A/N: This story relates to the question whether it's better to tell the truth or better (easier?) to lie. Timeline- and content-wise it doesn't always tie in with the show and just so you know - there is some Alec in this chapter, but he (or the Cal/Gillian/Alec relationship) is not the center of the story. Will probably be a two- or three-shot. We'll see about that.

Rating for content and some swearing. I hope you enjoy the story. Reviews are balm for my writer's soul.

Beloved-the-Fool: I haven't forgotten about the story I still owe you. Promise!

Disclaimer: LTM and its characters belong to Fox. This is my way to keep Callian alive.

They leave the restaurant together after what must have looked like a pleasant evening if anyone had watched the two men and one woman. No visible signs that one of the men got annoyed at some of the remarks the other man made or that the woman tensed up when that happened. You would have needed an expert in micro expressions to detect that and the only experts in this field present in the restaurant at that time were those two.

"Nice evening. See you."

Alec stretches out his hand and Cal takes it despite the fact that what he really wants to do is knock the other man flat out because he sees it all – the twitch, the nervousness, the impatience. Alec can't wait to feed his addiction, inhale the coke, so that the world, that must wear him out so much that he needs the drugs, turns into a damask rose. A color that usually makes Cal think of the woman standing right next to Alec. Alec's wife. Dr. Gillian Foster. Cal's business partner and friend. Someone he doesn't want to get hurt, let alone by her own husband. How someone who is married to this wonderful woman can feel the urge to lighten his life by drugs is beyond Cal.

It was difficult enough to restrain himself from commenting some of Alec's rather stupid remarks while they were having dinner together. Cal knows that Gillian was aware of each moment he held himself back. This is even worse though. Gillian must see the signs of Alec's addiction, too. There is no way she could not notice something that obvious. But she hasn't told him about it yet and he plays by the rules. Things like that don't exist as long as the one involved doesn't mention it, and so far, Gillian hasn't mentioned it.

The three of them having dinner together is a seldom event. Sometimes Alec picks Gillian up at work to have dinner. Whenever that happens, Gillian invites Cal to join them, ignoring that her husband would rather spend the evening alone with her. Cal typically says no, making no effort to conjure up excuses. He simply dislikes Alec and Gillian knows that. But Cal likes Gillian (actually, more than likes but even if he is divorced, she is married and that's that). Therefore, on very rare occasions, he says yes because spending the evening with her is worth tolerating her bloody husband. He suspects Gillian knows that, too.

"Night, Cal."

Alec's hand is replaced by Gillian's. Cal is used to hug her. Goodbyes, hellos, happiness, sadness – he welcomes every possible pretense to do it. They don't hug in front of her husband though. It's a given. So, her hand it is instead and her voice and her smile. Could be worse.

Cal wishes he could tell Gillian in plain words that he did enjoy the evening, that her company was worth it and the only reason why he joined them in the first place. Use your words. That's her common request when she wants to know what he thinks but not tonight because she already knows what he thinks. At least most of it. There are things he hides perfectly. She can't know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Goodnight," he starts as Alec puts his arm around Gillian's shoulders, marking his territory. Cal understands it; he would do just the same. That doesn't mean he has to like it.

Gillian looks him in the eye and Cal sees the unspoken plea. I know you didn't actually enjoy the evening, but please don't tell Alec. Just let it go at polite, meaningless farewells.

Cal hates the thought that she is about to leave with Alec, with this weak version of a man she deserves. When he lets go of Gillian's hand, clenches his fingers and shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, she tilts her head back, the look in her eyes even more intense. Gillian is aware of the reasons behind this action. Cal only can't be sure to what extent. Maybe she is already aware of more than he would be comfortable with, more than he supposed. It wouldn't be the first time he underestimated her. He should know better by now. Either way, her eyes plead with him again for her husband. Cal can barely stand it. Whatever her reasons might be, though, Gillian means too much to him; he can't deny her request.

Please don't tell the truth. Please lie.

He does.

Gillian is drunk, not only tipsy but tanked – there is no nicer way to describe it. She drank way too much alcohol during the evening and she enjoys herself way too much at the bar, surrounded by several men trying to catch her attention. Cal watches her from a safe distance, wondering how it is possible to be a little clumsy due to her intoxicated state and at the same time move as gracefully as she does.

They attend a seminar. Well, attended it by day. Now, it's over, but they will only head home tomorrow because the soiree is for networking. Networking. You could have told Cal as well to put his eyes out. He hates all this and most of all the pompous asses as he calls the other attendees. It's actually no surprise. On some days, Dr. Cal Lightman simply hates people. With one exception that is. The one he is watching right now, watching over her because considering the amount of alcohol in her blood (or rather the rest of blood in the alcohol running through her veins), it won't be long until he has to get her out of here.

