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He’s silent but she sees the moment he comes back to himself. It’s in his posture, his breathing, the very air around him; everything changes somehow.
She waits for him to say something but the silence persists and he remains frozen in the doorway, barely moving but for the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders along with his breath.
Her hand seems to rise of it’s own accord and she notices her weight shift forward as the understanding of her intentions crystallise in her own mind: she’s going to step closer and put her arm around him.
It’s a surprise to her only because holding back from him has become muscle memory at this point and she doesn’t break her own rules easily. But she wants to touch him, comfort him, prove to him in no uncertain terms that he is not alone. He doesn’t have to be.
But then he turns around and she feels like she’s been thrown back in time somehow because she recognises his face. The face she first met six years ago, hollowed out by grief and defined by contradictions. A face that’s empty but full at the same time. Empty of hope and full of pain.
Guilt slides through her veins, curling in her stomach in a way that’s all too familiar, and she wonders if this was a mistake. What right did she have to do this to him? Out of pure selfishness no less — because the truth is, she couldn’t stand to lose her Jane. Couldn’t bear to have this smarmy imposter walking around in the world instead of her partner at her side every day.
But that didn’t give her the right to do this to him, to break him like this. She’s never acknowledged it to herself but she can’t deny it now; she lives for the little moments of joy she can create for him in their days together. It’s not much but when she can make him smile she feels like maybe she’s giving him something more than just fuel for his obsession with revenge.
Her greatest fear is that this partnership of theirs has robbed him of a healthier life, that maybe if they’d said no, never made him a consultant, he might have eventually found a better path to healing.
Now, she’s given him his worst pain all over again and she is selfishly terrified that he might never forgive her.
“Jane?” she murmurs hesitantly.
But he still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at her, just walks straight past her and down the stairs.
It only takes her a moment to follow him, panic setting it in quickly because she has no idea what he’s going to do, no idea what’s going on in his head.
She’s relieved beyond measure to find him simply sitting on the front steps of his house with his hands on his knees breathing very carefully.
“Hey,” she says gently, still completely uncertain what to say to him.
“Sorry, Lisbon. I just had to…couldn’t breathe in there.”
“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“Of course you should have,” he cuts her off.
He looks up at her now and she knows he can see the worry on her face. He reaches out his hand to her and gently pulls her to sit beside him. She waits for him to let go but he doesn’t and it soothes her fear just a little, that he seems to want her close.
The silence folds around them again and she can’t bear it, needs to hear his voice, be sure that he really is her Jane again.
“So, do you remember the past few days or…I don’t really know how this whole fugue thing works.”
He murmurs a little noise of acknowledgement and his voice is contemplative when he speaks,
“It’s an odd experience, I’ll say that much. It’s all a bit messy. Like trying to fit the pieces of two different puzzles together. But I remember some things. I have a general sense of who I was these past few days. I can remember…not remembering. When I opened that door it all just sort of…filtered back in. Like when you wake up from a dream and feel your consciousness creep back in with all the boring details like it’s Monday and you have to go to work. Except not like that at all.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she says quietly, trying not to let her voice give away the presence of tears in her eyes. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt you but I didn’t want you to continue being that version of yourself. Not when I know who you really are.”
He turns to look at her, “You did the right thing, Lisbon. The world did not deserve to have that guy walking around ready to con them at the drop of a hat. And I…I need to live in this reality, no matter how painful it is. They deserve to be remembered.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything; it always feels like trespassing somehow to speak of them. They belong only to Jane.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she tells him, fully aware that okay is a highly relative statement here, but nonetheless feels true enough for the moment.
“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he tells her sincerely.
She doesn’t even bother to deny it and replies with equal sincerity, “I really would have missed you.”
He squeezes her hand tightly and doesn’t look away, “I know. And I would have been adrift without you, Teresa.”
This is a little too much for her, pierces the armor she wears to protect her heart, and hits dangerously close to the feelings she doesn’t let spill out, so she stands abruptly and changes the subject.
“We should get going, long drive ahead.”
As he stands behind her and begins to follow her to the car, she feels him freeze and hears him say, “Oh god. I am so sorry, Lisbon.”
“For what?” she asks, turning to find him with a genuinely unfamiliar stricken look on his face.
“I grabbed your ass.”
She shrugs and rolls her eyes slightly, “Forget it, it’s not like dozens of sleazebags haven’t tried it over the years. I can handle that.”
“But I would never…I hope you know that, I would never…” he stumbles over his words, uncharacteristically flustered.
“I know, I’m not your type, Jane,” she tries to reassure him.
“That’s not…I didn’t mean I would never…with you. I just would never be so disrespectful as to touch you like that without your consent.”
“But you’d grab my ass if I said it was okay?” she jokes, raising her eyebrows at him with a grin.
She expects it to lighten the mood, expects him to smile with her or make a joke in return, but his voice turns quiet and sincere instead.
“I’d do a lot of things if you said it was okay.”
The implication of his words throws her completely and she scrambles desperately in her mind to find another explanation, another meaning, anything else to hold onto so she doesn’t make a fool of herself.
He shakes his head now, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
But it’s too late, hope has bloomed in her chest and she can still remember the terror coursing through her when she thought she was going to lose him, and suddenly being foolish doesn’t feel like the worst thing that could happen.
Walking away from the possibility of what she wants most does.
“No, wait. What did you mean, Jane?”
“Nothing, forget it. I’m probably just talking nonsense, it’s been a confusing couple of days,” he says quickly, trying to walk towards her car.
She steps in front of him, stopping him from going any further, and asks him bluntly, “Would you kiss me?”
