AN: I think I've finally settled down enough to write a coherent story. Wow, what an episode.
Reverence and Revelations
All things considered, she wasn't having a particularly good couple of weeks.
Firstly, she had been stupid enough to nearly have a breakdown in front of Jane. More than once in a matter of a few hours, if she was being honest. It was very possibly the stupidest thing she could have ever done.
Worse than her breakdown itself was what it had revealed. She wasn't foolish enough to think that Jane hadn't noticed her emotions written all over her face. For God's sake, she hadn't even been able to look at him after he'd admitted to feeling something for Lorelei.
And then, in the split second she'd met his eyes, she'd seen the dawning realization there, the understanding of what her words actually meant.
In that moment, she'd not only given her secret away to Jane, but she'd been forced to admit it to herself. It was something she'd been fighting against for years, but suddenly, the pain of his admission had made it impossible to pretend her feelings were anything other than decidedly beyond platonic.
What an excellent time to figure out you're in love with a man - just as he's telling you he cares for someone else.
She figured that was about par for the course, though, at least as far as she was concerned.
After she'd committed her crucial and unforgivable error, Jane's behavior changed, at least a little. Perhaps he figured out she truly wasn't kidding about his removal from the team. She had been perfectly serious when she told him that. Whether or not she had the strength to hold herself to her word was another conversation entirely.
Of course, his actions might have changed simply because he now knew how she felt.
That was something she wasn't willing to accept. Because it meant pity, and that was the last thing in the world she wanted.
Even if being in love with Jane was a pitiable thing. She wasn't convinced there was any room in his heart for something not revenge and memories. True, there were moments every now and again that made her wonder, and his thoughtless "love you" repeated itself ad nauseum in her mind.
But it didn't mean that he was capable of the love she rationally knew she deserved.
It still didn't change her feelings.
For once in her life, she had been glad to get a call from Bertram, giving her an excuse to leave, to flee this stupid house in Davis where she had prayed she wouldn't find him, even as she knew it was precisely where he was. Knew that he had lied to her already.
The next morning, sitting in Bertram's office, she had a moment of supreme unreality as the man asked her if she had ever wondered what had gone on between Jane and Lorelei after she had escaped prison.
Only every day, she wanted to reply. The images came after her at unexpected times, leaving her raw and fragile. They had been alone for days. Plenty of time to make love at a leisurely pace, to lounge in hotel beds in each other's arms.
Once, the idea had even made her physically ill, but she had managed to conceal it. God, she was a sorry sight.
And now they had gone through two very tense weeks of waiting, waiting for anything, really. Waiting for Lenin to die, or to wake. Waiting for Lorelei to reappear.
When her phone rang, some eerie sixth sense alerted her to the subject matter of the conversation. When Kirkland told her they had found Lorelei, she had known immediately what he meant.
It had fallen on her to tell Jane.
She was terrified of what his reaction would be. Would he cry? Would her mourn the loss of the only woman he had allowed to be physically close to him since his wife was killed? He had admitted feelings - how deep did they actually go?
He had been utterly stoic during the ride to the crime scene. She had expected that much. There were times when Jane was so lost in thought that she wondered if he would ever find his way back.
They both ignored Kirkland at the scene. Jane because he probably didn't see the man, and her because she found she simply didn't trust him. There was something bizarre about his involvement, and about Bertram's compliance. One day, she vowed she would figure out his interest in Lorelei, and with Tommy Volker. The pieces just weren't adding up in her mind, but it wasn't the time or place to sort them out.
She followed in Jane's silent wake, but stopped when she was close enough to see the carnage in front of her. Jane walked the rest of the way alone, in a brief parallel to the night James Panzer had been killed by the same man.
Lisbon felt like they had acted this scene out many times in the past decade. Jane had some compulsion to see the evidence of Red John's work, to put it under the scrutiny of his gaze.
From her vantage point, she heard him whisper to Lorelei's body. Although she couldn't make out the words, her treacherous mind was very helpful in supplying some.
But then, as he turned and walked back, almost brushing her shoulder as he passed by, he spoke clearly enough for her to hear.
"She had it coming."
The words were cold, emotionless, and they made her shiver as she stared at his retreating back.
She gave him a decent head start before following.
There was a different kind of silence enveloping them on the way back to CBI, both of them lost in their own thoughts. What Jane's were, she couldn't guess.
Childishly, she wanted to say I told you so. He had put his faith in a woman who had been working for a serial killer, that had devoted her life to him. He had told her that he trusted Lorelei. That had been a blow in and of itself.
Her immediate reaction had been to ask, "are you fucking kidding me?" Despite what he'd told her, it had taken him years to trust her, and she was completely free of entanglements with sociopaths, unless you counted Jane himself.
He had been counting on Lorelei to give up Red John. Instead, even with the evidence in front of her that the man had killed her sister, she had thrown their agreement in Jane's face, and made a valiant attempt to snuff out the only lead Jane had.
