AN: Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! Your words inspire me and make me feel so honored to be a part of this incredible fandom/family. As I promised, this chapter (and the chapters that follow) will certainly be less angsty. I hope you all enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Chapter 2: Quietly Say
Lisbon went to bed early that night, turning in well before Jane. They'd both skipped dinner, each of them being entirely too preoccupied in worrying about the other, and neither had uttered a word since their conversation on the beach.
After an hour in which sleep proved elusive, Lisbon pulled the sheets more firmly around her and shifted to turn towards the window. Normally, she'd be greeted with silver light from faraway stars, but tonight the sky was eerily black. She closed her eyes briefly, opened them again, and found she couldn't tell the difference.
Lisbon punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape and returned her head to rest upon it. She wondered with a jolt if Jane was planning on sleeping on the couch in the family room.
She didn't think she could bear it if he did.
After all, it had been nearly two months since they'd spent the night in separate beds. Though it had only been a couple of hours since she'd stormed out on him, she found that she missed him far more than she had expected. Which was silly, really, considering that they weren't actually fighting—and that he was in the next room.
Lisbon heard the unmistakable sound of a lamp being switched off, followed by the sound of Jane's quiet footsteps heading down the hall toward the bedroom.
She wiped at her eyes hurriedly.
The door opened slowly, and she knew Jane was taking extra care so as to not wake her. She felt her heart balloon in her chest, and she turned to face him.
"I missed you," she said, her voice louder than she'd intended.
She heard the rustling of clothing and pictured Jane removing his shirt and pulling on pajama bottoms in the dark. There was a loud thump as his foot connected with the bedframe, and he swore under his breath. Lisbon chuckled at the irony—the so-called psychic not able to avoid stubbing his toe—and some of the tension she'd been feeling for the better part of the day finally left her body. Jane climbed into bed, pulling the thin sheet over him.
"I love you," he said, his voice sure and strong and raspy.
She moved her hand in search of his own, but instead Jane wrapped his arms around her torso, one coming to rest against the top of her back while the other stroked her hip, and he pulled her body flush against his. She turned her head to the side and let her ear drop to his sternum.
When he felt the first drops of moisture fall upon the bare skin of his chest, he reached a hand up to brush the tears from her face. A beat later, she felt rather than heard him speak.
He delivered the words rhythmically, pausing after every line, as though he were reciting a poem. After Lisbon began to comprehend the words, she realized belatedly he wasn't reciting poetry at all—he was singing, or as near to singing as Patrick Jane could get. And what was more, she recognized the lyrics as the first song she'd written for him.
Lisbon kissed his bare chest and relaxed against him, letting his words lull her to sleep.
The next morning dawned extremely bright, as if the sun were trying to make up for the dismal performance of last night's stars. Lisbon opened her eyes slowly, all too aware that the opposite side of the bed was far too cold. She sat up, pulling her knees toward her chest, and the bedspread pooled around her. She glanced around the room, looking everywhere save for Jane's side of the bed.
On her nightstand was Orgullo y Prejuicio, the Spanish version of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, which Jane had bought for her at a small used book store about a mile from their apartment. Though Lisbon hadn't spoken much Spanish since an introductory course in college, she was familiar enough with the novel in English to be able to work her way through the Spanish edition. She'd almost finished it, and it occurred to her that trying to find other books to read might help improve her rusty Spanish. She resolved to visit the store for herself today, and she turned her vision to the bureau which sat beyond the end of the bed, tucked up against the far wall.
The corner of her mouth rose slightly at the sight of Jane's seashell collection, but her gaze didn't linger on the shells for long. Almost immediately, she caught a glimpse of lavender and green strewn across Jane's pillow, and she finally turned her head to Jane's side of the bed.
A clump of small, funnel-shaped flowers greeted her, placed delicately on the pillow and tied together with a green ribbon. She blinked a few times to dispel the moisture she felt building in her eyes, then she rolled out of bed to get dressed.
She used the green ribbon to tie off the braid she wore in her hair that day.
Despite the heat, Lisbon shrugged on a thin, cream-colored cardigan to cover her shoulders left bare by her sundress before leaving the apartment. She'd already suffered through her share of sunburns since arriving in South America, and she had no desire for her skin to once again turn bright pink—no matter how adorable Jane seemed to find it.
She walked down the dirt road, stirring up dust and grime around her ankles as she moved, and wondered for the ninth time that day where Jane had taken off to. Though she'd been momentarily injured by his absence that morning, Lisbon understood that he wasn't running away again. This time, he'd needed distance. The pair of them were, thought Lisbon, completely different in their approaches to problem solving. She preferred to tackle issues, to confront them—to soldier on. Jane, however, needed space. He'd return, like he always did, when that brilliant mind of his had come up with an equally brilliant solution to their current dilemma.
