Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist
Season 3: of trust and faith (around 3x21)
"What's this?"
Lisbon flinched at the sound of Jane's voice in her ear. She was trying to focus on the document in her hands instead of thinking about ways to kill her consultant who was now perched lightly, as if he owned her office, one hand on the back of her chair, the other one resting on the table in front of her, reading over her shoulder.
"Jesus Jane! What about knocking?"
He just shrugged and continued reading, his face inches apart from hers, deep in concentration. Lisbon shook her head and raised her eyes toward his, waiting for him to finish reading her paper.
"Oh I see…" He deadpanned locking his stare with hers "Are you in Visualize or something?"
Lisbon groaned and, in her mind, banged her head against the table, or better, his head.
"Funny. Really. Do you remember LaRoche? As in our boss LaRoche?" She continued, her eyes never leaving his blue ones "He thinks I may need an anger management therapy"
He smirked with a spark in his eyes she had learned to catalogue as you-just-walked-into-it. "You have been under stress lately. I wonder why…"
She tapped her chin with one finger "Let me see… Because maybe my consultant decided to come up with one of the most stupid plans ever?"
He tilted his head pretending to think "Hmmmm. Nope I think it's for the increasing levels of caffeine in your blood" He smiled brilliantly at her "What is this list anyway?"
"Tasks for the next appointment, I must write a list of things that cause me stress" She smirked at him knowingly "I think I have the first ten items covered"
Jane's lips twitched slightly in what Lisbon identified as amusement and his eyes scanned her face from the short distance. This was a habit he had acquired recently and she had not named this expression yet, but it looked almost like endearment.
"You wound me" He lifted the corner of his mouth, his voice low and soothing.
Lisbon quirked an eyebrow and teased back "You'll survive"
Jane smiled and, without breaking eye contact, released the paper putting slowly some distance between their bodies, then padded all the way back to her couch.
"Have fun with that!" He chirped closing his eyes and sprawling onto it.
Lisbon shook her head in amusement but didn't add anything. She was now used to Jane's habit to nap on her couch too. That white couch had appeared one day in her office and Jane had stated matter-of-factly that he needed it because hers was too hard to nap. She had stared dumbfounded, believing that no way in hell Patrick Jane was thinking seriously about sleeping in her office, but he had proved her wrong. At the beginning it was weird and a little uncomfortable but now she interpreted it as trust.
Normally he just walked into her office and, after a brief banter about her excess of paperwork, he just dropped on her couch, closing his eyes. In other occasions he came, tea in hand and coffee for her, and took a seat on it, legs crossed, making small chat about this and that. But there were days he just sat on it, deep in concentration with a book in his hands and didn't even seem to notice she was there. Lisbon had come to enjoy the company either way. She knew Jane was lonely and the fact that he was looking for this closeness with her was touching.
She sighed and followed the contour of his body with her eyes. His breathing soft, half sleep she supposed, his arms crossed on his vest and his face relaxed as if he had no troubles in this world. If only.
Behind his apparently calm and carefree demeanor, Jane had showed her that he was a man hurting and she couldn't avoid but feeling honored that he let her see him. She had witnessed his pain for his dead family, his determination to find the killer and also a rage and hatred that she didn't know he was capable of feeling. She had seen it when Jane let her, which was more and more often lately.
At first she had thought that he did it unconsciously but with his last confession about Hightower being framed, she had realized he was starting to let her in, even if in this last case was more by force than anything. He was starting to see her as a real partner and maybe as a friend and that was something she had wanted for a long time. In every Red John case she was always trying to be there for him, to show him that he could rely on her, hold on to her if necessary.
He always dismissed her attempts as if he didn't notice it, but lately Lisbon had found that he did, and his response was to stay with her in her office, in the car, always a little bit longer, not wanting to break this contact. It warmed her inside.
She smiled briefly and glanced again towards his sleeping figure. There was something childish and warm in him that made her protection instincts kick full mode. She didn't remember ever wanting to protect someone as fiercely as she was willing to do with Jane. Not just from Red John but also from himself. He had suffered enough for three lifetimes.
"Are you having problems to fill from 11 to 20? Because I could…"
"No way" She chuckled "Carry on sleeping"
"As you wish" Jane answered not opening his eyes, a brief smile gracing his features.
She bit her lip suppressing a laugh. So much for being sleep.
Returning her gaze to the real paperwork she left the list forgotten under some reports and, sighing again, returned to her work. The smile on her lips still lingering for a while.
