The day had gone well. They'd closed their latest case and eaten their pizza. Jane had managed, through no fault of his own, not to piss off anyone important enough to cause her trouble. Therefore, Lisbon had no extra paperwork to complete and no lecture from Hightower about keeping their wayward consultant under control. The day had gone extremely well.
Rigsby cleared up the remaining debris of the case-closed pizza party and waited by VanPelt's desk to escort her to the parking lot - not that she needed the escort. These days Rigsby no longer looked like a heartbroken puppy and Lisbon was glad he and the statuesque beauty were at least once again speaking to each other. Anyway, at least the former lovers were on good enough terms to walk to the parking lot together.
"Night Jane" they called in chorus to the figure recline on the couch in the corner. A slender hand waved lazily back from the depths of the brown behemoth.
Cho picked up the leather bag that held his laptop and books and asked, "Anything else you need before I leave Boss?"
She smiled tiredly and made a slight shooing motion with her hands. "Go home and get some sleep. You guys did a good job today. See you in the morning."
He nodded without saying anything, shouldered the bag and walked out of the bullpen toward the elevator.
"Night Jane"
Once again, the hand waved from the couch.
Lisbon walked distractedly into the kitchen to get herself a cup of the black sludge that, a few hours ago, was coffee. Well , at least I don't have to chew it yet, she thought as she deftly balanced the evil brew sloshing in her cup and clicked back across the floor toward her office.
She only had to finish up the rest of the paperwork Hightower expected first thing in the morning but Lisbon was almost out of steam. It was a little after nine PM, the office had been winding down for some time now and it was nearly deserted. There was no one left in the bullpen but Jane. She set the cup down on her desk and rolled her head to loosen up her stiffening shoulder muscles as she sat back down and brought up the screen that displayed her unfinished report.
She heard her door open and close and the slight creak of her couch as Jane plopped himself down on it and reclined with a tired sigh. She ignored him and continued to tap away on her keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration.
He sighed loudly again and she still paid him no mind, never looking up from the monitor in front of her. She heard him get up from her couch and the sound of the door opening and then closing behind him.
Good, she thought, Maybe I can finish this up and get home before midnight for a change.
The door opened again. A paper airplane silently came to a precise landing on the her keyboard. She rolled her eyes and stopped typing to resignedly pick it up and examine it. The plane had something printed with felt tip marker in childish block letters on its wings. It read, 'YOU CANT' on the left wing and 'IGNORE ME FOREVER' on the right.
"Wanna bet", she said without looking up as she dropped it into the waste basket under her desk. She hoped he didn't see the slight smile she couldn't quite keep from slightly turning up the corners of her mouth.
"Lisbon, pleease" he whined - one of his better whines - not too pleadingly but just enough to annoy her without totally ticking her off.
"What, Jane!"
"I'm bored"
"I'm not. I have work to do."
"Talk to me"
"Why don't you try your Sudoku?" her voice beginning to acquire an edge.
"I've done them all"
"Take a nap"
"Please . . . "
"Look" she said, her mounting annoyance evident in her voice, "I'll make you a deal. Don't bother me for the next twenty minutes and I will finish what I'm doing and talk to you before I leave. Now, GO AWAY!"
"Can I have a dollar?"
Without taking her eyes off her monitor, she automatically reached into the drawer next to her and pulled out two, one-dollar bills and held them out in front of her.
"Knock yourself out Jane, but don't go into a chocolate coma"
Great, she thought, Jane amped up on sugar, as his hand plucked the bills from her grasp without a further word. She heard the door open and close again as he went off to the vending machine in the kitchen.
Minutes later, a chocolate bar was silently placed next to her keyboard and she heard the door close quietly. She hadn't heard the door open but he could do that sometimes - creep around like a cat without making the slightest sound. It drove Cho mad but that was probably because he hadn't yet perfected the skill himself she thought.
Exactly eighteen minutes later the door opened again and a presence stood before her desk waiting expectantly with a cup of tea in its hand.
She exhaled in exasperation and logged off. Her monitor reverted back to the cliched screen saver image of Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry looking down the barrel of his .357 Magnum with the standard 'Make my day' quote beneath it.
"OK, I'm yours" she said as she scooted her chair back, slumping into its ergonomic contours and lacing her hands over her stomach.
"If only" said Jane with mock sadness
"Yeah, that'll happen" Lisbon replied sarcastically, "Besides, you're like a dog that chases cars. If the car ever stopped the dog wouldn't know what to do with it."
She regretted the words as soon as they escaped her lips. Giving Jane too much to work with was never a good idea.
All she got this time was, "Said dog could always chew on the tires" as he raised one eyebrow suggestively.
She laughed with a snort in spite of herself. "Such a smooth line, must be those years of perfecting your moves with the carney."
"Oh, you wound me" he smiled, "I guess growing up with a two-car garage and a picket fence in suburbia would make you an expert on carnies?"
"Chain link", she corrected "And who did you grow up with, Zonda the Snake Woman?"
