Chapter Text
The next two weeks pass in a haze.
Lisbon's house is packed up quickly and put on the market with the help of Van Pelt and Rigsby. She even gets a call a few hours later that the house has been bought. She figures it’s a local that’s had their eye on the property for a while, but she’s surprised they feel no need to tour the home before making an offer. Of course, there is an inspection period before the closing, but it’s still a surprise.
She ignores the faint pain in her heart at the idea that her Washington home is already completely out of her reach. She had built a life here, after all. It was small, quiet, and a little lonely, with a few exceptions, but it was hers. For two years, all that tethered her to the world were the team’s occasional visits, the FBI's meddling, her very boring job, and Jane’s flowery letters. She had volunteered at the local schools and food pantry, and she had attended the church right down the road. Perhaps her life had been empty of close connection, but she had also been in complete control. Almost
And she doesn’t need a reminder from a man like Sean Barlow to remember just how controlling Jane can be. It wouldn’t do to forget that he has very carefully manipulated everyone around him for his entire life to get what he wants. He seems to be more circumspect with his manipulations when it comes to her, but even still, an honest Jane is a bit of a paradox. He can be honest and manipulative at the same time. She’s seen it. Telling her openly that he intends to woo her is not only about giving her the truth. It has also shifted all her thoughts to him and his plans. When a phone rings, when a door opens, when she receives the onboarding paperwork for her new job. She thinks about the kiss he had given her every night, and she knows he intended it that way.
Van Pelt and Rigsby are united in their joy that Jane has returned to the States healthy and free from murder charges, but they are not so united in their opinions of their relationship. Not that Lisbon has spilled the beans about anything, but it’s evident from the way they both look at her that Cho has filled them in on whatever his suspicions might be. Cho is typically uninterested in the interpersonal relationships of his friends, but she knows he is protective of her. He’s said as much in the aftermath of Red John. She actually suspects that he was the angriest of the four of them at Jane’s abrupt departure, mostly because of the scrutiny that she faced in his wake.
In a very Jane-like move, Lisbon has intentionally decided not to dissuade Cho. If he can keep Jane off her back a little until she’s ready to trust that he won’t up and leave, she plans to take advantage of that.
Van Pelt finds her when Rigsby is taking some furniture to the local Salvation Army. “I remember what it was like those first few months,” she advises. “Have you told him about that?”
Lisbon hasn’t, because she can’t bear to lay more guilt on Jane. She wants to throw up some barriers, but there are some weapons she refuses to use.
“Don’t be too hard on him, Boss,” Rigsby mumbles a few hours later, blushing, as he loads the moving truck when Van Pelt is making a run for packing tape. He doesn’t elaborate, probably because their relationship is still deferential despite her best efforts, but she nods regardless. She understands what he means. She’s known Rigsby for a decade, is now closer to him than her own brothers. She knows that he wouldn’t speak a word if he didn’t think it was not important.
The rest of the move goes smoothly and rapidly, and she waves goodbye to the delivery guys who are bound for her new storage unit in Austin, courtesy of an early morning text from her self-appointed real estate manager. She hugs both of the Rigsbys goodbye, makes them promise to visit soon, and hops on an afternoon flight to her new home base.
Jane picks her up in the newly acquired Airstream at the airport at eight p.m. with take-out Chinese, and then the haze truly descends.
They go house hunting the next morning, and the first place Jane takes her to, a small, quaint bungalow on Scales Street in Mueller, is the winner. Still, Lisbon makes them go to three others just so she doesn’t have to see the smug look on his face. It doesn’t work, of course, and once she’s put in the call to the agent, he pulls the plans of the first house out of his inner jacket pocket, already marked up with furniture locations and sample paint swatches.
Lisbon fights him on the swatches — the current paint is fine, and she doesn’t want to deal with that right now — and his suggestion of a California King bed — she wants a Queen, and they compromise with a King — but she lets him have his way on the rest. Fighting Jane on home decor is not worth it, especially given that she’d rather spend some quality time at the range and the gym with Cho while he sorts it out.
