A/N: Thanks so much for the kind reviews, everyone! You guys are awesome!

Chapter Three: Backstory

April, 2003

Dr. Foster's eyes lit up when she saw who was entering her office. She stood up to greet him.

"Cal."

"Foster."

He reached out a hand, and she shook it.

"Thanks for coming, Cal. I could really use a favor."

He smiled as he plopped down in the chair. She walked behind her desk and sat to face him.

"So how's private life?" She could see that he was struggling to answer the question.

"Ah, well. Ya know. Startin' a business, it's rough."

There were so many things that she wanted to ask him, so many things she'd heard. It seemed that every day, Alec would come home with another sordid tale of Cal's falling out with the U. S. Federal Government. She wanted to hear it all from the source.

"You know, I was expecting a phone call," she finally said, letting her face show the friendship she wanted him to see. He bowed his head and started fiddling with the buttons on his suit jacket. Hadn't he been the one who taught her what that meant?

"Ah, you're not my shrink anymore, Foster. I thought you came here to get away from all that rubbish."

Her lip pouted at the idea that Cal thought himself a nuisance. She'd never seen him so down before. The cocky British demeanor was gone, replaced with something that wasn't unlike what she saw in her patients every day: desperation. She felt a stab of guilt, right in her heart.

"You're right. I'm not your shrink, Cal, but I'm your friend. If you need to talk, or if there's something else you need from me . . ."

"This, this is good." He rubbed his hands along the arms of the chair as if she'd just given it to him as a present. "It's good to have someone to help." He looked up at with eyes that begged her to start talking business. She reluctantly agreed to play along.

"Well, suicides are your specialty, aren't they?"

"They are that. Haven't worked a suicide case in a while, though."

"I promise, Cal, this one's right up your alley. I have a patient who claims that she's no longer suicidal, and I believe her."

"And the problem is?"

"I'm trying to get her discharged, but I'm fighting two other colleagues who treated her before she got to me. They disagree with my diagnosis."

"I thought you ran this place."

She couldn't help but smile at him. To Cal Lightman, everything was easy.

"It's not that simple, Cal. I'm the senior psychiatrist; I'm not the boss."

"Pity."

She smiled again, and for the first time, he smiled back. It was good to see that smile again.

"I'm hoping that you can confirm my findings and back it up with evidence. I really need this, Cal. She's been here for three weeks, and this place is just making her worse."

"What's the average time kids spend in this loony bin?"

"Three days."

"I'll do what I can, Love."

January, 2010

In the lab, Loker was hunched over the controls while Torres stood back, her arms crossed, shifting an amused gaze between her co-worker and the video they were analyzing.

"See?" He pointed to the paused video. "At normal speed, he looks fine when asked about Miss Greenwood. No manipulators, no shame or anger, nothing. But when we slow it down . . ."

"Fear," a voice chimed in from the back of the lab. Loker and Torres turned to see that it belonged to Christine. "He's afraid. Scared to death, I think."

"That's right," Loker couldn't help but rub his neck this time. "This is a fear expression that lasted less than a second, what we call a micro-expression."

"Well," Torres stepped in aggressively and shooed Loker away from the controls, "what you probably don't know is why he's afraid. When we put his micro-expressions together with what he said, or, what he refused to say, it's clear that he has information, but he's keeping it to himself."

"So, what do you think?" There was a pause, as neither girl was sure whom Loker was addressing. Torres took the lead.

"He's been threatened. The kidnapper is in contact with him, probably asking for a ransom. Maybe Lightman can get more out of him."

"Wait," Christine got closer to Torres and examined her face carefully. "Ria? Flores, right? No, wait." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Don't tell me . . . Torres? Ria Torres?"

Torres didn't respond, though she made a face that showed her confusion.

"Christine Hyde." She pointed to herself with eyes that expected Torres to recognize her. "Remember? We were in Spanish class together during high school. Freshman year? Mr. Martinez?" Torres shook her head.

"I did take Spanish from Mr. Martinez, but I don't remember you."

"Are you sure?" Christine seemed genuinely perplexed. "I was the only white kid in the class."

"No, sorry."

"Huh. I guess it was a long time ago." She paused, and her eyelids fluttered. "Wait, how do we know that Kasim is connected to the case?"

"The FBI found a cell phone in her house, and he showed up on the phone records at the time they think Greenwood got snatched." Loker had responded when Torres seemed unable to do anything but give Christine a blank stare.

"Was the cell phone in Perdita Greenwood's name?"

"Nope. Registered under a false name, paid in cash." Loker showed the pursed lip look that he normally made when stating facts he didn't like.

"So, a disposable cell."

