Chapter Text
Walking along the trail that follows the Colorado River in Austin was different from walking on the beaches of a Venezuelan island but the benefits of this activity didn’t change with the landscapes. Since his exile, Jane had started doing weekly walks early in the morning to stimulate his body and his mind. It was a good time to dive into his memory palace and sort information as well as stretching his muscles. And he had to admit that the number of people around here in the States was useful to practice his cold reading techniques—you could only go so far with seagulls.
For example, seagulls didn’t have a toxic ex following them while they were walking their dog in the hope of them getting back together. It had happened last week. The poor woman had crossed Jane’s path with her Golden Retriever on a leash, her gait quick and tense. Mere seconds later, a man whose nefarious intentions were written on his face crossed his path. The typical male who thought women owed him attention and love, frustrated by his work and taking it on his partner whoever it might be, possessive and vain. The kind who didn’t take no for an answer and created a climate of fear so that the person would resign themselves to come back in order to calm the situation.
Lisbon would surely have told him that one doesn’t interfere in the lives of strangers on a whim but she wasn’t there. Also, she probably would have turned around and tackled the guy to the ground herself if she had known what Jane’s observation skills had revealed to him.
So, Jane had turned around—not to tackle the guy, he was letting that kind of acrobatics to his partner—and had confronted the lout, as he had caught up with the woman, without any precise plan in mind.
“Hey, you!” The man had stared confused while Jane had guessed his most shameful secret and had shown him his FBI badge. “What’s your name?” The man definitely had the IQ of an oyster and the emotional capacity of a rug since he had decided the best thing he could do was to insult Jane. Since there had been no answer on the man’s side, Jane had turned his attention to the woman.
“What’s your name?”, he had asked more carefully.
The woman had looked him up and down with her grey eyes and had seemed to decide to trust him because she had answered, “Joyce Young”.
Jane had smiled at her, “And what’s his?”
With even more confidence, Joyce had said, “Dan. Dan Cooper”.
“So Dan, you and I are gonna make a deal,” Jane had stated in a tone which didn’t invite objection, “You stay at least 3 miles away from Joyce, here, at any given time and my colleagues don’t come for you to destroy your career. Are we clear?”
This had been the moment Dan Cooper had chosen to have a glimpse of intelligence, showing in the way he had run until he was out of sight.
“I hope I didn’t overstep,” Jane had said afterward, Lisbon’s imaginary remonstrance still echoing.
“Oh no, thank you for overstepping actually,” Joyce had retorted.
Like any true dog owner, she had then introduced her dog, the familiarity of it certainly soothing her. And as she had asked for his name and more about his deductions that she had qualified of ‘quite impressive’ as well as his work for the FBI, Jane had noticed her beaming smile, her eyes never totally meeting his but always staying on him at the same time and her eagerness to learn more about him.
It wouldn’t be the first time somebody showed interest in him, leading him to find a way to imply gently but clearly that he was taken—the fact that it was by a past etched in indelible ink and feelings he stifled to prevent from blooming and not by an official relationship was only a detail. But his bad habit of fiddling with his wedding ring whenever he was ruminating decided for him how Joyce would learn the news. Her gaze had been drawn by the reflection of the sun on the metal strip and her face had paled. She had quickly regained composure, but all warmth had left her eyes. Although he had planned to reject her, he would have preferred to do so more delicately.
Joyce had clearly been ashamed of flirting with whom she believed was a married man which already proved she had values. She was walking her dog everyday in new and different places, so she probably had a stable life, a substantial salary but she didn’t rest on her laurels. If Jane considered her neat outfit, her upright posture, and her need to walk the dog early before her workday, he could deduce she had a position of responsibility. If he had to make a guess, he would say lawyer or surgeon. Probably the first since she had been familiar with the vocabulary Jane used to describe his role in the major crimes unit. If he was to continue with the most likely hypothesis, she grew up in the countryside and came to Austin for her studies, a city she had never left since. Her job required ambition and intelligence, as well as a great strength of mind. She undoubtedly possessed this quality to have such an optimistic character in a career like hers and not to waver in the face of her ex-boyfriend’s threats. If she had a close family he couldn’t say, but he was sure of the fact that she wouldn’t have been the kind to hold grudges toward siblings if she had some. She had probably met her ex at her work, another lawyer in the same firm, who treated her well at the start but grew more bitter when he realized she wouldn’t put a hold on her career for his sake.
And her virtue seemed to be of the same level as her beauty. Jane could see that she possessed attributes that many would describe as attractive. She had light eyes, tanned skin, and hair with natural honey highlights. She was of average height, and her slender legs were slightly longer in proportion to her torso and head. Her cheeks easily flushed pink and her laughter was contagious. He’d say she was in her mid-thirties since she looked a year or two younger than Lisbon. But he decided to stop the comparison here to avoid feeling the recognizable pain that gripped his chest whenever he started doing something as idiotic as comparing other women to Lisbon. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.
Besides, he had to repair the damage he had caused to Joyce’s conscience. Fortunately, Joyce had asked a question about his supposed wife, which allowed Jane to reveal the truth. He could have said whatever he wanted, it wouldn’t be like the woman could verify the information. But something in him was getting tired of pretending. What was the point in it anyway? Red John was dead, Angela and Charlotte were long gone, California was far away from here.
Lisbon was untouchable.
“I fear my ring misled you,” Jane had said before stopping. Finding a way to talk about this when he never truly had to by the past was a new challenge. Either people already knew so no explanation was needed or requested in fear of his reaction, or they had no idea and Jane was careful not to give them a charitable cause to shed two tears over and then move on. In that case, he had decided to keep it simple. “My wife died a few years ago. I kept the ring but… It serves more as a reminder now.”
Sorrow had crossed the face of the woman, the kind that comes from empathy and not from experience. She couldn't relate and frankly it was for the best. Jane wouldn't have wished that loss to a majority of people.
Then, Lisbon had called to share the localisation of a new crime scene and Jane had left, somehow feeling lighter. A stranger was walking in the world knowing a bit of his story that he willingly shared, just because he could. Perhaps, free will wasn’t just a concept after all.
To be honest, his sudden change of mood might also have had to do with Lisbon’s call. Hearing the familiar implicit threat behind her voice never ceased to fill him with joy. She would always sound like she was expecting him to announce some incredible news and let out a silent sight when it didn’t happen. As if she wouldn’t be surprised if he told her he had started World War III or had found a way to cure world hunger while she couldn’t keep an eye on him. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that since his behavior had set those kinds of expectations. In fact, he was honored she would judge him capable of having such an impact on that many lives. Her only mistake was to think he would do either without his partner.
Even now, on the same trail, replaying their interaction of last week over the phone in his head was enough to bring a smile on his face—yeah, she definitely was the reason why he had felt good at that moment.
“Patrick?”
And this was definitely Joyce’s voice calling him from behind and Joyce’s dog sniffing his left shoe.
Had it crossed Jane’s mind that there would be a high probability that he would run into Joyce at this place when he walked here every week and Joyce walked her dog every day? Of course, it would have been a lack of reflection to think otherwise. He just hadn’t expected it to happen the first time he was here again.
“Joyce! Good day for a walk,” he greeted her, pointing towards the blue April sky.
The woman looked up, as if she was only now noticing the charming weather, her cheekbones rising. It took a second for Jane to understand that it wasn’t the second part of his greeting that had drawn a smile on her face but the first. He had used her first name with no hesitation. People usually recalled names when they were interested. This was why she remembered his.
Yet, Jane could find in his mind the name of everyone he had ever met, going from a client he had seen once in his carny years to a security guard standing at the main doors of the FBI bullpen from Monday to Thursday. Well, that last one was less of a stretch and not as random as it seemed so it probably didn’t count for the point Jane was making. He had read the man’s badge after catching him shamelessly staring at Lisbon. And once he had noticed it, he had realized it wasn’t a one time thing. The man’s eyes were glued to her all the way from one side of the main entrance to the other whenever she was passing by.
Jane had no idea why he had thought about this guy. To put it in another way, he didn’t give himself time to wonder why he had thought about the guy. He stored it away in that secluded part of his memory palace that he never dared to open—the one casting an ominous shadow which only hinted at the countless amount of information hidden there.
All of this to say that the fact that he was recalling Joyce’s name didn’t actually mean a lot, considering his excellent memory.
“I was hoping to see you here,” Joyce exclaimed, and the slightly larger diameter of her pupils only reaffirmed her statement.
