Notes: My second ever attempt at fiction writing, and thus at fanfiction. If you care to review, please be respectful. I tend to interpret Lisbon as more serious than most do, but I don't believe she's out of character. Timing would likely be very early in Season 2, though I apologize if the season of the year is off. I'm suggesting that even California suffers from the occasional, perhaps uncharacteristic "cold snap."
Disclaimer: Copyright for The Mentalist belongs to CBS, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.
Title: "New Point of Navigation"
Special Agent Teresa Lisbon blew out the breath that she had held in her puffed cheeks. To her disappointment, it condensed into a cloud of icy vapor that she passed through as she stepped from the CBI building. She had hoped that it wasn't as cold as it had looked from her office window. February was not her favorite time of year, less for the cold than for the dark. The sun hadn't yet been up when she'd left her apartment at 6:30 am that morning. She was finally turning her key in the lock of her car at 7:30 pm, and it was already dark again. She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat, and slipped behind the wheel, her down jacket making a predictable "hiss" as it brushed against the wearing upholstery. She had spent the majority of the day in a windowless room, surrounded by tight-jawed men with thick folders, red pens, and short tempers.
Teresa inserted the key and was only mildly surprised when the engine slumped instead of turning over. She exhaled heavily again, and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. She was just too tired to be as frustrated as she should be. She took a moment and snuggled into the hood of the jacket, its faux fur tickling her cheeks. Though she knew it was juvenile, she loved the fuzzy lining. It was soft and comforting. She suspected that her sighs were building up a layer of frost on the windows that would make driving home all the more difficult. The heater of her aging domestic sedan rarely produced more that a few half-hearted puffs of lukewarm air. Most of the time it wouldn't matter, but today…she released another lungful of air to spite herself and the deadbeat vehicle. If you were going to fog the windows, you should do it right, she thought.
Unbidden, she recalled the scene in Titanic where the hand of one of the lovers streaked down the steamed window of a Model T where they were trysting. As corny as it was, she envied the passion of that moment. It seemed the only passion she had encountered in the past few months was the bloodlust of murderers driven by unbridled greed and boundless revenge. Even the love she encountered was tainted, disturbing, or dead of neglect. There were moments of heat between Grace and Wayne, but theirs would be a very slow fire to start, if the spark ever did catch hold.
Perhaps if she had been able to see the sun today, it would have made things easier. It could have been overcast for all she knew, but she liked to give herself a glimmer of hope. For as stormy as it had been in the hearing, imagining her sunlit office, or her sunlit apartment, or a sunlit beach had provided brief moments of sanctuary. Tomorrow was going to be one of the worst days of her recent career, but at least she wouldn't be in that room again. Tomorrow there would be windows, the ability to see the sky, and she would control the schedule. Wiggling her toes in her boots and her fingers in her mittens, she sat up and tried the key again. Failure. She looked at her watch. She could catch a cab home, walk the three blocks and catch a bus, give in to her growling stomach and grab dinner at one of the diners close by, or…
Lisbon was startled out of her thoughts by a tap on the window. Smiling through the whimsical patterns of crystallizing moisture was Patrick Jane. She returned his smile, and opened the door.
"Car trouble?" he asked, backing up a few steps to allow her room to climb out.
"And you say that you weren't really a psychic." It felt good to see a friendly face. And Teresa had to admit, it felt especially good to see his. It might be alright if he figured out her problems this time. She shouldn't tell him yet, but it would be a relief if someone should happen to find out. The burden of shouldering it alone would lift. Even as she thought the thought, she chided herself. That was exactly what she had ensured would not happen by her actions today. She shook her head. Her team had taken many hits for her. She owed her very life to them. She owed them this.
She shut the car door, and began her trek back to the building. Jane had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his suit coat and had to jog a couple steps to catch up to her. "Can I give you a ride home, or a jump start?" he asked.
