Scenes from a kidfic I'll never get around to writing properly.
This nonsense was inspired by several things: gifs of Tim Roth with small children (Tin Star, I'm look at you); an AU gifset about a potential Callian boy named Thomas; the deleted scenes from s2 about Gillian's adoption journey; the song Futon Couch by Missy Higgins; and the series epilogue of Burn Notice (blessed content). You can also blame Shannen for her endless encouragement of my brain farts.
Post season 3, canon compliant, Callian, kidfic. (Absolutely none of the legal stuff is researched, so just pretend it's fine.)
Enjoy!
~0~
They watch the little boy through the glass wall of Gillian's office, making sure he's still too preoccupied with his blocks and trains to go getting into mischief. Not that he would; he's a quiet little thing, focussed and thoughtful and entirely engrossed in the small wooden town he has constructed in his imagination. (Percy is his favourite train, and Cal finds that adorable.)
"Whatcha gonna do if they can't find a place for him?" asks Cal at her shoulder.
Gillian sways on the spot, refusing to look at him, her face blank and sweet the way it often is when she's fighting off an emotion of such monumental proportions that she can't focus on it too long.
"I'm trying not to think about it", she says softly. Anyone else might see it as an offhanded comment – a simple thought – but Cal knows her, and maybe he can't always read her, but he can still read her just fine now. She's avoiding answering the question because she's been avoiding having to face it at all; the possible hope, the aching pain of Thomas being taken away. Whichever way this goes, it's not going to be easy for either of them; taking it one day at a time feels like the only appropriate response.
Cal's eyes flick over her for a long minute, itching to ask her more questions and probe this feeling more deeply, desperate for the truth. But she's the only person he won't do it to; even Emily cops his interrogations from time to time, but not Gillian, and certainly not over this.
It's been two and a half days since they found the boy next to his mother's lifeless body. It's been eleven hours since they helped the FBI track down her killer. It's been fifty-six minutes since child services gave Gillian permission to take the boy home for the night, until other arrangements can be made. Thomas has been with her since they found him; nobody was better qualified to look after a traumatised child, but it's now been over two days and things have settled into other, more frightful patterns.
"What's for tea, then?" he asks instead. He's giving in; surrendering to her avoidance against every instinct and his better judgement. (They can't avoid it forever. If child services show up tomorrow and take Thomas away, it's Cal who will be left to pick up the pieces of Gillian's heart this time. He knows that. He's ready for that.) "The kid's gotta eat"
"We were going to order pizza", she replies with a soft grin. "Care to join us?"
He goes to say no but then changes his mind. "Why the hell not. Saves me another night of beans on toast"
She gives him an indulgent look but doesn't reply. (He's been somewhat cast adrift since Emily went to college, and they both know it.)
Gillian steps forward and opens her office door with a smile, and Cal stands back and just watches her.
~0~
She gets to keep him.
It's an incomplete thought, loaded with caveats and common sense and what ifs so extensive he could fill another bloody book. But all he can think is she gets to keep him, and his heart swells with a bloom of love and gratitude so strong he forgets he was even capable of such emotion.
Gillian gets to be a mother – maybe not fully, not now (not yet), but Thomas is going home to her house, and sleeping in the spare bed (his bed), and in the morning, he'll still be there, and nobody is going to swoop in and take him away like they did with Sophie.
The welfare agent keeps talking, because she must - "Your previous status as a successful adopter will expedite the process of becoming an accredited foster home in DC" – and Gillian for her part is compartmentalising like a pro, nodding and smiling and listening as best she can to all the rules and regulations – "Until that's come through, you're considered a temporary safe home for Thomas, under Family Services supervision" – and Cal can't take his eyes off the way Gillian is twisting her fingers together, shifting her weight in her seat in a show of nervousness completely unlike her – "So you'll need to make sure you're in town permanently, no last minute trips away, no late nights at the office, none of that"
But the tears are already blooming in the corner of Gillian's eyes and the agent stops herself from going into every finite detail. She has already taken the measure of this place and of this woman, and she wouldn't be helping her if she didn't think Thomas was best off exactly where he is. It's been three days and the boy seems happy enough where he is. This is the best solution for all of them.
"I understand", says Gillian, her voice reedy and quiet. God, he doesn't need her skill to hear everything in those two words.
"And Doctor Lightman", says the agent, turning to him. Cal looks at her with wide eyes and an expectant jut of his chin. He doesn't speak. He doesn't jest. (This is too important, and he'll die before he screws this up for Gillian.) "Can I presume to put you down as the secondary point of contact?"
Gillian looks ready to rebuff, her finger dancing between them as she starts and stops three different ways to say we aren't together, we're just friends, he's not my partner, only my partner. Cal beats her to it.
