A/N: I shouldn't have picked going last! Look at the two incredible chapters I have to follow, from two of the most talented writers in fanfiction! I'm really honored and excited to be working with them. I hope I keep my end up here. Oh well; here goes… If you've read my other fics, you know that sometimes my attempts at humor turn into a bit of silliness. This chapter is no exception, although I like to think it could be possible! Now that you're suitably scared, I hope you're courageous enough to keep reading anyway.
Chapter 3
Dear Lisbon,
I've been thinking a lot about Las Vegas lately. No, don't stop reading this-hear me out, and I promise never to mention it again. Despite the blatant hedonism of the city, it was one of the worst times of my life. There was no freedom like there is here. I couldn't be myself. I drank too much. I couldn't write or talk to you, and I missed you, every minute of every day. But you have to understand (or perhaps you already do) that I couldn't stop myself. I knew I was on to something, that I could flush out Red John, and I did. Looking back, it was the beginning of the end, and I don't regret what I did there, not even what I had to do with Lorelei. I do regret having to leave you without telling you the real reason why. A blanket apology six months later wasn't good enough; I know that now. Someday I'll try to make you see that if you suffered, believe me, my suffering was tenfold, because I had to let you believe I'd forgotten you…
Present day.
The next morning, Jane met Lisbon once again in the break room. She was in a good mood, and she was even humming one of the songs they'd heard the night before. Her hair was down, soft and wavy like he liked it, and she was wearing a chocolate brown raglan sweater, straight-legged jeans, and ankle high boots with an actual heel. She looked young and fresh as a teenager, but womanly in every way that mattered. When she reached into an upper cupboard for a mug, those dangerous jeans stretched across her shapely bottom, and Jane's mouth went dry.
It was then that she noticed him, slack jawed and wide eyed. She looked startled at his expression, and he found the wherewithal to at least close his mouth. His grin was without shame.
"Morning, Lisbon."
"Hey."
"Nice time last night," he said conversationally, scrounging for his tea.
"Yes," she said softly, "it was."
"We should do it again sometime."
"Sure," she said, but her tone was a bit off. His smile faded and he turned from his task to look at her.
"What, you don't think I mean it?"
She shrugged. "Sure," she repeated, to his supreme annoyance. She smiled gently at him, but to Jane it seemed insultingly condescending. At his reaction, she sighed, furthering this impression.
"Look, I had a great time, really, but I've made an early New Year's resolution. I will take one day at a time, not count on anything staying the same, knowing that at any moment the rug could be pulled from beneath me and I'll be starting my life over once again. I won't let myself count on the fact that you'll be here tomorrow, or the next day, or certainly not the next…It's better for my mental health to look at life that way."
She was leaning against the counter now, holding her newly poured coffee with both hands as she looked at him. She didn't seem upset, just matter-of-fact, and he knew it was because she'd put a lot of thought into this decision. She might have even rehearsed this little speech in her head before. He recognized it as the continuation of their conversation on the plane that day.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said coldly. He seemed genuinely upset that she didn't believe him.
Her brows knit in concern. "You're hurt," she said, surprised. "This has more to do with me than with you, Jane. Don't take it personally. You are who you are, and I've accepted that, and I'm here, aren't I? But if I've learned one thing from the past two years, it's that I have to think about myself for a change. People leave. Things can change in a heartbeat, so never get too attached to life as you know it."
"That's why you don't have a dog," he said.
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. How can I convince you that I've changed? I'm finished running, Lisbon, I swear. This is my life now."
"For now," she corrected. "No offense, but I'm really not holding my breath."
She walked with her coffee back to her desk, moving her mouse to pull up the computer screen she'd been studying earlier.
When Jane found her, tea in hand, she was humming again, as if their heated conversation hadn't even happened, though there was an obvious new tension in her demeanor—obvious to him, anyway.
He leaned a hip on the edge of her desk, and she looked up at him askance.
"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated, putting as much sincerity into his voice and his eyes as he could muster.
For the first time that morning, her eyes flashed in irritation. She glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Then why the hell did you ask for a motor home?" she hissed.
Aw.
"So that's what's bothering you."
"Could there be any other possible interpretation of such a contraption?"
"Nostalgia?" he ventured with a crooked grin.
"Oh, go drink your tea," she said dismissively.
She practically attacked her keyboard now, and he watched her for a moment as she gave him a convincing imitation of a cold shoulder. He removed himself from her desk and went to his new couch, settling there and sipping his tea thoughtfully.
Convincing her he had changed was going to be much more difficult than he'd initially thought. It would take more than a Christmas tree and a good dinner to show her he meant business. She was skeptical, his little Lisbon, and he supposed that was warranted where he was concerned. In his mind, he'd left in the past for highly legitimate reasons. He knew he had hurt her those times—she'd told him as much—but he was finished putting her last on his list. She'd actually been first this time. Didn't that count for something?
