Lovely As You Are
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.
Rating: T
Spoiler: None
A/N: I always tell myself that I have the best readers in the entire fandom and you guys have totally proven that with your feedback for the last chapter. Thank you so much, you inspire me to write faster and thanks of course to Duppy Conqueror for editing! I hope you guys like this. Despite the slightly serious subject matter, I definitely enjoyed writing it.
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"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was."
- Anne Sexton
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February 2013
He senses her distress even before she steps through the door, but he makes no move to greet her. Instead he finds comfort in the way the ice cubes clink against each other as he swirls the low ball glass in his hand.
He's not really a drinker, never has been, and he's thankful for it, not only for his sake but also for the sake of the woman currently watching him out of the corner of her eye as she unloads the groceries.
He's grateful that he never developed an appreciation for hard liquor like his father did, because Jane men tend to be mean drunks. Although it's but a small comfort, considering everything else he's put her through in the years they've known each other, at least Jane can say he doesn't remind Lisbon of the hardships in her childhood, much of which stemmed from her father's alcoholism.
They've never discussed it directly, but Jane knows the memories still haunt her sometimes, which is why she keeps the hard liquor stashed at work and why there's usually only wine in her cupboard. It's also why he feels a slight twinge of guilt as he stares at the bottle of scotch he bought on the way here. It had been an almost unconscious decision; he hadn't thought about it as he found himself pulling into a corner store parking lot.
The news he'd received just three days prior had been easy to ignore while they worked an out-of-town case, but they'd arrived back to headquarters earlier this afternoon and with nothing to do and the rest of the team completing paperwork, Jane realized that at the very least he should return the dozen phone calls he had ignored while they were in Ukiah.
But somehow, he couldn't force himself to dial the number. Thoughts of the impending conversation left him with a sense of apprehension he still cannot overcome. He hadn't risked retreating to the attic, for fear of attracting attention from the team. So he slipped out of the office, intending to drive around to clear his head.
However, instead he ended up at the corner liquor store and a short while later, home; still unable to take a sip from the two fingers he poured himself fifteen minutes ago, an entire two hours after he settled on the living room couch with the bottle and a bucket of ice.
It seems that today he has been on the brink of action in every possible definition of the phrase. He's been on the verge of picking up the phone and dialing, he's been on the verge of drinking himself into a stupor just to forget, and he's definitely been on the verge of overcoming his fears about the past and telling Lisbon everything.
Now it seems the latter is out of his hands. He entertained the possibility that she would find out what happened from a third party, but his suspicion and desire to keep this concealed from her weren't strong enough to prompt him into action. Despite the growing tension between them, Jane feels a certain weight lift off his shoulders at the realization that he doesn't have to be the one to tell Lisbon anything.
That she already knows.
Still, as she makes her way into the living room, not hesitating to move the scotch out of her way as she plants herself on the coffee table to face him, Jane realizes right away that while he's glad she knows, the determination sparking in her green eyes informs him that the decision he's already made will not go over smoothly with her.
He tries to avoid her stare, setting aside the glass, and bracing himself for an argument, but as she's been known to do, Lisbon surprises him by placing a soft, almost conscientious hand on his thigh and speaking quietly.
"When were you going to tell me about it, if you were going to at all?"
Although her tone isn't accusatory, he detects a hint of disappointment in her words and it tightens his chest unexpectedly, eliciting a far deeper emotional response than he is prepared for. Yet, despite the guilt infringing on him as he finally gazes into Lisbon's eyes, he doesn't change his mind, maintaining the same unreadable facial expression as he clears his throat and leans back, affecting an air of detachment.
"It doesn't really matter. It's not like I'm going."
The remark seems to have its desired effect, for he sees her gaze darken, the determination engulfing her entire demeanor now as she removes her hand from his knee and resists the urge to roll her eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous Patrick," Lisbon says far too softly, tone incongruous with her words. "This is your father, not some old acquaintance you never kept in touch with."
"Might as well be," He mutters back almost petulantly, refusing to relinquish his walls. He's glad he doesn't look away though, because the momentary spark of fire in her eyes resonates deep within him.
"Don't say that," she admonishes, visibly losing the grip on her own calm exterior. For the first time, Jane entertains the possibility that despite the present circumstance, this isn't just about him. He's not the only one who had a terrible relationship with his father and for whom this brings up terrible memories.
Of course, it's something that's always on the periphery of his mind, much like the knowledge that Lisbon always looks both ways when driving through an intersection and that she resists indulging in anything stronger than wine, even after a tough case.
Still, even as he stares into Lisbon's eyes now and processes this new bit of information, he finds himself unmoved.
Lisbon seems to sense this, if her frustrated exhale is any indication, and he visibly sees her struggle not to give up on him. A part of him soars at the sight, secretly elated that even after everything he's done (and failed to do) this amazing woman is willing to have faith in him, willing to push him, willing not to let him drown in self-pity and denial. It's a wonderful, soul unburdening feeling, but Jane blinks and it's gone, replaced by that cold numbness he's been feeling all week. He tries in earnest to ensure that thoughts of his father, the painful memories he keeps hidden, don't surface enough to overwhelm him.
