A/N: Standard disclaimer... I don't own LTM or any of it's characters. That's probably a good thing, because I'd forever be too distracted by Cal / Tim to get anything done. *sigh*

Anyway, this is my first try at a LTM fic, and even though it's no where near the level that most of the other writers here consistently show, thanks for reading this and humoring me. Good to know I"m not the only one completely obsessed with this duo. Happy reading!

"What are you waiting for?"

It was a very simple question, really. When Emily first asked, so many answers swam in his head that the sheer volume of his own excuses was enough to make him dizzy. Courage… time… faith enough to know I'll never hurt her. Emily had accepted his answer that night, and hadn't pressed him at all. When she asked again the next evening, he smiled – more amused by her persistence than scared of his own truth – and waited only a beat before answering, "The right time, love. I'm waiting for the right time."

And so it went in the Lightman house for those first few days after Claire's death. Emily would ask and Cal would answer, always the same, until Emily had grown so sick of hearing the words "the right time" that she almost wanted to scream.

"Enough dad," she'd finally insisted one evening. "You love Gillian… the time will be right no matter when you tell her."

Cal sighed. His choices were clear; he could either keep stalling (which was itself a risk… he didn't think he could survive another Dave), or he could finally tell her the truth. It was time to put his 'truth or happiness' mantra to the test first hand.

As a holiday, he'd never really seen the appeal; much too commercialized for his liking. But for a man on a mission to find the magic "right time" to proclaim his love, it would have to do.

And so he found himself knee deep in retail hell just the week before Valentine's Day. Cal was certain he'd browsed through every aisle of every store in the entire DC area. His feet ached, his head was pounding, and his demeanor had long since passed hopeful and settled into an annoying fog of defeat. A few more hours of this, he decided, and he would surely go mad.

There was no shortage of store fronts filled with traditional gifts, and he had no doubt seen them all. From jewelry (too serious), to perfume (too frivolous), to lingerie (too soon, of course, but a few delicate pieces had damn near broken his resolve), none of it fit what he was trying to say - which, as he had rehearsed it in his head more times than he'd ever admit aloud, sounded something like, "Can't you see how much I love you? To hell with the bloody line." Only with dozens more words, of course... he rambled when he was nervous.

It should be easy; that much, he knew. It should be easy to speak from his heart - especially to the woman who had stolen it so absolutely – but it wasn't. Gillian was his center, after all… she had seen him at both his best and his worst, and through it all refused to give up on him no matter how many times he'd stubbornly tried like hell to send her running in the opposite direction (for her own best interest, of course). And now it was up to him to push past the boundaries of her self-imposed line and finally tell her the truth about why he'd been behaving like a complete plonker for the last several months. That he no longer had the strength to push her away… and he'd finally found the strength to tear down the walls around his heart.

And so despite the crowds and the nagging voice in the back of his head which had begun to insist that it was a completely futile effort, he continued searching for that one perfect something that would help him say what it seemed damn near impossible to put into words.

It was late afternoon when the phone sounded from his pocket. He unlocked the screen, surprised to note the time as he did so (three hours in a mall would try the patience of even the most die-hard shoppers, he decided), and squinted at Emily's name on the display.

"Find it yet?" she cheerfully asked.

Surely she was kidding. "Hardly," he huffed. "Can't find anything good enough."

Emily covered a laugh, having expected as much. "You never think anything is good enough for Gillian."

Namely me, he mused, but bit back the words. "True that," he said, somewhat sadly. "Think I'm running out of options here, love."

Emily was confused; she wasn't sure why he was torturing himself over this in the first place, considering it was obvious to everyone who knew them that Gillian and Cal were each equally crazy about the other. It seemed silly to her that he was so hell bent on finding a gift to go along with his declaration. After all, he'd made it perfectly clear in the last several years that he hated the Valentine's holiday – but then again, most people celebrating it alone hated it, so maybe he really had been covering all along. Maybe what he really hated was that he'd never had Gillian as his valentine before.

If left to his own devices, Emily knew there was a very real possibility that her father would wallow in his own self doubt for the rest of the day. "You need to stop over thinking this whole thing already," she insisted. "And explain to me again why you even need a gift at all? Because let's face it, dad, if she was waiting around for you to impress her, she would've been long gone years ago."

"Bit harsh there, Em," he countered, more amused than offended. Clearly, the apple didn't fall far from the tree. "I know I don't need a gift," he explained. "It's just that she deserves something special… something that will show her that I'm sorry for taking this damn long to get to this point." He waited a beat and then added, somewhat shyly, "and because I want to make her happy."

Emily almost found it hard to believe this was the same man who faced down criminals and cops and authority figures of every shape and size without batting an eye. She'd heard him refer to it as such once before, and he was right; Gillian Foster truly was her father's blind spot.

"I'd be shocked if she hasn't figured this out on her own, dad," she gently offered. "I mean, I don't know what your face muscles have been telling her, but given the way you totally light up anytime you look at her, or talk to her, or talk about her…"

"That obvious, is it?" Cal interrupted. Was it hot in there?

"Completely," Emily insisted. She waited only a beat before adding, "And for what it's worth, dad, Gill lights up too."

"She does?" he asked, grinning at the thought. Of the few times he'd dared to read anything close to that from Gillian (their whole 'you just called me sexy,' exchange came to his mind immediately), she'd either been tipsy (his pulse still raced every time he saw that miner's hat), or had backpedaled right out his office door. Hard to believe she might have been playing it as close to the vest as he had been.

Emily giggled, breaking his train of thought. "Fourth of July dad," she said, and he heard the smile still lingering in her voice. "Just like you."