Title: Ebulliometry: A Crash Course
Disclaimer: Property of Bruno Heller
Author's Notes:-
1) Ebulliometry = the determination of boiling points of liquids or the change of boiling point of a liquid owing to the presence of dissolved material [Merriam Webster definition]. I shall leave you to decide for yourself why I chose it as the title ;)
2) I started writing this during Season 4, when Wainwright was around, but it was intended to be set post-Red John. So this entire story will remain RJ-free for the duration.
3) This story is not related in any way to my previous one-shot. I'll mention that at the beginning and expand on it a little more in a further note at the end.
The phone is ringing in Lisbon's office.
To be more accurate, the phone is ringing in Lisbon's office, and she's outside in the bullpen, and she can hear it ringing, but she's not answering it. Van Pelt is going crazy.
'Crazy' manifests itself by making her twitch uncomfortably in her seat around the big table where they're discussing poor Mr Gunther, whose severed head was discovered in a restaurant dumpster two days ago. Between waiting for his body to resurface, and dealing with his hysterical wife, they've got their hands full right now.
That doesn't really explain why Lisbon isn't answering her phone, though.
"Um, boss?" she tries quietly, but Lisbon's in the middle of a slideshow of The Life of Mr Gunther.
The phone stops ringing; Van Pelt hears the faint tinny voice of the answering machine, but feels no better. What if the call relates to this case? To another case? To work - to anything?
She... might have a little OCD when it comes to phones. It's not a big deal.
Lisbon reaches a natural pause, and Van Pelt speaks without planning to. "Uh, boss, you had a phone call just then. There's a message, I think."
Lisbon's hand flies to her cell as she frowns. "No, I don't. It didn't ring."
"No, uh, your office phone."
Lisbon's expression changes - mouth tightening, frown deepening, and eyes conveying a look of deep dissatisfaction. "Oh," she says flatly. "It's fine, I'll get it later."
Hmm. Van Pelt has the sudden and unshakeable suspicion that Lisbon knows exactly who just called her. It follows, then, that Lisbon ignored the phone call deliberately.
That's interesting.
Jane obviously thinks so too, because he's scrutinising Lisbon carefully, his eyes following her every movement. Next thing, he's on his feet with the speed of a cheetah, pushing his chair away from the table and making a beeline for her office.
Lisbon is puzzled for only a matter of seconds before her brain catches up, and then she's after him in hot pursuit, sparing a moment to cast a dark look at Van Pelt. "Jane!" she bellows. "Jane, don't you dare -"
Jane dares. Of course Jane dares.
The rest of the team, now hovering at a safe distance at the entrance to the bullpen, can hear the beep of the answer machine, and a man's voice, loud and clear through the speakers. "Hi, Teresa, it's John Fox again. Listen, I know we both enjoy this little dance, but I'd really like you to call me as soon as possible - I've got an offer that I think might be more appealing to -"
There's the sound of a smack against plastic, and John Fox's voice is abruptly cut off.
They can't see, from this angle, what happens next, but Jane flees the office at alarming speed, with a trace of genuine fear for his safety in his expression. "Warpath, warpath," he warns them as he passes.
Lisbon exits the office, door slamming behind her, face as stormy as Kansas in twister season as she speedwalks down the hallway towards them. "Jane," she hisses at the man currently sitting at the table, trying to look innocent, "I will kill you."
That's no doubt true, Van Pelt thinks, but even if she does, they've all heard of John Fox now.
And it's only a matter of time before they get to the bottom of who he is.
Rigsby thinks the boss is sort of cute, in a tiny-and-dangerous sort of way. It's a little disturbing how similar to Sarah she can sometimes be; in fact, he spends large amounts of time expelling thoughts like those from his head. (It's also one of the reasons he tries so hard not to talk to Jane about his relationship.)
Anyway, the point is, the boss has her attractive qualities. He can see why some of the new agents develop puppy love for her and insist on following her around; he can also see why Mashburn wasted no time hiding his intentions. So it doesn't come as a complete surprise to hear that some other guy is in the picture.
What does surprise him is that, about two hours after that initial phone call, they're all arriving back at the bullpen after a long and difficult session interviewing Mr Gunther's large family. Jane is already saying that he knows who the killer is, Lisbon is telling him to stop show-boating and do some real police work, and... Agent Wainwright is sitting at the meeting table, looking altogether too comfortable.
"Agents," he greets them cheerfully, "how goes the investigation?"
Lisbon's shrugging her jacket off and stepping on Jane's toe simultaneously to discourage him from talking. "Too slowly, sir. No body, no apparent motive, and no real evidence. But - we'll get there."
