A/N So, here it is. My 100th fic! (Technically my 99th as Lightwoman, but I do have a LTM fic under another name on here). And today is exactly two years since I posted my first fic. So, thank you to everyone who has read or reviewed any of my 100 stories. Hope you enjoy this one :-)

Disclaimer: Fox still have the rights, even though they don't care about this show like we do.

One Hundred

"Morning, Gill." Cal handed her a cup of coffee as she walked through the door, and she eyed him suspiciously.

"What have you done?"


"What are you planning to do that you know I won't approve of?"


"What do you want, then, that I will be reluctant to do?"

"Nothing," he said. "Honestly! You're such a cynic, you. Always thinking the worst of people."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I've had enough practice with you to know what to expect."

"Hmm. Funny you should say that."

"Funny I should say what?" They'd reached her office by now, but stopped to talk outside as she continued to eye him suspiciously. "Cal... what's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said. "It's just a special day today, that's all."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"You don't know?"

She ran all the dates of personal significance she knew through her mind; nothing flagged. "No. I don't know."

"Oh. Okay then." He started to walk towards his office.

"Cal!" She caught his arm with the hand that wasn't clutching her coffee cup, the bag over her arm banging into his side.


"You know what," she said, letting go of his arm and replacing her bag on her shoulder. "What is special about today?"

"Have a think about it. Maybe you'll remember when you've got some caffeine in you." He gestured to her cup with a grin, then disappeared into his office.

She let out a sigh of frustration, although she couldn't deny feeling intrigued and even slightly amused. What the hell was he referring to?


Cal sauntered into Gillian's office a couple of hours later, whistling. She glanced up at him, then back down at the file she was reviewing. "Can I help you with something, Cal?"

"How long have we known each other, Gill?"

"Hmm?" She looked up with a small frown of concentration.

"How long have we known each other?" he repeated patiently.

"Eight years," she said. "Eight long, long, years."

"Very funny."

She laughed. "So... why are you asking me that?"

"It's more than eight years," he told her confidently.


"Eight and a third," he said. "That's eight years, four months."

"Yes..." She tapped her pen lightly on her desk. "My math skills are sufficient to work that out."

"If your skills were that good, you'd know what I was talking about." He grinned at the look of confusion and frustration on her face.

"What are you talking about?"

He just continued to grin at her. "Let me know when you've figured it out."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. Now go away." She threw a paper clip at him and he laughed, jogging out of her office and back to his own. She opened up her diary, and checked the calendar on her computer, but couldn't work out what he was referring to. Whatever it was had certainly put him in a good mood. So what the hell was it? And why didn't she remember?


When Gillian returned from lunch, crunching on an apple (not her favourite dessert, but she appreciated the importance of a balanced diet), she saw a post-it note on her desk, bearing Cal's familiar scribble.

Do you know your twelve times table?

Her twelve times table. She thought about what she'd said earlier, when he'd asked her how long they'd known each other; eight years. Eight times twelve is ninety six... She smiled as she remembered how he'd stressed there were four extra months that they'd known each other, on top of those eight years. And ninety six add four...

"One hundred," she said, walking into his office. "We've known each other for one hundred months."

"Ah, at last." He grinned at her triumphantly. "Took you a while to work it out, though, love. Feeling a bit tired today?"

"Shut up." She tossed something at him that she'd had concealed behind her back, and he caught it easily.

"What's this?"

"You can't tell? What's the matter, Cal? Feeling a bit tired today?"

He laughed. "Okay, okay. It's a screwed up piece of paper."

"Very good."

"And it says..." He unfolded it, smoothing it out on his desk, and scanned the words on the page. "You wrote this? When I asked you to..."

She nodded. "I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision."

He returned his gaze to the crumpled paper, his eyes sweeping down the words under the heading Reasons not to work with Cal Lightman. "Quite a few here, love," he said. "You really thought all of this?"

"I thought they were possibilities," she said, sitting on the edge of his desk. "I wanted to prepare myself for every eventuality."

"Right. So... why did you say yes?"

She turned the paper over, to words he hadn't noticed on the other side.

Reasons to work with Cal Lightman.

Underneath, in her familiar writing, were three simple words. I want to.

"So... no regrets, then?"

She laughed. "There have been days when I've thought, What the hell am I doing? But I've never regretted coming to work with you, Cal. And that never would have happened if our paths hadn't crossed, one hundred months ago."

He tapped the piece of paper, looking up at her. "Why'd you keep this?"

"I don't really know," she admitted. "After I wrote it, I screwed it up and tossed it away, then got it back out of the trash can and put it in a drawer. I still look at it, sometimes. Nostalgic purposes." She smiled.

He stood up, pulling her arm lightly until she was also standing. "Happy one hundred month anniversary, Gill," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Happy one hundred month anniversary, Cal."

"Reckon we can last another hundred months?"

She laughed. "Buy me dinner tonight and I'll consider sticking around."

"Hmm." He put on a mock thoughtful expression. "Reasons not to take Foster out for dinner tonight. 1 – it'll cost me. 2 – she'll want dessert. The gooiest, chocolate-iest dessert on the menu, most likely. 3 – it means leaving Emily unsupervised and free to invite a boy over. 4 – she'll want to go to one of those fancy places where everything costs twice as much and you only get two bites on the plate..." He trailed off, grinning at her hands, which had found their way to her hips, and her eyes, which were narrowing more and more as he rattled points off the list. "Reasons to take Foster out for dinner tonight to celebrate our one hundred month anniversary," he said, and she raised an eyebrow in question as she waited for him to continue. "I want to."

She laughed. "Good save. And we don't have to go to one of those fancy places. In fact..."

"That Thai place." He clicked his fingers at her, remembering. "Where we went, that first night..."

"After our first day here," she finished. "That okay?"

"That's brilliant." He grinned at her. "I'll see you later, then."

She nodded, heading for the door. "Oh, and Cal?"

"Yes, love?"

"Just because we're not going to the fancy, two-bites-only-on-a-plate place, doesn't mean I won't be having dessert. Perhaps even a double helping."

He chuckled as she disappeared out the door. He had a feeling the next one hundred months were going to be even better than the last one hundred.