She remembered when he had first shown up at the CBI headquarters. Virgil's fear of lawsuit that made him allow Jane to come along. How he solved that case; it was really creepy, actually. He was a bit annoying, but that was because he wasn't one of them, and he was being forced on her to cart around. That and those damn Red John files.
Her impression? A poor, sad, sad, very sad man. Barely holding himself together for all the grief—as he followed her around it reminded her of a little lost puppy. Maybe that is why in the end she asked him to solve that murder. He seemed to need some type of recreation, and he was good at guessing—she didn't believe in psychics so really, it was just mental power—and goddam she needed to close some cases. Virgil approved.
And clearly it was a good idea. He had helped them close tons of cases, raised their close rate out the roof. He brought excitement, true excitement to her life. You would think, as a cop, that every day was exciting, but really, it was tiring. Day upon day of lies and tears and death and not being able to trust hardly anyone.
But Jane…Jane lit up her day, she wouldn't lie. Just seeing his curly blond head lifted her heart up and she looked forward to seeing that bright smile, the smile that was surrounded by his sexy laugh lines that crinkled his eyes, that smile that said he knew something she didn't.
But did he know? Even Lisbon wouldn't admit it to herself, not consciously.
She denied the fact that she loved him, or him her.
Before he shot her, in that ruse of his to catch Red John, that horrible FBI cockup that ended with Wainwright killed, before he shot her he said "I love you".
Was that just for show, in case someone was listening? Or did he mean it? Was it friendly love, like how you would tell your best friend you love them, but not romantically, or was it actual love?
When she had these feelings, these feelings she wouldn't admit to herself, she felt horribly guilty. Guilty pining for a man who was so devoted to his wife, a decade after her death. How could she hope to catch his attention, how could she hope to feel anything but terrible to imagine him giving her those affections, splitting them between her and her? And his daughter, don't forget that.
Teresa Lisbon sat up in bed. She had been awake for so long now. And all that was still running through her head. It had been running through her head for the past week or so now. She couldn't shake the thoughts anymore. She couldn't shake them any less than she could stop herself from dreaming of him, dreaming of her visiting him in his rundown apartment, holding his hand, pulling him up from that splintery desk and kissing him, kissing away his pain until he kissed her back and made love to her in that apartment. she could hardly visit him now, without something like that flashing in her mind. It gave her shivers and goosebumps and was increasingly hard to control.
She pushed back the covers and got up. There was a missed call and a text message on her phone. Jane.
Teresa, you might want to get down to the station, I have solved the case. Let's have breakfast.
She wasn't surprised he had cracked it already. For all his ego he deserved it. She knew he acted like he was king but she knew even more he didn't actually feel it. His ego was for show, it helped his personal image. People were more likely to let him have his way, people follow a man who has so much confidence in himself.
Lisbon brushed her teeth and her hopped in the shower, briefly. She wanted to get down to the station quickly and distract herself.
It wasn't his ego though, that attracted her. It was him himself, it was the soft underbelly of Mr. Patrick Jane, retired psychic and CBI Consultant. His drive and determination, his forcefulness and his softness, the fact that for all the shields he put up, she knew he was human. Maybe he didn't let her in like normal people did. But he let her inside his mind much more than anyone else. She knew him better than anyone on the planet, by her own estimations. Everyone who could claim to know him better was either dead or didn't know how much he had changed.
She hopped in her SUV and speeded to the station. His tiny blue Citroën was parked right there, a smile crept on her face. She parked the car, turned off the ignition and walked briskly into the building, her black heeled boots clicking on the pavement with her every step. A guard nodded at Lisbon as she stepped into the gold painted elevator, closing the diamond shaped gates and riding up to her floor.
"Hey boss," Van Pelt said as she entered the office.
"Morning Grace. Where's Cho and Rigsby?"
"They went to get some coffee. Or well, Cho did, and Wayne followed him so he could show him more baby pictures of Ben."
Lisbon smiled. Rigsby deserved a little happiness, and that took the form of his rapidly growing son, who was admittedly adorable.
She heard footsteps and her heart beat faster, not with nerves or anxiety, but relief and joy. Before he even said anything she could smell the warm, musky scent that always preceded him.
"Ah, good morning, Teresa," said Patrick Jane, CBI consultant. She loved the way he said her name, a little bit different than everyone else, it glided off his tongue in a lazy, sexy way, that was infinitely more intimate than most things a man had ever said to her before.
She faced him and smiled, making it look sarcastic to hide her delight.
He held a blue porcelain saucer in his left hand, and raised up the matching teacup in his right.
"Care for some tea?"