A/N-This is my contribution/solution to Lisbon's dilemma and Jane's heartache.
I don't own The Mentalist, or these songs.
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The Mentalist
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a little harmless manipulation
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Jane lay sprawled on his couch, his hands clasped, his curls gleaming happily in the afternoon sun. To anyone else, he was perfectly playing possum.
But the unseen figure seated on the armrest knew better. Could see the truth.
Patrick Jane was in terrible turmoil, heartbroken over the possibility of his Lisbon going to DC with Marcus Pike.
The figure could clearly hear all of Patrick's thoughts:
"So, where're we going?...Oh, no, you kids go on, have a good night…"
-"Goodnight, Jane."
-"Can we do something tomorrow? Okay. You too. Bye, Marcus. What?"
"Nothing."
-"Don't start."
"I'm not starting. You look beautiful." Beautiful didn't even begin to describe you. "I hope he's taking you somewhere nice." I'd like him to take a long walk off a short pier, or a slow boat ride to Antarctica.
-"Cloth napkins and everything." Wow, he's going all out. And you were faithfully talking him up. Can't blame you for that one, Lisbon.
-"Goodnight, Jane." Your eyes, your tone were saying so much more than just 'goodnight'. You were saying 'he's a good man, he cares about me and shows it, I like him', and most of all your eyes were saying 'I have the right to do this. I deserve to do this'. But they were also pleading with me, 'Let me do this, Jane'. And I am. I'm behaving. Showing consideration for your feelings, just like you asked me to.
"He was just waiting there, all the time?" Doesn't the man have anything better to do? In the Art Department?
-"Yep." You smiled. Pleased by such a gesture. Touched even. "He just makes a point to be there for me." Your emphasis there was obvious. 'Be there for me'. Couldn't resist rubbing that in my face, huh? You practically made finger quotes.
"You really like this guy, huh?" Hope that sounded casual, politely curious. Not nosy. Not accusing. Not fearful.
-"He got a promotion." You evaded the question, Teresa. Don't think I didn't notice that. The look you gave me in the Airstream? You were downright skittish. Wanted to tell me something, but didn't know how.
-"It's in DC. He asked me to go with him, so we can be together in DC." Yes, Teresa, I heard your unspoken words loud and clear. Lovers. Bedfellows. Life-partners. What I thought we were. Well, the last one, the 'partners' part. I've told others to put their game-face on. Guess that was take-my-own-medicine time. Especially after what you said next.
-"I'm thinking about it." And then you asked what I thought about it. What I thought was, the Universe hates me. I just got you back into my life, we were growing closer, I thought, and then Fate pulled the rug out from under me. And I had only myself to blame.
-"You're not upset." Half question, half statement. You wondered if my nonchalance was genuine, you wondered why I wasn't making a scene. Begging you to stay. Wishing I was. I saw it all in your strained expression.
"If you're happy…then I'm happy." Liar. Liarliarliarliarliar. *LI-AAARR*! Of all the lies I ever told in my life, that one…whew. Damn near killed me to force that one out. Took all my biofeedback. Breathe. Smile. Hold in tears. Forcibly swallow lump.
Then Pike took you away, to finish your date. My stomach lurched, throat closed, my vision blurred. Almost completely lost it right there. Didn't though. Kept it in. Nicely done, Patrick.
You get a gold star.
So here I am. And you're…I don't know where you are right now. Somewhere with Pike, no doubt. Enjoying yourself. Contemplating following him to DC.
I do want you to be happy, that wasn't a lie. But not with someone else, another man. With me…. Teresa don't go….
"He's really hurting, isn't he?" A second figure joined the first, appearing in Lisbon's chair.
The first figure nodded sadly. "He's loved her for a long time, but suppressed it out of shame, guilt. He told her once, a long time ago, sneaking it into a ruse, but he secretly meant it. And again more recently, sincerely, couple years ago. But things were crazy, so he denied it, pretended to forget!"
"Oh, bless his heart. And she loves him too, doesn't she?"
