So this is a companion piece to 'Love of My Life' which a few people on Twitter said they'd like to see. Basically Jane's viewpoint of their changing relationship. It's not a carbon copy of the other one, so not all of the same events are covered. Again, I apologize if your favourite moment is not here.
But I hope you enjoy it.
Thanks must go to the lovely glindalovesshoes, who made some great suggestions that found their way in here.
Title comes from the Disney song. I thought it fit them.
I own nothing.
Rated T
If it weren't for her, he'd never have remembered the importance of making an effort.
He'd done his research before he walked into the CBI for the first time. If he was going to get access to the Red John files, he'd need to convince whoever was in charge of the investigation. He got the name Teresa Lisbon from the local police in Malibu, with whom he'd kept in touch after the murders, and Googled her the night before.
With several commendations, shares in big cases and a glowing service record, he'd figured he had her pegged. A real straight arrow, punisher of the evil and defender of the weak, persecuted and desperate, exactly what he'd hoped for. Someone he could charm, who would be sympathetic to his plight, who would bend the rules to get him the answers he wanted.
But she surprised him. She was sympathetic, yes, but she was firm with him too, and critical. People had been tiptoeing around him ever since the murders, but she told him flat out that he needed to get his act together, and clean himself up. Nobody had spoken to him like that in months; for the first time in a long time somebody expected something from him.
It wasn't until he pulled one of his old suits from the closet and put it on that he realised how much he'd needed to hear it.
If it weren't for her, Cho and Rigsby probably would've always hated him.
It had to be acknowledged that he didn't do the best job at endearing himself to his new colleagues at the beginning. He wasn't used to working in a team, or to answering to anyone but himself. He was standoffish and sullen, and he regretted his actions now.
He knew in the first days that Cho and Rigsby were secretly hoping he'd quit, until suddenly one day they began to change their tune, and he knew why. Lisbon had no doubt had words with both of them and told them to cut him some slack.
They did it for her, not for him, he could tell by the reluctant way Rigsby attempted to engage him in conversation, or Cho asked him for his input on a case file. But they did it, simply because she had asked them to. He marvelled at the influence she was able to wield over their behaviour; their respect for her certainly ran deep.
In the end he managed to win them over, and Grace too, when she came along but was always aware that he had these good friends because Lisbon had given him a chance when nobody else would.
It would become something of a fixture in their relationship over the years.
If it weren't for her, he'd never have kept his job at the CBI as long as he did.
He knew he'd cost her many hours of paperwork, and the good opinion of her superiors in the time they'd been working together. She could have gone so high in the CBI, and it was no secret that her association with him had worked against her in being considered for a promotion.
He knew she thought about that sometimes, from the odd comment made in passing, and he himself sometimes wondered where she'd be if he hadn't been there to hold her back.
She would have had every reason to resent him for all the trouble he'd caused, but she didn't. She'd accepted her lot in life with far more grace than he would have and instead dedicated herself to saving his career.
He had no idea how she'd managed to bail him out of many of his indiscretions, but every time she got called into a meeting with the top brass she returned hours later, tired and wan, but triumphant and he lived to fight crime another day.
He knew something had changed after the Hardy incident.
His revenge plan had always been, at its core, quite simple. Catching and killing Red John was the ultimate goal, and the ends would justify the means. Sacrifices would have to be made, and tough decisions would need to be taken, but he would achieve his goal or die trying.
Lisbon hadn't believed him the first time he told her so, and had tried to reason with him, but there was no point sugar-coating it in the beginning and then changing his mind later on. She was a good, honest person, and so deserved to know his intentions. Oh, she'd try to talk him out of it, he was certain, but he'd always known the hunt could be lengthy, which should give her plenty of time to get used to the idea.
He'd been so sure of what he wanted, until the moment the sheriff leapt from the gurney and pointed a gun at her.
All thoughts of leverage and deals for information fell away, to be replaced by one.
No. Not her.
Alarm bells started ringing when he started to notice other men noticing her.
It started when he first caught the tenderness in Sam Bosco's eyes when he looked at her. At first he was shocked, but then it made perfect sense. She was a remarkable woman; any sane man would be interested. And then all of a sudden, he could see it all the time.
Sometimes it was subtle, like seeing a colleague glancing at her a little too appreciatively and for just a little too long. Or the ones that took the trouble to hand-deliver files to her that that could have gone via the mailroom just for an excuse to talk to her.
Sometimes, it was glaringly obvious, like with the enigmatic Walter Mashburn, who made no apologies about flirting outrageously with her every time she got within his eyeline.
But it didn't really matter which form the interest came in, the problem was that it bothered him to see it, even though it shouldn't have. At first, he'd found it amusing, even endearing that she seemed completely unaware of her besotted would-be suitors, but that changed as time went on.
