Title: Sliver

Rating: Teen

Spoilers: Through 6x14, Grey Water

A/N: This has been a rough few weeks for Mentalist fans, especially Jane/Lisbon shippers, so I decided to write this to give us all a little hope for the future. Was hoping to get it up a little sooner, but as always I'm slower than anticipated. Hope you enjoy it!

xxx

The FBI building, usually so brilliantly lit, was dim and quiet as Lisbon gathered her things and headed for the elevator. She punched the down button, closing her eyes and rolling her head from side to side to stretch her neck while she waited for the elevator.

God, what a day. They were absolutely nowhere on the case. Someone had broken into Rigsby and Van Pelt's house and tried to kill them, and now they had nothing but dead ends everywhere they looked. Her heart clenched as she thought about Rigsby being shot at with Maddie in his arms. Eyes still closed, she made a mental promise to her goddaughter and her parents to do everything in her power to make sure the bastard who was behind all this never came after them again.

She opened her eyes when a warm familiar hand slipped into hers. Jane. She was surprised, but not alarmed by the unexpected contact. She'd known it was him before she even opened her eyes—perhaps she'd unconsciously noted his footsteps approaching, or registered the proximity of his familiar scent, she wasn't sure. She looked over at him, standing next to her with his own eyes fixed on the glowing elevator button, clutching her hand. She wasn't sure exactly what had possessed him to take her hand in the middle of the hall at the FBI, but if Jane was holding her hand, it usually meant things were pretty bad. She didn't pull away.

"Hey," she said softly, squeezing his hand back. "Haven't seen much of you today."

He shrugged. Looking at him in profile, she could see the deeply etched lines around his eyes and mouth. "Been busy with the fracking case."

"Yeah," she agreed, because there wasn't much else to say about that. "Solved it in record time, though. Nice work."

"I wanted to wrap it up so I could come back here," he said simply.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Jane let go of her hand and ushered her inside with a hand at the small of her back.

"You meeting up with the guys tonight?" Lisbon asked.

Jane shook his head slowly.

"Rigsby and Cho said they were going to ask you if you wanted to go with them," Lisbon said, frowning.

"They did."

"Oh." She hesitated. "I thought you would want to go with them."

He hesitated. "I considered it."

"So why didn't you?"

He gave her a tired smile. "Well, they may have mentioned that you weren't going, so…"

She flushed, surprised and flattered that her plans had factored into his decision. "It's been a long day."

Jane nodded, but a shadow passed over his face, and she wondered what he was thinking about.

The elevator dinged again, and they walked out of it together. They crossed the main foyer and Jane held the door open for her as they headed out to the parking lot. He walked her to her car. "I haven't seen much of you lately," he remarked.

His tone was casual, but Lisbon knew what he meant. She missed him, too. Lately she'd been stuck at HQ while he kept getting sent out of the office on assignment with Fischer. The two of them were accustomed to operating as a unit, and this new dynamic was taking some getting used to. Without the other one to measure their pace against, neither of them had quite found their footing.

"Yeah," she said with regret. Impulsively, she added, "Do you want to come over to my place for a little while? Catch up?"

He looked over at her, considering. "You're not too tired?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't really in the mood to go to a noisy bar, but I could probably rustle up a pot of tea if you wanted to come over for a bit."

He exhaled. "That would be great."

When they got back to her apartment, Lisbon headed for the kitchen to unearth her tea kettle and find some tea that Jane wouldn't turn his nose up at. She'd assumed he would wander around her new place poking his nose into things that were none of his business while she got the tea together, but he followed her into the kitchen, crowding her a little in the small space. She nearly elbowed him in the ribs when she finally found the tea kettle and turned to put it on the stove. He caught her by the elbows to steady her and held her there for a moment, looking down at her with an expression she couldn't read.

She looked up at him, startled. He still had hold of her arms. She managed to set the teapot down without spilling water on either of them, then turned back to him and rested her hands on his arms, near the crook of his elbows. "Hey," she said, concerned. "What's going on?"

He shook his head mutely, but his face crumpled a little bit before he caught himself and looked away.

Her fingers tightened on his arms. "Jane?"

