AN: It's been a depressing week in the news. I have literally cried every day. And then I wrote an outrageously depressing (and horrifically long) season 4 story, which is going to stay forever on my jump drive because I think it reads like I let my toddler just press random keys.
I needed something light and fluffy to make myself feel better, and maybe you do, too. Merry Christmas, and all of that.
Milestones and Mistletoe
Jane thought that maybe it was some sort of unwritten rule - office parties must all get slightly out of control.
Theirs certainly was heading in that direction.
And they weren't even at the office anymore.
It had started out as a small celebration on their floor. People had made snacks and some brave soul had concocted punch, which was promptly spiked. He had been working with the CBI for nearly a decade now, and he had yet to meet a single police officer that didn't enjoy drinking.
Hell, most of the unit leaders and department bosses kept liquor in their offices. Lisbon certainly did.
The party had rolled merrily along for a few hours, raucous laughter echoing off the brick walls. He'd been talked into doing card tricks, Rigsby watching intently. Jane was seriously considering getting the man a beginner's magic kit for a gag gift.
Of course, Rigsby would probably enjoy that a little too much, and they would all find themselves having quarters pulled out from behind their ears for the foreseeable future.
After the tricks had started to wear thin, a game of poker was started. He was not invited to play, most people being well aware of his tendency both to cheat and to win handily even when he wasn't.
Instead, he had gone to hover at Lisbon's elbow. She was currently attempting to extract herself from a conversation with a more-than-slightly drunk narcotics agent. Jim, he thought his name was, or maybe Tim.
Either way, Lisbon didn't look happy to be where she was.
She did, however, look almost painfully relieve to see him. Mr. Narcotics did not, Jane having plainly interrupted what was obviously a mangled attempt to ask Lisbon on a date.
"Hey, boss," Jane said cheekily. "Didn't you need me to sign off on some form? A 546a or something?"
"Yes!" she blurted out, far too enthusiastically to be taken seriously, had Jim (or Tim, or maybe it was Kyle?) not been staring into his glass as though it held the secrets of the universe. "Yes, you definitely need to get that 546a signed right now."
Forcefully, she had led him to her office, her grip on his arm tight. As soon as the door closed, he started laughing.
"You should have seen your face," he told her. "You looked like you were about to chew your arm off."
She shook her head, taking another sip of her punch. "I think chewing my arm off would have been more enjoyable."
The blinds were shut in the room, saving them from having to go through the charade of him signing a random piece of paper. They loitered for a few more minutes, giving credibility to their story.
Of course, he was certain half the occupants of the bullpen thought they had snuck off to make out.
Somehow, Lisbon remained unaware of the rumors that surrounded them. It was actually endearing. He, naturally, knew what people were saying, and it made him smile.
"I think you need some tinsel in your hair," he said, eyeing her speculatively. "Or a sweater that lights up. You don't look Christmasy enough."
She rolled her eyes. Her only concession to the season was the wine colored silk blouse she was wearing. He had to admit that she looked very lovely indeed. The color stood out against her pale skin and black suit jacket.
"I'll wear the ugly sweater if you wear reindeer antlers, Jane." Her tone was amused, challenging.
He chuckled. "I'd be worried that someone would use the excuse that I was dressed like a wild animal to shoot me."
She conceded the point with a thoughtful nod of her head. "That's probably a legitimate fear. There are a great many people who would like to shoot you."
They had re-entered the party then, Lisbon walking towards where Grace was perusing the snack table. He followed, snagging his second glass of punch.
"Boss," the redhead said, smiling. "I think most people here are heading over to O'Malley's when this winds down. You should come, at least for a drink. You, too, Jane," she added, gesturing with a pretzel.
Lisbon shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."
Over the next half hour, the crowd thinned out. Jane started eyeing the couch in the corner. He hoped no one had spilled eggnog or cheese dip on it.
Lisbon's finger in his ribs recaptured his attention. "Get your coat," she told him. "We're going to O'Malley's."
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, are we? When did we decide this?"
"When I decided it was a good idea, and then decided you weren't going to stay here by yourself." Her tone warned him not to argue, but it was second nature by this point in their relationship.
"Is this an official order, boss?" He smirked.
"Do I need to make it one?" she challenged.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, woman. I'll come with you."
