A/N: I own nothing. Started writing this out of the blue. I hope it's not bad for a first fanfiction.

Chapter 1

'No, I mean really love her?'

'Yeah.'

He'd meant it. Cal Lightman loved Gillian Foster. Really loved her. Of course, the sole proprietors of that knowledge were himself and his daughter Emily and he had no qualms about keeping it that way. He wouldn't run the risk of ruining the best and perhaps truest relationship he'd ever had in his adult life. Gillian was his pure soul. He'd be damned if he were to drag her further into his hellish world; in fact, he'd promised himself long ago that he'd try like hell to keep her away from his world. It hadn't quite...worked, but Cal still fought to keep her pure. He wasn't sure if she thought herself pure, but he still did. Gillian hadn't been soiled by him, not yet. Not ever, he thought.

But now he knew. Well, he supposed he'd always known, but he'd never quite said it aloud and especially never to someone. He knew and he'd voiced it to Emily that he did love her. And so there he was, at work, feet propped up on his desk, hands folded atop his chest. Doing. Absolutely. Nothing. He was lucky it was a slow day. Little cases that Loker and Torres could handle on their own—cheating spouses and the like. Cal had no interest in such cases anyway and was glad that he was his own boss because, no matter how much they wanted to, his lacke- employees couldn't refuse him lest he threaten to fire them. He could hear Gillian in the back of his head saying, 'They aren't your lap dogs, Cal, they're our employees,' with the slightest of grins on her face.

He liked that he could make her smile. Sometimes he tried to, but other times a smile naturally graced her lips when he said something offhanded or quippy. Cal found himself thinking far too much on Gillian's lips, the curves and contours of her body, the clothes she wore—pinks, pastels, bright colors. They made her happy, bright colors. And she looked damn gorgeous in them. And therein laid Cal's problem. He was doing nothing at work because he was having trouble concentrating at work. He'd told Loker and Torres to 'handle the day for a bit' while he handled his own business in his office. He'd handled no business. No, he'd been thinking about Gillian all morning.

And then, there was a knock on his door. Next, a call. His name. It was soft and curious and, while Gillian was the voice expert, he could recognize the voice at the door in any crowd, from behind any door. He loved that voice. And it's owner.

"Yeah, I'm in here, Foster," he called. Gillian entered his office and he wondered how she could both ground him and leave him floating so weightlessly at the same time. She smiled at him and, God, was he floating.

"I was starting to get worried, you know. What is it you always say? It's your name on the door, Dr. Lightman." She smiled again, knowingly, and perhaps a little condescendingly.

"Well, it is my name on the door, Dr. Foster," he said with a hint of a smirk. "What're you worryin' for anyway, love? Troops not 'olding down the fort?" Cal removed his feet from his desk as Gillian made to sit in a chair across from him.

"Eli and Ria are handling their mundane cases just fine, Cal," she said with a slight raise of her brows. Delicate brows, perfectly shaped. His mind was wandering again. He noticed, as his eyes settled on hers, that she was looking at him expectantly. She'd asked him a question. She rolled her eyes, probably thinking he just wasn't paying attention to her. Not entirely incorrect. He wasn't paying attention to her words, but was focused on her...eyebrows. He was certainly in deep.

"Are you okay, Cal?" Gillian dipped her head down slightly to catch his expression. Impossible with him, really. At this point, he was an expert in taming his facial muscles into neutrality. Oddly enough, though, she did see something. She couldn't quite give it a name.

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, darlin', I'm good. Everything's good. A bit tired, maybe." He watched her brows pull together for a split second before she relaxed her face again. She'd gotten exceptionally good at the masking-my-expressions-because-my-partner/best friend's-an-expert-face-reader thing.

"Right. Well, then you'll recall that we have a meeting to go to. And if you don't recall, we have a meeting to go to," Gillian said with a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Right, right. O' course I remembered."

She studied him silently for a moment. "Liar." Gillian flashed amusement. "It's time to get going, Cal. Come on." She stood from the chair and looked down at him, her blue eyes twinkling, gauging him.

"D'you want to have dinner later, love? My treat," Cal said evenly despite the steady quickening of his heartbeat. Gillian's face fell a bit then.

"I'd love to, Cal. It's been a while since we had dinner together-"

"But..." he interrupted.

"But I have plans tonight."

Cal thought he might've seen something akin to shame for a fleeting moment, but then it was gone and he couldn't be bothered. Gillian wasn't always easy to read and Cal had a sneaking suspicion that she only let herself be read by him, never on accident.

'You know I've always had more trouble readin' you than anyone else.'

But sometimes, very rarely, he could catch something if he was really looking at her. He braved a bemused grin and raised his eyebrows.

"Hot date, Foster?" Gillian smiled at him again, but it didn't reach her eyes. Cal decided not to question it.

"You don't need to know everything that goes on in my life, Cal. Just know that I have plans," Gillian said coyly. It's a date, Cal thought, a little dismayed. "We can go to dinner another night. Now let's go so we can get this appointment over with." She turned and started out of his office, not waiting for him to be by her side, but figuring he'd catch up in a few seconds. And he did get up, only after he watched her walk away. He couldn't help but watch her walk. It did something to him. Her hips swayed just a bit so as not to suggest constant promiscuity, but it was enough to make any man's eyes keep glued to her backside. And what a wonderful backside it was. Cal was suddenly very hungry.

