AN: Sorry for the long wait on this, the sixth installment of the In Case series. It's not necessary to have read the others before this one, but here's a reminder of what has occurred in this universe:
Jane has killed Red John and is living on his island. He writes to Lisbon, who eventually tracks him down. They marry and agree to meet up in non-extradition countries. In the previous installment, Lisbon tells Jane she is tired of missing him, and they agree to a one year deadline: if Jane cannot figure out a plan within 12 months to get himself home without being thrown in jail, then Lisbon will come live with Jane on the island. This story takes place seven months after that agreement was made.
Special thanks are extended to plyshkins, who translated this series into Russian and who also inspired me to set this installment in Saint Petersburg. Thank you!
I don't speak Russian and have never been to Russia, so I apologize for any errors.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it!
Where Lovers Part
Lisbon slips inside the darkened hotel room in the early hours of morning, trying desperately to fight off the weariness that threatens to overwhelm her jetlagged body. She drops her bag on the ground and scans the room quickly. She can't make out much in the darkness but finds she doesn't care, and her attention is drawn to the silver stream of moonlight that illuminates the enormous bed to her left. She takes in the ornate, four-post frame, complete with matching burgundy canopy and curtains, the latter of which have been drawn to enclose the bed. Her heart skips a beat.
Jane.
She peels off her heavy down coat and sweatshirt and steps out of her boots. She doesn't bother to change into nightwear—instead, she is pulled toward the bed as if hypnotized. She shakes her head as she approaches the curtains. Not hypnotized, she thinks. Just severely jetlagged. A flight to Russia will do that to a person.
Lisbon feels her hand shake as she lifts it to pull one of the curtains back. The material is heavier than she expected but every bit as soft, and it ripples as it dissipates the energy from her touch.
She lets out a deep breath.
Jane is lying on the other side of the bed, his back to her. She can't make out his features in the dark, but the sound of his breathing gives her a jolt. She had forgotten what it sounded like—sleeping next to him. She feels a sharp pang in her heart when she realizes the last time they were on the same continent was over seven months ago.
Seven months.
To her, it feels more like a lifetime.
Of course she should feel out of sorts, now that she is finally beside him once more.
She slides into bed, and the curtain falls shut behind her. She shifts to move under the covers, still feeling chilled from the biting Saint Petersburg air.
Jane doesn't move, but Lisbon doesn't have the heart to wake him. She is well aware of his insomniac tendencies, and she is loath to sacrifice even an hour of his rest.
She curls in behind him, shivering slightly. But warmth radiates from him, and she moves closer, resting her hand on his elbow. She breathes in deeply, taking in the mixed scent of mint and tea that is distinctly him.
She is asleep before she can form another coherent thought.
She knows she is dreaming, but she cannot wake up.
A cold courtroom, despite being packed full with bodies. She sits in the back row, afraid to get any closer, not sure if she can keep her emotions in check. Jane pleads guilty. She wants to sob, but instead she touches a hand to her abdomen and tries to pull herself together.
"Lisbon?"
She cannot bring herself to be present at his sentencing, cannot bear to hear his fate.
He is guilty, but somehow—in her eyes—he is not.
"Lisbon!" says a frantic voice. "Lisbon!"
She surfaces from her dream as an oxygen-deprived diver does from water—gasping for breath. She blinks several times, trying to reorient herself, to still her heart.
Suddenly, Jane's face comes into focus. Despite the darkness, his eyes are bright. They are also concerned, and Lisbon reaches up to touch him hesitantly.
"Jane?" she asks, unsure. Is he really here? Not likely, she thinks. How surreal.
But his fingers dance over her jawline, the feeling very real. "Hey," he croaks.
"Jane?" she says again, this time with more certainty. And it comes back to her—they are really here, together, in Russia. One of the last meetings they will have before their agreed-upon deadline passes. She smiles up at him. "Hey," she says, finally feeling like her heart is not broken. She thinks back on the seven months they've spent apart, the longest since their initial two-year separation. "I thought about you every single day," she says quietly.
He returns the smile. "I could never stop thinking about you," he says. A second later, his eyes darken. "Are you alright?"
Her thoughts return to her nightmare. "Fine," she says tersely.
"You certainly didn't seem fine a minute ago when you were thrashing about before I could wake you."
She sighs. "Things haven't been the same since Samoa," she says, referring to the last time they'd been able to meet.