He inhaled sharply and gathered her to him, crushing her to his chest. Taken aback, she went with it, putting her arms around him automatically as he hooked his chin over her shoulder, pressing even closer.

Lisbon closed her eyes. Despite not knowing what was driving this uncharacteristic display of emotion, she was reluctant to leave the circle of his embrace, so instead of leaning away and asking him what this was about, she turned her head and rested her cheek against his shoulder. She leaned into him. It felt nice to stand like this with Jane, to feel his chest expanding against hers with each breath. In the stillness of her kitchen and the quiet of the night, a bubble of calm enveloped the two of them, impenetrable by the outside world. Jane was upset, that much was clear, but here, at least, they were safe. They were together. Just for now, this instant, they would have this stolen moment of peace.

After what felt like an eternity of standing there listening to one another breathe, Jane finally straightened and pulled back ever so slightly. He buried his hands in her hair and cradled her head in his hands, his eyes searching her face. Though it looked for all the world as though he were going to kiss her, she knew with a certainty borne of twelve years of experience that he wasn't going to. This was a little depressing, but for now, she was more concerned with what was causing him to act like this than with her own emotional reaction to his impulsive gesture. His hands felt good in her hair, though.

She gave him a little smile. "You okay?"

His eyes shifted and drifted down to the ends of her hair. His left hand slid to the side of her neck and he drew the fingers of his right hand slowly through her hair, tracing its softness from root to tip. He reached the ends of her hair without taking his eyes off it. Then, instead of letting go, he twirled a strand of it with his finger as though he were hypnotized by it.

Dear Lord, what was the matter with him? "Jane?" she said again, a little frightened this time.

He let his hands fall to his sides and abruptly pulled away. He took a deep breath, and she saw him pull his self-control back to him like a cloak. "Sorry," he said, not meeting her eyes.

She sighed inwardly. Jane pulling her in, then retreating just when things started to get interesting. Story of her life. "It's okay."

"Do you need help with the tea?" he asked inanely.

Having him underfoot in her tiny kitchen after the moment they'd just shared sounded like a recipe for insanity. Hers. Especially if he touched her again. "Go sit in the living room," she said, shooing him out of the kitchen. "I'll be right out."

Once she'd gotten him out of there, she busied herself with the task of the getting the tea together, trying not to let herself think too deeply about what the hell he was really doing here. If Jane was upset enough to actually let it show, whatever it was had the potential to be truly horrible. She finished brewing the tea and took him some in a cup and saucer from her mother's china.

She paused when she saw him sitting in the living room, her worst fears confirmed. This was the first time he'd been to her new apartment, and instead of wandering around snooping into her things, he was sitting on the couch, staring off into space with a blank look on his face. For once, the mask he usually wore was not in place-he looked exhausted, world-weary. He roused himself a little when she appeared in the doorway, his eyes refocusing on her. A little of the light that was usually in them reappeared at the sight of her mother's china.

She crossed the room and handed him the tea. Instead of sitting in the chair or on the couch next to him, she chose to sit on the footstool in front of him so she could more easily look into his eyes. She wanted to be able to see what he was trying to hide from her. Once seated, she crossed her legs and looked at him intently. "What's wrong?"

He took a sip of tea and tried to smile. "Nothing. Everything's great."

"Uh-huh," she said, not buying it.

His smile faded as he looked into her eyes for a long moment. "This isn't what I wanted," he said at last.

Lisbon had no idea what he was talking about, so she tried for humor. "That's the only tea I have."

His mouth quirked in appreciation of her admittedly lame joke. "That's not what I meant." He took another sip of tea.

She looked at him inquiringly. "What did you mean?"

He sighed. "Coming back from exile, I guess."

She felt as though someone had pricked her heart with a knife. Did he regret coming back? "Do you miss your island?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. Leaving was the right choice. I just thought things would be different when I came back."

"What things?"

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I thought I'd be working with you, for one thing."

"You are working with me," she pointed out. "You went to a great deal of trouble to make sure of that." Which she really was glad about, even if she still didn't agree with the way he'd gone about it.

"No," he said bitterly. "I'm working with Fischer."

Lisbon was surprised by his tone. "I thought you liked Fischer."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, Fischer is well enough. She's a good person and she's competent, I suppose."

