The end scene of that episode opened so many new ideas. I couldn't just leave it where they did. Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: no.

It was a beautiful weapon.

Even now, he can't seem to stop fondling it, turning it over in his hands again and again. Running two fingers across the barrel, he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the fact that he was holding an instrument of death. That with a slight tug, you could shoot the life out of someone. He had fired a gun once before, and that had been natural instinct, and it had been done out of protection. This was deliberate, and this was murder.

He fingered the trigger.

He put it back into its place in the velvet box, smoothing his palm across the material. And found he was savoring the feeling of just being able to touch.

A small weapon but a weapon nonetheless. Winters had seemed to be drawn to this gun, and Jane could see exactly why. Small enough that you could hide it well, giving the illusion that you're not holding a death weapon; but it was substantial enough to give him a sense of determination. Nothing elegant, but it held a sense of purpose, and Jane figured that was exactly what he needed.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that it was a cruel sort of joke.

His aversion to guns was well known. Hell, he couldn't stop the small jolt when the crack of a gun sounded. How ironic that he was afraid of guns, yet was handed a gun, to kill someone else, and not act afraid. Yet he acknowledged the twisted form of humor with nothing but a grimace. He'd do what he had to.

He would.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"Jane, you in there?"

Even though it was phrased as such, it wasn't a question. He barely managed to shove the box under his cot and assume his brooding seat by the window before she shoved the heavy door to the side with a bang. He could sense her irritation with the metal door; another barrier he put between them.

"Oh. Hey Lisbon." He turned to look at her; she had a slightly suspicious look on her face, and he knew that she wasn't stupid. In her hand was a weird shaped piece of wood, with hinges on the end. He hid his cringe. Just leave me be…

"What are you doing?" she asked cautiously, taking a few more steps into the room. Her eyes swept over his appearance and the room, obviously trying to figure out what he had been doing moments earlier.

Expertly, and with a little weariness, he flashed his nonchalance face. "Enjoying the view," he leaned back and propped his feet on the sill of the large window, "It's quite lovely from up here."

And indeed it was, the tops of the city buildings contrasted interestingly with the bloody hues of the sunset, and made for a captivating vista. It didn't improve his moods though. And that seemed to be Lisbon's goal right now.

"It's nice." She said appreciatively, and came to stand across from him. Her eyes darted to the empty chair she stood in front of, and with slight reluctance he gestured for her to sit. It seemed that she never let him have a break when he crawled up here, and he couldn't help but hate it and love it. The fact that she bothered to come up here, whether to drag him downstairs to the actual world or to make sure he hadn't crossed the fine line of insanity is something he's extremely grateful for.

And he loathes that he secretly craves her pestering.

She quietly sat down, and placed the weird object on the table. He continued to watch the sunset, letting her come up with something on her own. A somewhat comfortable silence settled over them. Just as the sun was barely visible over the building tops, she spoke.

"I thought you might want to relax a bit, focus on something…fun. Things have gotten way too morbid around here."

The statement had him grinning from ear to ear, and he dropped his feet from the sill in mock surprise.

"Did I just hear what I thought I heard? Does no nonsense Lisbon wanna actually relax and have fun?"

She scowled, and he watched her hands running across the planes of the weird object she'd brought. What was that?

"Forgive me for trying to shed some light on your mood."

"Now this is just role reversal."

He tried not to chuckle as she struggled for a response. She ended up with just swiping the bangs from her face and assuming a lofty expression. "Wanna play or not?"

"I would love to." He couldn't say no when she was looking so eager and hopeful. Plus he wanted to know what kind of game he could play with a piece of wood. He decided he rather enjoyed the feeling he got when he saw her green eyes dance with excitement.

"Okay, ever heard of mancala?"

"Mancala?"

"It's a game that was started in Africa," She lifted half of one end of the wood, and Jane saw that it unfolded at the hinges on the other side. "It's basically," she reached into her pocket and withdrew a black bag, marbles from the sound it made when she it on the table "a game where each player starts with twenty four stones, in this case marbles. Your side, my side. Your bin, and my bin." She gestured to the appropriate shallow holes that made up the board. He found himself being drawn in to the interesting rules.