The air outside was chilly, and they both pulled their coats tighter around them. O'Malley's was two blocks away, and a favorite spot of CBI employees.
Through some Christmas miracle, they managed to find spots at the bar. On their left, Cho was playing darts with someone from the Gang Unit, while Rigsby yelled disparaging comments at the both of them, one eye constantly on Grace.
He bought Lisbon's first drink, and they clinked glasses, the slight ringing sounding very merry. The warm burn of the alcohol was pleasant.
He was in a very good mood.
"I was serious about the tinsel," he told Lisbon. "It would be very festive." He tugged lightly on a lock of her hair.
"And I was serious about a lot of people wanting to shoot you," she replied.
"Hey, look," he said abruptly. "It's what's-his-name. You know, your would-be date?"
She swiveled around so quickly he thought she was going to break her neck. He hadn't been lying - the agent from Narcotics had just sauntered through the door and was looking around for familiar faces.
Lisbon groaned. "He's going to see me," she said helplessly. "It's your fault."
He stared. "How is that possibly my fault?" he asked.
She made a vague, irritated gesture at him. "Your hair," she said, as though it was obvious. "It stands out like a damn beacon."
"I think you're reaching, my dear," he said, then was visited by an idea. He slid off his barstool and grabbed her arm. "Come on," he chided, "I'll hide you from your next boyfriend, though maybe you should stop fighting the inevitable."
Whatever she was saying to him was lost in the noise of the crowd as they weaved in and out of bodies, but he supposed that was probably better. The woman really did have an expansive vocabulary when she wanted to use it.
They ended up in the far end of the bar, in a corner next to a darkening window. The twinkling Christmas lights gave the whole place a warm ambiance.
As Lisbon looked behind them, trying to spot Jim (or Tim or Kyle), he reached above his head to tug down a strand of garland that was wrapped around the doorframe. Quickly, he draped it over her shoulders, tossing one end around her neck, like a scarf.
She turned her attention back to him, expression annoyed. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked, starting to unwrap the decorations.
He grabbed her hands. "Leave it," he said. "I've rescued you twice tonight, and you owe me."
Her eyebrows raised. "And this is what you want?"
"Well," he said patiently, "I don't see any ugly sweaters lying around."
She freed herself from his grasp. In a few seconds, she had the garland in her hands, and was winding it around his neck. "If you like it so much, you wear it."
To her (somewhat hidden) amusement, he did.
They sipped their drinks peacefully, Lisbon occasionally peering over his shoulder to see if they had been followed.
"I wonder when someone is going to suggest karaoke," he mused, sloshing the ice around in his glass.
"Hopefully never. I have no desire to hear Rigsby sing a dirty version of 'Jingle Bells.'" She faked a shudder.
He laughed. "Think of the possibilities, though," he urged. "I could record it, and then whenever he didn't want to get involved with one of my plays, I could blackmail him into it."
"Just so you know," she said conversationally, "I'm very tempted to choke you with that garland right now."
"Is that the first time that thought's occurred to you tonight?" he asked. "I must be slacking off."
She snuck back through the crowd for more drinks a few minutes later, and he pilfered some unused barstools for them to sit on. Much to his surprise, he was having an excellent time.
He was a touch drunk, he realized, just enough for his inhibitions to be lowered slightly. Lisbon was about at the same level, so their conversations were an interesting combination of silly and ordinary.
She came back into sight shortly, hands full. To his distinct amusement, she had also managed to cart back two shots. He sincerely hoped they weren't tequila, or his diagnosis of a touch drunk was going to escalate in a hurry.
"Merry Christmas," she said, handing him the small glass of amber liquid.
"Just what I wanted," he said. "A hangover." Still, they tipped their glasses back on the count of three. He was pleased to note that she'd chosen something mild and sweet.
The night went on. He entertained her by cold reading their fellow agents from where they were sitting. After a while, he started spinning elaborate tales about their personal lives, getting more and more ridiculous until Lisbon burst out laughing beside him.
"You're a horrible person," she chided, swatting him lightly on the arm.
"Says the woman who has been entertaining thoughts of killing me with Christmas decorations," he shot back.
Absently, he reached for her wrist to check the time. It was later than what he'd thought. Still, he didn't want to go.
