Scarlet Woman
Thanks to the lovely and talented Alamo_Girl, who served as beta and general wall for bouncing things off of. She, uh, didn't edit the grammar of that last sentence.
I do not own the Mentalist and am making no profit from this work of fanfiction
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"Now I want to start off by saying that this is supposed to be a safe place, where you can share your personal feelings and not worry about being attacked or feeling threatened, okay?"
Lisbon took a slow breath in and let it out through her teeth. She really hated this kind of crap.
"So how about we just dive in, then? Why don't we start with a brief introduction - Teresa, if you'll go first?"
"Well, I'm, uh, Teresa Jane," said Lisbon, scowling - on the inside - because Jane had gotten the drop on her and used his last name to sign in. Teresa Jane sounded like a nun, with a ruler. Patrick Lisbon sounded much better.
"Welcome, Teresa," said Dr. Horvitz.
"And I'm, um, married to him. Patrick." Helpfully, she waved over in his direction. "So yeah, that's … pretty much where we are."
Dr. Horvitz waited hopefully, eyebrows raised, but Lisbon didn't have anything else to add. There was an awkward silence.
"Okay!" said the doctor finally, encouragingly. "Good!"
"You see?" said Jane. "This is exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about. No communication at all. Half the time she just orders me around like she's my boss, and the rest of the time she shuts me out entirely."
Lisbon took some calming breaths. Van Pelt was dead to her – this was supposed to have been her undercover assignment with Jane. But then she'd come down with food poisoning and now here was Lisbon, investigating a series of murders whose only link was couples' counseling with Dr. Horvitz.
"Patrick, I'm so glad you can share honestly with me and Teresa," said Dr. Horvitz in a soothing voice. "Why don't you tell me what you see as the biggest obstacles to successful communication with your wife?"
"Well, I could probably start with the affair she's having."
Lisbon groaned. That was NOT the cover story they had discussed on the flight to Pasadena.
Dr. Horvitz looked positively sorrowful. "And are you absolutely sure there's another person in your marriage?"
"Oh yes. She doesn't even try to hide it. Our financial advisor, can you believe that? I pay Mashburn to track my expenses and instead he's sleeping with my wife. Charming, wouldn't you say?"
"Now Patrick, I understand how deeply difficult it can be to deal with the betrayal of a spouse. But when you use sarcastic language, it only creates another barrier to open communication. Remember, this is supposed to be a safe, honest space. "
Ha ha, thought Lisbon, Jane got schooled.
"And Teresa, this is true?"
"Um. Yes, yes it is. I'm a bad spouse and an unfaithful wife," she recited woodenly. Oh, she'd make Jane pay for this. As if she was the one who would be cheating, if they were really dating – no doubt Jane would get bored of her long before she ever stepped out on him.
…Then she rewound her last thought, frowned, and filed that entire line of inquiry in the big mental file cabinet labeled "Inappropriate." (Lisbon's memory palace was the CBI data annex).
"There's no judgment here, Teresa," Dr. Horvitz was saying. "Now Patrick, sometimes it is difficult for the injured party to hear this, but in this office, I view an affair as a symptom, a sign of illness in a marriage. I'm not going to spend a lot of time on apportioning blame, but I do want to find and treat the root cause of the problem. So do you think you can put aside your feelings of betrayal and try to save your relationship?"
Jane reached out and laid his shockingly warm hand on Lisbon's knee. She barely resisted wrenching away (and maybe hitting him), remembering just in time that they were supposed to be a married couple and it'd look a little weird if they couldn't even touch each other."Yes," said Jane, "I want us to make it work." He patted her leg in what no doubt looked like a loving manner. She looked into his eyes and caught that flash of mirth – oh, he was LOVING this. Second only to that time he'd checked her into an alcoholic treatment center, the jerk.
"I'm so glad to hear that, Patrick," said the Doctor.
