Emergence

S04E07

Disclaimer: I own very little, least of all these Characters, or the show Lie to Me*. This is just for fun.

Summary: S04E07. Lightman and Foster reckon with relationship issues while Torres and Turner take on a new case.

Authors Note: ... so... this took a while, huh? (thank you to everyone who has reached out to review or ask about my stories. I'm sorry this took such a ridiculously long time. I honestly can't explain why it took so long. The writing muse has gone on strike. The Foster/Lightman parts have been mostly written for a very long time. I just couldn't put the pieces together.)

Emily Lightman bounded down the stairs into the kitchen to be greeted by the sight of her father standing at the stove, with Gillian Foster pressed tightly to his back, hugging him from behind.

He was making some kind of breakfast, there was definitely bacon involved she could smell it, with his attention fully on his task except for the hand resting on his middle, making sure to keep Gillian in place. Not that she seemed inclined to go anywhere.

They were getting used to living in each other's spaces day by day. Cal and Gillian were nowhere near as careful of showing physical affection as they had been when they had first told Emily that they were together. But this was rare. Gillian was so considerate of Emily's feelings, and Emily's space, that she very rarely clung to Cal in this way when she was around. And that's what she was doing. She was clinging to him. Her full length pressed tightly to his back. Both of her hands wrapped around his body to meet on the other side of him, just above his belly, where his own free hand rubbed against her joined hands and sporadically gripped them, clutching them up together. Her face was turned sideways so that she could tightly press her cheek against the back of his neck. She was nuzzling her face against the bare skin there, her eyes closed, and as Emily watched silently from the stairway she brushed the lightest kiss right there before pressing her nose into his skin with firm loving intent then returned to her casual nuzzling. Then she moved her hands so that one was wrapped tightly around his waist and the other, the one he still held, moved up to his clavicle, giving her a tighter hold on him.

Emily was sure that they must know she was there. Normally if they were hugging or cuddling they would put a little daylight between them when they heard her thunder down the stairs in the morning. Not today though. It gave Emily a warm feeling. She had been in her room when they got home last night, and tired as she was she had decided for once not to come down the stairs to greet them. It was late enough anyway. Either they didn't know she was home, or they assumed that she was sleeping, but they didn't disturb her regardless. And then the fight started. They didn't particularly raise their voices. There was no yelling. That was a huge difference between them and her dad's relationship with her mom. Back then there was always yelling. Loud and messy and awkward. With Gillian, yelling almost never happened. On the rare occasion where he antagonised her to the point of overflowing frustration, he actively tried to de-escalate immediately. In the same way he had loved the rush of raised voices with Zoe, he hated it with Gillian. But Emily had heard the tone. The seriousness of the rhythm of their conversation. The occasional raised voice, although never too loud. And then the heart-breaking sobbing. Her heart had seized with fear and worry. 'What if they break up?'. She had thought about coming down to check up on her, to see what was wrong, but she decided against it. She had crept to the top of the stairs to listen in though, and she caught the tail end of the conversation. Her dad's soothing tone, even though moments ago they had been arguing over something obviously serious.

'We can drop it for now. We don't have to do this right now.'

It was so unlike him. Something big was going on.

"Evan."

"No. Hate it."

"Simon."

"Ugh. Nope."

The softly murmured conversation went back and forth as she watched them from the bottom of the stairs.

"Morning, Em," Cals voice raised to greet her, but he didn't turn around. "What you hovering about for? Get the plates out."

"Hey. Is, uh, is everything ok?"

Gillian tensed up against Cal's back and straightened her posture, but she didn't release her hold on him, she just rested her chin against his shoulder, and he just kept on cooking breakfast as he tightened his hand over hers briefly.

"Yeah. More or less," he said coolly. Almost as an afterthought he added, "Hey, if you were picking a name for a baby boy, what would you go with?"

"Uuuhhh… what?" she asked, completely caught off guard and a million wild thoughts running through her mind.

"That's a terrible name."

