AN: Hello there! So I had fully intended to do a second part to my tag from last week, but that just never materialized. However, I can almost guarantee this one will have at least another chapter. So. Much. To. Say.
Top 5 favorite episode of all time. I wasn't sure what to expect from it going in, but I was blown away. In fact, I had a full on fandom meltdown part of the way through the episode and started to puke rainbows.
Love, love loved it.
This particular piece, however, didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it, but I hope it's okay.
Comforts and Constants
He didn't get to touch her until almost an hour had passed and they were safely back at FBI Headquarters. He wanted to, wanted it more than anything. Lisbon stood close to him, and he could see her trembling just a little. It wouldn't have been out of line for him to hug her at the scene. After all, everyone knew they were good friends. They had just been in a pretty dicey hostage situation. A quick embrace would have been a normal reaction.
The problem was, he didn't think he'd be able to stop hugging her. Or from possibly putting his face in her neck to hide a few tears of relief.
He knew she was holding on to her composure by a thread, too. The very last thing she wanted was to have a breakdown in his arms, and she surely would have.
So he had to content himself to stand next to her, knowing that she was all right, that they both were, and that in a few hours, she'd be pressed against him again.
They managed to catch an elevator by themselves. As soon as the door closed, she turned to him, but he was faster.
Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her. Hard. Thoroughly.
Her fingers wrapped around his wrists as she gave back as good as she got. He tasted her blue Gatorade and her residual fear.
He broke the kiss as abruptly as he had started it, resting his forehead against hers for a moment, breathing still shaky.
"Love you," he whispered.
"Love you," she echoed. Then, quietly, "I want to go home." She sounded deeply upset, and he knew this would be a rough night for them both.
"I want to take you there," he told her. Wanted her safe inside the walls where they had found so much happiness, so much peace.
She stepped away just as the doors opened, and he fought back the urge to gather her close again.
And then he watched her compulsively. She sat at her desk, scribbling notes to herself about timelines and what the gang of thieves had said. Always professional, that was his Lisbon.
He brought her fresh coffee, a bottle of water, and french fries from the cafeteria. She didn't ask for any of it, but he knew her well enough to know she wanted all of it.
Once, he squeezed her bare shoulder, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. Then his face contorted in concern. "You're freezing," he told her.
She waved a hand at him dismissively. "I'm fine," she said. "Probably just a little bit of shock. The coffee'll help that."
Reminding himself that she would kick his ass if he tried to force her to go before she'd given her statement, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it across her shoulders.
To his surprise, she didn't argue, just huddled into it gratefully.
Abbott found her before much longer had passed. "Lisbon, we're ready if you are. Let's get this over with so you can get out of here. I know it's been a bad few days."
Her smile was genuine, but a little brittle. "You could say that."
He sat by her while Abbott asked about what had happened. In fact, if he would have been much closer to her, she would have been in his lap. He wasn't hiding anything, not well anyway, but Abbott already knew about them, so it didn't seem to matter.
Forty minutes later, they were cleared to leave, and he wanted to run out of the building. Lisbon still had his jacket on.
No one spoke on the drive to her house.
As soon as he opened the door - using his key - she dropped her bag, put her head on his shoulder and her arms around his waist.
He could feel her exhaustion, and he slowly rocked them back and forth. He let out a deep breath against her hair, willing himself to find some peace. It was all over now.
Later, he would deal with his own demons, the ones that were screaming that his stupidity had almost taken her away forever. If he lived to be a thousand, he'd never forget the image of that gun pressed against her temple. Had he been just a heartbeat later...
But in this moment, it was about her.
"Well, jailbird," he murmured eventually. "First night on the outside. What are you gonna do?"
She hummed a little, musing. "I want to take a shower." She sounded very definite. "Without flip flops."
He chuckled. "And then?"
"Then I want to eat real food." Her voice softened. "And then I want to fall asleep in your arms."
It took him a moment before he was able to speak. "I think we can make all of those things happen."
She stepped back, grabbed his hands and tugged. He followed automatically as she led him through the house to the bathroom. While she waited for the shower to heat up, the sound of running water pounding in his ears, she reached up, kissing the spot just beneath his jaw that she knew he liked. "Help me wash my back?"
She didn't have to ask twice.
He made love to her under the hot water, relishing the feel of her slick skin pressed to his, of her nails scraping down his back, the way she said his name.
After, he could feel her smiling against his collarbone. "Why is it that whenever we shower together, I never seem to be able to get my hair washed?"
"Huh," he said, supremely unconcerned, fingers tracing the shallow channel of her spine.
She kissed his neck. "Can I kick you out of here for a little bit?"
He froze, and she noticed.
"I just mean the shower," she hastily added on. "Don't you dare leave this house," she warned sternly, and he relaxed marginally. "It's just...I really want to hog all of the water." She sounded so apologetic that he actually laughed.
"Take all the time in the world," he told her, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I'll be here when you're finished."
When he was dry and mostly dressed again, he sat in his favorite chair in her living room, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands, and listened to the water running and the slight sounds of her movements behind the shower curtain.
It was soothing, knowing she was there.
Eventually, they were going to have to talk about it.
