He was now so different. Almost as if he were yanking himself away, almost as if he were suddenly afraid of her. Until recently he'd been her pillar of strength. He'd stood by her with unyielding patience and tenderness as she grieved for Claire but as she became capable of pulling together and getting beyond it, he'd emotionally detached. Maybe it was Emily's move to Berkeley, but that couldn't be all of it. Of course now they barely spoke, so information was hardly in abundance. Oh, when it came to the business they did but personally, well, that was gone and she missed it tremendously. There were times when she observed him and he wasn't aware of her scrutiny. He'd be just staring off, eyes clouded. Sure, it was rare but it happened. The profound sadness that she noted at those times seeped into her as she watched him. And that's how her heart broke, just one little crack at a time.

The last few months were filled with emotional silence and the chasm was steadily widening. Many times she attempted to talk to him but he froze her out with that carefully arranged mask of his. Made her feel like she was imagining everything. At one time she admired his ability to be inscrutable. Now she despised it.

Currently, Gillian was tentative when she went to knock on the door of his office. She missed the warmth. She missed the camaraderie. Hell, she'd give almost anything if he'd just flirt with that look in his eye, so she could roll her own and they'd both grin. That hadn't happened for quite a long time. She took a breath, changed her mind about knocking and just walked right in.

Cal was balanced back in his chair, boots on the desk, glasses on, intently reading a file. She was certain he was aware of her presence but he didn't acknowledge her for several long minutes. Long enough to hurt. Long enough for her to feel the tiny flicker of anger.

"Foster." He finally peeked up at her expectantly, face blank but it was an odd strained blankness. Something was trying desperately the leak out from behind the mask but the dam momentarily held. She wasn't completely sure what to make of it. "What can I do for you?"

"Did you see this?" Gillian waved the envelope clutched in her hand half-heartedly.

Staring at her for several heartbeats, his eyes finally dropped to what she held as he pulled his glasses off. "What is it?"

"Invitation. You and me. Speaking engagement at UCLA."

"Toss it in the rubbish."

"The money's good Cal."

And they desperately needed it. That part remained unspoken.

He was quiet, continuing to stare, eyes mirrored. Determined not to let her in. "Can't both leave at once."

"Not exactly rolling in clients right now. What few cases we have can be easily handled by Eli and Ria." Her voice held an edge to it as she felt herself tremble ever so slightly.

"What if I just don't want to do it?"

She gaped at him. Not want to do it? Cal Lightman not wanting to be the center of attention? The tiny flicker of anger was beginning to pulse into a strong blaze. Approaching the desk, she tossed the envelope down before leaning forward slightly, fingers on the edge and meeting his eyes. "If you don't give a shit about this company any more, why don't you just say it so we can all call it a day and move on?"

"Maybe I just don't think it's worth our while to bestow the virtues of my science to a large group of pimply faced 19-year-olds who couldn't care less." His eyes glittered, flint-like.

Her mouth opened and then shut again. The truth of the matter was that she was almost ready to cry and was fighting desperately not to. She took a moment, and a breath to gain control of her emotions as he gazed at her. A tiny bit of pain flickered through his eyes before it slipped away. She wasn't even completely sure if she actually saw it or just wanted to see it.

"Never mind Cal. Maybe it's for the best." Gillian turned abruptly before he could see the tears that were overwhelming her. She left the office and didn't look back.

He watched after her, unshed tears glazing his own eyes before he sunk his head to his desk for a moment. God, what the hell was he doing? What was he doing to her? To them?

The rage ignited within him, sudden and bitter. He was on his feet, sweeping everything off his desk before turning and throwing his fist through the glass of the bookcase that held several prized first run volumes, completely unmindful of the sting of running blood. Still not satiated, he grabbed hold of it, shifted his weight and brought it crashing to the floor before swiftly moving past and grabbing his jacket.

A small crowd had gathered at the door of his office, confusion and wariness worn openly on stunned faces. Without a word, Cal pushed through them, looking for the closest exit. He had to get out. He had to vent all these agonizing feelings before they tore him apart.

He almost barreled over Gillian as she stepped out of her office to find out what the disturbance was. Her face was still red as she wiped at her running makeup with the heel of her hand. Cal paused ever so briefly, anguish leaping out at her from behind his hooded eyes. He then dodged around her, running for the stairwell.

Startled, Gillian felt her heart hitch as her eyes followed his path.

(BREAK)

He walked because he didn't know what else to do. When he was young, he'd go looking for a fight but now, well, he was getting kind of old for that shit. For the first time he became aware of the stinging of his right hand and stopped to inspect it. The knuckles were cut from when he punched through glass. Brilliant. He pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and carefully wrapped it. Wasn't he getting too old for that kind of garbage too?

The weather was steadily cooling, promising a bite by evening and he liked it like that. It reminded him a little of home. Not that he'd ever move back. Not bloody likely but maybe it was time to make a change.

Crossing the street at the corner, he stepped it up, his black coat flying back behind him. Maybe it would be a good idea to move on. Move somewhere new, exciting. Somewhere where he wouldn't constantly be reminded of the woman he was so desperately in love with. The woman who could never possibly love him back in the same way. He recognized what he saw, had for some time. She loved him, sure (although that might be debatable right now because he was such an ass). But he also knew, with little doubt, that she wasn't in love with him.

A little angst anyone?