This is gonna be a seven-chapter thing, featuring the CBI watching various movies. This first chapter wasn't my favorite idea, but I wanted to get it out of the way. I was the last person I knew to see the dark knight, and I finally saw it with some guy in i-max who had already seen it, but went with me anyway. So I essentially ripped off my own life for an idea. Please r&r. The second chapter is already written but not typed, so it should be up tomorrow.
She doesn't get out much.
Lisbon doesn't, and she's generally fine with it. She doesn't like parties, not really, and she's horrible at dating. She drinks occasionally, but not enough for it to be a pastime. She never goes to clubs unless she needs a serious ego boost.
The same thing goes for movies. She despises the idea of going to the movies as a general dating practice—just what is the point of going on a date with someone if all the "getting to know you" time is spent being silent with your eyes glued to a big screen? But she hates going to the movies alone just as much, sitting in a theater without some comforting presence beside her.
And so, now, she's screwed. It's August, and she's the last person in the world who hasn't seen The Dark Knight. That new Batman movie, the one with Heath Ledger playing the joker. Absolutely everyone else she knows has already seen it.
Cho and Rigsby went on the opening weekend—one of their man dates, as it were. They had invited her to come along but she was tired, and anyway, hanging out with Cho and Rigsby was rather like third-wheeling a couple.
Jane went to see it by himself. He had no qualms about going to the movie theater alone, frequently used the opportunity to people-watch. No one ever thought that he was sad, or desperate, or anything. She figured that if you were attractive enough, people gave you the benefit of the doubt when it came to having quirks. Something like that.
And Lisbon, god only knows what she was waiting for. She didn't have many friends, she worked too much for that, and all of them had already gone. And so she was stuck.
If she had stopped to think about it, which she hasn't, she would probably say that Jane hasn't noticed it. She would be sadly mistaken, she realizes one Friday morning, when she comes in maybe twenty minutes later than usual, and finds him in her office, sitting at her desk.
She already knows he has the keys to her office. He made a copy of them one day when she left them in the squad room kitchen, before giving them back. And he made sure he knew about it. Apparently it wasn't fun doing something irritating if he didn't get to torment her with it.
So she walks in, and Jane is sipping tea at her desk like it's his, and she unloads her crap like she doesn't see him. Puts fresh cheese sticks and Diet Cokes' in her mini-fridge, empties a manila folder next to his tea cup.
"Lisbon, dear, you might want to be a bit nicer to me. I've got a surprise for you."
"I'll have a surprise for you if you call me 'dear' again, and it won't be a nice one." She keeps shuffling around in her office, trying not to betray any interest, even as it grows inside her against her will. Jane's little surprises are always much more thoughtful, much more spot-on than most people's. It makes sense. The nature of his gift is one that allows him access into the smallest, faintest nuances of human desire. Or the more obvious, the less deeply-rooted. Whichever one he decides to use.
He removes two tickets from his shirt pocket. But they aren't movie tickets, not to a theater. They're bigger, trimmed in red. Tickets to a showing at the I-max theater in a museum nearby.
"What is this, Jane?"
"These," he says, holding up the tickets so she can see them better, "Are two tickets to see the Dark Knight in I-max tonight at eight-thirty. You and I have plans tonight, young lady."
"How do you know I don't already have plans?"
"Lisbon, please. Give me a little credit."
"I'm not going to the movies with you, Jane." She doesn't even have to think about it. Movies are too… date-ey. Even though she hates going to the movies with dates, even though she's fairly certain Jane won't try to feel her up in the dark… still.
"You're right. You're not." He shoots her a cheeky grin. "You're going to the Technology Institute with me to see a movie. Just imagine. The theater's a big half-circle, special effects in real-time, real-size. Right in the action."
"No, Jane. It's not appropriate." There is that. Maybe going out after dark to see a movie with someone who works for her isn't the most advisable thing she's ever heard of.
"Why not? It's not like it's a date." He raises his eyebrows at her, grinning. She hates that look on him. "Trust me, Lisbon, if I had the intent of seducing you, I'd come up with a much better plan than this."