Gillian released Cal with another quick kiss, this time to the side of his shoulder, and a light slap to his side and faced his daughter. She looked drawn and tired and totally comfortable in her space. Emily thought she finally looked like she was home, in their little kitchen, in their perfect house.

"The nurses at the hospital asked us to suggest a name for the Kabuso baby," Gillian explained. She moved to lean against the kitchen island where Emily was setting the plates down having retrieved them from the cupboard.

"Oh. Cool. I don't know, let me think about it."

"No rush, it's not like he's getting bigger and healthier by the day and is starting to understand language or anything," Cal's light-hearted snark came just as he started to dish up an array of bacon and scrambled eggs and sausage. His look of smirking devilment towards her, then to Gill as he turned back to finish cooking the rest of breakfast set her at ease. She fully relaxed into the cosily shared morning when she looked at Gillian to see her amused indulgence directed towards him.

"I better get going," Emily said finally, once she'd had her fill of breakfast.

"I'll drop you in," her father declared. He used to be so much better at hiding when he had an ulterior motive, she thought.

"I can't just take your car?", she asked teasingly.

"Not today, Em. Besides, I want to talk to you about a few things."

"Uh oh. This isn't about Mexico, is it? I'm going, dad."

"Nah, no It's not about Mexico. Booked and all, isn't it? No stopping you now. Unless something were to happen to your passport in the next month…"

"Funny," she said without a trace of humor.

"Come on, let's get a move on," he said as though Emily hadn't said anything. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and leaned down to Gillian who was looking a little forlorn but hiding it well, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, then quickly on the lips. Gillian grabbed onto the front of his shirt, eyes closed and pulled him back for a slightly more lingering contact, and she couldn't help but hum in quiet satisfaction into his mouth as she did. When they separated, they pressed their heads together, eyes still closed and Emily could hear him whisper, "you be ok?" to her. Her equally quiet "yeah" gave him enough confirmation to break contact entirely after a quick brush of his hand against the back of her head and one more fleeting kiss to her crown. Oh yeah. Something big was going on.

"Right, see you at the Doucet's in a while, I'll meet you there. Love you, darling," he called to her over his shoulder as he ushered his daughter towards the door, picking up his car keys on the way.

Owen Pickford opened the door to the Lightman Group's floor to be greeted by a beaming wall of backlit candid photographs, each showing a different celebrity or political figure, each with clear expressions of emotion frozen in time, in full display.

He took a fleeting glimpse of each one as he moved further into the space. As he did, a passing figure took notice of him and approached.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"I'm looking for someone who works here that can help me with something. A 'face reader' or whatever you call it," Owen replied tightly.

The man extended his hand in greeting and said, "Mark Turner. Face Reader. How can the Lightman Group help you today?"

Pickford looked him up and down and took his hand with an air of scepticism. This young man was well dressed, charcoal slacks and a beige long sleeved button up collarless shirt, but he was young and had paired his well pressed slacks with pristine sneakers. He didn't have the look of a behavioral scientist about him, as Pickford would stereotype one.

"You… do what Doctor Lightman does?"

"I do. What is it that you're looking for us to help you with today, sir?" Mark responded with an apprehensive expectation. He could see the man would have difficulty accepting his abilities.

"Is Doctor Lightman here?"

"Doctor Lightman is unavailable at the moment. And, we tend to screen our prospective clients to assess if we're interested in taking their case, and ensuring that we have the appropriate personnel assigned. That may not always mean Doctor Lightman. We have a team of very capable people. Doctor Lightman wouldn't have it any other way."

"Well, I'd like him to take this case. I think the fee I'm offering will warrant the best."

"And should we accept your case, you'll get the best. Would you like to follow me and we can get started?"

The stranger looked around, presumably hoping to spot Lightman or someone who appeared more qualified to his biased eyes. He found the receptionist behind her desk looking on at her colleague with approving eyes.

"Sure. Lead the way," he finally decided. "How old are you?"

"My age has no relevance to my skills, Mister…?"

"Pickford. Owen, you can call me Owen."

"Thank you, Owen. Shall we get started?" Mark asked with an open palm gesture towards the empty conference suite.

