So this is a rather unusual fic for me. The best way to describe it is a kind of stream of consciousness in Lisbon's POV as she thinks about her relationship with Jane.
The title of this story comes from a beautiful song by Queen.
I hope you enjoy!
Rated T for some sexual references.
She should have realized on the day they met.
He was alone, vulnerable, and you could tell just by looking at him that he had been through the kind of hell that nobody should have to endure. But here he was, in the CBI headquarters, polite and soft-spoken but clearly determined to get the answers he craved.
Her heart skipped a beat when he shook her hand, and even though he's never mentioned it, she's sure that he noticed. It wasn't only his good looks that caused the reaction, it was the sadness in his eyes. He was a broken man, rudderless, in need of guidance. To a good Catholic girl with a history of taking care of grief-stricken brothers, it was an irresistible prospect. He had a gift, it was obvious, and he could help them with their cases, and hopefully find his way to moving on from all he had lost.
He told her he provoked Hannigan into punching him, and to this day, she's always wondered what exactly he said to her agent, but it was her first real taste of his unorthodox methods of getting what he wanted.
It certainly wasn't the last.
She should have realized when she started getting protective of him.
The ink was barely dry on Jane's new contract when she resolved to keep a close eye on him on the job. If nothing else, the man was a civilian, who had suffered an emotional trauma no less, and he would be doing the kind of work that people trained for years to do.
Being a cop was the best job in the world to her, but there was no denying it was dangerous. Personally, she was addicted to the adrenalin rush, but she worried about the effect it would have on an already fragile person like Jane. They saw some horrible things in this line of work, and that was without mentioning the Red John case. She dreaded the moment the serial killer's handiwork would once again cross her desk.
Homicidal maniacs aside though, the danger wasn't always out in the field. From the day he arrived, female eyes followed him throughout the building with interest. Despite the wedding ring still prominent on his hand, the word got around that he was a recent widower; and therefore, ripe for the taking.
Lisbon watched, speechless with disgust as women went out of their way to bump into him in the halls, or flirted outrageously in the break room. Jane, clearly used to such attention, tactfully deflected them all, but still she wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. Instead, she took to accompanying him on his regular tea sojourns when she could, to act as a kind of buffer between him and his adoring fans; to give him breathing space if he wanted. He needed support and a friend, not vapid women with a crush.
He never said anything but he'd always shoot her a little smile as she emerged from her office claiming she needed coffee. She took that to mean he appreciated it.
She should have realized when he started to make her angry.
She still remembered the first real fight they ever had. What had begun as a run-of-the-mill discussion about Jane's latest stunt had escalated into a full-out shouting match that had their colleagues glancing curiously through the gaps in the blinds to see what was going on.
Over the years, her memory of the particulars had faded, but she distinctly remembered being angrier than she'd ever been in her life. He was taking unnecessary risks, putting all the team in danger and her job in jeopardy. He seemed to have no heed whatsoever for his own safety, and if something happened to him, she'd be the one taking the blame from the top brass. Her job was to keep him safe, whether he liked it or not, and she told him so.
He looked her dead in the eye then, and told her that he didn't give a rat's ass if he lived or died, as long as he'd gotten to Red John first. It was the first time he'd ever acknowledged his plans so openly, and the shock of it had sent her reeling back a few paces. She knew he was in pain, but surely nobody could be this OK with the idea of his own death.
"You don't mean that," she'd challenged him, eyes narrowed, in an attempt to call his bluff.
"Believe me, Agent Lisbon," he'd replied, no longer raging but now icily calm. "I am deadly serious."
And she did believe him then, but she also believed she had all the time in the world to change his mind. He was grieving, angry, hating the world, yes, but he was no longer alone, and that, she was sure would make all the difference.
She should have realized when she started to dream of him.
The first time took her completely by surprise. She'd been dreaming about taking her brothers to a Cubs game of all things, and then glanced over to the next seat to find Stan had disappeared, his place taken by Patrick Jane. Then she woke up.
The second time was equally innocent. They'd just closed a frustrating case, with so many twists and red herrings that it had even taken Jane a few days to figure it out. She dreamed the whole team were sitting in her office, talking about their suspect, with Jane sitting on the couch beside her. He didn't say much, but his presence somehow soothed her, and she woke up again.
The third time, it wasn't so innocent. She'd woken up gasping and shaking from a vivid dream in which he'd made love to her on that old brown couch of his. The leather had rustled and squeaked beneath them, every touch of his hands had her aching for more; he kissed passionately. He whispered things to her under his breath.
She woke just as he brought her to a sudden climax, and felt her face flame in embarrassment as her breathing returned to normal and her pulse slowed. She got up, splashed cold water on her face and resolved not to read any more romance novels before bed.
She watched baseball games instead. But she still dreamed of him sometimes; they spent a lot of time together.
It was only natural he would feature in her subconscious.
She should have realized when he left for six months.
She missed him terribly. Outwardly, she told the team and her other colleagues that it was business as usual, she held her head high and worked cases like she always had. On the inside, her heart was barely holding itself together.
She and Jane had been through so much together, had seen and done things nobody else could understand. She'd thought he'd cared for her, had trusted her. But he'd left her behind, tossed her aside like garbage and couldn't even send her one measly text message to let her know he was OK.
She cried over him once or twice, but only in the privacy of her home, never the office. She had a reputation to uphold after all.
