A/N: Hello! And Happy Thanksgiving to all! Someday I'll finish a fic on time, I swear it. Anyway- here is chapter 5 of A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving!

Cal showed up at Gillian's house at exactly 12:03PM. He was wearing jeans and a dark navy blue long sleeved shirt that brought out the bits of blue in his normally hazel eyes. Grinning—partly in anticipation, partly because of nervousness for the day to come, Cal knocked three times on Gillian's door.

She opened it smiling widely at him, but he read her face and knew that happiness wasn't the only emotion that she felt at that particular moment.

"Hello, love." Cal said, leaning in toward Gillian, "Happy Thanksgiving," He offered as he brushed his lips against hers. It was a light kiss, which she returned, but an electricity passed between them and Cal pulled away, still smiling.

"Hello, Cal," Gillian returned, an amused smile playing on her face. "Come in," She said, but he was already moving before she finished the phrase. He strode confidently into her living room and sat down on the couch with an exhalation.

She sat down in a chair catty corner from the couch and looked at him. She took in his clean shaven appearance, the wash of his jeans, the way his shirt fit him just right and she felt her breath catch in her throat as a wave of heat passed over her. Cal, reading her reaction, grinned devilishly at her.

"What?" She said, a small smile playing on her face.

"Nothing," He said, shaking his head, "I just like watching you react to me." He said with a light shrug.

Gillian laughed lightly and then rolled her eyes, "Why does that not surprise me?" She said, leaning back casually in the chair.

"Oi!" Cal said, leaning forward on the couch, "Are you calling me a narcissist?" He asked, his voice affecting offense.

"Something like that." She responded, and then she pursed her lips.

"Hm." He considered, and then he let his gaze sweep over her. She was wearing dark washed jeans that, even from her seated position in the chair, Cal could tell absolutely hugged every one of her delicious curves in exactly the right spot and a red long sleeved button up blouse with ruffles down the front—it made her look sophisticated, clean and sexy all at once. Cal's eyes raked down her body taking in her tall black leather boots that had no heel, and then he let out a little noise and returned his gaze to her face, meeting her eyes—then, Cal allowed everything she made him feel seep into his eyes.

At the look that passed over face—one of recognition and, Cal discovered, pleasure, Cal laughed, "I see you like watching me react to you, as well." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Gillian cleared her throat and then crossed her legs, right over left, brought her left elbow to the arm of the chair and rested her cheek on it. Cal watched the way her hair, which held a soft curl, fell around her hand before she spoke, "So, are you ready for today?" She asked, her eyes searching.

Cal tilted his head to the right and his gaze flicked over her face—squinting at her, his voice was gentle when he asked, "Are you ready for today, darling?"

Cal watched her posture shift almost imperceptibly and he nearly felt bad at how uncomfortable even the thought of today made her. "I'm not sure." She responded honestly, but Cal watched as something flickered behind her eyes.

Were she anyone else—and were he—he might have let it go. But he felt immediate concern rush through his body, "What is it, Foster?" He asked.

Gillian sighed and took her head off her hand. She folded her hands in her lap and then looked at him, "I'm tired of bad or awkward Thanksgivings." She said, finally, meeting his gaze.

Cal raised his eyebrows in silent question.

"Thanksgiving when I was a child was an absolutely horrible holiday." She said, shaking her head slightly, "Suffice to say dad was drunk, mom was angry, and everyone else was fighting—" Cal nodded his head, understanding that that was the end of that particular conversation, and really, he didn't need to know more. "Then, when I got married, we went to Alec's family's house for Thanksgiving—and that was just weird and, well, awkward. They were nice enough, I guess, but they never really went out of their way to include me in anything. They wouldn't let me help cook or even clean, so I felt pretty much useless." She shrugged before she continued, "It was just more uncomfortable than anything else," She clarified, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. She sighed, "Last year was the first Thanksgiving I had by myself. And yeah, I was alone, but at least I didn't have to worry about people screaming at or in front of me, I didn't have to worry about feeling uncomfortable—I got to cook myself a nice lovely meal, relax with a few glasses of wine and a good book and go to bed early." She finished.

Cal nodded, "I'm sorry, love." He said.

She met his eyes, thinking he was apologizing for her childhood or something else—she raised her eyebrow, "For what?" She asked, needing clarification.

"I'm selfish sometimes—" Cal smiled, "All the time, actually." He amended, "I should've considered more closely your feelings," He continued, "but this is our first Thanksgiving together," he emphasized the word so she understood his meaning, "And I just wanted to spend it with you—I'm sorry." He said, thrusting his palms out in front of him.

Gillian smiled, then, "No, Cal, I wanted to spend it with you, too." She assured, "And I know that Zoe is your ex-wife and she's always going to be a part of your life—but I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish there were another way." She said finally, a grin spreading across her face.

"And I'd know it if you did, anyway," He said, laughing at his own little joke, "We'll make the best of it, Gillian. Who knows—maybe it won't be so bad." He leered slightly at her, "We can hold hands under the table." He waggled his eyebrows.

