This is for the Secret Santa Fic Exchange 2010. A bit random, hardly any plot, not edited AT ALL... but there you go. Merry Christmas/Happy New Year, McBreezy! I'll never hear Deck the Halls quite the same way again. Reviews are appreciated.
Title: (There's Just) Something About Christmas
For: McBreezy; You requested: Eli leads a company sing-along after decorating the Lightman Group's tree, Fluff piece in which Cal shows Gillian the finished manuscript of his book, including a special dedication to her. I used mainly the first idea with a bit of the second. :)
Disclaimer: Don't own it
EDIT: Since after only a couple hours this issue has already been addressed twice, I'm just going to say: yes, the dedication is supposed to remain unknown. Try as I might, I'm just not brilliant at popping into Cal's head. Anything I wrote sounded either too sappy or too cold. I prefer to leave it up to the reader's imagination. And I imagine that whatever you guys come up with, Foster'll be pleased as hell. Hope I cleared that up. :)
Prologue
As evening settled around the city of D.C. like a warm blanket, the employees of the Lightman Group were skittering around the building excitedly in small clusters, giggling and whispering amongst themselves.
One employee, albeit an unpaid and grossly (in his personal opinion) unappreciated one, was not gallivanting around like his colleagues. Eli Loker was in the lab, guitar in hand, muttering over a notebook and frowning in concentration. Ria Torres appeared at the door and waved a hand in Loker's direction, but the gesture went unheeded. Ria smirked and sidled to Loker's side quietly. When she was close, she leaned over and muttered in his ear.
"What are you doing?"
Loker yelped and upset a cup of coffee in the process. "God, Torres, haven't you heard of knocking?"
"I could have started World War III and you wouldn't have noticed," Torres retorted, flopping into a chair and rolling it in an arc to face Loker.
Loker rolled his eyes. "I'm busy."
"Doing what?"
"None of your business."
Torres' eyebrows shot up. "Ooooh, now I am intrigued. What is, Loker? Porn? Confidential access codes? Lightman's diary?" She smirked again and rose, striding over to Loker and attempting to grab the notebook out of his grasp.
"Nice try," Loker said, evading Torres' waving arms, "But it's private."
Torres gave up trying to grab the notebook and settled for crossing her arms huffily. "Come on, Loker. We're friends."
"Oh, sure, pull that one on me now," Loker said, stashing the notebook under his arm and putting his guitar back in its case. "So we're friends when I've got something you want… and I'm your personal slave the rest of the time?"
Torres frowned. "I don't treat you like a slave. That's Lightman's department."
"Yeah, but who's Lightman's protégé? Oh, wait, that's you…" Loker waggled his eyebrows and slid off his chair, going to the door.
"You know Lightman's going to find out about this eventually," Torres commented to Loker's retreating figure.
"Trust me," Loker said, turning around and walking backwards down the hallway, "You'll all find out a lot sooner than that."
Emily Lightman loved Christmas. She loved everything about it. The shopping, the lights, the hot chocolate, the snow, the decorating, the eating… but Emily's absolute favorite thing about Christmas was the Lightman Group's annual Christmas party. Emily loved being able to walk into her dad's world and see it lit up and beautiful, when it was normally so stark and bare.
For this reason, Emily was in an exceptionally good mood when she walked into the front entrance of the Lightman Group at precisely 6:00 P.M. on Thursday evening.
Her father, wiry British man and lie detector extraordinaire, was not.
"Oi," Cal called to Emily as she dashed in, bringing a gust of cold D.C. air with her, "Where've you been?"
"What do you mean? I'm," Emily quickly checked her cell phone clock, "Right on time."
"Yeah, and I'm the bloody President of the United States. Go help Foster." Cal jerked a thumb in the direction of Dr. Foster's office and then strode off down the hallway, looking seriously irked.
"What is with my dad?" Emily asked when she appeared in Gillian's doorway. She looked so like her father it was almost comical, Gillian observed as she looked at Emily. The teenager's arms were crossed, her eyebrows raised, and a demanding light filled her eyes.
"He got a call from Zo… from your mom. Apparently the case we've been working on for three weeks just got flushed down the toilet," Gillian informed the girl, standing and rubbing her stiff neck muscles.