For anything, she wants to ask him just what the "better plan" would be, but she knows better. You just can't give Jane openings like that.
"I'm sure you would, Jane," she replies airily. "But that doesn't change that fact that it's inappropriate."
She realizes too late that the "appropriateness" track, which would work on most people, will bounce off of Jane with ease. He's just not the kind of person to give a crap about that kind of thing. At all.
"So, consider it a birthday gift. It would be appropriate for me to get you something for your birthday, right?"
"My birthday was three months ago. And you already bought me something."
"Christmas, then."
"It's August, Jane."
"Then two co-workers trying to build up their relationship for the well-being of the team as a whole."
She laughs, she can't hold it in. He has persistence, she has to give him that. He's chasing after her now like she's a potential lover, and she can't help but wonder how much more persistent he would be if she were that. He strikes her as the kind of man who relishes the pursuit. Of anything.
"Why are you doing this?"
He shrugs. Of course he's not going to say. Jane expects people to give him absolutely everything about themselves, while giving away nothing in return. And the scary thing is, he very often succeeds.
"I'll be at your apartment to pick you up at eight o'clock, Teresa."
She can't even being to tell him all the things wrong with that sentence. One, she doesn't want him anywhere near her apartment, two, he's definitely not supposed to be calling her by her first name, and three, most importantly, she hasn't even said yes yet! What the hell is going on here?
But before she can say anything, he's up and out of her chair, leaving her office without a backwards glance.
***
Jane is ten minutes early. He's there at seven-fifty, and she's running around trying to find her favorite pair of jeans. The light blue ones that make it look like she actually has hips, even though she doesn't, at all.
She doesn't find them, mostly because it's too distracting having Jane in the next room while she runs around without pants on. She finally just grabs the first pair she sees—they're black, and make her hips look even more non-existent than they actually are. She has time to mentally slap herself as she's re-arranging her dark hair in the mirror, for trying to look good for an event (is it an even? Just what exactly is this called?) that she doesn't even want to go to.
Once they get there, Jane actually springs for the five-dollar popcorn the concession stand sells, and buys her a hot dog without her asking for it. He guides her up the stairs in the dark theater with his hand in the small of her back, to a pair of seats directly in the center.
The popcorn is great. They put too much butter in it, which is exactly the way she likes it. She grabs it in handfuls, feeling rather like Rigsby eating junk food. Or Rigsby eating anything.
The movie is good, though made even better by the three-dimensional screen. She laughs appreciatively at the Batman voice that Christian Bale puts on, cringes whenever the joker is on the screen. She and Jane nudge each other when an exciting scene comes on, bright-eyed, laughing like old friends.
About an hour of the way through, Jane leans over—closer than is necessary, really—and whispers in her ear, "You're hogging the popcorn." The sudden sound of his voice, husky, because he has trouble whispering, and the sudden closeness of proximity in the dark room makes her jump.
"Shut up," she mumbles back. But now she's struck by the intimacy of it all—the knowledge that he's less than a foot away from her, in the near pitch black. If she drifts her knee a bit to the right, she'll catch his knee. She's never really realized just how close that is.
Occasionally, she'll turn around and catch him watching her, a soft smile cut across his lips, grinning at her reaction to something funny, or scary, or sad. The first few times she stared him down right back, but after that she just let him watch her.
And then when Harvey Dent turns his face to the screen, and shows half of it mangled, skinned—vessels out in the open and bones visible, she flinches involuntarily. She's always been a wimp when it comes to the creepy parts of movies, but she hates when a guy takes advantage of the moment to pull her close—it always feels like an invasion, an intrusion. Jane reaches over to squeeze her hand, one strong, steady squeeze, and releases her. Almost like he understands.
She leans back in her seat, putting her feet up on the back of the empty chair in front of her, and grabs another big handful of popcorn. Jane snickers and mutters to her, "I've really got no idea how you're so tiny, woman."
She likes it all. It's not a date, but if all her movie dates could be like this, she'd gladly take it and run.
She is here, floating in the dark, feeling disembodied in some alternate universe, like being in a fantasy world, but not by herself. It's her and Jane. Together.
Having the same dream.