I've been working on this idea since I finished Poke Face and wanted somewhat of a continuation. This is definately NOT a continuation of that. I started writing and then did a search to make sure something sililar had not been done. I found a fic by bsgroxmysox published in July that begins in a very similar fashion, but let me assure everyone that this fic will go a VERY different way! I'm beginning this with a T rating but I want to assure you all that this will become an M rated fic fairly quickly. I will change the rating before I insert any M but I'm not quite sure how many chaps it will take me before I get there (likely just one more so take heart). Oh, I'll still stick with the plot because I think it a good one but, well its me and Callian, so yeah, M. I'll also be including a little vignette that was suggested in a review for Poker Face so be on the lookout!

Enjoy

Oh yeah...still don't own Lie To Me but I'm holding it hostage till Fox gives us a Season 4!

Gill woke to darkness broken only by a distant glow from under the door across the room. She was unable to make out any details of her surroundings. Someone was taking a jackhammer to the inside of her head and she wondered if it was the steady throbbing pain that had woken her.

She remembered she was in a hotel room. Yes, a hotel room in the Bellagio where the Lightman group had been hired by the Casino's owners to investigate an employee embezzlement problem. Her memory seemed very…fuzzy around the edges and the harder she concentrated, the more her head pounded.

Cal's light and steady snoring next to her told her he was still asleep and she shifted out from underneath his arm. She noted that she seemed to have lost all of her clothes somewhere. As she moved her body, things began to spin and an intense wave of nausea came over her. She quickly bolted from bed, ignoring the protest of her pounding skull as she made her way to where she remembered the bathroom being. It seemed like the trip took her longer than it should have but she was in no condition to pay attention to that thought at the moment.

She flipped on the light in the bathroom and flinched as she caught sight of the toilet, racing toward its pristine white bowl as she threw herself to her knees on the hard tile, noisily emptying her stomach. After what seemed like an hour, the heaving of her stomach and the wild spinning of the room finally began to stop and she flushed, rising to move shakily to the sink. She grabbed a fluffy white robe from where it hung on the wall and wrapped the warm softness around her. She dug through her toiletry bag, thankful when her hand came to rest on the aspirin bottle, and poured out two white tablets, then thought better of it and added a third. She filled a cup from the tap and swallowed forcefully, willing her stomach to keep this little bit of water down so she could silence the throbbing of her brain.

Her mouth tasted like vomit and perhaps something worse and it felt as though she had spent a parched night in the desert. She grabbed her toothbrush and tried like hell to scrub the dry caterpillar feeling from her tongue and the noxious taste from every crevice. She looked around the bathroom. She didn't remember her bathroom being this big the day before. She wished her world didn't seem so blurry.

She reached for the soap and a washcloth, hoping she could wash away the extreme fuzziness of her mind. As she grabbed the small heart-shaped soap next to the sink, tiny alarm bells went off in her brain but she was far too muddled to think about what they were telling her. She washed her face, wiping mascara from under her eyes and smeared lipstick from her mouth. She finished by rinsing with cold water, splashing it over the back of her neck as well and making sure she washed the last traces of her stomach contents from the tendrils clinging to her face. She splashed a last handful of water over her face, grabbed a towel and patted herself dry. She looked up into the mirror, thankful that while she still felt like hell, at least she no longer looked like she'd spent the night sleeping in a ditch.

That was when she saw it.

A tiny glint of metal caught her eye and she stared at the band of pale gold circling the forth finger on her left hand.

The room was spinning again. The alarm bells were tolling loudly now and her heart raced as she took in her surroundings. This wasn't the bathroom in her hotel room. She had been staying in a standard room, luxurious by most standards but definitely not at the level of opulence that surrounded her now. This bathroom had a glass walled shower big enough for a football team as well as a Jacuzzi tub. An unopened bottle of champagne (her stomach flipped at that) sat in a bucket next to the tub and there seemed to be an inordinate amount of pink and silver hearts in the overall décor.

She suddenly remembered getting out of bed.

She flung open the door, willing her stomach, which was threatening to expel the small amount of fluid she had put in it, to quiet as she bolted to where she could see tiny pricks of light filtering in between what she assumed were heavy drapes. She grabbed the fabric, nearly tearing it from its track. Light spilled into the room through tinted glass and she flinched at the brightness. She turned, her jaw going slack as she took in her surroundings.

The room was simply enormous. A dark wooden table and chairs sat in front of half the window, the table's surface decorated with varying sizes and shapes of tasteful silver vases. A wardrobe in the same wood stood tall against a far wall and a matching long bureau held a vase of beautiful red long stemmed roses. The bed was enormous and occupied by one lightly snoring and shirtless, oh God please let it just be shirtless, Cal Lightman. He lay on his stomach, face turned away from her.

Taking a deep breath she walked slowly on trembling legs toward the bed. She groaned inwardly as she took in the rumpled state of the sheets and comforter. This was not a bed where two people passed out after a night of heavy drinking. This was a bed where it looked like someone, or in this case two someones, had had a very good time. Her eyes roamed over his body. His slim torso was surprisingly well muscled and his skin smooth, pale, and freckled. She briefly took note of the tattoos covering his right arm and wondered whether she was the only one who knew the significance of each one. Reluctantly her eyes went to his left hand where it lay on the pillow next to his head. Not surprisingly a gold band similar to her own recently acquired one adorned his finger.

Gillian sat down on the bed and placed a gentle hand on Cal's shoulder. She shook him softly and, though his breathing quieted, he made no sign that he was waking up.