"Hey, snakes make perfectly good playmates . . . once you get over the scaly, hissy thing."
She snorted again and frowned skeptically as she looked at his wide smile. She didn't really believe that he'd grown up with snakes but . . . that would explain a lot.
"Actually, 'Dora the Seer of All' took a motherly interest in me", he continued
"So that's where it came from."
"Where what came from?" he asked, his smile replaced by a quizzical look
"Your title: Patrick Jane Knower of All"
He just shot her a look as he dipped his tea-bag exactly the correct number of times.
As she watched his exacting way of making his tea, she mused, OK where did that come from? Where did he get this maddening, almost prissy, way of doing things? Did Zonda have OCD issues? Did the snakes?
"Actually Dora was fun and very good to me. She was a Spanish gypsy . . . or so she claimed." said Jane with a mildly skeptical tone as he carefully stirred his milky tea exactly the correct number of swirls. He shrugged to dismiss the thought and leaned his hip on the edge of her desk before continuing his story.
"She didn't put up with any of my dad's crap and she always called things as she saw them." He smiled as he stressed the word 'saw' but Lisbon was oblivious to his weak play on words.
"Did she put up with your crap?" asked Lisbon with a smirk, now totally curious as she got a glimpse into Jane's former world.
"Not really", his eyes crinkled at the corners, "But I could always go hide out in her trailer when my dad . . . ", his voice trailed off, the crinkle faded and his eyes became darker as they fixed on something distant. With a start, he snapped back to the moment, almost visibly shaking off the memory.
"Hey!" he said, maybe a little too brightly, "You hungry? There's this great new twenty-four hour coffee-shop down the . . . "
"When your dad what?" Lisbon interrupted
She stared directly in the grey green eyes that widened slightly but didn't look away. Their eyes remained locked for what seemed like minutes but, in actuality, was only a second or two.
"Jane, what were you going to say about your dad?"
She rarely ever pried but curiosity got the better of her. He'd only ever made jokes and vague references to his upbringing. He hesitated. She could see him trying to decide if he should reveal something so personal; some knowledge with which he'd have to trust her. Why, at this moment, was he so transparent? Why did he look so unsure and even . . . vulnerable?
This wasn't the maddeningly flip and self-assured man who's amusement at the foibles of mere mortals annoyed the crap out of her. He sighed softly and broke his gaze which signaled he'd made up his mind as he ran long fingers thru his unruly hair.
A nervous gesture? thought Lisbon. Very uncharacteristic of her consultant. He didn't usually have any 'tells' in his body language. He was very careful about that. Though he could talk the birds out of the sky, (probably by boring them to death with inanities until they fell like stones onto the landscape), she thought to herself; he was ever mysterious about his own life. He only gave clues he wanted to give - and never accidentally.
In a quiet tone he said, "My dad could be, to put it bluntly, a mean son-of-a-bitch."
He hoped that was enough information for her. Not that he didn't trust her, after all, she probably knew more about him than anyone currently in his life. Lisbon has saved his ass, both literally and figuratively, countless numbers of times. But, bringing up the past was never a good idea. His past held things that were best left unsaid even if they couldn't be un-remembered.
Jane didn't even know why but , he almost wanted to tell her. He almost wanted her to know something of what shaped him other than the deaths of his family. That was pretty much all anyone here knew about him. That he had at one time been a fake psychic and that he'd lost his family to a serial killer. Maybe that's all they should know.
He felt differently about Lisbon. After all, they'd spent most of their days together for months at a time. He thought he'd figured her out well enough. Knew what motivated her to work so hard at being the best at what she did. To prove herself over and over as the hardest working, most competent agent the bureau had ever had. He knew he could trust her with his life. Maybe it was time to trust her with his past. He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.
"When he didn't get what he wanted or if I dared to mouth off to him, he'd beat the crap outta me. Yeah, me mouthing off. Who'd have thought?" The small smile never reached his eyes. "Guess I never could break the habit." He dipped his head almost apologetically before plunging on.
"Sometimes he hit me because he'd gambled away the grocery money or because it was raining or because it was Monday . . . whatever." Jane waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "and, since I was the only one around, it was obviously my fault."
Staring blankly into the distance, he shook his head slowly in a limited movement from side to side as his voice took on a more bitter edge. "Sometimes I'd get backhanded just for breathing. Of course, he had the perfect right to do so - being my father and all."
"Did he ever use his fists?" asked Lisbon softly, her clear, green eyes not leaving his face which had now assumed a harder expression.
"Sometimes, but he tried not to mark up my face. Wouldn't look good for the show." Jane laughed aloud then but it was without mirth.
"Is that why you don't ever get physical? I mean", she corrected quickly, "you really avoid physical confrontation?"
"Maybe" he said thoughtfully taking no offense. "Does the punching bag ever punch back?"
"It's something I learned to do" she said, "I do know how it feels to be someone's punching bag. Oh, I never hit back, but I think it made me tough."
