For you, dear reader. May whatever holidays you celebrate be filled with light and happiness.
Lend Thy Light
Silent night, holy night, wondrous star, lend thy light;
With the angels let us sing,
Alleluia to our King.
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born.
Jane is in limbo, halfway between sleep and consciousness.
He is safe here. He hears Lisbon from afar, though he can't make out her words. But her voice is soft, wrapping around him like warmth from a fire, and he shifts on her couch, burrowing in deeper.
It really is very pleasant here. He wishes he could take Lisbon with him wherever he goes; she could be his own personal light source, keeping him warm and guiding him as he wanders.
He realizes vaguely that she already does this.
As soon as the thought occurs to him, he feels her warmth disappear. He opens his eyes, disoriented, and takes in the ceiling of Lisbon's office.
He can hear the words she's saying now as she speaks to someone over the phone, and he knows immediately that something is wrong.
Jane shifts, turning to look at her over the armrest of the couch.
But she's already gone, the door swinging slightly in her wake as it loses its residual energy.
Jane sits up, and he immediately notices that Lisbon has left behind her cell phone. It's still lit up on her desk, its light bathing the darkened office with an eerie glow. Curious, Jane moves to grab it. The screen shows a list of incoming calls, one from Jimmy at the top of the list.
"Damn it," he says softly.
Since the first of December, Lisbon has spoken of little else than her plans to spend Christmas in Chicago with her brother Jimmy (the fact that Stan will be out of town with Karen and she has no idea where the hell Tommy is has not dampened her enthusiasm). Though Jane is hardly looking forward to spending the holidays without her—because that means he will be spending the holidays alone—he realizes how much she has been looking forward to seeing her little brother.
And it looks like said little brother has cancelled their plans.
The screen goes black, sending the office into relative darkness. Jane remains motionless, still holding the phone.
Though his body is still, his mind is anything but, and he begins to calculate his options.
Deciding on a course of action, he sets the phone back down on the desk and steps toward the door.
She's up in his attic.
Or rather, she's outside on the roof, and he takes a long look at her—the Sacramento holiday lights reflect off of what he thinks are teardrops at the corners of her eyes—before stepping forward.
He doesn't make a sound as he approaches, but somehow she knows he's there. He watches as she wipes at her eyes. She looks over her shoulder and holds his gaze for a few seconds before turning around again, and as he nears her, he can make out the beginnings of gooseflesh on her skin.
It is December, after all. What the hell is she thinking, coming out here without a jacket?
He doesn't have to ask her about what happened.
She stares determinedly at the city—and not at him—as she begins to speak.
"Jimmy's not going to be in Chicago for Christmas," she whispers.
He doesn't speak, knowing there must be more she wants to say.
She continues in the same tone. "Back in October, we made plans to recreate our last Christmas with Mom. You know, attend Midnight Mass at our old church. Make her special Christmas cookies. I bought my plane ticket ages ago." She wipes her eyes again. "But Jimmy has a new girlfriend. He's going to spend Christmas with her family in North Carolina."
It's starting to mist, and Jane rubs his hands together in a hopeless attempt to stop the chill from setting into his bones. He looks over at Lisbon. She doesn't seem to notice the cold, and this worries him.
He shrugs out of his suit jacket and slips it over her shoulders. She grips the fabric tightly, her fingers an alarming shade of pink.
"Let's go inside," says Jane softly, gesturing to the door.
His hand comes to rest on the small of her back. When she feels the slight pressure, she looks at him.
And suddenly she is his light again.
He follows as she guides him through the dark.
He is lying on her couch again the next morning when she enters her office.
"Morning, Lisbon," he says without opening his eyes.
"Hi, Jane."
He listens as she moves around the office, hanging up her coat and tidying up after leaving in a hurry last night.
Jane peaks open one eye, and he smiles as he takes in the way her hair almost glistens—like little stars—from the mist still falling outside.
She stops dead as she looks at her desk for the first time. She leans over to pick up an envelope.
He watches as she tears it open and unfolds the sheet of paper.
She turns to him. "Jane, what's this?"
He closes his eyes. "Itinerary," he says.
"For what?"
"For me," he says.
He can practically feel her eyes rove over the travel receipt. "You're spending Christmas in Chicago?" asks Lisbon, the disbelief evident in her tone.
He doesn't open his eyes. "I'm spending Christmas with you," he corrects.
He knows how important the holidays are to Lisbon—and because they mean so much to her, they mean a lot to him, too. He will not allow her foolish brother to ruin her Christmas.
When Lisbon doesn't respond, Jane continues. "We'll do all those things you mentioned—Midnight Mass, cookies. I'll even take you ice skating, if you want. Though you should know I'm terribly uncoordinated and might need to hang onto you to keep upright."
Lisbon chuckles, and despite her best attempts to hide it, he hears the quiet sob that escapes her.
Suddenly she is kneeling by his side, her hand warm on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispers, and she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He opens his eyes to look up at her, but once again she has fled, and Jane is left to wonder at the traces of tears she has left on his cheek.
The plane takes off just as the sun begins to sink. Lisbon looks out the window, taking in the spectacular bright red of the sky. Jane is more concerned with the equally-spectacular red flush creeping up the side of Lisbon's neck.
She falls asleep with her head on his shoulder.
For once, Jane is glad he's an insomniac—even asleep she is breathtaking—and he spends the rest of the flight watching her breathe in and out.
In. Out.
Every breath of hers is a gift to him.