No, sadly for him, what she needed was concrete evidence of his intentions, more than the words on a paper napkin. She was a concrete kind of girl, a cop at heart as well as in deed. Talk was cheap (especially coming from him); she needed some sort of grand gesture that implied his personal sacrifice, his willingness to do something purely unselfish, even painful to prove his regard. Something for her alone.
Hmmm. This would take a bit of thought…
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
At lunchtime, Jane left, and he didn't return until three that afternoon. Fortunately they weren't working a case, so she didn't have to cover for him (again) with Abbot or Fischer. It did give her pause, however, not to see him in his usual place on the couch. Maybe she'd really pissed him off for a change. He was probably pouting in the Airstream, like he once had in his attic, so she pushed any feelings of trepidation away, trying not to overreact every time he was unexplainably out of her sight. Back at the CBI, he had disappeared for hours at a time, sometimes even skipping a day without notice, and it wasn't anything to be concerned about. She had no idea what to expect from him in a scenario where he was angry with her.
She was relieved when he sauntered back in that afternoon, looking carefree and happy while shooting her a breezy, "Good afternoon, Lisbon."
She was instantly suspicious, but she knew he was hoping she'd ask where he'd been, maybe read him the riot act for taking such a late lunch. She stubbornly refused, merely greeting him with equal nonchalance and attempting to study the new daily FBI e-mail on ongoing cases and Most-Wanted List updates.
She did notice, out of the corner of her eye, that Jane had lowered himself rather gingerly onto the couch, a small hiss of pain escaping through his teeth. He settled in with a mystery novel and crossed his legs, grimaced, then shifted uncomfortably before crossing the other leg. Lisbon frowned. Had he injured himself somehow? Been struck by a car in the parking lot? Fallen down the stairs? Had Abbot finally had enough of his smart mouth and knocked the crap out of him? She smiled a little at the pleasure that thought brought her.
Finally, after she'd heard him uncharacteristically cussing under his breath, she craned her neck around her computer screen to glare at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked accusingly.
"Nothing," he replied petulantly. "Well, not that you would care."
She rolled her eyes. He really was a child sometimes.
"Okay," she said with a shrug, and focused again on the report.
Not five seconds later, he was standing by her desk. "Come with me," he urged, "I was going to tell you later, but I find I can't wait."
"I'm sort of in the middle of something—"
"It'll be there when you get back. Trust me." Now that was a red flag.
When she didn't make a move to leave her desk, he reached down and gently grabbed her arm. "Come on. You know you're curious."
"Fine. But this had better not take long. Some of us work for a living."
He ignored her grumpiness and continued to hold her arm as he escorted her out of the bullpen and down the hall, smiling at those agents and worker bees he passed. He didn't even pause before the men's room, but pushed the door open and pulled her inside with him.
"Jane—what the hell?"
He let loose of her arm and checked under all the stalls before turning back to her. She stood there, dumbfounded, until he was satisfied they were alone. When his hands went to his belt, she stepped back toward the door.
"Wait, Lisbon. I need to show you something."
"There's nothing in your pants I want to see."
He paused and one golden eyebrow shot up in amusement. She blushed. "I'm leaving," she said.
"Hold up. It'll be worth your while, I promise."
All kinds of images of what men and women sometimes did together in small bathroom stalls suffused her mind, and she pushed them resolutely out of her mind. This was Jane and herself she was thinking about. He only engaged in hanky panky with sociopaths.
Before she could stop him, he'd pulled down his trousers, then his boxers until he revealed a white hip with a faded tan line, and a large white bandage, attached to his skin with medical tape. Her mother instinct kicked in, and she went to him in concern.
"What happened?"
Two short fingernails grasped the edge of the tape and he pulled it up, letting out a small yelp when it pulled his skin with it. He went to the other side of the bandage and repeated the process, yelp and all, until he could pull down the bandage and show her what he'd done.
She squinted at it at first, took an involuntary step closer, then her eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth.
"Is that what I think it is? Oh. My. God."
Apparently he'd gotten a tattoo, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be.
"Do you like it?"
"I—well—what the hell is it?"
"You're not turning your head right."
She cocked her head to the right, and the shape of the state of Texas came into sharp relief.
"Oh," she said in wonder. She looked up at him. "Why?"
Jane gave her a look of annoyance, then glanced down at his own hip, the tattoo glistening with ointment, the blackish-blue ink still red and angry around the edges.
"Don't you see the heart?"
She squatted down beside him to get a closer look, and sure enough she saw a small red heart where Austin should be, and near it, the name, Lisbon, written in beautifully flowing script.
"It is Texas. And Lisbon is the heart." He said it like he might have a mouthful of Shakespeare: "It is the East, and Juliet is the sun."
She looked up at him, the absurdity of this entire encounter suddenly hitting her. "You got a tattoo of Texas on your ass," she stated dully.
"My hip," he corrected. "You don't like it," he said, crestfallen.
"Well, it's not that. I mean, it's very lovely, and all—just, why?"
