A/N: This is sort of a sequel to "Dreaming of White", but even if you haven't read that, this should still make sense. All you need to know is that Pike is gone and Jane and Lisbon are a couple, but haven't told anyone yet. If you have read "Dreaming of White": Thank you so much and sorry for the delay, still a bit in shock over all those spoilers and life has been hectic. This is the story that ties into chapter 9, where he said he needed to show her something about the airstream. Something that requires lying down ;-). It's a little fluffy, a little m-ish further down the line (sorry, that crept in again without warning) and also hopefully a little funny and serious. And I've been carrying this around in my head for far too long, so I'll try to get it out as fast as I can now and I really hope you like it.


The morning outside the window was dark. So was Teresa Lisbon's mood. For various reasons. The first one was entitled "HSBJ-04-14 — Amended and revised guidelines briefing 101" and would take up the better part of her Saturday. The second one was called "Ben Britten — not the composer, but an artist familiar with keys and notes nevertheless, if you get my drift" and was in charge of presenting pages 1 to 56 to a room full of grumpy FBI-employees squeezed into shiny new student chair desks. The third reason went by the name of Patrick Jane and was currently having a cosy nap five smelly and uncomfortable plastic-seats to her right. At least that was what he had done, when she had last looked at him twenty minutes ago.

Since then she had needed all her concentration and patience not to doze off herself. And to suppress the urge to wriggle out of the plastic-chrome-fake-wood-torture-device that was the "Streamline BR5699 TM" and hurl it against the window.

The first time she had thrown office furniture, it had felt quite liberating — even though she'd never admitted that. But since this was the FBI, the chair would probably just bounce off the bullet-proof window, knock Britten's hand sideways, making the beam of his laser-pointer hit Abbott's glasses, where the lenses would act as a mirror and intensify and reflect the beam, so that at the end of its new trajectory, it would hit Fischer's disposable coffee-cup, slicing it open, making her jump up, thus knocking over the chair next to her and annoyingly handsome sleepy Jane with it.

Oooohhhh…

This suddenly sounded like a *very* good plan.

It also sounded like she was not really awake yet and had spent way too much time with Jane recently, if her imagination made her come up with something *this* ridiculous. God, she needed to get a grip.

Lisbon stifled a yawn and nudged her pen on the desk a little towards the top, so it was was perfectly aligned with the edge. It sat there for a satisfyingly orderly second and then started rolling happily back towards her.

She frowned at it.

Lack of sleep — courtesy of annoyance-reason number three — and the less than gripping subject matter provided by annoyance-reason number one were making her drowsy and impatient. Reason number two and the torture device she was sitting in, gave her a headache. It was a lethal combination.

Thankfully the pen was immune to death by glare and chose neither to melt or crumble to dust or spontaneously combust. It did, however, choose not to move any more. Just in case.

Lisbon tried to focus on the waves of sound, endlessly rolling across a sea of heads and papers and coffee-cups and chairs towards her. Contained within the sounds were actual words, Lisbon was well aware of that, but with every new wave crashing against her already aching skull, it became more difficult to make them out.

"… implementing these regulations to optimise…. inter-agency efficiency… studies showing a 45 % increase…"

It was not really helpful, that the tall, thin man behind the words apparently had a serious respiratory problem. Every sentence came out as one long wheezing noise, frequency and volume constantly changing, making him sound like the siren of a police car suffering from laryngitis. Lisbon watched him, fascinated by the way his head inched forward every time he wheezed out a word and inched back almost with pride once the word had been successfully released into the room.

He looked like a pigeon.

When, at one point, he cocked his head sharply to the side and blinked rapidly, she had to look away,
before the image burnt itself into her mind.

Speaking of things burning into things.

She didn't have to look to know that Jane had woken up and was now fixing his gaze on to her hand, following it up to her neck, watching her fingers trying to massage a particularly nasty spot of pain away. She also didn't have to look at him to know he was frowning at her. Ever since Barnes Mountain, the wolf-trap, the snow-storm and all the things that had happened in the cabin, he had a tendency to be a little overprotective. Which usually annoyed her, but right now she was glad for it. Because as long as he was concentrating on her headache — or rather on finding creative and enjoyable ways for them to make it go away later — he wasn't trying to sabotage this briefing.

