A/N: Hello, and welcome to my second-ever one-shot- have a look around, please.

I really only have one thing to say: As far as I'm concerned, THIS IS CANON.

Cal Lightman splayed on his couch in a rather predictable manner – Detective Sharon Wallowski sat next to him, holding a wine glass in her hands—

"Picked that up special for you, I did." Cal said, nodding at the bottle of red wine and sipping on his own glass.

Wallowski brought the glass to her nose first—inhaling sharply, she let the aroma caress her sense of smell and she closed her eyes in delight, "Mmm," She said, and then she made a little noise in the back of her throat. Sharon Wallowski loved wine. Cal leaned closer to her on the couch, placing his arm just behind her.

He slurped his wine loudly, and Sharon looked at him and laughed lightly, rolling her eyes as she watched him.

"Tastes the same as the cheap stuff." He said, licking his lips.

"It does not." She said, swirling her glass again before finally raising it to her lips and taking a swallow.

She closed her eyes and moaned again in delight as she felt the wine settle on her tongue and slide down her throat.

"It does not," She repeated, and Cal watched as her tongue darted out to smooth itself across her lips before darting back inside. She made a light sucking noise, and Cal positioned himself so that his thigh was pressed right up against hers.

Wallowski looked nervous, and she shifted slightly on the couch before taking another sip of her wine.

Cal swirled his glass in his hand, tearing his gaze away from Wallowski to do so—he watched as the wine ran down the glass—"This wine does have some legs on it though, hasn't it?"

Wallowski swirled her glass and watched the wine trickle down the sides—"Mm." She agreed, taking another sip and repeating the process—"It does." Silence fell between them momentarily before Cal reached the hand that was behind Wallowki's head up and fingered her hair. Wallowski closed her eyes, squeezing them shut—Cal mused that it looked as though she was trying to gather courage. Sighing, Wallowski spoke, as Cal played with the ends of her hair, "You know who else has excellent legs?" Wallowski's voice was tentative—hesitant, and she stared directly into her glass, refusing to look at Cal.

"Hmm?" He asked, his voice sounded faraway, as though he were not really paying attention to what she was saying. He pulled Wallowski's hair through his fingertips and smiled, leaning in slightly, invading her personal space as he was prone to do.

Wallowski chuckled, "I said—you know who else has excellent legs?"

Cal furrowed his brow, stopping his ministrations for a moment—"No," He asked, his voice nearly a whisper, "Who?"

Wallowski shifted again, and took a quick swig of her wine—

"Oh, so that's how you're supposed to enjoy the expensive stuff, then, is it?" He asked, amusement evident in his words.

Wallowski didn't laugh, instead, she played with the fabric of her jeans.

Cal pulled back slightly—"Who?" He asked, redirecting their conversation back to the topic at hand.

"Foster." Wallowski said, finally.

Cal laughed, "Yes," he agreed, "Yes, she certainly does."

Smiling, Cal leaned in and took Wallowski's wine glass—leaning forward, he set it on the coffee table in front of them, next to his. His hand skirted up her jeans before coming to a rest on her thigh—"Now," He said, his voice low, "Where were we?" He asked, his thumb drawing light circles on her thigh.

Wallowski quickly met his eyes before closing her own, trying to calm herself. Cal reached his other hand out and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand—he pulled his thumb to gently graze her lip and watched as she swallowed hard.

Finally, he leaned in—his lips millimeters from Wallowski's—she opened her eyes and watched him lick his lips as he leaned slightly forward.

She felt his breath on her lips, saw the intent in his eyes, and suddenly it was too much.

Lightning fast, she bolted from her position on the couch, putting the coffee table as a barrier between them. "Shit." She said—Cal leaned back into the couch and furrowed his brow—"Shit, shit, shit!" Wallowski said, pacing slightly. "I'm sorry." She stopped and put her hand on her hip—"I'm sorry, but I…" She trailed off. She sighed, "I'm sorry, but I can't do this."

Cal's eyes widened slightly—"Do what, darling?" He asked.

