I'm here, ready for a trip down memory lane?

Kathy De: welcome! I see you joined the crazy speculation game!

CookieSprinkles: ah ah, another X-Phile!

This one goes out to Eri Fairechild: your comments and questions always keep me on my toes!

Well, I promised you a flashback of a flashback so…

"Some collateral damage can be avoided."

Foster had the immediate impression that if it had been anybody else but Lightman, her statement would have made waves. But before her was a man on the edge, someone who thought - with good reason as far as she was concerned - that someone was out to get him in some way.

"You're talking about my Emily?" He hissed back at her, immediately guarded.

She held his gaze, wondering if he was always so intense or only when his family was the topic of conversation. The irony of the situation didn't get lost on her, of course. He was worried about his family, and despite her denial he had immediately called her out on a possible veiled threat the minute she had brought it up. She happened to know, probably better than him, just how real the menace was and she didn't want to give anymore substance to his persecution theories…and yet, making him talk about his family might have just been the one thing they both needed.

"We would be irresponsible not to talk about Emily."

Lightman looked down and silently clicked his tongue, and she felt like that was the turning point: she was either going to scare him off for good, which might have still guaranteed he'd keep his mouth shut as her late night visitor would have wanted, or reel him in a more positive way.

Then, when she least expected it, the man's face softened in a way she hadn't seen before.

"Cheeky little one, she is," he mumbled with a smirk. "Goes around telling everybody I read people's minds."

And with that she was in, where 'in' meant a 20 minute monologue from Lightman about his 9 year old daughter. The man simply transformed, right before her eyes, all his worries and sense of guilt and fear melting away, pushed aside by stories of how Emily had taken on the habit to make funny faces at him while he was on the phone, or how she kept finding ways to sneak in his small study at home and play with his priceless artefacts.

For the first time since he had come for the first session, Foster didn't need to focus on how she reacted to him. She smiled as she listened, imagining that with a father like him the girl must indeed have been a firecracker of her own. However, after a while his voice started to trail off again and she could almost see Lightman's mind making the leap from his Emily to Doyle's daughter.

She tried to pull him away from that, regardless of what was going on behind the scenes that was not a place any father should go to. Foster asked him more about his work in general, about his motivation, honestly questioning why he had decided to focus his science on security and terrorism. Lightman got darker again, deeper really in his thoughts as he elaborated on his take on how to face terrorism. It seemed to her that while he had no problem sharing his opinion openly he also didn't entirely like what that might say about him, but he still stood behind it.

"So that when I read Doyle as a threat I knew they'd kill him." He explained then, giving himself a little nod. "I wanted them to kill him."

Reading faces wasn't her thing, reading his book didn't make her an expert, but still she could tell that the events hadn't changed his mind. Doyle's wife and daughter's death had not been part of his plan, not even remotely, but if it had indeed been only the man being killed then he would have had no remorse, and certainly no thoughts about holding someone responsible for it.

"Do you think you can ever forgive yourself?" She asked then.

It took him a moment to find the courage to look up at her, surprised to see that she had been doing some reading of her own.

"It would be easier, if I could fix it."

"But you can't."

"And I'm just supposed to accept that?"

"Accept? No," she replied, then leaned back on the chair. "But you can try to understand it."

"How?"

She was surprised by the shift in his voice, by the pain she could hear in that single word. His face didn't betray much and his eyes were still glaring at her with the breathtaking intensity, but his voice did let a lot through.

"What do you do when Emily does something wrong?" Foster asked then, ignoring how he rolled his eyes at the seemingly unrelated question. "Something big, at least to you."

"We scold her," Lightman answered slowly, deciding to play along. "Might punish her. No dessert, that kind of stuff."

Foster nodded, then stood up and walked around her desk to pour herself a glass of water.

"And she understands?" She kept on asking.

"She's nine, not dumb," he responded, slightly piqued.

"I'm sure she understands the punishment, that there are consequences to her actions. But as you say, she's only nine years old." Foster poured another glass of water and offered to him but he shook his head no. "But does she accept the fact that it was right to punish her? That what she did was wrong?"