Wainwright raises an eyebrow. "I admire your optimism, Agent Lisbon. Under the circumstances, I think you're doing the best job you could."
He stands, and Rigsby's starting to think this guy shows up because he misses the action. "Oh, and Agent Lisbon," Wainwright continues, "give John Fox a call, will you? He's tying up my office line."
Lisbon freezes.
If Rigsby had blinked, he would have missed it, but he sees it right in front of him.
Lisbon and Cho glance - ever so quickly - at each other. And then, just as quickly, it's gone and Rigsby's left wondering 'what the heck?'
"Uh," says Lisbon, "right. Of course, sir. Right away."
Wainwright nods, but he's giving Lisbon a speculative look. "Just keep doing the best job you can," he says cryptically, and Lisbon must understand what this means - maybe - because she averts her eyes and nods.
When Wainwright's gone, Lisbon and Cho glance at each other again; she rubs the back of her neck and says, "Okay, you all know what you're supposed to be doing. I'm going to see Forensics about the tox screen."
"Not making a phone call, boss?" says Cho.
Rigsby knows Cho pretty well, all things considered. He knows when Cho's deadly serious, and when he's just kidding.
Cho's tone says he's damn near hysterical.
"Not right now," Lisbon murmurs as she leaves the bullpen.
So - further information, then, Rigsby thinks as he sits down at his desk.
Whoever John Fox is, he's not afraid to go above Lisbon's head. He's starting to think the guy might not be a potential boyfriend after all.
It happens the following morning, when they're all nursing coffees and digesting - terrible pun, Jane thinks - the news that Mr Gunther's arms have been found, shoddily buried, in a local park. Half of the evidence is sitting in the stomachs of birds and rodents whose fate is to be tracked down by pest control and brought in for further examination.
Jane hopes they don't get caught. It seems kind of unfair, in his book.
Lisbon's at the meeting table, staring sightlessly at paperwork. Jane's pretty sure she didn't call the mysterious 'John Fox' yesterday, and he's hoping to enlist Van Pelt for a little detective work later on; she'll definitely be up for it, especially while she's still convinced that he's a potential boyfriend.
Jane's got his suspicions, but he's keeping those to himself.
So there they are, a fixed tableau of tired people.
Cho's phone rings. He answers it with a sharp, "Cho."
Whoever's talking at the other end is clearly both unexpected but familiar to him. "Uh-huh," he says, not moving, not writing anything down. "Uh-huh."
Jane catches it. It's so brief it's barely there - a flicker of Cho's eyes - in Lisbon's direction.
"Yeah," Cho's saying, "I'm not going to do that. And for what it's worth, I think you might be waiting a while."
He obviously intended that to be the end of the conversation, but grits his teeth as the person on the other end of the phone keeps talking. "Look, man," Cho says eventually, "just do it yourself, or come in person. I don't care." He hangs up abruptly.
"Let me guess," says Lisbon's tired voice, muffled behind the hands she's currently scrubbing over her face. "Our friend?" She attempts to stifle a yawn to no avail.
"Wants you to call him."
She shrugs, and lays her head down on the table. "Later."
Van Pelt and Rigsby look as though they want to interject, but don't know how. Jane enjoys interjecting quite a lot, so he's happy to take the burden. "Come now, Lisbon," he says. "Don't leave the poor man hanging. All we're doing is waiting, after all."
She lifts her head and glares at him. "I am trying. To. Nap." she barks. "Stop pestering me, Jane."
"Even if I stop, the intriguing Mr Fox is certainly persistent - a more economic use of your time would be to call him and give him the same message."
She groans, and pulls herself slowly to her feet. "If anybody wants me, I'll be asleep on my couch. Do Not Disturb," she adds sternly as she leaves the bullpen.
Jane makes a noise of dissatisfaction. "Probably won't call him. That's a little disappointing." He turns and fixes Cho with a piercing stare. "So - you're in John Fox's phonebook?"
Cho just blinks at him. "What's your point?"
"And Lisbon referred to him as 'our friend'," Jane continues, undaunted. "Which suggests that both you and Lisbon have previously met John Fox; you're calling him 'man', so you've spent enough time with him to be comfortable speaking casually. Here's what I think - I think you know exactly what he's calling Lisbon about, because I think he's called her about it before. And you think it's... hmm... equal parts amusing and annoying." He grins. "Well?"
Cho rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You want to know more, ask Lisbon. But do yourself a favour - don't piss her off too much before Fox gets here."
