A/N: Massive thanks for all the feedback from the last chapter - so very glad you guys are sticking with me on this. As promised, this is the chapter where the majority of Cal's "plan" gets revealed. Some details are still to come, though, so stay tuned for those. Also, a few readers have asked me when we can expect to see Emily again. She's coming soon, and is a semi-major player before Cal and Gill make it to Friday. Remember that hollowed out book, filled with letters, cards, and small gifts? I haven't forgotten about it, and neither has Cal. :)

I was aiming for a bit of backstory in this chapter, without having a full-on flashback into the early days of Cal & Gill's friendship or the earlier days of Cal's marriage. Hopefully, I pulled it off and kept it mostly in character. One last thing: I wanted to give a huge thank you to Dee, for being extremely helpful with this, for bouncing ideas around with me, and for letting me use some of hers. You are awesome, and a simple 'thank you' doesn't do it justice.

And now... on with the story. Enjoy!


So, after arriving at the office of client number two with a small chunk of time to spare, Cal said a quick thank-you to whatever deity had currently been put in charge of traffic, dialed his old friend John, and hoped that everything else would fall in line as smoothly as his morning already had.

"Yeah mate, it's me, Cal," he greeted. "Was hoping you might be able to get away for a bit this afternoon. Won't take long, it's just… well, I was thinking… the last time we spoke, you made a rather generous offer. And I was hoping it still stood."


By all rights, Cal knew that his friendship with John Anderson should've probably ended ages ago. They'd met through Zoe. Because of Zoe. Because John's ex-wife, Rebecca, had been Zoe's friend first – and her best friend, at that. And he also knew that social obligation (meaning one irritable Ms. Landau who withheld sex when she didn't get her way) should have pressured him to drop the bloke like a hot potato as soon as the ink on the Anderson divorce papers was dry.

It was just one of those things. One of those cases in which sides were inevitably chosen, and 'claims' to a person were made. Because Zoe and Rebecca were an unbreakable bond, they thought that Cal – for all intents and purposes – should wind up getting screwed out of a friendship by default. And he distinctly remembered being pressured to tell the man to piss off, all because two grown women used the words "neurotic, emotionally stunted, self-centered lazy ass" to describe someone who'd become a fast and trusted friend.

(And yes, that was a direct quote. They were Zoe's words, not his.)

But

Social politics and arse-kissery had never been his scene. To Cal, a person either was a friend – loyal, trustworthy, and true – or they weren't. The terms were black and white, not grey, and he didn't much give a toss as to what opinion those women had. He refused to re-wire his moral compass just because Rebecca Anderson got a better offer from a younger, richer man who'd probably wind up trading her in for a newer model in just a few years, anyway.

The translation? Zoe bloody hated the fact that Cal hadn't gone along with her social blacklisting from day one. In fact, the mere mention of John Anderson's name was enough to bring out the silent treatment for days, along with a host of assorted 'if-looks-could-kill' faces and muttered swears. Oh, she detested the guy. Despised his profession (anthropologist), his choice in cars (eco-friendly), his wardrobe (too casual), and his hobbies (hunting, fishing, and the like). In fact, swap the hybrid SUV for a Prius, the New York accent for a British one, the big game hunting for criminal chasing… add in a few tattoos, and presto! John Anderson and Cal Lightman were basically the same man, right down to their familial ties to suicide.

Cal's mother.

John's sister.

And if Cal were a betting man – which, coincidentally, he was – then he would've put every last cent on the theory that those similarities were the entire reason why Rebecca despised him, and why Zoe despised John. Each man reminded each wife of the worst parts of her own marriage.

'He's married to his job. He's never home on time. He cares about everyone else more than he cares about me. He has such a bad temper… thinks I'm shallow… has enough baggage to last a lifetime, and don't even get me started on the whole suicide thing. It's like he blames himself, and has never fully recovered. And he's too busy battling the demons in his past to give two shits about the ones that are right here in the present.'

Truth be told, either woman could've made that argument. Which led to one simple reality: Rebecca and Zoe bonded over what was lacking in their marriages, while Cal and John found common ground in their experiences, as well as their philosophies.

And it didn't take a genius to figure out what side of the fence the lovely Ms. Foster leaned upon. In fact, as far as Zoe was concerned, Gillian was – quite possibly – the straw that had broken the camel's back. Because not only had Zoe been strong-armed into socializing with very much divorced John Anderson at every dinner party or holiday event they hosted (Cal's house, Cal's friends, Cal's well-earned right to invite whomever he bloody well pleased…), John had "the nerve" (again, those were Zoe's words, not his) to "actually become Gillian's friend, too."

