finger, Cal narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Loker nodded without expression, as if willing his boss to accept the explanation without any further question. Blinking, the older man angled a manila folder at the younger, "I thought you didn't go for married women."

The smile Cal received was unrelenting, "That doesn't mean I can't appreciate the view."

"Don't you have…things to do?" Cal tested to see if her door was locked, throwing a puzzled look over his shoulder when the door open. "Well, go on; get out of here before Foster comes back with something I can throw at you."

Grinning, Loker pushed away from the wall and saluted, "Yes, I have plenty of things to do. If you consider staring at the inside of my eyelids an action…" he threw up his hands in surrender, "but I digress." Pivoting on his heal, the young man slumped his way down the hall before rounding the corner.

With a slight twitch of his eyebrow, Cal turned his attention to the door and eased it open. Glance to the left. Crane the neck to the right. Watch out for the potted plant—why she kept it where it could be smashed by eccentric door openers, he would never know. Turn on the light. Ah, he was in. And it was, well…

It was clean. It was always clean; and as he was human by nature, Cal Lightman was utterly perplexed every time he walked in. Floor, spotless. Walls, Loker-less. Desk, tidy. He wanted to know where she kept everything she hoarded, and one day he might stumble upon the answer to the mystery—but not today. She'd be back in no time, and there was nothing dignified about being caught with your hand in your partner's desk drawer.

Sighing, the deception expert trudged across the office and plopped down on her chair, the manila folder skidding ungracefully to a halt on the corner of her desk. He'd count the dots on the ceiling until she returned.

"I'm sorry. It's the meetings, you know...how about Wednesday? I'm sure I could steal and hour for lunch."

"I know I promised that I'd meet you today, but... I'm sorry, Gillian, I've got to go."

"If you'll leave me a message after the beep, I'll get back to y---"

"Hey, Dr. Foster!"

Heals clipped briskly across concrete as Torres jogged after the psychologist, the volume of her call causing several unfamiliar faces in the square to stare before going back to their business. She had to call her name a second time before Gillian heard and came to a stop, turning in time to smile at the young recruit. "Ria! I'm sorry, I thought I heard someone calling my name, but it didn't register. What's up?"

"I saw you heading out and thought I could come along, find out what around here is good to eat." Brown eyes flickered toward the food carts before sweeping back toward the Lightman Center. When they finally came to rest on Gillian again, the psychologist was grinning.

"What?"

"Nothing," tugging her black half-sweater tightly around her waist, the older woman smiled again before stopping. "You're not hungry." Another pause, "What's up? Really."

Ria deflated, her pace tuckering out as she fell nearly an entire step behind. "How do you do it? I mean, I ask Loker and he tells me that it's easy, stop lying or stop talking. Then I ask Dr. Lightman, and he tells me that I'll figure it out."

Gillian understood and held up a hand to silence her, "You're new. It's difficult for you. You want every truth exposed, every lie to be displayed with a neon sign, but we don't do that—it's not what you thought you were signing on for. Look, Ria, it's difficult at first. There's nothing wrong with feeling uncomfortable, but there comes a point when you need to distinguish your personal beliefs from your professional."

"What do you mean?"

"You see the world as black and white, right and wrong. When you see a lie, you want it exposed; but you need to learn to turn it off." Gillian gave her a crooked smile, "If you don't, you're going to end up like Dr. Lightman or Loker, and it's my professional belief that you don't want to travel down that slippery slope."

"I just...you're sure it gets easier?" The young woman had steeled herself again, posed herself behind a stern face.

Squeezing her shoulder softly, Gillian nodded, "I promise."

Sensing the shift in the Ria's demeanor, Gillian turned away and clapped her hands together, peering around the area eagerly, "Now, I'm hungry and missed breakfast. If you really want to know where the best food is, I could use the company."

"Wasn't your husband supposed to meet you today?" Ria asked boldly.

If Gillian detected the undertone of disgust in the Natural's voice, she didn't let it show.

"He couldn't make it."

There was something about the blank expression her superior sported that made Ria's curiosity itch and anger flare, but she bit her tongue and followed the woman through the lunch crowd, "You know what, I think I am hungry..."

Three hundred and twelve. Three hundred and thirteen. Three hundred and...wait, hadn't he been at three hundred and thirty over seven squares ago?

"Did you know that it is impolite to wait in someone's office when they aren't there," she was wearing a red dress, one with a black sweater to diminish the effect of the V-neck Loker had been fascinated by.

Cal watched with raised eyebrows, his fingers tapping on the arm rests of the chair as she eased slowly across the room and half-sat on the outer corner of her desk. Pushing her sleeves up past her elbow, Gillian scooped up the folder he had discarded and began to flip through it, her eyes flickering in his direction before she continued, "You should say something, you know, to ease the eerie sensation of finding you in my office without me."

Leaning back, he cleared his throat, "Did it ever occur to you that Loker might be getting worse?"

Licking the pad of her index finger, Gillian began sifting through the paperwork, one eyebrow shooting up as she considered his question. "He's harmless."

Shaping his fingers into a square, Cal adjusted them near his eyes until her chest was perfectly framed, "He finds your cleavage appealing." He tilted his hands until the box distorted and gave a better view—now that he was looking, he'd be hard pressed to find any straight man who didn't.

The folder made a soft whooshing sound before it hit him on the forearm.

Moving his eyes up, Cal was greeted with the sight of his partner frowning, "What? Well, it's true."

"I know it's true!" she admonished, "I had to listen to a ten minute monologue on my freckles no more than an hour ago." Cal opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, "And I am fully aware he told Torres that he'd like to have sex with her, that traveled fast enough to cause a sonic boom; and if there is any more Loker-words-of-wisdom you want to spread, yesterday he told me that the skirt I was wearing made my butt look big." She pressed a hand to her chest, "But I managed to survive." Sarcasm, something was wrong with her today. "He's harmless, Cal."

He made a show of tilting his head and turning the chair to take a look, "If it's any consolation, you're butt looks much slimmer today."

She glowered at him, "What did you come here for? Because, while I'd like to think frustrating me was your primary reason, some small part of me still insists that you are human and actually like to get work done."

"It's all in the folder," he pointed before standing and moving haggardly around her desk, his eyes darting away from her as he did—down and to the left in aversion to her well aimed words. It always came back to his humanity with her.

As he reached her office door, Gillian turned, "Cal, did you really invade my office just to make sure I got a report?"

He stopped and stared out into the hall, "Just because you have a nagging voice that keeps insisting I'm human, it doesn't mean that frustrating you wasn't my primary motivation for dropping in." Caving, he peered back in time to see the ashamed downcast of her eyes before they met his...apologetically?

"Loker," he nodded to the research psychologist as he ambled into the room, breaking what'd had the potential of being a dangerously charged silence.

"Dr. Foster, have I ever mentioned that your office looks a lot like Dr. Lightman's, only without the serial killer-ness? Which is actually kind of disappointing, if you ask me..."