"Oh, and you are tough my dear. That guy you took down today can certainly vouch for the fact." Jane laughed again with the smile actually reaching his eyes this time, then added quietly, "Lisbon, we're both tough in our own ways."
They heard the elevator doors open and close as someone else without a life finally called it quits and went home. He waited patiently for Lisbon to either continue with her story or tell him it was time to go home too. They had all night if need be. There was no one waiting for either one of them.
They sat in silence for a few more minutes before she looked at him purposefully and began, "My dad . . . after my mom died and he'd crawled into a bottle . . . He'd beat me bloody."
"Lisbon, you don't have to share anything with me because I decided to spill my guts to you." said Jane with concern, "But, if you'd like to talk, I'll listen."
Lisbon inhaled shakily then continued, "He kicked the shit out of me or my brothers on a regular basis. It always coincided with his drinking binges. When he wasn't drinking, he was actually an OK guy but, as time went on . . . the sober periods became fewer and fewer."
She suddenly looked up at him with a startled expression. With a sudden flash of insight, she realized that at least, she sort of knew the cause of her father's violence, and if she couldn't hide from it, then at least brace herself for it.
But, poor Jane . . . no wonder his behavior could be so erratic at times. What kind of stability did it foster when a parent's behavior was so unpredictable. Not knowing what you did to get a beating or even having a clue as to when it was going to happen was its own kind of hell. Maybe that melodramatic song is right 'Hell is for Children'.
"I'm sorry." said Jane softly looking down at the floor
"Don't be sorry for me, it just made me stronger."
"Now, aren't we being philosophical about child abuse."
The term always stung - 'child abuse'. It was such an ugly term but a legitimate one and it surprised, no, amazed her that she and Jane had such similarities in their histories. It helped to explained the defensive and overly vigilant traits that they both seemed to share.
But, it dawned on her with painful clarity, how differently they'd'd each learned to cope. It's true they both hid; he behind a persuasive smile and his gift for deception that was almost second nature; she behind an all-business demeanor and her intense dedication to her work.
At least, she thought, even though it ended in unimaginable anguish, Jane had let someone in. She had yet to put down her shield long enough to become that open to another human being - to let someone else into the dark with her. Her eyes began to water as she felt the ache in her throat. It wasn't the first time she'd felt sad about his tragedy, but she could never cry about her own, it just didn't seem to occur to her.
Their eyes met over the top of her desk in silent recognition. An acknowledgment of lost childhoods, of pain, of the struggle to prove self-worth; it was all there to confirm in each other's eyes.
She bent to reach into her bottom drawer. Jane heard it slide open and then a slight clink. He knew what it was. She brought out the bottle of bourbon she kept there for emergencies. She unscrewed the top and stood up to gesture with the bottle toward his tea cup. He held his cup out to her and the amber liquid splashed into it in generous quantity.
She poured some into her cup of sludge, re-capped the bottle, set it into the drawer and slid it shut. Picking up her mug she crossed to the wall and turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the glow of her desk lamp. Jane was still perched on the edge of her desk and his eyes followed her across the room as he sipped from his cup, the bourbon burning its way down his throat and warming his core which had become so chilled in the last few minutes.
She started to return to her seat then decided to plop down on her couch instead. She patted the seat beside her and he joined her companionably in the near darkness. She felt his weight compressing the cushion next to her and the scent of his after shave faintly registered in her thoughts. They sat silently side by side sipping their drinks and staring into the darkness beyond the glass walls of her office with only the odd light on various desks glowing here and there.
"You know" she began hesitantly, "We have a few things in common. Who'd have thought?"
"Unfortunately, not very good things." Jane said quietly, his gaze on the darkened room beyond. "You are right though, we survived and it made us 'tough'. He stressed the last word sardonically.
"But they're the things that shaped us; 'forged us in the fire' so to speak."
"You're much too philosophical for me tonight, Lisbon." he smiled in the dimness
"We do make a difference, Jane. You know that."
"I know that you do, Lisbon."
"No, I said we."
She felt the burn in her throat as she took another sip from her cup, maybe it was even from the liquor, hopefully it wasn't from the cold coffee.
He remained silent, sipping his bourbon laced tea beside her. Then, his arm reached around her in a gentle hug. Nothing romantic, nothing like that . . . just the comfort one friend can give another. It was soothing to have his arm around her shoulders and she leaned closer into him to put her head against his chest. The steady beating of his heart was soothing and she closed her eyes.
"We matter?" he said softly as a question rather than a statement.
"Yup, we do."
"OK, I'll go along with that." The bourbon seemed to be taking effect. All he felt now was warmth. The stress and anxiety faded into the darkness. He leaned his chin on her head inhaling the slight cinnamon scent of her hair and relaxed against her, still holding his cup in his other hand and closed his eyes. They stayed that way for quite awhile, leaned against each other in comfort and silence.
Then, in mutual relinquishment and without saying a word, they both straightened, moved slightly away and looked into each others eyes. He held his is cup toward hers in a toast. She raised hers as well and the rims clinked together.
"We matter." they said in unison, in the quiet, in the darkness.