In Zoe's eyes, Cal and his "other two Musketeers" had drawn some sort of impenetrable battle line, and she was left alone on the other side. Playing the pretty little victim, while "a shrink, a head case, and one cantankerous British guy" mucked it up on her sofa and laughed at one another's jokes. To hear her tell it, the few arse-kissery gatherings in which Cal had the ill-mannered gall to actually enjoy the company of his friends, had been as traumatizing as if he'd had a threesome with John and Gillian right there in the middle of the living room. On top of the buffet line. While having the whole thing filmed.

Overdramatic, party of one.

Still, Cal hadn't tried to be a bastard. He'd tried to make his marriage work – which, sadly, had led to one equally overdramatic shouting match and some reverse psychology, in which he somehow wound up agreeing to respect her wishes and not invite John Anderson into their home anymore. How she pulled it off, he had no idea. All he knew was that if it hadn't been for Gillian… he'd have wound up crawling out of his skin with boredom less than five minutes into each one of her "events."

Two peas in a pod, they were – even on the rare occasion when Gillian dragged Alec along with her. They'd be holed up in the dining room sneaking fingers of Scotch, or watching some Indie film on the portable telly, or – his favorite – upstairs playing with Emily (tea parties, building blocks, watercolors… anything her heart desired) while all of the other adults mucked it up downstairs. Granted, Emily wasn't always home; most times, she stayed with a friend or with Zoe's sister. And that was fine, because it did seem fairly cruel to confine a child to the upper floor of her own home just so her mother could play hostess. When she was there, though, "Cal, Gillian, and Emily" quite easily became the new Three Musketeers.

Oh, don't get him wrong; Zoe had tried to oust Gillian, too. Would've hosted a bloody ticker tape parade if he'd promised to cut those ties, but as Cal himself had told her: "Hell. Fucking. No."

Verbatim.

(And yes, he'd been forced to sleep on the couch for a solid week after that comment.)

Semi-severing his ties to John had been bad enough, but cutting Gillian out of his personal life? That would've bloody killed him.

Granted, he and John had spoken by phone several times. They'd shared a few beers over televised football (the European version, not the American stuff)... attended a few basketball games with Gillian and watched her school them properly on why the term 'March Madness' was so appropriate… and they'd even killed a handful of Saturday mornings at John's beloved hunting cabin, as Cal learned that he felt much more comfortable aiming handguns at criminals in self-defense, rather than aiming a compound bow or a Remington rifle at an innocent deer.

But sadly, regular conversation had become a thing of the past. They hadn't actually spoken in months – not since several weeks before Zoe filed for divorce. Which meant that John Anderson had no idea that things with Gillian had made a U-turn and were now about as far away from platonic as it was possible to get. Yes, it was crazy how much everything had changed. Right went left, up became down, and 'Cal Lightman and Gillian Foster' were now a mere forty-eight hours away from officially becoming 'Cal and Gillian,' in the soul-baring, lovemaking, head-spinning sort of way.

Scratch that: a quick check of Cal's watch proved that it was less than forty-eight hours, now; he was counting. And, keeping his fingers crossed that John's generous offer still stood.


"Let me get this straight. It's been, what? Four… maybe five months since the last time we spoke, and now you call me up out of the blue, insist on buying me some greasy, overpriced hamburger and a couple of beers, and honestly expect me to give you the keys to my cabin for the weekend just because you're a nice guy?"

Blunt. Yes, that's right: John Anderson had always been rather blunt. And while that characteristic rubbed most people the wrong way, Cal relished it. As far as he was concerned, the truth was the truth – and being able to hear it up front, in actual words, saved him both the time and the trouble of reading it from John's face. Rather considerate, it was. He wasn't complaining.

"Oi! It's a greasy, overpriced hamburger with bacon, yeah? And if memory serves, I'm not the one who used the phrase, 'Anytime you need to get away, the place is yours.' So really… you've brought this on yourself, mate. Bloody generosity. Always a kick in the arse, that one is."

And there it was: the root of why Cal had called in the first place. It sounded ridiculous and transparent, but still… Hallmark didn't make a card to commemorate the times when one friend needed to ask another friend for permission to turn a hunting cabin into a temporary love nest. He needed to lead with his strengths – good taste in beer, a smashing sense of humor, and his own unique brand of bluntness.