Jane was listening the soft brush of papers while Lisbon was working. He didn't bother to open his eyes, seeing her perfectly in his mind. A pen in her hand, a slightly frown and maybe, if he had been lucky, a small smile threatening to spill off the corner of her mouth. He enjoyed and treasured these little moments of peace with her. Everything was bearable in the world if he could lay on her couch at the end of the day, listening to her, working, and occasionally sighing or even grunting.
In these moments, he could feel fragments of a life he couldn't have. He clung to them starved, some days having this, being close to her, was the only thing that felt real, almost good. And he craved it.
He was being stupid and childish and he didn't deserve a break from his reality but sometimes the pain was too much and Lisbon had proved to have a way to comfort him he never thought possible. Even without doing anything at all.
He stretched his arms putting on a show but pretending to be asleep and heard her stopping her writing and catching her breath. Avoiding any noise. The fact that she was trying not to wake him up made him felt warm and tingly. It felt good to know someone cared, although it was scary too. He had tried for years to keep everybody at arm´s length, had convinced himself that he needed to focus on catching Red John but the truth was he couldn't have anybody close. This cat and mouse game he had to play, could jeopardize everybody close to him and besides he had no right. What for anyway?
The day his family had died he had died too, the fact he was still breathing was an insignificant detail, an inconvenience. He had emptied that day, his feelings, his plans for the future, his… life. It had all ended the moment he had opened that door, and had been replaced just with the one thought that made his heart still beat: killing him. He was empty and shallow, propelled forwards by his revenge and his tricks. As long as he had these he still could pretend he wanted to carry on.
He swallowed the knot in his throat while his heart, a painful reminder that he was still alive, beat wildly in his chest. He sharpened his ears trying to listen Lisbon, trying to calm himself with her presence.
The soft rushing of papers, the light tapping of the pen on the table… now she was humming a tune he didn't recognize.
She was so alive, so caring, so full of feelings. She anchored him to reality in a way that sometimes hurt and sometimes felt like an overdose. A sensorial overload for an empty man. But he needed it and sometimes he felt like an addict needing his fix. Reluctantly he had made amends with the fact that there were only two things that made him feel again, one was Red John and the other was Teresa Lisbon. The reasons for the first were obvious and for the second he had decided not to dwell on them.
When he had told her about Hightower being framed it had felt good, not right, but comforting. Knowing he had someone he could trust, that he was not alone. Although he thought it was a mistake, since Red John was his and his only, he couldn't help feeling less lonely, as if he could stretch his arms and reach out to someone in the middle of the turmoil of dark and hatred and pain that was his life. Even if he was not going to do it.
He squeezed his eyes closed, concentrating on her soothing presence in the office while trying to even his breath, pretending still to be sleeping.
He enjoyed watching her when she thought he was sleeping. She didn't pretend or hide, she almost filled his emptiness.
And she was comfortable with him, this bit he was sure of. On cases he could see a genuine smile almost-not-there when he hit someone's buttons, but when they were alone this smile widened and she didn't bother to hide it.
She liked his company and to be honest he liked to be with her. To feel cherished and to be needed. It had been a long time since he had felt something like this.
He didn't do it on purpose, but with every conversation, every lingering look, he knew what he was doing to her. He didn't want to but couldn't help it. This felt good, they felt good.
He shifted restlessly and clenched his fists on his vest, deciding to stop this train of thoughts. He never knew how to handle when his thoughts wandered to this unwanted territory. He had just felt hatred and self-loathed for years, not caring about his own feelings and even less about anyone's, so realizing that he could feel something different, that he could care… it was terrifying and unwanted. Not part of his plan, although he guessed it was too late for him to leave things the way they were. A little part of him didn't want to, but a larger part, his rational part, just wanted to finish, to stop caring, to make her stop caring.
Lisbon yawned and he heard the metallic clink of a pen dropping. She was calling it a night, he decided. Jane stayed perfectly still hearing the now familiar sounds that announced her departure. The dragging of a chair, the brush of a jacket on her purple t-shirt, and the click of her table lamp. He didn't open his eyes though.
He heard soft footsteps heading towards the door and pausing. He could picture her, standing by the door, looking down at him and biting her lower lip, trying to decide if she should convince him to stay in a motel tonight or just let him be. Her green eyes concerned, her small silhouette drawn against the lights of the bullpen.
Tonight she had decided to let him sleep, he thought when he heard the soft click of the door closing behind her.
He opened his eyes in the dark watching her moving away swiftly towards the elevators. He had nothing to offer her, couldn't offer anything, but at least he could try to sleep tonight, as he knew she wanted.