Lightman stared her down for a long time, in a way that made her feel uncomfortable even more than the notion that in order to help the man she had to lie to him. He was looking for a reply, probably something snarky that would show his deflection in all its glory, but he was also seriously pondering her words and figuring out how the semelee applied to him and his situation.

After a while his body seemed to deflate, the threatening glare and stance melting away as he slouched on the armchair. He just slid down in a way that made Foster think he was about to pass out or something, maybe fall on the ground altogether, yet when he rested his hands on his lap and looked at her again he wasn't any less intense.

"So it's ok if I don't like the fact that my actions, my science, has consequences beyond my intentions…just as long as I understand that it might happen regardless?"

Foster sat behind her desk, feeling the familiar thrill of a patient's breakthrough. She had had many people in her office, men and women who had killed - or not killed - people who had been hurt and people who had been questioning themselves on the good nature of their job. Because of the work they did, they were all extra guarded when they came to her: they were people of the law, protecting their country, and nobody in that position liked the idea of having to talk to a shrink, thinking it showed weaknesses of sorts, that something was wrong with them. Any time she could breach their defences, get to that one thing that would make them realise talking about something wasn't going to take away from themselves or the perception others had of them, Foster felt vindicated in her choice of work.

With someone else Foster might have decided to push further, but with Lightman she had a feeling it might have backfired. He had made the connection, understood what she was trying to say and voiced it out himself for good measure. They both knew his question wasn't for her but for himself, so she let it simmer and patiently waited for him to be ready for the next move. Not that she had any idea what that might be, he didn't seem like the kind of man who would easily let go of something, but honestly she hoped he would. That seemed like a good place to stop: for him, to realise some of the things he did might take on a life of their own and that it wasn't worth to try and fight that; and for herself too, who didn't honestly know for how long she could be in the same room with him without letting show how hard it was for her.

"Dr Lightman," she said after a while, letting a long sigh leave her lungs before continuing. "I'm not going to tell you that you shouldn't feel guilty, or responsible. You have all the rights to feel this way. And I am going to do both of us a favour and spare you the obvious note about the fact that your emotional response to what happened is heightened by your own situation. But I've read your file, and I think it's fair to assume this wasn't the first time you suggested someone's life be terminated?"

He looked up at her with a strange face, surprised by how blunt and direct she was. That was the Pentagon after all, where everybody was well versed in pretending there wasn't some serious shit happening all the time. Lightman actually liked that, he saw it as her way to show the middle finger to them and show him that no matter who signed her paychecks she put people, not secrets, first. He was also intrigued, because now that things seemed to be winding down he could detach himself to see that she had found the best possible way to get through to him. Because with all the things he saw and did, with all the secrets he carried and the lives he had impacted - and yes, helped terminate - there was one thing that would never change about him.

"I didn't tell them when to do it, or how," he mumbled to himself, looking down at his own hands. "I thought they knew how to handle it best. They should have."

Foster simply nodded even though he wasn't looking at her, silently encouraging his epiphany along. It was all downhill from there, with Lightman being the one doing most of the talking and, however, still blaming himself for what had happened, slightly shifting the type of blame he carried on himself. As he spoke, it seemed more about what he could do differently the next time, giving more detailed instructions and ensuring that only the target would be struck, understanding that the next time he was asked to green light a similar operation he could make sure that no innocents were involved.

He had been silent for a while, mulling over his own words and thoughts, when the phone on Foster's desk rang. She apologised for the interruption and picked up, then checking her watch with a pained expression. When she hung up and looked at him Lightman was already on his feet, having easily put two and two together.

"I'm sorry, Dr Lightman. I have another session starting in a few minutes."

"No problem, I've used up enough of your time already," he muttered as he walked towards the door. "Same time next week?"

Foster had stood up and walked closer with the intention to open the door for him, and when they were next to each other she gave him a small smile.