"Cal," she said, rubbing her hand up and down his back.

He groaned softly, burying his face in the pillow. "Could you turn the music down Em? Daddy's not feeling so well. Don't forget to let the cat in," he mumbled.

"Cal!" she said louder, her own voice sending a sharp stabbing pain into her temples.

He bolted upright in the bed, wincing at the light that assaulted his eyes, and looked around in a panic. When his eyes came to rest on Gillian he instantly relaxed and fell back against the pillows, hands covering his eyes as he massaged his temples. "Ugh…my head is killing me. How did you get in?"

She lowered her eyes. "I stayed here last night Cal. Don't you remember?"

He looked up at her, his eyebrows drawn together. He then looked around the room, and finally at the state of the bedding around them. "You?" He gestured to the bed.

"Yes," she supplied, helping him along.

"Stayed here…"

"Yes." She rolled her eyes.

"With me?" he said incredulously.

"Yes Cal," she said emphatically, hoping he would catch up soon.

"And I don't remember a bloody minute of it?" He sounded tremendously affronted.

"Apparently neither of us does. I think that might be just the beginning of the problem Cal." She didn't know how to tell him about the rings which he had yet to notice.

"Damn right it is. I'm not letting you leave my bed until I'm sure I'll remember you being in it." He came to a half sitting position as he moved toward her. An odd look came over his face and he stopped, his face going green. "Right after the room stops spinning. Oh Christ. Where's the loo?"

She pointed toward the door to the bathroom and he shot out of bed. She covered her mouth as she realized he was completely naked and quickly turned her head. Despite the seriousness of the situation and the relentless throbbing headache, she couldn't suppress the tiny girlish giggle that burst from her mouth at the sight of his naked white butt dashing across the room.

She continued to try and clear her head as she attempted to ignore the distant sound of Cal retching. No matter how she tried however, she could not make her brain connect the lines from the last things she remembered to her current state. She wasn't a big drinker. Sure, she'd been drunk her fair share of times, and sure, she'd been hung over after a few of those times but somehow this felt different. Never in her life could she remember blacking out for an extended period of time where there was absolutely no memory to work with. Come to think of it, it wasn't like Cal to be hung over either. She'd never seen him this bad off. Her suspicious mind was working overtime but still, no answers were coming.

After an extended period, Cal emerged from the bathroom having also donned a white robe. He clutched at his head. "I'd give my right arm for an aspirin, love."

"In my bag on the sink," she offered.

"You're a lifesaver."

After a moment he returned and flopped on the bed next to her, flinging a hand across his eyes. "I feel totally schnoggered," he moaned. He lifted his arm looking up at her from one eye. "Gillian, did we really..?"

She looked away. Despite the other aches and pains of her body and her head, she could feel a distinct and familiar tenderness between her thighs. "I'm fairly certain, yes." She met his eyes, tears suddenly welling up out of nowhere.

He put a hand on her arm. "Gillian you know I'd never…not if you didn't want to. Not if you weren't…aware…of what we were doing. No matter how drunk I was...never."He looked grave as he said the words.

"I know Cal." She looked in his eyes to let him know she meant it. She took a deep breath, and wiped at her damp cheeks. "Is it possible…I mean…could we have been drugged?"

"You'd need to be drugged to sleep with me?"

"No, of course not," she said immediately before she bit her lip, willing the words back inside. "I just mean…Cal, I've never felt like this before, no matter how much I drank, have you? I mean, what's the last thing you remember from yesterday?"

He rubbed his hands over his eyes. "I remember interviewing Hankins the pit boss and then calling Loker to ask him to do voice-stress analysis back at the lab…I remember bits and pieces of you and I getting ready for the meeting with Bolton the Floor manager…Christ, after that it's all just…it's all just blank. I honestly can't remember a single thing until just a few moments ago."

"Your memory goes further back than mine. I don't even seem to remember the last few interviews we did. Cal, there are drugs out there that can cause retro-grade amnesia, certain benzodiazepines, propofol…If they were combined with alcohol, it's likely they could produce this effect."

"Well, when we figure out if we've been drugged, we need to figure out why someone would want to drug us. What were we getting close to in these interviews that someone didn't want us to find out?"

They were both startled by a knock at the door.

"Room service," a polite voice called from the other side.

They looked at each other. "Just one second," Cal was the first to speak. "Just act as if this is all completely normal. We don't know what's going on yet and if this does involve the hotel in some way I don't want them knowing that they've rattled us," he whispered as he started for the door.

"Cal…" she called, feeling like she should warn him.

"In a sec, love." He silenced her.

He checked the keyhole and then opened the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked someone outside the door.

"I have breakfast for Mr. and Mrs. Lightman, courtesy of Mr. Bolton." Gillian heard a disembodied voice say.

Cal stood aside making eye contact with her as a man in a tuxedo backed into the room followed by a cart with several silver domed platters, a few carafes, and a vase of fresh flowers. She sent him a silent plea with her eyes.

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," he started.

"Is something wrong, darling?" she interrupted.

He was silent for a moment as he back peddled. "Yes, it's Drs. Lightman actually. Make sure your bosses make a note of it," he said with feigned arrogance.

"Of course sir, would you please sign?" He was offered a clipboard.

Cal slammed the door and looked out the peephole to be sure that the waiter had gone.

"Something you want to fill me in on, darling?" he asked.

I enjoy constructive criticism!