Set in season 2. I kind of miss Reynolds. Maybe more friends would've made Cal less mentally ill (affectionately). It all comes from loneliness. Let's have a little fun, shall we?
Cal didn't notice how a regular Wednesday turned into a little Friday. Well, not quite regular. Normal things don't happen in their field of work. Ben's question got lost in the soft light and the humming of people around them, dissolving into a clingy radio song. The outside views were slowly merging with bright city lights. It could've been a nice night out. The ice in his scotch was melting as he spun the glass in his hand, absentmindedly observing the warm firing liquid, his thoughts everywhere but in the unfolding conversation. He ran his fingers through his hair.
"Come again?"
"I was saying, I'm not an expert, but you totally have the hots for Gill...Dr. Foster. Mildly speaking," Ben broke off.
"Good. You're self-aware about not being an expert, then."
"And you're deflecting, as you people say around here."
"Oi, you're sure you're not the one self-projecting?" Cal said, acting offended.
"I mean, she's a beautiful woman. Tried my luck in Vegas, but no."
Cal narrowed his eyes, focusing his full attention on Ben. "Aye-aye."
"Is this a tiny flicker of jealous twinkle in your eyes?"
"Easy there, tiger. I can still fire you."
"Not according to the FBI agreement." Ben grinned.
"Don't remind me," mumbled Cal, sipping his drink.
"C'mon, you made me spy on her... ex-boyfriend, I guess. I mean, I've seen a lot of stuff, but really?"
"She's my best friend."
"Best friend my ass! Sorry… You guys are unbearable. Man to man, though?"
"Who are you talking to?"
"Very funny. So, in Vegas, she seemed pretty cross at you."
"Yeah, she's always mothering me about the gambling thing. I can't really blame her."
"No, that's different. I'm referring to that blonde lady, whatever her name was. I want to say Poppy? Who you tricked for the case. Foster was pretty envious."
"Great, you suggest I flush down the toilet years of our solid ground relationship because an FBI puppy tells me he saw something I didn't? Besides, it doesn't mean anything."
"I say shoot your shot. "
"Good. Keep me updated. Waiter! Can we have a check, please?"
Ben rolled his eyes, finishing his beer.
"Hurrying somewhere?"
"Don't worry, officer, I'm taking a cab. We don't want any accidents, do we?" Cal joked sarcastically.
"You can thank me later!"
"Un-fucking-believable," Cal murmured, putting on his coat and heading off to an exit.
Minutes later, stepping off a car, he realized what the hell he was about to do. Surely the freshness of the air should've made him sober, but it failed. Damn you, nature. It's not like he was that wasted, but he no longer had full control of his actions—not in a dangerous manner. He let his stupid brain shut up for a while, and his even more clueless heart took advantage. Shifting from foot to foot, he hoped to muster up the courage to knock on her door or flee. The second she faced him, his plan changed entirely. Without wasting time, his lips crashed against hers, forcing them both to step inside.
"Cal! What the?" Gillian hissed, but he cut her off with another kiss.
She didn't slap him or push back, as he partly expected. Instead, she pulled him closer, cupping his cheek. He studied her expression.
"Dilated pupils—that's interesting," he smiled devilishly.
"Are you out of your mind, Cal?" Gillian struggled to keep her composure.
"We both know the answer to that question, love."
"You're drunk."
"Not that much on alcohol, no. But on you, yes."
"Okay, I'm not discussing your shenanigans till you have some sleep."
"Inviting me to a sleepover, Foster?"
"Do you really need an invitation?" She chuckled.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I'm a gentleman."
"You're impossible," she said, blushing. "No talk until tomorrow."
"Your wish is my command," he whispered, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as he passed her by on his way to the kitchen.