"Yes, but now she has a choice to make, and she's very torn."
"It must be a difficult moment, for both of them."
Each nodded at the other in agreement, then both sat silently, watching over Patrick.
A look came over the first figure's face, and it slid off the armrest to sit on the couch, next to him.
"What are you doing?" The second figure smiled, curious.
"Giving him an idea."
"We can't force their actions, or decisions you know."
"I know, but there's no rule against a little harmless manipulation. He's afraid to tell her how he feels directly, so I'm…giving him another way. Call it guidance."
The first figure leaned over Patrick, touched his shoulder, and whispered in his ear.
x
A little later, Jane 'woke' from his doze. He lay still for a moment, staring at the grey stain-less ceiling.
Lisbon was considering leaving, moving to the other side of the country. In two years she'd bounced from Sacramento to Cannon Creek and then to Austin.
Now, just like that, she might be DC-bound. From one coast to the other.
He'd felt, in an instant, like the world had come to a screeching halt then sped up rapidly when she finally told him. It'd completely knocked the wind out of him.
Was this really what it had come to? Coming back, getting her back, life seeming normal again, only to have this hit him in the face?
He remembered his rambled, inane congrats, and colorless, obligatory, *cowardly* if you're happy, then I'm happy, and winced. What the hell was that?
Since when had he shrunk from saying exactly what he was thinking, not caring whom he might annoy or piss off? Hell, at the CBI he'd enjoyed it!
So, why was yesterday any different? He sighed. He knew the answer; it was no mystery.
Because it was too real. Because it was his Lisbon, telling him she was thinking about leaving.
Because he'd fallen in love with her, but never thought he'd need to tell her; she'd always been there for him, always would be.
That thing about 'assuming' came to mind.
Somehow it had snuck up on him. *Him*! Patrick Jane. Falling in love the first time, with Angela, hadn't been a surprise. With Teresa, it had. He wasn't supposed to, but, well…
But even being fully aware of his feelings, when he needed to say them most, he couldn't.
He had to. He had to tell Teresa how he felt about her, what he thought of her leaving. Then maybe he'd kill three birds with one stone: she'd finally know he loved her, that he didn't want her to go, and she'd decide to stay. To be with him, in Austin.
How?
He got up to get some tea.
Back on the couch, his mind began churning. His eyes wandered over Lisbon's desk.
Not a lot on it, since it was now in a more public space; keyboard, monitor, phone, some files. So impersonal. He missed the photos of her childhood dog.
There was one thing there that didn't have Property of the FBI stamped on it. Her ipod.
She must've brought it with her this morning after her run. He looked around; it was lunch, practically empty. He reached out and snatched it.
Scrolling through the songs, there were no surprises: adult contemporary, some Top 40. Warm up stuff, and full run.
Spice Girls. He smiled to himself. Of course. Had to have that. That's when she'll be actually listening to the music.
The last half, toward the end of the list was more mellow-y jazz stuff, practically Easy Listening, for cooling down.
He stopped scrolling as an idea popped. A grin spread across his face.
He quickly fingered the keys, making a couple adjustments, then turned it off and put it back.
x
Eennh-eenhh-eenhh-eenhh—
A small hand clamped over the alarm. Six a.m. Lisbon turned over but didn't go back to sleep. She hadn't really been totally asleep to begin with; she couldn't stop thinking about Jane, but not for the usual reasons.
She'd finally told Jane about her possible move, and his reaction had been…weird. He'd been supportive. Oddly blithe. And his if you're happy, then I'm happy had been damned lukewarm!
Was that all the jerk had to say? After twelve years of friendship, and fleeting glimpses of…what? She'd seen more in his eyes, could see him aching to say something else.
But he didn't.
She figured that was that.
She got up, threw on her running gear, grabbed her ipod and headed out.
She was about thirty or so minutes into her run, enjoying the dawn sun and early cold dampness on her face. Her headphones were playing her music just how she liked it.
Wait, that wasn't right.