"Yep, you've got my details. If you can't reach Doctor Foster, I'll make sure to pick up, day or night"
Cal steadfastly refuses to look at Gillian, afraid that he'll give away too much – that he'll see too much in the way she goes still and quiet at his implied offer to have her back and go to bat for her if she needs it. He isn't offering more than that – there's nothing about it that signals a shift in who and what they are to each other. But he is stepping back into a space they thought was lost these last eighteen months; an intimacy that has been fractured and absent (or maybe just changed) since the whole Wallowski problem. (He has missed her, God, he has missed her, more than he expected; more than he's comfortable admitting.)
"And if you're not at home or the day care, can I assume I'll find you here, Doctor Foster?"
Gillian's eyes dart around the conference room they know so well, forgetting for a moment that this place is a business and not their second home. It's been so much easier to let herself get lost here since her divorce, so much so that she catches herself and Cal sometimes – both of their lamps on, both of their desks laden, both quietly tapping away into the night. (Now that Emily is in California, the silence of the Lightman house keeps Cal away more often than not, and Gillian understands that, even if she thinks they should both find healthier outlets for their loneliness.)
"Um, yes, if you call the office I should be here, or our receptionist can let you know if we're out in the field"
The case worker jots a note down. "Nothing too dangerous", she says. It's not a question, not quite a command, but Gillian nods regardless, and mutters a soft of course. (They have just wrapped up a murder case, after all.)
"I'll be doing regular check-ins. And if you have any questions or concerns, any time, don't hesitate to call me"
Gillian nods, but Cal knows she won't. She'd be more likely to call him, which is exactly as he wants it. Exactly as it should be, as far as he's concerned. He is always her first call, and he doesn't take that for granted. (I'd like you in the meeting as well, Cal. This affects us both. And neither of them had bothered to articulate how and why, only that it did.)
"The same goes for you, Doctor Lightman", says the case worker with a smile she's probably hoping looks comforting, but really, is just screaming relief.
He nods once, his hands folded over his stomach in performative nonchalance. "Done this before. Got mine off to Berkeley and everything. We'll be fine"
He can feel Gillian looking at him, but he can't look back. Instead, he focusses on the way the case worker – Miranda, her name is Miranda… something – openly shows her relief this time. Two doctors, one of whom specialised in child psychology, the other also a father, both trusted by just about every law enforcement and government agency on the continent and a handful abroad; this must be the social services equivalent of winning Powerball.
"Okay, well, in that case I'll see you soon, and take care"
Gillian walks Miranda out while Cal sits in the conference room thinking so long and hard that Torres has to kick him out for her next meeting.
~0~
Thomas turns four on a Thursday a few weeks later, and the entire office – unbeknownst to Cal – decides to throw him a party. Anna tells them she started her day early to blow up the balloons littering the floor, and Torres strings bunting around the break room, and everyone has a good laugh when Loker arrives with a bunch of helium balloons that read It's A Boy!
"They ran out of birthday ones", he says, and none of them believe him.
Cal excuses himself to go and collect cupcakes from Gillian's favourite bakery around the corner, feeling like he needs make more of an effort than just his gift for the boy. He returns just before Gillian arrives for the day; just in time to see her promptly burst into tears at their efforts. (Thomas isn't even with her – he's at day care. Cal thinks maybe the decorations are a bit over the top, but Gillian can't stop grinning at the bunting every time they make a coffee or collect their food from the break room, so it's entirely worth it.)
Gillian leaves early that afternoon to go get the birthday boy from day care and bring him back to the office for their impromptu party. Thomas is bewildered, dazzled by all the colour and the people smiling at him. He almost doesn't know what to do with himself when they sing him the birthday song and make him blow out candles on the cupcakes.
He crawls onto Gillian's lap in one of the kitchen chairs so he can open his presents, her hand smoothing down his hair periodically, her arms circling him any time she helps him with wrapping. (Cal thinks she's never looked more beautiful, more at home.) Cal's gift of a soccer ball makes her smirk, the wrapping barely holding the round object, but Thomas makes him promise they'll practice on the weekend, and Cal pinky-swears he will.
"I'm billing you for any broken windows", says Gillian. Cal says nothing, hands in his pockets, grin on his face. Just sways on the spot and runs his tongue over the inside of his cheek.
"I won't break anything", says Thomas without looking up. "I'm a professional"
Gillian smirks, whispers okay baby into his hair. She thinks Cal might have taught him the I'm a professional thing, but she can't be sure, so she doesn't mention it. She looks up at Cal and catches a look on his face she can't decipher; something quiet and contemplative, and captivated. She looks away before her work-brain kicks in and starts analysing what it meant, or what it could mean.
~0~
"He'd like you to be there"
Cal's brow furrows.
Gillian knows he is an intelligent man, but sometimes he likes to play the fool a bit too much. If this were a case, he would be twelve steps ahead already, but when he's just himself, he pretends not to understand what she's talking about, even when it's patently obvious.
"… at the kindy parent day thing?" he asks, still pretending to be confused.
She nods once, a little bit uncomfortable, and shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah"
Cal's face darkens a fraction, his frown turning from confusion to worry to something she can't quite pinpoint. "I'm not his dad, Gill", he says, soft yet insistent.
