Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to fox, and there respective writers, producers, directors and creators.

Greedily he let his hardened eyes scan her, his look quickly softening as it drifted over her curled back, relishing in the smooth, milky skin that clung to her protruding spine just below the edge of her shirt. Even through the dirtied white fabric he could see the thin outline of each individual rib, her feeding patterns having been nearly cut off for the last four days. He needed to break her, because breaking her was shattering Cal Lightman. She really was a beautiful woman, her body and face pure femininity, and her scent. Oh god, he let his eyes roll back into his head at just the mere thought of it. Her skin exuded a glow, smelling lightly of vanilla and something so viscerally sweet that he was sure, had it been available in drug form, he would be addicted.

No wonder Calvin lusted after her so; she was an angel in the flesh. Sighing he let the image float through his mind for a moment longer, his hands gripping the sides of the frigid bucket, lips curling into a grin so hard his cheeks hurt. Stepping down into the room and closer to her sleeping for he readied the pale and quickly thrust it forward, sending it's chilly contents toppling over his prey.

She screamed into waking, heart thudding like a hammer trapped behind bone. Scrambling from the center of the room she tore viciously at the inescapable moisture that enveloped her, eyes scanning the room wildly. Standing menacingly above her, still some feet away, her captor's hands held onto the bucket, white knuckled as he laughed. Without thinking she found her voice, the delicate shape of her brows curling with anger, eyes wide and darkened.

"Who did this to you?" her voice was thick with the anger that lived on her features, her jaw jutting forwards, nostrils flared as the emotion raged inside her.

"Did your father abuse you?" she studied his face, "Abuse your mother?" still his face remained neutral, her eyes searching for which button to hit.

"A sibling?" in an instant his face was red, his expression mirroring her own, however it also flashed with disgust in a snarled lip, confusion in a knitted brow, shame in the way he looked away from her and guilt in the way his fist clenched; and something else. She had seen it few times and only in situations in which the outcome had been terrible and though she could not put a name to it, it was definitely there. The tiniest of smiles dared to crack the corner of her mouth, disappearing just as suddenly as it had appeared. There's the button.

She had barely the time to blink before he was on her, fingers at her throat, hand muscles tensing hard around her neck. Gagging she grasped at his hands, his attack having brought her to her feet. Pushing harshly he slammed her backwards, her head meeting the hard wall behind them, sending a garbled cry from between her gapping lips. Grinning he did it again and again until her eyes rolled back violently and she slumped limply against him. Satisfied he let her tumble to the ground with a sickening thud, his hands reaching to the pack of smokes resting in the pocket of his jeans.

Lighting one he put his other hand to work, pushing and pulling until her body lay flat on the ground before him, his knee's locking her hips into place as he knelt down and straddled her soaking form. With an eerie air of contentment he drew a final puff from the rod of nicotine and removed it from between his lips, his other hand sliding up her stomach and pushing the saturated white fabric with it, the tip of the cigarette dangerously close to the flesh that lay beneath. Haltingly the skin of his lips curled into something sinisterly Cheshire as he forced the burning end downward, a sickening sizzle rising as the chard end burnt a perfect circle into the flesh just below her belly button.

Not so much as a twitch erupted in her as his stomach flipped and churned. This was not what he wanted. He wanted her to squirm and beg and scream until her voice gave out. Quickly he had the lighter out again and the tip of the smoldering drug was lit once more, his lungs sucking in nicotine, smoke and burnt flecks of Gillian Foster. The thought of practically breathing her in made him so hard he could have fucked her right there, but he couldn't, not now, not until she screamed for mercy.

Slowly he lowered the tiny branding iron for a second time, this time striking just above her belly button. This time her face visibly contorted. Closer, The smirk grew and he lit up again, hmmm fun.

It took eight plunges with the faux cattle prod to get her awake, screaming, begging for him to stop; eight beautiful, blistered holes, stemming in a straight line from the first, just under her belly button, to the last, just at the cusp of her long breastbone. Putting the shortened cigarette to his lips he sucked her in, his lungs full and tight with Cal's sweet Gillian. A wicked smile enveloped his face as he looked down at her shaking, bleeding body and the ache of his forgotten hard on reawakened suddenly.

Grabbing her shoulders, his delight only intensified as she jerked away from his touch a guttural sound ripping from her mouth as he tugged her upright, her face pressed to his clothed, excited groin.

"You like that sweetheart? Or should I call you love?" his words went through her like an electrical current and she cried out, tears dampening his jeans. Desperately she swiveled her head, trying to escape his grip and the nauseating pain that tore through the muscles of her abdomen. As he held her still she closed her eyes, imagining the smell of Cal's cologne, imagined his hands on her, not this monsters, taking away the pain, and soothing her.

Letting a hand slide over her pointed shoulder blade he roughly tried to feel every inch of her, his fingers finally digging in deep to her fresh wounds. Screaming she fell back, his hands having abandoned her, cal's going along with them.

"I think now is the perfect time to get in some photo's don't you think love?" he winked and stormed from the room, leaving behind only the crushed remnants of the cigarette he had marred her with.