After all, he picks her out a great TV and equips it with multiple additional ESPN channels to prove his worth, and it works like a charm.
The rest of their impromptu vacation goes by. Jane sleeps in his Airstream, but he spends all his waking hours with her unless she’s training. She’s starting to wonder why he requested one of her nights every week if he intended on spending all of them with her.
They talk a lot, but avoid the sensitive subjects out of silent, mutual agreement. She wonders briefly if they’ll ever talk about Red John, or if Jane is content to go the rest of their lives never speaking his name again. Lisbon is not sure she feels the same, but she’s certain she doesn’t want to press the issue now. She wants to see how he’s coping. Jane is different now; some of those differences she can name, and others she can’t quite put a finger on. She wishes that she had more time to catalogue him before they are thrust into a new dynamic, but at the same time she wants to work and put Jane’s confession of love to the side for a while.
To be concise, she is conflicted. But every day, she gets to see Patrick Jane and hear him and occasionally touch him and it’s enough.
Also pursuant to their deal, he passes her a fresh letter on Sunday, and she accepts it with a smile, tapping him affectionately on the wrist.
She’s almost completely moved in by the time their first day rolls around. They don’t receive a real case, but a few hours in, the FBI gets a request from Austin PD to help with an escaped convict.
They go out in pairs, though Lisbon and Jane are babysat by Fischer due to Lisbon’s lack of badge.
Jane, as always, is quick to point out things that no one else notices. He offers up the information more easily than usual, likely bored and not wanting to drive aimlessly around Austin with Fischer in the car. The information leads them to an address: 164 Sterling Avenue. They park two houses down and exit the vehicle.
“I’m going to call Abbott. See how he wants us to proceed,” Kim announces, walking a few feet away.
Walking a little closer to the house, but keeping her posture casual and as un-coplike as possible, Lisbon studies the entrance. Jane, always at her side, watches her watch the building. After about fifteen seconds, he opens his mouth. “Lisbon?” He prompts.
He doesn’t need to say anything else. Jane has always been able to tell when she’s noticing something, and he likes to fight her on her instinct to keep quiet until she has evidence. He’s usually right to do so, so she doesn’t get too irritated when he pushes her to say her half-formed thoughts aloud.
“Something isn’t right,” she says, studying the verdant lawn and organized porch. “There are toys on the porch. The door is open. Would you leave the door open if you were in hiding?”
Jane hums, eyes now searching the doorway in earnest. Suddenly, he bounces on his heels, and she knows he’s onto something. “He switched the numbers,” he points out, clearly thrilling in the solve. “Look: numeral four is not attached to the wall like the one and six. This is not 164 Sterling Ave.”
The words are hardly out of Jane’s mouth before Lisbon is sprinting down the street, eyes searching the street numbers nailed to the exterior walls of each house. When she sees one missing a final numeral, she ducks down to survey the scene.
Just then, their perp sneaks out the side door, watching something on his phone.
Lisbon doesn’t hesitate. She shouts a warning, he tries to run, and within twenty seconds, she slams him up against a nearby Jeep. He grunts, and she feels the familiar rush of adrenaline that she’s missed so much working in Washington. Jane and Kim run up to her just as she’s finished cuffing him, and Kim helps her haul the man to his feet.
When Lisbon meets Jane’s gaze, she notices that his eyes have darkened. She shudders in response, knowing that he won’t miss her reaction.
Kim takes the perp to their car. Lisbon and Jane follow, his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. He leans over her shoulder as they walk. “I’ve missed watching you run,” he breathes.
Her heart twinges. She hasn’t missed watching him run. “Lots of hiking in Washington,” she says instead, light and non-engaging.
She can tell by the sudden regret in the lines around his eyes that he’s rethought his flirtatious statement. He stays silent as they drive the perp back to headquarters.
