Thank you all for reading and commenting, it was great motivation to see this through!

"Which one is best?"

Her voice came low and soft, almost inaudible despite their proximity because of the people and music around them. For some reason, Cal worried about that question for a moment. He thought the topic was closed and he hoped they could move on, he truly believed Foster snuggling up to him meant they didn't need to go further, but obviously she wasn't done yet.

He shifted slightly and she must have understood because she glanced up at him, the trace of a smile on her lips between amused and exasperated. Leave it up to him to panic about something like that, of all things!

"Trust or loyalty," she clarified then before remusing the position.

With her head resting in between his shoulder and chest, Foster felt him taking a deep breath and rolled her eyes, imagining his face focused on the seemingly difficult question.

"Neither, I think. Not sold separately at least."

"That is a very diplomatic response," she conceded, then couldn't resist the tease. "How much have you had to drink again?"

He laughed a little, more at the idea that it would take only two beers to get him drunk than her joke. Then he rested his chin on top of her head, concentrating so much on what he wanted to say that he didn't realise his hand was now absently moving slowly up and down her arm.

"They are both important, they can also both be bad and good." Cal wasn't quite sure he was making much sense, but she didn't interrupt so he carried on. "When one trumps the other people are going to get hurt. Case in point, I put loyalty over trust with Terry and got a lot of trouble for it."

"It's an interesting idea but a faulty equation," Foster replied with a calm voice, not meaning to fight him on that but rather engaged in the debate. "You said not telling me wasn't a matter of trust, the opposite if anything. You trusted me but were loyal to Terry, so you put both on the same level on different ends and things didn't work out. You didn't really chose one or the other and still got hurt."

Call pulled back a little and looked down at her, amusing her with that confused expression of someone who had just been spoken to in an unknown language. She chuckled at the view and patted his shoulder to reassure him it was alright, that she knew he had pretty much made that up on the spot, then he smirked and pouted at her in an hilarious grimace.

"Well you know, I did have a couple of drinks…"

Foster muffled a laugh on the fabric of his jacket, amused by his call back at her previous joke and how easily he could, at times, recognise he wasn't always the smartest person in the room. She then pulled away from him, with regret, to get hold of her glass and drink a generous sip from it while staring thoughtful at the room around them. Cal looked at her, disappointed by the lack of proximity and a bit worried about that pensive look, but then she rolled her eyes and he grinned. She must have seen him reading too much into it with the corner of her eyes, which annoyed her as usual, and he knew she was going to tell him what was going through her mind no matter what. Cal enjoyed the fact that they could be comfortable with that level of non-verbal communication, skipping silly questions to get to the point, at least when there wasn't anything too serious on the line.

"I think I'd take trust over loyalty," Gillian said then. "If I have to chose-"

"You don't have to, love."

She didn't mind him cutting her off like that, not with that care and affection loaded voice he kept God knows where most of the time. Foster turned her head to look at him, who had leaned back on the seat in the meantime. Despite the fact he was further away from her she could feel him close still because of the magnetic pull of his gaze, the one that was open for her to read freely without fear of misinterpretation.

"In fact," he grabbed his glass and gulped down half of what was left, that look in his eyes carefully gone when he put the glass back on the table to look at her "you get the double whammy."

Foster wasn't gonna lie, to herself or to anybody else who would have cared enough to ask, but having Cal Lightman saying that kind to her was something to cherish. She knew, most of the time, but for two people who hardly used words to express themselves it didn't hurt to hear it out loud. That was when she smiled at him warmly, her smile growing even bigger when she realised he seemed somewhat ashamed for what he had just let slip out. Truth was, Cal didn't mind her knowing that sort of stuff, he meant every last bit of it…but whenever he managed to push himself enough to tell them they were immediately followed by the self-realisation he had a crappy way to match his action to his words.

"That's not fair," Foster mumbled after a few silent moments of watching him keep his hand busy with the paper coaster, then she leaned back on the seat. "You should let me be the one pointing that out."

She muttered the last couple of words while drinking, almost choking on the liquid as his eyes grew big in genuine surprise.

"I taught you about reading faces, not minds." His resented grumble was hilarious but she tried her best not to laugh.

"I am just saying, you could try to spend more time acting like you mean it rather than self-loathing. Wouldn't hurt."