Of course, it was her idea to come here. Cal always managed to avoid these kind of events in the past. Gillian convinced him, though, that it would push their business ahead, get them new clients, or at least they would meet some new business contacts. Why the hell did he let her convince him? Must have been a weak moment or maybe he was distracted by the dress she was wearing then. Business contacts. Clients. Cal snorts, remembering her words. Yes, for sure. Just like the guy who gets a bit too close to Gillian right now, raising his hand to place it on her...

"Hey, Gill."

The man stares at Cal as if he was an apparition, what he is in a way, coming out of nowhere and forcefully pushing himself between Gillian and the stranger who falls back on Plan B and is suddenly very interested in Gillian's cleavage, trying to ignore Cal in the process. Something that doesn't go down well with Cal.

"Bugger off," Cal doesn't even try to be nice, putting his arm around Gillian's waist and practically lifting her down from the barstool.

"Hey, Cal," she greets him, all cheery and smiling, oblivious to the fact that he interrupted a bold come-on and is now quickly pulling her away from the scene. "Where have you been?"

Cal feels the hand of the man on his shoulder in an effort to hold him back. At least he didn't dare to touch Gillian again. Cal turns around.

"Hearing problems? What part of bugger off didn't you understand?" Cal gets more aggressive, exuding danger, using a body language that served him well in the past to avoid fist fights in several bars. He may not look threatening at first sight, but he definitely can be intimidating if need be. In any case, it works here and now. The other man steps back and mumbles something, a feeble attempt to save his face, before he walks away.

"Look at you. You're my guardian angel," Gillian coos, her body pressed against his. She doesn't even try to get away from him, lets him lead her to the elevator without any resistance.

"Don't like when a wanker like that hits on a beautiful woman. Especially not when..."

"...when it comes to me?" she interrupts him. "When I am this woman?" She phrases the sentences as questions, but they both know they are not. This is a statement; she doesn't expect an answer from him.

It is an unexpected, sudden mood alteration from light-hearted to serious. Cal doesn't know what to make of it and perhaps Gillian doesn't either because, as sudden as it came up, she drops the subject again.

Gillian is standing so close beside him that their bodies still are effectively pressed against each other, resting her head on his shoulder. Cal feels the warmth of her skin through their clothes, the tickle of her breath on his neck. She shouldn't be so close to him. It makes him think about where their bodies are touching and where else he wants to touch her. He doesn't look at her, doesn't say anything, uncertain whether she is drunk enough so that the situation won't get even more awkward. The seconds tick away until the recorded message announces the arrival of the elevator.

They walk into the elevator, and this time, Gillian allows Cal to create some room between them; anything else would kill him inside this confined space. He doesn't know whether he is angry with her because she put herself into such a position (What if he hadn't been there?) or worried because this is not the Gillian he knows. She seems to sense his thoughts, throwing wary glances at him in between when she thinks he isn't looking. Save that the alcohol has made her slower than usual. He catches each gaze from her. And even more, he catches the flicker in her eyes that has nothing to do with being drunk. Something is going on; something is wrong.

The doors of the elevator open, and suddenly, Gillian can't wait to get away from him and into her room. Unlike at the bar, it is more difficult for her to go straight forward though. She stumbles and bumps against the elevator door on her way out.

"Easy, tiger," Cal mumbles, supporting her with one hand.

They have opposite rooms at the end of the same floor (Cal doesn't know if Gillian booked them on purpose or if it is a coincidence. Either way, right now, it is convenient.) and do an awkward dance on their way, a push and pull whenever she tries to get away from him and whenever he won't let her.

"Here we are," she announces when they have reached her room, leaning against the door with her back. "Thank you for accompanying me, Cal. You are a real gentleman."

Her voice is a notch too high, her happiness fake. Cal watches her until she looks bashfully at the ground.

"You know I'm never a gentleman, Gill. So, wanna tell me what's going on? Why all of this?" He makes an up and down motion with his hand that includes her whole body, her dress that is tighter and more low-cut than usual, her drunken state.

"Because I wanted to have some fun," she says after a brief pause. Defensively. Challenging. It's hard to tell, her facial expression as closed off from his abilities to read her as usual.

"So much fun that you don't want to remember tomorrow? So much fun that you can't have it sober?"

Anger is written large in her face for a split second, immediately followed by embarrassment. Bull's eye. Gillian is angry that his insight was dead on, but even more it makes her self-conscious. The skin of her face and neck takes on the color of a light red.