They don't check into their hotel until late that night. When he shuts the door to their room behind him, he turns around to find Lisbon staring at him.
"What?" he asks, feeling a bit self-conscious.
She flushes, as though embarrassed to be caught looking. "The coat," she says, gesturing to his peacoat and scarf combo. "It's a good look on you."
He realizes that she would never have told him such a thing back in Sacramento, back where their relationship is…comfortable. But here, in a new city, neither of them are quite sure what they are. And she is audacious.
She turns from him then to look around the suite. "You didn't have to do this, Jane," she says. "I wouldn't be surprised if you spent a month's salary on this room."
"Two months, actually," says Jane cheekily, though this is clearly a lie. But with separate bedrooms, a small living room, and a kitchenette—and the fact that he'd booked a hotel in downtown Chicago last minute—the suite hadn't been cheap.
When their eyes meet again, he knows it was worth every cent.
He would give far more to make her happy.
The next day is the day before Christmas Eve.
Come nightfall, they decide to go skating at the outdoor rink downtown. Jane takes a look at the brightly lit skyscrapers around them, the happy couples skating past arm-in-arm.
He wonders vaguely if maybe he and Lisbon could be happy someday.
And then Lisbon is tugging on his arm, her dazzling grin making him weak in the knees. He allows himself to be pulled out onto the ice, and he spends the next several hours holding onto her.
He smiles to himself. Maybe we already are.
The snow begins falling around midnight.
Come morning, it shows no sign of letting up.
By the time Lisbon wakes, Jane has already braved the blizzard-like conditions outside to buy them food for the day before the stores close. It won't be a feast, but it'll be a Christmas dinner of their very own.
The wind whips the snow around outside, the flakes twirling like ballet dancers. Lisbon joins him at the small countertop in the kitchenette, where he has collected what appears to be the entire baking aisle of the nearby grocery store.
"Before my mom left," he begins, "I helped her in the kitchen all the time. I remember a lot of her recipes." He cannot look at Lisbon as he says this, so he concentrates on his hands. "She made the best sugar cookie icing at Christmastime."
"Show me?" asks Lisbon, leaning into him slightly.
He nods.
Making the cookies takes slightly longer than anticipated.
The reason for this, of course, is that they take a nearly hour-long break while they proceed to toss flour at each other. The flour now covers the kitchenette, giving the room the appearance of a having a light dusting of snow. Lisbon giggles.
Jane is drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. She is his flame. His light.
He runs his fingers through her hair to get the flour out.
She lets him.
They attend Midnight Mass that night in the very same church she frequented with her family all those years ago. Though Jane cannot appreciate the message—God cannot save him; he is too far gone—he appreciates the time spent with Lisbon.
He listens quietly as she sings along to the hymns, and he focuses on her voice. It echoes through him, and as it does, he wonders.
Though God cannot save him, could Lisbon?
He looks at her and knows she could.
But will he let her?
They trudge through the snow, their steps in sync, and she winds her arm around his.
She doesn't let go until they are in their suite. He lets the door fall shut behind them and turns around to find her closer than he expected.
"Thank you," she breathes. "This was…this is the best Christmas gift I've ever received."
He nods at her. He cannot speak.
"I've been thinking about what to get you in return," continues Lisbon, and before he can interrupt—she already is his gift; he doesn't need anything more—she cuts him off. "And I finally figured it out."
She steps toward him and places a porcelain hand on his scarf. Her delicate fingers work at the knot, and she lets the scarf fall to the ground. Her fingertips are like ice on his neck.
It is intoxicating, the way she leans into him. In that moment, there is no one else in the world but her.
The first touch of her lips against his is tentative, as though she's asking for permission.
He readily grants it.
He pulls her toward him so that their bodies are flush against each other, and he moans upon feeling the pressure of her tongue on the roof of his mouth. His fingers are frozen, which is a damn shame, because he's having difficulties unbuttoning her coat.
She helps him along.
Soon there is a trail of clothing leading over to her room, and she pulls back from him slightly as the back of his legs hit the bed. His hands move up her bare torso, fumbling with the catch on her bra, and she succeeds in undoing the last of the buttons on his shirt.
"I know you're not ready for commitment," she says, and he decides that he might as well kiss her neck thoroughly as she speaks. "I'm not in a place where I can offer that either. But…" She gasps as his lips encounter a particularly sensitive area of her flesh. She holds him at arm's length, and he is surprised by the pure desire in her eyes. "But someday I will be. And I know you will be, too, after…"
She trails off. They both know what she means.
"Until then," she continues, and he cannot help it. He begins kissing her again. He is rewarded by the feel of her smile against his lips. "Until then," she murmurs against him, "I want you to know that you are loved."
It's a promise, he realizes. She's offering him a future, if he wants it.
Of course he does.
Their eyes shine in the darkness, and he can feel the gooseflesh on her arms.
He quickly removes the rest of their clothing and guides her to the bed. He hovers over her and pulls the comforter around their bodies. The gooseflesh disappears from her skin.
Their bodies align, somehow greater together than they were apart, huddled in their own cocoon in the middle of a storm, and it is perfect.
She breaks, and he follows soon after.
Later, she props herself up on one elbow, and she smirks down at him. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of her head and bring her lips down to his.
She seems to glow, he thinks. She is radiant, warming him with the heat from her skin, the light from her soul.
He trails his fingers down the bare skin of her arm, and he is rewarded with a dazzling smile.
She is his star. She is his light.
And someday, she will be his.