Chapter 2 – Contention


He sipped on his tea (two packets of sugar and a touch of honey, as always) as he gazed out of the glass window, watching for signs of her as the rain spattered against it, lacing it with fat drops of water that slid down and warped his view of the street on either side. Unsatisfied at his line of view being distorted, he checked his watch, turned himself in the booth, set his tea down on the hard plastic table, and training his gaze on the front door of the diner. She'd be here any minute now.

He had chosen the diner, The Dewdrop, which he affectionately called just 'The Drop', because it was a regular of his, as he had told Lisbon, but also because it was the least busy. Perhaps that is why he liked it. Whatever the reason he had chosen their dinner to be there, he felt the familiar pang of anxiousness that only she could produce from him. Clearly, she was here for his help, but a part of him didn't know what to make of that. He had fled from her as soon as he could, uprooting himself and moving as far as he could, but even that didn't seem like enough. He could imagine her pain; wondering why he decided to transfer and to cut ties with her. He had wanted to explain, to tell her when he had first decided, but it was best for her she didn't know. At least not then. Now that time had passed between them, maybe he owed it to her. Maybe…

His thoughts cut off when he heard the jingle of the bell above the door, alerting them that someone had entered. Lisbon was standing there, her eyes surveying the interior for him, holding her wet coat against her though her hair was damp from the rain. His heart skipped a beat when her emerald eyes found his and smiled. He smiled back involuntarily, watching her carefully as she made her way to the back of the diner where he sat.

"Interesting place," she commented with a smile as she slid into the bench across from him and began to pull off her coat. "Not surprising. Some things never change," she added, her eyes falling to the cup of tea in front of him and back up to meet his eyes. "Regular, huh?"

He responded with a quick nod of his head. "Every day. Same seat, same coffee, usually with eggs." He lifted a corner of his mouth in a half-smile. "They aren't quite as good as eggs I've been known to make, but they suffice."

She leaned her elbows onto the table and nodded her head at that. Now that he could see her properly in the fluorescent lights above them, he could see that little had changed about her; her freckles still managed to be the predominate feature about her besides her eyes. Besides the bangs that swept neatly across her forehead and her thinner frame that he noted before, she looked just as she did the day he left her.

"You seem to be doing well," said Lisbon. "You are back to doing television?" She sounded surprised at that, which he took as a reference to his past experience in doing that. "How's that going?"

He shrugged one shoulder and shook his head nonchalantly. "It's going okay. It's not exactly my ideal way to spend my time, but I do what I need to do. The FBI isn't exactly forgiving when you kill someone, Teresa." That came out more tersely than he wanted. He watched her face twitch, and he wished he could take it back.

"You are doing it for the FBI?" she asked in surprise.

He nodded his blond curls at her and decided now would be a great time to play with the saucer of his teacup. "They use it to train recruits how to read body language and overall read their behavior for interrogations." He sighed heavily. "They invite unwitting people into seeing me, and they study me; sometimes I even teach a lesson or two about it. It never actually goes on television. It goes to the FBI as a training aid. Not exactly the glamorous way I started television, is it?" He smiled halfheartedly. "Still a showman after all these years."

"Abbott is making you do this?"

"No. It was my idea. He went with it," admitted Jane. "A leopard cannot change his spots, Teresa."

"Oh." Her voice lowered considerably.

"What about you?" He stopped playing with the saucer and entwined the fingers of his hands, leaning forward and cocking his head. "What have you been up to for the past three years, Teresa? Anything interesting?"

Was he really going to sit here and pretend like this was a normal conversation with an ex-colleague of his? Was he really going to ignore the fact that he left three years ago and he's talking to her as if that never happened and they are still great buddies? He missed her. So much so that it was like a physical ache. But he didn't want to feel the hurt again when she left him alone yet again in a few days. After all, it seemed she was here on personal business and wasn't here to reconnect with him in a personal way. It always came down to needing his help. He had known that is the only way she'd probably track him down again, and he wasn't disappointed to be proven right.

"Still angry with me after all of these years, huh?" Lisbon asked, her tone clipped. "Okay, then." She looked away from him and out of the rain-soaked window, trying to focus on anything but him. "I still work for the FBI in Austin. I couldn't really bring myself to leave it. You decided you didn't want to work with me anymore. I had to accept that, Jane." Her eyes fell back to his, hard and hollow.