"But then I would deprive you of the opportunity of calling me out on it." He gave her a wide, almost Cheshire Cat grin, then he leaned in to whisper. "And we both know how much you like that."

He was still smiling and so was she. That grin of his would have creeped out most people as if it was hiding something sinister but she knew him, and she knew that smug expression was oftentimes the most honest one he could display. He was wrong of course, she did not enjoy playing that role and would have loved for him to put her in the position to give it up, like that very same day they were drinking and chatting away. She had taken no pleasure in gathering the troops for the meeting in his office, knowing full well he was probably going to turn down any help offer and likely make fun of them in the process. She was thick-skinned and could take it but the others…cleaning up his messes wasn't on their job description, and if couldn't accept help or couldn't recognise he might have needed at least he could-

"I will apologise," he promised then, patting her hand on the table in a reassuring gesture. "I still think Torres was a bit spineless there but I will apologise, ok love?"

"God!" Gillian moaned annoyed, vigorously shaking her head. "You know, sometimes you make it impossible to stay angry at you."

He nodded in genuine agreement, puffing up his chest as if that was something to be proud of. Then he pointed his finger at her in some sort of explanatory gesture, clearly ready to move on and open a new chapter.

"That's the funny thing about anger, when it comes to micro expressions." In one sip he finished his beer, then called for the closest waiter and ordered a scotch. "It's easy to spot, probably the easiest emotion to see with little to none training. And yet," he pointed with his finger at the table, tapping the surface as if to reinforce his words, "the most difficult one to understand."

"It's the same with every emotion," she shrugged. "We can see what but we don't always know why-"

"No, you see, what I mean is- Thanks, darling." Cal took a moment to thank the waitress and try the scotch, then licked his lips satisfied and went back to her. "What I mean is that it can be a distraction, right? We see that, clear as day. We acknowledge it and precisely because it's so obvious, right there on the surface for everybody to see, when we move on to trying to understand where it comes from we are conditioned by it. Everything else we see after that," he paused, thoughtful, waving his hands in the air and shaking his head, "it's tainted by it a thick pair of anger-shaped glasses."

Gillian listened with great attention to his words. Beside him, she was quite possibly the person who knew more about what and how they did for a living, but it was always a special treat to be able to pick directly from the source. Still, she found it hard to believe that Cal of all people would somewhat admit seeing an expression might be so clear to the point of being deceiving. And yet…

Foster looked down at the table, releasing a heavy sigh and sinking her head in her shoulders. When she looked up there wasn't much left in terms of smiling on her face, which seemed to puzzle and excite curiosity in Cal who, however, kept his mouth shut. She then sighed again and eyed the glass of scotch in his hand as if to ask permission, which he granted by pushing the container closer to her fingers.

"I wish you'd shared this pearl of wisdom with me before," Gillian whispered, almost to herself, before taking the burning liquor. "Could have used it today."

Cal looked at her without saying a word but tilted his head on the side, his eyebrows asking for explanations. She wasn't surprised he wasn't up to date, he'd had his hands full enough with Terry and the rest to be keeping tabs on anything else and had fully trusted her to take care of the school's case. It didn't make it any easier for her to talk about it, but at least she now had the chance to do so.

"The girl today, Stacey…there was a lot going on with her obviously, but when she showed anger for her schoolmates and the teacher…" She took another sip then looked up, as if trying to ease the liquid down the pipe. "That video was all about hurting people, other people. After I saw the anger there was sadness and I thought-" She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. "I got it wrong Cal, I didn't see it."

Cal moved swiftly, efficient yet discreet. He slid closer to her on seat and wrapped his arm around her pulling her close, enclosing her in an odd embrace to which she surrendered easily. Cal really hoped the reassuring contact would help, she wasn't easy to tears but emotions were a lot harder to control when it came to children and he knew a thing or two about that himself. He waited patiently, reading the small movements of her body in his arms and wincing when Gillian buried her face in his chest for a few moments. When she emerged and he looked down at her there was a light wet trace on her cheek, and she smiled shyly when he removed that with a gentle stroke of his thumb.

"Don't beat yourself up, love." He said in a low voice. "She's a young girl, she was hurting…she was probably too confused to know what she was really feeling at any given time."