At his words, Gillian burst out laughing. Cal looked at her with confusion etched in his face, "What did I say?" He asked.

Gillian shook her head, "Nothing." She said. He fixed her with a hard gaze and she rolled her eyes, "You just accidentally quoted another one of my favorite holiday movies," She said.

Cal smiled, "More Peanuts?" He asked.

Gillian nodded her head, "You know me too well." She said, uncrossing her legs.

"I'd like to think so," Cal said, smiling at her. Only then did he take notice of the screen in front of them. He'd expected her to be watching the parade or something, but he looked in front of her to see men in uniforms with heavy padding underneath.

"Oh, don't tell me you watch this bloody sport!" Cal said, groaning.

Gillian smiled, "Why, yes—" She said, "Yes, I do. And it's fabulous," She said, turning her attention to the television.

Cal laughed at the enthusiasm that was evident on her face, "Perhaps I don't know you as well as I thought." He said.

Gillian raised her eyebrows and there was a hint of suggestion in her voice when she offered her reply, "Perhaps you don't."

Gillian's gaze flicked back to the television and her attention remained there. Cal watched her watching the screen and he was completely and utterly bemused by it. She would occasionally curse under her breath when a referee made a bad call or a player from her side made an error.

Cal watched her for a while, and then turned his attention to the television. He tried to watch—really, he did. But he just couldn't get into it. Finally, the announcer announced that it was time for halftime.

"Took bloody long enough," Cal said.

Gillian looked at him then, amusement in her eyes. She didn't say anything, though, just pursed her lips in a smile that Cal found to be completely cute.

"I mean, really, you watch this…" He trailed off, "This… crap?" He asked, gesturing wildly toward the T.V.

Gillian feigned hurt, "Why, yes, Cal, I do!" She said, and then she leaned back in her chair, "What, may I ask, is so wrong with football?"

Cal scoffed, "Well, to start, the bloody name is just the beginning of what's wrong with it. Leave it to you Americans to take a sport where you throw the ball with your hands, tackle blokes with your hands, carry the ball with your bloody hands—A sport in which one person from each side kicks the ball maybe seven or eight times a game—and name it football—" Cal shook his head, and then scoffed again, "Makes perfect bloody sense!" He rolled his eyes.

Gillian was trying to bite back her smile, "And what do you call it?"

"Rugby for pussies." Cal said, grinning. "And then it takes a bloody year and a half for them to finish the game!" Cal put his hand on his chin as though he was deep in contemplation of the many shortcomings of American football—"Oh! And don't get me started on their dances or whatever after they've scored a touchdown."

Gillian laughed then and interrupted his tirade, "Wait a minute," She said, leaning forward slightly and waving her hand, "Wait just a minute, Cal. I have seen some of the soccer matches," She emphasized the word to irk him, "you love so much and let me tell you—you have no room to make fun of the celebratory measures our football players take after a goal." She said, laughing.

Cal smiled at her, "Touché."

She considered him then and tilted her head to the right, "Have you ever played?" She asked.

"Rugby for pussies?" He asked, she laughed, rolled her eyes and then nodded, "Uh, no." He said, shaking his head.

Gillian's eyes sparkled, "Do you want to?"

Cal thrust his chin out at her and narrowed his eyes, "Do you mean in general?" He asked, "Or do you mean with you?" He tilted his head, "Because in general, absolutely not. But," He said, his voice soft and full of innuendo, "There are things few and far in between I'd not like to do with you."

Gillian smiled, and desire passed over her face at his words, "With me." She said, "Always with me." Her eyes sparkled, "Let's play a little bit—"

Cal looked at her, "Really? It's bloody cold outside, Gillian."

"So?" She said, mischief in her eyes. "Alec had a ball and I think it's around here somewhere, actually," She said.

Cal couldn't control the look that came across his face at the mention of Gillian's ex-husband's name. Seeing it, Gillian laughed and then rose from her seat to go retrieve the ball. "Of course Alec would play," He muttered under his breath, and Gillian knew precisely what he meant by saying it and she shook her head then ascended the stairs.

Moments later, she returned, holding a football in her hands. Cal raised his eyebrow as she descended the stairs, "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," He said drily, and she shoved the football at his chest as she walked past him, leading him outside.

When they were in her backyard, Gillian stood a few feet away from Cal, "Let's toss the ball back and forth to get warmed up," She said, and Cal watched as her breath became visible.

He laughed, "Alright," He said as he gripped the ball and threw it to her. It did not go in at all the direction he had planned and Gillian suppressed a laugh as she retrieved the ball and brought it back over to him.

"Cal," She said, "You want to line your fingers up like this," She said, showing him her grasp on the ball, "With the laces." She said, and Cal marveled at how small and delicate her hands looked gripping the football. He took it from her and placed his hand in the way that she had, "Good," She said, and she placed her hand over his, adjusting his grip slightly.

Despite the cold outside, Cal felt a surge of warmth at her delicate touch.

Smiling, she walked back over to her position and Cal threw the ball again. This time, it was more on target. Gillian caught it and threw it back. They continued on for several minutes, Gillian smiling and Cal enjoying the way her smile lit up her face and did something to his stomach that he absolutely couldn't explain.