She still can't look him in the eyes. Cal knows that his history of one-night-stands and short affairs puts him into no position to judge her. However, he can't swallow the rage that is slowly burning him up. A rage he has no reason, or rather right, to feel, but theory and practice are seldom found together.

"You wanted to get laid," he hisses with clenched teeth.

It is the truth. Yet, his choice of words is deliberately rude. He wants her to feel at least some of the pain that is consuming him right now.

"No," she denies, then sighs, slumping down. "Yes... Maybe..." Her voice trails off. Gillian slurs a little bit, but otherwise, and despite the fact that he saw her have a lot of drinks and can smell the alcohol in her breath, she seems to be perfectly able to have this conversation. Even if she for sure doesn't want to.

"That's your way of getting new clients or business contacts?" he presses his luck, reminding her of the pleaded reason why she wanted them to come here.

She doesn't answer but purples this time, her embarrassment slowly giving way to anger again. Cal watches it guiltily satisfied. He went too far, but he got the result he was aiming for.

Then, finally, she looks at him and Cal realizes that he was wrong. He thought he was the only one feeling pain, that, as misguided and confusing her actions might have been, she was at least trying to have a good time earlier at the bar. Now, all he sees in her eyes is an endless darkness. And pain. So much pain.

Cal reaches out to touch her face instinctively.

"I don't know what I want," Gillian says tiredly. "I just wish things were different."

It is none of his business. Who she sleeps with. Where. When. Or at least shouldn't be if he was able to keep his distance. Cal is no moralizer and aware he deluded himself believing that she wouldn't have been able to handle the situation earlier by herself. He was just looking for an opportunity to be the British version of her knight in shining armor. Gillian is married and the only person it should concern is Alec although Cal doubts that Alec is able to pay much attention to anything aside from his addiction. Most likely he suffers from tunnel vision, his world reduced to white powder that makes him happy, his wife nothing but an unwelcome distraction.

So, no, Cal didn't feel the obligation to stop Gillian from going through with whatever might have been her plan out of moral reasons. But Gillian, on the other hand, is the most morally and ethically correct person he knows, to a point at which it sometimes plainly annoys him because Cal rather likes to bend the rules than obey them. Therefore, and no matter how gut-wrenching it was for him to watch her flirt with strangers at random, his actions were partly about denying her some fun out of jealousy (no use to talk around that) but also about getting her out of a situation that was completely unusual for her (not the flirting but the flirting combined with the alcohol and that strange mood she was in) before she did something she would regret later.

"Tell me what's bothering you, luv," Cal says in a soothing tone of voice. No more anger.

Gillian's eyes well up, but she won't shed tears, wipes them away irritated instead.

"I filed for divorce yesterday," she whispers.

She is searching for something in his eyes. Condemnation? She will never see that, knows that, just makes sure. Surprise? It is there. Not only in his eyes. It is written all over his face along with the relief. He probably shouldn't let her see it, but it is the truth and Alec deserves it because he didn't deserve her. Period. Something else? Their earlier talk comes to his mind.

"Don't like when a wanker like that hits on a beautiful woman. Especially not when..."

"...when it comes to me? When I am this woman?"

It makes all sense now. Her insistence they go to the seminar because she knew there was no way she would be able to pretend that it is a normal day like any other after she filed for divorce, no way she would be able to show up at work as if nothing happened. Their opposite rooms (by now Cal doesn't believe in coincidences anymore). Just as everything she does, Gillian for sure pondered over the divorce sufficiently to be certain, determined to go through with it. Yet, the emotional fallout is a whole different matter. She knew she would be hurt, unstable, fragile. That was the reason she wanted him to come with her, to protect her in a way because she wasn't sure how she would react and knows he is the one person who will never judge or lecture her, not only for the simple reason that he went through times much worse than these.

Cal is touched (She chose him, him of all people, to be at her side during this time of her life.) and excited (A divorce means possibilities. It's a game changer, a big one.). He remembers, though, how he felt when he was in the middle of his divorce. Like a tornado. Sometimes he was the eye of the storm, quiet and eerily calm; sometimes he was the storm itself, leaving destruction behind wherever he went. Without exception, each decision he made back then when it came to other women was wrong. Just wrong. And as different as they are, Cal witnessed first hand tonight that Gillian was about to make the same mistake. She was about to throw herself at the next best man as a diversion, to boost her stricken ego. He wants to spare her all that, spare her the bitter aftertaste that would have been inevitable the next morning.