Before today, before this afternoon, he had almost been looking forward to telling her how much he missed her, how he hadn't slept at all without her, had had intentions of pampering her endlessly to make up for the uncomfortable conditions she'd been dealing with.
Now they had to talk about how he almost got her killed.
He was an idiot.
Rationally, he knew it hadn't been a stupid plan. After all, they were dealing with car thieves that hadn't killed anyone. Hell, they hadn't even assaulted anyone. How was he supposed to know that their ringleader was a sociopath? The girlfriend wasn't much better, but her seeming indifference to morality was based upon blind love, not some sort of defect in her genetic make-up.
He saw Lisbon with the gun against her temple again and wanted to vomit.
He heard the soft words "it's all right" in his mind. It could have been the last thing she ever said to him. One last forgiveness, absolving him from his final, fatal mistake.
At the time, he'd been thinking that this wasn't the worst way to go out. He was devastated by the idea that he had caused her death, but at least he wouldn't have to live without her. And, his brain helpfully supplied, he would have spared her further pain from having to live without him. It was stupid, a ridiculous line of reasoning, but he supposed his mind was searching for some kind of comfort.
There was nothing he needed to say to her now, no unspoken confessions. She knew he loved her, that was the most important thing. They had, at least, found each other. That had to be worth something.
He had thought briefly of Angela and Charlotte, then held Lisbon's eyes as he waited for the shots that never came.
He realized he was holding his breath, and he exhaled quietly as he heard the shower turn off.
By the time Lisbon emerged, he was able to smile at her. "Feel better?" he asked.
Clad in pajama pants and an old t-shirt, she climbed into his lap. Her slight weight was comforting. "Yes," she affirmed. "Soft water and scented soap are gifts from God."
"You do smell nice," he noted, running his nose along her neck for emphasis.
She tucked her head under his chin, one hand pressed to his heart. "I missed you," she whispered.
"I missed you, too." He kissed her wet hair. "Never again," he added after a moment. "I don't care what's at stake."
Her grip on him tightened. "Deal."
It would have been a good lead-in to the conversation they needed to have, but her stomach growled. He ordered in. He would have had to untangle himself from her to cook, and that wasn't something he was interested in doing.
Later, finally in bed together, her head on his chest, he reminded himself that he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the darkness of the room giving him courage.
"For what?" she wondered, voice soft.
"For making such a bad plan. For almost getting you killed." His words were shaky.
He could feel her shaking her head. "You had no idea what those guys were capable of. Not your fault."
"The hell it wasn't," he bit out. "I could have pulled you out of it this morning, do you know that? You could have just walked out, under protection, and made a beeline for the FBI. Been safe and sound by noon. No drama, no one trying to kill you."
Lisbon kissed the spot over his heart, trying to soothe him, but it upset him further. She was the one who had been in so much danger because of him. He should not be the one being comforted.
"I found your note," he said, words spilling out, "at the gas station. Saw your footprint in the blood. You have no idea how scared I was."
She stilled in his arms, and there was something weighty in her silence. "He just shot the guy, Jane. Over and over. And laughed about it. So did she."
"There's nothing you could have done," he said, sternly, understanding that she was possibly the most upset about this. She was Saint Teresa, protector of all, and she had witnessed a murder and been unable to do a thing. For the next...well, probably for the rest of her life, she would turn that moment over in her mind, wondering what she should have done instead. She did the same thing when Tommy Volker had Amanda Shaw murdered, and he knew she thought about it still. "No one knew Cole was that crazy."
She took a deep breath. "Not even you," she retorted. "If I can't beat myself up, neither can you."
There was a flaw in her logic, but he knew what she was getting at. She didn't want to dwell on this, even if it was impossible that they wouldn't.
He brought her fingers to his lips, tried to lighten the mood. "So, was prison life everything you imagined it could be?"
Even in the darkness, he knew she was rolling her eyes. She stretched against him a little. "This bed feels like heaven."
"Yes, it does," he agreed heartily. "I've been on the couch at the office the past two nights, and I hate to admit it, but I might be getting too old for that."
She sat up, propping an elbow on his chest. "You have a key," she pointed out, tone curious, and he was glad he had distracted her. "Why didn't you just stay here?"
He shrugged, planning on being glib. However, something suddenly compelled him to be honest. "I wanted to be at the office in case something happened," he said. "Besides, it wasn't like I slept anyway." He took a deep breath. "Also, being here, surrounded by all of your things but without you, would have been harder on me."
She smiled. "I didn't sleep well, either," she admitted.
"Why?" he asked lightly. "Afraid of being shanked?"
"A little," she said with a quiet laugh. "But I think I just might be too used to sleeping next to you."
The words were soft, but he felt them all the way to his soul. "I think I have the same affliction," he whispered.
She kissed him, very gently. "Not even a month in and you've ruined me," she teased.
He touched her cheek, and she leaned into his palm. "No more sleeping apart," he whispered, aware that he sounded horribly cliche, but unable to stop.
"No," she agreed, "not if it can be helped." Always the realist, his Lisbon.
"I love you," he reminded her as she snuggled back into his arms.
"Love you," she returned, and he knew she was smiling again. "Sleep well."
He did.