Upon entering Abbott’s office, where the man himself is in a friendly-looking conversation with a few Austin PD officers, Fischer immediately and openly gives credit to Jane and Lisbon for the arrest. Lisbon’s estimation of her raises several notches, and she can’t hide her resulting reevaluating glance.
“Good work,” Abbott says to Jane, not looking at Lisbon, though his face doesn’t change at all with the positive sentiment. Lisbon gets the feeling that he’s saying it for show, given that their colleagues from Austin PD are present. He’s probably still pissed that they played him so thoroughly.
Jane laughs; only Lisbon can tell from the faint, dark, and mischievous look in his eyes that he’s about to say something inflammatory. She considers heading him off at the pass, but Jane likely wouldn’t do something to jeopardize their employment so early on. Plus, she’s honestly doing Abbott a favor. If she doesn’t allow Jane to let off some steam in the moment, he’ll plot a much more insidious revenge for later.
“Oh, that was work?” He says innocently, twinkle in his eyes firmly in place. “I’ve played hide and seek games more complicated.”
“That man assaulted an officer,” the Austin PD officer growls, turning red.
Jane nods. “Who here hasn’t?” He says cheerfully. “Everyone needs a good punch to keep them in line, wouldn’t you agree, Lisbon? Plus, the man committed tax fraud, for goodness sake; he’s not a hardened criminal-”
“How dare-”
“I apologize,” Lisbon cuts in smoothly, pinching Jane on the back. He yelps, and she starts to pull him away. “Please excuse us.” Jane permits himself to be led back to the bullpen, and Lisbon winces a little at the loud conversation they leave behind. “What was that about?” She hisses. “I was expecting a rude comment, not a fountain of them!”
Jane shrugs, walking so close to her that his jacket brushes the back of her shoulder. She blushes, wondering what their new coworkers must think of them, but she doesn’t pull away. Seconds later, she feels Jane’s breath on her ear. “Abbott needs to be patient to work with me,” he murmurs. “You know this. We should discover sooner rather than later if he can handle it.”
Lisbon doesn’t dignify that with a response. After all these years, she’s well aware of the tightrope he likes to walk. However, she believes that he’d never do anything to get her fired. That was true before as well, with the obvious exception of Red John. And even then, he fought like hell several times to reinstate her, even if by doing so he froze her upward mobility.
Pressing her lips together, she does her best not to let her steps stutter, lest Jane turn to her with his all knowing eyes. She doesn’t think about the last Red John exception. It’s in their past. She knows he won’t talk about it, so she has to put it out of her mind.
She doesn’t really mind her lack of upward mobility at the CBI. After all, she knows her worth, and she had also known from the beginning that Jane would tank her career. As long as she had her own team and they caught criminals, she could justify her lack of promotion.
Her eyes scan the bullpen critically. She likes that she’s now Jane’s equal, not his boss, but it will take some time to get used to treating Fischer with deference. Her negotiations with Abbott put her above Cho and Wiley on the totem pole, but truthfully she’d rather work for Cho than Kim. She doesn’t trust Kim.
Once they’ve arrived at her new desk, Jane makes his excuses. Errands. Like that’s not terrifying. He eyes the space behind her, and she knows he’s imagining a couch. He won’t hang around until he has one, and she knows he’s already started working on Kim.
“I’ve let you settle in,” he warns her as he buttons his jacket. Man, she misses the vests, she thinks wistfully, ignoring his curious look. Clearly deciding not to interrogate her about her intrusive thoughts, he extracts a blank sheet of paper and a white envelope from his jacket pocket, sliding it across her new desk. “I believe I’m owed.” He straightens then, winking at her. “See you tomorrow, Agent Lisbon!” He calls over his shoulder.
The office empties in stages, but soon enough, she’s alone. It’s eight p.m. She promised to meet Cho at the gym at 5:30 a.m. tomorrow, so she needs to get going shortly. So… what to write?
After a few minutes of thought and aborted attempts, she smirks, putting pen to paper.
—
Dear Jane,
How are you?