Jane's hand slipped a little higher and Lisbon visibly flinched. Now Dr. Horvitz was giving her a really strange look. Great, she was totally losing this therapy session; It was obvious that the Doctor liked Jane way better.
"Teresa, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," said Lisbon, reminding herself that this was no time to be competing over the approval of authority figures, particularly possibly murderous ones.
"Can you tell me why you felt you needed to seek out intimacy outside your marriage?
Lisbon thought about replying that Jane was still emotionally fixated on his dead ex-wife, but unlike him, she wasn't at all eager to bring their real lives into this particular undercover assignment. So she took the high road and resigned herself to her role of villain in these sessions; "It's really just a fling," she said, blushing. "Purely physical."
"For women, a physical affair is often seen as less of a threat than an emotional one," said Dr. Horvitz, "but Teresa, you should know that for men that's rarely the case."
Lisbon had read that, actually, but she always resented being told how women felt about things.
"It's alright, darling," said Jane, "we'll work through this."
"Very good, Patrick!" said Dr. Horvitz, positively beaming. "Teresa, do you see how Patrick uses both physical and verbal reassurance? That's part of good communication strategy."
Lisbon was a little concerned that she might not make it through the session without throwing up. If they couldn't pin this guy with a couple murders, she was going to be really disappointed. "Patrick has always been an … excellent communicator," she said, giving a strained smile as she subtly inched away from him on the couch. "Uh, good job, honey."
"So Patrick, can you tell me why you think your marriage lacks intimacy?"
"Well," said Patrick, foiling all her attempts to move away by sliding closer, octopus-like, "My wife is very reserved. She has a number of barriers and it's like I can't quite – get to her. Every time I try, she sets up these slippery, icy walls, and I slide right off."
Lisbon scowled at that overly-specific complaint. Yeah, he hadn't been planning that one at all.
"Teresa, are you conscious of resisting your husband's attempts at closeness?"
"No, of course not," Lisbon lied like a dog.
"Because I couldn't help but notice your body language when you came in here; Mr. Jane, your body language is possessive, while Mrs. Jane, your body language is detached."
Lisbon glanced down at herself; it was true that, with her right leg crossed over her left, her body was slightly turned away from Jane and the therapist. And Jane had draped one of his arms across the back of the couch, just close enough to skim her shoulder. Feeling like she should apologize for her subconscious, she switched her legs so that she turned in, her shoulders squared to the room.
She noticed that Jane didn't drop his hand back into his lap.
"Do you think you can offer your husband some physical or verbal reassurance?"
Oh god, kill me now, thought Lisbon. And this from a woman who routinely inspected decomposing corpses. "I'm … uh, really going to try and do better. Baby, " said Lisbon, reaching over stiffly to pat Jane on the shoulder. She hoped she wasn't actually, visibly rolling her eyes.
"Alright, well, we'll work on that for next time," said Dr. Horvitz, scribbling a note. "Ah, if I can ask, how is your level of sexual intimacy?"
"The sex? The sex is great," said Jane. "Yeah, she's a real dynamo in the sack. No complaints there."
Lisbon wished she could melt into the carpet.
"And Teresa? Do you agree that you are sexually satisfied in your relationship?"
She supposed calling his sexual prowess into question would be considered hitting below the belt. "Um, yes," she muttered. "S'great. It's all … great."
More furious scribbling. Jane looked pained. Clearly that hadn't come across realistically.
She decided to invest some quality time in studying the toes of her shoes, another pair of the dark brown flats that Jane called 'Lisbon loafers.' They needed a polish and they weren't doing much for her height. Still, on a bet from Cho she'd once run a flat five-minute mile in them; there was something to be said for practicality.
"Teresa? I asked if you could give us a little more insight into your perspective on the marriage?"
"Huh?" She realized almost too late that she was being addressed - so few people used her given name these days! "I'm, uh, not sure how to answer that ..."
"If you had to use a word, to describe the way Patrick makes you feel? The first word that comes into your head. Go."
"Stupid," said Lisbon.
