A/N—Written for the Jello-Forever September Challenge. (Even though it's probably not going to win. But, hey! Who cares? Writing's fun.)
Curved Line
Pencil swishes on paper with the most delicious sound, especially to a sketch artist. He let his pencil slide languidly along the pad to form the woman's figure. It looked decent, so he let it pass for now. He'd fix it up later. Right now, he had to focus on the face and torso. He added small details gradually, until the woman stared back at him. She looked a bit apathetic, but that was fine. Not all drawings are fluffy. Then he shaded in her hair and shirt. It was a grayscale drawing, his preferred style. He finished off the bottom half, and she was complete.
As he surveyed his work, he noticed something. She hovered on the left side of the page. It looked as if she was missing someone. That was easily remedied; he knew just the man to draw. But first, he'd have to change her blank expression. When you were with the man you loved, you were smiling. He erased her lips, and redrew them curved. Then he added a few laugh lines around the eyes. He carefully added little arcs; they were hard to add as an afterthought. Nonetheless, they turned out fine.
Now for her companion. He deserved clean-cut strokes, sharp little pencil stabs. The face was set on side profile, and he was smiling, too. Why wouldn't he be? The drawn man had his arm around the waist of the woman he loved. They were passionate and giddy.
The man's mischievous smile was hard to capture on paper, but the artist managed to do it anyway. It just took him a few tries. After the head was done, the rest just clicked into place.
When he was finished, the pair gazed back at him like he was a good friend. Really, he was. He had drawn real people he saw every day. Speaking of "days," it was almost seven o'clock! He needed to get home and prepare for tomorrow and its cadavers.
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Patrick Jane found himself rummaging through Kimball's desk. It was for a completely innocent reason; he was trying to get his book back. It wasn't in the "book drawer," as Cho called it. So, he pawed through the middle drawer. Instead, he found something else. A sheet of drawing paper was face down on the bottom of the drawer. Jane tried to focus on finding his book, but his curiosity won the mêlée. He tugged the drawing out of the drawer and looked at it. It took him by surprise; it was a fair rendition of Lisbon and him. He never knew that Cho was such an accomplished artist, or that he saw the pair… that way.
Jane stopped to think. Maybe they were "that way." He never really thought about loving another woman after Connie. It was a new perception, and it slightly frightened him. He looked at the illustration again, as if it contained the answers. The scene in the portrait looked so natural, so pure. It looked like the rendering of a photograph. The more he gazed at the paper, the bubblier he felt. Jane felt like he was breathing nitrous oxide. After a few seconds, he couldn't help grinning. It wasn't the usual mask he wore to shield himself; it was an honest to goodness smile. He felt like dancing around the world, and floating away into the atmosphere. He had come to the conclusion that something inside him died six years ago, but now he realized it was only dormant. Now it was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to go. It was nice to have his smile back.
Anyway, he had already been unconsciously acting akin to a boyfriend for a while now, so why not take the plunge? If anything, he might be able to find something else to live for besides retribution. Besides, he would bet his bottom dollar that Lisbon was sweet on him too. He carefully slipped the photograph back into the drawer. Jane absently thought about talking Cho into making a copy for him. Meh, that could wait until tomorrow. Right now, he wanted to go to Lisbon's apartment. It didn't matter what excuse he used, as long as he got to see her.
Besides, maybe she knew where his book was.
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