What’s new with you?
Okay, fine. You win. I don’t know what to write. We just spent the last two weeks together. You built half the furniture in my house yesterday, for god’s sake. Today, we caught our first criminal as FBI, and with that stupid little smirk, you told me that I owed you a letter and you left.
I bet you’re laughing at me. I can hear it from that stupid silver trash can of yours.
Although… You never said how long the letters needed to be.
Lisbon
—
Teresa Lisbon is not unfamiliar with the low, flirtatious tones of Patrick Jane. He’s a seductive man at his core: he slips into the hearts of victims, witnesses, law enforcement officers, and innocent little old ladies on the street alike. It’s never really bothered her; Jane is the way that Jane is, and his techniques frequently result in her being able to put criminals behind bars. Seduction is even one of his tamer methods, so sometimes she even feels relieved he pulls that side of him out when she knows the vigilante side is lurking around the corner. Even when she knew she loved him, it wasn’t too bad. She doesn’t consider herself a particularly jealous person. With few exceptions that she doesn't like to think about, she knew his flirting was nothing concerning.
His earnestness, his honesty… the walls come down only for her, and that is the Patrick Jane she wants. The man behind the mask. The tangled mess of brilliance and pain and obsession and the deep, deep desire to live that she had seen in his heart from day one, even when he hadn’t seen it himself.
So the flirting, she’s usually fine with.
Then, why, oh why, is his one-sided banter with Krystal turning her stomach?
“Awesome,” he says lowly into his phone right behind her. “I look forward to it.” A date. With another woman. Well, that’s great. Just great. She, in fact, is looking forward to a nice night alone, parked in front of her new T.V., undisturbed by irritating consultants. Irritating, beautiful, alluring consultants…
Damn it. She’s such a bad liar that she can’t even lie to herself any more. Or maybe she’s now so good at perceiving lies that she can’t lie to herself any more?
Now, he’s pacing impatiently, bored, clearly thinking about his date. His date with not-her. She tries desperately to tune into the coroner’s explanation of the body, but her mind is spiraling down the drain, and she knows it. She had been so certain that his confession meant that he intended to woo her. To look at only her with lust, to take only her on dates, to let only her run her fingers through his golden curls —
“— are we gonna be that much longer?” Jane breaks through her haze of thoughts, and he — what on earth; is he smirking at her? “I’ve got some plans,” he adds, drawing out the ‘s’ for as long as possible, leaning between Fischer and her and ignoring the dead guy on the concrete in front of them.
And okay. Fine. So she has a breaking point.
“Let’s check the perimeter,” she grits out, speaking through her teeth as she grabs him by the sleeve and hauls him past the other officers, the techs, the people mulling around outside, until they’re far enough away to be out of earshot, but close enough to be seen. She doesn’t want any accusations of impropriety. Not on their first real case.
“What the hell, Jane?” She hisses as soon as she comes to a stop, taking her hand from his sleeve like the fabric is burning her. She doesn’t want to touch him right now. Well, not affectionately, at least.
“Bee in your bonnet, Lisbon?” He asks mildly, sliding both hands into his pockets.
She could kill him. She really could. “I guess I should’ve expected something like this,” she says bitterly, “from the man who confessed he loved me and took it back a few hours later.”
She watches as every muscle in his body tightens, then deliberately relaxes. If she hadn’t known him so well, she would have missed it. “Straight for the jugular,” he says. His posture might be relaxed, but his eyes are burning. “More honest than I expected, though. How long have you held that one in? Does it feel freeing, to say it?”
Closing her eyes, she tries to calm down. Jane is Jane. He’s needling her. And sure, her consultant has always been contrary, but he rarely picks at her this intensely without purpose. She needs to figure out why. “You’re flirting with Krystal. You’re planning to take her on a date.”
His eyes flicker with some nameless emotion. “Yes,” he agrees.
Her brows furrow as she studies him, trying to hide the hurt that wells in her at his affirmative answer. “We had a deal,” she says, more weakly than she would’ve liked.
