A/N: Yes, I know, another post Red Hot ficlet. I felt the need to write something angsty and this was what my brain came up with. My inner Jello shipper is in a state of mourning. But hey, enjoy!
Spoilers: 3x07 Red Hot. A part of me really did love the episode and the other part isn't exactly happy with that.
Warnings: This is a rather dark fic, especially compared to the string of fluffy pieces I've written. I'm giving you fair warning.
Disclaimer: I've got no strings to hold me down, except for legal strings which are making me state the obvious that I own nothing.
Strings
Teresa Lisbon was not just another one of Walter Mashburn's conquests. She wasn't just another blonde bimbo he had managed to lure into bed. They were simply two, mature adults who shared an enjoyable night together. It was what it was. She had left him, on her own terms and that was perfectly fine with her. She was smart enough to know that it was a onetime deal. No strings attached. Smiling to herself, she strolled through the bullpen. After exchanging a few greetings, she stepped into her office.
"Morning Lisbon," Jane chirped cheerfully.
She turned and glanced over at her consultant who was lounging on her couch, nose immersed in a book.
"Morning," she replied.
"Have a good night?"
Although his face was partially obstructed, she could see his smirk from behind the pages.
"Yes," she replied. "In fact, I had a great night."
"That's great."
She frowned slightly. She wasn't entirely sure but she could have sworn there was a twinge of jealousy in his remark. Shaking her head, she sat down at her desk, determined not to let Jane spoil her good mood.
She inexplicably missed him. She was turning into one of those clingy women she absolutely loathed. After checking her inbox one last time and finding it still empty, she shut off her computer. This was not how she expected to feel, especially since He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had only been gone for less than twenty four hours. Sighing, she opened her forbidden drawer and poured herself a generous shot. She felt as though she deserved it.
She wasn't reminded of Walter until about a month later. She was sitting on the couch with her leftover khao phat kai takeout. Out of sheer boredom, she flipped through the channels until a plane engulfed in flames caught her attention. The headline at the bottom of her television spelled out the breaking story in large block letters, 'Californian Billionaire Dies in Freak Accident.' She already knew before the solemn looking man that had appeared on the screen even said a word.
"What you are looking at is a live feed from the site of a horrific plane crash in the middle of the Swiss Alps. We are getting reports that the private jet belongs to local playboy, Walter Mashburn. He is presumed to be dead along with four other passengers that were allegedly on board, including Swedish actress…"
Grabbing the remote, she turned off the television. She pushed away the once appetizing plate of Thai food in her lap. She wasn't feeling hungry anymore.
The Swiss officials blamed the crash on engine failure. They couldn't recover his body, but that didn't stop a funeral worthy of the President himself from occurring a week after the accident. She didn't attend the pomp and circumstance, not that she was invited. She wasn't guilt-ridden with grief or depressed. She simply felt indifferent. When the day had finally come to an end and almost everyone in the building had left, Jane wandered into her office with a green bottle and two glasses in his hands.
"Champagne?" she asked quizzically.
"I think it's apropos, given the circumstances."
He fills the flutes and hands one to Lisbon.
"To Walter Mashburn," he toasted.
"To Walter."
They each take a small sip.
"This is good," she said softly.
"I sure hope so. It's from his personal collection."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"You stole champagne from a dead man?"
"I wouldn't say steal. It was more borrowed. Besides, he would want someone to enjoy this '93 Ca'Del Bosco."
Bosco. Mashburn. Her parents. She stared at the fizzy golden liquid, wanting nothing more than to be one of those tiny bubbles.
"I'm sorry, Lisbon," Jane attempted to apologize.
"It's not your fault," she replied with a shrug. "I guess we're doomed to be single for the rest of our lives."
She downed the rest of her drink in a single gulp.
A package arrived a week later at the CBI for her. It was on her desk when she came into work on Monday. Carefully inspecting the parcel, she noticed an unfamiliar French address at the top left hand corner. She ripped open the box, revealing a thin golden wrapped bar of expensive hazelnut chocolate with a handwritten note taped to the foil. It read, 'Saw this and it made me think of you. –W.' She admired the precise, cursive penmanship, running her fingers across the paper in a feeble attempt to hold back the tears. But before she knew it, her body was shaking with sobs. His last words, reduced to a muddle of inky letters blurred together beyond recognition.
Teresa Lisbon wasn't just another one of Walter Mashburn's conquests. Unfortunately, nobody ever told her that there were always strings attached.
Fin for now, Jello Forever