"So, tell me about this meeting, eh? The details are escapin' me." They were. He remembered the meeting, but he was having trouble finding what interested him enough about the case. In retrospect, that may have been a sign to not take the case. But it was too late, because the client was already waiting in the conference room.

"Memory getting weak on you as the years go by, Cal?" she quipped good-naturedly.

"Oi, don't get cheeky with me, Foster." Cal tried for a mock glare, but couldn't hide the upturn of his mouth and the amusement in his eyes. "Just fill me in a bit, all right?"

Gillian stopped in the hall and turned to face her partner. Cal came to an abrupt halt and waited for a response. He got lost a little, every time she turned to face him unexpectedly. He didn't know if he'd ever be fully prepared to see her delicate features gazing at him with such care, concern, intensity, irritation, whatever it may be. Then again, maybe he didn't ever want to be.

"For this to be a case you're interested in, you don't seem that interested in it," she sighed. "The authorities have reason to believe that Jamie Flynn kidnapped, then killed his wife and son. We need to make sure he's their guy and that there's not a murderer still on the loose. Okay?" Gillian tilted her head to the side, observing Cal.

"Okay. All good. Got it. Let's go, then," he said as he began closing the gap between him and the door to the conference room. "So! The suspect?" he called when he stepped into the room. He saw Flynn's eyes dart up to him immediately, nervous. "Aye, aye. To the Cube, then. Just the killer. Everyone else stays here." At that, Cal turned and exited the room as quickly as he'd entered, grabbing Gillian by the arm and dragging her along to the room across the hall.

Soon thereafter, Flynn was lead to the Cube and sat at the long metal table at the center of the space. Cal let the suspect sit alone in the whited-out Cube for a good ten minutes, wanting to let him steep in his own thoughts for a while. He and Gillian sat outside, watching Mr. Flynn fidget and glance around nervously. They didn't see anger, any kind of contempt, or even guilt on the guy's face and Cal was getting the impression that he was scared shitless. Finally, Cal told Gillian it was time to start the interrogation.

"Questioning," she reminded him lightly.

"Yeah, okay." Cal opened the door to the Cube and stepped inside. "Why so scared, mate?" he prompted brusquely from behind Jamie. The younger glanced briefly back at Cal, but didn't meet his eyes and didn't answer the question. Cal stalked around to face Flynn while Gillian moved to have a seat across from the supposed killer.

"What's your name?" she asked calmly. Gillian usually played good cop. She managed to get baselines and answers that way.

"Jamie Flynn," he muttered while shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Bit louder, mate. No one likes a mumbler," Cal quipped.

Jamie cleared his throat and repeated his name with more force. Jamie Flynn wasn't an uppity man and was visibly reserved. He was a good-looking guy of 32 years old, a typical "dad" with dark hair and neat beard to match. Didn't look the type to be a killer and he was too obviously anxious to be a psychopath.

"Did you kill your family?" Cal asked suddenly. Jamie met his eyes and flashed fear again. Cal saw the younger man's pupils dilate for a moment, then return to their normal size.

"Yes," Flynn said gruffly.

"Are you sure, mate? 'Cause you'll go to prison. For a long, long time." Cal dipped down to see Jamie's face better as the man was keeping his head angled down and away from the deception experts, like he was hiding something. "Who are you protecting? Eh?" Fear again, but coupled with anger. "Oh, now that's interestin'. Did I strike a nerve, Flynn? If you didn't kill your family, then wha's the big deal? If you did, then you should be mostly rage, contempt for us, and maybe, maybe a little anxiety over bein' caught. So, what's the hang up? Did you kill your family, Jamie?" Cal asked again, slowly and more aggressively than the first time.

"Yes," said Jamie with more conviction, but Cal watched his pupils enlarge and then go smaller once again. His eyelashes fluttered.

"Thank you for wastin' our time, Mr. Flynn. We'll go tell the authorities what we've found," he gestured to Gillian to follow him out. She complied. They stood outside watching the video feed for a few more minutes, Cal hoping that Flynn would cave and call them back in, before Gillian turned to Cal.

"You don't think he did it, do you?"

Cal shook his head. "Nah. The man's scared outta his mind. No way he's a killer and he's definitely no psychopath. But he is hidin' something. Dunno what, though, and if he doesn't tell us then we can't help him," he finished with a shrug. The pair watched Flynn shift uncomfortably for a little while longer before returning to the officers in the conference room.

The detectives stood stiffly when Cal entered the room and waited silently for their findings.

"He's not your guy," Cal said with certain finality. He was met with bewildered expressions and disbelieving replies until he convinced them to (begrudgingly) leave the building with their not-so-murderous-murderer off the hook. Jamie Flynn had offered no more words as he was taken out of the building; therefore, the Lightman Group could help no further until another lead was brought to them by the detectives. Flynn would give in, Cal was sure of it. And the office was met with peace once again. It didn't last long.