Alarm immediately flashes in his eyes. "You've been having these nightmares for seven months?" he asks, his voice tight.
"I didn't say that," notes Lisbon.
"You didn't have to," says Jane. "What happened, Lisbon? What's going on?"
He wraps his arms around her torso, and she is helpless. She concedes. "After Samoa," she begins, "I got scared that you'd do something reckless to try to beat the deadline. You know, like coming back to the States and threatening Abbott or something along those lines." He tries to interrupt, but she continues. "That is your MO," she points out. "When you get desperate, you get reckless, Jane. I kept thinking about you getting caught and thrown in jail."
His eyes scan her face, reading her in an instant.
"What else?"
She stares at him blankly.
"What else has gotten you so spooked?" he elaborates. "Something else happened that you're not telling me about."
She looks away from his overwhelming stare and reaches over to grab his hand. She places it on her still-flat abdomen.
"Months ago," she says, "I missed a period. Took three pregnancy tests, the first of which came out positive. I'm obviously not," she adds quickly, stumbling over the words, "you know, pregnant. But for several days, I thought I might have been." She looks up at him. Finally. "And I thought you wouldn't ever get to meet your child."
He gapes at her, for once appearing lost for words. "You're not?" he manages to ask.
She smiles somewhat sadly. "I'm not," she confirms. She looks at him curiously. "Would it have changed anything if I was?"
He doesn't even need to consider his answer before he responds. "No," he says. "If you were pregnant, I'd do everything possible to get back to you—which is exactly what I'm doing now." He blinks at her, reading her again. "You're relieved," he notes. "Not at my answer—you're relieved to not be pregnant."
She puts her hand over his, which is still covering her stomach. "Is that so surprising?" she asks. "Most of my relatives were completely dysfunctional. I have absolutely no idea what constitutes a normal, healthy family, and I don't think I'm cut out to try to start one. To be honest, I'd never even thought being a mother was in the cards for me. To suddenly be faced with all that—without even talking about it with you first—was completely and utterly overwhelming."
Jane shifts so that he is no longer leaning over her, instead lying back on the pillows and gathering her into his arms.
"First off," he says, "there is no such thing as a functional family—they're all dysfunctional to some degree. And secondly, I could spend an hour listing all the reasons why you'd be a fantastic mother—and that wouldn't even begin to cover the whole list." He pauses, running a hand up and down her back. "But really, Lisbon, if children are something you don't want, we don't even need to have this conversation. I am ridiculously happy whenever you're by my side, and that won't change whether or not we decide to have children."
She looks up at him, touched. "I'm not sure what I want," she admits. "But you're right—I'm not ready to have this conversation. Could we shelve it temporarily? Maybe until we're finally, permanently together?"
He smiles at her. "I'd like that. Very much so."
Lisbon catches a glimmer in his eyes, something she hasn't seen since she'd first tracked him down a year ago.
A smile spreads across her face. "You have a plan."
He chuckles, and it is the most beautiful sound.
"I do," he confirms.
Her heart starts skipping once more, and all she can think is He's coming home he's coming home he's coming home. Like a mantra, it resonates through her, and she feels her body come alive again.
"Tell me," she says eagerly, grabbing his forearms and grinning at him. He smiles too and pulls her on top of him, so that her body is flush against his.
"I can't," he says, still chuckling. "You know I can't."
She pouts. "Why the hell not?"
He lifts his head to kiss her sweetly, and she drinks him in like she's dying of thirst.
She knows he is purposely distracting her, but it's been seven months since she's felt his lips on hers—seven months since she's felt his hands on her hips—and she lets him continue the distraction.
After, he tucks her against his bare chest and kisses her languidly, and she murmurs against him. "What were you saying?"
He smiles, still kissing her. "You know I can't tell you, Lisbon. You have to be able to deny you knew anything about it."
She pulls back slightly, and her dark hair stands out against the ivory of his skin.
"Meaning whatever you're planning, it's illegal."
He doesn't deny it.
"At least tell me this—is the team involved? Are you getting help?"
"You know they'd do anything to help you, Lisbon," he says, refusing to give her a straight answer.
She sighs but figures this is the best she will get for now. She rests her head above his heart, and she shivers at the feel of his fingers at the small of her back.
Sleep threatens to pull her under, but she tries to fight it. "Why Saint Petersburg?" she asks.