There was silence in the room.
"I see," said Dr. Horvitz. "Could you tell me a little more about that?"
Shit, shit shit – what a brainless thing to say – she should have just lied. "I, uh, I didn't mean 'stupid' exactly," she said, casting an apologetic look at Jane, whose eyes were wide with surprise. It was a good look on him. "I just meant that, uh, he's got a really sparkling personality, and it's, ah, hard to keep up with him sometimes. But I'm sure he doesn't - doesn't mean anything by it." Which was total crap; Jane knew exactly how to intimidate people with his jagged wit, and he enjoyed doing it.
"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?" Jane's face had caved in from surprised and was now scrunching into wounded.
"Please, Patrick, this is Teresa's time to share," said Dr. Horvitz, his tone placating and even. "Teresa, let me ask you, do you feel like an equal in your marriage?"
"Oh yeah, of course I do," she said, very unconvincingly.
Jane's voice was just a bit too high: "I treat you like an equal, don't I?"
"You do," she said quickly, "I just said that you did." This was no place to be airing their dirty laundry.
Dr. Horvitz was scribbling at a terrific pace now, while Jane tried to catch Lisbon's eye and she kept her gaze fixed on the carpet. This was a waste of time – they needed to be finding something to link the shrink to the killings, not adding to the body count.
"Alright," said Dr. Horvitz finally. "We're almost out of time here today, but for couples that are really in crises, I sometimes schedule intensive sessions so we can dig down to the root of the problem." Lisbon thought it was amusing that even her and Jane's imaginary relationship was bad enough to warrant immediate intervention. "Do you think you can come back here first thing tomorrow morning?"
"Gosh, um, sure, I guess," Lisbon spoke up quickly; they really needed another chance to feel him out, after they compared notes.
"I'll have my secretary schedule your appointment. Amber?" He pressed the intercom button. "Meanwhile, for tonight's homework, I want you each to share something from your childhood, something that you've never told anybody before. It doesn't have to be a big secret, just any memory that you wish to share. I think this will increase your feelings of intimacy."
Lisbon nodded understandingly but immediately decided that any memories they "shared" would be purely fictitious. She had zero intention of increasing her intimacy with Patrick Jane.
"The other thing I'd like you to try is just a simple exercise: sit facing each other, as close as you can stand but no more than five inches apart. You don't need to talk, just try to maintain eye contact. I'd like you to hold this position for as long as you can, and be mindful of any feelings of discomfort. I want you to work through those feelings until you feel comfortable. Okay?"
"Sounds like I've got my work cut out for me," said Jane. Lisbon kicked his ankle.
"This exercise can be more difficult for some people than for others," Dr. Horvitz agreed delicately.
The secretary knocked softly and popped her head around the doorframe: "Dr. Horvitz?"
"Amber, can we fit the Janes in first thing tomorrow morning?"
"I can put them at 8:30, if you'd like."
"Perfect. 8:30 tomorrow," said Dr. Horvitz. He held out his hands wide in front of him, in a non-threatening gesture. "We'll really get down to it."
Then he offered them both a big, reassuring smile.
Lisbon sighed.
"Well, there's no way he did it," said Jane loudly, making Lisbon glance around to be sure they couldn't be overheard. "He doesn't have the energy to be out murdering people; it requires passion, verve, joie de vivre. This guy's affect is so low I don't know how he gets out of bed in the morning, to say nothing of shooting someone."
As he spoke he was breaking his scone into smaller and smaller pieces on the plate; she hadn't seen him eat any yet.
"Maybe you're right." Lisbon sipped her coffee and let him unwind; she knew that after playing a role he always need time to ground himself in the Jane persona again. "But then we're out of suspects."
"Two men and two women, all married or in committed relationships that were in trouble, all of whom had visited Dr. Horvitz over the last 12 months. All killed at night, their partners have alibis, and nobody else can think of any reason to hurt them. Victim Three had financial troubles but Victims One and Four were wealthy. No evidence they ever met each other, their appointments with Dr. Horvitz never overlapped, and so far there's no other commonalities between them all. So what does that leave?" As he spoke, Jane was sliding the chunks of scone around his plate like checkers on a board.