At least not yet.

It was the kind of briefing that was dry and long and never had any bearing on actual field work, but attendance during the first part was mandatory for everyone working in the field — simply for insurance reasons. So Abbott had made it clear to Jane that if someone didn't attend, that might lead to someone being out of the team soon. Jane on the other hand had made it clear to Abbott, that if someone was forced to attend against their will, that might lead to someone being out of their mind soon.

Abbott had assumed Jane had been referring to himself.
Lisbon had not.

The man in front of them gave a loud series of wheezes, indicating he'd just made a joke. Feet scratched linoleum under tables, chairs creaked, throats were being cleared as everyone scrambled into all sorts of embarrassed evasive actions so they didn't have to pretend to laugh. Only one person sat completely still. Lisbon shot an alarmed sideways glance at Jane and found his attention had shifted away from her. He was now grinning broadly at Britten.

Like the proverbial cat.

Shit.

Birdy Britten wheezed happily on, unaware of the predator lurking in his vicinity.

"Can we now turn to page 24…"

Lisbon locked her eyes on Jane, forcing him to turn his head towards her. He raised his eyebrows at her innocently and shrugged. She held his gaze, didn't blink, didn't move, until he rolled his eyes, set his elbows on the table and laid his head in his hands in defeat. Lisbon tried not to smile at the quite adorable boyishness of the scene, unable to stay angry him, when he looked like *that*. Jane's lips twitched into a small smile, the moment hers did.

And he knew it. Bastard.

When Jane had actually shown up this morning, Abbott had made a happy and proud remark to Lisbon that he was glad his calm but firm words were "finally getting through to the man." What had *actually* gotten through Patrick Jane's stubborn skull, was her less calm but equally firm threat regarding the probable cancellation of dinner and related activities, if he didn't get his ass in here on time.

Of course she hadn't told Abbott.
Although now, she was tempted to.

Because that man was reason number four for her dark mood and currently in the process of driving her insane. For the better part of an hour he had scratched and tapped his pen on a white sheet of paper in front of him. Not doodling, not taking notes, just tapping. And scratching. Always the same rhythm. Never ending.

Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap.

Combined with the wheezing siren noises of the bird-man, the dark skies outside, the still very possible possibility that boredom could get the better of Jane and make him do something stupid, plus a general lack of caffeine in her system, she found she was now unexpectedly the one slowly going out of her mind.

Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap.

Someone started to slide around his seat, adding awkward squeaky noises to the mix. Someone else started to cough. Her tormented brain decided at this point to supply her with the happily insane image of Britten suddenly starting to rap to the annoying office-boom-box-sounds around her.

Lisbon closed her eyes, wrestling with the annoyance and the impatience and the pain, telling herself that once this day was over, there was the prospect of dinner and laughter and — eventually — even sleep. The real prospect of actually falling asleep. She tried to picture that moment, when the world slowly retreated, when the sounds of cars passing by, the humming of the fridge in the kitchen, the ticking of the bedside clock, all slowly drifted away into silence, until the only sound left, was the sound of a slow but steady heartbeat beneath her ear. That moment, when in the darkness, motions and movements became insubstantial, already dreamlike, a far away feeling of a soft tingling along her spine, her shoulders, her collarbone, until even the ghost of a touch was gone and the last sensation left, before sleep finally claimed her, was the feeling of Jane's warm breath on her neck.

The image burst, as a ripping, tearing, crunching sound to her right crashed against her skull, followed by an obnoxious smell lazily wafting over to her. Chips. Vinegar and garlic. Of course. Lisbon's head responded accordingly to the unexpected stimulation to her sense of smell: It increased the pain. And invited her stomach to join the fun.

Oh, for heaven's sake, damn it!