Naturally Wiley chose that moment to take a bathroom break. The young man paused in the doorway, taking in, in one quick, critical glance, Lisbon squatting down before Jane, whose trousers were undone, his hands on the waistband of his boxers. It didn't take an FBI analyst to determine what this looked like.
"I'll come back," he said, his face beet red. The door swung shut behind him.
Lisbon stood up, her hands covering her face. "Dammit, Jane!" she exclaimed, voice muffled.
Jane chuckled. "Well, that ought to get the gossip mill grinding."
"For the love of God, pull up your pants."
She went to the door, peaking out first to see if anyone was coming. She gave a little squeak when she saw Cho heading for the restroom, and she ran past Jane again to hide in a stall. Jane had just finished buckling his belt when the Ice Man cometh.
For show, Jane went to the sink to wash his hands.
"Hey, Cho."
"Hey."
"Been meaning to invite you out for a beer, but you've seemed pretty busy."
"Yeah," said Cho, heading for a urinal. Jane remembered he didn't like to talk while doing his business, so naturally Jane always spoke to him when they met this way.
"We could take Lisbon too. It'd be like old times."
Cho didn't comment, and inside the stall, Lisbon tried her best not to let her booted feet show, while ignoring the embarrassing bathroom sounds. She was going to take great pleasure in kicking Jane's tattooed ass later.
"So," continued Jane, reaching for a paper towel. "What do you think of Lisbon these days?"
A pause, then: "She's Lisbon."
"Well, yeah. I sort of miss those button-up shirts and the pantsuits, don't you?"
"I hadn't noticed."
"Aw, come on, Cho. You're a detective."
"I don't look at her that way. She's my—was my boss."
"So, 'you are man; she is woman.'"
"She looks fine," he relented.
Cho refastened his slacks and joined Jane at the sinks. Jane admired how thoroughly and efficiently the man washed his hands, just like he did everything else.
"What are people around here saying about her?"
"They wonder how she put up with you for ten years. I sort of wonder that too."
"Yeah," agreed Jane wryly. "I don't know how she did it."
"Well, don't screw things up for her this time," he warned, depositing his used paper towel in the trash.
"You going to the Bureau Christmas party tomorrow night?" Jane asked.
"Sure."
"I'll buy you a drink then. We'll catch up."
He merely nodded once.
"Hi, Lisbon," said Cho on his way out of the bathroom.
Lisbon emerged from the stall, remembering now how it felt to be absolutely livid with someone. She really hadn't missed that particular feeling. Jane was smiling at their situation, seemingly oblivious to her fury.
"I really hate you," she said simply. Jane didn't take the bait.
"So, what do you really think of my tattoo?" he asked instead. "Clever, eh?"
"Not exactly the word I'd use," she bit out.
She brushed past him to check the hall again, but ducked back inside as a group of agents walked past.
"Seriously, Jane. What was the point?"
"I wanted to show you my level of commitment to you. A man wouldn't tattoo the state of Texas on his hip if he didn't intend to stick around."
She pondered him a moment, still not getting it. "You didn't have to do that, Jane. Impulsive behavior like that only reinforces what I already know about you. You do things without thinking about how it affects others." She gestured to the bathroom meaningfully.
"This only affected me, Lisbon. I went through actual physical torment to prove my devotion."
"Torment?"
"Yes. It hurt worse than that time I got kicked in the groin by that senator's wife."
She grinned involuntarily at that happy memory.
"Well, I've heard of ancient Romans stabbing themselves in the thigh to prove their devotion. I figured this was the next best thing."
"What happens, though, when the next woman you sleep with sees another woman's name on your hip? What if she knows me? Jesus, Jane, what will she think?"
Jane took a moment to absorb every aspect of her rhetorical questions, and decided not to take them rhetorically. He stepped closer to her, his eyes going dark with an emotion that had Lisbon's heart pounding.
"I don't plan to sleep with anyone else," he said, leaving her to interpret all kinds of possible meanings behind that statement.
She cleared her throat and looked away from the sudden intensity in his eyes.
"Look, the gesture was…flattering, I suppose. But if you want me to believe you're not going anywhere, here's what you need to do: not go anywhere. It's as simple as that. Oh, and maybe not make things too difficult for me here; that would be nice too."
He grinned. "You drive a hard bargain. You should have been the one negotiating my contract with Abbot."
She went to the door again, relieved to find that the hallway was empty. He followed her out, striding beside her back toward the bullpen.
"I don't believe you," she said, shaking her head at him. "What if this job takes us to another state?"
He winced. "I hope it's somewhere simple and square, like Wyoming, or North Dakota. Gerrymandering is a bitch."
"So you're willing to get the entire country tattooed on your ass? For me?" she said, smiling a little as the enormity of his gesture finally sank in.
"Whatever it takes, Lisbon."
"Next time," she suggested wryly, "get me a freakin' plant."
A/N: So, that's my contribution. Please drop me a review to let me know what you think. And please, be kind ;) . Starry is up next! Thanks for reading.