Jane’s instinct knew where this was going, the adrenaline rushing in his body. But, it would have been improper to interrupt her or to run away so he had to endure this stressful situation. It felt like the kind of nightmares where a catastrophe was unfolding and you remained petrified through it all, unable to do anything but look. Obviously, rejecting somebody was far away from being the end of the world. However, objectivity was rarely demonstrated in nightmares.
“I could tell you that I owe you dinner since you helped me with my ex but I don’t even want him to be part of the conversation. And I’m not gonna pretend this offer has anything to do with a payoff anyway. I’ve been searching to find the right way to ask you all week, and I probably should’ve rehearsed a little more because I’m saying everything but what I want,” she shuckled, a little out of breath. “What I’m trying to say is that I would like to spend some time with you because I find you very interesting. I could buy you a drink or we could discuss over dinner. Anything, really.”
Knowing that she was going to suggest something of the kind didn’t help him to have an appropriate reaction. Joyce hadn’t said the word but it was clearly implied that she meant to go out with him—romantically. He cursed his brain for leaving him alone when he needed this charming bravado he used all the time to settle the atmosphere and to get rid of any trouble.
“I could be totally wrong here but I thought we got along quite well last week. Of course, I would understand if you said no. My apologies if I misread your intention. You were probably only helping a stranger without any second thought. Maybe you’re not searching for something like that or you already are into somebody else.” Or both, a voice in his mind added, its origin not being a mystery. “I can get that, I mean, would be weird if I was the only one to find you attractive.”
She was getting nervous and it probably had to do with the fact Jane was too stunned to utter a word. He should say something, anything. The poor woman was looking at her shoes and doing side glances towards the river, her words still carrying confidence while her voice tried to stay in tune.
“Would you like to go out with me this weekend, Patrick?”
Funny how impressive the language was when you thought about it. The concept of uttering sounds, assembling them together to make units of meaning you could arrange following sets of rules coming from centuries ago so that other beings could understand you. The idea of multiple cultures reflected in the use of a vocabulary which spoke by itself of the history of lives before you and also linked you to the future and its evolution. The implication this ability had on the brain, shaped by this knowledge which allowed you to have complex thought patterns and was so natural that humanity couldn’t be complete without it. By losing all ability to make sentences, Jane felt like he was disrespecting thousands of years of evolution, not to mention Joyce who was with no doubt in a difficult place.
“Hmm, that was nice of you to say.” Really Jane, that’s all you’ve got? That sounded far more condescending than what he had tried to convey. “No, I mean, I appreciate the gesture.” Not better. “It takes courage to ask.” He could have as well started to describe their surroundings if telling plain evidence was his plan.
At least, the other part in this conversation still had brain cells and didn’t seem hurt by his awkward wording.
“You weren’t expecting this, it’s fine.” Joyce reassured him while she was searching in her pockets. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen by any chance?” Jane shook his head—almost surprised a part of his body was able to function correctly. Before he could tell her that he could memorize whatever she wanted to write down, she handed him an object from her jacket pocket. “Here, take my card. That’s my personal number on it. If you accept my offer, you can contact me.”
She smiled one last time and called her dog. Some minutes later, Jane realized he should have told her no from the start. He was only giving her false hope by delaying his response. There again, this had been the basis of his whole career once upon a time. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him.
Lisbon might have told him hope was worth any price, but he doubted she truly believed it. That was the kind of statement she was making to ease his pain. He was far too aware of her beliefs to be tricked by her devotion to make him feel better. On the other hand, he was always touched by the depth of her good heart and selfless loyalty. Sometimes, it was hard to be by her side knowing she would do everything she could for him in exchange for so little. She only asked for respect and honesty. Respect walked hand in hand with esteem so respecting Lisbon was a given. Honesty was less easy to apprehend for Jane. He had spent his childhood and early years breathing lies and tricks, metamorphosing reality to fit his desires, taking without giving. Saying whatever could help him achieve his goals was engraved in his brain, it came out if he didn’t take time to consciously go against it. Still, repeating this only made those excuses seem all the more hollow. It felt like the rambling of a selfish bastard who couldn’t even afford to lay himself bare to the one person that mattered.
Jane fixed his eyes on Joyce’s business card. The scales of justice figured on it. So, his guess landed right, she was a lawyer. But even the rush of satisfaction that came with being right felt insignificant compared to the monstrosity that was gnawing at his heart.
⁂
Love was something Lisbon had heard about more than she had experienced.
When people were talking about it—the feeling of Love with an uppercase ‘L’—they always used the same empty phrases, as if they were all in some sort of trickery which everyone had been careful not to reveal to her. And she knew most of them, if not all of them, were truly feeling the way they were describing for their beloved. Yet, it was easier to think they were all brainwashed than admitting she was desperate to understand what that was like. Being able to release control, feeling safe enough to be building a life together, marrying, having children.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have felt so hard if she had had good examples of couples in her life. Her parents weren’t the kind of couple you would have looked at with envy. She always thought they would have been better off as a fling. They met young and a summer dalliance doesn’t need people to have the same habits, the same view of life, especially when you’re still towing with the line between childhood and adulthood, thinking you know exactly where you’re going only to be ruined by the expectations of life a few months or years later. However, a stable and long-term relationship does need more than passion and empty promises. But her parents were raised in religion and both of their family pressed them to commit because that was what was supposed to be done. So, they settled, bought a big house in order to have children. They had four of them before reaching their thirties, that they raised with the same values generations were raised with. They did everything that was asked of them.
The weight of this tradition crushed them and they were too caught up in their routine to even think about breaking free. They hardly ever saw each other after their wedding, both working improbable hours to pay the bills. They only spoke to ask for the salt and to confirm they didn’t forget that dentist appointment, which they forgot anyway, leaving to Lisbon the responsibility of taking her brothers anywhere. She was the one with the most memories of her mother but apart from their interactions of daily life, the only snippets that showcasted their connection were those of their silent walk to the confessional, sometimes interrupted by her mother’s injunctions to avoid damaging her tights. They were the remonstrances of a woman who was trying to make an effort but ended up falling in the same mores that had put her there.
The only thing keeping her parents together was the illusion of fulfillment instilled by their upbringing. Love had fled long ago, replaced by annoyance and resentment. Maybe that was why her father had let grief drown him, guilt had opened the door.
Greg had been her first serious boyfriend. It had felt good being desired and loved by somebody genuine who used communication instead of violence as a first instinct. His company had been welcomed in that period of her life where she had been learning to exist outside of her family during her studies. But she also had never quite been able to shake the impression that they weren’t even in that relationship. Greg was picturing a future, planning activities for their next vacation, while Lisbon had a hard time thinking of an ‘us’ that made sense. This dissonance that she had always perceived had punched her in the gut when she had been invited to dinner with his family. The dagger had taken the form of a seemingly innocent remark from the grandmother who was wondering when the great grandchildren would arrive.
When they had come home that night they had had a fight—their first ever.
If she was honest with herself, she had been wishing for that fight to happen so she could finally feel something. Because if her father had taught her anything, it was that anger was an act of care. As twisted and crazy as it might sound, she had never been more in doubt about what she felt toward Greg than when everything was nice. ‘Nice’ didn’t protect from the effects of time, ‘nice’ couldn’t keep a hold on years of hurt and ‘nice’ would never beat the terror settling down brought upon her. While Greg had been confused about her sudden hesitation, she knew it had been roaming inside her since long ago.
The day after and the weeks that had followed, Greg had been sweeter than before. He had certainly thought that his love would reassure her. It had only made her feel worse. Greg could have moved earth and sky, but mentally she had left at the second his family had stared at her expectantly. She had tried to go back to the state of mind she was in before until she had started questioning what was even that state of mind. Delusion? Denial? Comfortable illusion? If all it had needed to disappear were some words, it couldn’t have been love, right?
He had gotten on one knee and for a moment she had thought she could do it. Then, the resolution had shattered in a million pieces in front of the mirror where her mother’s face had stared back at her. And she had known she couldn’t do it, couldn’t let herself feel trapped in a prison of her own making where freedom was resentment toward her husband. So, she had fled. Of course, not before breaking Greg’s heart and throwing him her trauma with a simple but cruel question.
How do you know it is worth the risk?
Even now, she regretted how cold and distant it sounded, regretted the contractual tone of her words fixating on what she could lose or gain with it. A relationship wasn’t a game of poker, yet she had kept her cards close to her chest, never intending to fold, wishing to find an apophenic bluff before going all in.
Because I love you.
