AN: This is me, dealing with things on the show. Because it's this, or they're secretly sleeping together. Seriously.
Whys and Wherefores
She was avoiding him.
The question was: why?
He hadn't done anything in particular to make her unhappy recently. In fact, he had tried to be on his best behavior - asking her to go with him for a short road trip, even being social when Rigsby and Cho had asked him out for drinks, assuming Lisbon would be there.
It had been an incorrect assumption, but one he hadn't had a lot of time to ponder. Things had gotten very intense immediately after.
Their old partnership, their connection, had sprung to life again as they'd worked frantically to save Grace. Looking back, it told him that her actions to distance herself from him were deliberate and not as a result of her changed feelings towards him.
They'd had a few moments at the end of the case, Grace safely back next to her husband, both of them wishing the new FBI gang a fond farewell. It had been bittersweet - they had all been reunited briefly, and it was very likely that it would be the last time for years.
Attuned as he was to Lisbon's every move, he noticed the set of her jaw as Cho walked Rigsby and Van Pelt out to their cab. She was fighting tears, and he carefully placed his hand on the center of her back, wondering what he would do if she actually cried.
She didn't, but she did lean in to him subtly for perhaps a minute.
And then the moment ended. Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifted, and she took a calculated step away.
He missed her immediately, missed her laughter and her warmth, watched everything he adored about her disappear under a heavy cloak of dismissal and professionalism.
For a second, he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, demand to know what was happening. Demand to know why.
Instead, he let her go.
He didn't sleep that night. Instead, he drove the streets of Austin, working on familiarizing himself with the streets and the all night diners. He thought about driving by Lisbon's house, but with a shock of dismay, he realized he didn't even know where she lived.
They were falling apart, the two of them.
It was...deeply unsettling. For years, Lisbon had been his anchor in a rough sea. She brought him back from the brink after Angela and Charlotte, gave his life meaning, had his back for twelve years.
This, the FBI, Texas, was supposed to be a new start for them. He had envisioned them going forward, blurring some the lines that had always been between them, lines that he had put there.
And now she was the one erecting defenses.
Why?
It wasn't about Kim or whatever had happened on that island. No, she and Kim were actually friends, going out for drinks after work on a fairly regular basis. For a second, he wondered if he should talk to the other woman, see if she had any insights on why he was having to fight tooth and nail to even speak to Lisbon. He dismissed the idea immediately. Kim liked Lisbon a hell of a lot better than him, so the effort would be futile.
He was...lonely. That was nothing terribly new. He had been lonely for a very long time. But he had hoped that things would start to change. And this was different sort of lonely, besides. Before, back in California, he always had her office to spend time in, knew she would always answer his calls, or be up for grabbing a quick dinner after work.
Now he was sure of very little.
He needed to do something to rectify this, needed to have her back. Of course, the first step was to figure out why the enormous chasm between them was there in the first place.
Part of it was him, he was certain. He had just expected to slip back into their old routines, but he wasn't the same person as he had been before. If he was being perfectly honest, he sometimes felt like he was missing a reason for getting out of bed in the morning. It had been Red John for so long, and he was finding it was difficult once his primary reason for being was gone. He didn't know how to deal with it.
This was not the life he had set out to live. But he had chosen it, sitting in a bar on a remote island one afternoon. He had known what coming back meant. It meant this work and dead bodies and a bunch of mistrustful federal agents. But it also meant Lisbon.
And really, what was the point of having a new life if there was no one you wanted to live it with?
It made her distance and silence harder to bear. He had expected to be able to hold onto her like he always had, but she was gone.
He spent the rest of the night in the Airstream, falling asleep with his clothes on just before dawn.
Lisbon beat him to work the next day, already well into what was probably her third cup of coffee, industrially making notes over a well-thumbed file. She was still determined to prove to everyone that she was in the FBI because she deserved it, and if doing exemplary work on boring cases got her respect, well, she would do it.
It made him a little sad. She was such a fantastic cop, and here she was, probably tracking down kids who were illegally downloading music. Meanwhile, he was stuck in the field with Agent Fischer. Now, he liked Kim, but she just wasn't Lisbon. She wasn't his partner, hadn't been by his side as he walked to hell and back, didn't know him better than any person living.
"Morning," he said cheerfully, pausing at her desk a moment.
She barely looked up. "Hello," she replied, pen still poised in her hand.
Abruptly, he found he wanted her complete attention. So he sat on the edge of her desk, deliberately invading her personal space. He'd done this before, back in California, back when they had both been aware of what his increased proximity was doing to their pulses.
And now...now he could see her defenses go up, almost like a visible shield.
"Have dinner with me," he blurted without thought. "We need to talk."
"About what?" she asked, carefully.
He arched an eyebrow. "You know what."
"No, I'm afraid I don't," she replied matter-of-factly, trying to tug the manila folder he was currently sitting on closer to her.