Lisbon stole a piece but didn't break his flow of thought; he didn't always deign to talk through his theories out loud – in fact, he typically preferred to "surprise her" – so she wasn't about to interrupt him now.
"No insights?" he asked, with just the faintest edge in his voice.
Lisbon scowled around a mouthful of scone. Big flashy hunches were Jane's purview – and he knew damn well that she had to track down every lead, regardless of what she thought, in order to make an air-tight court case. "The therapy sessions are the best link so far, so let's stay on the doctor," she said firmly. "Tomorrow we'll try to draw him out a little more, maybe get a chance to poke around. We need enough for a warrant."
Jane smiled, treacly-sweet; "Anything you say, dear."
Lisbon snatched his plate and calmly proceeded to finish his scone.
They walked back to the hotel together, as seagulls flocked madly over the shopping plaza and the sky bled purple at the horizon. For a moment it was like they were just another couple, stretching their legs after dinner. These moments of domesticity always put Lisbon off-balance.
"You didn't mean what you said in there, did you?"
"Huh?"
"About how I make you feel."
"Of course not," said Lisbon. "It was just an act."
He grunted, crowding her on the sidewalk although there was space for both of them.
"So do you want to go first, or should I?" he asked as held the door of the hotel open for her.
Lisbon ducked under his arm. "Sorry, what?"
"Sharing a childhood memory, of course. You're not a very good liar and you know he's going to ask if we did the exercise."
"Ha," said Lisbon. "Just make up whatever you want tomorrow, and I'll do the same." She crossed to the elevator, and Jane followed her, although his room was on the first floor. She pushed the button and they waited in silence. Finally the doors slid open and they both stepped inside.
"When I was a boy, my favorite stop on the carnival circuit was the one at Niagara falls," said Jane unexpectedly, as they ascended. "I wanted to go over in a barrel."
"Of course you did."
"I was really going to do it; I had the barrel picked out and everything, it was the one the elephant feed came in. I could have snuck out from the camp any time, no one would have ever noticed I was gone. I could have done it." Jane studied the wall panel as each floor lit up in turn. "But … I would chicken out at the last second, every time. And I'd lie in bed and always think, Next year. Next year I'll be brave enough to do it." He smiled, faintly. "You'd think I would have outgrown it by now, but someday, I swear I really am going to go over the falls in a bucket."
And Lisbon believed him. Now she was going to have to keep him away from Canada.
They reached her floor and she got off, Jane trailing behind her. He waited while she fumbled with the key-card in the lock, then pushed in before she could politely wish him goodnight.
"Okay, now you go."
"No."
"Lisbon, don't you want to build trust," asked Jane, as he blatantly picked through the items scattered over her dresser.
"These exercises aren't designed to build good working partnerships, they're meant to improve a marriage. Which we're not in," Lisbon pointed out. "Therefore I don't feel guilty skipping them. And leave my stuff alone."
"Oh come on, fair's fair."
"No. I'm not going to tell you so stop asking. But if you make something up tomorrow, I'll tell you if you were close or not." Giving Jane a chance to show off was usually a good way to distract him.
Jane had unzipped her carry-on bag and was poking through the contents. Lisbon mentally reviewed what was in there to see if he'd find anything important; a book, but he'd already seen it on the plane, and anyway it was a gift from her sister in law - it said more about Liz's tastes than her own. A change of clothes. Her badge.
He unzipped the side pocket, where she'd stashed her mother's cross necklace when she went through the metal detectors at security. Well that wouldn't tell him much; she wore it almost every day.
"Here," he said, holding it out to her. It hung between them on the end of its chain, swinging like a pendulum. Or a hypnotist's pocket watch. She reached for it quickly. "You don't look right without it on."