But how tell her without coming across as if he grudged her the fun or her newly found freedom due to double standards for her and himself when he can't tell her everything because that would be a mistake, too? It is too soon for that. What Gillian needs right now is a harbor, an anchor, no hasty actions or declarations. If she needs to blow off steam tonight, it shouldn't be with him, but if it isn't him, he can't let her do it. Simple as that. They are at an impasse and Cal isn't exactly known for his talent regarding relationship talk. In fact, he is well-known for an 80% chance to make things worse whenever he starts one no matter how good his intentions are.

Suddenly another thought crosses Cal's mind. Maybe it was some kind of test. Maybe Gillian wanted to find out whether he would interfere if one of the men became too intrusive or not (although he wonders at the possibility that she could have believed he wouldn't). Maybe she wanted to find out with whom she would end up right here in front of her hotel room. With his room directly opposite to hers, he would have had the chance to interfere even last-minute. So, what if she did intend to end up right here with him in the first place? But what if she didn't? An impasse. Again.

"That's all you have to say? Nothing?" Gillian's voice interrupts Cal's bundle of reflections. For once, the insecurity in it is unmistakeable.

"Gillian..." She is right; he has nothing to say because actually there is too much he wants to tell her and he seems to be unable to pick the right words.

"No." She shakes her head, misinterpreting his regret that he, Dr. Cal Lightman, acknowledged expert, seems to be unable to have a simple conversation - particularly in such an important situation like this. Then again, nothing concerning them and this situation is simple. "Don't pity me, Cal. That's not what I want and certainly not what I need. Especially from you."

Especially from you. It could only be a reference to their friendship. But in this moment, with the amount of alcohol in her blood and her lowered defenses, Cal sees enough in Gillian's face to know it's more. A hint. An admission even. He is almost sure by now that it was no test. Gillian had no plan; she acted on impulse, reeling from the whole situation without the slightest idea what would or should happen next. Just went with the flow, so to speak, that brought them here. He doesn't know whether she will actively push it any further tonight if he lets her or not, but he is almost certain that she will not resist him if he tried. What he won't.

"No pity, Gill. Never pity," Cal corrects her gently, his hand that touched her face before tenderly stroking her arm until it reaches her hand, holding on to it. "Just know that I'm here for you." It's not much, but it's the best he can come up with. It would be redundant to tell her that he appreciates her decision even if the outcome is anything but pleasant. She knows that already.

It is an intimate moment, the bond between them intense and raw. Nonetheless, he wanted to take part of what he said back the moment he said it. Considering the circumstances, it would have been better if she believed he pitied her than what she is about to find out. At least for now.

Cal taught Gillian everything about micro expressions, and meanwhile, the student has out-competed the teacher when it comes to reading each other. Therefore, now that he practically forced her to take a closer look, he can be sure that she will see it all. It's almost too easy. Textbook. His body language (leaning forward, touching her), his eyes (dilated pupils, on the other hand, his pupils are almost always dilated when he looks at her so that isn't actually remarkable), his micro expressions. The micro expressions will give him away. No matter what he doesn't want to tell her as yet, Gillian already saw it. His face is an open book; she can turn the pages however it pleases her.

Gillian takes a deep breath; she has come to a decision. Cal may not be able to read her, but he can read a mood when he sees the classical indications. Determination. She is about to cross their line based on what she saw in his face, based on what she feels, when of all possible moments this is the worst. Cal knows Gillian believes she is doing the right thing. And she is. It's only the wrong time. Her world is upside down, on fire, and she reaches out to the only thing that she believes will smother the flames. He will put out the blaze but not in that way; tonight he will be her friend and nothing more. The ink on her divorce petition is barely dry. This is way too early. Bad timing doesn't even come close. And since she is in no condition to be rational and realize that, he has to be the one to make her stop.

His hand that was caressing hers stiffens. No, Cal thinks frantically. Don't do this. As much as I want it, we're not ready for this yet, Gill.

She frowns and studies his facial expression even more scrutinizingly.

"You know you can tell me everything."

Now, where did that come from? Cal has no idea, doesn't know why he chose those exact words when this is exactly what he does not want her to do right now. He is no psychologist. Most likely Gillian could explain to him that his subconsciousness simply told the truth because she was honest with him. And true it is. Of course, she can tell him everything but not now, not when everything would include that thing between them that should be better left unsaid for the time being. Bloody hell! Why does he keep saying the wrong things when all he wants is to do it properly?

Words are just words, though, and while Cal knows that Gillian always listens to what someone says, she listens even more to the way the words are being said and reads the person saying the words so that she can be sure what the words actually mean. And that is not always their literal meaning. Sometimes, in fact, it is the opposite.

Please don't tell the truth. Please lie.

She does.

To be continued

...by the way, Cal hating small talk and networking – that's totally me. ;)