She had never said it back. Not to him, not to anyone that had come after. Well, not that there had been a lot of men after him, or at least none that she could’ve called boyfriend. Her work took all the place in her life from that time on. The two or three that made it more than one night had complained about that. She had broken up with them to solve the problem. But staying away from love as if it was a great disease hadn’t helped either. Now, in the mirror, she was seeing her father—lonely, bitter, incapable of expressing his feelings, while frustration bubbled under the surface, menacing to unleash destruction.
The irony was that her work was the perfect place to witness even more dysfunctional couples or tragic love stories. Without going as far as cases, there was Jane. He was the second person in her life who had lost his loved one and who had been radically changed by it. He had found his way out of grief—a very uncommon one—but the fact that he had was almost a miracle.
Bad examples had a way of deterring her from ever acting on her feelings but good examples had a way of making her feel like a crumbled piece of paper.
She wished she could shut down the envy surging in her every time she saw Wayne and Grace so she could just enjoy their visit instead of poisoning the life they had built together. After everything that had happened to them, they deserved each other. And seeing how radiant Grace had been whenever Lisbon had been with her to help during the pregnancy, it was clear that maternity suited her. Paternity was also a second instinct for Wayne who always found a way to talk about his children, no matter the topic at hand. They were meant for this happiness. And if some people were meant for it, some others weren’t.
There was a time where Lisbon wouldn’t have cared that much about the differences between Grace and her. Now, it was difficult to avoid thinking about them. Because Grace was different. She had been raised in a functional family, with present and loving parents. She easily trusted people, was close to her feelings, and didn't treat them as if they were a deadly parasite. The perfect all petals, no thorns kind of person. Of course, Lisbon wasn’t saying Grace hadn’t known suffering in her life. She had had her fair share when working for the CBI. However, after that hard time, she hadn’t let it consume her, hadn’t built walls so high she’d be unattainable. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it arrived after the crucial time of childhood which made the trauma an addition and not something so engraved in her she couldn’t decipher it from her soul, maybe it was because of some innate strength. In any case, she hadn’t let that define her. She had risen above it. Grace had been touched by trauma, she hadn’t been stained by it. At least, not like Lisbon had been.
Visiting a church once gave you a pretty good idea of the ambiguity of stained glass. It was translucent, which meant it could only offer a partial light. Unlike its transparent counterpart, it was initially made of tainted pieces of uneven thickness and full of imperfections. It was then cut and reassembled, painted if needed. To ensure its safety and its cohesion, lead cames were placed, holding the pieces together while keeping them separate. All this process, so that it could sit in one place, being admired but never touched, never opened. A stained-glass window wasn’t whole, it was a broken work of art, beautiful but counterfeit.
Love was a light but Lisbon couldn’t take it all and give it all back. A stained-glass window couldn’t pretend to be a transparent-glass window. However, she didn’t know if she should be thankful for still being able to have a heart able of longing for somebody that could never be hers or if it was the cruelest gift she could receive from destiny. Both were probably valid. How to qualify it better than cruel when the only man she had ever fallen for had already met the love of his life and would remain faithful to her until death—where she was certainly waiting for him. Tragic was the only adjective that could compete.
She was blaming fate but the truth was that this impossible romance gave her an excuse to never try dating again. Very convenient for someone scared of commitment. It was perhaps not entirely a coincidence. Perhaps, her heart had chosen him on purpose to justify her lack of enthusiasm. It was easier when he was untouchable.
Jane was untouchable.
So, why was she now considering the offer of a man that she hadn’t even looked at before he had asked her out? She had been crossing the main entrance of the FBI headquarters when one of the security guards had stopped her by complimenting her outfit and asking quite boldly if she would be interested to have dinner with him this weekend. She had avoided the question in what she hoped was a subtle way by mentioning that her colleagues were waiting for her upstairs. Fortunately, he had let her go. Unfortunately, he had made a joke about how she would know where to find him when she would like to discuss the details of the date.
Lisbon couldn’t even remember the last time she had been on a date. She had teased Jane but obviously the one with Ardilles three months ago didn’t count because it had been a matter of work. Before that, she had focused on her integration in the unit.
Better not to dwell on that two year period of long hibernation, each day a replicate of the last one, only with less and less substance. Breathing because it was expected of her. Working because it had made sense in what felt like a foreign lifetime. Staring at the ceiling because her feelings were hanging somewhere around close enough to conceive, too far to perceive. Going out in bars and using whatever body was willing to take her out of this numb haze. It turned out sex was way less effective than alcohol. Thank God, she had always been too clear-headed to cross that line. She could quiet down the never-ending religious sermon on purity, not the few instances of vain supplications reeking of cheap spirits.
So, the last time she had engaged in romantic interactions must have been before the fall of the CBI. Way before in fact, since she had spent those last months worrying about the state of a certain blond consultant. Jesus, had it truly been that long ago?
Embarrassment washed over her. She had never been the kind to give up at the first sign of difficulty. On the contrary, it was through hard work that she had succeeded in her studies and progressed in her job. She knew the price of sacrifices—the concealed tears when she had left her brothers to live on her own, the sleepless nights over a fatal gunshot, the worthless CBI badge she had handed over—but, even more so, she knew their prize. She had no instance of regretting a hard decision. In fact, she was usually disappointed about not having the guts to do it earlier.
So, why should it be any different with love? After all, it was stupid to base her entire ability to develop a relationship on a fallout she had with a guy in her early twenties. Or it could have been if this fallout had nothing to do with her way of handling feelings that had for sure led to the break-up. Back to square one since her doubt didn’t come from an irrelevant place. Still, the fact that she was aware of it could be a good first step toward having a successful relationship. Also, people who never tried never failed.
The man’s manners could have been less rude but he wasn’t bad looking, as he had the physical appearance you expected a security guard to have, tall and fit. She also couldn’t judge his personality by one interaction. The little thing that had irked her like the lack of subtlety of his compliments or his joke could all be excused by some kind of stress or hesitation about what to say or how to have her attention. It didn't necessarily mean he was acting like that on a daily basis.
And yes, she pushed away Jane’s advice on trusting her instinct and first impression of people on purpose. God forbid a woman wanted to make a decision without Jane creeping into her mind.
“You’re thinking loudly today, Lisbon.” The man truly had an uncanny sense of timing. “Surprised you’ve not reached for Advil yet.”
Her gaze darted over the back of her chair to contemplate Jane, lying down on his couch, in his usual position. Crossed legs, blond curls over his arms, blue eyes on the ceiling, unbothered, seeing through the mystery of the world. Since he had come back, he seemed peaceful, not just pretending to be like it had felt a lot of times in the CBI bullpen. The sight of it warmed her heart every time.
“You’ve been distracted all day,” Jane continued, moving his eyes to catch hers staring. “Is there a problem?”
Lisbon immediately got back to reading whatever was on her computer. Work, not whatever, she corrected herself. Work was her priority, not some brooding over failed relationships. The wait for a new case always had a way of driving her crazy, she knew that. Her need for productive pastime was as strong as her want for justice when it came to achieving her job. “Such a shame my thoughts weren’t loud enough for you to understand.”
“You’re deflecting the question.”
“And you’re cold reading me.”
The friction of Jane’s clothes on the leather alerted her to his change of position. “I’m only pointing out what anyone would have noticed watching you pretend to read your screen for the last fifteen minutes.” She definitely couldn’t escape the conversation so she turned her chair to face him, now sitting with his body leaning toward her. “I could try to guess but you wouldn’t like that. That’s why I’m asking you what’s going on.”
Lisbon could declare two things without a doubt. First statement, Jane was the most infuriating man she ever had the displeasure to meet. Second statement, Jane was the most amazing person she ever had the chance to know. He was a dichotomy of his own in her mind. She never could form an opinion on how he made her feel—but oh did he make her feel it all!
As of right now, she was both irritated that she couldn’t hide a single thing from him and thankful that he was able to know without her saying it that something was wrong. It didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Pride was a luxury whose protection she valued.
“Are you expecting a reward? Because this is what I would call the bare minimum,” she teased him. Jane put on an even more bright smile, clearly aiming to regain control over the interaction. Damn it, it was working!
“Sarcasm. You’re definitely hiding something.”
Lisbon sighed for good measure before explaining, “Someone asked me out this morning and I don’t know if I should accept.”
