A/N: I had a bit of a writing spree after weeks torturous school (yay for writing) but I forgot to post it! I'm quite proud and I share my happiness with my lovely readers and fellow fanfic authors in the fandom. Div, thanks for reminding me I had this fic. I love our cracked out convos. This one is for you! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Add Dr. Phil to the ever growing list of things I don't own, along with The Mentalist. I feel the need to mention that I don't own Dr. Phil's famous mustache either.
Trust and Staches
She takes in a deep breath, then another. The cool water she splashes on her face does little to calm her nerves. She can't pinpoint the exact reason that brought on this intense wave of emotion. What she does know is that she is incredibly grateful for managing to escape the bullpen before she completely lost it. Reaching out, she grabs a hold of the metal sink to steady her trembling hands. But her knees give out and she slips onto the tile floor. Violent sobs take a hold of her and though she desperately tries to collect herself though her efforts are in vain. Hot tears spill down her cheeks. Seconds, minutes, hours pass, she isn't sure. Eventually the door squeaks open followed by the sound of familiar footfalls. Fresh tears blur his face but she knows it's him. Somehow she ends up in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She rests her cheek against his chest, wanting nothing more than to drown in the light scent of his aftershave. He says nothing. He simply holds her.
"Hey."
"Hey."
She nervously looks down at her hands as she shuffles towards him. He pats the empty spot beside him on the couch, but she declines his offer.
"I just wanted to, uh, say thanks," she says with a light shrug. "You know, for earlier."
Her attention drifts to the tile beneath her feet. She feels incredibly uncomfortable under his watchful eyes.
"You don't have to thank me," he replied, after an extended pause.
"Yes, I do," she insists, managing to make eye contact. "It won't happen again."
Awkwardly shoving her hands into her pockets, she turns to head back to her office.
"Hey, Lisbon?"
She stops in mid-stride, spinning around to face him. At the same time, Jane rises to his feet before reaching out to take both of her hands firmly into his grasp. She stares at him, wide-eyed in confusion but does nothing to pull away.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she replies with a tense smile.
"If that was you being convincing..."
She immediately shoves his hands away.
"You know what? I take my thank you back."
"Hey, no take backs."
"What are you, six?"
"I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question."
She has to physically stop her eyes from rolling.
"You're insufferable."
"And I'll assume that was a compliment."
She stalks away in a huff. He tails her a second later.
"Don't," she warns.
"Don't what?" he replies innocently.
"You know what."
"Actually, I don't."
She glares at him and he takes a careful step back, holding his hands up placatively. Wandering into her office, she collapses into her chair. She can already feel a migraine forming just behind her temples.
"It's okay to let go sometimes, Lisbon. Keeping all of your feelings bottled up can't possibly be healthy."
"Sage advice, Dr. Phil," she mutters sarcastically. "I'll have to remember that for next time."
He directs his infectious smile her way.
"What are you so afraid of?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about?"
"It's okay to cry..."
"Enough, please."
"Why?"
"Because, Jane."
"Because why?"
"You're not six, you're two. And you have no right to talk to me about feelings."
She sighs, knowing her temper got the best of her.
"I didn't..."
"It's okay," he interrupts. "You're right."
He stares at her. She attempts to say something, anything to fill the silence.
"It's my job," she says finally. "It's my job to keep my cool."
"No, your job is to catch the bad guys."
"If that were true..."
She trails off, biting her lip to keep her composure.
"I wish you'd trust me, Lisbon."
"I do trust you."
"That's not what I mean."
She glances over at him, confusion evident in her eyes.
"You're my gun," he explains solemnly. "You get me out of situations."
"Situations," she snorts. "Now that's putting it mildly."
He smirks, before continuing.
"I just want you to trust me to protect you from time to time."
"You, protect me?" she asks dubiously.
"Yes."
"And what exactly are you going to protect me with?"
"With my brilliant mind of course."
"Ah, of course."
"You keep me alive. I keep you from feeling like you're alone."
He gazes at her earnestly, a gaze that completely disarms her in way nobody but Jane could.
"Okay," she replies slowly.
"Okay," he echoes.
She assumes that he wants her to explain her earlier meltdown. He surprises her yet again when he doesn't.
"You know, this almost makes up for the fact that you compared me to the likes of Dr. Phil. I am clearly much more skilled and twice as handsome."
He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
"I don't know. There's something about that moustache."
Grabbing a pen off her desk, he balances it with a finger above his upper lip.
"Not bad," she admits.
"Dr. Phil might be onto something."
She chuckles, snatching the pen to put on her own face.
"What do you think?"
"Cute as a button. Not as cute as me, mind you..."
He leans over her desk in an attempt to steal the writing utensil back. She darts out of the way, launching them into a game of keep away. They become so engaged with each other that neither of them notices Hightower strolling past on her way home. The supervising agent stops to watch her best agent and consultant for a moment. She can easily walk in and remind them to act like the mature adults they are. She can, but she doesn't. Instead, she quietly backs away and heads out the door, unable to keep a wide smile from spilling across her lips.
Fin for now, Jello forever