“The deal was that you stay away from other men, not that I stay away from other women,” he says.
She can’t believe he’s treating the agreement between them so lightly. “It was not-”
“Do you doubt me?” He interrupts, stepping forward and taking her hand in his. She tries to shake free, but he just grips her more tightly. “I can recite our agreement verbatim, if you like. It’s burned right here.” He brings her hand to his temple. “And here.” He presses it over his heart. “I can hold you to your word.”
“What are you, a lawyer now?” She accuses. His physical actions being so at odds with his words shakes her ability to form coherent sentences, but she tries. “Even if I didn’t say it, I thought it was implied-”
“And I thought, my dear, that it was implied that our letters would say something,” he replies, his eyes narrowing as he finally brings them around to what he wants to talk about. In contrast, her own eyes widen with realization. “Yes, it’s like that,” he answers her unspoken question, and his mask fades to reveal real hurt. Not serious, but he’s unhappy with her, and he’s unafraid of letting her know. “Ninety-five words. Seven of which were crossed out. Thirty-eight of which were an unfeeling description of a nice day we spent together.”
“I - I didn’t realize,” she begins.
“You did,” he pushes back. “I know I’ve placed you in an awkward position. I know you’re uncomfortable. But so am I. I am not used to restraints like the ones with which you’ve trapped me.”
“You can leave at any time,” she throws out, shifting onto her back foot. She needs an escape route.
A flicker of anger. He rakes his fingers over his face. “Woman, you are impossible,” he groans. “I don’t want to leave. I’m trying to prove to you that I won’t leave. ‘For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge,’” he quotes.
She smiles a little, feeling her heart go back to its steady thumping. His way with words is remarkable; four sentences, and he’s put her back at ease. “Ruth 1:16. My grandmother used to say it to my grandfather.”
He takes her other hand. “And I say it to you, Lisbon. I say it to you.”
Squeezing both his hands before letting them drop — they are still in the eyeline of multiple FBI agents — she sighs. “Krystal’s behind this, isn’t she?”
He nods. “She’s Mr. X.”
“And you would like to give Fischer the run around.”
He dips his head. “Stress test,” he replies playfully. “Tell Cho not to spoil my fun, would you?”
She shakes her head. “One of your classics, then? Last minute, big reveal, daring save?”
He leans in, breath hot on her cheek. “You bring the helicopter,” he whispers in her ear, before beginning to stride off, back to the crime scene.
“Jane?” He stops, turning around. “I’m sorry. I’ll try. With the letters. I promise.” She pauses. “But in the future, please tell me if we have a problem. Save flirting with other women for Plan B. At least.” He gives her a short nod, but the shy smile curling at the corner of his lips makes her heart melt. These little pieces of proof that he’s nervous, uncertain. . . worried about this too gives her butterflies. She doesn’t like when he acts out with a trick to get her to do what he wants, but she has known him for over a decade. She knows what she’s getting into with him. She can ask him to do better, but she can’t expect him to change overnight. “And we’re not ‘lodging’ together anytime soon,” she adds, teasing.
He smiles in truth then, wide and simple and beautiful, like an angel. He certainly has the looks for it: golden curls, blue eyes, and white teeth. Sometimes she can’t even process how handsome he is. “There is no woman on this earth that could dissuade me from my pursuit of you, despite your desire to keep me from your bed,” he purrs, and her heart thumps hard. Then, he winks. “I’ll call you!”
He’s gone, and she’s left behind, shaking her head and pulling out her phone. “Cho? Yeah, it’s me. Jane’s up to something. Be ready.”
—
My dearest Lisbon,
I would like to provide you with an example of my expectations. If it is less flowery than you anticipate, please be remembered of your chains that bind me.
We’ve spoken little of our shared past, and I hesitate to open Pandora’s Box, but there’s something very important I’d like to discuss.
Your dusty pink, silk blouse. Whatever happened to it?