She paused without going further to study his reaction. She had stopped thinking she could understand how he was feeling years ago but a small part of her still hoped she would catch a glimpse of something when it would matter. A shift of his attention, a tension in his jaw, a flicker of envy or disappointment at least. Jealousy if she let herself dream. But no change occurred in his behavior, nothing changed on his face, except for a second of surprise which could be explained by the news she was bringing him. The surprise disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, the mask was back in place.
He will never see you that way. This one was hurting her on a selfish level. He will never see anyone that way. That one was the last straw, because as much as she wished he would look at her, she wanted him to find love again in any way he could even more.
In a vain attempt to ignore the inconsolable wound that was her heart, she added, “Who knows, maybe this one won't end in disaster for a change?”
“Do you want to?”
“What?”
“Do you want to say yes?”
God, was he seriously asking the question? Did he expect her to have an illumination between ten seconds ago and now? Jane was probably trying to make her realize something but she wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games. “I think you understand the meaning of ‘I don’t know’ so I don’t have to repeat myself.”
“Is he someone you want to go out with?”
It felt awfully close to an interrogation but she was sure she would have felt way more comfortable to be accused of murder right now. If she wanted to go out with the man? What was his name already? Shit, she didn’t remember. But she had made a resolution to try dating again so she should find convincing reasons. “I guess so. Seems like a nice guy. He is, hmm, very forthcoming.” It didn't seem that way but she had tried hard to paint a good picture. She wasn’t good at compliments, whether it was at the receiving hand or at the giving one.
“Considering the fact that you don’t have high hopes, I’d say you should go for it. You don’t have much to lose and you might even enjoy the evening,” he answered with a confidence which was dangerously close to arrogance. Easier said than done.
“Go for it? That’s your advice?”
“That’s my opinion. The decision is yours in any case, and my opinion is more likely to be dismissed than followed.”
Such a level of understanding and respect for her private life was suspicious coming from Jane. “Did wisdom find you while my back was turned? Sounds too mature to come from you. You’re sure you have no intrusive remarks to make?”
“What can I say? You really do have a healthy and moderating influence on me.” To prove it, he should have stopped there, but her influence only went so far. “Just one thing I’d like you to clarify…”
“I knew it!”
“...Is the guy that asked you out one of the security guards around here?”
“Hmm, yes.” How did you know? she refrained from shouting. Knowing Jane, he would tell her anyway since he wouldn’t miss the chance to show his genius. And, indeed, he proved her right.
“Interesting. I thought he’d never had the guts to do so.” He must have been satisfied by the shock he saw on her face because a fond expression grew on his. “I thought that at some point I’d stop being surprised at how modestly blind you are to the effect you have on people. That charm of yours never gets old, dear.”
“Obviously, it’s easy for you to say that.” Jane often needed a reminder that his condition was atypical. Lisbon wondered how many more things he saw than ordinary mortals and to what extent it changed his worldview. The road to bliss was harder when you couldn’t be ignorant. “Not everyone has your observation skills.”
“I am pretty sure the way he’s been devouring you with his eyes for weeks whenever you walk by is noticeable from miles away. And he’s not the only one. Do you want a list of all the people who showed interest in you these past few days?”
“No, thanks, I’m good,” she winced. More so than ignorance, denial was bliss.
She thought the conversation was over and that Jane would lie back down but instead his gaze softened. That was another thing that you had to get used to when you were around him, the steadiness of his gaze. It never wavered, taking in the slightest piece of information, seeking the leaks. Lisbon had a hard time glancing at Jane without him noticing because his eyes were already set on her or on their way to do so every time. Probably another tactic to have the advantage in any situation. She didn’t have time to deepen the thought because Jane’s voice poured into her head, with a new-found low tone warm like honey.
“You do what makes you happy, Lisbon. That’s the only thing that matters.”
How could he make the use of her last name sound so intimate when it was what everyone called her? She had heard it be pronounced by a million strangers, it should feel impersonal like it actually did when her colleagues used it. When Jane was saying it however, her own name became a secret language. He sometimes used it without any other explanation than his eyes filling in the blanks. Mostly, he placed it at the end of a sentence like punctuation. But every time, it was said with so much care that she could have misinterpreted it for a term of endearment.
“Well, on your side, is anything going on?” she joked. This was becoming way too real and honest for her insecurities.
It wasn’t a flicker of surprise that appeared on Jane’s face, it was the creation of a celestial body. Why had he frozen and why was he clearing his throat?
“Funny you’re mentioning that.” He paused, searched for his words—Jane, the very definition of eloquence and the epitome of improvisation was at loss for words. “Actually, a woman gave me her number this morning and… You see, I helped her get rid of her toxic ex last week and told her I lost my wife so she…”
“You what?” she mouthed, to avoid disturbing the whole floor with her high pitch voice.
“I know, I know,” he said with his palms facing her in an appeasing gesture. “The life of strangers isn’t my business but you should have seen him chasing her. I couldn’t let that happen. Him and I had an understanding…”
Lisbon made sure he saw her judgmental look and rubbed her temples. “I’m gonna pretend the ‘understanding’ wasn’t a threat because now I am clearly in need of Advil, thanks to you.”
“Are you going to let me finish, woman? If you don’t want to know, don’t ask.”
“It was supposed to be a joke! I didn’t know that you…” Her mind was only catching now with the implication of a woman giving him her number. A woman had liked him and had asked him out. She was already more brave than Lisbon would ever be. “Are you planning on accepting?”
Jane stared at her, brows furrowed. She could now bet on the fact that the idiot hadn’t even thought about it. “No, I wanted to find a way to let her down gently but she left before I could say a word.”
Lisbon failed to understand how this scenario had worked out. It meant that she had asked him out, given him her number and got out of sight before he could utter a word. Jane couldn’t have been that confused. Still, being a witness of his confusion at the moment, she might have to come back on her statement. The woman seemed to have an effect on him.
Had she been as idiotic as him, not considering the fact that he could move on romantically? Or had she convinced herself he couldn’t so he could stay hers in a twisted way? Guilt and jealousy made an awful cocktail in her stomach. If he could see someone in that way, like it seemed to be with this woman, she shouldn't let her selfishness have the better of her.
“How is she?” She didn’t want to know but at least the object of her envy wouldn’t be a faceless stranger.
Jane broke their eye contact to stare into the void behind her shoulder. He had probably hoped she wouldn’t notice. Too bad for him, or for her, the world was losing all its colors when his eyes weren’t in her own. He was in his mind and it was a perfect reminder that he would inevitably take a path she could not follow.
“Joyce is a nice person from what I can tell. Caucasian, 5’ 6’’, 36 or 37 years old, light brown hair, hazel eyes. She is a lawyer, a good one considering the salary she must have judging by her lifestyle. She is also smart, optimistic and laughs easily.”
Joyce. Jane was already a better date than Lisbon by remembering the name of the person inviting him. And this Joyce seemed lovely. Lovely and so different from her. Did his ex-wife resemble the description he had given of this woman? It was sad to think the only picture Lisbon had seen of Angela Ruskin Jane was the one they took of the body at the crime scene to put in the files. She had never dared to ask Jane more about her. She only knew glimpses of her life from the unintentional information given when Jane was talking about his past, so not a lot. She didn’t know what his ex-wife looked like or what personality she had. But, if she had to guess, she would describe someone along the lines as Joyce.
Still, something about the way he described her bothered Lisbon. It lacked passion and warmth.
“What?” Jane asked, genuinely unaware of the inadequacy between the context and his description.
“Nothing.” It was somehow very funny now and a smile betrayed her. She couldn’t miss an opportunity to tease him. “Actually, not nothing. You sound as if you were describing a victim in one of our cases.”
Jane tilted his head and shot back with the same lightness in his tone, “Did you hear yourself when you were describing Mr Overtly-Obsene-Look? You sound as if you were selling a product you wouldn’t even buy yourself.”
“Tell me, why do people wanna date us? We are completely incompetent in this area,” Lisbon managed to utter between laughs. Jane shook his head as joy shone through in his eyes. She wanted to witness that joy forever. He deserved to be happy and she would give everything for it to happen. Sobered by the sheer force of that conviction, she offered, “You should take your own advice and go for it.”
The blond consultant took a breath, “You think I should go out with Joyce?” The agent nodded. “Why?” The one-word question seemed hesitant, touching on something deeper than a want for her to justify her answer. He needed reassurance.
“She caught you off guard, that’s not an easy thing to do.” This revealed more than Lisbon had intended to but it rang true. Something about that interaction with Joyce had an impact on him. Then it struck her that she had left out the most important confession. Oh God, he had told the woman he had lost his wife! She hoped to conceal the confusion inside her and to appear calm by stating, “Maybe you are more ready than you think. You told her about your wife, Jane. It’s a step.”
