Title: The Beautiful Game

Summary: "He remembered telling her that Life was a Game, so it seemed ironic - in the way that only a man who didn't believe in coincidences could appreciate - that she was dressed only in a sports jersey when he saw her later that evening." Suppose Lisbon's chair-throwing meltdown wasn't a ruse... how would her favourite mind-reader react on finding her drugged and reckless? M in later chapters. Will continue with cues from other season 2 episodes. Spoilers ahoy, navigating the waters in a ship of Angst... oh how I love the puns, the puns I do love.

Disclaimer: Oh, the things I would do if I owned Patrick Jane... writing stories about him would not feature high on THAT list. Sadly, I do not.

"Lisbon?"

Patrick Jane rapped on the door to his superior's apartment, feeling a vague sense of Deja-vu. He'd already been there once today. Two times at her apartment in one day would ordinarily be a good call on his part, except that he couldn't get the vision of how she had looked earlier out of his mind. Defeated, folded in on herself… on the verge of tears. It was an image that both surprised him and tugged at him relentlessly. Teresa Lisbon was a fighter - not a cryer.

"Lisbon!" He banged on the door again, calling out louder. He could hear movement inside, a shuffle, and then just as he raised his hand to knock again, a muffled "G'way." He could hear the Jack Daniels through the cedarwood.

"No," Jane answered, simply. "Let me in."

There was a sigh, and some reluctant movement, and then a voice much closer to the door. "Leave me 'lone."

"Not yet."

There was silence on both sides of the door - a stalemate. Jane knew he was more stubborn, or at least if not more stubborn, more immature… immature enough to win this stand-off.

The door opened a few inches, banging against the chain. "Why not?" Teresa blinked up at him, face scrunched up against the light outside and the intoxication inside.

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Lisbon, you threw a chair through your office window."

"And?" She brushed her fringe away from her eyes, feigning nonchalance. He replied with one of his killer looks, eyebrows raised under a few stray blonde hairs, blue eyes pooling for answers. "Don't gimme that look."

"I'm worried about you," He said. "The whole team is."

"Yeah, yeah," She moved away from the door, pushing it closed and undoing the chain. She cracked it open and walked away, letting Jane in of his own accord. "Why would you be worried about me?" She turned, gesturing wildly with the bottle of jack in one hand. "I'm having a riot!"

Jane looked back at her, frozen in the doorway, taking in the sight of her living area, trying to keep his gaze off her bare legs peeking out from underneath the sports jersey she wore. He was sure the image would stay with him for a while, and not necessarily for the best reasons. She took a swig out of the whiskey bottle and winced, wiping her mouth on the back of her free hand before swinging around and pushing her off-duty firearm to the edge of the coffee table with her toe. Her consultant was behind her in an instant, one hand firmly but gently clasped around her wrist, the other prying the bottle away from it. "Let's put the bottle down, shall we?" He said in a low voice so not to frighten her, leaning forward to speak in her ear. She let him take the bottle, but shrugged him off, grunting in disgust. "Fine. Take it," She said, pretending to move off to some more interesting venture. As she moved around the coffee table, he reached across and took the gun in his hand, scooting it across the floor to the kitchen. Teresa turned to see him make the movement and her mouth dropped open.

"What are you doing?"

"Guns… hate them," Jane explained, shrugging, pulling at his suit pants as he sat in the chair across from the sofa.

"You think I'm that dangerous, huh?"

"I know you're that dangerous," He retorted, and she glared at him, though she could see the statement hurt her. "Now can you just sit down?" He gestured to the couch.

"No. You think you can barge in here and tell me how to deal with this mess? No, Jane. I told you to leave me alone."

"Yet you opened the door."

"My mistake," She managed to pull together all her haughtiness to say the two words without slurring, placing her hands on her hips. Even with just a sports jersey on, she was a formidable character… he admired that.

"What are you doing here?" Jane asked, lowering his voice again.

"About to ask you the same thing, Jane." He could see she was losing momentum, though, finding it hard to keep up under the haze. Patrick gestured to the pills littering the coffee table, the gun on the kitchen floor, the half empty bottle of Jack.

"I think you should go first. Why the pills, the alcohol? I thought you didn't want to follow in your father's footsteps, Lisbon."

"And what do you know about my father, huh?"

"I know enough to see why you're angry."