His arms tighten around her. "My neighbor in Venezuela lived here for a while. Told me it was an ideal place to make wishes for the future." He shrugs. "I thought that seemed appropriate for us. Plus," he adds, "he gave me advice on all the romantic places I could take you."
"Patrick Jane," says Lisbon sleepily, mumbling against his chest. "Are you trying to woo me?"
He tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead. "'Trying'?" he asks. "Please. I'm clearly succeeding."
She laughs lightly, then silence descends upon them. He gives her another kiss, but she is already asleep. He tucks her more tightly against him and then joins her.
They are walking arm in arm out of St. Isaac's Cathedral, the snow crunching under their feet, when Lisbon turns to Jane. The cathedral stands behind him, majestic with its golden dome and imposing granite columns, but Lisbon's attention is focused on Jane. She looks up at him.
"What were you saying about making wishes?" she asks, squinting against the harsh sunlight reflected on the snow.
He grins.
"Come on," he says, grabbing her hand, and he pulls her through the snow.
As they walk, Jane explains that Saint Petersburg is famous for its legends, mysteries, and mystical locations. Lisbon leans into him, entranced. They walk through the streets in the center of town, slipping on ice hidden by fresh snow, and the bustle of the city surrounds them.
A giant granite fountain appears up ahead. Though the fountain is now mostly covered in snow, Jane hands Lisbon a small coin anyway.
"See those steps?" he says. She nods, looking at the triangular fountain and imagining water rolling over its twelve steps in the summer. "Turn around, make a wish, and toss the coin over your shoulder. Whichever step it lands on tells you how many months it will take for your wish to come true."
Without thinking about it, Lisbon turns on the spot and closes her eyes.
I wish Jane could return to me, she thinks, concentrating hard, and she throws the coin behind her.
She looks over at Jane, whose expression seems to radiate disbelief.
"Five months," he whispers.
She turns to look at the fountain. Indeed, the coin has landed on the fifth step.
"Five months," she echoes, and they walk away, leaving the coin in the snow.
Jane takes her to nine other locations to make wishes during the course of their time in Saint Petersburg. He saves the eleventh and final destination for their last day together.
"Поцелуев мост," he says in Russian, and she wonders if his pronunciation is anywhere near accurate. "Literally, it translates to 'Bridge of Kisses'. It's been here in some form or another since the 1700s." He grabs her hand, and they walk to the middle of the bridge, where they look over the frozen river to see St. Isaac's Cathedral looming in the distance. They lean on the railing, the snow falling around them once again, and a car honks to their right.
Jane continues. "When the bridge was first built, it marked the outskirts of the city. That meant lovers often said goodbye here. Legend has it," he says, "that couples who kiss here are guaranteed a happy ending. Though lovers part on this bridge, they reunite here as well."
Lisbon blinks back tears, but they quickly freeze on her eyelashes in the frigid air.
"Bridging broken hearts," she whispers, and Jane chuckles.
"Something like that," he says.
He turns to face her and grabs both hands. "One more rendezvous, Lisbon. And then I'll be home. I need to put the finishing touches on this plan, but I promise you—I'll be home soon."
"Where do you want to go next?" she asks.
He answers immediately. "I've already made arrangements for us to meet in Mexico," he says, slipping a piece of paper into her coat with the details. "These trips are exhausting you. I want our last meeting to be in your time zone." He smiles down at her. "Is that alright?"
She wraps her arms around him and leans into his chest. She nods against him. "That's perfect."
They stand like that for several minutes before Jane pulls back. "I need to get you to the airport," he says reluctantly.
"I know," she says.
But he moves closer to her, placing a finger under her chin to lift her lips to his own.
It is still heartbreaking, thinks Lisbon, kissing Jane and knowing we are to be parted again. But just like the lovers who parted here in the past, she knows they will meet again.
"Three months until I see you," she whispers to him. "And five until you're home for good."
He just kisses her again in response, pulling her more tightly against him, and her eyes flutter closed.
"Did you make a wish?" he finally says.
She nods. "Eleven of them," she replies, her eyes still shut. "You?"
She feels his body vibrate in the affirmative. "I wish every day that I can be with you, love," he says. She opens her eyes.
She kisses him one last time, and they begin to walk towards the end of the bridge.
"Soon," she says.
He smiles weakly.
"Soon," he echoes, and his promise hangs in the frozen air long after they part.