"It's who you are, after all," he finished. "Seems like I am not the only one upset about things," he added as a reflective thought.

He noticed that her gaze fell to his hand; particularly, the finger that held his wedding ring. He registered surprise on her face to learn that the ring was missing. Not wanting to be approached with a question about it, he hid that hand under the other on the table and cleared his throat.

"You obviously came here to ask me about something," said Jane, trying to change the subject from the unsaid questions she had. "Maybe we should just keep the conversation geared to that."

She nodded her head at him and turned to her jacket, reaching for the inside pocket and producing a blue file folder that was slightly damp and bent. She slid it across the table to him and tapped on it with her index finger.

"You said it was a personal favor. This is an FBI file."

"It's related, Jane. And, if you hear me out, it is associated with me." She sat back against the back of the booth and sighed. "I need your skillset, Jane. I don't know what else I can do."

"I haven't been involved in an FBI case in over five years, Lisbon," he told her in good conscience. "Two years on that island and three years here chasing ghosts. I don't even know how to help you."

Lisbon was silent for a moment. Then, "You won't even pretend to try?" She was clearly hurt by his brush off. "After three years, I come to you for help and you don't even want to attempt to try." She scoffed and shook her head. "I clearly wasted my time begging Abbott to tell me where you were. I clearly wasted my time thinking that we could, at least, pretend you didn't run away from me again, Jane." She reached over to pick up the folder, but his hand stopped her from doing so.

"You never bothered to try tracking me down, either, Teresa," he said softly without looking at her. "Three long years and you never even tried once."

She slid out from the bench and stood sharply, reaching for her jacket and tossing it on. "That wasn't my choice. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."

Before Jane could answer her back and tell her to please sit back down so they could talk, the waitress came over with a smile and a shake of her hip, pulling out her order ticket book and pen from her apron. She took a look first at Lisbon's flushed face, then at Jane, and the awkwardness she felt registered on her face.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, her eyes falling back to Lisbon. "We have a great dinner special tonight." She cracked the gum she was chewing on and smiled at Lisbon.

"I was just leaving," Lisbon assured her. "It was stupid to even bother! Nothing's changed in all this time!"

"Meh," he grumbled under his breath.

She turned on her heels and pressed her coat closer to her body as she did. It was a moment later that Jane heard the jingle of the bell above the door sound letting him know she was gone. He didn't bother to stop her. What would that have done? It wouldn't alter the fact they were both still very much in pain from what happened before he requested his transfer. He smiled at the confused waitress, beaming a smile he didn't really have in him at her.

"It's okay, Lauren," he told her. "It's fine."

Lauren smiled, cracked her gum once again, and left him be. He waited until she was out of sight before looking down at the table at the blue FBI file that Lisbon forgot to take with her in her hasty exit. He sighed and glided the folder closer to himself, moving his tea out of the way. He flipped open the file and began to read.


She was annoyed. It had been an hour since she left the diner in a huff, forgetting her FBI file in the process. She wished she had eaten something at the diner, though, because room service was taking its grand time with her fish and potatoes. She wasn't sure she was that hungry anymore, however. She was upset that she had allowed him to affect her like that. She had promised herself before her plane had even touched down that she'd ask him for the favor, and if he gave her any grief, she'd pack herself up and head back home. So she was wondering why, even as angry as he had made her, she wasn't packing up all her things right now and heading to the airport, effectively leaving Jane and this visit behind.

She did not lay blame solely on Jane, either, for his departure or for the lack of communication or ability to pick up the phone and call. She had done her fair share of avoidance, just as Jane had said. But just because she didn't blame him didn't mean she couldn't be angry at him for it. She needed his help, and all he wanted to do was throw the fact she hadn't tried to get in touch with him sooner back into her face. He could be so intolerable sometimes. That didn't change, not even with the passing of time. There was a sudden knock on the door of her room. She welcomed the intrusion; it helped her forget about Jane and this whole mess.

"Just a second," she called out, standing and digging in her pocket for tip money for the busboy. If anything, she could nibble the roll. It would be something for her to do to forget about this disaster of a trip. God, she felt pathetic. She really thought this was going to be a healing of sorts between them. A mending from the last time they saw one another and what ultimately became the last of their partnership.