"I'm not angry." she answered him, a little too quickly - both of them realized it at the same time. Jane just looked into her eyes, the way she often did when she was waiting for him to be more forthcoming. She sat down, heavily. "Screw you," She waved his concern off but the conviction had gone from her voice. She had that defeated look again, tugging at the sports jersey to come over her knees and cover her legs better.

Jane leaned forward over his knees, clasping his hands together. "Talk to me."

"And say what, exactly?"

"I don't know, talk about that cooking show with the angry guy. Or what music you've been listening to lately. Or, how about just letting a friend in, instead of letting yourself go off the rails in some self-indulgent pity party," He almost winced as the words left his mouth, but knew they'd be necessary to get a rise… and then a fall… out of her. Oh, how he hated himself sometimes.

"Fuck you," Teresa Lisbon didn't move from the couch. A silence moved between them, Teresa looking everywhere but at Jane, Jane ignoring everything but Teresa.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to feel the whole world is against you?"

"Your father drank. He drank and he did bad things, he did bad things he'd rather forget. And he did forget them," He said, leaning closer so that his hands were on the coffee table, pushing him further towards Lisbon, who shrank back on the couch but did not turn her gaze to him. "But you didn't, and you didn't forget his anger. His anger became your anger. For so long you swore you would never let your brothers down like he did, and now you think his anger made you walk the same path…"

Teresa blinked back tears and stood up, angrily. "Leave it, Jane." she said, through gritted teeth. "So what if the CBI thinks I'm guilty, if Bosco thinks I'm guilty. I know I didn't kill McTeer."

"Do you?" Jane stood to be level with her. "Can you say with utmost certainty that you remember every detail of not killing McTeer?"

"How dare you get inside my head like that! You know I don't remember! But I didn't kill him! I just know it, I didn't!" Lisbon screamed, but the statement had less punch than she'd intended under the slur of the whiskey and the self-pity. She bent to pick up the whiskey bottle from the table and in one swift move hit her forehead on the corner of the coffee table, hard. Dazed by the blow, insulted by the pain, she bit her lip to try and stem the tears welling up in her eyes. Patrick swiftly moved to her side as she attempted to bat him away with the bottle, but he ducked and grabbed her wrist, hard enough for her to gasp and drop the bottle. It smashed on top of the table, whiskey splattering everywhere. Jane reached around Teresa's shoulder and gripped her, to stop her moving as she blindly lashed out at him. "Get-off-me!" She yelled, but her left arm was pinned behind his torso, the other in his hand, and she overbalanced, pulling them both onto the couch in a heap. She was sprawled awkwardly against his body.

All of a sudden, Teresa fell limp, realizing she was both effectively restrained and out of control. "See? This is the anger I was talking about."

She was breathing shallowly, he could feel her heart beating fast, like a rabbit's. Slowly, Jane moved the hand holding her wrist around the front of her waist so he could turn her to face him. "Can you just chill out for a second? Let me have a look at you." He told her, firmly, eyes glancing up to her forehead. She was bleeding out of a nasty gash there. Releasing her from one of his hands' grip, he reached up to wipe away some blood before it fell in her eyes. She shrank back. He could still feel the frustration - confusion, upset - emanating off her in waves.

"Teresa, you know I'm not going to hurt you."

"Just leave, Jane," this time, her voice had been reduced to a plea. "You've done enough damage already."

"Not until I know you're safe," He told her, matter-of-factly. "Come on. Let's get this cleaned up, at least."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and gave him plenty of attitude as he helped her up and guided her to where he assumed the bathroom would be. "First door to the right," She mumbled as he guided her along the hall and found what he was looking for. He sat her on the edge of the tub as he went rooting through the medicine cabinet for dettol and a flannel. She swayed a little, feeling the full force of the pain and the alcohol slam into her skull. "Ungh."

"Hmm, I bet it doesn't feel too good," Jane sympathized, filling the sink with warm water. He took off his jacket and hung it on the door knob, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow and dipping the flannel in the water. "First, we clean, then, we freeze." He told her wringing the flannel out before reaching over to sponge at the wound. He paused only momentarily at her reproachful glare before pressing it on her forehead, and she shut her eyes and hissed through her teeth.

"I know you didn't kill McTeer," He told her, as he tended to the gash on her head.

"Ngh." She groaned. She sounded royally pissed off - he'd be pissed off with him, too.

"I just think… you need to cut yourself some slack. And not be so angry. Definitely away with the anger thing. You're hurting, we all would be. But you need to separate what is and what was… you are not your father."