Lisbon wondered how he could make competence and a good moral character sound like the height of ignominy. "I like her," she defended Fischer. "She's smart and has a good sense of humor."

"Liking her has nothing to do with it." He sighed. "I'm glad you two are friends. I just prefer working with you, that's all."

She wasn't particularly proud of how her heart swelled a little at this sign of obvious favor from him, but she couldn't deny to herself that it did. "It's to be expected, Jane," she said gently. "Fischer is the lead agent in the unit. It's only natural that she's going to take point on most things."

"Mm," he grunted, taking another sip of tea.

She sighed. Why did he have to be so stubborn all the time? "You're not this upset over Fischer, Jane. Tell me what's really bothering you."

He looked down. "I just thought when I moved to Texas, I wasn't going to have to worry about my friends being stalked by homicidal criminal masterminds anymore. I thought I was going to finally be rejoining the land of the living. Yet here I am, neck deep in death once again. Still terrified that the people I care about are going to be murdered in their beds at night."

"That's why you were so distant with Rigsby and Van Pelt this morning," she realized. "I wondered why you didn't greet them more warmly. It was a defense mechanism. You're worried."

"Of course I'm worried!"

"We're cops, Jane," Lisbon said, for what felt like the hundredth time since she'd met him. "Sometimes we end up in the line of fire. That's just the way things are."

Jane wasn't the least bit mollified. He set down his tea and turned eyes like lasers onto her. "Someone broke into their house. Shot at their child. And we have no idea who it is."

That argument never had held much water with him. And he was right. It was different when there was an innocent child involved. And it was never easy to watch your friends get hurt, even if they had signed up to put their lives on the line in the name of justice. She touched his sleeve. "Hey. I'm worried, too."

His eyes were haunted. "They could come after you next."

"Or you," she pointed out. "At least I have a gun."

"LaRoche had a gun," he said, still distraught. "Didn't do him much good in the end."

She took his hand, hoping to reassure him through physical touch, since her words didn't seem to be having much effect. He always did have an unreasonable protective streak where she was concerned, despite the fact that she was the one with all the weapons and the training. "It's going to be okay, Jane. We'll figure this out."

He shook his head. "I'm supposed to be the one who is be so great at picking apart convoluted conspiracies. Today, two of our friends came to us looking for answers, and I couldn't even help them."

Now he was just being ridiculous. She rolled her eyes. "For one day. You're useless at background work, you said it yourself. So you solved another murder in the meantime and tomorrow you'll think of some crazy plan that will help us catch the lunatic who's behind all this."

"Assuming I haven't just lost my touch," he said morosely.

She let go of his hand, agitated. "Really, Jane, how can you be this hopeless? We've barely been on this case a week and you've already given up? You haven't even been working on it. You figured out who Red John was based on a list of over two thousand people, for God's sake. This is going to be a piece of cake in comparison, once you're actually able to focus on this one."

"I suppose," he said reluctantly. "It just feels like a lot on top of everything else."

Clearly he was determined to stay in a funk tonight, no matter what she had to say about anything. "What everything else?" Lisbon said, exasperated. "You're a free man. You got the FBI to give you that stupid Airstream. The world is your oyster."

"I'm just so tired of fear and death," he said wearily.

He looked really upset.

This was even worse than she'd feared. "Maybe you should quit," she said. Her stomach felt like lead at the thought, but she was determined to be supportive, no matter what the cost.

He blinked. "I can't quit. Abbott owns my ass for the next five years, remember?"

"Please," she said, unimpressed. "Like you couldn't manipulate them into firing you if you really wanted to get out of that contract."

"But then what would I do to pass the time?"

She shrugged. "Anything."

He shook his head. "What exactly do you think I could do? The only thing I've ever done besides solve murders is con people out of their money. I can't see you being particularly supportive if I decided to take that up again."

"I think you could do anything you put your mind to," Lisbon said honestly. "Hell, Jane, you could probably scam yourself into a job as a college professor if you wanted to."

He didn't look thrilled by the idea. "I don't know," he hedged. "Crime fighting's not so bad most of the time. It's fun when it's not depressing."

"Just so you know you have options. Even if you decide to serve out the five years of your contract, you could always decide to do something else later."