Lisbon unhooked the chain lock and opened the door, crossing her arms immediately and leaning on the door jamb. She couldn't say she was particularly shocked to see Jane standing in front of her, the blue FBI file she stupidly left behind in his hand. She sighed and shook her head in both amusement and exasperation.

"I won't even bother asking how you got my hotel and room number," she told him.

He smiled at her, rocking back on his heels. "You wrote them on the back of the file." He held the folder up and pointed to the information she had hurriedly written down before leaving Austin. "No tricks, I promise."

She rolled her eyes and untucked an arm from her chest, reaching out her hand for the file. "Thanks for bringing it back, Jane," she told him tersely.

"Actually, Teresa," he said with a slow enunciation of her name, "I was hoping if you'd allow me a few minutes of your time. After that, you can go back to Texas, and we can go back to being estranged." There was a moment of silence between them. "Please?" he added, breaking the awkward silence finally.

She blew out a loud breath and moved out of his way, lowering her arm and allowing him entrance into her room. She shut the door behind him and turned back into her room, her eyes finding his in the small gap between their bodies. Jane held up the file in his hand again and shook his head at her.

"How long has this been going on, Lisbon?" For some reason, his use of her last name was much more personal to her ears than her formal first name he had been using. She felt a slight tingle go up her spine, and the look of concern on Jane's face wasn't helping, either. "Well? How long?"

"Six months," she admitted. "I thought you didn't want to help me." She watched his facial expression change from concern to wistfulness.

He lowered the folder to his side and shook his head. "I never said that, Teresa."

"You could have fooled me," she shot back.

"I said I don't know how to help you," he clarified. "And I didn't. I never said I wouldn't help. But after reading this," he lifted the folder up yet again, lowering it a second later, "I think I should make an exception on working cases for the FBI."

"Because it involves me," she guessed. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms across her chest. "I think I made a mistake in asking for your help. I can see that now."

He sighed and turned himself at his waist, reaching back to flop the folder on the bed behind him, then turning back to her. His face was a blank canvas; she couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling, but she imagined his brain turning over, trying to decide what to say next. She, for her part, wasn't budging in her stance or her feelings she just articulated to him.

"Our past is infringing on our mood toward each other," explained Jane quietly. "I never intentionally tried hurting you when you came such a long way to see me. I feel like we should talk about what happened, Teresa. It might be easier for us to work together on this."

She scoffed. "It could never make things easier, Patrick. I just came here to ask for your help. Nobody else can help me, not even the FBI. When I begged Abbott to give me your location, I thought we could, at least, be civil about things. I was wrong, and I regret coming here." She shook her head and closed her eyes for a brief moment, reopening them and finding herself surprised that Jane had moved closer to her.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Teresa," he apologized. "I never meant to hurt you again. The old adage that time heals all wounds is a lie. I still hurt, and I know you still hurt, too. But this," he pointed behind him at the folder on the bed, "is about safety, Teresa. I want to help you. No," he slid his head side-to-side in a small shake, "I need to help you."

She said nothing for a minute. She was stunned into silence by his words.

"I really am sorry about that night, you know," Jane told her softly when she remained silent. "I've been waiting a long time to finally say that to you. I know what I did was selfish and unforgivable."

She held up a hand for him to stop speaking, finally finding her own voice. "Save it, Jane. I don't want to hear it right now. I really…" She sighed heavily and walked past him, putting space between them once again. She turned back to him and frowned deeply. "Can we stick to the problem at hand, please?"

"Sure," he replied. "But we'll have to discuss it at some point. It's a contentious stone in the road between us. We both have things on our minds and I, for one, would love the opportunity to address them before we part again."

"You won't let it go, will you?"

"No." And he smiled the first genuine smile in years.

"Fine," she gave in. "So you are going to help me after all?"

"I am."

"What's first, then?"

"Explaining the folder, perhaps?" he suggested, the smile still on his face.

There was another knock on the door. Lisbon pointed to it and shot Jane a rare smile.

"Dinner," said Lisbon, nearly forgetting she even ordered room service. "Then, I will tell you how this whole thing in that folder started."


A/N: Wow! First of all, thank you all so much for the positive feedback on chapter one. I really, really, appreciate it. I hope this chapter is just as good and enjoyable. Next, we will see what's in the folder, and Jane has a hard time with a request of Lisbon's.