"I know that", she says gently, because he's not, and she does know. (He sees the micro-shrug, the way she sways on the spot, her eyes dancing along the floor; all tells of her nervousness and resolve.) "But you're the closest thing he's got, and the most influential man in his life-"
Cal snorts, trying to break the tension. "I'll tell Loker"
She ignores him and continues, "-and he adores you, Cal"
Gillian looks at him squarely then, having reached the end of her point. "He'd like you there", she says. They look at each other long and hard. It's not a scientific read – not really – but it's certainly… something like it.
It's obvious that Gillian doesn't want to fight this out with him, and that she's only insisting for Thomas' benefit. They are so conscious of the line between them – and the way it extends to the little boy, now – that he knows she wouldn't push this if Thomas wasn't demanding it. It's going to be an unconventional day for the boy anyway, having his foster mother there, and it's perfectly normal (Cal knows it's normal) that he'd want the safety of two loved grown-ups rather than one. If Cal thought it was best for the two of them (and for her prospects at keeping Thomas) he would have thrown himself at Gillian's feet months ago. (He had resolved to do something about his feelings only days before they found Thomas. He's been cursing his timing ever since.)
Cal worships Gillian, and even if he wasn't madly in love with her, he loves her, and wants this kid thing to work out so badly he would do anything; all she needs to do is ask, much as they both know she doesn't ask much of him. So instead, Cal has been keeping a friendly distance, always drawing and retracing the line between himself and Thomas so that nobody can get the wrong idea about them. (Cal's past wouldn't help Gillian, if anyone bothered to dig a little deeper. The off-the-books jobs in Northern Ireland; the psy-ops with MI6; the shadowy end to his illustrious career with the US defence department. It would only hinder her; he knows that. So, he has stayed away and made sure the Lightman Group is as strong as ever – never in trouble the way it was eighteen months ago, even contracting a few times with police and government departments because it looks good. All so that Gillian can prove to the courts and to herself that she can give Thomas the life he deserves.)
He adores you, Cal, and that wasn't part of the plan, but it's the truth. Thomas has become his little mate; his shadow around the office when he visits. It's a natural thing, an ordinary thing, that he'll plonk himself on Cal's couch with his crayons, or that they'll kick the soccer ball together on weekends.
Thomas wants to show off his friend to his kindergarten class, and Cal understands it's only a little boy's innocent whim, but he really doesn't want to give the wrong idea. To Thomas. To the school. To himself.
Then again, he doesn't want to disappoint his pal either.
He nods at her once, unblinking. "I'll be there", he says.
She deflates in relief. "Thank you. He'll be… very pleased"
Cal can see that she is too, but he doesn't say it.
~0~
"I hear congratulations are in order"
Cal turns with a frown and stares at Zoe, standing with her hip against his office doorframe.
"What?" he barks.
"You're a father again"
"… I'm what?"
He starts walking towards her with the relevant file in hand, headed off to the cube so they can question some guy about something related to Zoe's firm… the details escape him, but the pay is good, so he took the case for the hell of it.
"Emily tells me a small child has adopted you", says his ex-wife, shrugging one shoulder, smirking wildly. Cal turns to the right at the outer doorway of his office to go and collect Gillian from hers, and Zoe trails after him.
"Are you talkin' about Thomas?"
"If that's his name, then sure"
"He's Foster's foster, not mine"
She clicks her tongue. "That's not what I heard"
"Well then our darling daughter has got it dead wrong"
Gillian isn't in her office, so Cal turns on his heal and walks back the other way, his ambling gate covering more ground, Zoe catching up with him quickly. He can hear the smile in her voice even without looking at her.
"You were able to name his three favourite dinosaurs, is what I heard. And got him addicted to baked beans. I'm sure Gillian is thrilled about that, by the way"
Cal stops and pings in a different direction, deciding to check the break room just in case. "You offer to babysit one time, and the lot of ya gang up on me", he mutters.
Zoe keeps up with his constant zipping and darting by staying perpetually one step behind him, giving herself room to move. It's probably a bit too on the nose to see it as a metaphor for their entire relationship, yet still he does.
"I'm surprised you offered at all", she says.
"It was a last-minute… thing"
"Was the empty nest getting too quiet for you, Cal?"
He stops her mid-stride, his face turning serious and losing any of the faux frustration he might have been displaying for Zoe's benefit. She isn't biting as hard as she might have done a couple of years ago, before her new marriage, and she certainly doesn't mean for there to be any animosity towards a four-year-old. But Cal still feels the need to make her understand.
"Hey. It's not like that, right?", he says, staring at her unblinking. He didn't help Gillian because he was filling a gap, and he doesn't think of Thomas as some kind of replacement for Emily. The presence of this little boy in his life is an accident of circumstances, and maybe he should be more careful about the line between father and friend, but after all, Gillian managed it just fine with Em. Managed to be a support and confidant in the girl's life without ever overstepping onto Zoe's turf. (Something for which he knows Zoe is grateful, even if she's never said it.) Cal's just trying to do the same with Thomas, any way he can. "It's not like that", he says again, his voice barely louder than a rasp.
