No one really thinks about me being here late at night. Especially in the dark. Especially away from the glow of a laptop or monitors. I'm just Wiley. A wiz kid with computers. They don't think of me beyond that. Yet.
But it's quiet here in the dark, relaxing. The endless glass walls let in the night. Sky, stars, lights from the buildings and city. The traffic passing below. It's just a peaceful place for a man with nothing to go home to but apartment walls. I guess that's why Mr. Jane sleeps here so much. Used to. Or the Airstream. Maybe not alone, now.
Life in the FBI doesn't leave much room for a social life. Sometimes I feel a bit desperate. When I'm 45, will this still be a big night? Sitting in a desk chair pulled under a theater of windows to stare at the stars?
Scuffling. Two sets of feet, one a woman's. I think maybe they'll pass by but they enter the bullpen. Only one woman has a desk in here.
I almost stir to get up, make myself known but it's Mr. Jane and Agent Lisbon. Arm in arm! I'm not embarrassed to be here. But they might be embarrassed for me to witness them here. Together in a way that doesn't look like work to me. I stay still.
Mr. Jane is my hero. He teaches me stuff. His stuff. No one else gets that training. Only reveals and advice. Makes me feel kinda proud. He's the smartest, most courageous man I've ever known. The sneakiest, too. He makes everybody see me in a different light. I have respect because of him. I'm on the team now.
Maybe he should check out the room, just look around. But neither of them do. They just look at each other. I've heard love makes you blind. But does it make you take complete leave of your senses, too?
I should make a noise, speak up as they come in. Mr. Jane would never do that, so I don't. He can't pass up information. Besides, who doesn't want to see how he and Agent Lisbon act alone with one another? I could learn something important.
And criminy, this is Jane and Lisbon. Everyone wants to know what that's about. But only I'll know.
Close together, whispering. But I can hear.
I have superior vision and hearing. My memory is almost as good as Mr. Jane's. Soon it will be better. I've just started my memory palace. This goes in!
Leather creaks as they sit on his couch, shoulder to shoulder, shift to get comfortable. He takes her hand, an undulation of light in the shadows. More protests of leather as he turns towards her, touches her hair with his free hand. He can't stop, smoothing down its length, winding the ends around his fingers. "Your hair feels like satin, Teresa. It shines even in the moonlight." He kisses the lock he holds and lets it slide free.
He's right about her hair. There's something in his voice when he says it. I haven't heard it before. Kind of low, cracked and husky.
Agent Lisbon turns her head, looking at his face. Her eyes suddenly go dark except for glints of moonlight. Her hand is almost as white as mine. It flutters up to his cheek, thumb stroking across the bone as Mr. Jane leans into it. Then her fingers disappear into his hair, fluffing it, feeling it, rubbing his scalp. "I've always loved your couch."
I should try to sneak out. Every path I can spot is in their direct line of sight. Maybe it's a little sordid, but I think my only hope is if they'll get into a long kiss. It sure looks like that's where they're going. Busy with each other, I can slip away. Silently, I pull off my shoes and hold them on my lap, preparation to don my inner wraith and vanish like smoke.
Mr. Jane pulls her close and she scrunches into his arms even more. Smooth! He uses her movement to catch her jacket and push it from her shoulders and arms. Agent Lisbon cooperates and does the same to him, only he shakes his jacket off for her and pulls her down on top of him, saying, "I've thought of you so many times on this couch."
"Me, too. Or on mine." She's propped up, using her weight to hold him down by the shoulders. "Or any couch." Her hips sag against his.
Yeah, they have their clothes on. But their hoo-hahs are touching tight while they move! I have to get out of here. I don't want to hear zippers or see any new flashes of flesh.
They exchange 'I love yous.' They're breathing and moaning softly to each other. She's lying flat along him, held tight in his arms. I think they're going to make fog soon even if it isn't cold enough. They're gulping air and kisses and each other's words. The couch is creaking a furniture symphony.
I have to get out of here. It's all very interesting, but I feel kind of creepy. I don't know if Mr. Jane would stay for this or not, but I'm just not venal enough to be a voyeur.
No time like the present, their eyes closed and faces pressed together, making all these heated noises. Their lips are sealed together, pulling, first one leading and then the other. It's, well, it's sort of beautiful, like they can't get enough of each other. I've got to go. Now.
The chair doesn't make a sound as I control every muscle to rise from it. Then I tip-toe my stocking feet across the floor, quieter than Bilbo, to slip through the open bullpen doors. Made it!
I take the stairs so I don't make elevator noise. What Mr. Jane and Agent Lisbon have together now, I want for myself. Without their horrible suffering. What lives they've had. What a story of forbearance. They repressed their ardent love so deeply it was nearly destroyed. And now it flows between them like the sparkling Nimrodel. It's epic!
Seeing their happiness, the words they use with each other, low inviting voices. Their love is so obvious. I feel lonely. I'm missing too much. I want to find my woman, too, my mate, my love.
No more staring at the stars for me. Unless I have someone in my arms to share it with.