A huge one, she added in her mind. It wasn’t a casual step with that. It was a first step he hadn’t taken in the twelve years she had known him, a step he had taken on his own there on a random Tuesday. A step which was implying he could potentially be with someone else. And by the shift of light behind his eyes, Lisbon knew Jane was arriving at the same conclusion.
“You have the right to say yes,” The words left her mouth and they sounded foreign to her ears even if almost sincere. The ‘almost’ scared her. The ‘almost’ prevented her from being honest, just as an ink stain prevented a sheet of paper from being blank. “You know that, don’t you?”
⁂
Many people believed that memory was a defined space that reached its maximum capacity from time to time, causing some memories to disappear for others to come. And as it was usually the case, the majority didn’t seek to question this belief. The problem wasn’t the quantity of storage, but the way it was stored. By combining several pieces of information into a single unit, the possibilities for memory were multiplied.
Kids Prefer Cheese Over Fried Green Spinach. That one was a good acronym for the seven levels of biological taxonomy. By doing this, you could also remember the geological time periods, the world's longest rivers by size, and the complete work of Sheakspeare in chronological order. Of course, to maintain its effectiveness, you had to use this technique for information that would be useful later.
After the ‘how’, the ‘where’ could also be managed. Memory worked best through semantic links. Thus, a poem telling a story was easier to remember than a phone number, which was just an arbitrary string of digits. You could therefore use this property of memory to your advantage by giving meaning to the elements you wanted to retain. You created a narrative around these elements and you linked it to pre-existing memories, as familiar as possible, like a place where you could find your way around with your eyes closed. That was more or less the concept of the memory palace.
Jane had learned those techniques from a young age. He could recall anything, from the most insignificant detail in everyone else’s eyes to the most blatant evidence in his own eyes. He had sharpened his way of thinking to absorb information like a computer—he dared to think even better than it because a machine couldn’t keep perceptions and feelings alongside those units of memory.
Only one capability of the computer could not be grasped by the human mind, making Jane a prisoner of his condition as a mere mortal, because if the humankind knew how to do one thing, it was how to be its own nemesis. No matter how much he envied the ability, he would never be able to delete those memories without any trace, without any damage. He was condemned to bear the burden of his grief, to stumble against the proof of his guilt.
Even though these feelings no longer dictated his actions, they still lingered in the background, a volcano waiting for the perfect moment to erupt. Could be in a second, ten years or never. It didn’t matter, because the possibility was a latent poison that would contaminate anyone who tried to approach.
His palace could become a prison if he wasn’t careful. He could spend his time reliving his last moments with his family until he forgot the idea of the present. He could face every ‘what if’ and rewrite them in his mind until he lost sight of reality. These enslaving hypotheses mainly concerned two distinct moments. The term didn’t even quite convey the pivotal aspect of this fleeting second where a regretful decision had been taken, altering the trajectory of his life.
There were some about that fateful evening. What if he had listened to Angela when she had begged him to quit the con life? What if he had let Charlotte convince him to stay on her bedside to read her a story until she fell asleep? What if his car hadn’t started?
There were some about this glorious sunset car ride. What if he hadn’t left Lisbon on that beach? What if his words to her had revealed how he felt instead of concealing it? What if he had run into the sunset—truly but in the metaphorical sense of the term—with her?
The mind couldn’t make a clean deletion, leaving the memories to a cruel sentence, decay. It was a slow and painful death for a memory, rattle breathing until you could only feel its presence but not see it anymore. That’s how it felt to forget the laugh of his own daughter.
Perhaps some memories stayed on purpose to make sure we kept our promises, to keep us from crossing lines we had placed ourselves. How could you have a sense of self if the memory wasn’t there to be the bridge between your past and your future? Identity was shaped by memories. A person was a succession of intertwined thoughts and feelings, a kaleidoscope of perceptions.
You have the right to say yes. You know that, don’t you?
Lisbon’s voice invaded his mind and there was nothing he could do to forget her words or the emotional weight they carried. As always, she knew where to point to make him reconsider his way of thinking. Agreeing to go on a date never crossed his mind.
For so long, he had breathed for revenge. The after was a concept that he never dared to conceive. Hence why he had no idea of what he was supposed to do. Living was already more than he had planned. Doing it with Lisbon at his side was a privilege that felt like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. All of this wasn’t his doing, it was him letting life take its course. But dating? That was different, it was a deliberate act. It was him reaching for something, something that could be taken from him.
What could he even offer? He was a broken man with blood on his hands. He also knew the romantic part of him would not be satisfied to omit that part of his life, even if it could preserve whatever feelings a person could have for him. Not mentioning what his life had been like in the past was out of the question because it would be like playing a part. The person would only be in love with a performance, never knowing the real him. But by knowing him, they wouldn’t fall in love.
Joyce was a sane individual and the only reaction he could picture from him telling her how he murdered two men in cold blood was pure horror. How do you even voice such a thing? ‘Hey, you know the wife we talked about? Well, we were living happily from me being a jackass pretending to be a medium. We had a daughter. And then, I decided to go on national television to rant about a serial killer who definitely didn’t like it, hence why I found their two lifeless bodies when I came back. Long story short, a decade later, I choked him to death in a public park!’ By then, she would have already left and called the police.
Any real and sane person should want to date someone who could bring stability and safety to the relationship. This left only those who had no moral sense and those who could see behind it. He wouldn’t want to date the first kind. He didn’t deserve the second kind, assuming that they even existed since it felt like the description of a saint. Now wasn’t the time Jane would indulge in religion.
It was better to leave the idea behind, dating was for a version of him that didn’t exist anymore.
You have the right to say yes. You know that, don’t you?
Somehow, Lisbon saw seeds peeing where he only saw desolate land. She wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t think he had something to offer. He would love to have her ability to prepare for the worse but still expect the best from people. She had the wiseness without the bitterness, the hope without the gullibility. Jane was more an ‘all in or not at all’ kind of man. He had high qualities but it also made them great flaws in the wrong context. Thereby, he was reckless and cowardly, Lisbon was brave.
Ancient philosophers like Aristotle believed that the mark of a great mind was in achieving happiness by making virtue an habit. Virtue laid in balance which meant that vice was not a matter of nature but of degree. Jane had learned Philosophy not by conviction but by thirst for knowledge. He thought most of those theories were oversimplifying existence and weren’t useful when actually trying to have a life. But, even a broken clock was right twice a day. He used to live by excess, and in fact, he didn’t find happiness at the end of it. Following this idea, Lisbon was more likely to achieve happiness than he was. Probably the best conclusion he could have come to.
In the meantime, he was more likely to prepare himself some tea. Actually, Philosophy made a huge mistake by forgetting to add this beverage to the pathway towards happiness. There was no simpler joy than waiting for water to boil, anticipating the whistling of the kettle with the sweet promise of taking your taste buds to paradise. The experience was taken to the next level by sitting down on a leather couch. It was also enhanced by watching a certain brunette agent grumble in the most adorable way at her keyboard, even better if he could be the lucky audience of her complaints and the sole witness of her sulky pout.
With this vision in mind, Jane got up and made his way to the breakroom in order to check the first item on this utopian list. While the water was warming up, he also prepared some coffee. Lisbon was at her fifth dose, her usual number in the early afternoon but she always needed more when there was no case to distract her.
His eyes couldn’t help but search for her on the other side of the glass. She was now truly reading instead of spacing out, proven by the frown between her eyebrows. The sunshine was playing with the outline of her dark hair, highlighting her elvine features: pale skin which you never could have guessed saw the Californian sun for a decade, thin cheekbones that glistened, a jaw that wavered between angular and rounded, a small upturned nose wrinkling in the most adorable way, long and delicate eyelashes that weren’t the only ones fluttering whenever he looked at them. Daylight gave her beauty but it was nothing compared to that which the moonlight blessed her with. Jane had been captivated the first time a corpse had led them to stand on the side of a road during a cloudless night. The way her green eyes caught that soft silver light had a permanent place in his memory palace. He stared a little more, hoping to catch one of her usual glances at him. He didn’t try to hide his smile when her head finally lifted for a second. He was beaming when her eyes shied away like their intention was elsewhere.