He stares at Zoe for a long moment, his eyes beseeching and his hand lightly resting on her arm. It could be a show of grace, or it could be that enough time and distance between them has tempered her need to be defensive. But either way, she loses the smirk, and her face softens. She seems to understand at least some of what he means.
"I'm sure Gillian appreciates the help", she says in a gentle voice. She smiles a little bit, her eyes sad. "You always were great with kids"
"He's a good one", he says. The affection in his voice is obvious.
There's no bitterness between them, not anymore, and certainly not over his role in this (whatever that might be). Emily was a bit of an accident, and they were always content with just the one child. This isn't some grasp at youth, or midlife crisis replacement-family that Cal's out to make for himself. Zoe seems to understand that, or at least understand that his love for Thomas isn't an artificial thing. If anything, Zoe understands better than anyone; Cal's conflicted emotions about fathers and sons; his need to define himself as something other than a parent to this little boy, lest the stench of his family history touch him in any way. (There were countless, sleepless, nights when Emily was first born, standing over her crib, confessing in five words or less how afraid he was to mess it up. Zoe was there for all of it, so she knows.)
"Still", says Zoe, scrunching up her face in an exaggerated display of disapproval. "Baked beans on toast for dinner? Really Cal?"
He flicks his tongue over the inside of his cheek.
"Em's a snitch", he says. His hand drops from Zoe's arm, and he turns and walks away from her without checking that she's following. (She is, but not as fast as Gillian would, and with her smirk firmly back on her face.)
"Sometimes it still shocks me how transparent you are", says Zoe, loud enough for him to hear, though he pretends not to.
~0~
Emily visits home often enough to appease her father but not so often that it doesn't get fanfare. At least one night of her visit always ends up including Gillian and Thomas descending on the Lightman house to make tacos and watch kids' movies, and none of them think too deeply about what it means that Emily has unpacked all her old DVDs (and a few VHS from when she was little) and put them in the TV cabinet where Thomas can pick from them. (His favourite is currently The Aristocats, probably because it has a song with his name in it, but Cal loves the music, so he doesn't mind watching it on repeat.) Cal thinks it might be part of a long-term conspiracy Em's got going on to force him and Gillian together (and he's probably right, whether she's being conscious about it or not) but he doesn't mind. They all like each other's company too much to stop it – Emily especially likes having Gillian around to break up the attention her dad showers her with, sometimes – and she's endlessly amused at how comfortable Thomas is in their home.
(I borrow your bed if I sleep here, is that okay Emily? he asks her one night with wide eyes. She hugs him and tickles him and tells him that he can borrow her bed any time, and she doesn't miss the way Cal's eyes glaze over as he watches them.)
Emily loves coming home and seeing the vestiges of what she always considered normal; Cal and his frilly apron, Gillian sipping wine at their dining table while flicking through Emily's course notes. Jazz vinyl wafting through the house when she returns from whatever errands she was running or friends she was catching up with. And Emily loves seeing the new things too, the way life moves steadily forward with a new kid hanging around and the detritus of Thomas scattered in one corner of the living room.
"I can't believe dad actually babysits sometimes", mutters Emily to Gillian, as they watch Cal hold out a spoon to Thomas so he can try the sauce that's cooking. (Mmm yum. Needs more salt! he says, a line he got from a movie. It doesn't really need it, but Cal pretends to add a pinch of salt anyway.)
"Neither can he", Gillian says back.
The two of them look at each other and giggle uncontrollably.
~0~
Cal hasn't had a chance to talk to Gillian all day, about the papers sitting unsigned on her desk. He saw them earlier, but then she was in a meeting, and he was out on the road, and they were both questioning a trial witness, and it was never really the right time to interrupt the day to talk about the formal adoption paperwork sat unfinished on the corner of her desk for the better part of a day.
He finds her in her office that afternoon, chewing on a Chupa Chup stick and staring at the form like it might bite her.
"You 'right luv?"
She looks up, dazed, and tries to give him a smile. Looks back down at the form. Back to Cal, then back to the form. He can see that she's already signed the bits at the bottom; it's the top part, where it gives space for the child's name and details, that sits blank and conspicuous.
"I don't know if I want him to change his name"
Gillian looks up at him with pleading eyes, like he might be able to talk some sense to her or make the problem go away. Cal doesn't say anything, but his eyes, his mouth, his frown, are screaming questions at her, so she sighs and does her best to elaborate as she stands up and comes around to join him in front of her desk.
"It's just… It's Alec's name and I don't-"
He cuts her off with a frown. "It's your name, luv. You've earnt the use as much as he ever did. And done a bloody lot more with it too, I reckon"
She knows that, and it's why she never took back her maiden name. Besides her undergraduate degree, everything she has built and worked for and striven to achieve has been done as Gillian Foster, and Alec may have given it to her almost two decades ago, but it's more than hers now. It's on all her certificates, on the company registration and the lease to her house; it's the affectionate nickname Cal uses when he's ribbing her, or when he's recommending her to clients. Gillian has been Fosterfor a long time, and maybe it's time she stopped associating it with her ex-husband and started owning it as all her own.