"Probably not good for our cover ID," said Lisbon lightly, "being as how I'm a wicked adulteress."
"Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have said that," said Jane, looking thoughtful; "it doesn't really suit you. You're a very loyal person, you know. "
"Well thanks," said Lisbon. "But it doesn't bother me."
"No?"
"For one thing, it's just an act," she said, letting the links of the cross slide over her fingers. "And for another, there's worse things than cheating on someone." After all, her father had never cheated on her mother, as far as she knew. But after her death, he'd systematically destroyed everything they'd built together.
Jane was looking at her, too alert; "Oh? Like what?"
"Like stabbing someone in an alley, or shooting them in a parked car, or strangling them in a parking lot," said Lisbon, in a classic misdirect.
"Don't forget Victim Number Three," said Jane, "shot in a bowling alley; I think that one's my favorite."
Lisbon dropped the necklace in the pocket of her jacket, where it rested heavy against her hip. When she'd first started wearing it – those awful first few months – she could remember how much it weighed around her neck, like a millstone slapping against her chest. She could remember the sight of it, too large between her barely-formed, adolescent breasts, when it had never seemed too big on her mother.
But she had grown into it.
She had, even though she still dreamed sometimes that it was choking her.
She glanced up, having for a moment taken her eyes off Jane - always dangerous - and found him studying her expression intently.
"You know you're not sleeping here, right?" she teased him. "In case you forgot, we're not really married."
"I take it this means we're not going to try sitting five inches apart?"
"Good call."
Still he lingered, toying absently with the edge of the hotel stationary on the dresser. She'd never really seen him fidget before, unless it was for an act. "Lisbon?"
"What, Jane."
"I don't mean to make you feel - " He frowned. "I wouldn't want you to …" Again, he trailed off and stood in silence, frustrated.
For once, she didn't help him out; they were both quiet. Finally he shook his head, smiled, and reached for the door.
"Goodnight, Lisbon."
"So we're really going to try and stir him up today, right?" said Jane, as they hurried to their appointment. "Because so far we've got nothing to go on."
"Um, sure," Lisbon said, struggling to keep up. Jane was taking long, exuberant strides and it annoyed her that her little legs had to move twice as fast. He knew she was short, damnit.
"Excellent."
Lisbon frowned. Jane had some kind of bee in his bonnet about this case, and emotional truths were not exactly her favorite subject to stir up. She wondered he was still stewing over what she had foolishly blurted out at their last session, but so far he hadn't mentioned it again – was there any chance he might accept that it was a meaningless blunder and move on?
"Watch and learn, Lisbon," said Jane, with a salesman's smile. "Watch and learn."
"Patrick, Mr. Jane, I really need you to take an emotional step back here," said Doctor Horvitz in his soothing baritone. "Can we try some breathing exercises, or is there a visualization that you find particularly relaxing?"
"What I would find relaxing is if my wife could be trusted alone for two minutes," Jane spat back. "I come down in the morning, she's chatting with the busboy. I call a cab and she starts up a conversation with the driver."
"Mr. Jane, please – how about a lovely view of the ocean, from a deserted beach?"
"Do you think I don't notice?" asked Jane, tugging on his curls as he paced. "Is that what this is?"
Lisbon was keeping close to the doctor's desk, using his distraction to glance over the papers scattered there. "I don't care what you think you see," she said, playing along as best she could.
"I can't turn my back on you for a minute. I can't look away. They all want to take you away from me, but they can't. I won't let them."
"Mr. Jane, please, you need to calm down," Dr. Horvitz interjected, but Jane ignored him.
"Me? It's her, she's the one driving me mad!"
Lisbon barely managed to look up in time to return the volley; she was occupied with decoding the doctor's day planner. "I'll do what I want," she said, mindlessly, "and you can't stop me."
"Oh, but I will," said Jane, and his voice was silky-cold.
"Come now, really … "
"I see you watching her," said Jane, "don't think I don't see it, how she flirts with our own marriage counselor!"