You know the one. It was collared, a button down. You usually paired it with that grey blazer with the tiny pink pinstripes. It was rarely in rotation — I would venture to say you found it too feminine — but if your memory eludes you, I very specifically remember you wearing it when we sang to that sheriff from Wyoga Lake.
Anywho, it was not present when we unpacked your clothing. I even checked when I came over last night — you were in the bathroom — but it was not in your closet. Did you spill something on it? Was it lost in transit?
You will hesitate to believe me, but it was always a little harder to look away from you when you were wearing that blouse. I will not wax poetic and violate the terms of our agreement, but I am merely stating an objective fact when I say that it brought out the green of your eyes, and the pale blush of your skin. A man can only take so much.
When I was on the island, I often wondered what you might be wearing. Now, don’t be like that, my dear, I don’t mean in the salacious sense. I simply wondered what you looked like. If you’d cut your hair. If you’d switched shampoos. If you were still walking the streets of Sacramento as confidently as you always did. Such daydreams gave me comfort, even if they were just that.
Sometimes I wondered what you would look like, sitting next to me on the beach, looking out at the waves. I hope that will not forever only be a daydream.
Yours,
Patrick
—
When Lisbon asks him what his plans are in Houston for the evening, he’s already mentally arranging the details of said plans, ones that involve only the two of them. Though he doesn’t make his proposal aloud — Fischer is sitting right there, and he wouldn’t put it past her to invite herself — he makes sure to send an open smile Lisbon’s way to butter her up a little.
“Tonight,” he announces, “I plan on painting Houston red.” He winks at Lisbon, enjoying her faint blush.
“Where’s Cho?” She asks, and his smile flattens ever so slightly. She would only care where Cho is if she thought he needed a babysitter for some terrible scheme. Hm. Well, perhaps she wants the evening to relax. They can certainly just hang out in his hotel room as well, though with each passing week, each lost hour, the temptation of her body is growing harder and harder to resist. If he sees her on a bed, it probably doesn’t bode well for him.
Good thing he has excellent self-control.
“Arm wrestling with some heavy objects at the gymnasium,” he replies.
“I just want room service,” Kim interjects, which suits Jane fine. His eyes flicker back to Lisbon, awaiting either her honest desire for the same or a little, playful white lie about having her own fun.
Then, she knocks his world off its axis.
“I happen to have a date,” she says airily, meeting Kim’s impressed look and deliberately avoiding his gaze.
The truth about Jane is that he rarely focuses all of his attention on one thing. There’s always cases, of course. He thinks about the books he’s reading. Scanning his surroundings and the people in them. He’s always planning his schemes, innocent and not so innocent. Lisbon, of course, has her own reserved corner of his mind; he’s always thinking about her to varying degrees.
The word date, however, fires all of his synapses in one direction. And Teresa Lisbon suddenly has a hundred percent of his attention, whether she wants it or not.
“Sorry, a date?” He clarifies. She’s messing with him. She has to be. Perhaps she picked up some dates at the fruit stand this morning. She’s about to pull one out of her bag, triumphant for successfully unsettling him.
She looks back at him, raising an eyebrow. He scans her face quickly; she’s certainly teasing him, but he also sees signs that she’s telling the truth. “What, like I couldn’t possibly have a date?”
It takes all of Jane’s considerable restraint and willpower not to say something in front of Kim, who he might like a little more now but still has no intention of trusting. “Could you excuse us for a moment, Kim?” He asks lightly, but his eyes are dark and set on Lisbon.
Kim looks between them, then: “Sure,” she says, awkwardly, “just, um, knock on the window when you’re ready to go.” She’s probably onto them, but Jane could care less. One day, soon if he gets his way, Lisbon will have a ring on her finger. In fact, he’s starting to think the ring won’t be enough. He’ll have to ponder other ways to make sure the world knows she’s his without running afoul of her temper. He’d like not to be accused of boorish behavior, but if he’s honest, he’s more possessive of Lisbon than he’s ever been of anything or anyone else, Angela included.