But giving it to this little boy? That feels so… permanent. In a way that terrifies her.
Sophie was a Foster for 57 days, and now she isn't, and Gillian wouldn't even know what she looks like if she tripped over her in the street, all gangly legs and school-aged laughter. Thomas has been with her for a year with no word yet that he'll be taken away. They did the searching, the digging, the endless calls around the country just to be sure. He has no-one else looking for him, no family to swoop in and sweep him off. The paperwork is on her desk, signed, ready to be packaged up and couriered to the courts for filing, with the letters of recommendation from the foster agency attached, and personal testimonials from the network of people itching for her and Thomas to succeed. (Cal's statement takes pride of place on top, her best friend and business partner, regardless of anything else.)
All she has to do is seal it up and send it. And then Thomas will be hers, forever, and part of her still can't believe he won't get ripped from her arms.
"You wanna know what I really think?" asks Cal, swaying closer into her space.
"Of course", she answers without hesitation.
"I think that if you give that boy your name, you'll stop waiting for the other shoe to drop"
Tears spring to her eyes. Cal's hand lands on her arm, just below her shoulder, like an anchor against all the emotions that must be roiling across her face. Sometimes she forgets just how astute he can be, how keen his point can be. Sometimes she forgets that he was a trained psychologist too, once, a long time ago. (Sometimes she's startled by how well, and deeply, he knows her.)
"I can just feel the worry, it's… it's in my bones now. Just this constant…"
Her hand gestures at her sternum and her face scrunches up like she's in physical agony, and Cal's face instantly – astonishingly – breaks into a wide grin, and a laugh hides just below his throat.
"Welcome to parenthood", he says, his eyes shining with joy and mirth, and something else she has staunchly refused to name for a very long time.
Without waiting for her response, Cal uses the hand on her arm to pull her in to his embrace, and she laughs a little bit as the shock of his words hits her and her arms wrap around him in return. Maybe he doesn't remember the conversation, but she does – standing in the hallway as he explained how the nurse jabbed a newborn Emily's leg with the potassium shot, how she wailed and whinged and the instant feeling of worry buried in his heart and never left, not even now she's an adult living on the other side of the country.
It never occurred to her that the worry was supposed to be there. That it was normal.
"I'm his mother", she mutters, voice tinged with awe, not really meaning to say it out loud but unphased that she says it to Cal.
He pulls back from her just far enough to smile at her gently, affectionately. His hand lands on her cheek. "I reckon Foster's foster should officially be a Foster", he says with a grin.
She snorts at him, and then lets out a beaming smile, all teeth and scrunched up eyes. He's probably right. "Okay", she says, nearly soundless, nodding.
She slowly (too slowly) pulls out of his arms, turns, and writes the name in printed capital letters, then seals up the papers and tucks them in her handbag for delivery first thing tomorrow.
~0~
Sometimes work gets busy and Thomas has to spend an evening hanging around their office while Gillian and Cal wrap up paperwork or type up reports. Most of the time he doesn't seem to mind, because the place has been populated with toys and distractions in enough spaces that they can plonk him in the cube, or on her office floor, or in the break room, and he's content enough to only ask for food or attention every so often.
But sometimes Thomas is in a mood that won't be broken, and Gillian really needs to get this report to the EPA before the morning and on those days, Cal picks up the boy like a sack of potatoes and keeps him occupied in his office for hours, doing secret men's business that she thinks involves playing soccer inside, and spoiling his dinner with Doritos, but she's never confirmed.
And invariably, on those days, Gillian will sneak into Cal's office later in the evening and find the two of them sprawled out on his leather couch, asleep, a forgotten children's book crumpled on Cal's chest.
It's hard to remind herself that Cal isn't his father, on those days, because he's just so damn great at it.
~0~
Life somehow gets scarier once the adoption goes through and they no longer have anybody watching over the shoulder of their strange and deconstructed family. Gillian is on her own, like every other single mother before her, free to mess it up as badly as she can manage. (Which is never in a million years going to happen, Cal knows, but if it does… well, there is nobody to stop it anymore, and that is somehow chilling).
Cal still, even all these months later, has to remind himself that the little fella is a Foster, not a foster, and that they don't have to… give him back. The big screen in his office is always going to be hooked up to a Playstation now, the two of them ambling through Mario Cart or some such, and Gillian will always have to leave the office early enough to collect Thomas from preschool, and this is just their new normal. (Cal has also gotten into the habit of thinking of the three of them as a they, which should concern him, but he's very good at rationale-ing himself out of any mental hurdles about actively fathering a small boy, or actively avoiding questions about his still-undying love for his best friend. It also probably doesn't help the demarcation that he spends half of his weeknights hanging out at Gillian's house late enough to have become part of the bedtime routine.)