"Crawford said-"

"Crawford is a psychiatrist, and you know what I think about psychiatrists," Jane cut her off before she could attempt to negate him with such a feeble piece of evidence. "You know you, and I know you, better than he does. And we both know you're not capable of killing McTeer. And, you're not an alcoholic. So don't act like one."

"I'm tired."

"But I bet you're thirsty, too," Patrick smiled the same rueful smile he always cracked at a point of relief. "I could kill for a cup of tea right now - I mean, no offense."

She swatted him, more exhausted than anything, and let him help her out to the kitchen. He found a bag of frozen stir-fry vegetables in the freezer and passed them to her, while fetching the makings for tea. "Oooh, cookies!" He exclaimed gleefully at the half-filled box inside the cupboard, putting it out on the bench.

"S'Cold." Lisbon lamented the stir-fry vegetables.

"S'good for you," he said over his shoulder, half a cookie already in his mouth as he boiled the kettle. "Cookie?"

She shook her head, instead leaning over the breakfast bar to put her head in her hands, one hand holding the frozen vegetables to her forehead. "I'm a mess." She mumbled into her palms.

Patrick Jane brought his cup of tea to the counter next to her and sliding a glass of water to her elbow. "That is true." He acquiesced without precedent. He saw her slump over further, and reached over to squeeze her shoulder, then thought better of it. "But only true of right now. We could have McTeer's real killer in custody by tomorrow, who knows. You'll clean up."

She shook her head in her hands. "It's hopeless. There's too much circumstantial evidence pointing to me, and nothing pointing away from me."

"…Or, we could just wallow in self-pity. I haven't done that in a while. Let's do that."

"Shut up, Jane."

"Teresa…" He started to say something, but found himself short of something to say. So he sighed, leaning on the counter next to her much in the same fashion, massaging his temples.

"What's this…?" Lisbon started, voice still muffled. "The great Patrick Jane, master of wit, lost for words?"

"You got me." He put his hands out, palm out, in a submissive gesture. Then he reached for his tea, taking a sip, watching her over the mug.

"I feel like somebody broke into my life," She spoke up, eventually, lifting her head from her hands to look over at her consultant.

"I understand."

"Really?" She couldn't help herself. Of course he could understand. There were so many layers to Patrick Jane, so many lives he had lived, it was an impossibility for him not to somehow have experienced everything and anything in some way or another. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"It's fine," Jane replied, and then added, "This is your pity party." He said the last half into his teacup as he quickly took another sip, and Teresa shot him another reproachful look.

"Are you here to beat me up? Because I can do that myself, thanks," Lisbon retorted.

"Lisbon… Teresa, I'm here because I care about you - we care about you - and I want to help. And this…" He gestured around the room to the broken whiskey bottle, the pills scattered over the coffee table, the gun on the floor by their feet. "This, is not helping."

"Feels better than doing nothing." She answered. "Ugh, fine, call me pathetic."

"Well, at least you're being honest now," Patrick smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm starting to feel… really tired…" Teresa yawned, leaning further onto the countertop.

"Go to bed, I can clean this up."

"Oh, no-"

"No, really, it's no problem. Go to bed, Lisbon. Get some sleep. Everything feels better after sleep," he reassured her, rubbing circles into her back.

"Stop that. Don't hypnotize me." She murmured, shaking her head in an attempt to shake some energy into her exhausted limbs. "I'll just - I think I'll jus' lie down a couple seconds…" She slid off the stool and Jane walked hesitantly behind her as she staggered towards the couch. He guided her around the coffee table, dodging the shards of broken glass, and made sure she was comfortable before hunting for a blanket. Predictable as any house ever was, he found one in short order in the cupboard next to the stairs - by the time he had returned to the sofa, Teresa Lisbon was already fast asleep, and the frozen vegetables had slipped out of her hand onto her chest. Stretching his body as far away from such forbidden territory as he could, in what might have seemed a comical gesture to any outsider, Patrick Jane quickly plucked the bag up between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand while throwing the blanket over her with his left, knowing full well either action could easily get him fired.

Teresa had to wait a few moments on waking to regain her bearings, and realize that there was another body in the room - Patrick was relaxed in her armchair, reading one of her books - Garcia Marquez' Love in the time of Cholera, if she wasn't much mistaken. On seeing her awake, he put the book down and turned on his megawatt smile.

"Well, hello there, sleeping beauty."

She scowled at him, and then the headache caught up with her. Lisbon shut her eyes and pressed her palm to her head. "Ouch."