They were growing closer, and she was becoming more important to him by the day, and he found himself unconsciously positioning himself between her and the prospective Romeo of the week on enough occasions to make him start to question his own motives.
He told himself time and again that his reasons were purely practical. They were trying to catch Red John after all, and she couldn't afford any distractions.
But he perhaps wouldn't have minded so much if the distraction were him.
If it weren't for her, he might have forgotten it was still OK to have fun.
He smiled a lot more when he was around her. They'd tease each other, laugh at each other, and laugh at everyone else. She managed to be his boss and his partner in crime simultaneously.
There were even times on sleepless nights that he caught himself chuckling about something she'd said or done days before, that had stuck in his mind for some reason or another. He loved the way her eyes would sparkle with mischief; he loved her deadpan wit and all those thinly veiled threats she'd throw at him that he knew she didn't mean.
He was a widower. He was supposed to stay lonely and miserable forever. It was in the script.
But she brought him moments of joy and fun from within the darkness. And somehow, with her, it felt right.
By the time he realised how far he'd let her in, it was already too late.
The plan was to keep her onside by any means necessary, but to keep her at arm's length. They'd be work colleagues, friendly acquaintances at most.
They weren't supposed to hang out. To have lunch together. To spend hours shut up in her office, talking. To detach themselves from the rest of the team and work cases as a pair. But somehow it had worked out that way.
He enjoyed her company; she was honesty and integrity and light. She was funny, witty and clever. She had a smile that could light up the room. She was the best thing about the CBI, the best thing in his life, if he were honest.
He began to actively look forward to seeing her every day, to bring her coffee when he thought she needed it. When it all got too much, she was the one he sought for solace, even if it was as simple as being in her presence. He spent time thinking of ways to make her smile instead of ways to make Red John suffer.
He gained a best friend, but he lost a lot of focus. It would be years before he realized just how much.
If it weren't for her, he would have never known what it was like to be loved again.
He saw it in her eyes as they discussed the prison escape of Lorelei Martins, orchestrated by himself. Anger, sadness, disappointment in him and his choices, but she was still determined to help him until the end, and his heart didn't know whether to soar or sink.
He knew attraction and lust when he saw it. He knew how to handle lustful women; he'd been doing it ever since he stepped into the CBI after all. But this was something far different and much, much worse. This was her way of telling him that she knew his many faults and still wanted him anyway. She accepted every dark, broken little piece of him, every layer, every failing and every burden, and she said it all with just one look.
Nobody had looked at him like this since Angela.
He almost wanted to grab her and shake her. What was she doing? She had so much to offer, she was so kind, and strong and beautiful. She deserved only the best of everything, but for some strange reason she wanted him.
If he tried to kiss her, she would probably let him. If he played his cards right, she might even let him take her to bed. He couldn't pretend he hadn't thought about it, over the years.
But the timing wasn't right, and the circumstances weren't right, and she deserved so much better than the likes of him. So he did what he always did, and pretended he hadn't noticed.
She would move on, in time. He was sure of it. He was not a good prospect for a stable relationship after all. She would find herself a good man, without the emotional scarring, and have the kind of life she deserved to have. It would be the right thing for her. And he would be happy for her. Or at least, he would try.
When Red John took her, his whole world collapsed.
He'd always known it might happen someday, but nothing could prepare him for hearing that soft, taunting voice on the phone when he'd been expecting to hear hers instead.
It was all his fault, he knew it. They'd been arguing all day, she'd told him she was scared for them and he'd brushed her off like always, and look where it had landed her.
His dearest friend was at the mercy of his greatest enemy. She was his source of strength, his closest ally and the most important thing in the world to him, and it didn't take a genius for anyone to realize it. If he'd been in Red John's position, he would have probably done the same thing.
When they found her in that abandoned house, Brett Partridge's blood all over her face in that nightmarish calling card, but otherwise unharmed, he'd been simultaneously relieved, and even more terrified than before.
All the way to the hospital, he sat and wiped the blood from her face. The only reason he could think of that she would be released would be that Red John was planning something bigger for later. Something spectacular like killing her right in front of him, or torturing her and forcing him to watch.
He wouldn't allow it. He would keep her safe, no matter how he had to hurt her to make it happen.
He'll never forget that day on the beach.
He was certain she loved him by then, the way she looked at him and the tender hug they shared were clear indicators. He knew she'd follow him wherever he went, at whatever the risk to herself, because she loved him so much.
He actually hated her a tiny bit, for selling herself short by loving him so much. He wasn't worth it.
She'd looked so beautiful in the glow of the setting sun, the wind whipping her hair every which way.