Her canter faltered when a song played out of order. Actually, it wasn't one of her songs at all; she was supposed to be hearing the Spice Girls right now, not some sappy early nineties ballad.
Not wanting to break her stride, she kept running, figuring she'd tune the song out, then perk back up when she heard Scary Spice.
She slowed, stopping to stretch and catch her breath, but even as the next song started, the lyrics echoed in her head: words of missing someone terribly since they went away, memories of a deep friendship, a realization of a long-felt love, of trying to deny or ignore it, of finally accepting and embracing it, seeing that love in the other person, and imploring them to not let go.
But most of all, of missing someone.
Lisbon had never been one to attach special meaning to stuff. Things were what they were, and life just happened. Not everything meant something. She started back up again.
She couldn't help think this did though; songs didn't put themselves on ipods, and while familiar with it, she hadn't heard it in decades, and it wasn't her taste.
And those lyrics.
She couldn't help but feel like someone was trying to tell her something. Wylie? Could the office's eager-beaver computer nerd be crushing on her?
No. She liked the kid, young man, but barely knew him, and vice-versa. No.
Jane? She would not put messing with her stuff past him, but could he program her ipod? He could barely operate her DVD player, even if he did always try to bogart the remote. And most important, he didn't have those feelings for her. Right?
So, why, if Jane had fiddled with it, had he chosen that song? A song filled with pleading and desperation? And declarations.
She pushed the thoughts aside as she finished her run and got ready for work.
x
Jane looked up from making his tea to see Lisbon come into the kitchen for her coffee.
"Morning, Jane." She smiled pleasantly at him.
"Morning, Lisbon." He returned her smile, studying her intently as she poured a cup.
No sidelong glances, nervous looks at him. No nervousness or awkwardness at all. Maybe she hadn't heard it; maybe she hadn't taken her ipod with her this morning.
He dismissed that thought immediately. Lisbon was a creature of habit; he knew for a fact she always listened to it during her run.
"You're looking lovely this morning, Lisbon, very rosy-cheeked. You must have had a good run." The remark was casual; he'd complimented her before, many times.
But he knew for sure when she froze, stiffened; just for a split-second, but it was all Jane needed.
"Yeah, I did. It was good." That high voice again. She smiled again, now nervously though she tried, averting her eyes as she walked past him out of the kitchen.
He stayed behind a moment, absently stirring his tea.
Okay, she'd obviously heard the song he'd planted in her music, but other than that blink-and-miss-it change in her posture and squeaky reply, she'd shown no reaction. Finally he left the kitchen and went to his couch.
Sipping his tea, he frowned. He thought he'd chosen very well! Even with her jazz and Spice Girls sweet tooth, and despite her arguments to the contrary, he knew she had a secret love of early nineties romantic ballads.
Her wistful look and warm dancing to "More Than Words" told him that!
So she wasn't unaffected. But she was a professional, and in a relationship, and not likely to respond to one very odd gesture from her quirky, trouble-making friend and consultant.
The first figure reappeared, now behind his couch, perched on the back, once again watching him. Hearing Patrick's disappointment, it laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.
Jane saw the ipod on Lisbon's desk again. Lisbon wasn't there, having stepped away a moment earlier.
Without setting down his tea, he reached out and lifted the gadget, scrolling quickly and tapping keys. Then he got up and left the bullpen with his tea.
A moment later Lisbon returned to her desk and an empty couch. Her ipod sat in the same spot on her desk, untouched. She sat down and went back to work.
x
Six a.m. and Lisbon was out pounding the pavement, Pink, Lady Gaga and Rob Thomas blaring through her earbuds. Then the Spice Girls started, and her adrenaline kicked in giving her a burst of speed for three songs.
She was expecting to next hear the out-of-place, Jane?-programmed ballad from yesterday, but instead heard acoustic piano.
This time she could feel the tears on her cheeks even before she slowed down. Her breathing was heavy, and not just from exertion. The first one she'd thought was a fluke, but twice?