With his first wife, he had no concept of what it would be like to lose everything. Now that he knows that pain, he clings all the tighter. His thoughts range from acceptable to physically impossible. He wants to put a ring on her finger. He wants to bring her flowers. He wants to read her mind. He wants to violate the principle of impenetrability and occupy the same space as her. If he could carry her with him everywhere he goes, maybe that would be enough to soothe his battered and ruined heart.
Without bending the laws of physics, he’ll have to settle for the ring and the flowers.
When Kim shuts the door behind her, he scoots to the edge of the backseat in a flash. His left hand sinks into her hair, settling on, not gripping, the nape of her neck, and his right forefinger and thumb captures her chin so he can lock her gaze to his.
“Jane-” she protests.
“Tinted windows,” he interrupts.
“She’ll know-”
“And?” He pushes back recklessly. Surprisingly, she goes silent, and he begins his perusal.
Reading Lisbon is both the easiest and the hardest thing in the world, because it’s entirely situational. When it comes to her job, her friends and family, or generally, ethical decision-making, he knows what she’s going to do before she does it. Her daily life and the details of it are an open book to him. He can clock her mood from fifty feet away; that’s how attuned to her he is.
However, when it comes to Lisbon and romance, especially romance with him , he has to admit he’s in freefall.
He had been surprised about the qualities of her ex-fiance. He had teased her relentlessly about Mashburn, but he had been taken off guard when he realized that she slept with him. He had made up some bullshit about turtlenecks when they had spoken about fetishes.
Now that he’s earnestly pursuing her, he would compare pleasing her with cliff diving. It’s easy to get the little wins: the small touches, the crime-solving, the banter, the letters, the quality time. Things that bring a smile to her face. It’s like diving off a rock into the ocean, the way to open water clear.
The big gestures, however, are an entirely different story. I love you is an utter taboo; a stormy dive into rocky, shark-infested waters. Kissing her would be like jumping without being able to see the water at all. All the commitments he wants to make, the life he wants to have with her… he doesn’t even know if there is an ocean to catch him.
Searching her eyes now, he’s relieved to discover that they’re not cliff diving today. Her eyes are starting to sparkle, unable to hide her glee at catching him out. No, today they’re playfully splashing in the shallows, and he can cross ‘killing a man for dating Lisbon’ off his to-do list. Or probably more likely, cross ‘breaking down into a puddle and looking so pathetic she has to cancel all dating forever’ off his to-do list.
“You’re teasing me,” he says finally, “that’s not very nice.” He looks a little longer. “But you are meeting someone. A man . Who?”
She rolls her eyes but gives in without any further argument. “I’m sure you remember Osvaldo Ardiles. He wants to talk to me.”
“He lives in Texas?” Jane asks, his eyebrows shooting up. That is not a name he expected to hear.
She shakes her head, dislodging his fingers. However, his hand remains on her neck, and she keeps her head close to his. “He’s in Chicago. Private practice, now.”
A pause. Then: “He’s flying all the way to Houston… to talk to you.”
She nods. “Private jet and everything.”
“Wow, that’s very impressive,” he lies through his teeth. Then, his eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I don’t know; I’ll find out tonight,” she says, “but he said it was business.”
He just looks at her. “It can be both. Ardiles always had a crush on you.” At her unimpressed look, he sighs. “Do you want me to come?”
“No offense, but he hates you,” she laughs, “and I get it. Do you know how many times he had to deal with evidence issues in your cases? Police misconduct?”
Jane frowns. “Maybe he’s upset with you. He was a suspect at one point.”
Neither of them have said the words ‘Red John’ since his return, and they’re not going to start now.
“Nearly everyone was,” she dismisses, “plus, he was cleared by the FBI. No, I’ll go alone.”
“Then I’m waiting up for you,” he says, measured.
“Jane-” She begins, then she catches the determination in his face, and sighs. “Okay, fine. I will call you when I leave the restaurant.”