Lisbon passed house after house, most of them covered in sun-dried adobe and ornamented with bright flowers that practically oozed fragrance. She breathed in deeply and continued on, and the dirt road curved into the town proper. The stores themselves in their adobe colors looked much as the residential buildings did with the exception of bright signs advertising—in Spanish, of course—the services each offered. Lisbon ignored most of the signs and headed straight for the small bookstore at the corner of the street, taking care to avoid the large crowds of people heading to the farmer's market for fresh produce.
Since she hadn't been with Jane when he'd first visited the store, her first glance at the small shop's interior surprised her upon opening the door, which was painted a forest green color and had begun to peel. Shelves lined the room, ensuring that no wall was left bereft of books. The tables on the inside seemed to sink under the weight of the volumes which they supported, and underneath the tables, still more books were being stored in cardboard boxes.
Lisbon began to look through the shelves, but it took her no longer than thirty seconds to determine she wasn't in the mood for more reading. Instead, she began to wonder what literature genres Jane enjoyed. She could picture him being a secret fan of romance, considering he was a not-so-secret romantic, but she figured his favorites were probably mysteries.
Lisbon bit her lip, and a quiet voice floated over to her.
"Necesitas ayuda?" Do you need help?
"Sí," said Lisbon gratefully, and she turned to take in the woman who had approached her. She was older, with chocolate-brown hair that had started to gray, and shorter than Lisbon. Her lips were deep red, eyebrows dark, and eyes sparkling.
"Mi…mi novio," Lisbon began helplessly, referring to the words for my boyfriend. She searched her brain for the correct words. "Necesito un libro para mi novio." I need a book for my boyfriend.
Her grammar was probably atrocious, but the older woman didn't seem to mind. "Ah," she said knowingly, and Lisbon could practically see the woman cold-reading her. It was unnerving—almost as unnerving as when Jane used his abilities to read her.
The woman switched to English, and Lisbon smiled at her appreciatively. "Your boyfriend," she began, her accent heavy. "He's blond, no? Very handsome? Very charming?"
Lisbon blushed and smiled again. "Yes, that would be him," she said. "I don't know how, but there's very rarely a person he can't charm."
The woman nodded. "I gathered that when I met him, yes," she said. "He has a fierce heart as well."
"I'm not exactly sure what kinds of stories he likes to read," said Lisbon, biting her lower lip. She exhaled sharply. "Sorry, I'm not much help."
"Not a problem," said her companion. "Tu novio—I talked with him for a long while. I think I know the perfect gift for him." With that, the woman held up one finger—the universal language for one second, please—and headed across the room. She grabbed a chair, pulled it next to the shelf nearest the front door, and stood on it to reach the highest books. Her fingers danced over the spines and finally came to rest over a thick, brown volume that looked as though it had been read many times.
She lowered herself gingerly back to the floor, crossed the room to Lisbon, and handed her the book. The title and author's name, neither of which Lisbon recognized, were stamped in golden type down the spine.
"The writer is…" she paused, and Lisbon could see her searching for the English equivalent of a word in her head. "He is cherished in this country. This book contains his most famous poems. They are about love, in all the forms it comes in."
Lisbon ran a finger down the spine of the book gingerly then tucked it against her chest. She smiled up at the shopkeeper. "Es perfecto," she said, following the woman to the cash register and earning a smile in return.
After Lisbon had handed over a few bills, she extended her hand. "Soy Teresa," she said, introducing herself.
"Adriana," said the woman, grabbing Lisbon's hand with both of hers and shaking it warmly.
"Gracias, Adriana. Por todo." Thank you, Adriana. For everything.
Adriana smiled, and the small bell on the door tolled as Lisbon shut it behind her.
Lisbon spent the rest of the day inside a bustling café, pouring over the book she'd bought from Adriana and trying to remember long-forgotten conjugations of Spanish verbs. It was slow-going, and after three hours and two cups of coffee she'd noticed her vision beginning to blur. But her efforts had paid off: by the time she left, she'd worked her way through the pronunciations and translations of the first ten poems, a feat only made possible with the help of the young busboy, who she frequently called over for assistance with the more difficult words.
She couldn't wait to share the poems with Jane.
Even with his limited understanding of Spanish, he'd be able to tell from her voice and her expression what the poems were conveying. And if all else failed, she could always read them aloud in English.
The sun was just beginning to sink when she approached the pale blue walls of their apartment. As she walked through the small garden in the front, she heard the faint sound of her piano. She recognized the music immediately as the song she'd been struggling with, but it was different somehow—more disjointed, as if a child were playing it. Lisbon opened the front door and walked silently to the family room.