He knows that they have the capability to do so. Hell, part of the reason he had been institutionalized after Red John was because his coping mechanisms were crap. Though he hadn't realized it at the time, being abused psychologically (and physically) by the only parent he's ever known probably had a lot to do with that.
In some ways, Jane knows he's lucky to have reached that conclusion and learned not to blame himself for that extended moment of weakness. Yet on the other hand, that's probably the reason why he's having such a hard time letting go of this grudge buried deep inside him, a grudge he now has against a dead man; his own, unfortunate blood no less.
And suddenly, as if this is the first time he's learning about it, Jane feels a sting at the realization that his father is actually dead; taken unexpectedly in the middle of the night by the seizing of his heart, years of bad hygiene, shunning of medical attention, and an unhealthy preoccupation with whiskey catching up to him.
The fact that Jane hadn't told anyone or returned any of Pete's calls had given him the opportunity for denial, but having this conversation, having someone else finally acknowledge that his father has suffered a fatal heart attack throws him just a little off kilter.
It's a momentary lapse but Lisbon notices and seizes the opportunity to lean forward, wrapping her much smaller and warmer hand around his as he dares to meet her eye. Jane is immediately overwhelmed by an acute sense of shame as he realizes that his resolve is weakening and that she'll have to bear witness to it. Still, the knowledge isn't enough for him to wrestle his hand out of her grasp or to turn away the comfort and stability that she brings.
He's so deeply ensconced in his thoughts, attempting to process everything that's just happened that he almost doesn't hear her speak, but Lisbon is persistent, gently lulling his attention back to her with a slight squeeze.
"You know I almost didn't go to my father's funeral."
It's not what Jane expected to hear but a part of him, the one that's always been curious but too cautious to bring up the topic of Lisbon's father, keeps him silent, waiting for her to continue without interruption.
"I made all the arrangements obviously, with the help of some of his coworkers and their wives. They all kind of knew what was going on and they tried to lend a hand every once in a while without imposing too much. My father's short temper wasn't exactly limited to just my brothers and myself."
Her eyes glaze over when she speaks and Jane has the sense that she's reaching somewhere deep inside her to gather the strength for this. The fact that she's sharing this with him in what he assumes to be an effort to persuade him to change his mind imbues him with affection he didn't think he was capable of feeling in this moment.
"You don't have to tell me," He finally says, staring deep into her eyes, aware that in this admission he's already relinquishing some control, acknowledging that she may have a point in all of this.
"Listen anyway." Lisbon persists. Her tone is so imploring, Jane merely nods his head, aching to cradle her cheek but abstaining, afraid it might break her stride.
"I spent three days before the funeral convinced that I wasn't going to attend. My father was, of course, a respected member of his community and despite the circumstances surrounding his death he would be honored by a lot of people. I didn't really care though. I had focused all my attention on my brothers, making sure they were alright-"
At that particular moment, his expression must give him away because she leans back and nearly rolls her eyes at him, lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Yes, I know. I tend to worry about others when I don't want to deal with my own issues."
She says this good naturedly, but there's a trace of lamentation in her voice, as if she sometimes wishes it wasn't true so he keeps from goading her further, even if in essence by focusing on her, he finds himself borrowing her technique and ignoring his own emotions.
"I didn't want to face the fact that a small part of me was relieved that he was gone. I felt ashamed of that, because I knew that things were only going to get more difficult for us after his death. But I couldn't let go of the fact that in the long run, it would benefit my brothers and me more if our father was out of our lives."
Jane tightens their embrace almost unconsciously, and Lisbon gives him a smile in return, gaze settling on their intertwined hands.
"I ended up going to the funeral. And it wasn't because of any particular reason. Nothing extraordinary happened to me to push me to do it. I didn't suddenly remember the good times or stop feeling unburdened by his passing. I just knew that if I didn't go, I'd always regret it."
Her voice tapers off then and she looks up at him, meeting his gaze head on, communicating even more with just her soft but unwavering green eyes. Jane can pinpoint the exact moment that the memory washes away from her, when she shakes it off and returns to the present, mind and body both restored as her posture relaxes slightly.
Her expression grows somber just one more time and she reaches up and runs her thumb across his jaw. "I'm sorry for your loss," she adds quietly, catching Jane off guard.
But he doesn't have a chance to argue that logically he hasn't suffered any loss since he hasn't spoken to his father in so long, because Lisbon leans over and presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, smoothing her fingers through his curls and standing up.
"I know you have a lot to think about so I'm going to go wash this hellish day off of me and then maybe cook something, you hungry?"
Bewildered at her change of topic, Jane merely shakes his head, but Lisbon doesn't linger. Instead, she merely shrugs and walks towards the stairs. "Well I am, and you know how I hate eating alone."
It's actually not true at all, because for the majority of her adult life, Lisbon has had no problems eating by herself, but Jane knows this is her subtle way of ensuring that he won't disappear while she's upstairs. Though it pains him that she still thinks he might, he can't blame her. Even though they've been together for over a year now, he still kept this from her after all.
