A dear friend asked for the fallout of that last snippet, and since I'm a sucker for punishment, here it is. This chapter isn't as fluffy as the last one, and it's only set over three days, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!

~0~

Cal's favourite part of parenting has always been the innocence, the unfettered joy that children feel. Small humans are pure and honest – no other masks in place, no conflicting emotions or ulterior motives (at least when they feel safe and secure). He's never yet met a child trying to cover up a murder, or embezzle their employer, or smuggle large munitions caches into rural Donegal. When a child's eyes light up, it's like a textbook demonstration of happiness, greater than any training program can show.

He had forgotten, over the years, what it was like to spend time around a five-year-old.

"-and then the rockets go to outer space and visit the planets and take pictures and send them to us, but they don't send them like a letter, they send them on a computer and it can take ages, but then when we get the pictures we know better what the planets look like, like how Saturn has rings on it-"

(Chatty. Spending time around a five-year-old is chatty. Especially since Gillian took him to the Air and Space Museum after school yesterday, and unwittingly kick-started the latest obsession. Cal almost misses the pirates.)

"Oi, quick question", says Cal, stopping in front of the ice cream store.

Thomas stops next to him and looks up, unoffended that he was interrupted just as he was about to start listing the planets in order of size.

Cal flicks his thumb to the storefront and raises his eyebrows in question. Thomas' eyes light up.

"Really?" he asks, a wide grin on his face.

"One scoop", says Cal, holding up one finger. "Or you won't eat dinner and mum'll kill me"

"Awesome! I'm getting choc chip"

Cal just nods and follows him inside.

"Should we get one for mom too?" asks Thomas, his nose squished against the glass of the fridge, looking at all the colours even though his order never changes.

"It'll melt by the time we get home", says Cal. "How about we save it for next time she's with us?"

"But she doesn't come on our boys' days, because it's only the boys"

"Well, then, next time it's not a boy's day. When she doesn't have to duck into work"

"Okay, that sounds like a good plan"

Cal looks up at the young woman behind the counter with a smile. "Two cones please, one scoop of choc chip for each"

She nods and walks away to get their order, and for a moment there is silence while they gather their next thoughts and watch the woman scooping a heap onto a waffle cone, and then another. Cal leaves notes on the countertop for her – thanks, keep the change – and then hands Thomas his ice cream while taking a lick of his own.

"Hey Cal?"

He looks down at Thomas' face while they make their way out of the store again. "Yeah mate?"

"Should I call you dad?"

Suddenly, silence.

A whooshing in his ears, and tunnel vision, while he follows the boy out onto the footpath, Thomas completely unaware of the turmoil his question has wrought.

"Why... what..."

Cal can't quite deflect the question fast enough not to stutter.

"I asked mom when you were in California and she said it's okay but I should talk to you first"

His ears are still foggy, but his brain is kicking in now, reminding him that this question is normal, even expected, and that for all his posturing and deflection, he is the closest thing Thomas has to a father. But another, stronger emotion is starting to take over. Anger; at Gillian, for not warning him, and himself for not seeing this coming. Even at Thomas, for daring to raise it at the end of a fun day out, just the two of them, after Cal spent four days this week on the other side of the country doing business and seeing Emily. After Cal spent the entire plane ride home feeling depressed at leaving his daughter, and excited to be seeing Gill and Thomas again, and guilty that two such conflicting emotions could sit inside him at the same time.

Thomas doesn't notice his silence at first, instead filling it with his own explanation, a rambling half-coherent stream of consciousness as he licks at the drips of his ice cream. "Because when I got a new mom, I stopped calling her Gill and call her mom now, and I never had a dad before but you are like my new dad so I can call you dad if you like, even though I call you Cal now and that's fine"

And he loves him, bloody hell does Cal love this kid, with all his heart. But he can't make this choice alone, he just can't.

"How about I talk to your mum and get back to you?" he says instead.

"More talking?" asks Thomas, clearly incredulous that such a simple question would require so much conference and consideration.

"Yeah mate, just a little more talking and then I'll let you know, okay?"

Thomas looks suspicious, but Cal puts on a mask of friendly deflection – exaggerated innocence – and takes a lick of his ice cream to punctuate the point, and that seems to be enough.

"Fine", says Thomas. He starts walking again, stepping over the cracks in the pavement like he's avoiding lava.