From across the bar, he heard the first strands of the karaoke machine, and he smiled sweetly at Lisbon. "Are you sure I can't videotape Rigsby?"
"Decidedly not," she said.
He realized his still had his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Carefully, slowly, he released her.
It was his turn to buy drinks. He went with beer this time, deciding that they had probably both had about enough.
Cho was sitting at the bar, the label from a Budweiser bottle stuck to his forehead. Clearly, he was comfortably smashed.
Jane smiled as he approached the other man. "Are you and Rigsby planning on drinking this place dry?" he asked.
Cho looked very serious for a moment. "He always sings at these things. I have to be drunk to tolerate it."
He laughed, grabbing the chilled bottles from the bar top. "You're a good friend," he said.
Senses dulled by alcohol, Cho was much slower than normal. "Are you wearing tinsel?" he demanded.
Shit. He had totally forgotten about that. "Blame Lisbon," he said.
The other man looked very suspicious, but then a large belch ruined his detective's air. Jane patted his shoulder. "Enjoy Rigsby's show," he said, then made his way back to Lisbon.
She was leaning heavily on her elbows, chin propped in her hands. He found it adorable.
He handed her the beer. "Your team is wasted," he informed her. "All of them. I hope no one gets murdered tonight. We'd have to take taxis to the crime scene."
She giggled. He wasn't sure if he'd ever heard that sound before.
Slowly, they sipped their beverages, the karaoke becoming steadily worse and worse. The world had acquired a hazy focus to it, the colors a bit more vivid than they normally were. When he spoke, his voice sounded loud to his own ears.
The crowd thinned out. They were the only two left in their corner. With a soft clink, Lisbon put her empty bottle down. "I should call a cab," she said. "It's probably way past time for me to go home."
As hard as he thought about it, there was no refuting her statement. She was decidedly drunk, and so was he.
She scrolled through the contacts on her phone, searching for the number she wanted. He listened with half an ear as she gave her location.
There was nothing to do now but wait.
From where they sat, they had a clear view of the street. The night looked bright and cold, the shadows and streetlights arranged in an abstract pattern.
"I'm glad you decided we were coming here," he told her.
"I'm glad I decided we were coming here, too," she replied. "It was fun, even if you did have to spend most of the night hiding with me."
He smiled. "There's no one else I'd rather avoid Narcotics agents with than you, my dear."
She snorted, and he saw her taxi pull up. With a sigh, she tugged her coat back on, then stood up.
"I'll walk you out," he said, grabbing his own jacket.
She strode ahead of him, patting her pockets as though she was searching for something. Just as they reached the door, she stopped abruptly, turning around and nearly running into him.
"Whoa," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders.
She peered around him at where they were sitting. "I swore I had my phone." She frowned, then checked her pockets one last time. "Aha!" she crowed. "Damn thing was hiding."
He said nothing, having suddenly noticed the sprig of mistletoe hanging above them. But he was nowhere near drunk enough to think that kissing her was a good idea.
Even if he really, really wanted to.
So much so, in fact, that he actually caught himself looking at her lips before he realized what he was doing.
When he managed to drag his eyes upwards again, he found she was looking at him with a slightly hooded expression. She had noticed where his gaze was, then.
There was a moment of charged silence. Then, "Screw it," she murmured, rising onto her toes and grabbing the ends of the garland still draped around his neck.
She tugged gently, and he lowered his head until his lips just barely brushed hers. He deepened the kiss slightly, wanting to know what she tasted like, still keeping the pressure of his mouth gentle.
For just a second, her lips parted, and he stifled a groan before pulling away.
She looked up at him, expression dazed and full of feminine wonder.
"Merry Christmas," he murmured, smiling.
It took her a few beats, but she collected herself. "Merry Christmas," she replied, and the grin she gave him had a touch of sass to it.
Then she pushed the door wide, walking into the night. He went with her, one hand on her back, chivalrously opening the car door for her.
He watched her go until she was out of his sight, then carefully made his way back to the CBI offices.
Picking the lock on Lisbon's office, he flopped down on her couch, noting that the world appeared to be spinning slightly.
Turning onto his side, he pushed a throw pillow beneath his head. Then he grinned stupidly to himself.
He'd kissed Lisbon.
Under a mistletoe, even.
Merry Christmas, indeed.