John smirked, then tried to hide it behind the neck of his beer before saying, "You mean Zoe Landau is actually willing to slum it in my cabin for two nights? Now there's a surprise. That woman has hated me ever since that Christmas party three years back, when I convinced you and Gillian to sing that ridiculous song at her… what'd she call it again? Karaoke bar? Wasn't my fault that everyone was sitting around looking like they'd rather be watching paint dry, now was it? And it's not like I set you up with a love song or held mistletoe over your heads the whole time. It was just a song – and one hell of a fun song, at that. You guys were a riot! A bit flat on the chorus, maybe, but still. Talk about an icebreaker."

Ah, yes… the infamous 'Starship Incident,' as it had since come to be known. Cal remembered it well. After a rather heated debate over what they'd actually sing, he'd belted out the lyrics to "We Built This City" as wholeheartedly as any British bloke could've, and managed to keep his eyes trained on only Gillian's face during the entire performance. Even when she kneeled down to retrieve a wayward microphone and her cocktail dress had ridden so far up the backs of her thighs that it made his head spin.

(Alright, fine. He'd peeked. So sue him.)

But instead of saying any of that, Cal opted for simplicity. "We were not flat – we were fantastic," he countered. "And just for the record, Zoe still hates you. But she and I are right around the corner from having our own divorce finalized, so you're in good company. There's plenty she hates about me, too."

If Cal had been expecting surprise, he would've been sorely disappointed. Because when John finally managed to swallow the sip of his beer and force his eyes to return to their normal size, the emotion he actually flashed was amusement. Mixed with relief. Mixed with… something else Cal couldn't quite identify. Suspicion, maybe. It was gone in half a second, and before he had the chance to say another word – specifically, another word about Gillian – John beat him to the punch.

"Divorced, then," he quipped. "Welcome to the club. Can't say I'm too surprised, though. You and Zoe always did seem pretty mismatched. You and Gillian, on the other hand – I swear, Cal, if ever that woman becomes single, you'd be crazy not to take a shot. Hell, you're already business partners… you two can practically read each other's mind… and, she's beautiful. Too bad she's got pathetic taste in husbands. What was that idiot's name, again? Alex?"

Then it was Cal's turn to smirk, because John had just hit everything right on the money without even trying. "It's Alec," he emphasized, over exaggerating the C because for whatever reason, it had always annoyed him. "And she did. She did become single, I mean. Or rather… she's in the process of becoming divorced. Divorced, John. Not single. Because, see, I'm not crazy. And I am taking a shot, yeah?"

Funny. Cal could practically see the moment when everything snapped together in John's head and he realized what Cal was really asking. His expression shifted from happiness, to jealousy, to relief, and then back to happiness again. Then his eyes scrunched up and his brow furrowed, and he put both palms out in front of him in a pushing gesture, as if to say 'Are you seriously about to ask for the keys to my cabin so you can take Gillian up there to have sex?'

And really… he was. He just wasn't going to use those words, specifically. No, this was about more than just a weekend shag. They needed a fresh start. A break from all the baggage that came with 'her place,' and all the inevitable reminders of Zoe that came with 'his place' (Oh holy hell, he hadn't even gotten a new mattress yes! No wonder Gillian hadn't wanted to step anywhere near that bed…), and they needed to create something that was entirely 'theirs.'

A hotel seemed too… safe and predictable. The office seemed too… well, wrong… for their first time. But that cabin? Serenity and silence, mixed with waterfalls, beautiful scenery, and utter peace? That was perfect. And besides, John was her friend, too. She'd feel safe there. Comfortable. Like it could've been their – bloody hell, he was turning into a sap – home away from home.

Which was fitting, because "they" didn't really have a home yet. And that was a whole new conversation that needed to take place sometime in the near future. Would they move in together? And if so, where? When? And how would Emily fit in the picture? Would she get a vote? Get to choose her room, or voice an opinion, or…

A slight correction? Clearly, he was turning into a sap and suffering from some sort of temporary attention deficit issue, too. He needed to breathe. To relax. To take everything one step at a time and not try to vault them headlong into a second marriage even before they'd legally severed the first ones.

Inhale… exhale… repeat.