Cal watches him go, a thoughtful look on his face; watching the boy's body language, his head tilt, his expressions.

"Oi, Tommy-boy?" he calls. The child stops, turns, looks at him with his eyebrows raised. (His expression of expectation is so like Gillian it takes Cal's breath away). "You know I love you, don'tcha?"

Thomas smiles at him. There's no hesitation. "More than ice cream?"

Cal grins, then walks up to the boy's side and lightly noogies his hair. "Way more than ice cream. More than beans on toast, even"

Thomas laughs, and it's enough for now. But the heavy feeling on his chest doesn't leave for the rest of the day, no matter how much Cal listens to everything there is to know about rockets and planets and the vast emptiness of space. He opens his phone to his texts; sees the last one he sent to Gillian the other day – sounds ominous.

A warning would have been nice, he fires off. He pockets the phone before he can see her response.

~0~

Stop avoiding me. We need to talk.

Gillian stares at her phone, willing him to reply, wanting something from him to acknowledge her point – something that they can work on, together. So far all she has is twenty-four hours of silence and a thin excuse about needing to catch up on the work he missed while he was away. (Work on a Sunday looks too much like the Cal she saw when Zoe first left, and it frightens her a bit.) It's unusual for them not communicate this long in the before times, let alone since they've been a couple. (She's trying not to put her therapist hat on and see his weaponised silence as a warning sign. She's trying to remind herself that this is just Cal's way; that he's probably holed up somewhere overthinking such a simple thing, until he's so twisted up he can't see straight. She knows it's not really about her – about them – but it takes a lot of deliberate effort to remember that, when she's sitting quietly alone on her couch where he'd normally be tucked against her side.)

Tomorrow. First thing.

She sighs out her relief and nods to herself.

The first step forward is always the hardest, but they have weathered choppier seas than this. It won't break them. She believes that with all her heart.

~0~

Gillian hasn't even finished going through her morning emails when Cal comes barrelling into her office with a fiery gait and a face like thunder.

"Bloody Christ, Gill!"

She jumps only slightly with surprise. (He remembers to close the door; a small mercy.) She understands exactly why he's in such a mood, such a state of unrest. He's positively furious, but if she knows Cal half as well as she thinks she does, Gillian knows his anger is only masking fear; redirecting it to something tangible, actionable.

"I know", she says gently, her hands up to placate him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry"

And she is truly sorry, for not giving him a proper heads-up.

Cal didn't stay the night on Saturday – probably didn't trust himself to keep his voice low during the impending conversation he and Gillian were going to have – and that's when she knew the depth of his anger. He always stays over on the weekends, unless there is something specific to stop them. And she knows he didn't have anything else going on, despite his insistence that he catch up on work, so the indifferent farewell as he dropped Thomas home and left without looking back had stung like a papercut, only deeper, and nearer the place where her love sits.

And now it's Monday morning, first thing. She can't even blame him for feeling this way; this is on her, really, for taking the coward's way out in the first place. But she's also worried what a full day and night alone in his own head has done to him – the demons it may have excised; the spiral of guilt and hurt he is so capable of ploughing himself into without marking himself a path back out. (She is usually his path, when he needs it; when she can bring herself to burn her own candle to keep him warm. He hasn't asked it of her in such a long time, Gillian had almost forgotten the feeling of giving up small pieces of herself just to keep him whole. Some people might see her loyalty as a foolish choice, but she knows there is no choice when it comes to Cal Lightman; it's a state of being. The ways they love each other haven't always been healthy, but they are equal and the same, and completely immovable.)

And then, despite her calm exterior and placating body language, they're arguing, trading words back and forth at the same time, one on top of the other.

"You didn't think to warn me about what you two were talkin' about last week?" he starts.

"He asked me all on his own, Cal, I didn't start-"

He steps over to her couches, then back towards her. She steps out from behind her desk.

"-and then just dropped me into that conversation without discussing it with me first-"

He's barely looking at her one moment, then overly scrutinising her the next. She might be his most difficult person to read but by God he will try, and she knows his inability to fully grasp the breadth and depth of her must frustrate the shit out of him. And in return, her own anger has reared up; her own ability to push back against him and meet him blow for blow, years in the making but cultivated to a fine art now. (She never used to be able to push back when they first met, but in the years since then she found a voice that she never knew she could use with Cal. Against Gillian's better angels, he taught her how to use anger as a weapon and, well… she's using it now.)