A coincidence? Or a defective ipod?
Jane always said there's no such thing as coincidences, and this song was definitely speaking to her: he always said her eyes gave her away, why she couldn't lie to him, and her smiles of late were, especially around him, awkward, questioning.
She was asking herself if she wanted to keep fighting, for whatever it was she and Jane had been fighting for all these years. If there was something growing, struggling to blossom, between them.
Or if it was all in her desperate imagination.
Where did she belong? In Austin (with Jane)? or in D.C.? Either meant saying goodbye to one of them.
Now there was no question in her mind; Jane had added the songs. She was pretty sure she knew why, too.
He couldn't come right out and say he loved her; he kept those feelings very tightly to himself, and he was still grieving his avenged family. And he couldn't ask her to stay without seeming selfish, and revealing what were apparently his true feelings.
So, he'd used music, using various artists' lyrics to pour his heart out to her. She picked up the pace again.
Part of her was thrilled he'd finally told her how he felt, and impressed at the songs he'd picked. There were a-gazillion songs out there about love, needing, begging, some so overused and cliché they bordered on kitsch: "Listen to Your Heart" certainly qualified, might've been, except he'd used the newer version.
The other part of her couldn't believe he'd resorted to something so cheesy! Lovesick, hormonal teen-age boys dedicated songs to their crushes! Not middle-aged men, whom she worked with, and knew she had a boyfriend, geez!
But that's why he'd done it. Because she'd dropped a bomb on him, and then begged for a reaction.
She was almost finished with her run.
She should be seriously ticked off with him, like she got every time he pulled one of his scams. But she was a romantic at heart.
That part won.
x
"Jane, let's go. We have a case in Carrizo Springs; it's about an hour and a half drive southwest, just off the thirty-five on State eighty-five. Abbott and Fischer are already on the way down, which means…" She smiled broadly in response to his knowing grin. "We'll have to meet up with them."
Jane practically leaped to his feet, clapping his hands.
"Excellent! I've been wanting to get you alone in the airstream for a road trip!"
"I went with you to Nuevo Laredo, remember?"
"Yes, well, you and Cho." Cho'd had the decency to let her ride shotgun, no doubt wanting the quiet to read, and not wanting to sit next to him. But unlike any given time before, having her next to him, for once, had been strained and uncomfortable.
"Still can't believe you got me to ride in that thing."
He fixed her with a knowing look. "You know you really enjoyed it! It reminded you of those camping trips your parents took you and your brothers on when you were little. To this day the very sight of a trailer reminds you of long winding roads into the country, eating hotdogs outside and swimming in big lakes instead of the local municipal swimming pool."
"Shut up, Jane!" She glared at him, but there was no anger behind it. In fact, she grinned unashamedly at the truth of his words. And at him.
"Alright. Come along, my dear. Let us go to where Lady Justice takes us today." He followed behind her, a hand at her back.
x
Coming back, the atmosphere in the Airstream was quiet, but companionable. They discussed the case some, then each fell into their own thoughts. This time there were no skittish, sideways glances; instead there were brief meetings of sea-blue and emerald, shy, sidelong smiles, and mysterious, embarrassed blushes.
Jane enjoyed himself immensely; he found their silent 'flirting' amusing, and encouraging.
It was about an hour into the ninety-minute drive back, the landscape passing by in a blur of sky, power lines, grey dirt, and occasional trees. Jane felt himself succumbing to highway hypnosis.
"You mind if I turn on the radio, Lisbon? My brain's starting to go a little fuzzy." His brain never went fuzzy, but she didn't say that.
"Sure." She was also zoning out, from both the view, and the Jane-created confusion of the last couple days.
He flicked on the radio, setting it at mid-volume. The last few seconds of a popular, overplayed pop song filled the space. When it finished, another song came on, and Michael Buble began to croon, seemingly singing her praises. As early as the second stanza, she could feel her throat tightening, tears burning her eyes.
It was the last line that did her in, telling her that she was the reason he was still alive, and that her being there every day made him want to stay, and not run anymore.