Wallowski gestured between them, "This—" She inhaled sharply as if gathering courage—"I have to tell you something." She said, her tone grave—"To be honest, I kind of thought you knew…" She said, more to herself than to him. Cal remained silent, watched her struggling, his face giving nothing away—"But, look, I—" She paused, waving her hands around a bit—"I'm not—I'm…"

Cal smiled and dipped his head a little to show that he was listening—that he was intent on finding out what she had to say. Wallowski, however, didn't say anything—Cal finally spoke—"You're what?" He asked, a hint of a smile playing on his face, but Wallowski didn't see it—"You're…" He paused—"Not into me in that way, is that it?" He asked.

Wallowski nodded her head once.

Cal smiled—"My penis a bit of a turn off, then, is it?" He asked—and he nearly laughed outright at the look Wallowski gave him—it was classic surprise, followed quickly by realization and then anger—

"You did know!" She said, her eyes widening.

Cal picked up his wine glass and took a sip, setting it down on the table he brought his index finger and thumb close together—"Little bit, yeah." He remarked.

Wallowski picked up a throw pillow from the adjacent chair and tossed it at him—"You bastard!" She said, trying to sound angry but laughing lightly instead. "So all of this was just…"

"A bit of fun." Cal shrugged.

Wallowski walked over to the couch and flopped down on it—sighing, she picked up her wine glass and took another sip—"Bastard." She chuckled into the glass.

"Guilty." Cal said, nudging her lightly with his elbow.

"You knew the whole time, didn't you?" She asked, her tone incredulous.

"Give me a little credit, darling—I do read faces for a living." He chuckled.

Cal watched as Wallowski clearly mulled something over in her head—she bit her lip, and Cal rolled his eyes lightly—

"What is it?" He asked.

"Foster…" Wallowski started—"Does she…" She sighed, "Does she know?"

Cal chuckled—"Hasn't the foggiest." He remarked, laughing—"She's a bit riled up about you—but for all the wrong reasons," Cal said.

Wallowski laughed, relief flooding her features. A comfortable silence fell between them.

Cal picked up his wine glass and took a sip—"You've excellent taste, by the way." He said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Mm," Wallowski agreed, "Don't I though?"

"Excellent indeed." Cal sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch—"She's bloody brilliant."

Wallowski nodded, "And gorgeous."

"Yes, that."

They both fell silent, their thoughts turned to one Gillian Foster.

Cal's voice was suddenly serious—"I fancy her, too." He said, as though it were a sudden revelation.

Wallowski rolled her eyes—"Really? I hadn't figured that out." She said, her voice light.


Wallowski laughed—"You don't have to be an expert face reader to see the way you two look at each other, Cal," She admonished.

"I'm not good enough for her," Cal said, feeling a sudden intimacy open between them—both caught in the space of longing.

"Not for you to decide." Wallowski said, finishing off the last of her wine. "Besides," She said, leaning forward to set it down on the table in front of them, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye—"If you don't have the balls to do it, someone else will."

Cal looked at her suspiciously—"You talking about yourself?"

"I wish." Wallowski said—"If I had a snowball's chance in hell, I'd go for it." She looked at him hard—"Go for it." She said, her tone emphatic.

Cal sighed—and shook his head lightly.

"If you don't…" Wallowski said, "I will."

Cal laughed, then—"Oh, that I would most definitely like to see—"

"Fuck you." Wallowski said, but her tone was light—she reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a light squeeze, she stood up to leave—gathering her coat as Cal walked her to the door, Wallowski stopped and turned around—"Cal," She said, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—"And I say this with absolute love…" A small smile played on her lips—"Stop being such a pussy."

Cal chortled and he shook his head—he silently held the door open for her. As she made her way down the walkway, Wallowski turned her head back over her shoulder—

"I mean it," She called, "Gillian's got some gorgeous legs—" Wallowski's tone dropped—"The last thing you want to do is watch them carry her out of your life," She said, and then she got into her car and drove away—

Cal closed the door softly and pressed his forehead against it, he felt the weight of feeling rush through him—"Too true." He said, though no one was there—"Too true."