"Honestly, you don't know how nice it would be to say yes." She knew the exhaustion was fraying her voice. "But if I don't deal with the car tonight I'll just have to deal with it tomorrow. And after everyone being out today, I'll need to be in early, and probably stay late, and…"
Jane interrupted her. "That's no bother. I can pick you up tomorrow." A pause. "Or someone else on the team." He smiled and winked. "We've got you covered, boss."
Libson stopped and turned to him. The corners of his eyes were lined just enough to remind those who knew him that his life was not the carefree California dream that blonde locks and baby blues usually signified. She had always thought he looked more like a surfer than a psychic, more like an actor than augur. The teasing, flirting, even the fits of pique he engaged in hid it from the unacquainted, but the pain was there if you knew where to look. She did. It was one of the things she had learned from him. But it was not the only thing.
"Boss? Not 'woman' or 'dear' or some other disrespectful title?" She cracked her own lopsided grin and arched an eyebrow. "Why, Jane, I think I should send you out for disciplining by the Organized Crime unit more often! It seems that they have tamed the savage consultant. Maybe you can be trusted to drive if you've learned your lessons well. Did anyone punch you today?" She laughed. She tried to pretend it didn't have the giddy sound of someone who was desperate to feel good. Thank goodness there wasn't alcohol anywhere nearby. She started toward the building again.
"No, no, nothing like that. Just a warning about stealing the squeegee toy from Agent Lobaski's desk. They didn't catch me when I hypnotized Dagny 'the fist' O'Gannon. But they were certainly glad when he stopped cracking his knuckles." She could tell he was looking at her out of the side of his eyes, waiting for her to give her standard lecture. She didn't, and she knew it would probably get him wondering. She only had energy enough for one line of defense, and this would be it.
"Ha! Lobaski? It was a stuffed squirrel when I spent time with them last. Must have broken up with that girlfriend."
"So…where were Cho and the paramour pair today?"
Damn! She had set him up for it. She had thought by turning the conversation to his assignment she could keep him from examining her. But, it had opened the door for additional inquiries about their split for the day. He was good. She had to admit that her heart felt lighter for the game. It was exhilarating to match wits with him. She was unlikely to win, but it was a much needed distraction.
"Oh…they were called to mandatory systems training for some new surveillance software that is going to be implemented this summer. I'm sure there will be lots of complaints about it. You'll have all kinds of fun telling them what they learned before they can tell you."
He attempted to laugh, but what came out was more of a huff as he shivered next to her.
"Why don't you have a jacket? It's California, not the tropics. Afraid it will rumple your suit?"
He chuckled, surprised, and turned to look at her as they walked. "Well, you know, my appearance is very important to me. Someone has to keep up the standard of respectability. A properly prepared cup of tea, six-button vests, excellent taste in motor vehicles…"
Teresa laughed, more than she should, she knew. She couldn't help it. The stress of the committee had been nearly unbearable. For 6 hours she had answered questions, explained the case again and again. She had swallowed her pride, bitten her tongue, apologized, accepted censure and a personal citation, and…but she had protected them. There was something exhilarating about that. She had managed to subdue with diplomacy. It wasn't part of the job she did often, and it was a victory to know she could do it well. None of them would see any entry in their jackets, and Jane…Jane would stay.
She rushed ahead. "Mmmhmm! And golden curls carefully coiffed, a gleaming white smile to stun the women, and a disarming wit to ambush the men. Taking down the most dangerous felons in California without a weapon. Patrick Jane – not exactly an officer, but completely a gentleman!" She laughed again. She suspected it was actually a giggle. She felt silly and light-headed. Stepping to her left she shouldered into him. "And to think, you allow us to tag along in our," she gestured expansively to her subdued slacks and practical shoes, "sorry state of under-dress."