"I was about to ask how you were feeling," he said, grimly. "I'd give you painkillers, but I don't know how many you've had, already."

It was still dark outside - she mustn't have slept very long. What time had he come over, anyway?

"I'm sorry," she said in a quiet voice, realizing the state he'd met her in earlier. "I shouldn't have been so… unprofessional."

"Unprofessional?" Jane seemed amused. "We're not at work, Lisbon. I came over as a friend, not a colleague. You have nothing to be sorry for." He tented his fingers and regarded her carefully, his blue eyes shielding his concern with the same twinkle she'd always come to know at times like these when his face seemed taught, somehow.

"All the same…"

Patrick leaned forward with his elbows on his knees again, reaching forward to play with the lip of a teacup sitting on the now spotless coffee table. "Teresa," it was the third time he'd called her that in one evening. She was about to call him on it. "I know you have the whole, subordinate clause thing, and the 'maintaining order in the office' thing, but at the end of the day I've been working with you for how many years now? I know you are feeling as though you're alone in this. I've been there, remember. Just… trust me."

Teresa's face was unreadable, something that drove Jane crazy. She regarded him with a neutral expression for what seemed like a long time, before shaking her head and pulling the blanket up, putting her head in her hands.

"When you put me in that trance… when you asked where I went after work, and it was blank… I've never felt so scared in my life," She told him, head buried. He reached over and pulled her hands from her face, and she looked away. "I was never scared. He - my father - he beat us, he'd pass out on us, he'd… I was never scared. And then yesterday, I was." She was trying so hard not to cry, he could see the line between her eyebrows pulling so tightly. She ripped one of her hands away to cover her mouth and muffle the small cry she did let out, as a tear broke free and skimmed down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away with her palm.

"Hey," He said, squeezing the hand he still held in his own. "There's no need to be afraid. We'll unlock what's in there." Jane reached over and all but touched her head with his whole hand, making a sweeping movement and removing it. "It's going to be OK, Lisbon. You're going to be OK. …Breathe," He added as her breathing started in gulps.

"What if we unlock what I don't want to remember? What if I did do it? Oh god- they think I did it…" Like a bad dream replaying over and over, she was winded by her reality.

"No, your team believes in you. They know you didn't do it," He tried to reassure her but she was in another place entirely. Her fingers were splayed and she was pushing against her knees, curled up against her body, shrinking back into the couch.

"Lisbon, you're at your home. You are safe, and calm. Focus on your breathing - in, and out." Patrick began to speak in his trance tone, seeing her on the verge of an anxiety attack. She calmed, and then snapped out of the trance and looked at him, her eyes murky with tears and loss. The next thing either of them knew, he had pulled her to him. Even Patrick Jane was surprised to find himself embracing the small form of his boss to his chest, her head curled into his neck. She didn't seem to resist.

"I'm a mess…" She cried into his shirt, somehow placated a little by feeling the warmth of his skin and something undefineably Jane filling her senses. He didn't say anything, only held her to him, tracing circles on her shoulder absent-mindedly with his right hand.

"Doesn't matter," he told her, his voice almost a whisper. "Just relax." He kept talking to her in quiet, soothing tones… he hated that he had to mould her like this to bring her back, but he knew it was the only way to get through to her. Her will was too strong…

He felt her ease against him and her breathing slowed, still a little nasal from her tears. He didn't realize he'd put her in a trance until she relented to him, mentally - he felt it, such a momentous shift… her voice, ghostlike, against his shirt. "I've nothing left to lose…" She murmured. He moved to break the embrace but she clutched him tighter, and he felt a peal of some anguish break against him from her mouth. "Jane-"

"Shh-" he wanted to break her out of it, but at the same time, he didn't think he had the strength to bring her back into her reality right now. Even as he pondered this, her hands gripped the front of his shirt and he felt her hot breath through a break in his shirt… he had to stop himself sucking in a breath of shock - it left his skin tingling. "Lisbon- I thi-" His willpower failed him, he heard her breathing become ragged again… this time, not out of distress. Her right hand wandered down his chest to his abdomen, and - was that her… lips on his skin? It was dizzying. No, he had to stop this. "Lisbon, wake up."

"Not… now…" She mumbled. "If I'm going to lose it all…"

She wasn't conscious. She wasn't in control. He had to remind himself that, and think quickly, on how to best extract himself - and her - from this pathway into a fallout he was quite sure neither of them would ride very well. Then he felt her hand move downward. In one swift movement, as if jumping from a hot wire, Patrick Jane leapt up from the couch, at the same time pushing Teresa back with his hands on her shoulders, exclaiming "Teresa! Lisbon, wake up!" …and she did, all too quickly. He couldn't look at her for embarrassment, or knowing how mortified she would feel.