When the song ended, he turned the radio down, and glanced over at her, and his heart lurched.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks, sobs racking her tiny body.
"Lisbon?" His voice was soft, worried.
"Pull over! Now!"
He quickly checked his rearview, then pulled off to the side of the road, stirring up dust and gravel. She threw off her seatbelt and bolted out the door, not bothering to slam it shut as she knew he'd be right behind her.
He exited the trailer, but waited by the door, letting her have her space. He stood, watching her slightly hunched back, her hair blowing in the breeze.
After a moment she straightened and turned, walked a few steps back towards him. He stepped away from the trailer towards her, closing the distance.
"That was beautiful. It was perfect." She was smiling through her sobs.
"I didn't know if you knew what I was saying." Lisbon couldn't believe it; was that uncertainty she heard?
"Of course I knew, Jane! Well, I didn't at first, but after the second song, I knew! I was ecstatic to finally know how you felt."
"Really?"
"Actually I was pissed off that you'd taken so long to tell me, and that you used such a screwball way to do it. I mean, serenading? Isn't that a little, I don't know, Middle Ages? Cyrano de Bergerac?"
"I wasn't exactly serenading you, Lisbon, Teresa. And it's more Renaissance than Middle Ages, actually. But I think that's an apt and lovely comparison. Back in the day a man's best way of expressing himself to the woman he loved, was to stand outside her window, strumming a mandolin."
She snorted, then hiccupped from all the crying.
"Only in old movies, Jane!" Jane simply shrugged.
"Well, now that you've used Natalie Cole and Michael Buble to say it, how 'bout I hear it from Patrick Jane?"
He took in her visage, to place in his memory palace; soft green eyes, red-rimmed and bright with tears, blotchy wet cheeks. Long dark hair wavy, shining in the sun, slightly disheveled from the wind.
And swollen red nose.
She looked perfect. Absolutely adorable and beautiful.
He stepped even closer, tucking a finger under her chin so he could look right into her eyes. He so wanted to kiss her right then, but first things.
"I love you, Teresa. I love you. I miss you already, at just the thought of you leaving. I very much hope you stay here. And everything Michael Buble said."
She chuckled. Trust Jane to quote a love song, and then say, 'what he said'. She looked at him, studying his face, his eyes, for a good minute, before she reached up and laid a hand on his bearded cheek.
At that moment, despite the intimacy, he had no idea what she was going to do.
"I love you too, Jane." Yes! "Now c'mon, we gotta get back to Austin." She walked ahead of him into the trailer, taking her seat, waiting patiently for him.
He took his own seat, started the engine, and got back on the road. After a minute the suspense was killing him.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"I just declared myself, Teresa. Proclaimed my love to you before the world."
She rolled her eyes. "You declared your love to me before a tumbleweed." She smiled at him to soften her words, then sighed, looked out the windshield.
"It's not that simple Jane. I still have to consider Marcus. I'll have to think about it." She fell silent, and he waited. There was nothing else he could do.
She made him wait a whole five minutes, seventeen seconds. Mean little thing.
"Alright, I've thought about it." Eight more seconds. "I've decided: I'm going to stay in Austin."
"Really?" He didn't bother to hide his joy.
"Yes, Jane, really. I'm going to stay. How can I possibly resist or say 'no' to a man who serenades me?"
Jane exhaled. He smiled, his perfect teeth gleaming. He looked over at her. She was looking back at him, smiling warmly too.
x
By the side of the road, the two figures watched as the Airstream whizzed by, its two occupants smiling and laughing.
As it disappeared into the distance, the second one spoke.
"Songs? That was it? That's all it took?" The first figure shrugged.
"Eh, he also finally told her he loved her, but…yeah. Some people use flowers, paintings. For Patrick it was ponies and tiaras. And well-chosen songs."
Hope you enjoyed! Please review! It'd make my day (and it's my birthday! No, seriously...). Lisbon, please stay! We can't have Jisbon without you:(.