He almost sighed in frustration, wondering why she was insisting on doing this. "Teresa," he said, effectively getting her to look up again. "Please. Have dinner with me. I miss you."
Her eyes were dark, almost bruised, but he held them, trying to convey to her how much this would mean to him.
"Okay," she eventually whispered, sounding like this was very much against her better judgement.
He couldn't help his grin. For a few seconds, he had been genuinely afraid that she would turn him down flat.
"Excellent," he told her, moving off of her desk. "I'll find you at the end of the day. Promise you're not going to run off," he tacked on, and she rolled her eyes.
"Promise," she deadpanned, clearly annoyed.
The next eight hours crawled by. There were no new cases, something that he should be grateful about because it would have effectively ruined his plans. Still, it would have given him something to do. Instead, he inexpertly used his new iPhone to search for places to eat, occasionally glancing up at Lisbon as she worked.
She, on the other hand, was deliberately not looking at him. Ever.
Absently, he twisted his wedding ring around, an old habit, and one that he needed to kick.
At 4:59, he pushed off the couch, sauntering to Lisbon's desk. All of the files she'd been working on were stacked in a different pile. His industrious little agent.
Chivalrously, he helped her into her jacket, though he did resist the temptation to slide his hands through her hair. In the state Lisbon was in, she'd be tempted to shoot him, and that would put a damper on the evening he had planned.
She was quiet as he drove them to a small place fifteen minutes or so away from the office. He'd never been, but according to whatever Yelp was, it had a good menu and good service.
He ordered a local beer and she seconded it, fingers wrapping around the glass bottle tightly. She was nervous, uncomfortable in this situation.
If someone would have told him six months ago that there would ever be a time when Lisbon was uncomfortable with him, he wouldn't have been able to hold in his incredulity.
He waited until their breadsticks arrived before jumping in.
"Why are you avoiding me?"
She choked on a mouthful of beer. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. "Please. Can we not? You're avoiding me," he said again, "and I think I deserve to know why."
"I am not avoiding you," she said automatically, but he could see the color in her cheeks.
He caught her gaze, refused to look away. "Why?" he repeated, ignoring her last response.
She took another sip of beer, not answering.
"Teresa," he said solemnly, earnestly. "If I've done something wrong, tell me. But I literally travelled two thousand miles to be with you, and I would think that would give me the right to have an honest response."
Her eyes suddenly spit angry sparks, and he realized he'd said the wrong thing. "Oh, you feel like your life was turned upside down recently? I wonder what that's like. At least you had a choice in the matter." Her words were harsh.
"And you didn't?" he demanded, his surprise making his tone harder than it normally would have been.
"You made sure I didn't, just like you always do. Yeah, like I was going to sit in a podunk police station when I could be in the FBI. What were my options, seriously?" He heard self-deprecation.
"Do you regret coming to Texas?"
Their waiter appeared then, took note of their expressions, and hurriedly left their dinners.
"No," she said in response to his earlier question. "Coming here was the best thing to happen to me since the CBI dissolved. I have a chance to work on a national level, to solve crimes that literally make a difference to this entire country."
"So tell me how this leads you to hardly speaking to me." He hadn't even touched his meal yet.
Lisbon sighed, heavily, her shoulder starting to slump. "Alright," she finally said. "I'm avoiding you." Her mouth turned wry. "I'm happy here," she told him.
He had no idea what his face looked like. "And?" he prompted.
"And if I want to stay happy," she went on, "it's best for me to stay unentangled from you." The words were heavy, like she had put a lot of thought into them.
"Because I make you unhappy?" The idea was so ludicrous, so bewildering that he couldn't wrap his mind around it.
"Jane," she said, "I spent ten years of my life trying to be your partner. Sometimes, I even thought I was. But when you would...close yourself off, or disappear for months or years, or just...leave me...it was devastating. Personally, professionally, and in every other way you can think of. I can't go through it again, and I'm bound to if I work with you."
He knew he was staring.
She toyed with her napkin. "Besides, I'm trying to rebuild myself, my career. By myself," she added. "And you know damn well you complicate that." She took another deep breath. "If I'm around you, I'll fall back into the way things used to be. I miss it, honestly, miss you, but it's the best thing for me." She met his eyes again, half biting her lip, waiting for his response.
It sounded ridiculous. She missed him, was happy in Texas...but didn't want anything to do with him. He blinked rapidly. "Things are different now," he told her. "I'm different now."
She looked pointedly at his wedding ring. "Are you?"
He curled his fingers in protectively, instinctively. "Yes," he said emphatically. "Believe me."
She shrugged. "I'd like to, really I would, but I spent so many years waiting for that to be true."
He felt anger start to bubble up in his chest. "That was before, Lisbon. Could you at least give me a chance before you pass judgement?"