When he hears the shower turn on, Jane leans against the cushion and shuts his eyes, no longer interested in either the untouched scotch or the prospect of calling one of his oldest friends back. Yet ever so reluctantly, he pulls his cell phone out of his vest pocket and finds Pete's number in his address book, because this isn't about his father anymore.
It's about the woman upstairs, who still manages to have absolute faith in him regardless of his flaws, which he earnestly hopes he can overcome, because she deserves infinitely more than he can offer her.
And he should start by putting his issues with his father to rest.
xxx
The air is fresh and crisp and he lowers the passenger seat window, letting the breeze caress his face as he closes his eyes against the nearly blinding midday sun.
It's February but the worst of the winter rainstorm is over and everywhere around him, everything feels like it's renewed. There's even a hint of vitality in the air, a smell reminiscent of a morning after a hard rain. It's the kind of weather that almost makes him forget that he was just at his father's funeral, mourning a man he hadn't spoken to in over a decade.
Glancing to his left, Jane is confronted with another vision that has the power to temporarily erase every bad thought and emotion he's had since leaving the cemetery. He's not exactly sure how she managed to convince him that her driving his precious Citroën was a good idea in the first place, but he doesn't regret it now.
The driver's window is open and the gentle wind plays with the thin fabric of Lisbon's shirt, dark sleeves fluttering in contrast against the slightly freckled, pale skin of her arms. She's wearing aviator shades, ones she dug out of his glove compartment. They compliment her face, adding just that edge to her appearance that makes him contemplate asking her to pull over to the side of the road, because apparently they're not headed home.
He doesn't think about where she's taking him, but another thought does occur to him and Jane lets his thumb gently glide over the hand expertly maneuvering the stick shift to catch Lisbon's attention.
She turns to him just for a second, careful not to take her eyes off the road for too long, and he smiles in spite of himself, before speaking.
"You know I never asked why Pete called you after I hadn't returned his calls."
If Lisbon is surprised by his inquiry, she doesn't show it; instead she captures his thumb between her fingers and gives it a light squeeze.
"I gave him and Sam my card when I went to see them to find out where you and Danny were hiding, and I guess he kept it. For what it's worth, I think he was just calling me to make sure you were okay but one thing led to another and he told me."
There isn't a trace of guilt or remorse in her voice and Jane actually appreciates it. He isn't upset about the possibility of his past and present converging, but he is nonetheless surprised that Lisbon was able to forge this connection seemingly on her own.
His expression must somehow convey his train of though because after a moment Lisbon nudges him not too gently, "what's the matter?" she asks a little teasingly, lips curved into a smile. "You're not the only one with secrets, ya know."
It's meant to be a tease but it reminds him of something else he has failed to do and should rectify as soon as possible. This time, he actually does ask Lisbon to pull over and although she looks slightly confused, she obliges, maneuvering the Citroën to a rest stop just a quarter mile down the road.
Lisbon barely has time to turn off the engine before she feels two very warm palms grasping her cheeks and a pair of very demanding and familiar lips pulling her into an unexpected kiss. Still, she quickly reciprocates, momentarily shutting off all the questions swirling in her mind in favor of the embrace.
She shifts closer to Jane, tilting her head to deepen the kiss and running her hand through his curls, body awakening to sensations that she hasn't had a chance to fully indulge in for over a week now, not since the beginning of the case in Ukiah.
When Jane feels her hand slide down his vest, he's finally reminded of where they are and why he wanted to do this in the first place and pulls reluctantly away.
"Are you alright?" Lisbon asks immediately, pulling the sunglasses to her forehead and blinking against the sunlight. She looks both confused and concerned for him, which paired with the slight blush on her cheeks threatens to distract him again. Jane closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts again.
"I never apologized for keeping my father's death from you." He begins.
"Patrick you don't have-…" And she's cutting him off just as quickly, shaking her head both at his words and probably at the remorse she sees in his eyes, but Jane doesn't abate.
"No, I do." He persists, cradling her cheek in his palm, thumb ghosting over her skin, "and I am. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept it from you, regardless of how I felt about it."
"I know." Lisbon whispers after a moment, brushing her lips against the inside of his palm, "but it's okay." She adds encouragingly.
"But it's not." Jane counters, still unable to let go of that tiny seed of guilt threatening to sprout inside him.
"But it is." Lisbon fires back and this time, the finality in her tone stifles any more arguments from him. He holds her gaze for a few seconds longer, before placing another kiss to her lips and reclining back against his seat.
They stay in silence, with hands intertwined until Lisbon restarts the engine. "You can make it up to me though," she says right afterward, the playfulness in her voice making Jane turn to look at her.
"How?"
"By getting your own slice of pie." She explains, smiling widely before sliding her sunglasses back on and turning onto the main road.
"So pie? Is that where we're going?" Jane asks, finally letting go of his worries.
"Oh please," Lisbon smirks, and he's pretty sure she's rolling her eyes by now, "as if you didn't know where we were going in the first place."
This time, he actually didn't but Jane doesn't tell her that. Instead, he smiles wordlessly and turns his head back towards the window, letting his mind wander as a feeling of peace and contentment, completely attributed to the woman driving his car, pushes any lingering traces of his past away.
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