Jane's eyebrows were lifted high into his forehead and his eyes were wide. He grinned broadly as he adjusted his balance back to center. "I see you have greater powers of observation than I had given you credit for, Agent Lisbon. But," he extracted his hand from his pocket and wagged his finger at her, "you have forgotten my clear sparkling eyes, glowing exfoliated skin, mannish manicure, and fashionable footwear. One is not complete without the spit and polish."
Teresa covered her mouth with her hand as she indulged in a belly laugh. There! She had managed it. She had maneuvered out from under his questions about the day. She had even forgotten her own troubles for a few good humored minutes. She had played on his vanity for her own enjoyment. As they stood together amicably at the door of the CBI building, she had a moment of clarity. Uncountable scenes with Jane, frustrating and fun, silly and sarcastic, unnerving and embarrassing all clicked into place like the tumblers in a lock.
This was Patrick Jane's game. This was his way.
Inside, she went completely still. Jane only engaged, truly sparred, with those he found interesting and equal. He pushed them and maneuvered in order to understand their boundaries. And to see if they could respond in kind. It was a sign of respect when Jane treated a suspect that way. There were times when what disappointed him most seemed to be that a worthy adversary had been foolish enough to get caught committing a crime and, thus, take him/herself out of play.
Jane had been pushing her since he was assigned to major crimes. Testing her, finding limits. Suddenly their discussion about trust out in the Mojave made a very different kind of sense. She had said she didn't trust him because he had lied to her and tricked her. He had said he trusted her. Now she understood. He had trusted her enough to do those things. He knew she was up to the task of discovering them, getting past them, of pushing back against him when he was doing his best to obscure and dissemble.
And that after meeting his challenge, he trusted her with what she would find behind all the distractions and the diversions.
She would find his insomniac nights. She would find the pain around his eyes. She would find his loss and his regret. She would find his self-loathing and his tortured psyche. She would find his urge to self-destruction. And she would…what? The answer to that question hovered on the edge of her consciousness. A part of her could feel the answer, tickling in the back of her mind, perhaps even tantalizing the edges of her heart. But she couldn't bring herself to know it yet. And she suspected that he might not realize that he was asking the question.
The laughter was gone, and she was looking in his eyes. Staring past them into…something else. She finally looked away, shocked at what had happened in that instant. When she looked back, Jane's expression was serious. He shifted his line of sight to some point beyond her, cleared his throat, and then met her gaze again.
"Whatever you did today, I'm sure that I should say thank you. It's clear that you had to sacrifice something important, and that you feel like you won't get it back for a long time." He looked at his feet and stamped them against the cold. His eyes were clear and sharp, but they only managed to rest on her right shoulder when his head came up again. "I know that you won't tell us what happened or where you were. You would deny it even if we could find out."
He was silent for so long she thought he was done speaking. Then, quietly, "But I hope you know that because I know you…I know what you might do. It's the…courage and…," he hesitated, searching for the proper word, searching out her eyes again, "…rightness… in you."
Despite her years of training and practice at keeping her emotions in check, Teresa felt her throat tighten. For once, the fact that he found what she was hiding was exactly what she needed. And that he would allow her to remain silent was a gift she hadn't expected.
She leaned back and looked up at the sky. The expanse opened above her, offering a respite from the intensity of the exchange that had threatened to undo the composure she had barely been holding in place. Usually she couldn't see the stars in the city because of the light pollution so typical of urban areas. But tonight there it was, the north star, offering to her the same guidance it has provided for those who feared being lost across time. She caught her breath. In that instance she felt a twinge of the wonder that she had experienced as a child when she managed to identify a constellation. It had been both a discovery of something astonishing in the world, and a certain expanding sense of self – a flexing of confidence and pleasure that she, Teresa Lisbon, had managed to exercise a kind of control by being in the right place and time to have the experience.
Reaching over to touch Jane's arm with her left hand, she pointed upward with her right, "Do you see it, Patrick!" His name slipped out before she realized what she had done. But if there was a moment for it…a night for it…this was that time.