"I should have known. Cal, I could have helped-"

That was where she stopped, suddenly feeling like an inconsiderate idiot. Was she really going on about not catching signs of suicidal intent, with HIM? The self-awareness on her face turned into shame, quickly followed by regret. Cal was ok with those, they were understandable and expected considering the factors on the table - her, him, his "specialisation" - but he drew a line at the fear that came up in her eyes to top it all.

"None of that, love." He shook his head and squeezed her tight, comforting but decisive. "I've had my share this evening, no need to make this about me too." She let out a strange sound, probably some nervous laughter. "She's gonna be ok, right?"

"Yeah, in more ways than one."

"That's good," he mumbled, then gently pressed his lips to her hair. "You wanna talk about it, love?"

She did. It was odd because on the one hand she didn't want to talk about it with him and yet she knew he was the only one who could possibly understand. One thing Foster was sure of was that for such a conversation to take place the position they were in was quite possibly the best, not looking at each other removed any risk of letting through unwanted emotions whilst also allowing for more transparent communication.

Not to mention, it felt so damn nice.

They both felt like another drink might have helped but neither wanted to break the composition and call the waiter, so they simply shared the remainder of the scotch as they spoke. Gillian did most of the talking at first but Cal was an active listener, paying attention to her words and carefully picking his time to speak. To Foster's relief, he didn't hold back when it came to reciprocating. There wasn't much he hadn't told her about his mother over the years, but that evening he talked about it not with pain and guilt but rather with the healthy detachment of someone who had learned from it.

When it was over Gillian felt better, and hoped to God he did too. They waited a little, in silence, knowing the more they procrastinated the harder it would have been to come apart, but eventually it became clear it was time to go home. She was tired and he was drained, having been up for more than 36 hours straight between poker tables, mobsters' hideouts and drop points for shady transitions.

It was past 10pm when Cal got the check, taking care of it as promised while Foster visited the ladies room, then they walked out of the pub still buzzing with drinkers. They walked to their cars shoulder to shoulder in a comfortable silence and when they got there she fished in her purse for the keys before looking up at him.

"You ok to drive, love?"

"Yes, don't worry about it. I'm fine Cal." He nodded at her words, then she gave him a questioning look. "How about you?"

"Me? Well, someone drank all my scotch so I am most certainly sober enough to drive." They both smiled at the obvious deflection, at times like Foster wondered why she even bothered asking but he did make an effort to convey true reassurance. "I'm ok, love. Thanks."

It was her turn to nod, but only after she had given him a good look. A serene smirk on his face, hands sunk in his pants pockets, slouched posture leaning on the hood of his car…standard Lightman, nothing to see there.

"Thanks for dinner," she said then. "Goodnight Cal."

"Night love."

With that she turned around and started to walk away, going around his car to reach hers parked next to it. She was just about to get to the driver's door and open when she realised she hadn't heard him open his door and get him yet, and when she looked at the spot where she had left him he was still there. Standing there, looking at her in the shadows parking lot as he was afraid something might happen to her in that short distance, his eyes cutting through darkness. At first Foster rolled her eyes at him, his protective instincts towards were mostly charming but at times like that tipping toward ridiculous, but before she could call him on that she realised that distance and darkness between them seemed to help him in masking something.

The evening quickly played back in her mind. From the unexpected visit to her office and the even less foreseeable invitation, to how seemingly and uncharacteristically easy had been to get him to talk when she had expected Cal to deflect on all fronts, all the way to where the conversation had ended-

For the love of God Cal! Gillian screamed in her own head as her eyes widened, the desire to walk back there and strangle him fighting against the one to hug him.

"That's what this was all about?"

She asked then, loud enough for him to hear her but struggling to put any negative emotion into the question even when the shy shrug he gave her in response tipped the scale on the strangling side. Foster then bit at her bottom lip and shook her head, sincerely hoping Cal couldn't see the smile she was hiding under the frustration on the surface. She knew he wasn't going to answer, not with his words at least, apparently he'd used all the ones he needed for the evening. He just stood there, leaning back on his car, hands digging holes in his pockets and a satisfied grin on his face.

Standard Lightman, nothing to see there.

The end

Well, here it is. It did come out the way I wanted, I hope the title made sense in the end. All I can say is let me know what you think and stick around, already working on something else because this show was too damn good not to give me dozens of ideas.