"Mr. Jane, that is ridiculous -"
"It's always there," said Jane, "Distracting me. Keeping me from my work, from my plans – the things I need to do." Lisbon shivered despite herself; although she wanted to enjoy the performance, the bitterness of Jane's words kept her from appreciating his skill. "And I can't let anything stop me."
Without warning, Jane picked up the stack of magazines on the coffee table and hurled them across the room; they smacked into the wall and fluttered, like wounded birds, to the floor.
"Mr. Jane, I really must insist that you calm down at once!"
Strangely enough Lisbon was relieved by the display. She wasn't afraid of Jane, physically - she had faced down bigger, tougher men than him. It was his words that held the power to break and batter her.
Jane turned back, smiling unpleasantly. "You don't appreciate the physical, do you, Doctor Horvitz? It's all ego with you and no id. Shame - you'll never amount to anything much, with that kind of attitude. The world needs doers, it needs people who aren't afraid to act - it doesn't need a bunch of useless claptrap."
He was trying draw him out, Lisbon could tell, but Doctor Horvitz just sputtered and didn't rise to the bait.
"Not like my dear wife, who has such a fine appreciation for the - tangible. Doesn't get too caught up in the big picture of it all, do you, Teresa?" She really hated when he used that particular biting tone with her, and she hated when he used her first name. This was cutting dangerously close to the other Jane, the one he usually kept carefully hidden from her; there was something inside of him that was as hard and as sharp as crystal, and she could never trust it, never turn her back on it.
"Mr. Jane …"
"You'll NEVER understand!" shouted Jane, whirling around to slam an open hand against the wall, his face red and hard with fury.
She didn't like that expression on his handsome face, it reminded her too much of ...
Jane's lip was curled into a sneer. "You can't understand what it's like, living with such a – whore."
For a moment Lisbon felt the full weight of her mother's necklace, beating against her breastbone as she ducked away from heavy hands, trying to block out the hissing voice; Whore, her father called her, the same man who used to call her Princess. She felt the blood drain from her face, and then kicked herself for giving anything away.
"Excuse me," she said neutrally, her voice thankfully quite steady and low. "I think I need to step out for a minute."
Jane turned around and his expression was open, surprised; she supposed he was used to her being well able to take whatever he dished out. She managed to get to her feet and cross the room without meeting his eyes, which were quickly clouding over with what might be shame. Or maybe he was just disappointed, she didn't know; it was his nature, after all, to dig and push until he found a way to break through. Someday, thought Lisbon, he'd burn her memory palace to the ground.
She closed the door behind her and reminded herself that this was the excuse she needed, to look around the rest of the office and leave Jane to get whatever he could from Horvitz.
"I heard him yelling," said the desk assistant – Amber? "Is everything alright?"
"Oh, yes, we just got a little - heated," said Lisbon, and it was easy to smile weakly, looking wretched. She knew her eyes were pink, her cheeks flushed and the rest of her face dead white.
"Oh dear," said Amber. "Well, I'm sure Dr. Horvitz will be able to calm him down. Would you like a cup of tea?"
It was Lisbon's instinct to refuse any beverages offered in therapists' offices, given her track record, but then she wouldn't get the chance to dig into things a little deeper with Amber, so she decided to take her chances.
Dr. Horvitz' voice came through the intercom on Amber's desk; "A little trouble in here, Amber, could you please stay with Mrs. Jane while we work it out?"
"Of course," Amber said, holding down the intercom button. "Come along, Ma'am."
Lisbon followed her down a hallway to what was obviously a break room, where there was a kitchen and – thankfully – a full pot of coffee. In the distance, they could hear still hear Jane, irate, shouting.
"You know," said Amber, very quietly, as they stood together cradling warm porcelain mugs. "There are people that can help you."
"Dr. Horvitz says he can help us," said Lisbon.