"-there was no time, with you being away, and I wasn't going to lie to him-"

"-not even a phone call, yeah thanks very much-"

"-he's old enough to have questions, Cal, and to have an opinion about his father-"

"I'm not his bloody father", he bellows at her, eyes wide, breath short, hands out as if in sacrifice.

The second it passes his lips, all the fight drains from him, and he's left standing there making a gesture like you know I'm right; like she can't argue with him because it's a universal fact. (It's not a fact at all, and him thinking so breaks her heart anew.) His eyes become sad and his mouth purses, and that's when Gillian feels like the storm has passed enough that she can approach him and touch him.

She places one hand on his chest and steps close into his space. "Yes you are", she whispers. (She's not sure if there are tears in her eyes or if they're just burning from emotion, but she doesn't blink, in case they might fall. She can't allow them to fall, not yet.)

"Yes, you are", she repeats, her words stronger, her touch firmer, swaying infinitesimally closer. "And you're a great one"

Cal's head drops and he lets out all his breath, looking defeated and apologetic, like he might have done something wrong; as though she's chastising him. (It rips her heart to pieces to see him doubt himself so much in this, when they have built such a glorious life together, the three of them. Sometimes four, when Emily is in town, and didn't he do a beautiful job with raising her too. The fact he can doubt himself…)

"You're all he knows, Cal. He didn't have anyone before you"

Gillian isn't sure if that makes it better or worse, but it definitely makes it much simpler for little Thomas, who is only just starting to grasp the concepts of death and adoption and parenthood, and how they all relate to him.

"I never asked for this", says Cal, looking at her, his eyes welled up.

And the look on his face says, I never wanted this. (She hopes that she's judging him correctly and reading his reticence as self-deprecating and not a sign of something else. She hopes that, if given permission, he will see this mantle as a blessing and not a curse. She hopes – despite her best instincts saying it will be fine, she still hopes – that this conversation won't ruin them. She couldn't bear to lose him over this.)

Gillian frowns, a bit miffed at him. "You asked for it the second you kissed me in my kitchen and told me you love me", she accuses. They didn't fall into this relationship; after nearly a decade as just friends they walked into it with purpose. With conviction. "You knew what that would mean", she reiterates.

Either Cal didn't expect her to challenge him, or else he had never allowed himself to accept that a part of him – maybe subconscious, and certainly in denial, but a large part of him – knew exactly what he was doing by taking this on. It's a role he was marching towards long before he ever kissed her, between the parent days at school, and the babysitting, and the sleep-overs at Cal's house, and the dinners at Gillian's. The minute his heart started hoping Gillian could keep him for good, Cal has felt a sort of kinship for Thomas that doesn't have any other name.

"I… I don't…"

All the anger and uncertainty of a few moments ago melts away as Cal's face dances from confusion, to bewilderment, to a blank kind of shock. Gillian holds back the grin she wants to give in victory. (It's not every day she pulls one over him, beating his demons.)

"You don't have to be or do anything different", she says to him. The hand on his chest rubs back and forth in comfort. "Just be yourself. It's just… a name. It doesn't change anything"

He meets her eye and glares without any heat in it. "Don't shrink me"

She gives him a look. "Then stop needing it"

He huffs a laugh out his nose, conceding her point even though it pains him to admit he might have over-baked this whole problem, and taken it out on her in the process. (He will always be thankful – and will never find adequate words to express his gratitude – that she understands him well enough to forgive him when this sort of thing happens.) He gives her a contemplative look, purses his lips, then pulls her into him and feels her sag with relief as they stand there and hug it out for a while. He sways her a bit and Gillian hums as her hands rub over his back.

"It's your choice", she says over his shoulder. "You know that"

They pull back just far enough to look at each other again.

"This is between you and Thomas, whatever you decide"

Cal runs his hands down her arms and back up again so they're resting on her biceps. His eyes are focussed somewhere on her collarbone.

"I love that kid… so much", he says. He shakes his head, like he can't believe how much.

"I know. And he knows it too. He will understand, either way"

Cal looks at her, flicks his eyes around her features – finds something there that comforts him – then leans in and kisses her briefly but firmly. When he pulls back, he keeps watching her, reading the emotions as they dance around her face. Gillian stares at the top button of his dress shirt (back in rotation since they resumed taking on corporate clients) and Cal can see her vulnerability. She's unsure of herself suddenly, a treacherous thought taking root now that the worst of the storm has passed and the ground below her feels solid again. Cal sees it (whatever it is; the fear in the corners of her eyes and the sadness in her lips) and he frowns at her in askance.

