A/N: This is my first serious attempt at a Lie to Me fic. I somewhat know where it's going, I somewhat don't. This is my first attempt at writing Cal. If I'm not quite good at it, I do apologize. Constructive criticism is welcomed and desired- don't just say ya hate it- say why and what can be done to fix it for next chapter. I do eat reviews for breakfast nom nom nom. And tomorrow is my birthday!

oh, i know, the title sucks.

Disclaimer, etc.: I don't own any of them. If I did, there'd be a LOT more innuendo flying about on television.

Shouldn't That Be Me?

Cal Lightman watched Gillian Foster ease her way into the building, smiling politely at everyone she passed along the way. She was wearing her royal blue dress, cinched at the hip, showing off her slender (and quite delicious, actually) figure. The color made her eyes sparkle in a way that could only be described as spectacular, and Cal Lightman couldn't wait to see it up close. He took appreciation of her figure—reveled in it, really, but he had grown uneasy this past month with the sparkle in her eye and the smile that nearly constantly graced her face.

Cal made his way into his office, his mind never wavering from thoughts of Foster.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand seeing her happy. He wasn't supposed to think like that, she's one of hid dearest and longest friends, after all. He should want to see her happy. And, on some level, he did.

But higher up in his being was another level. A level he'd been hellishly stuck at for years now: the level where he wanted to be the one to make her happy.

He twirled his pen and let his mind drift back over the last few years. The memories came to him, one by painful one—Vegas, Poppy, Clara, even his ill-advised rendezvous with Zoe. Oh, yeah, he wanted to be the one to make Foster happy, alright. Clearly.

"You have a bloody good way of showing it, you prick." He said aloud as he ran his hand over his head.

"What's that?"

He heard the familiar voice and about flew out of his chair. "Christ, Foster!" He exclaimed as he grabbed the papers in front of him and shuffled them absent-mindedly. "You ever knock?" He met her gaze, then, and threw her a half smile.

She stared at him, her bemused expression making a familiar knot tie itself in his stomach.

"I did." she said simply. "You were too engaged with your thoughts to hear," she paused slightly at his strange reaction to the word 'engaged.' "Which were on…" she prompted.

"Football." He said matter-of-factly.


"So, whatcha want, Foster? Busy here, yeah?"

Her gaze swept over his nearly empty desk. "I can see that." She cleared her throat, signaling their small talk had come to an end." I just wanted to let you know that Adam Jasso is here for a consultation."

At his blank expression she prompted him: "The High school English teacher…"

"Right!" Grabbing the file he headed out the door, motioning her to follow him. "Close the door, will you?" She obliged and fell in step next to him.

"Remind me why we're taking this pathetic—" she shot him a look "I mean mundane case again?" She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Cal—" she said, in a warning tone.

"Oh! That's right," he began, feigning an epiphany, "I, being the gracious and well, let's face it, nice person that I am, have agreed to look at this case at the express request of your boyfriend."

Foster rolled her eyes. "You're not doing this as a favor for Gabriel, Cal. You're doing it as a favor for me."

He halted his motion and raised his eyebrows at her, "Yea, that's right, darling." He "You see, love, you've got me doing favors left and right nowadays," he winked at her as he pushed the door open to the conference room, he leaned into her conspiratorially as she stopped her motion on one side of the threshold, "but unfortunately for you—and for me—these aren't the sorts of favors I'd like to be doing for you."

She colored slightly as she slid past his body into the room. She had to fight to keep a gasp from escaping when he put his hand on her lower back to guide her through.

"Right! Mr. Jasso, Cal Lightman. You've already met my partner," he emphasized the word, "Gillian Foster."

After the meeting Cal returned to his office. His mind wandered back to Foster. He'd agreed to take the previous case at the suggestion of his business partner. She had suggested it at the urge of her boyfriend, Gabriel Jasso. She'd been seeing him for about a month and a half now and Lightman hated him.