Amber shook her head. "Men like that," she said. "They don't change. I know – I know what they are." Her fingers clutching the mug were faintly trembling. "I can give you the name, of somebody I know. And he can make all your problems just – " she smiled, her eyes vacant – "Disappear."
Lisbon looked down to hide her expression.
"It was the secretary, wasn't it," said Jane gloomily, when Lisbon finally came back in the room. She nodded wordlessly.
"What's going on?" Doctor Horvitz demanded.
"I'm sorry, Sir," said Lisbon, "I really can't answer any questions right now. You'll have to wait for the police to speak with you."
"The police? Is that who's out there? But – what - "
"Please, Sir, you'll have all your questions answered eventually," Lisbon promised wearily. She nodded at Jane; "Come on, we've got a flight to catch. Let the local LEOs wrap this up."
Jane nodded and moved about the room, retrieving his coat. Deliberately he knelt on the carpet to collect and organize the scattered magazines.
"Mrs. Jane," said Doctor Horvitz, pulling her out into the hallway. He was talking quickly, his voice urgent. "Obviously I don't understand what's going on right now, but – I'm afraid I really need to talk to you."
"Yes?"
"I've – I've always believed that a marriage is worth fighting for, that any partnership can be saved if the couple is willing to work."
Surreptitiously Lisbon checked her watch; they could still make the last flight out, if they hurried. Save the CBI travel budget another night's lodging. "Doctor Horvitz, I'm afraid –"
"Mrs. Jane, your husband … I am sorry to say it, but I think he may be very dangerous."
Okay, enough of the charade, thought Lisbon, tell him the truth – but instead she found herself silent, listening wordlessly.
"He's a reckless man, and a careless one. He may be capable of anything."
"You're wrong," said Lisbon, involuntarily; what on earth had Jane been saying in there?
"I didn't see it at first," Dr. Horvitz was saying. "And I'm sorry. But there are times when someone's health and safety depend on escaping a negative influence. Not to put too fine a point on it, but - if this pattern continues … your husband may very well get you killed."
"Lisbon?" called Jane, from the other room.
"I believe you," said Lisbon to the doctor, gently. Impulsively, she squeezed his hand. "And thank you. But please, don't worry about me."
Then she ducked back through the doorway and called impatiently for Jane.
"So," said Jane, when they were seated with their seatbacks in the full and upright position. "I'm guessing you don't want to share a childhood memory now, huh."
They watched a lonely flight attendant make her way up the aisle, making sure everyone's cell phones were off.
"Not really," said Lisbon.
"I'm not even going to mention your body language."
She smiled, faintly. "You know, Patrick, sarcasm only creates another barrier to open communication."
"I'll keep that in mind."
They were silent through the takeoff, listened politely as the pilot recited the weather and the local time. Stared out their respective windows.
It was quiet.
"When I was a kid," said Lisbon finally, "my father let me come to the firehouse with him on days school let out early. He never took my brothers but sometimes he would take me. And I would sit with a box of crayons and a coloring book and watch my father wash the trucks, you know, with their big gleaming chrome fronts. So he would polish and I would color pictures of houses, but I'd make them all on fire, and then I would draw my father in his fire truck coming to rescue them. And I drew myself in the back of that truck, because I wanted to rescue people too. And I couldn't wait to show my pictures to the teacher and all my classmates, because I was so proud that my father was a hero."
She was suddenly conscious of tears gathering in her eyes; she blinked them away, and for a moment she couldn't see anything, could only feel the thrum of the plane engine deep in her bones, the faint rush of air outside.
Jane dropped his hand onto her leg and squeezed, just gently. "I'm sorry, Lisbon," he said.
"I know," said Lisbon, leaning back against the headrest and closing her eyes against the glare from the windows. She could feel the heat of Jane settling next to her and the weight of his hand. This close, she could hear him breathe.
They sat that way for the rest of the flight home.
Only later did it occurred to Lisbon that they must have been less than five inches apart the whole time, and somehow it hadn't been uncomfortable at all.
FIN