Author's Note: Know this a bit late, but I just though Jane and Grace should finally connect, and this is the way it came out. Let me know what you think of it. Enjoy!
"Uh, grieving widow at my twelve o'clock. Your six thirty." Patrick slides away surreptitiously after distracting Lisbon. Thank goodness for the little things.
In fact, he is quite pleased with himself. He has prevented a discussion, at least for this moment. He plans to hide away for the day, and then she can't drag him into her office. Besides, he knows how to move quickly when he needed. A slight smile drags across his face, and he opens the cupboard to retrieve his teacup and a teabag.
"Grace, you're improving at sneaking up on people, but you need to work on the sound of your breathing." His eyes shift to the woman standing by the refrigerator, hands on her hips, eyes tight and lips small.
"But then I suppose it's hard to surprise you." The words aren't clipped exactly, but they each finish themselves in a way that if he had attempted to touch one, he would have been seriously cut.
"Ouch." He goes to the stove to heat up the water, not looking at her. "What's bothering you at the moment? My avoidance of Lisbon, or the fact that my avoidance of discussing Red John with her parallels sharing with your friends in the next room over about your feelings and thoughts about your troubles in life?"
When he turns back, he truly is surprised to see the tears shining in the prisons of her lashes, one hand chaining her mouth shut, and her other arm clutching her body to hold it back from doing anything foolish. She cannot even blink for fear the tears will fall, and so she stands, hoping for something, anything.
He sucks in a deep breath to speak, and then, like a deeply wounded animal she escapes the eyes of the judging high-ranking member of the pack. Her deep red hair glides with her, almost like blood left dripping, the only memory that the animal begged for help in the first place. He shivers suddenly and realizes he has to amend this.
Tea kettle forgotten, Jane, no longer as stealthy but still as determined, chases after her. Hands glide over the bannister until a bit of wood hits against his old wedding ring. He no longer wants that reminder. Patrick, once married until murder tore them apart. Grace, almost married until she had to kill the man she thought she knew, loved.
He doesn't even attempt to knock and simply walks into the attic. She hovers in a corner, small and grey, the only sign of true color the red in her hair.
"You think you're turning into me. You're not."
Her face looks to him, the tears glistening unabashedly down her face.
He walks a bit closer, cautiously, carefully. His steps seem so silent, his breath forgotten in his desire not to frighten her.
"You're you, Grace. What happened to me is one thing. What happened to you can't be forgotten, but you have people who love and care about you, who are there for you to talk with them."
She blinks slowly.
"I don't know if I really loved him or not."
He sits down on the sofa, allowing her to talk.
"I still think, if things had gone differently, I might not even be here. I might have still been with Rigsby. Or..."
She takes in a shaky breath. "If I was still upset with Hightower for breaking us up, he might've come to the cabin and killed them all. Hightower, her kids, Lisbon. I mean..." Her words dissolve and flow through her new burst of tears, breaking out in hurt and anger and wonder at the random chances that may have occurred, or never have occurred.
Swiftly, he moves back to her, and gives her a pat on the shoulder. He feels slightly unsure as to what he should do because he doesn't know how she will respond, or if he really could react. A strong urge to protect her, to save her fills him, but he's afraid of where it'll lead.
"If I found Red John, I think I would kill him." He stiffens, his hand still on her shaking shoulder. His eyes widen, and for a second he wants to tell her it's foolish, it's crazy, but what is there to say? Tell her lies when she'll call him on it? Or tell the truth?
"Grace," he puts both hands on her shoulders and looks deep into the eyes swimming with fear and anger and hurt, "I couldn't allow you to do that. If someone in this team gets hurt because of Red John, it would be unthinkable."
I would never forgive myself if it did. It would kill me.
"Just.. talk about this. You have people down there who would be there to listen to every word. Don't forget that." He gently moves away. The lack of warmth is a shame.
Suddenly, he knows he needs to get away from all the thoughts spinning around in this room. He hasn't wanted to help someone so badly in a long time, and now he feels like an animal afraid to trust another member of the pack. Finally Grace replies, "And you know there's people downstairs who would be there to listen too. No matter what the risk. At some point, when someone really means something to you, it goes beyond the supposed-to's and the hiding to protect yourself."
Like how you talked to me today. I never thought you'd open up that way.
"I'll make you some tea." he answers to fend off her words, but she reaches the staircase and grabs hold of his arm.
"You're not selfish, you know. Through everything, you really aren't. We all know that. In fact, I think you have a more beautiful heart than a lot of people I know." She glances down, embarrassed by her candor
"Thank you," he whispers.
As he moves solitarily out into the street outside the CBI headquarters as the sun sinks, head bowed against the slight chill, he considers Grace's words and wonders how selfish he really is. He doesn't believe he can change at this point, but maybe he can help change someone else's before it's too late.
Before he knows what he's doing, before he considers his plan to protect them entails pushing people away instead of bringing them closer, he dials her number and says after she tentatively says hello, "Why don't we have lunch tomorrow? I can tell you all about Cho's new crush and Rigsby's girlfriend trouble.
"Yes, you can attempt to persuade me, though I doubt you'll succeed."
A ghost of a smile plays over his face.
"I know what your favorite restaurant is even if you've never been there. And I know the dessert you'll love."
He convinces himself he's selfish. Otherwise, he doesn't know why in the chilly weather, his jacket is slung over his shoulder and his spirits so high talking to a co-worker that's not Lisbon. That he's genuinely smiling, his head tilted and hands tapping to a beat on the dashboard when he finally stops circling the parking lot and finds his car. Jane's concocting plans and thinking of tiramisu, of letting Grace do all the talking for a while because she needs someone to listen, and then he'll give advice if she really wants it. Maybe the supposed-to's don't apply to this anymore. That he perhaps could finally start considering Grace Van Pelt a friend.
He tells himself he's doing it mostly for her. If he enjoys it, well, it'll just be a bonus.