Cal can't bring himself to give any of it up, either. And Gillian seems happy to have him around all the time, imprinting on this tiny human with all his madness and quirks which, according to her, are better than Loker's snark and esotericism (which doesn't really sound like much of a compliment, but Cal will take what he can get, especially since Thomas will start school soon and have so many other competing influences in his life). And anyway, when Emily is in town, Cal goes off the grid completely, focussed solely on his daughter and hearing all about her life out west while he cooks her pancakes and gives her hugs, so he knows he hasn't lost all perspective.
That is, of course, until the kids are threatened by an armed lunatic, and then perspective, rationale, sense, flies out the window.
Cal sees the glint of the knife before he makes out the face of the man holding it. The same face from yesterday, in the office lobby, with the rambling words and the wild eyes.
"Get away from my kids", he bellows, his face positively feral and his voice echoing around the hallway. He's running without even realising he's doing it, all anger and instinct.
It's enough to startle the man into stillness, just long enough for Cal to breach the distance and punch him square in the jaw. The momentum flings the man backwards to the ground, dropping the knife in shock, and Emily squeals in terror as she pulls Thomas instinctively closer, the two of them backing away from the action and towards the break room.
The man doesn't bounce back up from the floor, probably reading the look in Cal's eyes and correctly deducing that threatening a father – and this father in particular – in any proximity to his children will get him fairly well maimed.
(This was the side Gillian was afraid of, all those years ago, before they even met. This was the reaction that would have got himself, Emily, Zoe, killed by a government cover-up. This is the Cal she knows lives under the surface and ready to fight and die for the ones he loves.)
Gillian comes tearing out of her office and down the hall, eyes taking in Cal, fists clenched, standing over a stranger, and then Emily, with her hands pressing Thomas against her, well out of reach. Without a second thought she leaves Cal to deal with the intruder and goes instead to Emily, picking up Thomas and plopping him on her hip while ushering them all into the break room. (Emily very nearly doesn't go, all curiosity fixed on her dad, but Gillian will be damned if she leaves the girl out there as a spectator until that man is in handcuffs and safely behind the cube glass.) A crowd of enough people have gathered in the lobby that Gillian doesn't feel the need to be there. Instead, she keeps her voice level as she places Thomas in a chair and asks them, "what did he say to you?"
"Nothing", says Emily. Her eyes are still wide, her mouth hung open, her arms crossed around her stomach.
"Em-"
"He didn't, I swear. All he said was, I need to speak to the boss from yesterday. Then dad saw him and…"
From outside she can hear a voice saying I didn't hurt anyone, you have to believe me, I didn't do it and you have to help me. It sounds fearful, and genuine, but Gillian is having a hard time sympathising with a man who was standing near her son with a large kitchen knife a few seconds ago.
"Okay", she says, nodding. She looks at Thomas and places a hand over his hair. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, a little bit unsure but not very shaken. "Okay. I need you two to stay here while I figure out what's happening"
"But I-"
"No, Em. You look after Thomas for me"
Which seems to be enough of a reason not to fight her on it, at least. Emily nods her consent and then plonks in a chair opposite, smiling at Thomas like this is normal. The boy is quiet, but he looks more curious than frightened, and Gillian's heart hurts as she kisses the top of his head, mouths thank you to Emily, and leaves to go and be a company director.
(The guy turns out to be mostly harmless and innocent of his alleged crimes, though she never does forgive him for the knife thing.)
~0~
Cal rinses out their two wine glasses and places them to drain on her sink.
"What do you mean, you're not allowed?" he asks, incredulous.
"I'm not allowed to read it to him", she repeats, shrugging one shoulder with a smile. "The Philosopher's Stone is your exclusive domain"
(He bought Emily a copy of the British print because he absolutely refused, on pain of death, to call it the bloody Sorcerer's Stone. It's those same copies that he's been reading aloud to Thomas these past few weeks, when he's around for bedtime.)
"Why?"
Gillian steps up to the electric kettle, checks the water level, then flicks it on. "I don't do the right voices, apparently"
Cal scoffs as he turns and digs out two mugs from her cupboard. "Well, neither do I! I don't do voices!"
He looks positively offended at the notion. (Cal Lightman doesn't do voices.)
Gillian laughs a little at him, freely and openly. "I think your accent is the voices, Cal", she says as she turns to him.
"Well, what can I say, it's a good one", he says, feigning pride.
"Yes, it is", she says back, and the deliberateness of her gaze and the resonance of her tone tell him she's entirely serious despite her smile. (She's the expert, after all. Who is he to argue with her about voices.)
Suddenly they are standing very close, and very quiet, and very happily staring at each other. They watch each other for a few long moments, unflinching, as the kettle starts to gurgle and groan with the sounds of it heating up. If he were standing in front of any other woman, now might be the time Cal would give her a leer; an invitation, a marker of his intentions. But there's none of that with Gillian, even if there is an undeniable heat in the proximity of their bodies and the unblinking look between them. (The boiling kettle is a ridiculous, if somewhat accurate, metaphor for the electricity buzzing between them.)
