AN: Another birthday gift, this time for the lovely Water-please. This is slightly belated present - again, please note the word "present!" This means I don't have to apologize if they're slightly out of character!
Happy Birthday, Water! Hope this was what you were after!
Ideas and Ice Cream
Patrick Jane was decidedly a man who was willing to bide his time until the opportune moment. That much should be obvious - after all, he had been patiently (and occasionally, not so patiently) waiting for nearly ten years to find the man that had murdered his family.
He often employed schemes that took hours, days, and months to come to fruition. In his mind, instant gratification was often overrated. Keep your eye on the prize, and all of that.
However, he had recently discovered that he was getting decidedly impatient in regards to one particular aspect of his life.
Teresa Lisbon.
There was no denying that they had been doing a long, slow, circular dance, around, towards, and sometimes away from each other for nine solid years now. Regardless of the circumstances, though, they were always the center point of the other's universe - the fulcrum around which they orbited.
It was a complicated game they played. No one wanted to be the one to re-write the rules, to cross lines that there was no coming back from. In no way did that mean they didn't desperately want the other to do so.
After the emotional turmoil of the past year, leaving Lisbon for six months, missing her more than he ever dreamed it was possible to miss a living woman, going through the process of breaking her heart over Lorelei, and then trying to win her trust back... he was tired of waiting. He was exhausted, and mentally battered, and ready for a change.
But did he make her his? Or wait for Lisbon to make him hers?
Could he afford to put his faith in the second option?
She had made a herculean effort to conceal every ounce of anything that was a mere shade more than platonic for eight years. Before he had left for Vegas, some of her armor had come off, though. They were closer - she was closer.
And then, he had wrecked it all.
It was like starting from the beginning again. Only this time, they had a decade of hurt and broken trust between them, and it would take something close to an honest-to-God miracle for Lisbon to give in again.
Unless he pushed a little.
Or maybe a lot.
It might have been childish, but he had come to the conclusion that he wanted her to be the one who took that first, fateful step.
To this point, he had been the one to blur the lines. He was responsible for every hug, every accidental-on-purpose touch. He had come very close to telling her how he felt on numerous occasions. Hell, he had stood in her office a year ago and told her he loved her.
Of course, he had denied remembering any such thing after, so perhaps that didn't count.
Regardless, the point was that he shouldn't have to be the one to took the lead every time. Wasn't that how relationships worked? Give and take, and all of that? Compromise? He was almost certain those things were important, even if he supposed he hadn't technically been in a relationship in forever.
It was her turn, and she was going to take it, even if it required some coaxing on his part.
So he began to hatch his plan.
His immediate instinct was to simply barge into her office and kiss her until she told him how she felt. It would probably work, but he discovered he didn't particularly want to use physical cues to get his way. There would be plenty of time for that later, especially if things went how he intended them to.
Oh, the things he had planned.
But, for now, he lounged on his couch, angled in such a way that he could just see Lisbon at her desk. She was working diligently, as usual, filling out some form or another that he was fairly certain he was responsible for. Incident forms were pink, weren't they?
There was a change in her normal routine, though, one he found rather unsettling. Every so often, her phone would light up, and she would check her messages with an expectant smile.
He felt a sudden, jealous pang in the vicinity of his heart.
Was there someone else? Someone who wasn't nearly as damaged as he was? Who was free to be involved with her without risking her life? Someone who had no idea how precious one of her genuine smiles was or that someone needed to keep track of how much she ate during the day so her blood sugar didn't crash?
He would have like to think he would have noticed something like that, someone who had garnered her interest. Then again, he had the tendency to get very wrapped up in his problems and theories and obsessions, especially lately. It was entirely possible that he had simply missed the signs in front of him.
This was not going to do.
After lunch, he decided action was definitely called for. No more literally sitting on the outside looking in.
He settled himself on Lisbon's couch, wishing there was somewhere he could perch where he could see her phone screen. Instead, he attempted to be as distracting as he could (which, in his case, was very distracting).
"Let's get ice-cream," he said once, peering out the window at the sunny day that was beyond the glass.
"I'm working," she answered automatically, not even bothering to look up.
He made a face that she didn't see.
Her phone went off then, and he felt his senses go on high alert.
A small smile played around her lips as she read the message, tapped out a response.
"You appear to have time for whoever's on the other end of that text," he noted, purposefully letting hurt seep into his tone. Most of it was even sincere.
He had her attention now, at least, green eyes focused intently on him while she came up with a reply.
"A text message is just a message, a five second distraction," she finally said. "Ice cream will wind up being a two hour Jane-scheme that leads to me asking someone not to press charges against the CBI in general and you in particular."
He pretended to look offended. "What if I told you I was just thinking of getting a sundae from the roof?"
Her gaze was still even. "I'd say you had an ulterior motive. Otherwise you'd just go by yourself."
Well.
Damn the woman for being perceptive, anyway.
Lisbon's phone beeped again. Annoyed, he snatched the device from her desk before she had made a move towards it.