"Should we play now?" She asked.

Cal waggled his eyebrows and Gillian giggled, before his eyebrows furrowed in concern, "How do we do that, though?" He asked, "There's only two of us."

Gillian smiled, "Please, Cal," She said, "I could play with myself."

Cal couldn't contain the smirk that came across his face. Her comment had, of course, been innocent, but he couldn't help but conjure images of Gillian doing exactly that, and the look on his face told her as much.

Gillian, realizing her mistake, colored. "No, not like that!" She said, and then her gaze darkened slightly, "Well, yes, sometimes like that," She said, grinning at him.

Cal felt a stirring in his groin at her words and the imagery she provoked.

"What we'll do is this," She said, holding the ball to her chest as she spoke, "One person will snap the ball—" At his look of confusion she laughed, "Pass the ball behind to the other person and then run ahead as though they were on offence—but," She said, "Then that person will switch to defense and the person with the ball will try to outmaneuver the other for a touchdown, which will be when the person gets to that tree," She said, her slender finger indicating a tree several feet away from them. "Sound good?"

Cal smiled, "Sure," He didn't give a damn one way or the other, but he could see it made her happy, so he was glad to do it.

She smiled at him—"Alright," She said, "I'll snap the ball first. Get behind me,"

Cal positioned himself behind Gillian, "You're changing my perception about this game already, darling." He said, grinning.

She smiled at him, "Just wait." She said, waggling her eyebrows at him over her shoulder. She grabbed the ball and then bent over, crouching her knees slightly, allowing Cal a perfect view of her ass.

"Bloody hell Foster," He said, his eyes fixed on her—he smiled—he had been right: those jeans hugged her in all the right places. He reached out and put his hand on her, smoothing his hand over the curve of her body. She laughed lightly and inhaled sharply at his touch—"I could really get to liking this sport," He said, finally removing his hand.

Still laughing, she snapped the ball back to him and he caught it. She darted out in front of him and then turned around.

They played for a few minutes each switching positions—neither one really scoring. Cal didn't mind and neither did Gillian—despite his distaste for the silliness Americans laughingly called a sport, he was having fun outside with Gillian watching her carefree smile and feeling her hands on him trying to tackle him. He enjoyed the way she allowed him to put his hands on her and he nearly couldn't believe that there had been a time where they didn't touch like this.

It was his turn to snap the ball and he was crouched down in front of her.

"You're right," She said from behind him, "This is a nice view," She commented, before she reached her hand up and lightly touched Cal's butt—it was hardly a touch, but Cal felt his blood change directions and his groin immediately tighten as he thought of Gillian touching him.

He ran out in front of her after snapping the ball, and then turned around. She was clutching the ball to her chest, trying to discern which way would be easiest for her to go around Cal—but Cal had different plans. He had a near predatory look in his eyes as he rushed upon her. Grabbing her by the waist, he didn't miss the look of surprise she exhibited when he used his weight to pull her down to the ground.

Spinning her around so that he landed on his back and she landed on top of him, his grip tightened around her as they crashed to the ground.

Gillian laughed, her breathing heavy, "Cal!" She exclaimed—but before she'd even gotten the word out, Cal had manipulated them so that Gillian's back was flat against the ground and Cal was holding her down with his body, pinning her legs with one of his—his arm draped across her body, pinning her right arm down with his left, supporting himself on his elbow, placed next to her head. With his right hand, he brushed the hair that had fallen into her face out of the way.

"I think," He said, bringing his face down to hers so that his breath danced upon her face, "That I just outmaneuvered you, love." He said.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he smiled quickly and then brought his mouth down to hers. He felt her acquiesce to his seeking tongue, and she moaned against him. Cal felt his stomach leap as her taste flooded into his mouth. He ran his tongue along hers, enjoying the way she felt—her tongue felt soft and warm, and the weight of her body pinned beneath him felt like home. Gillian kissed him back, and her free hand came to rest at the back of his head. She curled her fingers into his hair and then she deepened the kiss—a feat that Cal had not thought possible. He groaned against her and felt his arousal course through him as her tongue darted into his mouth. She pulled it out to bite his lower lip lightly before kissing him again. Finally, she pulled away.

Cal's breathing was heavy and his pupils were dilated. His leg still held Gillian in place as did his arm—Gillian's eyes danced as she looked up at him, enjoying his weight on her, enjoying the cool grass on her back, enjoying the ravenous look he was giving her, "Actually," She said, her voice husky, "I think I just outmaneuvered you."

Cal smiled devilishly then and bent his head again. His gaze darkened considerably and she felt his breath on her lips, and shuddered, "I think not." He said, and his lips were against hers when he spoke again, "Consider this my touchdown dance, darling," He said, and his tongue sought hers again only to find it ready and waiting as she arched her body into his.

TBC

Two chapters left- the next chapter you'll see Zoe and it'll be Thanksgiving Dinner! I considered abandoning this part of the story, but I just couldn't do it. Sorry. :)

Hopefully I'll be finished with the last two chapters in a timely fashion! :)

-Natalie