"He told me Snape is a plonker the other day", she says lowly. Her words are quiet, yet she is anything but soft. The word plonker sounds strange in her accent, and it makes the corner of his mouth twitch with involuntary amusement. They've only shared a glass and a half each over dinner, but it feels like they're both a bit red-wine-drunk, and he likes it.
"He is a plonker", Cal says back. His eyes flick down to her lips and dart back to her eyes. (She knows he must be seeing the way her pupils are dilating. She can practically feel them do it. Traitorous eyes.)
"Thank you for teaching my son British curse words"
He takes the miniscule step forward, further into her space; feels her breath on his lips as they both grin at each other. It's reminiscent of how they used to be, back before he became careful with her, and cautious about his place in her and Thomas' life. It should feel like it always did before, yet it doesn't, precisely because of his recent reticence and because Gillian isn't stepping away or pushing him lightly back. She isn't treating this like a joke, and so neither does he. There is no denying what is about to happen; they would have stopped long before this point if it wasn't going to happen.
"Any time", he whispers, just before his lips touch hers.
Any doubts he may have go flying out the window with the way she surges against him, pressing closer and stepping into him in one fluid motion, like her whole body is a magnet and his is the polar charge. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and back and feels her hands land firm on his waist, warm through his shirt. The kettle hits boiling point, clicks, and quiets down again in the time they take to make out like teenagers against her kitchen sink, kissing and holding each other, but nothing more than that (yet).
When they do eventually part, Gillian's lips are red and smiling, and Cal's eyes feel like they won't focus. He smacks his lips together a few times while she holds his chin between thumb and forefinger, runs one hand up his cheek and into his hair, and the other down his chest (so reminiscent of so many other times). His arms are still around her, his upper body tilting hers over the open sink at a slight angle, one of his legs pressing slightly between hers.
"Okay?" she asks, amused by him, looking through hooded eyes.
Cal doesn't answer her, but his grin says a lot. He straightens them up but doesn't let her go.
They sway there together, holding each other in the quiet, and his nose nudges against her cheek, his hand on the back of her head and her neck and her shoulder and then back up. With eyes closed she lets him explore her, taking comfort from the familiarity of his embrace and the smell of his shirt and the sound of his breathing. Gillian rocks against him, then leans back to look him in the eye when she can feel him gather his thoughts and do the same.
"I love you, Gillian", he says to her softly. She can feel his fingertips apply pressure to her spine where they're wrapped around her lower back. (She wants to tell him she's not going anywhere, that he doesn't need to hold her tighter or stop her running. She has nobody to run to but him, and it's been that way for a long time.) Cal has never been fearful of saying out loud – and to her face – exactly how much she means to him. She has been in the room or by his side when he's said I love you in so many conceivable ways; she's my best friend, not when it comes to you, this is too important, I was protecting you, not worth it, thank you for cleaning up my mess Gillian. He has shown the shades of their love in ways not even her ex-husband ever did (ever earned), and even if Cal never said it in so many words, she knows they have been each other's person for a long time. (It's why their rift hurt so much; stabbed so deep; but that's over now and they are stronger for it.)
She can also see how his love has changed this past year, maybe a little more. The way he says it now is entirely different to any other time before; she can hear it, the subtle differences, the simplicity of the phrase, the deliberate enunciation of her full given name. (He's never said I love you quite like that before.)
A lazy smile plays on her lips as the cadence of his voice echoes in her ears. "I know", she says, and nods at him once. It makes sense, she thinks, even if she has been half blind until now.
If he's uncomfortable, he doesn't show it. Only leans in and kisses her again, all soft and closed mouth, and gentle this time. She kisses him back, and hopes he understands. (He's too relaxed not to understand; her face must be singing a symphony to him right now.)
"Do you still want that tea?" she asks. Their arms fall from each other, but he doesn't step very far away.
"I could murder a cuppa"
She smiles at him and flicks the kettle to boil again. (It's gone half cold, and she wonders at how time warps so much in these moments.)
A few minutes later they're both holding a steaming cup and looking at each other across the corner of the dining table. Gillian is sitting at the head, Cal off to her side, his foot kicked up and resting on the seat of the chair opposite him, somehow finding slouching room in a stiff wooden dining chair where others would struggle. She grins at the tableau he makes as his fingernails tap against the side of his mug. (It feels like so many nights spent sharing a drink in the low lights of his office. It feels so warmly familiar.)
Gillian cocks her head to the side to watch him. "I love you too", she says with smile.
He returns her look and takes a sip of his tea. He makes a face while he swallows – his lips pucker, his eyebrows raise, he tucks his chin – something classic Cal Lightman that says a lot yet nothing at all. "I figured", he replied with a nod.
She can't help but just laugh.