"Gillian would love it there," Cal said. "I know she would. And I just thought that…"

Before he could finish the sentence, John lifted his mostly-empty beer once again and cocked it sideways, as if to make a toast. He didn't actually give one, but he didn't need to. Cal still heard the sentiment loud and clear.

"Word of warning, though," John said. "Peaceful and relaxing are both fine, but the actual cabin isn't what I would call… female friendly. There's no TV, no cell service – not even a landline."

Yes, that was all very true, and Cal remembered those details well. And as luck would have it, they were the ones on which his entire plan hinged. No interruptions. So he took one final pull from his beer and offered a nearly non-existent smile. So far, so good. Once the lodging was ironed out, all he'd need were two sneakily packed suitcases, a bit of food, and some way to actually move the other… surprise… into place.

One thing at a time, though. Step two would just have to wait until step one was finished.

"Now that's what I call unplugged, mate," Cal offered. "And trust me, John – "unplugged" is exactly what I Gill and I need. So as long as there's a shower, a bed, and a large enough refrigerator to store the basics, then we're all set. Don't much give a toss about the décor, yeah? Far as all that's concerned, I don't plan on looking at much besides Gillian, anyway. Everything else pales in comparison to her, no matter where we stay."

There it was again – oh, he was definitely a sap. As in… a giant, world class, title-winning sap. And somehow, he knew that his old friend John would not let it go unnoticed.

"Well, well, well," John said. He managed to hide most of his laughter under his breath, but a few tendrils escaped from around the edges of his beer. Not that Cal could blame him, though – he'd rather walked right into it. "Cal Lightman: Human Lie Detector, turned Casanova? Never thought I'd see the day when you became a true romantic. I mean, Rebecca and I spent years hanging around with you and Zoe. Parties, dinners, casual dates… you name it. Never once did I see you look that way about her."

Cal's brows knitted together in raw curiosity and he couldn't help but ask the obvious question. "What way?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Um… gooey?"

'Gooey?' he mused. Now that was quite the picture. Add in the temporary attention deficit issues and the fixation on privacy, and it sounded completely accurate. No… couldn't much argue with a single word.

Cal shrugged. "Call me crazy, but it was rather bloody hard to be "gooey" with Zoe, when she spent the latter portion of our marriage insinuating that I was a total prick. 'Fraid she temporarily smothered that side of me sometime in year seven. But I can do it, yeah? I can be romantic and sweet and gentlemanly. And just for the record? With Gillian, I want to do it. She deserves the best, and I'm determined to give it to her. One way or another."

In the long list of sad but true facts Cal had learned about himself, that one ranked near the top: while Zoe Landau gutted his inner romantic, Gillian Foster brought it back to life. Hell, even before he'd been wise enough to label anything Gillian-centric as "romantic" at all, he'd known she was a better… fit. She made him smile, laugh, breathe, feel, enjoy everything so much more, and it seemed insane that they hadn't seen it sooner. That they hadn't seen what they could become together, if given a proper chance. But bloody hell, he saw it now.

With high definition clarity, and Technicolor precision.

Funny. Six months ago, if anyone would've suggested to Cal that he'd be finalizing his divorce while simultaneously finding unconditional love and – here was the real head-spinner – immense sexual fulfillment with Gillian Foster, well… he would have laughed in their faces. Hysterically. Until he hyperventilated.

But now?

Now, it all made perfect sense. Twenty-twenty hindsight, and all that.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" John suddenly asked.

Cal smiled. The answer to that question practically shouted itself from his bones, and even though he'd already said those three magic words to Gillian… hearing them spoken aloud by someone else served as some sort of confirmation that yes, this was really happening. He didn't need to hide his feelings anymore. He could stand in front of the Washington Monument with a bullhorn and shout them if he wanted to, and it was fine. It was good. It was time.

Finally.

"Head over heels," he said. "And I just thought that maybe, well… if your offer still stood…"

With an emphatic shake of his head, John answered Cal's question even before it was fully spoken. "Always thought you belonged with Gillian anyway," he said warmly. "Most people spend their whole lives looking for that one perfect match. Someone who just "gets" them in a way no one else can. But you two? It's been right there all along. I saw it. Zoe… Rebecca… Alec… hell, all of us saw it. You guys are just late to the party."

With that, John quickly fished his keys out of his pocket. He removed a small silver one and passed it to Cal, and summed up the rest of his feelings in only nine short words: "Be happy, alright? God knows you both deserve it."