She opened her eyes again, when she felt Jane's attention on her and looked at him. He frowned.

Whoa.

She raised an eyebrow.

What?

He tilted his head.

Language, Lisbon, language.

She lifted her hands off the desk for a moment in a helpless gesture.

This is driving me mad.

He grinned and gave an almost imperceptible nod towards the door.

Want me to get us out of here?

She straightened up in alarm.

No! No!

He tilted his head a little.

Sure? I could. Would only take a minute…

Green eyes burning into blue.

Don't you dare.

The corners of his mouth twitched.

It would be fun.

She leaned a little to her right, alert, silent, slow, like a cat ready to pounce.

Jane…

He leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Alright, alright, I won't. Unless you say the word.

He shrugged, lifted a finger to point at the row in front of them.

Abbott wouldn't mind. He clearly feels the same way.

Her frown deepened.

What?

He drummed his fingers on the desk.

He's doing morse code with his pen. It's a cry for help, Lisbon.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him, then frowned again.

It's not. It's just annoying. And driving me insane. Wait? Morse code?

A simple nod.

Yeah.

A shake of the head.

That's stupid. You're making this up.

When the person to her left cleared his throat, Lisbon looked away from Jane and shifted her attention towards him. Cho slid his notepad over to her. It read:

-... - .-. .. -. -. = boring

And underneath it. "Couldn't agree more."

She turned back to Jane, who gave her a pleading look, shrugged, tapped the desk with two fingers and finally lifted them to point in Cho's direction.

See, morse code. And Cho thinks we should act as well.

She rolled her eyes.

Leave Cho out of this conversation.

Technically, we are not having a conversation, although…

Oh, shut up!

I haven't said a single word…

Oh, you know what I mean.

I do. This is fun, by the way. So, do you want me to…

You…

"Any questions? Anyone? Agent Abbott? Agent Lisbon?"

Lisbon blinked herself away from her silent conversation with Jane.

"Uh… no, Sir."

Agent Britten cocked his head sharply, clearly noticing her confused expression.

"Are you sure?"

Lisbon gave him a sunny smile and an eager nod. Someone behind her chuckled, but lucky for that person, she couldn't make out who it was.

"Yes, sir. No questions. You explained it very well."

He clapped his hands and strode to his laptop to load the next page of his keynote-presentation.

"Excellent! Then on to the next topic, which concerns the consumption of food and beverages during working hours. The revised list of forbidden substances includes Romulan Ale — just kidding — it's.… "

Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap.

Crunch. Squeak.

A hand holding a silvery plastic bag slid into view, accompanied by the unmistakable odour of vinegar and garlic. The hand jiggled the bag in front of her face, the smell and crunchy noise now accompanied by an equally crunchy voice.

"Want one, Lisbon? They're amazing."

"No thanks, Miller."

The bag jiggled again.

"Sure?

The bag was now right under her nose. She pushed the hand and the bag away.

"Yeah. Thanks."

The bag retreated, but naturally the smell stayed where it was. Lisbon was tempted to raise her hand and ask Britten if by any chance vinegar and garlic chips were on that list. She felt sick.

Lisbon took a deep breath to calm herself down, before she remembered what the air around her smelled like. She let the breath out through her mouth as fast and silently as possible without screaming or coughing, both of which she was tempted to do. God, her head hurt.

Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap.

Two more hours of this? How was she going to survive two more hours of this? She took another breath, this time slow and flat and through her mouth, then equally slowly turned her head to the right and looked up, a little hesitant, but unable to stop herself.

Jane?

Yes, love?

Uh….

Ok.

Wait! Wait! That wasn't *the word*… Jane!

But he had already turned away and before she could stop him, he was out of his seat with one swift motion and an excited expression on his face, that reminded Lisbon of a golden retriever who finally got his human to throw that bloody rubber ball. But to rope in an excited dog you usually only needed a firm voice or food. She knew neither would work with an excited Jane. At least not in this instance. Lisbon's mood turned from dark to black. Maybe she should have gotten a dog instead of a boyfriend…