The knock came at the door a split second before Mark Turner casually barged through it.

Ria Torres looked at him indignant for a moment before curiosity took over. Mark never knocked and asking him to do so rarely bore fruit, so she guessed this was progress.

"What?"

"We got a case."

"We?"

"Lightman's not here. Foster's not here. We got a case."

"What case? Where are they, anyway?"

"Charity embezzlement thing. Sounds fun. And they got things to do this morning. They'll be around later."

"How do you know that?"

"I just talked to the client, how do you think?"

"No, I mean about Lightman and Foster?"

"Oh. I text Foster this morning. She said they'll be around later. No big deal, nothing to worry about."

"Oh. Ok," she said uncertainly. Ria didn't like not knowing. But she also didn't like the idea of calling or texting her bosses to ask where they were if they weren't around. She thought it was a show of low confidence in her own abilities and if nothing else Ria knew she was more than able for the job. Mark didn't usually seem bothered by their whereabouts though. He was far more laid back than she was. If they weren't around, he never really questioned it aside from casual interest. He just got on with things. "Why'd you text Foster?"

"Why do you care?" he said but her look was demanding so he gave in with a dismissive shrug. "I was getting coffee. She's usually in early. Wanted to see if she wanted anything."

"Mr Pickford," Torres began as she entered the conference room. She moved towards the man with her hand outstretched and leaned across the large table to offer it in her introduction. "I'm Ria Torres. I'll be working with Mr Turner to review your case."

Owen shook her hand and then shook his head minutely. "Is everyone who works here about twenty-five? Or am I getting old?"

"We are excellent at what we do, Mr Pickford. You have nothing to worry about," Torres sat at the table and rested her joined hands together on top of it, reaching forwards in an open but professional pose that she had learned to use by watching Foster. "Please, tell us in more detail about what you'd like us to investigate."

Pickford, a white man in his late forties with a receding hairline and a slim profile, tensed his shoulders, placed his joined hands on the table before him mirroring Torres, and began to explain the situation he found himself in.

"I run a charitable foundation. We have a reputation for integrity, but recently there have been rumors that one of our board members has been mismanaging funds raised for our organisation. Now, obviously I can't just come right out and accuse the man, he's a respected pillar of society you know? But I need to know if there's truth to it."

"So, what's your proposal?"

"I'd like for Doctor Lightman to look into it without Mr Brackley, that's the board member in question, knowing about it. Or at least without him knowing he's suspected."

"Why not file it with the police?"

Pickford laughed at her naivety, "Young lady, I said I wanted to keep this quiet. Besides, with this kind of thing? I mean, in our circles, men like him practically own the police they're so well connected."

Ria nodded her understanding while Mark tried to fight the instinct to roll his eyes. Of course men like this owned the cops. And because of that, even if he was guilty nothing was going to happen about it.

"Sir, we'll do a preliminary investigation and we'll update you as soon as we can."

"I want Lightman to do it."

"We usually do the preliminary. And Dr Lightman is a little more recognisable than we are, particularly for high profile clients," she replied.

Mark was impressed. He rested his elbow on the table and hid his face in his hand to hide his smirk. Observing Owen Pickford, he could see the obvious tactic worked. These guys were so predictable. Stroke their ego and they just fell into place.

"Right," Pickford said as he stood from the desk, "Of course. Thank you Ms Torres. I trust you'll escalate this to Dr Lightman soon enough."

"If you could leave the details, names, addresses, et cetera at the front desk with my assistant that would be very helpful. Thank you, Mr Pickford."

He walked from the room and as soon as he was out of sight both of the young scientists in training slumped in their seats and turned to face each other.

"With your assistant?", Mark asked, amused.

Ria shrugged, sharing the joke before turning serious.

"Can you believe that guy?" Ria opened.

"Yes. Unfortunately. That's exactly what I expect from guys like him," Mark answered, straightening in his seat he adopted a faux nasal voice, "I trust Doctor Lightman will want to work on my case personally. I'm very important."

The pair laughed it off and set about researching the case.