AN: Excuse me while I'm over here, crying in the corner over that episode.
Couches and Conditions
He had spent a short lifetime not sleeping in beds. Ever since he had come home one dark night to find his worst nightmare come to life, he hadn't been able to sleep beneath the covers without thinking of what he had lost, at least a little.
So he'd go to the couch. Not even he could exist entirely without sleep, so he'd retreated somewhere safe. If he was on the couch, it was okay. It was just some place casual, some place public that he fell asleep.
But going to a bed by himself meant he was alone.
And he was so tired of that.
In an effort to avoid loneliness, he was now on the couch again, still staring at the spot where he had last seen Lisbon.
She was long gone, out being wined and dined by Pike, wearing that dress that had nearly taken his breath away.
She did look beautiful. She was beautiful.
And now it seemed like the only way he could tell her that was in soft compliments as he watched her get ready for another man.
He wasn't sure how this had happened.
He had come back from Venezuela, thinking that this was how it would start. They would be together as partners again, and it would be a natural segue into something decidedly more. He'd take her out for dinner one night after a case, keep her up all night with laughter and conversation. Hold her hand as they walked back to the car.
Too late, though. He had been too late. Had waited too long.
Story of his life - too late.
Too late to save Angela and Charlotte, too late to be with the only other woman he had ever loved.
Life was just grand, he thought bitterly.
He closed his eyes.
It had been a long day. Long several days, actually, and even he was starting to flag. He could only hope that Lisbon was so tired she fell asleep over her meal and Pike had no chance to sleep with her.
Again.
It had been an exercise in brutal self control when he'd figured that particular piece of information out. His wasn't sure what his first instinct had been - to scream or to make her feel awful about the situation. He had done neither.
For twelve years, he had been the one that knew her the best. Knew how many cups of coffee she drank, knew that she secretly shopped at Victoria's Secret (not something he needed to be thinking about now), knew that she could recite every line of Breakfast at Tiffany's.
And now Pike knew more.
Knew what her skin felt like under his hands, knew what her face looked like when she fell apart, knew how sweet it would be to pillow his head on her breasts.
All things he had thought about, had tried to imagine.
He heard the click of heels on the tile floor and his eyes opened, a sharp flare of hope shooting through him.
But it was Kim, carefully making her way towards him.
"Still here, I see," she said casually, sitting in Lisbon's chair.
He shrugged. Obviously. "This couch is very comfortable."
"You look sad," she told him bluntly and he almost chuckled.
"And you look exhausted. Go home and go to sleep." His voice was soft.
"Oh, I'm going to," she assured him. "You should do the same thing."
He resisted the cynical urge to tell her he didn't have a home. Then again, maybe not a bad plan. He could win some sympathy points. Before he had made up his mind, she spoke again.
"So what do you think about Lisbon and Pike?" There was something other than idle curiosity in her words and he felt his defenses rise.
"I think that Lisbon is free to be with whomever she chooses," he said carefully. "And I hope she finds happiness."
He was unprepared for Kim's skeptical snort. "I call bullshit," she said, eyes laughing at him. "Oh, don't look so surprised," she went on. "Your feelings aren't exactly invisible. I'm willing to bet you want nothing more than for Lisbon to be miserable on her date and never see the man again."
There was nothing to say to such a pronouncement, especially since it was alarmingly close to the absolute truth.
"You're jealous," she said. "And you should be."
"Jealous?" he echoed. "Of Marcus Pike? Please." He didn't bother to hide his sneer.
"You are, absolutely," Kim contradicted. "If we're defining jealousy as the fear that what we perceive to be ours is going to be taken away." She wasn't pulling any punches tonight.
He met her eyes. There was sympathy in her gaze, and a bit of annoyance.
"She's not mine," he said, slowly.
"Right," she replied. "And whose stupid fault is that?"
"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded, sitting up.
"It means that you're the idiot whose going to let her walk away. Just let her go off without a fight." Her tone was getting sharper.
"If she wants him," he said, voice louder, "she can have him. I won't stop her."
Kim snapped her fingers. "Exactly. You won't do a damn thing." She let that hang in the air between them. "Do you know what I think Lisbon wants?"
"What?" he asked, full of sarcasm.
"I think she wants you to both literally and figuratively get off your ass and do something." She held his gaze. "I think she's been waiting for you for a long time, and I think she's about done waiting. She came all the way to Texas for you, you know."
For just a second, he let his guard down. "Yeah, but I came all the way back to the US for her."
Kim sighed. "Well, maybe you should tell her that. And then, maybe you should fight for her. Unless, of course, you want her to leave you."
There was a challenge there, and his irritation flared up.
"No?" she asked, deceptively sweet now. "Could've fooled me. And I think, most importantly, you fooled Lisbon."
She stood then, slung her back over her shoulder. "Well done." She paused before leaving. "Get some sleep. And then figure it out. I'm tired of you moping around the bullpen. We have cases to solve, and I don't want people to suffer because you're too scared to say anything to the woman you love."
And then she was gone, leaving only a slight trace of her perfume in the air.
He settled back into the cushions, mind chewing their conversation over. She reminded him of Cho, unexpectedly blunt when it mattered. He remembered the conversations the two men had had about Grace.
The thing was, Cho had always been right in those situations.
Was he scared?
He didn't like to think of himself as a coward. He'd actively hunted a serial killer for a decade - how much of a coward could he actually be?
But then a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he'd pretended to not remember telling Lisbon he loved her, that he'd gone out of his way to avoid telling her how he actually felt.
He sucked in a deep breath.
"Shit," he whispered to himself.
But was Kim right about everything else? Did Lisbon want him to fight? That seemed...a little out of character, but then again, maybe she was testing him, waiting, as Kim had said, for him to get off of his ass and do something.
Now that he thought about it, he'd given her no indication that anything was going to be different in Texas than it had been in California.
Damn it, but wasn't this what she wanted? He wasn't making decisions for her, wasn't trying to get her to do just what he thought she should. He was doing the things she'd specifically asked him for, that one awful plane ride.
Distractedly, he ran a hand through his hair.
This was stupid and ridiculous and unbelievably painful.
The elevator dinged, and he looked instinctively.
And then he looked again.
Lisbon was coming towards him, still in that black dress, looking...disappointed?
He blinked, making sure he could trust his eyes.
"What are you doing back here?" he asked.
She sighed as she came closer, then dropped on to the couch next to him. "Duty calls," she told him.
He smiled a little. "Emergency art theft?" he guessed.
"Something like that," and her lips turned upward just a touch.
She was sad that her evening had ended so soon. All dressed up and nowhere to go, he thought.
"Did you even get to try out those fancy cloth napkins?" he asked.
"Nope," she shook her head. "We had just barely made it to the parking lot. I came back here to grab a couple of files and my car."
This was...an opportunity he should take advantage of.
He stood, and she followed his movement with surprised eyes. "It'd be a shame to waste that dress," he told her. "Can I take you to dinner?"
There was a moment of hesitation, and he knew precisely what her inner debate sounded like.
"Come on, Teresa," he said, making sure he used her first name. "You've gotta eat. Please?" he added, voice entreating, and she gave in with a slight shake of her head.
When they reached the sidewalk outside the restaurant, he offered her his arm, and somewhat to his surprise, she took it.
Maybe you should fight for her.
Fine.
He would.
But like he'd once said, he rarely failed.
This was not going to be an exception.
In twelve years, he'd never had more to lose.
Or more to gain.
Fine, he thought again.
He would fight.
And he would win.