AN: Thank you all, once again, for your continued support. As always, I'm behind on responding to reviews, though I actually have a good excuse this time (I just graduated from college and finals week was death!).
This is the third in a series of ongoing oneshots that began with In Case and continued with Yours. I owe the idea for this story to LouiseKurylo, who had a lovely vision of what happened after Yours and what could happen for Jane and Lisbon in the future in this particular AU. Much thanks are extended to Louise, and I hope you all will stick with this story as I continue to write oneshots in the future!
Lyrics are not mine; they belong to Ed Sheeran (specifically, they are from his song Photograph).
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Of Photographs and Promises
We keep this love in a photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Hearts are never broken
And time's forever frozen still
Lisbon takes one look at Jane and bursts into tears.
It's the morning after she'd arrived in Venezuela, after she'd flung herself into his arms, after he'd twirled them around in childlike wonder. It's the morning after their first night together in over two years, and all she can think about is that in two weeks she's going to have to say goodbye to him again.
Jane is startled but wastes no time in reacting; in a matter of seconds he's pulled her across the bed and against his bare chest.
In the years they've been apart, Jane's skin has become almost bronzed, a deep contrast to the porcelain coloring of her own. She'd nearly rolled her eyes when she took off his shirt the night before—two years in the tropics have made him look far more like a Greek or Roman deity than anyone had a right to.
Now, he makes shushing noises and strokes her hair, her face, her back. But Lisbon's been containing her emotions—pushing down everything that makes her feel—for the better part of two years, and her outburst is not readily quieted. Jane seems to understand this and lets the storm take its course.
Eventually the sobs give way to silent tremors, and a chill sweeps up and down her bare body. Jane pulls the sheets more tightly around them both. Lisbon takes a long, shaky breath and wipes at her eyes. She looks up at him, an apology on her lips, but she's silenced before ever uttering a word.
"Don't say you're sorry, Teresa," Jane says, and she's amazed that she could have forgotten the almost-exotic way he pronounces her name, substituting a z for the s. "You—of all people—have nothing to apologize for."
She nods and rubs at her eyes again, worried about the mascara-lined tear tracks on her face. Jane smiles at her and leans in to kiss her cheeks, right over the lines of moisture. Her breath hitches as she speaks, and despite his request, an apology slips out.
"I'm sorry," she says in an almost whisper, and her voice is a tad raspy from crying. Jane gives her a pointed look, but she doesn't retract her words. "No, I am going to apologize. I promised myself that I would focus on living in the moment these two weeks I have with you—that I wouldn't start thinking of the future. Because when I do, I can never seem to hold it together. I should be focusing on being with you now rather than what it will feel like when we say goodbye again. But—"
The sobs return at this moment, and she can't complete her thought. Instead, she lets Jane wrap himself around her. She focuses on his warm skin, his slow breathing, and she manages to dispel the tears for good this time.
"But," she continues, "it's more difficult than I imagined. When I'm with you, I can see you, hear you—I can feel you. But when we're apart, I only get letters and photographs—and they pale in comparison to the real thing." An ironic laugh escapes her lips. "I realize I get the better end of the deal: you don't get to hear from me at all. Ever. And I think that would kill me a little bit inside if I were in your place. But I just…I just…Jane, I want so much more than this."
Jane intertwines their fingers lazily, his left hand warm and solid around her right. She notices suddenly that he isn't wearing his wedding band, but before she can inquire about it, he begins to speak.
"Since we're in the spirit of confessing things," he says, and she is surprised when his voice seems to quiver, "you should know that one of the reasons I didn't want you to know my location was to prevent this exact scenario from happening."
She tenses against him, his rejection excruciatingly painful. Jane seems to realize she's misinterpreted his words and rushes to begin soothing her again.
"No, love, no—you misunderstand me. It's not that I didn't want you to find me—I did. I wanted that more than anything. Rather, it's that I didn't want us to come together only to force you to go through another goodbye. Wasn't the first one heartbreaking enough? I'd hoped that the pain I'd caused you would lessen over time. Instead, now that you've found me, you'll have to face another separation—and those old wounds will be torn open again."
Lisbon sniffles. "I don't care. I don't care at all. I'd rather face a thousand goodbyes than not see you ever again—because a thousand goodbyes means we've had a thousand hellos."
Jane smiles wryly. "Why, Lisbon, that is a decidedly romantic viewpoint to take on the matter."
She pokes him in the ribs. "Well, I've spent the past two years receiving letters from a lost lover. What did you expect?"
He smiles again, and Lisbon watches as his eyes shift from blue to sea green. His lips are swollen from her kisses, and the thought brings a blush to her cheeks. Jane watches her in wonder.
"You're so beautiful," he says.
Lisbon rolls her eyes. "Oh, stop."
Jane's eyes narrow at her. "You're not used to receiving compliments on your appearance, are you, Lisbon?" he says. He pauses before asking a follow up question. "When was the last time someone told you that you were beautiful?"
"You mean besides you?" She has to think for a while, and Jane frowns at this. "I can't remember," she says finally.
Jane looks horrified. "Well, this is unacceptable." He leans in to kiss her. "I don't want you to ever be in doubt of how lovely you are, Lisbon. Really and truly. Inside and out. It is now my priority to prove it to you."
And he does.
Two hours later, she is wearing nothing but one of his island shirts, he is clad in pajama bottoms that are a shade of green slightly lighter than her eyes, and together they lean their forearms against a window that overlooks the sea. The morning air is stagnant, but the smells of the ocean still twist around her, and the gulls fly overhead, calling down towards them.
"So I've been thinking," says Jane, and even after two years, his tone elicits a wary look from her. "And I have a plan."