"Jane? Jane! Oh, god…" He could see her crumple out of the corner of his eye, another sight he would be sure not to forget anytime soon. "Oh, god, Jane I'm so sorry -"

"It's ok," He passed it off. "I mean, I know you think it's not ok, and it's not really ok, but no harm done, hey?" Jane tried to assure her, all too quickly. Was that his voice? So nervous, so unsure? His voice had raised a pitch, just as his eyebrows raised a couple inches over his forehead and into his hairline.

"No, no… I don't know what- I'm so sorry-" She was crying, hands tight around her head. God, the sound of her crying - especially over him, of all people - killed him. But he was still frozen in place, turned away from her both to hide the unabridged expression on his face and the undeniable bulge in his pants, which was no small source of shame for the man who had all but utmost control of himself at any given opportunity. Except now…

"I - I am going to go use the bathroom, and then… I'm going to make us some tea," He said, lightly, quickly turning on his heel and ducking into the bathroom. He heard no reply.

By the time he had recovered and returned to the living room, Lisbon had regained a little composure. As promised Jane made tea, giving her a little more time to right herself, and then he sat again in the chair across from the sofa, passing the cup of tea her way. She didn't look at him.

"Lisbon," He started. "You… are a very attractive woman."

"Jane, please- can you just go? Can we not have this conversation?"

"Can you just hear me out?"

She sat back and folded her arms tightly over her chest - he could see some of that stubbornness returning, and it heartened him.

"You are strong, clever, quick-witted… not to mention have a gorgeous- smile," He corrected himself as she shot him a warning glare. "I've hinted at it numerous times, I'm definitely attracted to you. There's no point in denying it. And, if we were in a different situation I would probably be the first to respond to… what just happened, but…" Jane told her unabashedly, in a way that she looked up at him in some unfathomable surprise. He changed his tone to something far less light and far more empathetic, to continue. "We aren't. In a different situation, I mean. You are in a state of acute distress. A man - a pedophile - you arrested and locked away has just turned up shot dead, and your fingerprints are on the gun, yet you have no recollection of the crime… whether you participated or not. You have been cornered, in a way that the only way you feel is out is to lose your job, lose your family, and lose your friends - to behaviors you have assumed were passed to you by your father. Lisbon, I came here as a friend, and I'm staying here as a friend… I can understand you feeling and acting in reckless ways; cornered people often do. Take it from somebody who knows." Jane gave her a sad, knowing smile, without humor, before taking salvation in a sip of his tea. "I do not think any less of you, nor will I probably think any more of the last half hour after tonight. I suggest… I suggest that you do the same, because if you think any more on the topic than I know you already are, what with everything already cramming up that beautiful head of yours"- that earned him another glare -"I'm afraid you're not going to fare too well. Emotionally. Mentally."

"Right," Lisbon nodded. She looked remarkably queasy, as if trying to hold in the contents of both her eyes and her stomach, all at once.

"Teresa," Jane reached forward for her hand. She didn't give, so he reached forward and took her hand, though she flinched. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "Relax."

"Don't you hypnotize me again-"

He didn't answer her protest except with a meaningful look towards her, hoping it could show just how much he regretted choosing the easy option with his mental prowess earlier, what with the consequences at hand. He showed her the palm of his free hand in honesty, and said, "No funny business. Just, relax."

Lisbon shook her head, not so much as negating his request but in confusion.

"You're not relaxing."

She looked over to the man who had held both her heart and her furor for the last few years of their partnership, and found mouth pulling into a watery smile. He returned it, cautiously. It was then, she realized, that she trusted Patrick Jane… more than she had trusted anyone in the last few years. Under his gaze, she pushed her back out and fell over herself, suddenly releasing a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"That's better," Patrick encouraged her, rubbing her hand with his thumb.

"Oh… I feel dizzy," She admitted, removing her hand from his to palm her forehead where she had hit it earlier.

"I'm not surprised," Jane leaned over and squeezed her shoulder. He glanced over his own at the wall clock in the kitchen, and started a little. "Oh! Time's gotten away with me. Lisbon - I know you're not feeling too good, but I need you to listen very carefully…"

Hope you enjoyed. R&R, if so inclined.