A whistling sound echoed through the room. Jane was reaching for the kettle when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a new agitation taking hold of the agents present on the floor. The anthill had awakened, time to get back to work. Jane poured the coffee in an insulated bottle and the tea in his cup, eager to catch Lisbon before she took the elevator. He needed to make sure he would be next to her in the car after all.
Fischer considered it childish but she had come to understand that placing him next to Lisbon was in her best interest. He swore that the fact that he suddenly became incapable to stay silent or behaved whenever they weren’t in the same vicinity was a pure coincidence—everyone knew he was a very reasonable person—but lately there had been instances where Fischer had requested for him to stay with his partner. And who was he to refuse a direct order from an FBI agent?
Good thing, today seemed to be one of those instances, looking at the way Fischer gestured with the keys in her hands for Cho to take the passenger seat before looking back at Lisbon and him. “Lisbon, no problem taking yours? Good. Jane, you go with her.” There was a look at the cup in his hand but no remark. She had given up.
Unlike Lisbon, who specified when they got in her car, “Spill it and I’ll make you clean the car before even taking you to the hospital.” The eldest daughter was talking there, clear, sharp, not wasting energy banning the idea but clarifying the consequences for when the future would prove her right. The authority conveyed was magnetic, stirring something deep inside of him. Jane was almost tempted to drop his cup on his knees so he could hear her say ‘I told you so’ with all the disappointment she could muster and all the worry she couldn’t hide. The burn would be worth it.
He placed the bottle in the space between their two seats. “Coffee, for you. Thought you’d find it more practical even though it won’t taste the same as in a cup.”
Lisbon started the engine. “I’m not as picky as you, it’ll be just fine.” She always needed to throw a jab at him and it would be lying to say he wasn’t delighted by it.
“I have standards! Tea needs to be drunk in the proper way,” he exclaimed with performed conviction. Actually, he never cared about the subjects they were fighting about as much as his behavior could lead to think, he only wanted to extend the conversation as much as he could. And picking a fight unleashed Lisbon’s competitiveness. She cared about having the last word and he cared about the joy it brought her.
“And that means you had to bring the saucer with you?” she argued, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. He didn’t have to feel ashamed to orchestrate opportunities since he knew she loved it just as much as he did. “Let me guess, doesn’t taste the same without it?”
“Exactly!” he confirmed in a whisper. Well, maybe Lisbon wasn’t the only one who enjoyed having the upper hand.
Talking about hands, that’s what the victim was missing, they found out when setting foot on the crime scene. The pun hadn’t been intended but coincidence was a conman’s best friend. The view was as repulsive as the smell.
Jane was tolerating corpses but he would never totally get used to it. After all those years, he still found the idea of staring at a dead body preposterous. He sometimes wondered why he needed to be that close to it instead of searching for a solution less nauseous. All this thinking turned to dust each time he was gazing at Lisbon looking at corpses. Immediately, the view lost all its unpleasantness. They might have been studying a figment of death, yet all that Jane could witness was the vibrant hues of life, crouching above the fifty-year-old philanthropist that had met an unfortunate end, sharing hypotheses with Fischer on the supposed scenario for this staging.
When she asked him to share his thoughts, he would have truly done it if he only knew how to express what his heart was communicating in Morse code. Instead, he focused on the clues apparent on the body to draw conclusions, lowering the curtain on what he did not deserve to behold. Then, Lisbon and him were sent to talk to the relatives, obviously with an injunction of good behavior from Fischer. Maybe one day she would understand that the only one who could ask that of him was Lisbon.
Back in the car after checking the usual questions with the family, Lisbon reached for the coffee. She took a sip, made a dubious expression and put the bottle away. Jane let a second stretched, allowing his partner to be the one to acknowledge his statement or pretend the conversation had never happened. Finally, she sighed, “You’re right, doesn’t taste the same.”
Jane settled more comfortably on his seat, fixed for half a second his eyes on the road so that Lisbon would focus on it, before coming back where they belonged, right on her. She was troubled by thoughts again, her teeth divinely chewing at her bottom lip. If he told her about this habit, she would blush and kick him in the guts—both blessings from the universe in his point of view—but then she would become self-conscious about it and he wanted to preserve her from any kind of long-term embarrassment.
She took a breath like she was gathering words to speak. Jane was starting to get worried, noticing one of her hands grazing absentmindedly the pocket where her badge was while the other gripped the steering wheel with slightly more determination than necessary. Whatever was in her mind seemed to be in conflict with what she would consider appropriate in the work setting. She closed her mouth, blew through her nose, and made another attempt. With a quick glance at him which was failing to appear casual, she confused Jane. “What about a double date?”
A dangerous thought crossed his mind, was Lisbon asking him out?, before reason reminded him of his place with that familiar voice: no, you idiot! He should have guessed from the start that she was still on the conversation from earlier, weird it didn’t cross his mind.
Lisbon was already reformulating her idea. “We could go on a double date with… The people who invited us.”
He would have teased her for not remembering the guy’s name if he hadn’t been too occupied chasing away the flying insects that had taken up residence in his stomach. Had they been hibernating here all along, waiting for Lisbon to utter the word ‘date’?
Lisbon interpreted his silence as belittlement. “Does the concept feel that strange to you?” she accused, probably trying to regain some pride and control.
“The concept, not that much. The fact that the proposition is coming from you, yes.”
It was in fact strange. The Lisbon he knew had walls made of beliefs and she guarded them with privacy. Duty was engraved in her as one of the pillars of the ‘good girl’ ideal. Do what is proper, do what is expected of you. Be gentle, be truthful, be patient, be humble, be selfless. The others pass before you, look good for them, listen to them, help them, speak only when convenient, take the perspective of others without imposing your own and never disagree with the elders because they know better anyway. Respect centuries-old guidelines that tell you what should and shouldn’t be done. In summary, an ideal imposed by adults to young girls as the one way of living with goodness but which was impossible to reach and served more the adults than it served the girls. Harmless in theory but in the way plucking the thorns from a rose or putting a tiger in a cage would be. Society did that because it couldn't handle them as a whole so it found ways to maim them.
You are praised by your upbringing for following this ideal, only to realize how much of yourself you are shutting down. Jane knew Lisbon was aware that some of those thoughts weren’t hers but it didn’t mean she didn’t resort to them each time she didn’t feel in control. She was often acting with the ‘should’ and ‘have to’ while repressing the ‘want to’. She had kept a cold front for years in between her and the rest of the team, not out of apathy but out of professionalism. His first name had never escaped her lips—never in the way that mattered—in the twelve years he had known her, and they had been friends for at least half of that time. He knew she wasn’t consciously avoiding using it but something was stopping her from doing so. He couldn’t help but wonder what situation would be the witness of this event and what trigger would make it come.
The Lisbon he knew wouldn’t want people to know if her date had been a disaster or a success. The Lisbon he knew would prefer to die than letting him know that. And now, he was supposed to believe that this same Lisbon would bring the idea of a double date on the table?
Because it wasn’t about her, he realized far too late for his own liking, it was about him.
“I thought you would find it easier if you weren’t just with Joyce for your first date. And since I've also been asked out this weekend, it could work.”
He would have liked to dust off her suggestion because she shouldn’t have to bite her lips until they bled, worrying about the state of somebody like him. “And you, what do you gain from it?”
“It’s helping you,” she replied, as if it was answering his question. Then, she added, almost as a second thought, “You could also tell me if you observe anything inconvenient from the man.”
“Do you mean the ‘human trafficking’ kind of inconvenient or the ‘hidden wife and child’ kind?”
“I was thinking about the second but please feel free to warn me if there is any sign of the first while we’re having dinner.” An ironic tone for a harsh reality. You were sure of going out but not of coming back. Maybe it would be safer if they were with each other after all. Safe and right.
Imagining Lisbon sitting next to him wherever it was and for any situation would always feel right. There, it would be in a restaurant, with snippets of conversations and harmonious frictions of strings as a background. He could picture her dressed up for the occasion, in a black dress that subtly hinted at the sensuality it covered, her cross necklace guiding the gaze to the edge of her cleavage, with the intimate dimmed light of a lampshade or the warm flame of a candle complementing the rosy glow of her cheeks, holding a glass of wine already stained with a burgundy or peach pigment. She would be smiling, far removed from any worries, sharing anecdotes that reflected the comfortable chaos of her daily life. She could also be tilting her head to listen, which would release a peaceful cinnamon scent, and punctuating the interaction with a soft hum.
All of this for another man. The delicate wings in his stomach turned into spiky appendages.
Her dress could end up discarded on the floor of an unknown bedroom.