"What, the Coiner case? What's the sentence?" Emily moved as she spoke, unwinding her scarf and collapsing onto Gillian's couch.
"Death row," Gillian sighed, rubbing her hands over her eyes dejectedly. Robert Coiner had been suspected of a brutal triple murder, but Cal had believed him to be innocent. Now they would never get the chance to prove it.
"Ouch," Emily cringed. "I'm sorry."
Gillian smiled tiredly. "It's okay, Em. That's the way these things go, sometimes."
Emily nodded and then wracked her brain for a change of subject. Her eyes landed on Gillian's desk. "What are you doing?"
Gillian turned back to her desk. "I'm just finishing up my Secret Santa. It's a scarf, see?" Gillian held up the blue and green striped material.
Emily smiled. "I didn't know you could knit."
"I do it for fun, sometimes," Gillian replied, folding the scarf into a box and placing the lid on top.
"Who's it for?"
Gillian's mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Your dad. I didn't know what to get him."
"He'll love it," Emily said sincerely.
Gillian grinned more genuinely. "Thanks. So, do you want to head down to the break room? I hear the tree this year is huge."
"I'm game," Emily said. "And we better hurry or Loker will eat all the good cookies."
-V-V-V-
Cal Lightman hated Christmas. He hated the traffic, the over-crowded shopping malls, the commercialism, the fattening food, the false cheer… but mostly Cal hated Christmas invading his work place.
The Lightman Group was his haven. It was the one place he could go to hide from the rest of the world. But when Christmas came around, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Christmas music chased his steps, the smell of sugar wafted from the office Foster (though that happened most of the year, Cal was sure it was worse during the holidays), and employees greeted him like an old friend.
Foster, who should have been face of Christmas from day one, was an impossible force of sugarplums and stockings. She had insisted on a Secret Santa Christmas party every year since he had met her. (The first year had failed pathetically, as it had been just the two of them. But damn it if that woman didn't have the stubbornness of a mule) Over the years, the party had evolved until it had become the big blowout it now was. If there was anything Cal hated worse than Christmas, it was big blowouts.
It was with ill grace, then, that he stumped into the break room of the Lightman Group at 7:00 P.M. on Thursday evening.
He returned the greetings of several people with a half-hearted wave and then threaded his way to the bar. Gillian approached him and leaned her shoulder against his affectionately. Both of them stared out at the happy crowd as they spoke.
"I hate this thing," Cal muttered.
"Thank you for being so selfless," Gillian replied calmly.
Cal wrapped an arm around her waist. "Well, season of giving, and all that."
Gillian grinned and turned to face him. "Oh please, you don't believe in all that crap."
Cal laughed lightly. "No, I don't." He turned to face Gillian, releasing her waist and grabbing her tiny wrist instead. "But I believe in making you happy, darling."
Gillian smiled and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Thank you."
"Excuse me!" Loker called over the murmur of the crowd. Cal and Gillian turned away from each other to face him. "I would like to propose a toast."
"Oh, God," Torres muttered, burying her face in her hands.
Loker raised his glass and blinked blearily, swaying from side to side. "To my bosses, Doctors Lightman and Foster. The former can be an ass and I wish the latter would sleep with me…"
There was an outbreak of giggles and muttering from the crowd.
"But!" Loker said, emphasizing the syllable with a wave of his glass, which cause champagne to spill everywhere, "I would be nowhere without them. To Lightman and Foster!"
The sentiment was echoed and several impetuous employees clapped. Gillian smiled and accepted the praise graciously; Cal focused on downing his entire glass of champagne.
Loker then pulled out the mysterious notebook. "I have written a song for the occasion," he said.
Emily smirked. "This should be interesting."
Ria Torres appeared to have her hand permanently glued to her face.
Loker pulled out his guitar and quickly tuned it. Then he began to sing, swaying clumsily in time with the music:
Here at work we find the tru-uth!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
But Lightman lies to me and you-u!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
He enjoys torturing his employees!
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Foster helps and hides his keys!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Loker finished with a flourish and then took a bow during the raucous laughter and applause.
Cal leaned into Gillian and muttered in her ear, "You hide my keys?"
"We'll talk about it later," she replied between her teeth, still smiling and clapping.