He doesn’t answer but he glances at her lips and he doesn’t try to walk around her so she persists gently and asks again. “If I said it was okay, Jane, would you kiss me?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, meeting her eyes.
She steps even closer now, resting her hands on his chest, and says, “It’s okay.”
It takes him a second and his eyes seem to search hers for confirmation that she really means it but then he raises his hand to her face, cupping her jaw carefully, as if she’s fragile and he’s afraid of breaking her.
She can feel him shaking just slightly as he leans in, so when his lips finally meet hers she lifts a hand to the back of his head and holds him steady as he kisses her and she kisses him back.
His hand falls from her face now and she thinks he’s trying to end the kiss but instead, it’s the opposite. His hands circle her back and pull her to him even more tightly, kissing her like he’s never going to stop.
Half of her hopes he doesn’t; the other half of her needs to know what will happen when he does, what this moment truly means to him. She’s not naive. She knows this might just be a reaction to his ordeal, a misguided placement of emotion he’ll feel guilty for afterward.
She’s prepared to pretend it never happened if that’s what he needs.
As usual, it’s like he can read her thoughts because his hold on her loosens and he slows his kiss, gently pressing his lips to hers one last time before opening his eyes and stepping back slightly.
She’s grateful for the space between them, taking a moment to breathe, yet the desire to step back into him, feel him again, is also hard to hold at bay so she dives in before she has time to talk herself out of it.
“Was that a mistake?” she asks quickly. “It’s okay if you…”
“No,” he answers without hesitation, looking at her intently.
“No?”
“No,” he tells her again, more softly this time as he reaches out to take her hands in his. “Not for me, it wasn’t.”
“Me either,” she exhales with relief, eyes already on his lips once more, desperate to kiss him again now she knows he doesn’t regret it.
He doesn’t disappoint her, responding to her blatant desire immediately as he drops her hands and brings them both to her face this time. He holds her steadily as he presses his lips to hers before opening his mouth in invitation, letting her tongue find his, unleashing the passion they’d both held back the first time.
It’s a rush she hasn’t felt in longer than she can remember and she idly hopes he can read her thoughts because her mind is already conjuring desires she knows she can’t put words to but will gladly let her body speak when they have the time and space to explore it.
For now though, she forces herself to break their kiss and breathe again, and when she looks up at him he smiles back at her so warmly that all she can think is that this is Jane. Her Jane. And she is so relieved not to have lost him — to death, or denial, or grief.
“What now?” he asks softly, running his thumb down her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Now? Now, we go home,” she says gently, hoping he understands the deeper meaning beneath her words. That this place, for all its significance to him, is too haunted to be his home. That he has built himself a new one these past few years, whether he had realised it or not.
“Home sounds good,” he agrees, reaching out to put his hand on her waist and gently turn her so he can guide her to the car and open the door for her.
When he settles into his own seat beside her he takes her hand once more, twining his fingers with hers.
“Jane, I have to drive,” she says, attempting to be stern but unable to hide her smile.
“You can drive one-handed, Teresa, I trust you.”
She just shakes her head at him but doesn’t argue and starts to drive. To her immense surprise it takes less than an hour on the road for him to begin dozing off beside her and she tries to gently extricate her hand from his. She prefers two hands on the wheel, regardless of his confidence in her.
He resists slightly, attempting to tighten his grip but she frees herself anyway and places his hand on her thigh instead. That seems to satisfy him and he relaxes back into sleep.
He doesn’t wake up until she’s calling his name, one hand on his shoulder, “Jane, wake up. Time to go inside.”
As he opens his eyes he looks out past her window and takes in their location, “This isn’t the CBI.”
“No. I need to sleep, Jane, and unlike you, I much prefer to sleep in my own bed than at work.”
“I think I might prefer sleeping in your bed than sleeping at work too,” he tells her sleepily.
She blushes a little but she doesn’t object or tell him he’ll be sleeping on her couch, just hops out of her car and starts walking towards her apartment. She waits at her door for him to catch up and then she unlocks it and he follows her inside.
Too tired to speak, she simply leads him upstairs to her bedroom and doesn’t hesitate before kicking off her shoes and stripping off her clothes. She only turns her back on him to remove her bra and slip a loose shirt over her head before climbing into bed.
“Can you get the light?” she asks him, as she settles her head on her pillow.
“Sure,” he answers, flicking the switch and standing hesitantly in place until she speaks again.
“Are you coming to bed or what?”
“Uh, well, Lisbon, I did just sleep nearly six hours in the car so I don’t know if…”
She cuts him off, already half asleep, “Fine, make yourself at home. Watch TV, snoop through all my stuff. Whatever makes you happy. But I need to sleep.”
It’s quiet for a moment and she wonders if he managed to walk out of her room without her hearing but then he moves and a moment later he’s settling into her bed beside her.
“I’ll just lie here with you for a little while if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” she mumbles, rolling onto her side towards him. Hair falls across her face but she’s far too tired to care and then she feels him gently brush it back off her face and tuck it behind her ear for her.
“Thank you,” she tells him, almost inaudibly.
“Thank you,” he replies seriously. “For bringing me back.”
She doesn't answer, her breaths slowing into the deep steady rhythm of sleep. Until a minute later when she mumbles, through a brief moment of renewed consciousness, “Hey, you were right after all. Turns out we were working towards sleeping together.”
He turns towards her and the bed shifts beneath her as he leans in to kiss her forehead. “Oh, I think we’re working towards something much more than that, Teresa.”
She can hear the smile in his voice and she falls asleep with her own on her face for him to see.