'You have no idea what you've meant to me…what you mean to me.'
It was the only way he could tell her, without actually telling her. And it was enough. Enough to throw her off balance, and to allow him to grab her cell phone and hightail it out of there before she could realize the true reason he'd brought her there. He wanted her to be safe, and far away from the carnage he was about to create.
He could only hope he might be able to see her again at least once more before the end, to tell her he was sorry.
If it weren't for her, he would be dead.
He had been living on borrowed time ever since his family had been killed. After his release from the institution, he knew he was in a fragile mental state. One more trauma, just one more emotional blow could easily be enough to send him over the edge.
In an ideal world, he would have lived out the rest of his life completely trouble-free, but this was real life and so the hits kept coming. But this time, he had her beside him. She saved his life more times than he could count; she gave him something to care about, to live for, a reason to keep breathing when all he wanted to do was give up.
It was only the thought of her that had stopped him from blowing his own brains out with her gun after he'd finally killed Red John. She'd worked so hard to keep him alive; it would be doing her a disservice to take his own life. Not to mention that it would also break her heart. She would blame herself for what he'd done, and possibly never get over it. She might become jaded and twisted, just like him.
He couldn't let that happen. He still didn't give a damn about his own life, but Lisbon's was worth saving.
He certainly owed her at least one.
If it weren't for her, he would never have had a reason to come back.
He thought of her every day in South America, and he wrote her those letters to make the separation easier to bear. He wanted her to know he was safe of course, but he did it mainly for himself. Even though she couldn't write back, it was a way to keep himself present in her mind, and to know that at least one person on the Earth gave a damn about him.
He shouldn't have been surprised at just how deeply he'd missed her. After all, with the exception of Vegas and those few brief jail stints, they'd hardly ever gone a day without seeing each other. There were times when he couldn't quite remember the precise green of her eyes or the sound of her laughter, which made him want to run to her side, but of course, he couldn't.
He missed her smile, and the way she always seemed to know on the nights he wasn't sleeping, and would phone him up. They'd talk for hours until the first rays of sun came peeking over the horizon.
He cared for her more than anyone in the world, but in the end his sense of self-preservation won out. It always did.
When Dennis Abbott offered him the deal, his mind went to her instantly, and he almost agreed to it immediately. The chance to see her again was almost unbearably tempting. But he tamped down his enthusiasm. He was willing to return to the US but only under his terms, and it would take all his cunning and skill to make sure it happened.
Seeing Cho again in the FBI building had made him smile. But seeing her again had been like a bolt of lightning. This was why he'd come home.
It may have taken him two years to realize it, but home was wherever she was.
If it weren't for her, he wouldn't have ended up under arrest in a TSA office that was for sure.
No other woman could have pushed him to board a plane illegally and hold up a flight just to tell her he loved her.
Up until that moment, he'd refused to believe that he might be losing her. Yes she was seeing Marcus Pike, but that wouldn't last. She was too good for him.
But days turned into weeks, then months, and still she hadn't kicked Pike to the curb. And the worst part was, this time she was the one pulling away from him. Before Pike he'd always known she'd be there for him, no matter how far he ran, and then suddenly she wasn't. She'd had enough of waiting for him, and he couldn't say he blamed her.
He'd be the first to admit that he hadn't handled it well. Digging up a cold case to trick her into staying longer probably hadn't been the best course of action, but it had been hard to feel guilty when she'd been so pleased with herself when she figured out his clues.
He also suspected his heart had stopped when she'd descended the staircase in the dress he'd chosen for her. He'd been secretly hoping she'd pick the pink one; it had reminded him of the bridesmaid's dress she'd never gotten to wear at Van Pelt's wedding.
His plan went to hell, and she stormed off to the airport. He sat in his hotel room, drunk and defeated, until he finally realized there was one more thing he could try.
Telling the truth had never felt so good.
There is no reason he can think of that justifies his good luck in having her for his own. He is a bad person who has done terrible things, and he always will be, no matter how many cases he helps to solve.
He loves her so much. It actually terrifies him how much he loves her. There's nothing he wouldn't do for her, and nowhere he'd rather be than lying next to her in bed, holding her close.
He doesn't tell her enough, he knows, and he certainly doesn't show her enough. He's got ten years of self-denial to catch up on, after all.
If it weren't for her, there'd be no reason left for him. It's the greatest gift she ever gave him.
She gives a little huff in her sleep, and he chuckles and kisses the top of her head.
She is the gift that keeps on giving.
I really struggled with this one. Getting into Patrick Jane's brilliant mind is no mean feat. I guess that's why it's a bit longer too.
Still, as always, I hope you liked it.