"As far as I am concerned, Dr Lightman, I don't think that would be necessary."

Her words clearly surprised him, in a positive way. Obviously, he had expected to fight his way out of that and that he wouldn't have liked the outcome of it.

"Aye aye," he hissed, going back to be intense and scrutinising. "Are you going to recommend I take a vacation in a padded cell?"

Foster knew what he was doing, that the trap had been set. He had asked the very specific question, he wanted to know what her report to Andrews about him was going to say and he was ready to read the answer on her face instead of listening to her words. Good for her, the two happened to be one and the same.

"No," she answered, knowing that she didn't have to worry about him seeing a lie because she was telling the truth. "I think you feel responsible for what happened to Doyle's family and there is nothing wrong with that. And there is nothing wrong in not liking how someone else acted based on your assessment."

What she meant, what she couldn't say, was that she didn't think he was going to make a fuss about the events and expose the cover up. Could she be 100% sure? No, of course not. But she felt it, as a professional and as a human being, and she was going to make sure Andrews and everybody else knew that too.

Eventually, Lightman nodded and mumbled something - thank you, maybe? - then opened the door and stepped outside. Only half, because then he pulled back in a little and gave her a grimace, something in between a smile and a shy grin.

"Would you like to meet her?" He asked, and she looked at him baffled. "My daughter."

"I- Wh-" Foster tripped on her words, slowly shaking her head and suddenly regaining some of her control. "I don't think it would be appropriate."

"Yeah, no, you're right." He chuckled and absently rubbed the back of his head, a classic 'what the hell was i thinking' gesture. Then he looked at her again, somewhat uncomfortable all of a sudden, and when he stretched his hand out to her it was slightly shaking. "I guess that's it then, Dr Foster. Thank you for your time."

She returned the gesture, feeling the stark contrast with the first handshake he had given her when he had walked into her office the first time. That one had been quick, absent, forced by the circumstances of their encounter: that day it was slow, intentional, lingering much like his eyes on hers.

"Goodbye Dr Lightman," she replied as they finally parted. "Take care."

Later, when he left and she prepared for the new patient to come in, she wondered why she had added that.

Two days later, Dr Foster had left the whole thing behind.

Well, sort of. She had presented her report to Andrews concluding that, in her professional opinion, Dr Lightman was not a threat and certainly not a problem for the Pentagon. She didn't simply tell them what they wanted to hear, she believed that wholeheartedly. The man who had left her office never to return hadn't made peace with the death of those innocent women, but he wasn't going to blow it all up. That was her job, to assess him and let Andrews know if they should worry about Lightman, and she had done it, so that was past her.

Then there was the rest; the mental state of a man burdened with guilt, who was questioning the good nature of his gift and the control he had over it. But she hadn't been asked to look into that, they didn' care about Lightman's feelings and as painful as it was to admit it she was in no position to question that approach.

She had also been working at the Pentagon long enough to have come to terms with the fact that, despite her good intentions, the help she could provide to people coming to her office was limited. So, two days after having said goodbye to Dr Lightman, he wasn't much on her mind anymore. Especially not when it was a glorious Saturday, way too hot for late March but nevertheless amazing, and she was enjoying an sugary iced latte on her favourite park bench ready to dive in into the new book she had just bought.

Foster looked around, watchful for eyes possibly landing on her, then brought the book close to her face and took in a deep breath. She loved the smell of new books, fresh off the shelf, the little cracking noises the binding made when opened for the first time-

"Dr Foster!" An unmistakable British accent chimed her name with surprise, and when she looked up from the book she saw Lightman grinning at her. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Foster was baffled, taken by surprise by the encounter. Her mind scrambled, trying to remember if there was some sort of etiquette to observe for people working for the government meeting outside work, and failing miserably because that was the first time she was in such a situation.

"Dr Lightman, hi." She mumbled, suddenly feeling self conscious and checking herself all over. "I was just-"

"Assuming sugar in liquid form?" He chuckled, eyeing her drink.