Cal Lightman's fist was clenched so tightly he could have sworn the bones of his hand were going to spear straight through his skin. After finding Alec's body he had had to go through the tedious police reports and interviews, quickly tiring of the repeated questions and sick of the damned people who were issuing them to him. But now, now he wished he could have stayed at the scene longer, wished desperately that he hadn't had these fucking pictures and note shoved in his face.

When he had finally gotten back to the Lightman Group's building he had been greeted by a hiding-it-terribly, but terribly concerned Torres. She had explained to him how the package had arrived only a few minutes after he had left, and how upon opening it they had found the pictures of Dr. Foster and the note addressed to him sitting in the palms of what were clearly Alec's hands.

They had yet to have read the note when he got there, and had yet to have informed the police of the package's arrival. Sitting, chin in hand, jaw clenched, and fist balled against the desk now he stared at the unopened letter and the photos of Gillian. They had been numbered one through five, and thusly he had laid them out in that order. The first was a tear streaked Gillian; an intense close up, like the others, an emotion very poignantly displayed behind the fear and hallow look of her eyes. In the first she was smiling, all in black and white, a darkened bruise evident on the round of her right cheekbone. The second stole the breath from his lungs and his eyes dared scan it more than twice. The second photo depicted micro expressions of arousal, her dark pupils dilated, and her lips twisted suggestively, though subtly.

The third was contentment. Her eyes shone shiny and bright, though tears still left tracks on her cheeks, but he would read satisfaction in her muscle tension. The fourth was shame, her eyes no where near the camera's lens, her lip crushed between her teeth, and her browns furrowed upwards as opposed to the downward furrowing of confusion. And finally the last was rage; rage that he had never seen in Gillian Foster in his entire time knowing her. In this photo he believed the woman he was looking at to be completely capable of taking a life- something the Gillian he knew would never even consider.

He had taken the last into his shaky hand, staring at it for what seemed like forever, his eyes drifting only to stare at the sealed letter. Slowly the final picture fell like a feather to reach its sister's, his hand moving to the letter. With an echoing rip he was into it, the word's typed in an old English script.

This is what you wanted isn't it? To have his dirty, drug addicted, undeserving hands away from her? Off of her smooth, alabaster, skin that you so long to feel in your own hands? See? I've done nothing for you but a simple favor. I have saved her from that bastard of a husband and have brought her into more deserving, loving arms. Something you could never do Calvin. And well, I suppose I wouldn't really call them loving, but deserving, they surely are. I deserve to do with her what I please, to fuck her like you wish you could and to beat her like you never could. And what brings me to such an honor? None other than the infamous, lie detecting Doctor himself, Cal Lightman! Bet they didn't teach you how to detect this in school did they? Oh well, we can't be prepared for everything can we? I certainly wasn't. Especially when he went to jail on my behalf- he took the blame for all those women when he knew it was me. Well now your tender, angelic, sweet, beautiful Gillian is going to be taking the blame for you- for letting him rot in that cell. Oh and these stunning photo's of your dear Gil, they could help you find her. But I'm not making promises.

No signature, no name, no goodbye.

He hadn't realized that the paper was squeezed so tightly in his hand that he had nearly torn it in half, let alone smudged the print. Abruptly a knock sounded behind him, sending his voice booming out in reaction.

"What the fuck do you want Torres?!" he nearly screamed into the room, dropping the letter as he slammed the chair back behind him and stood in one quick, uncontrolled motion.

"Uhm, its Loker, and I just wanted to tell you we'll find her. She's a strong woman Dr. Lightman; she'll hold her own till we find her." Lightman had turned to face him, the anger dropping from his face as he took in the words. He did nothing but nod once, and sit back down, his coated back to the young intern. Looking down at the photos again he could imagine his partner negotiating with her captor.

"Fine, I'll create the expressions-"


"-if you give me something to eat." Her blood thudded hard in her ears as she made the request of him, her heart hoping it would work, her brain scolding her for even speaking back to the man. She watched as the curiosity bloomed over his face then anger as he realized she was reading him. He needed to stay in control, be more careful with what he let show on his features. As a means of keeping that control he took a step closer so that he was towering over her with the six inches that marked there height difference, placing a warm hand over the slowly drying white shirt that clung to her.

"Aww, you hungry?" he leaned down close to her face, her eyes wide and searching as she visibly tensed with the contact his hand made with her wounds from earlier, the blood soaking through her v-neck blouse and onto his palm. She looked him dead on and tried desperately to hold on to some cool demeanor.

"Yes. I am." She said stronger than she had anticipated, her chest warming with the pride she allowed herself for the stability of her voice. His eyes narrowed as he sensed uplift in her. Taking hold of her shoulders he pushed her back roughly, sending her tripping backwards and toppling towards the ground, a loud crunch sounding in her wrist as it met the ground, her hands having flown behind her to break her fall. She cried out and cuddled the broken limb to her chest, drawing her knees in almost instantaneously as he rushed towards her, spit flying onto her now tear soaked face as he screamed.

"Make the fucking expressions or you'll never eat a fucking thing again!"

A/n: sorry! I'm evil! Hope you enjoyed none the less!