She could feel a little sorry for him, even as the vast majority of her mind forcefully stated that he had gotten no more than he deserved.
The building was quiet when they arrived. To her surprise, Jane followed her into her office instead of disappearing to the attic. He sat in the chair in front of her desk, his usual spot recently, head bowed like a contrite child.
She resisted the urge to touch his shoulder as she went around him to her own chair.
The lines of his face looked particular hewn tonight, and despite everything, she felt her anger begin to crumble, even as her hurt remained.
And he was here, she reminded herself, in front of her, instead of holed up in his lair. Perhaps it was a not so subtle way of searching for comfort.
With a sigh, she reached into her bottom desk drawer and pulled out the rarely-used tequila and two shot glasses.
Jane eyed her dubiously as she poured.
"I was under the impression that this was for case-closed purposes only." There was a small spark of amusement in his eyes.
She said nothing, just slid the shot glass across the desk where it was caught by his nimble fingers. Lifting her own glass, she saluted him, waited for him to return the gesture, then downed the amber liquid at the same time he did.
The burn was comforting, familiar. Jane's fingers brushed hers when he handed her the glass back.
"I owe you an apology," he finally said, very quietly.
She stared.
"You were right. I had no business trusting her."
Some of the vindictive pleasure she had been feeling ebbed away as she saw his face. Jane had truly believed that Lorelei was the route that would take him to Red John, that she would willingly give him up.
His disappointment was almost tangible.
He met her eyes, and there was something fathoms-deep in his gaze. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I knew I was going to, and that was hard enough. I just thought that maybe, in the end..." He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.
"You thought that finding Red John would be worth whatever you put me through," she finished the sentence for him, and pain shot through her again, as fresh as it had ever been. It sounded callous and cold, and it was. It was also, she knew, very true.
"I'm sorry," he said again, softly.
She didn't look at him as she replaced the tequila in her drawer. There wasn't much to say - she certainly wasn't in a frame of mind to forgive him. He had deliberately used her trust and affection, assuming that she would get him off the hook with Bertram, and that she would do nothing but fight to get the Lenin case back from Homeland Security.
One apology just wasn't going to cut it.
Shutting the drawer a little harder than necessary, she stood, crossed to her couch and sat heavily on it, letting her head loll against the cushions, eyes closed. A few moments later, the creak of a chair and measured footsteps told her Jane was coming to join her.
He sat very close to her, their shoulders touching.
"Whatever I felt for her," he began unexpectedly, and Lisbon felt her spine start to stiffen, "it didn't matter. It was borne from circumstances that I didn't account for. She was as much a victim as anyone, and I started to see her as a human, and not just a pawn."
Tentatively, one of his hands covered hers, and she could feel his hesitation. "It wasn't real. I knew that, despite what you might have thought."
To her everlasting horror, she felt tears start to prick in her eyes again. But she would be damned if she let him see them.
Regardless of her resolution, the tightness of her jaw must have given it away. He turned towards her, his free hand brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Teresa," he murmured, very close to her face, "it's alright."
She sucked in a deep breath, eyes still screwed shut.
"If it came down to it," he said, "I hope you know that I would always choose you over her."
Finally, unable to hide any longer, she forced her lids open, ashamed at how glossy she knew her eyes would be. "I don't know if I can believe you," she whispered.
Something flickered in his gaze, something that looked remarkably like pain, but she must've been imagining it. Nothing she said had the ability to hurt him. She had learned that the hard way.
He leaned forward and pressed an unexpected kiss to her temple. She felt her breath catch, and knew he noticed.
"That doesn't make it any less true," he said.
Sitting back, but still keeping her hand, he let their conversation lapse.
The worst part of this was that she didn't know how much of this Jane was doing to simply make her feel better, as opposed to doing it because he cared. She would have really liked to believe him, to trust what he was saying, but he had proven very recently that he was more than capable of lying to her when his plans called for it.
She wanted to ask about the time he had spent with Lorelei when she had escaped, but there was the horrifying chance that he would actually tell her, and she wasn't sure she would be able to deal with that tonight. Her heart was already too visible from its place on her sleeve.
Sighing deeply, she gave into an impulse that was fluttering in the back of her mind, and leaned her head against his shoulder. It had been a supremely shitty few weeks, and the selfish part of her mind argued that she was allowed a little comfort of her own.
Jane laced their fingers together, settling their joined hands on his leg, before carefully resting his head against hers.
Physically, it was as close as they had ever been. Emotionally, she felt like she had been stripped bare before him, and it was unsettling and unpleasant and terrifying. But he was still by her side.
And he was the one that had reached for her tonight.
The reasons seemed to matter very little in that moment.
His thumb brushed over hers, and she concentrated on committing this to her own memory palace. It would go next to a thousand smiles and countless loaded looks and absolutely every time they had ever touched. Love you, he'd whispered, in this very office.
He'd told her it would be alright.
And maybe if she tried hard enough she could convince herself of that, too.