~0~
Thomas giggles as he's hoisted in the air, the sound morphing into a high-pitched squeal. Cal's two fists are clutching whole handfuls of the boy's jacket, and he swings him up by his lapels and into the air over his head.
"Now listen here you little Tom cat", says Cal with a growl.
Thomas only giggles some more.
"I heard you don't like swings"
"I do, I do, I promise I do!", yells Thomas through his giggles.
"Well alright then"
Cal lands him back down again and plops him on Gillian's stoop so the child can catch his footing. Inside the house, Gillian emerges from her bedroom with her bag, putting on her jacket, checking she has everything before making her way towards the front door.
Cal's eyes are on Thomas, a hand on his head as the boy jumps two-footed down one step, and then another. They got light snow last night and the steps are still a bit frosty, something Thomas is being mindful of as he picks his jumping spot.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Cal says to him.
Thomas looks up at him, and then (with a very obvious face and head nod from Cal) to his mother, who is standing at the door with a soccer ball in hand. Thomas scoots back to Gillian and takes the offered ball, then hops the steps again with much less care this time.
"Thanks mum", prompts Cal.
"Thanks mum", parrots Thomas, including the accent.
"You're welcome", says Gillian, grinning wildly at them both.
"To the park!" declares Thomas, fist thrust in the air, giving his best pirate impersonation with gusto.
Cal looks as Gillian steps up next to him and places her hand in the crook of his elbow. "You heard him", she says with a grin.
"To the park!" Cal yells out, throwing up his free hand in imitation of the boy. Gillian bursts out laughing and sways into his arm like a funny little hug, and then they stomp after Thomas just like any other Saturday.
~0~
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
Thomas raises his head from his pillow to look at her properly, and Gillian does the same, putting down the book (not Harry Potter) they're reading together before bed.
"Is Cal my dad?"
She knew this question was coming – she always did, at least a little bit – and maybe it was selfish of her to let them get so close without a firm answer, but part of her is so damn relieved that Thomas has finally brought it up. Thomas doesn't see much of their romantic relationship, because what is there to see that's any different from how they always are. But he does know that Cal sleeps in her bed on the nights he stays over, and he knows that usually only mommies and daddies sleep in a bed together. (He has visited friend's houses and talked at school about his weekends, and after all, he got a new mommy, why not get a new daddy too?)
"What do you think?" she deflects. (A coward's question; a therapist's question.)
"I think so. Sort of. He does dad stuff with me"
"Yes, he does", says Gillian as she plays with a few strands of Thomas' hair.
"So, should I call him dad? I call him Cal. But I call you mom even though you're my new mom, so if Cal is my dad, I can call him dad"
This conversation suddenly feels like too much on a night when Cal isn't staying over with them. She thought it would be better, tackling this one alone, but it's not; she needs to be able to see Cal's face and hear his voice and work out what he thinks about all this before she starts giving hope to a five-year-old who never had a father to begin with. She is so careful to honour his mother – his first mother – even as they build a life together, that it never occurred to her Cal isn't replacing anyone, merely filling a void that was always empty. (And fill it he does, with such care and love it almost breaks her heart with how good he is.)
"I'll tell you what", she says. "How about, you ask Cal when you see him. And you can tell him that I said it's okay, whatever you decide"
Thomas thinks it over, then nods. "That sounds like a good plan. I'll ask him tomorrow"
"He'll still be in California tomorrow. How about on the weekend when he gets home?"
Thomas sighs. He hates when one of them is away on a business trip, especially when it's for more than one sleep. "Okay fine. On the weekend"
Gillian folds up the book and then hoists herself off the bed. "Okay", she says, while patting down the covers and gesturing for Thomas to snuggle in and get comfy. "Well, that's a plan. In the meantime, I know one little pirate that needs to go to sleep"
She scoots her hands over the covers and tucks along the edges of his body, sing-songs snug as a bug in a rug while Thomas grins at her.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Are you and Cal married?"
She snorts a little bit; she can't help it. With everything else they are to each other it's a little bit funny that they aren't married, and probably never will be (unless it works out better for filing taxes or some such). It almost feels redundant at this point, although Gillian would love to see the look on Torres' face if she showed up to work wearing an engagement ring. "No, sweetheart"
"Are you going to be?"
"I don't know, but that's not something we need to worry about tonight", she says. She leans over and flicks off the lamp. The room goes nearly dark, save for the nightlight in the far corner.
"I'll ask Cal about it on the weekend", Thomas declares, and then snuggles further into his blankets. "Goodnight, love you"
Gillian kisses his forehead and whispers goodnight I love you, then slips quietly out to the living room.
Pulling out her phone, she fires off a quick text to Cal, knowing he's in late meetings – You have some important discussions with a five-year-old scheduled for Saturday – and laughs when the three dots appear, disappear, appear again, disappear again, and then finally a message comes through just saying sounds ominous.
Ominous indeed, she thinks, and then flicks on the television so she doesn't start pondering too hard about fathers and sons, and husbands and wives.