Slowly, sadly, she shook her head. "It's better for me if I just keep my distance. It's better for both of us."
"Why?" His words were decidedly angry.
Her eyes snapped at him again. "Because you broke my heart!" she almost yelled. "More than once, actually, and I was stupid enough to let you keep doing it! I'm not going there again."
People were starting to look at them, but he was almost past the point of caring. This was not at all where he'd expected this conversation to go.
The terrible thing was, there was no denying her accusations. Yes, he had broken her heart. He'd known it even as he was doing it.
He leaned back, passed one hand over his face.
"Jane," she said, quieter now but no less intense, "I threw my career in California away for you. I took a bullet for your cause. I betrayed the trust of people that I admired immensely. And for all of that, you left me on a beach when it mattered the most, and them drug me back to you when it was convenient." She paused for emphasis. "Now, I am happy with what I'm doing. Getting involved with you is just going to complicate the life I'm trying to build. And I know that you're just going to leave me on a beach again someday."
Her words felt like actual blows, and he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, she was standing, coat in hand. "So, yes. I'm avoiding you. It's the right thing to do, and, for the first time, I need to take care of myself."
She didn't say goodbye as she walked out, didn't give him a chance to respond to the sentiments she'd flung at him.
He sat in silence, in absolute shock.
How had this gone so wrong?
Absently, he looked down at his hands. His wedding ring winked back at him.
Angry now, almost as angry as Lisbon had been, he wrenched it off, thrust it in his pocket. She didn't know, didn't understand anything about him now. She hadn't even bothered to give him a chance to prove that he was a better man now, that he was more than willing to try to be what she needed.
That hell would freeze before he broke her heart again.
That he was lost and adrift in this new life, and he had been counting on using her as his anchor.
That he thought about her every day he was gone, and every day since he'd been back.
That he was trying to be ready, but he didn't know how.
Disgusted with himself now, he rose, tossing a few twenties on the table.
He was a mess. She was right for walking away.
Wait.
Now she was the one leaving him on the proverbial beach. The irony almost choked him. No, this wasn't going to do. She didn't get to do this to him, not after telling him that she couldn't take him leaving anymore.
Outside, he looked the empty pavement up and down. She had clearly gotten in a cab. He pulled out his phone, inexpertly scrolled through his contacts. One minute later, he'd weaseled Lisbon's address out of Cho with the words, "I will give you anything you want if you tell me where she lives." He didn't have time for subtlety now.
The white house on Sycamore had one light burning in the living room, but he could see Lisbon's shadow as she walked from place to place.
Screwing up his courage, he turned off the car, walked with unsteady legs to the front door, knocked concisely, heart hammering louder than his fist.
There were several moment of hesitation before she opened the wooden door. Her eye make-up was smudged, like she had swiped at her eyes a fair few times.
"Who's leaving who now?" he asked without preamble. His voice was hoarse.
She shook her head. "You've been leaving me for years," she whispered.
"But I always come back," he reminded her. "Always."
"I won't live my life like that," she said sadly. "Not anymore."
"What if I said you don't have to? What if I swore I would always be here?" The answer seemed intensely vital.
"Jane," she said slowly, and he knew what she was going to say. "You've lied to me many times before, and about things you swore you wouldn't."
Lorelei flashed in his mind, and the Red John suspects.
"Lisbon..." he trailed off. It was hard to refute her claims when he knew they were true. "It's not going to be like that anymore. What I was looking for...well. It's over. It's all in the past."
She closed her eyes, and he knew she wanted to believe him.
Carefully, he took a step forward and she let him, pushing the door shut at his back. A small victory.
"Teresa," he murmured, "I know I haven't done much to inspire fidelity, but give me a chance."
Her lashes rose. "A chance for what, Jane? I'm not even sure what we're talking about."
Well, he was. Slowly, they had gone from talking about their professional relationship to their personal one. And he knew which one mattered more.
He took another step forward, wrapped his hands around her upper arms, softly kissed the corner of her mouth. He could taste the salt from the tears he was sure had tracked down her face.
Her breath caught.
"I came back for you," he whispered, lips next to her ear. "Please don't make me live without you." He paused, and she subtly rested her hands on his sides, so lightly he almost didn't feel them. "Because if there's anything worse than being away from you, it's having you at arm's length and not being able to touch you."
But he was touching her now, hands sliding through her hair, her collarbone, thumb ghosting against her lips.
"I adore you," he breathed. "Let me prove it."
And when she raised her eyes to his, he knew he had won. They were forest green and fathoms-deep, and he bent his head to kiss her without thinking.
Her lips were tremulous for a moment, but as he increased the pressure of his own, she steadied, stretching on to her toes to reach him better. When she wanted control, he gave it to her willingly, palms resting heavily against her hips.
"Prove it," she murmured once, in between increasingly passionate kisses, echoing his earlier words.
He was more than happy to oblige her.