Foster blushed, but was glad that his attention was on the beverage because it gave her the opportunity to hide away the book before he could catch a glimpse of it. For some reason, she didn't fancy the idea of Cal Lightman finding out about her literary tastes.

Then, before she could answer, a young girl appeared out of nowhere, running at full speed towards him and wrapping around his leg on impact.

"Daddy!" She squealed with pure delight. "Duckies in the pond! Can we go see? I wanna feed them!

"Calm down Em, give daddy a minute, will ya?" He tried to ease the girl's enthusiasm, gently grabbing hold of her hand. "I'm talking to a friend."

He accompanied his words with an expletive gesture, pointing at Foster with an open palm as if he was serving up something. The girl followed his gesture with her eyes, smiling immediately as she landed them on Foster, looking at her with interest and curiosity.

"Hi!" She saluted, with the same excitement in her voice she had just shown for the ducks in the pond. "I'm Emily!"

"Hi Emily, I'm Gillian."

She couldn't help but smile, there was something in the little girl's energy that was contagious. And, she thought, eerily similar to her father albeit, thankfully, less nervous and tense.

Then, Emily let go of his hand and left the safety of her father's side to approach the new acquaintance, motioning her to lean down on her. Foster looked up at Lightman looking for clues, but he just shrugged and nodded. So she leaned in, waiting for the girl to bring her mouth close and say in a low voice.

"Daddy can read people's minds!"

Somehow, Foster managed not to burst into a laugh when she heard that. She remembered Lightman saying that Emily would go around telling people that but she had thought he was just making stuff up, in that sweet way parents often exaggerate with pride every little thing that their kids did. But then she looked at the little girl in front of her, her forehead furrowed in an all so serious expression, and Foster realised that not only that was true, but also that Emily probably did it with a different meaning than what her father thought. Lightman had mentioned she did that as if to brag about her dad's superpowers, but as she looked down at the girl's face Foster thought perhaps she just wanted to warn people around him to watch themselves.

"You know what Em?" Lightman chuckled loudly, then sat next to Foster with no invitation of sorts and picked up his daughter. "She actually read mine too."

"Really?!" Emily's eyes went so big that Foster was afraid they could literally pop out of her head.

"Yes love, she did," Lightman continued with a fierce nod, then quickly glanced over at Foster. "More than that, she's the lady who fixed daddy."

Foster knew she was blushing, and she knew that, when she averted her eyes furiously, he probably knew exactly what was happening. She had read it in his book, something about shame and looking down, but she couldn't help it. She was a psychologist working for the government, most of the people coming to her office couldn't wait to be done with it and never come back. Most of them, almost all of them, came to her because they had to and not because they wanted to, and she had learned not to expect any manifestation of gratitude from them. That was why she found Lightman's remark inappropriate, no matter how honest, not to mention the setting of that conversation and the fact that his daughter was there-

"Daddy, were you hurt?" The immediate concern on Emily's face and voice was not lost on Foster, and she watched the girl wiggle in her father's arm to look at him as if looking for wounds on his face.

"No Em, don't worry." He kissed her forehead and chuckled. "Daddy needed someone to talk to, and she helped."

Not entirely convinced, Emily turned towards Foster and stared at her until the woman nodded. Then, out of nowhere, a smile blossomed on her face and she roughly put her short arms around her neck.

"Thank you for helping Daddy!"

"You're welcome Emily, glad I could help."

Lightman seemed to be very amused by the interaction, and Foster thought it was somehow at her expenses. Then, with that taken care of, Emily pulled back and jumped off of her father's lap, taking his hand and pulling him off the bench.

"Feed the duckies daddy, let's go!" She commanded him, then stopped and turned around looking at Foster. "Can she come too?"

Lightman seemed honestly surprised by the request, looking down at his daughter with an amused expression, then he looked at Foster too. The woman was beyond puzzled at the point, having yet to recover from the initial surprise of seeing him there and the overloading friendliness of the little girl, plus a few things going through her head at the moment. And before she knew it, the parade of strange things continued when Lightman shrugged.