"To start off with, you evenly distribute your stones into the six holes on your side….."

She showed him how to start, and how you went around the board, scooping up stones from the last stone you had from the hole you started out with until you reached a space when there were no more stones. Then it was the other player's turn. She shushed him when he tried to interrupt and taught him the ins and outs of the game. And with a final glare, she warned him about cheating with that sly hand of his.

He brushed her off with a solemn vow to never cheat in her presence. He backed it up with raising his right hand while vowing. She merely snorted in disbelief, and told him to go first.

oooooooo

He was winning by a margin of 10 stones, and it was pissing her off. His first game and he already seemed the expert. He met her irritated glare with mock innocence. "Don't look at me like that! Not my fault I catch on quickly."

She looked at him for a few moments, her level gaze meeting his. "Cheater," She called.

His protests were drowned out by her accusations of cheating. The smile on her face grew bigger as the squabble progressed. Jane felt his own grin as well, but just couldn't find it him to stop. Her damn smile was infectious.

As the moon rose, Jane switched the lamp on.

oooooooo

"Alright, roll your sleeves up."

She folded her arms across her chest, and waited expectantly. It was the seventh game he'd won in a row. He froze for a millisecond, cursing his weakness for cheating, and the fact that he currently had a couple stones up his sleeve. But he channeled in his inner carnie, and smoothly slid the stones into his palm as he carefully rolled his sleeves up.

"Look, nothin."

"Like I believe you anyway," she said. "Give 'em up."

"Give what up?"

She rolled her eyes, and grabbed his hand without warning. He was caught off guard by the contact, and didn't reject the touch like he normally would have. Plus, he didn't particularly want to.

Her warm hand held his fist in her palm, while the other tried to pry open his fingers. He clenched his fingers tighter. And grinned.

A struggle ensued, in which Lisbon exhibited her ability to render someone incapable of moving, in Jane's case, his arm. She had his wrist pinned on the table, while her smaller fingers slipped through his, and emerged triumphantly with the five stones he'd needed to win the game. Damn.

"Can't keep anything from me, Jane!" She smirked triumphantly, looking down at the mancala board. His grin faded as he took the playful words to heart. He watched her with a troubled expression as she went around the board. There was no way she could possibly know about that gun, but Lisbon was very perceptive, even if he didn't like to admit it to himself. Once upon a time, he had been as elusive and perplexing as the hardest of puzzles; he should have realized how easily his own perceptiveness would rub off on her, adding to her already sharp mind.

But he hadn't planned on a lot of things when it came to Lisbon.

He rearranged his face as she looked up. "You all right?"

"I most certainly am not," he frowned as he rubbed his wrist, "I'll have a bruise now."

"A pretty price for cheating in my presence." She mocked his earlier vow.

The box under his bed suddenly seemed like the most visible thing in the room. That everything else was invisible, and she could most certainly see his secret, lying out in the open. The box was on fire, and he felt guilt creep up on him.

He wasn't lying to her exactly, he tried to placate the guilty fiend as he watched the game, but he was keeping her in the dark. It made his insides twist uncomfortably at the amount of betrayal he'd see in her eyes when she discovered that gun. It showed that he was one step closer to his goal. His seriousness about exacting revenge would be taken with more seriousness and dread.

Things were being set in motion.

But right now, he decided that he'd allow himself the small pleasure of living in this moment, between bouts of brooding and bouts of doubt. He mostly did it for Lisbon's sake, because unless he satisfied her desire to keep him within arm's reach, she'd never let him go anywhere. And maybe it made him a little less moody when she smiled at him in victory.

"Good games." He watched as she folded the board back up again. No. he couldn't divulge anything to her anymore. It just pointed more arrows to the target already painted on her back, and she'd use any means necessary to get the firearm out of his grasp. He needed that.

But as she made to stand up from her chair, he felt the shadows of the gloomy attic creep up on him, raising goosebumps from their chill. The instinct to keep the warmth prompted him to reach for her wrist, stalling her movements.

"Maybe one more game?"