"What is it, luv?"

Gillian looks him in the eye, sees his concern, shrugs. "I just... you had me worried for a minute, that's all"

He realises what she means almost instantly, and his face softens and his arms pull her back to him, as he wraps her up so suddenly that she grins with surprise. Her arms come up around his middle in return.

"I'm not giving you up for anything, Foster, so let's get that straight"

"Good to know", she whispers. (It's nice to hear it, even if she already knew it. It's nice to have him back, even if it's only been a day.)

~0~

"Hey Em"

"Hey dad, what's up?"

Cal slouches further into his office chair as he flicks his pen around his fingers. "Does something have to be up for a father to call his daughter?"

"Not usually, but you never call me in the middle of the day when I'm walking to classes, soooooo..."

Cal sighs and smiles. He misses Emily's sass every damn day.

"I have an important question to ask you"

He hears the hesitation down the line. "O-kay. Is this... about Gillian?"

He frowns, thinks, realises what she means. "I'm not proposing to her", he says. He's met with more silence. (The question was raised more than once on his last trip to California, much to his chagrin.)

"So, this is about Gillian?"

"It's about Tom"

Another pause. "Oh. Okay, what about him?"

Cal clicks the pen three times in rapid succession. "He, um-… he asked me the other day about calling him dad. I mean, about him calling me dad"

Emily pauses again. "He asked if he can call you dad?"

"Yeah"

"Well... that's sweet. What did you say?"

It's not the reaction he expected. "I said I'd think about it"

"Is Gillian... are they moving in?"

Cal blinks. He hadn't even considered that. Not that he doesn't have the room, his place is definitely big enough, and if he ever got around to clearing out the junk room, they could all have their own without Em even needing to pack anything away. But it's never really come up, and honestly, he thinks Gillian likes having a bit of independence. Likes having a space that's all hers when he gets... the way he does sometimes.

"No, nothing like that", says Cal into the phone.

"So, what does this have to do with me?"

Cal throws down the pen and suddenly wonders if Berkley was the right choice for Emily. Maybe a local community college, part time, or maybe just an internship somewhere would have been a better fit for his prodigy daughter. (Seriously, she can't be that dense, can she? Or maybe... maybe she isn't, and this is just a ploy to get him to actually spit his words out. Which, now he thinks about it, does sound more like Emily.) He picks up a paperclip and starts unbending it.

"Well, it's... it's your word, innit?"

He knows she can't see him, but Cal still throws his hand out forward as though she's there and he's gesticulating in some speech to her.

"You're the only kid that ever called me dad, and I didn't wanna just... give it to someone else without checkin' with you first"

(He swears he can hear her smile down the phone. Best to ask Gillian how that works, since Em hasn't said a word yet. But he can hear it.)

"I think I can share, just this one time", she says. (She's definitely smiling.)

"Yeah? That okay?"

"Yeah. Honestly, I'm surprised it's taken this long", she says back.

"Hey now"

"And this is way less traumatic than being asked to give up my room", she says. (His mind supplies him with an image of the shoulder shrug she undoubtedly did.)

"Nah, I already turned it into a gym, didn't I tell ya?"

"Yeah sure, like you do weights"

"Who needs to lift weights when I carry the burden of genius?"

She just snorts at him. "Well look, dad, or should I say Einstein. I just got to my next class, I have to go in. I can call you later?"

"Nah, you go, have fun. I love you"

"I love you too. And give Thomas and Gillian a hug from me"

"I will. And Em?"

"Yeah?"

He pauses, wishes with all his heart he could wrap his arms around her and swing her around his office like he did when she was small. Instead, he holds the paperclip up for inspection, the old kinks and ridges still slightly visible despite his efforts. "Thanks for sharing"

"Anytime", she says, and he knows she means it.

(Maybe he doesn't do a bad job of this gig after all.)

~0~

"Thomas Foster, dinnertime, now", bellows Cal from Gillian's kitchen. It's the third call for the boy and he knows better; he's probably buried in a book about planets that they borrowed from the library. (It's becoming a real obsession; it's only a matter of days before he demands a diorama hanging from the ceiling. Cal has seen this before, with Emily and Beanie Babies, so he knows the warning signs.)

