A Decade of Lights


three.

She's surprised that they haven't had a blow-up of massive proportions in the last three months, so naturally, being the forward-planning-all-bases-covered person that she is, she had been dreading the next one.

(Because she is quite familiar with the concept that happiness doesn't last long, and she has never liked conflict.)

She tells herself that surely, after three years, she should have already seen every low blow, cheap trick and piece of manipulation possible. Only this time, he's managed to blow past that and raise her bar for asshole behaviour even higher.

Sighing, she closes the file of their just-closed case and looks out towards the bullpen. Somehow, Jane had managed to go behind her back, tip off the suspect, thus leading Rigsby and Cho in a chase across half the county, resulting in a crash involving said agents. (Somehow, angry didn't quite cover Lisbon's range of emotions at the scene.)

She watches as Cho downs far too many ibuprofen tablets, and in a sudden vengeful streak (although, it could never really compare to his, could it?), she tells her senior agent to take the couch, and to take it for as long as necessary.

She is thankful that Jane is currently and wisely hiding, but the moment that thought enters and leaves her head, she hears the distant sound of a harmonica cheerfully belting out 'O, Christmas Tree'. Dropping her head in her hands, she takes ten deep breaths, and reminds herself that she is a professional, and she can definitely approach this calmly.

Conflict Resolution 101 promptly vanishes from the forefront of her mind the second she sees her consultant dressed in ridiculous Santa garb balancing a harmonica in his mouth and right hand, and a bag of apples in his left.

"Jane! What the hell do you think you're doing?" By now, the entire floor has congregated near the Serious Crimes' bullpen.

Shoving the bag of apples into the hands of an unsuspecting Rigsby, he takes the harmonica out of his mouth and beams at her.

"Lisbon, I'm spreading the Christmas cheer to all you overworked and underpaid government slaves. It's like free hugs, but musical and healthy." He grabs an apple from the bag hanging confusedly in Rigsby's hands, and tosses it in her direction. "Here, this Red Delicious has your name written all over it."

She automatically catches it, and she refuses to let herself think about it, but dammit, it really is a nice gesture.

"Is this your version of an apology?"

He shrugs almost carelessly. "Meh," he offers casually. "We got the guy in the end. Just wished it had been the butler."

And she stands speechless in the middle of the bullpen, marvelling at the audacity of the man in front of her, juggling apples as if he hadn't just caused a serious crash not five hours ago. Quickly rounding on the growing audience, she glares sharply at them.

"Don't you all have places to be?"

And as fast as they appeared, they disappear again, adding yet another story to the continual tales of Patrick Jane.

"Look, Lisbon. I'm sorry. And, you know… I talked to Cho as well. He hasn't scowled at me anymore than usual. Just…"

She sighs (we have to pick our battles) and bites into the apple. (It really is sweet.)

"Just don't do it again. And next time, make sure you run it by me first. Anything you do, I need to know. And don't say 'deniability' to me again."

With that, she turns and walks into her office. But not before he hears a mutter under her breath.

"Only because it's Christmas."