He agrees, though he knows that he’ll find a way to make sure she enters her hotel room safely. Piece of cake. Now, onto more pleasurable matters…
He rubs his thumb over her jaw. “You are a cruel woman, my dear,” he says, “what will you give me in payment for aging me five years over the course of a minute with your lies?”
A blush spreads across her nose and cheeks, belying her next words. “Nope, you con me all the time; turnabout is fair play.”
He tightens his grip on the back of her neck, just a little, but she gasps all the same. The pit in his stomach grows hot. “If you don’t pay me now,” he threatens, “I will exact my revenge when you least expect it. Probably in the bullpen. All our coworkers watching…”
After examining his expression for a lie, she arches an eyebrow. “Okay, what’s your price?”
“A kiss,” he breathes, letting his eyes fall to her lips. Her pretty, red lips. She’s so beautiful that he’s almost in pain.
“No way!” She says immediately. “It’s not a real date,” she explains, rolling her eyes, “it’s like with Krystal.”
He prepared for this answer. “Ah, very well. Not a real date? Then not a real kiss,” he agrees, before he tugs hard on the back of her neck, ducking his head, and pressing his heated lips to the pulse point in her throat.
She gasps, and for a second, he thinks she’ll push him away… but then her small hand finds his shoulder and the other goes for the curls on the top of his head, and she pushes his face hard into her neck. He moans obligingly, opening his mouth so he can suck hard, lightly scraping his teeth across the throbbing, pink skin. This is what he had been talking about, when he said that the ring isn’t enough. It’s juvenile and sophomoric, but marking her neck calms the part of him that wants to ruin Ardiles for the crime of sitting across a dinner table from her. Her little, audible pants are destroying his self-control, and if Fischer wasn’t standing a few feet away, he’d already have pulled her into the backseat.
“Jane,” she murmurs on a sigh, gripping his shoulder so tightly now that he’s sure to have bruises. “Jane,” her breath hitches, as his beard scrapes the skin of her chest. When he nudges her, a button comes undone, revealing the edge of a dark blue bra.
And that’s his limit. With a groan expressing sheer torture, he tears himself away, letting her go as he leans back, legs spread wide, against the backseat. He watches her eyes dart down to his lap and widen before looking quickly back up to meet his gaze. Her eyes are dark and hazy with barely-repressed passion, and he knows his are the same.
“Jane-” she begins again, voice raspy.
But he’s had enough. “If you say my name one more time, I promise you that it will not matter to me that our colleague is three feet away,” he warns her, feeling like he’s gargling rocks. His throat is almost closed. “If you want your time, you will not say another word.”
Lisbon is never one to listen to any sort of order from him, but she must sense just how untethered he is, because she nods and doesn’t speak. Instead, she fixes her hair and leaves him to regain control over himself. After another minute, he no longer feels like he’s about to snap.
Lisbon looks at herself in the mirror, then looks at him. She nods, then knocks on the window.
—
Dear Jane,
I’ve really enjoyed reading your stories about the island, but I’ve liked the stories from your childhood even better. And because you follow me around everywhere, I have nothing to write to you about except the past.
We never went to the carnival. Before, it just wasn’t the sort of thing we did. After, money was too tight. If we could’ve saved for anything, it would've been a Bears game. We couldn’t swing it, but to get out of the house, we would go to the stadium anyway just to sit outside and listen to the game. The boys were well behaved because they wanted to hear the announcers. Other tailgaters would give us hotdogs and a coke sometimes, and in return, I’d run to the corner store for things they had forgotten. It was years before I realized most of them had never needed anything from the corner store at all. Those people… not all of my memories of Chicago are nice, but some are.
You met Tommy, and I could tell he liked you, but I’ve wondered how you would get along with Stan and James. They’re good people, and you’re great at getting along with pretty much anyone if you put your mind to it, so probably well. I consider you as part of I just wanted you to know that I’ve thought about it.
Lisbon