The performance seemed to have drained Loker; he was half carried, half dragged away by Torres to sober up. Gillian murmured a parting word to Cal and disappeared into the crowd. He was about to go after her when Emily appeared at his elbow with a mug of hot chocolate.
"Here," she said, shoving the mug in his hands.
"You know I don't drink that bloody stuff, Em," Cal said, wrinkling his nose at the thick brown liquid in disgust.
"I know," Emily replied. "But Gillian does. I think she needs a little cheering up." She raised her eyebrows, obviously expecting her father to take a hint.
"She just left," Cal said helplessly.
Emily rolled her eyes, annoyed with her father's lack of deduction. "Dad. Where does Gillian always go to think?"
She turned away, assuming no other words were needed; if her dad couldn't figure out what to do with that many hints, he was beyond all help. Cal stared at his daughter's retreating back, slightly perplexed. He was astounded at her astute observations, but he still had no idea what she meant. He stared into the mug of hot chocolate. The marshmallows had begun to melt; they bled into the steaming drink, creating pretty swirls of white amongst the brown. White… snow… Suddenly, several things clicked into place in Cal's head at once. Ignoring the greetings of several more people, he left the break room at a jog.
-V-V-V-
Gillian Foster used to love Christmas.
She used to love the extra warmth and friendliness that exuded from every person. She loved the sense of belonging, the importance of family, the fact that her parents never fought on that one day. Even as an adult, her love for the season had not diminished. If anything, it had increased. Alec had always been lukewarm about Christmas, but he had not been lukewarm about her (at least for a while) and he did everything he could to make her happy. Even after things were bad, post-Sophie, they still managed to be almost happy on Christmas.
But now Christmas was lonely.
And try as she might, Gillian Foster did not cope with loneliness very well. She didn't like to live alone. There was no point in decorating a house she could barely stand to be in. So this year the Christmas tree hadn't gone up. The ornaments and decorations had stayed in the boxes. Christ, she hadn't even baked cookies.
And Cal hadn't even noticed.
Gillian angrily brushed at the tears that dared to fall down her face, the sharp December wind whipping across the rooftop and blowing her carefully fixed hair out of place.
"Emily knew you'd be up here."
She repressed a sigh.
"How?" Her voice sounded small in the foggy night.
"I don't know. She's bloody observant. You okay, love?" Cal leaned across the railing and in towards her, studying her face carefully.
"Don't," she said, shoving him away. "I'm fine."
Cal was not easily deterred. "I brought you some hot chocolate. It's cold by now though, I guess."
Gillian smiled ever so slightly and accepted the mug. "Thank you."
Cal nodded in acknowledgement. Silence pervaded the rooftop for a few minutes. Then he spoke again.
"It's always hard… the first few years. Getting used to being alone," he said slowly, carefully.
"Yeah, well, you wouldn't know. You have Emily," Gillian snapped back. Then she took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry. I… that was uncalled for. I'm just cranky this evening, I guess."
Cal nodded again and then slipped something smooth and cool into her palm. "I understand, darling. See you tomorrow."
He kissed her cheek and trudged away, hands shoved in his pockets, head bent against the wind. Gillian looked back until he disappeared and then looked down at the object in her hand. It was a book. His book. Gillian smiled slightly and opened the cover, her eyes going to the first page, which held the dedication.
It only took five little words to make her feel better.
Epilogue
Most of the employees the next day at the Lightman Group were in a bad mood, being hung over and tired from the previous night. The one exception was Gillian Foster. If anyone asked (and several people did) why she couldn't seem to wipe that silly grin off her face, she would reply with some vague remark about the sunny day or her new Secret Santa gift.
Only one person knew the real reason for her happiness, and why her anger from the day before had suddenly and mysteriously dissolved. Of course, he wasn't about to say anything. No, it was more fun this way. But, Cal contemplated as he strode away from Foster's office with a grin to match hers, this was really not good at all. He was completely and utterly trapped. He would do anything to get that stupid smile on her face. Even write a book. He supposed it should probably bother him more, how much control she had over him. But he could hardly feel anything past the warmth she instilled in him. Oh yes, this was a certifiable disaster.
For he was gone, very far gone indeed.