She prayed for him every night, that he was safe, that he was succeeding, that someday he'd come back to her, until one day he did, without warning.
When she first saw him in that church, just the sight of him made her furious. Sitting beside her grinning, like he hadn't just put her through half a year of hell, as she tried to make him understand even a small part of the pain he'd caused her. But even as she cursed him, she knew she'd already forgiven him.
She always forgave him, in the end.
She should have realized when Lorelei came on the scene again.
It hurt her to hear him admit feelings towards Red John's mistress. To realize something more must have happened between the two of them in Vegas than she was being told.
She'd always assumed Jane had no interest in pursuing relationships of any kind while he stalked the serial killer. Evidently, she'd been wrong. Something about the woman had drawn him in, and caused him to lie to her, his partner of so many years, for Lorelei's sake.
What kind of relationship could they have, anyway? The woman was deranged, unstable, and a murderess no less. Jane needed someone to care for him, to love him for all his faults. Lorelei was incapable of that. But he refused to let her go.
He always seemed to covet the things in life that were worst for him.
She should have realized when her tastes started to change.
Jane was a man of many interests and passions. On the occasions he wasn't thinking about Red John, he could talk voraciously about almost any subject, from art history, to philosophy, to smooth jazz.
When he bought her the CD full of jazz music for her birthday, she was sceptical at first, but put it on in the car one night on the way home, soon caught by the haunting melodies. It soon became her favourite thing to listen to.
On very late nights, instead of coffee she began to sip on Oolong tea in an effort to calm her confused thoughts, and she started to actually read about local art exhibitions in the Sunday paper instead of flipping straight to the sports. At the end of the day, she'd still prefer tickets to a baseball game over a gallery opening, but it certainly wouldn't hurt her to broaden her horizons a little.
It might even give her something to talk about in the unlikely event she ever went on a date.
She began to suspect it when others started to notice.
First Lorelei. Then Sean Barlow, and god knew how many others that hadn't said anything.
She could feel, or (imagined she did) the curious eyes of their colleagues as they walked into her office and shut the door. The embarrassment of it all was lost in her concern that they were seeing something she herself had missed. She wanted to spend time with Jane because he was her best friend, but her colleagues' interest made her question her own motives. Maybe there was more to it than she let herself believe.
They were together for the best part of every day. They talked on the phone most nights. She thought of him when she was home in bed just as Barlow had said. She worried for his sanity, his happiness; his health. She couldn't imagine her life without him in it.
She was happier when she was near him, would do terrible things to keep him safe.
She'd been so busy worrying about him, she forgot about herself. And she didn't even care.
She knew for sure when she gave him her gun.
It went against her every personal philosophy. She'd always sworn that she would stop him from taking his revenge to her last breath, but when the moment came, she couldn't do it.
She handed him her weapon, knowing that if he used it, it would be traced back to her and that she'd probably be arrested and jailed. She was aiding and abetting a murderer, becoming the kind of person she'd vowed to stop.
But she couldn't let him go there unprotected. He wouldn't let her go with him, so this was all she could do. She wanted him safe, and alive, so she could throw her arms around him when it was over, and then slap him and tell him what an idiot he'd been.
It killed her to know he was going somewhere that she couldn't follow. She couldn't even bring herself to say a proper goodbye, because it felt like an admission that she'd never see him again.
When he walked away from her, she wondered if he'd ever walk back. Wondered if there was something she could have said or done to keep him safe beside her.
She would have two long years to ponder that.
She knew it was right when he told her he loved her back.
In true Patrick Jane style, he'd picked the most inconvenient time, after he'd ripped out her heart and kicked it around a bit, and she'd finally, finally thought she might be able to leave him.
She just had to get to DC. Marcus was in DC. Her new life was waiting, her new job. A new beginning.
But he turned up on her plane and told her he loved her, and kept on saying it as he was escorted away at gunpoint, as though he'd wanted her to hear it as many times as possible while he had the chance to say it.
If she'd been a stronger woman, she'd have stayed in her seat. But she was the woman in love with that crazy, messed-up man and had been for many years. They'd been through so much, the two of them against the rest of the world. She'd never stop loving him completely. Marcus deserved better.
And so did she.
She doesn't regret her choice when she wakes in the morning.
They've barely spent a night apart since the plane. She wakes every day with his arms around her and those beautiful curls all over her pillows.
He smiles at her over the rim of his teacup at the office, and she's sure that Abbot suspects something but finds she doesn't mind as much as she should.
She can't remember the last time she smiled so much, or her heart felt so light. He still does crazy things, but she realizes it's a part of him, and sometimes admits to herself that she really quite likes it.
He can turn her on with just a smile or a brush of his fingers. He plans a future that includes her now, even if they can't quite agree on what it will be.
She feels him stirring beside her, and kisses his lips. She tells him she loves him, and he smiles, and says he loves her too.
She never tires of hearing it, and he never tires of saying it.
I know there a million other great moments I could have used for this story but if I'd added them all it would have been incredibly long. :) I'm sorry if i missed out your favourite.
I really love season 7 so far. I'm sad the show will be ending, but so glad we get to properly say goodbye.
If you're looking for more to read, my good friend glindalovesshoes has posted some great new chapters to her fics 'Tear of Paradise' and 'White Shadows.' Check them out!