Jane sat at the piano, his eyes squinted shut in deep concentration as he attempted to play the notes from the sheet music Lisbon had written.
She dropped the book of poems in surprise, and Jane looked over at her in response to the dull thunk.
"Lisbon," he said, and his hands fell on the keyboard, creating a cacophonous jumble of notes that echoed between them. Jane gestured weakly to the piano. "I…uh, I missed you," he said feebly.
Lisbon tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear. She bent down to pick up the book, then sat down on the piano bench beside him, nudging him over. She took his left hand in her right.
"I missed you, too." She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. "I got you something," she said, and handed him the well-worn book.
She glanced up at him, long enough to see his eyes widen in astonishment, then she looked back down, concentrating on their intertwined fingers. She swore she felt his hand in hers shake as his other took the book from her.
He flipped through it and immediately understood what it was. At least, thought Lisbon, he seemed to understand, if the kiss he planted just above her ear was anything to go by.
"Will you read it to me?" he said, his voice constricted.
She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "That was sort of the plan," she said.
"Thank you, Lisbon," he said, and, letting go of her hand, he put two fingers under her chin to raise her eyes to his.
For a second, Lisbon thought he would kiss her, but he pulled her into a hug instead, the book snug between them. And for a reason she couldn't quite explain, the hug meant even more to her than a kiss would have. She threw her arms around him in response, and his hand rubbed up and down her back.
After a minute, Jane pulled back, and Lisbon took in his appearance for the first time that day. He hadn't shaved, and she couldn't deny that the blond stubble seemed to make him even more attractive than he had already been. Similarly, his curls had not been styled and were especially unruly. With the addition of his island shirt and the fact he had left two more buttons undone than she was used to seeing, it was a particularly lethal combination.
"I did a lot of thinking today," Jane said, after she'd finished roving her eyes over him and had returned to meet his gaze.
"And?"
Jane smiled wryly. And suddenly Lisbon knew everything was going to be okay—because she knew that smile. It was the smile he wore when he'd come up with a plan.
"And I have a plan."
She raised her eyebrows at him, and he continued.
"Am I correct in assuming that you are upset with me not because I planned to run away, but because I lied to you?"
Lisbon nodded slowly. He had, after all, told her long ago not to wait for him: he couldn't guarantee where he would end up after they'd taken care of Red John. And she'd come to peace with that. She hadn't liked it—but she'd known that was the deal she was signing up for when she fell in love with him.
What had upset her was that he'd kept his preparations a secret. Especially since they'd agreed just before he'd started making said preparations that he was going to be honest with her.
She could live with him being thousands of miles away.
She couldn't live with being just another of his marks.
"Okay," said Jane, and he smiled again. "So here's my proposition: what if you were able to tell, beyond a doubt, if I was lying to you?"
Lisbon snorted. "Bullshit. Like that will ever happen."
"It will. Because I'm going to teach you to read me."
Lisbon's eyes narrowed, and she couldn't keep the suspicious glare off her face.
"I'm not sure I understand."
"I'm going to teach you every trick I have that allows me to do cold readings. I'll teach you how to spot a lie a mile away—and I'll teach you how to determine if someone's telling the truth. Because you'll know all the tricks, anything I could use to hide something from you won't work."
Lisbon stared at him thoughtfully, beginning to comprehend the magnitude of what he was offering. In essentials, he was offering a bit of himself—a bit of his specialized knowledge that she didn't think he'd ever shared with anyone. Jane prided himself on being the smartest person in the room. But once he had trained Lisbon to read him, he would no longer be able to claim that title. He was giving up his secrets—essentially making it impossible for him to ever be able to con her again.
"What do you think?" he asked weakly.
She continued to stare at him, debating. It occurred to her that he hadn't promised to never lie to her again, and she was grateful—they both knew that was a promise he was bound to break. Instead, he had offered to give her the tools to know if he did avoid the truth.
It was a tremendous gift on his part.
It was also the best gift he'd ever given her.
She smiled.
"Okay," she responded, her tone similarly feeble. "Okay."
He smiled the smile that stretched across his face and caused his eyes to squint—the smile that she hadn't seen in far too long. She didn't realize how much she'd missed it.
He touched a thumb deftly across her cheek. "I love you," he said, and there was no mistaking his earnestness.
"I know," she said. "I know."
And for the first time, her words were true.
Thanks for reading! And now the fun begins...I'm certainly looking forward for Lisbon to become Jane's (for lack of a better word) apprentice. Hope you guys will like the journey I've planned out for them!
Also, I'm sorry if my Spanish is not quite up to par! I've only ever taken beginner level classes :)