He shook his head. "But then I wouldn't get to spend every day with you."

She blinked. Was Jane actually saying out loud that he was factoring her into his future? No, surely not. "What is it specifically that has suddenly gotten you so bent out of shape about working with the FBI?" she asked, ignoring the whole 'spending every day with you' thing. "You seemed to fine with it when you first got back from your island."

He sighed. "Don't mind me, Lisbon. I don't really mind working for the FBI. I'm just frustrated right now, that's all."

"What else is it that's bothering you, then?" she asked "Besides the situation with Rigsby and Van Pelt, I mean?"

"I thought things would be different here."

He'd said that before, but she had no clearer idea of what he meant now than when he'd said it five minutes ago. "Different how?"

"I'm supposed to be moving on with my life." He met her eyes. "I'm supposed to be moving on with you."

She stopped breathing. "With me?" she said faintly, once she remembered how to draw breath again. There was really no way to misinterpret that one. At least, she hoped not.

"Yes." He sighed. "I'm supposed to be dazzling you with my charm and convincing you to take another chance on me. Instead, I'm driving all over the state with Fischer and trying to figure out ways to keep Abbott off my back. Meanwhile, you're stuck in the office instead of out in the field where you belong, taking orders from a man who has no idea of your true worth. You might decide you're fed up with the whole thing and go back to Oregon at any moment."

"Washington," she corrected him automatically.

"Same difference," he said gloomily. "Either way, there are days when you'd rather spend ten months out of the year in the rain than stick with me."

He was an idiot. She'd moved across the country for him after not seeing him for over two years, for God's sake. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes. But for how long?" He genuinely seemed in doubt of the answer.

As long as you'll have me. "That depends."

"On?"

She took a deep breath. "On what you mean by convincing me to take another chance on you."

He took her hand again. He started tracing the lines of her palm, his eyes firmly on the path his fingertips were trailing along her skin. "I'm supposed to be convincing you to take a bigger chance than you've ever taken on me before. I'm supposed to be luring you out of the office to go to ice cream and jazz clubs with me. I'm supposed to be coaxing you to give me a good-night kiss on your doorstep at the end of the night." The fingers tracing the lines on her hand slowed and stopped, and then he drew his own hand away from hers. "I'm not supposed to be thinking about another psycho killer coming after people I care about and worrying that you'll be his next target."

She was tempted to inform him that when it came time for good-night kisses, there would be no coaxing necessary. Since that would be pathetic, she said instead, "You need to get it together, Jane. Stop worrying about me. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

He looked at her, hope sparking in his eyes for the first time that evening. "Really?"

"I'm never the one that leaves, Jane," she said softly.

"I'm never going to leave again," he promised fervently. "I'm here. No matter how many times Abbott makes me tag along with Fischer. And I'll do my best to stop being so gloomy and focus on the case we have now."

"Good. We need you on this one." She patted his hand. "Now, go home, get some rest. We're going to need you to be sharp in the morning."

"Can I stay on your couch tonight?" he asked pathetically. "I'll sleep better if I know you're safe."

"Sure, why not? I'll grab you a blanket." She'd sleep better knowing he was safe, too.

She went to the linen closet and found a blanket for him. When she returned, he was already stretched out on the couch with his eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. Idiot. Beautiful, stubborn idiot.

She draped the blanket over him, smoothing it over his shoulders tenderly.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Thank you, Lisbon." She knew he didn't just mean for the blanket. They'd given each other a sliver of hope this night. Perhaps it was a small one, in the grand scheme of things, given everything else that was going on at the moment. But that was the thing about hope. You didn't need that much to sustain you, and it had a tendency to grow over time. She knew that all too well.

"You're welcome." Then, because pretending she didn't want to was just silly at this point, she leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "Sleep well, Jane."

His eyes were wide, his mouth softly parted. He touched his tongue to his lips, as though he couldn't quite believe that it was her taste that he found there. "I think you just guaranteed that I'll have sweet dreams."

She grinned at him. "Glad to be of service."

He closed his eyes, but his mouth quirked a little to the side. "I hope your dreams will be sweet, too."

Oh, they most definitely would be.

Her sliver of hope widened.