"Looks that way."

"Okay, that's something." Christine pulled her eyebrows together for a second, deep in thought. "I'll be back," she said suddenly, heading towards the door.

Torres finally managed to say something: "Wh-Where are you going?"

"Research." Foster's friend turned to smile at them before she closed the door behind her.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Torres and Loker tried not to look at each other.

"Well, that was awkward," Torres said, unsettled. "She knew my name." At that, Loker shrugged.

"She seems harmless. You're sure you don't remember her?"

"Pretty sure," Torres replied, but Loker caught the one-sided shrug she leaked. "Let's finish looking at this video."

Foster was at her desk, going through files while catching up on the news from the monitor on her wall. When Reynolds poked his head in, she grabbed the remote and turned the television off.

"Hey, Ben."

"Gillian." He nodded. "Do you have anything that I can report to the bureau?"

Foster shuffled through a few of her files and frowned. "Maybe. Do we have a warrant for Kasim's phone records yet?"

"No, but we will soon."

"It's possible that he's receiving ransom calls."

"Really?" Nothing made Ben smile quite like probable cause. "Well, that changes things. I'll call it in and see if we can't speed things up a little." Foster was going to turn the TV back on as he left, but she stopped when she saw him hesitate, his face conflicted.

"Just say it, Ben."

"I don't want to stir up trouble, especially with you and Lightman."

"It's okay," Foster sighed, "tell me."

Within moments, Foster was leaning against the doorframe of Lightman's study, watching him as he watched that same old film, like a British Howard Hughes. It hurt her to see him like this, and every part of her wanted so badly to comfort him. The question she often had to ask herself was how to help Cal without going over the line.

"Your mother was beautiful," she said, making her voice soft and comforting. Lightman didn't move.

"Who ratted me out? Was it Torres?"

"Reynolds, actually. I don't know why, but he seems to care about you." At that, he spun around to make sure she was being sarcastic.

"Well, bein' mean to him is fun, innit?" It was then that Gillian knew that she could turn off the film and take a seat.

"I thought you said that you were fine."

"I am."

"So, you're watching this because . . ."

"Just rememberin'." He leaned in to study her face. "I see the guilt, Foster."

"So do I, Cal." Lightman shrugged, and Gillian placed her hand on his arm. He fought to hide how warm it made him feel. If she hadn't done that, and if he hadn't seen the pain in her eyes, maybe he could have told her that she was smothering him and sent her away. Now, he was powerless.

"You brought her on to the case because you thought she'd help, and she has, so that's an end to it."

"I didn't bring her on the case to hurt you. I-" She closed her eyes. "I shouldn't have done it."

Lightman studied her again, then took the hand on his arm and held it between both of his.

"I'm just bein' stubborn, that's all. Don' worry 'bout me." She heard him sigh as he watched his thumbs stroke her fingers. "You should have brought her in before, if she's as good as you say. You shouldn't let me stop you." She wished that he could look up at her, but when he didn't, she took her free hand and ran it through his hair. Just once.

"It's not your fault, you know. Not her, and not your mother."

"It's not your fault either. You seem to forget that bit."

He looked up at her, and she could see how sincere he was. It took her a second before she knew how to respond.

"I think you should talk to Christine, if you feel up to it. I think it'll make you feel better."

"I dunno, Gill. Don' wanna make things worse." Gillian couldn't help but smile when Cal used her first name. It seemed like he hadn't done it in ages.

"She's come a long way since you last saw her, and so have you. She wants to reconcile."

"Are we fightin'?" Cal shot that fake surprise look of his. Gillian chuckled and swatted his arm playfully.

"You know what I mean, Cal. She wants you to forgive her."

"There's nothin' to forgive, Love. You know it."

"I think she wants to hear it from you." Cal's eyes were once again intently focused on her hand, which he still held hostage, and Gillian felt herself let go of a breath.

"Look, you don't have to talk to her, but I think it would be good for both of you. But I'm not going to push you." Cal locked his searching eyes in hers.

"It means that much to you?"

She pulled away and looked down. "It does."

"Well then, I'll give it a go."

Gillian was about to say something when her phone rang, and Cal let her know that it was okay to take it. Slipping her hand out of his, she stood up and answered, too distracted to realize that Cal's eyes never left her. With her back turned to him, she couldn't see the smile that he was unable to squash as he admired yet another of her stunning outfits. She really had no idea how gorgeous she was.

"We've got a warrant," she said, turning around just as Lightman got his usual mask back in place. "They're bringing him here."

A/N: So, what do you think? Should I post the next chapter, or wait until tomorrow? *evil laugh* Okay, fine; I'll post it.