"So, how was it?" she asked. Her usual mask, that stupid, impenetrable mask, was up. He had no idea what she was really asking. Oh, how he wished she was as easy to read as every other person. But then, there was nothing easy about Teresa Lisbon, and he knew it wouldn't be right if she was.
"How was what?" he asked. At her stern look, he gave up on playing innocent. He'd really missed her; working wasn't the same without her. There was no one to tease, trick, and black mail into going along with his plan. Yes, it had been too long, but that could be remedied now. "Oh, going out with another woman?" He was teasing her, probing, but he never imagined that she'd agree. He never imagined that he'd found the chink in her armor—her soft spot.
"Yes," she answered immediately, and then she looked like she regretted it. "No, I mean, working with Hightower," she said to fix her slip. It was too late, however. He'd already seen it. "What was it like?"
Terrible, horrible, boring… incredibly dull… without a doubt, nowhere near as entertaining as you…
"Eh, it was fun," he said. He didn't want her to feel bad about missing the case. Besides, it's been so long, and he really missed making fun of her. "Oh, it was quite…entertaining really." Liar.
So fast he might have believed he'd imagined it had he been anyone else, he saw her mask slip and reveal…pain? Had he hurt her?
"Well, that's…great," she said. Only he could perceive the slight tremor in her voice. "I'm glad you were…entertained." And with that, she was gone. Not very quickly—she'd hobbled out on her crutches—but she was gone before he'd regained the ability to speak.
Patrick Jane just stood there, completely frozen. She was hurt. He'd hurt her. He sighed. Wasn't this what he'd been avoiding in the first place? Wasn't this the whole reason he was staying away from her as much as was possible? So she wouldn't get hurt. And yet here he was, hurting her, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
"You really are an idiot," a voice behind him said. "You know that, don't you?'
"Ah, Grace," he said without turning around, "of course I don't know what you could possibly be talking about." Then he did turn around and look the young agent in the eyes with a meaningful stare. "But, if I did know what you were talking about, I'd say I've got good company. When's the wedding?"
Grace looked down, ashamed, and fiddled with her ring.
"Good-bye Jane," she said. He could hear the tears in her voice, he kn78ew that she was crying, but it didn't make him feel better the way he thought it would. Instead, all he could think of was the flash of pain in Lisbon's eyes. Pain that he had caused. Pain that, it turns out, he could do nothing about.