Her lipstick could end up wasted on an unfamiliar mouth.
Her necklace could end up touched by foreign hands.
Her heart could end up detained by an uncharted mind.
Jane would have to watch the dinner unfold, not able to do anything about what would come afterward. He couldn't and he wouldn’t try to ruin the blissful moments she would spend. Her wish was his command, even if what could be heaven for her would be hell for him.
“I suppose you will have to talk about it with Mr Overtly-Obsene-Look, maybe try to catch his name this time.”
“Is that a yes?” She didn’t know each closed question she asked could only lead him down one path, hers.
“I think we could give it a try.”
You idiot! This time, Jane didn’t deny that voice belonged to Lisbon.
He was already withering away in the depth of his love for her. He wouldn’t let it become her torment too.
⁂
Lisbon wanted to shove Jane into the nearest dumpster. She wanted to grab him by his perfect blond curls and wipe that smug smile off his face. Pinning him against a wall or pushing him onto her desk might do as well. Could also be his couch or this very passenger seat for that matter. Lisbon absolved herself of all responsibility concerning the scene they would cause, he was to blame if she lost composure.
The consultant had a way of evoking a desire, of murder obviously, that challenged the patience of any sane person. Actually, you couldn’t pretend to know patience if you had worked less than a few years with the man. You couldn’t know restraint until the sight of his three piece suit tempted you to rend him breathless with all the tools you had at your disposal. Lisbon had yet to find the efficient mighty instrument that would draw him to silence or drive him to beg her name. At least, the loss of his vest in his post-exile outfit made it a bit easier to repress those very legitimate thoughts. The addition of the stubble beard didn’t, though.
He knew that she knew that he knew—or was it she knew that he knew that she knew?—she had forgotten the man’s name. No need to show off.
Her pride took a hit, but Jane was right about this; she would have to persuade the security guard. An exercise that could prove complicated depending on the man’s personality. She had interacted with him for less than five minutes, she didn’t have the faintest idea of his opinion on double dates. He could be totally against it. Hell, she was against it herself.
Still it was Jane’s fault with his puppy eyes and distracted behavior today. He hadn’t even interfered with forensic’s work or insulted somebody who had just learned that they would never see their loved one alive again. His gaze had barely lingered on the body but something located a few inches above it had apparently catched more of his interest. Lisbon had pondered what it could be, turning her head in the same direction as him to see what he was so intensely staring at but her gaze had only met a wall. Worse, she had caught him doing the same thing in the car mere minutes ago while she was talking. What could possibly be disturbing Patrick Jane’s infamous antics? Who could possess this precious talent?
The answer was obvious. Another person was slowly starting to take space in Jane’s mind. Hands and words were the vehicles of a mentalist’s talent, but the only way to deprive one of their abilities was to aim for their mind. They were masters in the art of diverting attention, of focusing it on what they wanted the others to see. Lisbon had learned many things from observing Jane, one of them being that the audience should be the one disturbed, not the one disturbing. If Jane couldn’t do his job well anymore, if he wasn’t thinking clearly, Lisbon had the right to worry. She had the right to be prescriptive towards Joyce, there was nothing gratuitous about her reluctance in regard to this woman entering her best friend’s life. Jealousy was when you had no valid reason to object, right?
“Ask him for restaurant recommendations,” Jane replied to the thought in which she was previously immersed. Lisbon raised her eyebrows to urge him to continue. “A man of that kind wants to show his expertise and you’ll flatter his ego if you put him in a position of responsibility. Tell him you have a friend who doesn't know where to go out because he hasn’t been living here for long. The guy probably already knows where he wants to invite you so you’ll just have to say you trust his choice and want to bring me along.”
Things always seemed so obvious when Jane was laying them down for her whereas she would have failed by trying to pique the man’s curiosity or win him over through emotion. But what Jane proposed, she could see it work. It was probably a good thing she was somehow a virtuous and responsible person because she would have used Jane’s skills for every personal issue if that hadn’t been the case. She could almost think she was lucky to have him.
Very considerate of Jane to recall her to her senses by choosing to leave her alone at the entrance, stating that it was the perfect opportunity to speak to Mr Overtly-Obscene-Look while he would go upstairs to call Joyce. Every time she was leaning toward trusting him, his behavior made sure to restore her balance on this border she would not name. She didn't need him anyway.
Mr Overtly-Obscene-Look who was actually named Matthew—very common compared to the eccentric nickname given by Jane—seemed septic at first but got convinced the second Lisbon started playing the ‘I bet you know the best spots to eat around here’ card.
“I have the perfect place. Good food, not too crowded, accessible exits.” The wink on the last item didn’t help her to figure out if it was the sense of humor of someone with military background or a suggestive invitation but neither landed right. She just pursed her lips in return and let the man interpret the reaction as he saw fit. Apparently satisfied, he added, “I can reserve the table for the four of us if you’d like. Tell me, is that friend of yours someone that works here too? Just to know if it’s a familiar face.”
“Yeah, he is a consultant for the unit. We actually worked together long before being hired in Austin. His name is Patrick Jane.”
“Patrick Jane,” Matthew repeated slowly. “That’s the blond one, isn’t it? What kind of date is he bringing?”
The question puzzled her; she wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to find out. It must have been something specific, given the way his previous questions had been phrased, but if there was an implication it flew right past her. However, it was in his right to ask who he would spend the evening with.
“Hmm, I haven’t met her so I can’t really say much but I know she is a lawyer and… has a dog.”
“Oh so, a woman?” he exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
That wasn’t the first time someone incorrectly assumed Jane's sexuality so it wasn’t the first time either that Lisbon wondered what made people think he was swinging one way or another. What led to this conclusion must have depended on the person. She didn’t know if Matthew was perceiving Jane’s atypical behavior as gay thus falling for some kind of stereotype or if he was under the impression that a man could only have a platonic relationship with a woman if he wasn’t attracted to them. Neither was necessarily painting him in a good light.
God, Teresa you’re not going to cancel a date because the man thought that Jane was homosexual! She had made the decision to date, it wasn’t for her to find the first excuse so she wouldn’t have to. Maybe the man was just open-minded.
After exchanging their phone numbers so he could send the information about the reservation, she leaned against the elevator wall in front of the doors, filling her mind with the count of the seconds that separated her from the correct floor. She should dwell on her refusal to let her thoughts run free, she should not ignore the alarm bells ringing. If she were to start reflecting on the situation she was getting herself into, she might realize the absurdity of it but she would also find herself confronted with motivations whose reflection would be far too odious to bear.
Nothing mattered anymore anyway when the doors opened, revealing a smiling Jane still on the phone. He was facing the wide widow, welcoming the sun, his shadow projected onto her desk. And the idiot dared to chuckle as she approached.
Reaching the distance at which she could discern the voice of the woman, she heard her wishing Jane a good day—calling him by his first name.
Patrick?
Patrick.
The woman was calling him Patrick. As if she knew him personally, as if she had spent years witnessing his shenanigans and fixing the broken pots afterwards. As if she could tell how he drank his tea or how he liked his eggs. As if she could decode his silences and could share, just by looking at him, his feelings as if they were her own. The gentleness of the feminine voice as she uttered those two syllables had crushed twelve years of hard-won complicity and shared memories into bitter ashes in Lisbon’s mouth. No one was worthy of calling Jane so intimately, and certainly not Joyce. The venom Lisbon put on that name surprised her. She had never even met the woman and here she was, already mourning the time no one could have come between Jane and her.
But how else was Joyce supposed to call him? ‘Mr. Jane’ was far too formal. The other option was simply ‘Jane’ but imagining that voice using the same name Lisbon used to keep him in check and tease him felt somehow just as wrong as hearing it pronounce his first name. The woman shouldn’t call him at all, that would resolve everything.
When Jane turned around, she was already sitting in front of her computer, almost succeeding to not notice his gaze on her. She spent the rest of the day ignoring him. The grown woman that she was knew it was petty but the young girl inside her was being betrayed by her crush that had smiled at another girl in the playground. As she was reaching forty, she had never felt closer to her inner child and she didn’t know if reliving her childhood was a good sign, given how her own hadn’t exactly been a safe space. There wasn’t much time left before she could leave anyway. She would return tomorrow morning and act with the maturity expected of her; she just couldn’t find the energy to do it today.
She agreed with Cho and Fischer on what they would do the next day regarding the investigation, gathered her belongings and headed towards the elevator. Jane was right behind her. Habits taking over, she smiled at him when he chivalrously invited her to enter before him. That’s when she noticed it, a feeling of unease tugging at her chest.