"Coming!" they hear from his room.

"Now", counters Cal.

Gillian finishes plating up their dinner with a smirk on her face.

"And not a word from you", Cal says to her, pointing.

Gillian holds up one hand as much to say, I didn't say anything.

Thomas comes bounding in with the (expected) book tucked under his arm. "I'm here!"

"Great. Wash your hands for dinner"

Gillian takes the book off him as he passes by to step over to the sink, saving it from the inevitable deluge of soapy water. She places the book on the side of the bench furthest away from the meal prep and washing up. (There is a strict no books at the dinner table rule since the Pasta Fiasco of June.) Gillian checks he's doing an adequate job of soaping his hands, but says nothing, allowing him some level of autonomy. Once he's done, Thomas turns around with a flourish and shows off his hands.

"Good man", says Cal. "Now, you can help me set the table"

Cal hands him the forks and gently points to the side of the setting they go on, as he lays down the placemats and knives and puts out salt and pepper.

"So... you know that question about... the dad stuff?"

Thomas looks at Cal across the table, putting down the last fork a little bit wonky. Cal makes a point to have his back to Gillian so he doesn't risk looking at her while he broaches the subject. She said this was between him and Thomas, and he is determined to stick to that.

"Yeah", says Thomas.

"Well, ya mum and I talked about it and... you know, it's okay by me... if you want to"

Thomas' eyes furrow a little bit in confusion, trying to figure out what Cal means through all his stuttering and edging about the issue. His eyes flick towards his mother, but she's at the fridge pretending to get cold water, to give them the illusion of privacy. Cal waits a beat, then another; clocks the bewilderment on Thomas' face and sighs to himself. (Right, yes, I'm the grown up here, I actually have to... say the words.)

"Do you want to?"

Thomas frowns and cocks his head. "Call you dad?"

"Yeah"

Thomas thinks about it, studying Cal with a look so discerning it leaves him feeling unguarded. Cal makes sure to keep his face friendly and open – inviting in a way that inspires a confidence he doesn't feel. He even smiles a little bit, a gesture he knows the little boy will take as encouragement.

"Yeah?" asks Thomas. He means to say yes, but he's still unsure.

"Yeah? You wanna?"

"Okay"

"Well, it makes sense, right?"

Thomas shrugs. "You do all the dad stuff with me", he says. Cal has never been able to fully grasp what the dad stuff is, since his own father was roundly shit at it and Cal's largely been winging it for the last twenty years, but he figures it must be a mixture of fun weekend activities, mild discipline, and your ugly mug is at this house so often I've just gotten used to you, which he will take in good spirit.

"Right", says Cal, agreeing. "And it'll make it easier at school. You know, with your mates"

"Yeah, that's true"

They turn around and collect their plates of food from Gillian, who is offering them up while trying not to cry. Cal notes the look on her face without comment, but Thomas doesn't notice as he continues, "Grace P already says you are anyway, even though I said I call you Cal, and you don't live here, but I don't think that really matters. Grace P said her mom got married again and she started calling him dad, and that's like you and me"

"Yeah, right. Except, your mum and I aren't married"

He ignores the look Gillian tries to shoot his way; chastisement for his contrariness.

"No, but it's like that", says Thomas.

Cal concedes the point. "Exactly"

They all sit at their designated spots at the table. Gillian and Cal finally look at each other, and she smiles at him as he lays his hand flat in front of her, palm up. She places her hand in his, and a tear falls as he lifts it and kisses the backs of her fingers. He's studying her face, as he always does, and she has no idea what he sees there, but it's not important. They are happy, all of them, and that's plain to see. Taking her hand back, she wipes her cheek and then turns to Thomas with a smile. "Eat up, honey"

"I'm going to call Cal dad from now on, okay?"

Gillian grins at him. "Yes, I heard"

Thomas gestures his hand at her the same way Cal gestures sometimes, when he's talking and eating at the same time. "Just don't be confused"

She manages not to let loose her laughter, barely. "I won't"

Gillian has never been less confused about anything in her entire life.

When she looks back at Cal, he has a smug grin on his face and genuine glee creasing the corners of his eyes, and not for the first time she wishes there was a way to bottle a moment and keep it forever.