"You have a plan," repeats Lisbon skeptically. "Should I be worried?"
He shakes his head, and she feels his body shake with silent laughter next to her.
"Ah, no," he says, smiling softly. He looks over at her, and she meets his eyes.
"I was thinking about our options," he begins. "Obviously, the goal is for both of us to be together. Permanently. There are two ways I can see that happening. One I've ruled out for obvious reasons."
She raises her eyebrows, and he elaborates. "I won't ask you to move here with me," he says, and she is reminded of a similar statement he made two years ago while he held her in his arms before he fled the US. "I won't ask you to do that because it would be like asking you to sacrifice yourself. You'd have to give up your family and your job. And—correct me if I'm wrong—I think you would make that sacrifice."
She doesn't correct him.
There is nothing to correct.
He continues. "And I absolutely will not be the person who makes you give that up. So the first option is off the table."
"What's the second?"
"I move back to the US."
"No," she says automatically and with such force that a spooked seagull takes off in flight. "No! Definitely not. They'll throw you in jail—or worse. I don't want to find out what Abbott is capable of."
"Don't worry," Jane says soothingly. "I'm not thinking about coming back—at least, not yet. This option is more of a long-term one. Perhaps I can find a way to negotiate a truce with Abbott."
"Jane," she says imploringly. "Don't make a deal with him. He'll probably ask you to sell your soul."
"I don't currently have one without you, so I don't see how much of a difference that will make. But not to worry, Lisbon, these are just thoughts—whatever plan I eventually construct will be subject to your approval before I even approach Abbott. And hopefully we can negotiate terms with him that everyone is content with."
Lisbon takes a deep breath. "You said this option was more of a long-term one. What do you have planned for the short term?"
Jane grins. "I think you're really going to like it."
Lisbon braces herself. She's seen that grin many times. And she usually doesn't like the schemes she associates with that grin. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," says Jane. "So here's the deal—the letter writing, it's getting risky. Actually, it always was."
"Speaking of which, how did you get those letters to me anyway?" asks Lisbon. "Wasn't the FBI going through my mail?"
"Please," he says, in a tone which seems to imply Give me a challenge. "The FBI searches your mail at the post office. All I had to do was ensure that the letters went directly to your mailman, who put them in your mailbox without anyone the wiser."
"How did you—" she begins, but he cuts her off.
"I convinced him to help me out. Don't fret, Lisbon—it didn't involve blackmail or anything illegal. But that's a story for another time," he says. "You asked about short-term options, and I have one. As I said, the letter writing is risky—there are too many things that could go wrong, but at the time, it was the best option. In lieu of sending you letters from halfway around the world, I propose that I send you."
She gapes at him.
"And what, you'd meet me in a bunch of random countries or something?"
"Not quite. Not random countries; they can't be places with which the US has an extradition treaty."
A smile spreads across Lisbon's face slowly. "It'd be far more difficult to track me across the world if there was no rhyme or reason or pattern to my trips."
"Exactly. If you caught frequent flights to South America, someone would eventually catch on."
"And you would meet me there? Wherever 'there' ends up being?"
"Of course, love—in any non-extradition country of your choosing."
"I've never been to Morocco," she says almost dreamily, and she wraps her arm around his.
"Then that will be our first destination." His face becomes one of expectation. "So, what do you think?"
For a moment, she is speechless. "It's…it's the perfect solution to an unsolvable problem." Then reality hits her. "But, Jane—I can't afford a bunch of plane tickets halfway around the world on a sheriff's salary. I've already used up most of my extra savings on this trip alone. And there's no way I'll have enough vacation hours to keep taking off for weeks at a time."
"Don't worry about the money," says Jane. "I've got that taken care of. Really, Lisbon, it's the least I can do. And as far as time off, you get weekends and holidays and sick days, right? We'll make it work, Lisbon, okay? We always do."
She nods tersely, feeling tears threaten, and he pulls her against him. She rests there, enveloped in his arms, and the weight of his left hand is evident on her back.
Lisbon is reminded about the absence of his wedding band, and she pulls back slightly and looks at him, trying to get a good read on his emotions.
"You said you wanted more than pictures and letters," says Jane. "I want more than that, too—I want a life with you. And maybe we won't get to spend every day with each other, but we'll make the most of the time we have. It's not much, but it's far more than some get. So instead of just pictures and letters, instead of mere snapshots in time, I'm giving you a promise."
"Jane?" And suddenly she is shaking against him, trembling in his arms.
"You're the reason I'm alive and the reason why I continue to live. You're my human credential—you're what binds me to the living. I don't want to know what I'd be without you. I hope I never have to find out. I love you, Lisbon, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the life you've given back to me."
A tear slips from Jane's eye. She starts to blink her own tears away but decides to let them fall.
"I don't want you to ever think my feelings for you are less than what they are," Jane continues. "And I want you to be absolutely sure of how I feel—because there will be days when I'm not around to tell you. I want you to be more sure of this than anything else." She watches him and belatedly notices that she is no longer the only one shaking. "I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me, Teresa?"
Her throat is so tight she can barely squeak out an affirmative answer, and he crushes her against him, his face buried in the gentle curve of her neck. Then he pulls back only to lean into her again and meet her lips with his.
They are married on the eve of her departure. He tells her that she is his entire world now, and she promises him her heart. It is not a difficult promise to make.
She had given herself to him a long time ago.
She has several new photographs of him. She cannot pick a favorite, but she is quite fond of the shot of their left hands intertwined, their new wedding bands glimmering in the tropical sunlight.
Lisbon closes her eyes and begins a mental countdown.
Sixty-seven days.
For the first time in two years, her future holds promise.