He saw it, of course, the quick fluttering of the pulse at her throat, the way her hand half-rose from her lap in the beginning of a defensive gesture before settling down again, ineffectually. Her mouth worked, hiding an embarrassed smile even as the color rose in her cheeks. He watched her for a signal of genuine discomfort, indicating that he'd barged too far past their 'line', but saw nothing but indirect invitation – eyes slanted sideways (a possible indicator of shame, of course) but periodically darting back to check his face (approval-seeking). Gillian was a powerful mind in her own right, but years of working with him hadn't cured her of the habit of monitoring his responses – although Cal was wise enough to consider that this 'habit' might be her own form of benign manipulation.
She shifted on her sofa, finally making real eye contact with him. "Cal, I-"
"Want to make the first one a truth, darling? Work up to the dares after another drink or two, eh?" Her eyes flashed quickly to his face; Cal catalogued (with some surprise) the expression he caught in them for future reference – fear or excitement, he guessed, and saw no reason for Gillian to be afraid with him… But the wide-eyed expression left her face quickly, replaced by the tolerant amusement she adopted so frequently for his benefit.
She leaned back against the sofa, re-crossing her legs. "Alright, then. Truth," she requested, deliberately making her face go blank and watching him expectantly.
"Hmm," Cal said, considering his options. He knew that her defensive posture remained, behind her carefully schooled expression, so he elected to start with an easy one. "Were you a virgin when you started at UCLA?"
"That's what you want to know? Is that what you think I wanted to tell you?" she asked, coming as close as she ever did to smirking.
"No, love, that's what we call establishing a baseline – now you've got a couple of drinks down you, thought it wouldn't hurt to double-check," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "So? Virgin?" he prompted.
"Well… yes," she answered, chewing her lip reflectively as her eyes flew sideways.
"But not wholly inexperienced, then, judging by that somewhat suggestive manipulator?" he pursued.
"No, not entirely," she admitted, smiling significantly at him over the rim of her glass. "Also, that was two questions, which is against the rules."
"Well, too late to object now, as you've answered them both," he replied with mock brusqueness.
"A mistake I won't make again. Truth or dare, Cal?" Her eyes twinkled, and for the first time Cal considered that giving her free rein to ask anything her heart desired may not have been altogether clever of him. She wasn't as gifted at microexpression detection as he was, but she had her own brand of insight, and god knew she knew which buttons to press, all in the name of therapeutic practice, of course.
"Truth, for now," he answered, keeping his relaxed seating in her chair even as his reflexive defense mechanisms rose up inside him. But this was Gillian, he reminded himself, who believed so strongly in their line and would never push him very far. Just because he'd taken their game as an invitation to disregard their usual boundary didn't mean she would. Besides, he thought he might enjoy sharing a few choice stories from his university days with her, at that.
"Were you ever in love, before Zoe?" Gillian was still smiling, but her eyes had a serious enough look that Cal knew it wasn't an idle question, but something she'd wondered about before.
He felt a tightening in his stomach, but remembered to breathe by looking into Gillian's eyes, where he saw only caring and curiosity, never a desire to cause him pain.
"No," he said simply. "Not before." Belatedly Cal realized he'd actually answered more than one question there, and the glint he saw in Gillian's eyes informed him that she'd not missed it, either. "Truth or dare, Foster," he said, before she had a chance to push further.
"Hmm... I think… truth again, please," she replied, drinking the last half-inch of Scotch remaining in her glass and reaching for the bottle.
"Hold on – are you implying that you've even considered choosing 'dare'? And that was not my question, just so you know."
"People can be unpredictable, Cal, even to you," she said, clinking their refilled glasses together. "Even me," she added.
"Fascinating," he mused, peering at her curiously. "You must be absolutely lethal in a poker game," he said, as if this were something he'd never considered about her. "Now then – who was the first professor you were intimate with?"
Cal got to enjoy the startled look on her face for a good half-second before she managed to inhale part of her Scotch, and her delightfully shocked eyes closed in a coughing fit.
"What-? Cal-" she spluttered, slowly regaining control over her breathing. "What makes you think I was 'intimate' with any of my professors, may I ask?"
"Well, that reaction was a dead giveaway, love, but it was obvious anyway. One, the look on your face when you mentioned 'wild co-eds' showed clear contempt for the typical post-adolescent idiocy most college girls engage in – therefore, something atypical. Two," he continued, ticking off items exaggeratedly on his fingers, "you're brilliant and therefore wouldn't have given the time of day to your average college boy." (Gillian inadvertently confirmed this with a wry twist of her lips.) "Three, I happen to have noticed that you've a bit of a thing for authority figures, darling," he finished, using a lower tone and giving her a slight leer as he observed her reaction closely. He wasn't disappointed – her breathing sped up and she squirmed minutely where she sat, as her eyes searched for a landing place that wasn't his face.
"You've noticed," she repeated skeptically, finally allowing her gaze to rest on him. "What does that mean?" she asked, tilting her head as if to better gauge his words.
"Willing to forfeit your next turn to have me answer that?" he asked. She nodded almost immediately. "Well, I could tell you about all the times I watched you make eyes – in your admittedly subtle style – at five-star generals and billionaire CEO's," he started, until the way her body relaxed, the tension leaving her face, told him to change direction. "But more importantly, don't you ever wonder why, even though we're full partners in the Lightman Group, you always treat me as the boss?"
"Cal, it's your work, your research that underlies everything we do here – of course I'm going to defer to your judgment sometimes-"
"Nah, nope, that's not it," he interrupted. "See, Loker and Torres? They treat me like the boss because that's what I am to them, and even when they stand up to me, they expect that I'll come down on them sooner or later. They show anxiety. You, though," he continued, pointing at her thoughtfully, "you've got nothing to fear from me and you know it, but you keep pushing at me until I push back, invade your space, start barking orders." He stopped for a moment, analyzing her face, which remained surprisingly impassive. "And since I also know you have a good relationship with your father, ruling out 'daddy issues,' all I can think is that you like it when I do that, when I boss you around. That right, Foster?"
He didn't really need confirmation from her, but knew his query would provoke a reaction – and it did. She breathed deeply, nostrils flaring, eyes wider than ever. Cal recognized that she was veiling a very intense emotion – he thought it might be anger, but then again, it might be something else entirely.
