His revenge knocks at her apartment door just before she starts drinking for the night. He looks down at her shoes like an apology, moves his mouth with no words, shrugs his shoulders with his hands in his pockets. Says nothing. She invites his revenge in.
His revenge traces the rim of the mug she gave him, watches her watching him, him looking up and then away, and she can't figure out whether he's trying to apologize or come on to her. She decides it's both.
"Jane, you need to sleep." She can see the fatigue in the wrinkles around his eyes, in the grease in his hair, in the way his pinkie finger trembles ever so slightly against the handle of the mug as he raises it to his lips. His revenge smirks.
"I'm fine, Lisbon." He shakes his head and sets down the tea. "I really am, you don't have to worry about me."
She doesn't believe it but she's too busy breathing because his revenge has moved his knee between her thighs and is sliding off the stool to stand very close to her. His revenge is looking over her head, his breath ruffling her hair, his hands suddenly hesitant and awkward clapping her on the arms.
He kisses her forehead and she can see that he's shaking.
His revenge has a sudden vicegrip on her and is dragging her away from the counter, the stool falling over in their wake. His eyes are cold but his tongue flicks out between parted lips and he's not so strong that she can't reach up and yank his hair, pull his head back to bare his neck, and his revenge loses his grip and reels back, more than enough for her to back him across the room and into the wall.
His revenge turns his head away as she leans forward to kiss him so she goes for his throat instead, trailing sloppy kisses from his Adam's apple up to the underside of his jaw. He chokes back a moan and she can tell his revenge must not be going so well because his hands are scrabbling for purchase against the wall and she's definitely got him now because he's closing in, his arms wrapping around her back and his head ducking down to tease her with his lips, darting close and then away.
Before she can react his revenge has whirled her around and pressed her against the wall. She can feel him hard against her and she grinds forward, pulling him down by the lapels of his jacket. He catches himself, hands pressed against the wall above her so that he is around her like a cage, the sound of his heaving breath pressing in on her hot and damp as he leans down to her ear. She can tell his revenge has something to say and she's just waiting for him to say it, her chin tucked over his shoulder and her hips pressed as far forward as she can get and he's moved a hand down to the small of her back, pressing her closer and rubbing his cheek slowly against hers, breathing and grinding in rhythm, slowly beginning to press harder in response to her fingers tightening on the back of his neck and finally, finally she hears the beginning of the whisper in his throat-
"Revenge is a dish best served piping hot." The words rip out of him like they should be her name in a moment of passion but instead they jolt down unpleasantly to the pit of her stomach. He drags himself away, his hand lingering on her hip, his eyes lingering on the pain in her face. He backs away, his eyes wide and his hand outstretched even as he leaves, his gaze not leaving hers until the door clicks shut behind him.
She shivers and sinks to the floor after he's left, feeling dirty and unsatisfied. Something crinkles as she sits and she lifts her shirt to find a piece of paper stuck into the waistband of her pants.
Revenge is a bitch, is all the note reads.