"If she wants to, sure."

"Yay!"

Her father's answer clearly sealed the matter for Emily, who beamed at them before turning around and going off towards the pond in front of them. Lightman started to follow her but stopped when he realised that Foster wasn't following, so he called out Emily and instructed her to wait with a stern voice before walking back towards the bench.

"You know, I don't think she would neither accept nor understand if you don't come along now," he mumbled with a grin, throwing back at her her very own line of reasoning. "And if you don't it's gonna cost me a lot more than an extra bag of duck's feed."

Foster tried hard not to smile back at the man's cheeky expression, or at the way his daughter was now impatiently calling both of them pointing at the small booth selling birds feed by the pond, but she found they were both irresistible in their own rights. Eventually, she shook her head and sighed but gathered her things and stood up from the bench. Lightman bought two small bags from the man in the booth, mumbling all the way through that he was spending money on bread crumbs really, then gave one to Emily and one to Foster. Armed appropriately, they stood as close to the water as they could and Emily started throwing small bits of bread, marvelling and giggling at the way ducks and fishes gathered around immediately.

Lightman warned her not to give them too much and make it last, and Foster thought that even though he seemed very relaxed he seemed to be ready to jump into action should anything happen, like Emily slipping forward into the water or one of the birds deciding to aim for the entire loot in the girl's hand. Watching him, absently throwing bread crumbs herself, Foster wondered if the man next to her was ever relaxed at all, if he was physically capable of just going with the flow and doing things for the sake of it. Then she glanced at him a bit more closely, catching a fleeting absent expression on his face as he kept his eyes on his daughter just before he too gave her a side look and… Oh my God! Was he nervous about something?

Then something odd clicked in her mind, small details she had picked up since their meeting and would have ignored…if it hadn't been for his sudden behaviour and for a timing that, she realised then, seemed rather suspicious.

"Do you live around here?"

She asked then, shamelessly taking pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm at her question. But it didn't last long, and Lightman quickly replaced it with a cheeky grin that made her think that the man was not one easy to beat at a game he had started.

"It's a nice park," he shrugged, obnoxiously avoiding giving a direct answer.

"Uh uh, it is," Foster nodded absently, her eyes on Emily who delighted in being surrounded by hungry volatiles. "So I'm guessing it's just a coincidence that you happened to be here with your daughter, but two days after you asked if I wanted to meet her?"

Not for the first time, he surprised her. She expected him to deny and deflect, to make up some other vague non-answer and try to downplay the coincidence, but he did nothing of the sort. Instead, Lightman put his hands in his pockets and squared her off more closely, grinning at her in a way that seemed wild and yet oddly reassuring. Had he…expected her to unmask his scheme? Hoped she would, even?

"I knew I was right about you," he said then, still grinning but sounding honestly impressed more than anything else.

"About what?"

"You're wasted at the Pentagon, Dr Foster." It wasn't a question, a ponderation of sort: it was a statement. "Fixing up looneys like me, you're better than that."

"I don't think you're a looney, Dr Lightman."

"Oh I am bloody bonkers, love! Certified!" He laughed, not at all surprised that she didn't seem to be as uncomfortable as she could have been with the new line of conversation. "Now the question is," he took a step closer, his eyes suddenly boring into her with a new intensity she hadn't seen yet, "how bonkers are you?"

Foster blinked and took a half step back, taken aback by his sudden proximity and the power of his stance. He wasn't threatening, not really, but there was something about the way he had advanced that she had never felt before. Talk about getting into someone's face! She thought, realising that no matter how much she would back up, Lightman would keep getting closer.

Then it was all gone, most of it at least, in the blink of an eye. He kept staring at her but pulled back, just about enough so that she could breath without blowing air on his face, then he looked down and rocked on his feet for a moment before pulling one hand out of his pocket and waving it absently in the air.

"See," he started off, unsure but with the intention to get it all out, "I've got this…business idea…"

Thoughts?