Disclaimer: These characters belong to fox, and there respective directors producers and creators. They are not mine.
Solid and sleek, it twirled from finger to finger; a nervous habit he had picked up, and despite himself, was having a hell of a time ridding of. Finally shoving the damned pen between his teeth he let his eyes trail once again to the stark white wall before him, now marred with her delicate, feminine features, and let his thoughts go. Gillian Foster, 37 years old, five foot five, 115lbs soaking wet, trained and skilled psychologist and his business partner. She had been missing nearly a month and a half, his office having come to the conclusion that she had finally decided to leave Alec, and had gone in the night without warning.
Removing the pen again he stood from his lax position, walking towards the wall and close to Gillian's huge, projected face. Pulling the pin from its cap he circled a tiny, nearly imperceptible line that ran across the left side of her face, then stood back from the wall and crossed his arms once more, staring at her sweet eyes; the smile that took up her features in this photo was barely visible as she channeled it through those blue orbs.
Slowly she made her way into his doorway, staring at her boss staring at her former other boss. Lifting a hand to knock his voice startled her as it rang out before she had even made a sound.
"It doesn't make since you know?" he turned on rocky feet, upper body swaying slightly as he met her flush. "No signs. This photo," he uncrossed his arms and pointed with the pen towards the face, "was taken of her two days before she left. No regret, no fear, no anger." He tilted his head in a way she was quickly becoming familiar to. "Just…happy." His eyebrows rose and dropped half heartedly, his voice strong with conviction, but softened in his concern. He had been in his office for what seemed like days, her eyes catching a glimpse of Gillian every time she passed the darkened room.
She let her jaw drop as a means of collecting her thoughts, "We looked into-"
He cut her off before she could finish rattling off the story that everyone had chocked up to explaining Gillian's disappearance.
"Yeah, I don't want to hear that 'she left Alec' crap." He turned away from her, arms again crossed, eyes moving about, studying. "She wouldn't have done that…" his voice became slower as he thought, "At least not without letting me know." He turned sharply back to her, clapping his hands together as if to squash a bug. "So? What'd you need Torres?"
"Uhm," she tried to suppress the look she wanted to give him, "Loker and I have a case?" she ended it with a question as he moved closer to her, his head tilting this way and that as he scanned her.
"You think I'm crazy." It was more a statement that a suggestion.
"No." she cleared her throat. "Just a little obsessive."
"I think he's lying." He said with a nod of approval.
"Who's lying?" she raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Alec. He and Gillian didn't fight; she didn't storm out of the house the day she went missing."
"You already called him in twice, Loker and I, neither of us saw anything in him." She shook her head, hands dropping to her sides in defeat.
"Only because you didn't want to see anything!" he pointed at her accusingly and smiled coyly behind the offending appendage, quickly dropping it and walking to his desk to retrieve his coat from the back of his chair and walking through the door way past her.
"Wait!" she called after him, "Where are you going?"
"To the Opera." His voice boomed down the hall as he turned to face her, walking backwards.
"You're going to see Alec aren't you?"
"Ahh! That's why I picked you Torres! You're just so good at picking up on things" he winked and turned back around, disappearing behind a corner.
The drive to Gillian's apartment was excruciating, his mind on the defense as Torres' words danced through his calculated mind. Obsessed. The word stung like salt in a wound. Foster was important to him, and he would admit to having stray thoughts about her more than once a day, but obsessed? He let the tiniest of smiles creep over his lips as he thought about how often he did actually think of her. You are crazy Cal.
The moment he pulled up he could hardly stifle the over all sense of obscurity. He had never traveled to the apartment without her, the few times having only been when her car had broken down and Alec needed his for more important business. He could have choked the bastard. He had this intelligent, albeit stubborn, frustrating, and simply gorgeous woman at his disposal and just ignored her.
With that thought he knocked a little too hard on the home's front door, his knuckles pinking with the force. When no one answered he knocked even harder, the pink becoming a sheer white as his skin stretched thin over the bones.
"Alec? Alec, I know you're home. Your damn car is in the park!" he yelled through the door, his pounding having subsided for only a moment.
Still no answer.
Brows furrowing he took a step back, knowing he would regret the action later, and kicked the door. With only one blow the hinges were barely moved. A second kick and they started to squeak. Finally with a third he heard the crunch of the lock breaking and subsequently opening the door a fraction of an inch.
"I'll let myself in then." He smiled for an even smaller fraction of a second and pushed the door in, the loud creak of the bent hinges singing into the room. The air inside was sweltering hot despite the early fall chill outside, his best guess being that Alec had left the heat on and the windows closed. Sniffing, his nostrils took in a sweetly sour reek; his nose guiding him to what he could only assume was the Foster's bedroom. As he reached the door his cell phone began to shriek loudly the screen lighting with the name Torres.
"Yeah?" his voice came out louder than he had expected, his fingertips reaching the handle of the door and urging it open.
"Alec's dead."
The stench over took him, the need to cough arising almost instantaneously as his eyes took in the slumping mass of flesh before him.
"Yeah, I know." He pulled the device from his ear, slamming it closed with an audible click. Lying before him was the lifeless, baking, form of what was once Alec Foster. He had been made to sit on the edge of the room's bed, his legs crossed politely, handless arms resting on his lap, body propped up by an old dresser and his head hyper extended backwards, exposing a swelled and unmoving Adam's apple.
"Damn."
A/n: oh dear. Hope you enjoyed! More to come soon!