"Jane!" she yelled, standing immediately and reaching, but he danced just out of her range, hastily tapping buttons.
The man behind the messages was Mancini. This annoyed him considerably.
"Making nice with the FBI?" he asked innocently.
Cheeks flushed, Lisbon held out her hand, demanding. "Maybe I'm just trying to repair some of the bridges you've burned, Jane."
He waved off her explanation. "I'm pretty sure these messages have a distinct lack of professionalism, Lisbon." Truly, there was nothing outrightly scandalous about the words he was reading, but they were definitely friendlier than a simple conversation between fellow law enforcement officers.
She snatched the phone back from him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.
Pouting slightly, he attempted to be wounded. "You were ignoring me."
Lisbon rolled her eyes. "And God forbid I give you anything less than my full and complete attention at all times."
"Your words," he said.
She sat heavily back in her chair. "This, coming from the man who openly admits to only telling me thirty percent of what he does."
He shrugged, understanding that it was still a sore point with her. "That's about twenty-nine percent more than I tell anyone else."
"Wow," she deadpanned. "I feel so important."
"You should," he said, tone serious now. Trust wasn't something that came easily to him, and, despite what she thought, he did trust her. Thirty percent was a huge number, at least as far as he was concerned. And really, it wasn't the amount of information he told her - it was the importance of it. She knew the majority of his most important secrets - knew his theories, the lengths he had gone to, the lengths he was willing to go through. He thought that sort of thing was vastly above knowing how he intended to go about solving a case.
She frowned at his tone, sensing the weight of his words. "Still," she eventually muttered, "that doesn't mean you get to go through my phone because I won't get ice cream with you."
He widened his eyes. "Do you want to get ice cream with Mancini?"
She blinked. "How is that any of your business? Oh, I know - it's not." She was genuinely angry now, but beneath the ire, she was wondering why he seemed so interested, and he could see the hope that had started to blossom.
Here again was another opportunity to take advantage of.
He took a half-step forward, noting the dilation of her pupils. "And why isn't it my business?" His voice was lower, softer.
She held her ground, chin pointed stubbornly upward. "I'm pretty sure there are any number of reasons, Jane."
One more step. He could smell her subtle perfume from here. Of course, he probably could have seen the thundering of her pulse from across the room.
He let his eyes darken, purposely raked them over her small form. "What would those be?"
Lisbon tried to focus, but he knew she had lost the thread of the conversation. He lowered his head slightly, let his nose skim her hair.
She took a deep breath, shaking her head. "What are you doing?"
"Admit it," he whispered, "you like that I care who you're talking to. You like the idea of me being jealous."
For a second, she flicked her eyes up to his, but quickly looked away. "That's ridiculous," she told him.
"Is it?" he replied. "You aren't a little happy at the thought of me being upset that someone else is attempting to stake a claim on you?"
A muscle clenched in her jaw. "Why would I be?"
"Excellent question, Teresa," he said. "Why would you be? You couldn't possibly care about me, could you?"
This was all happening rather faster than he had imagined, but now that he had started this game, there was no going back.
His lips drifted to her temple, brushing her skin as he spoke. "Admit it," he murmured again. "You're only making this harder on yourself."
Slowly, carefully, she reached up and put her hands flat against his chest, as though she wasn't sure if she wanted to pull him closer or push him away.
He followed her hairline with his mouth, breath ghosting over her. She was visibly trembling, and he wanted to put his arms around her, but a surrender was called for first.
When he kissed the edge of her jaw, her fingers clenched in his jacket lapels. "Stop," she whispered, though the protest was halfhearted.
"Tell me the truth then." Another soft kiss, just behind her ear.
It was a sensitive spot, clearly, for her sharp intake of breath took him by surprise. "God, Jane."
He repeated the gesture, with more pressure, and he was rewarded with a noise that sounded like a mixture of a groan and a sigh. She was close to her breaking point, he knew.
"Just let it out," he advised. "You'll feel much better." Slowly and deliberately, he made his way back to her mouth. He kissed the corner of her lips.
"Fine," she sighed, voice helpless, hands fluttering against his chest. "Fine," she said again. "I care."
He grinned broadly. "How much?"
"Jane!" she protested, flustered.
"I can do this all day," he assured her. "I'm annoyingly persistent."
She looked away. "Too much," she finally said.
His smile widened. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
And then he kissed her.
After a second of shocked hesitance, she wound her arms around his neck, mouth opening under his expert coaxing. His settled his hands at her waist, keeping her in place. It wasn't necessary – he was willing to bet she wouldn't move unless forced to.
A long while later, he raised his head. Lisbon's eyes were glossy, unfocused.
He offered her what he was sure was a dopey grin. She smiled back tentatively, obviously unsure of what this all meant.
"It's alright," he promised. "Don't overthink it."
Still floored and more than a little bewildered, she nodded, and he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
"So how about that ice cream?"
Her surprised laugh was all the answer he needed.