It had nothing to do with the particular guy in question. It had only to do with the fact that he was with Gillian Foster. He would've hated anyone with her. In fact, in different circumstances, Cal might have even liked the bloke. Maybe they would have gone out for beers or traded stories over glasses of scotch.

But this was not an alternate universe. This was the universe in which Gillian Foster had gone out and met herself a boyfriend—dashing good looks and all. They had met at a coffee shop, or cupcake shop or whatever, some such place people who wear Polo shirts frequent.

And she'd been annoyingly happy ever since. And the truth of the matter is that Cal Lightman believed he only had himself to blame. The idea seemed odd to him, sitting in his office, swirling a half empty (yes, that's the sort of man he was) cup of coffee. He watched the brown liquid slosh itself onto the sides of the white ceramic cup. Odd indeed, blaming oneself for someone else's happiness.

But, there he was, doing it nonetheless. Because she should be happy with me, he thought. He let the feeling wash over him and couldn't help but let out a wry laugh. Because you've treated her so well these past few months, right? Even the voices in his head were on her side. Hell, the whole world was on her side.

Except Zoe. That bit made him laugh. He'd never seen Zoe's claws go after anyone the way they went after Gillian. Zoe felt threatened by her. Always had. And for particular good reason.

She needn't feel threatened now, though. Gillian had met this Gabriel fellow and they spent nearly all of their time together. If they were in the tabloids, they'd have a ridiculous nomer like "Gee Squared" or something insane like that. Because they did look good together, much as he hated to admit it.

And he really hated to admit it. More than that, he hated the thoughts that invaded his mind when he was alone. He thought of Gabriel's on Gillian's—his tongue in his mouth, his hand in her hair. His groin pressed tightly against her stomach—pressed… wherever. He hated the thought of his grimy (in reality they were actually probably quite clean) hands roaming freely over her body.

Gabriel had permission to touch her. Cal didn't.

The thought made him insanely angry. For years all Cal had wanted was to touch Gillian—was to have the permission to allow his hands to roam freely over her curves. But he never asked for it. There was a time he was certain he could have had it—but he never took it.

Instead he kept ruining everything—he kept hurting her. He kept letting the Poppys and Claras of the world supersede the one and only Gillian. So, in a way, he felt it served him right, the anguish he felt now. He should have been the one, but he was too busy trying to hurt her.

He knew he had succeeded. But he was unaware of quite how much he had succeeded.

He knew he was an ass for trying to hurt her—but she always seemed so off limits, so concerned about professionalism and keeping it strictly business. She had unwittingly hurt him, and he had spent the last few months trying to get back at her. Trying to make her see that he didn't want her.

Essentially, he had spent the last few months effectively lying to her. Irony of ironies.

He let out a slight chortle at that and then a knock on the door broke him from his reverie.

"Cal?" Her voice slipped into his mind and settled there, soft like honey.

"Yes, love?" He replied, unable to keep the tenderness from etching his words.

She turned her head slightly, hearing it, and looked quizzically at him. As he was prone to do, he dismissed her with a slight shake of his head, "Wot?"

"I…" She faltered, still reeling slightly from the look and sound he had given her, "I just stopped by to tell you I'm off to lunch." she picked up where she had left off.

"Right. Thanks, then." He smiled, and turned back to his file, before thinking quickly and adding "You need company or your new bloke joining you?"

Her face lapsed into a smile and her eyes crinkled, which was all the answer he needed. Frightened by what she might say, and even more by his possible reaction to it, he interjected before she could say anything "Right, then. Have fun, darling."

She smiled at him, "Oh, I will." A mischievous smile spread across her face then, and she flashed a microexpression that tugged at Cal's heart. Hard. He felt the constriction and she turned to leave before he let the odd expression slip onto his face.

She closed the door, and a minute after it clicked shut, he muttered to himself. "I bloody well didn't need to see that."

To be continued.

If you review (which I'd love), be gentle. It's my birthday tomorrow, yeah?