Interesting.
Cho means it, Jane realises - it's a genuine concern. So what does that mean? If Jane pisses Lisbon off, and John Fox arrives, what might Lisbon do differently?
Screw him in her office?
Jane finds that thought strangely hard to stomach, and decides to scrub it from his brain altogether.
He sits back, half-frowning as he tries to peer through the blinds in Lisbon's office.
If Lisbon doesn't call John Fox soon - he'll do it himself.
In the end, neither of them have to.
Jane decides to let the team in on the secret of 'Who Killed Mr Gunther, and Where Is The Rest of Him?' when it suits him, which of course allows him to hide behind Rigsby as Mr Gunther's neighbour shows his psychotic nature to the world... or, at least, most of Acacia Avenue. Mr Nelson is running, screaming, down the street, and Jane thinks he must be a jaded pseudo-cop by now, because all he can think is, 'why can't this guy just come quietly?'
Lisbon sprints down the street after him, and tackles him to the ground. Mr Nelson flails briefly, then collapses. Cho strolls over like he belongs - like he's just going to borrow a cup of sugar - and handcuffs the guy, hauling him off to the van.
Lisbon brushed her jeans off, goes to talk to the Gunther family, and comes back to the car bearing a cookie wrapped in a napkin. "They insisted," she begins to say, defensively perhaps, but Jane leans across and breaks off a quarter, eating it without remorse.
She gapes at him. "What - You - What? Jane!" And she stuffs the rest of it hurriedly into her mouth before he can take any more.
He grins all the way back to Sacramento.
The business with John Fox is completely out of his head when they arrive back at the CBI building.
So when they all walk into the bullpen, tired but happy, ready to finish up the paperwork and go home - they don't immediately notice the man sitting on Jane's couch.
Of course, Jane does have a supernatural ability to sense unwanted intrusions onto the couch, so he's the first to notice.
What he sees is a tall man in a dark suit; dark rumpled-looking hair, a light growth of stubble, and a determined set of his jaw. He's an agent, Jane knows that right away, and not just from the fact that his gun is showing - he looks confident, strong, athletic, with the mixed small scrapes and scars that say he's tackled enough criminals to the ground.
He looks up as they walk in; his eyes seek and find Lisbon in an instant, and he stands immediately. "Teresa!" The look on his face is a mixture of exasperation and excitement.
Lisbon stops dead, right in front of Jane; Jane can't see her expression, but he guesses it's a fixed mask of discomfort. "Agent Fox," she says stiffly. "Don't you think this crosses a few boundaries?"
He smiles at her then, shoving his hands into his pockets as he crosses the distance between them. "Not so much," he shrugs. "I was in the area anyway. That's why I've been calling so much; I have to head back to DC tomorrow night, so there's a limited time to discuss... the matter," he finishes awkwardly, glancing around at her team.
Lisbon folds her arms across her chest. "Let's go into my office."
As they start to move away, Jane is seized unexpectedly by a sudden and brutal sensation of anger and anxiety lodging in his chest. He sets his jaw and, with reckless determination, clears his throat. "You're not going to introduce us, Lisbon?
She throws a scowl over her shoulder at him. "You already know who he is, Jane."
"Yes, but he doesn't know me." Jane's grin feels a little forced; he tries not to think about it too much. "Patrick Jane - pleased to meet you." He extends his hand for Fox to shake. "Lisbon's been very secretive about you. We all thought you were her persistent lover or something."
He hears Van Pelt squawk behind him at the same time Lisbon elbows him forcefully in the gut. "Shut your cookie-hole, will you?" she grits out.
Fox drops Jane's hand, and smiles awkwardly. "Uh, no, nothing like that - "
Lisbon clears her throat loudly. "He's just digging for information," she tells him. "I find the best solution is to ignore him."
She glares again at Jane as she's leading Fox into her office, and mouths, 'Stop messing around,' at him, out of sight of the others.
Jane gives her a cheery wave and a smile.
Inside, though, he's never been more certain that he absolutely, categorically, one hundred per cent is not messing around at all.
Author's Notes: Okay, cards on the table – I started writing this about a year ago, in small chunks at work (I disguised it as an email and saved it in my drafts folder). Then I left it for a while, and when the Lisbon subplot for 5x13 came about, I rediscovered it. Now, I wrote a 5x13 speculative piece called 'This Is The Hour' which dealt with that… but after re-reading this fic, I really wanted to finish and post it. So I apologise if you're basically getting two similar-ish fics in a short space of time. They are not related in any way.
Hope you enjoyed reading; more to come soon!