She waited for the doors to close so it could just be the two of them. “What’s wrong?”
The consultant faked confusion expertly, but it wasn’t enough to fool her. “Everything’s good, Lisbon.” His smile not reaching his eyes confirmed he was lying.
Lisbon cursed at her stupid behavior. He wasn’t doing well and it might have been for hours but she had been too prideful to look after him. Was it because she had ignored him? She doubted Jane cared that much about the lack of attention she had given him lately, mostly because he knew it wouldn’t be permanent. Had something triggered memories about his family in the current case? She usually noticed it when something was somehow resembling in the setting or the context but she could have missed an element. This explanation seemed more likely, however, because the pensive sadness on his face was similar to the one he had when he was immersed in his past. She had witnessed it too often to not recognize it on the spot.
“Jane, I know you’re not feeling well right now.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then inclined it towards his wedding ring. It was a wall between them. “You’re right, I’m not.”
Lisbon waited for him to explain but he stayed silent afterwards, almost rushing out of the elevator when it announced the end of the descent. If he thought she would be satisfied by this short answer, he was wrong. She quickened her pace to keep up with his speed on the footbridge.
“Are you trying to punish me for giving you the cold shoulder these past hours? Because if that’s the case, I apologize.”
Jane slowed down and replied as if she had suggested something unthinkable, “Punishing you? Why would I do that? You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Then tell me what’s going on in your head. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
She swore Jane almost missed the last step before reaching the floor of the main entrance. A nervous laugh escaped him. “You have the ability to do wonders but I don’t think that even you can help me with that.”
“Even if I can’t, speaking about it with me could help you feel better.”
“Trust me, you don’t want me to go on that subject."
“If you care about it, then I care about it too,” she stated, the heels of her ankle boots echoing on the walls as she stopped, marking her sentence.
Jane pivoted towards her. “It’s not about you caring or—” He looked down at her crossed arms and her weight on one leg while the other had her toes raised, ready to tap out the rhythm of his excuses. A plea escaped him, a single word, “Lisbon…”
They stood there in the middle of the room, participating in a duel of will. It was pretend because they both knew she had won at the second her name had left his lips but she would let him lose with decency. The knell was symbolized by a sigh from him.
Jane glanced quickly to the side. “Not here.”
His fingers grazed her wrist before settling in her hand. His touch made her heart forget why it was aching in the first place, now happily complying as he led her through the exit and guided them to a secluded area next to the parking lot. The warmth of his skin got replaced by the bite of the wind.
“Dating implies a lot of things. Things I haven’t done in a long time. Adapting your habits to take in account the ones of the other person involved, making time for them, opening up to them. To make it short, participating in casual or domestic intimacy. I could manage with some of them like eating dinner while asking personal questions or holding hands while watching a movie. But there are other parts of intimacy that I’m not so sure I could satisfy. You know, since I haven’t interacted in that way with somebody for a very long time.”
By the clear structure of his explanation, the long-considered nature of the issue was obvious. He had a specific example in mind but he was only hinting at it by pressing on certain words as if he was hoping she would read his mind to have the answer. But his restraint was short-lived when he realized she didn’t know what he was referring to.
“I’m talking about physical intimacy.” And if that wasn’t clear enough for her to finally get the idea, he added bluntly, “Sex, actually.”
Lisbon understood better his previous remark on her not wanting to hear about that subject. They had shared discussions on a lot of aspects of their life over the years, some more willingly than others, but sexual intercourses was definitely one they had avoided. It would have been unprofessional and improper to do so.
But her beliefs didn’t matter here. Knowing how little Jane cared about conventionality, she was often feeling the need to place boundaries herself but right now she would let him jump over them. Discussing it was going to be hard however when her cheeks were already burning at the mere mention of the word ‘sex’. In those moments, she had the mentality of an ingenue in the body of a woman who couldn’t remember when she had actually been one.
“I think I got it, no need to use that word.”
“No, I was wrong to avoid it in the first place. I wanted to ease your prude catholic side but this subject is going to embarrass you anyway so we might as well talk with all the vocabulary at our disposal.” Lisbon rolled her eyes. There again was the certainty flirting with arrogance that she couldn’t argue with because he knew her too much. “Your blush will be the pretty thing of this conversation we can remember instead of my shameful confession.”
Lisbon had never felt so relieved to be already flushed. The colors on her face couldn’t get more obvious so she might as well go all in. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. It's normal to have apprehensions about things you haven’t done for a long time. Sleeping with somebody is a huge step for a lot of people in a relationship, and it can worry even those who… don’t consider having a lack of practice.”
Using lame paraphrases isn’t at all going all in, Teresa. She was giving Jane opportunities to tease her, at least it could be a way to relax him.
On the contrary, his tone lost lightness when he spoke again. He had chosen the road he usually ignored, bare honesty. “I’m not just worried, Lisbon. I’m terrified.”
She took his hand back with the firm intention of closing the space between them, to keep him in the safety of her arms. She would whisper that everything would be fine until his soul couldn’t believe anything else. It could take forever but she would make eternity hers if there was a chance Jane could finally see himself the way she saw him.
His fingers held on to hers as he breathed in, stroking her knuckles with a steadiness his breath didn’t possess at the moment. “You’re sweet.” It was said so softly she could have believed the wind had carried a figment of the past to her ears. He squeezed her fingers before letting them go. The organ in her ribcage was still repeating the movement when she sat in her car.
Even after a drive home and a quick meal, Lisbon couldn’t shake off the vulnerability that Jane had shown. It had decided to be the new driving force of her heartbeat, the new projection behind her eyelids and the new thought about him she couldn’t quiet down. Her mind was paving the way to solutions before even drawing the plans. He had seemed so frightened, so lost.
It was often said that nothing was scarier than the unknown, than things you couldn’t grasp or control. Knowledge was a guiding torch in human history. From there, myths had been created, science had been invented to prevent the yoke of fear from seizing the potential of societies by shedding light on ominous shadows. Because even the most terrifying monster under a bed vanished at the early notes of the birdsong.
But what happened when those fears weren’t childhood chimeras due to the lack of reason? What happened when the doubt that haunted you was not irrational but stemmed from your personal experience? That kind of fear couldn’t be tamed by studies and those monsters existed because you knew them. Somewhere, somehow, there was a possibility for these insecurities, shaped in your past, to become realities again in your future. Lisbon was aware of her own and could trace the outline of those who clung to Jane. They had been almost palpable during his confession. Oh, how much she wished them all away! If only she dared to hope that, for a fleeting moment, he and she could witness such a miracle.
There, in the quiet of her house, she could almost imagine that his words to her had concealed an unspeakable request, that in that moment he had wished even unconsciously for the same outcome. That whatever scaring path he would have to take again, he could find a companion in her.
She could be there to help him, to guide him. Her mind and her heart were weaving according to the pattern of his fears and his hopes, it would only be easy to add to the tapestry her body—her body? Lisbon went back over the thread of her thoughts, searching for the embroidery stitch representing the emergence of this decision but if there was a proof of it, it came from long before she was even aware of the piece she was creating.
It was crazy, it was stupid. You shouldn’t think that way about your partner even if you knew him for over a decade, even if he was your best friend, even if your feelings clearly blurred between platonic and something else. She must have not slept enough last night or have spent too much time in the sun this week because there was no way she would have ideas that messed up at the foreground of her head on any other day. At least, she would hide them better.
But also, she didn’t really see who else could help him. If he wanted to reassure himself about his capacities in this area before dating, he would have to do it with somebody that could understand his apprehensions and that he could trust. Somebody who would make sure everything went smoothly and who cared about how he felt doing it. And if she was crazy enough to think about it, then she was crazy enough to accept to be that somebody.
Sheep dip, was she seriously thinking about it?
Actually, it was the question she was asking herself every time she was about to do something for him that she would have never done for anyone else. And every time before, the answer had been affirmative. This time wouldn’t be the exception.
The wind had picked up, gathering clouds. It started raining as recklessness was blowing in gusts at Lisbon’s back on the way out of her car to Jane’s Airstream. She knocked and almost expected thunder when he opened and found her standing in the pouring rain. She hadn’t planned her offer, wasn’t even sure that words could convey what she was feeling better than the weather.
A storm was brewing. The start would be clear, the damages undetermined, the end as sudden.
Her question struck like the first flash of lightning.
“Would it help if we practiced together?”