A/N: Here's a chapter for the Mashburn contingent. But don't worry, you Jisbon shippers, there's something for you in here too. Thanks as always for the wonderful, inspiring reviews. Happy New Year!
Chapter 4
It was almost 8:00 by the time Lisbon found a stopping point on the capitol case. Leads had hit a dead end for the day, and despite civic pressure to find the woman's killer, Lisbon was so mentally exhausted by both the case and the residual tension from her encounter with Jane that all she wanted to do was go home, climb into a warm bed and find oblivion. Several feet from her door, she saw light coming from beneath it and heard strange noises emanating from inside the apartment. Instantly alert, she pulled her gun from its holster at her hip, and reached out slowly to turn the doorknob. It was unlocked. She thought vaguely of calling for back-up, but she had the funny feeling she would probably recognize her intruder.
She pushed open the door, drawing her gun just to be on the safe side.
"Police! Stay where you are!" she shouted upon entering. At first, she thought that maybe she'd entered the wrong apartment. It had been totally transformed to look like the interior of a Moroccan tent. Her furniture, such as it was, was gone, replaced by a low table and pillows and blankets on the floor. The walls were hung with silk of various shades of green, red, and gold, matching the richly woven rugs beneath her feet. She stood in shock a moment, then turned, gun before her, to the kitchen, where Walter Mashburn stood with his hands up, an ironic grin on his face. She inhaled the scent of grilled meat and spices.
"I'm gonna burn this lamb if you don't let me put my hands down," he said.
She lowered her weapon and re-holstered it. "What the hell is this? I could have shot you. I could still shoot you for breaking and entering."
"I didn't break in. The super let me in. Well, me and my assistant."
"Well, I hope you have a new job for the super, because he's losing this one in the morning."
"Now, Teresa, calm down. Don't you love what I've done with the place?" He took the meat off the indoor grill and walked from behind the room divider. He was wearing what looked to be authentic robes of some Moroccan king. His feet were bare. She laughed in spite of herself, and he spun around to model it for her.
"Walter…this is too much, even for you."
"Now, don't give it another thought. My spy outside the CBI called when he saw you leave, so I had plenty of time to draw you a bath and put the finishing touches on our dinner. Now, go get in the tub and I'll set out the food. I heard you had a long, hard day, and I'm here to take you away from it all."
"Walter—" But he was propelling her toward the bathroom door, in spite of her protests. In truth, despite her anger at his intrusion, she found his thought to be quite sweet and creative. And if she were being even more honest, she was too tired to protest. He kissed her cheek and shut the door, allowing her privacy.
The bathtub was filled with hot water, sandalwood oil, and rose petals. Hanging from the hook where her usual ratty bathrobe would be, was a caftan similar to Walter's, but more colorful and made of pure silk, the sleeves long and billowing. A glass of zinfandel sat next to the exotic incense burning on the counter near the sink. She smiled and reminded herself that she was going to let the two men in her life court her. This apparently was courting, Mashburn style.
She took a drink of wine and undressed, then slid with a contented sigh into the exotically scented bathwater, setting the glass on the side of the tub. She'd almost fallen asleep when she heard Mashburn's soft knock.
"Teresa, would you like me to wash your back?" He asked suggestively from behind the door.
She opened her eyes and laughed softly. "No thanks. I'll be out in a few minutes."
"Take your time, sweetheart. That's what it's for. And if you change your mind about the back washing—"
"I won't. But I'll think of you while I do it."
He groaned dramatically. "You sure know how to torment a guy."
She finished her bath with a smile on her face, sipped more wine, then emerged reluctantly, smelling divine and feeling much more relaxed. And the food smelled heavenly too. She hadn't eaten since the small burger at three, so whatever interesting Moroccan delicacies he'd prepared, she was more than up to them. The silk caftan flowed over her body, and she wore nothing beneath, deciding to see just how much torment Walter could bear. She took down her ponytail and caught sight of her face in the mirror, remembering how Jane had taken it out himself earlier in the day.
No. No Jane thoughts. Not fair to Walter who has gone to so much trouble.
She shook her head at her reflection, then hastily ran a brush through her long, brown hair.
In the living room, Mashburn was reclining on the pillows surrounding the low, round table, various covered dishes awaiting her arrival. She watched as he took a drink from his own glass, then he felt her gaze and looked up at her entrance. She was gorgeous, just as he knew she would be. He'd never seen her looking so free and comfortable. He got quickly to his feet, whistling in admiration.
"Well, look at my Casablancan princess." He walked over and ran his hands up and down the soft fabric covering her arms, then leaned down to gently kiss her lips. "Come and eat. You look hungry."
She laughed. "How does one look hungry?"
"Trust me, Teresa, I can just tell."
He led her to the pillows and helped her to sit, then joined her. There were lamb kebabs, flat bread, couscous, and zaalouk, an eggplant and tomato salad—all of which was to be eaten with their hands.
"This looks delicious. I can't wait to try all this. I wouldn't have thought you could cook."
He looked offended. "Well, ye of little faith…grilling is a skill all men are born with. I made the kebabs. The rest, I admit, was brought in from a Moroccan restaurant, but I'm assured it is quite authentic."
He showed her how to eat each dish using her fingers, and they had fun feeding each other and laughing when they made a mess. He kept refilling their glasses with wine.
"Are you trying to get me drunk, Walter?"
"No, just to relax you. You've had a long day."
"No longer than usual. I don't normally get home till seven or eight most nights—longer if we have a case. We do have one now, but we've hit a brick wall, so tomorrow it's back to trying to break through it. I sent everybody home to get some rest. Maybe that will spur some new theories in the morning."
"You're a good boss, Agent Lisbon." He seriously admired her, and Lisbon was feeling quite flattered under his intent gaze. He reached out and caressed her cheek, then set their glasses on the table.
"Thank you, Walter."
"Let me use my magic fingers and give you a nice back rub." He flexed them experimentally in front of her.
"What's with you and this obsession with my back?" she asked, smiling softly, but she turned around and laid on her stomach. He began at her shoulders, rolling and massaging them with his strong hands. She moaned in appreciation.
"You're fingers are magical." He pressed down on each segment of her spine through her caftan, and she grinned into the pillow when he hesitated around where her bra would normally be. He paused again when he reached the area above her derriere, and, feeling no panty lines, proceeded to cup her silk-covered buttocks. Her smile widened as she heard his quickening breathing. His hands went back to their pressing and massaging movements.
"Walter?"
"Hmm?"
"What happened to my furniture?"
He laughed. "It's in your extra bedroom. Don't worry, all will be restored tomorrow, after our wonderful night in Morocco has ended. I am willing to bet you rarely go on vacation, and when you do, you probably don't even leave the state. I thought I'd bring a little of the outside world here to you."
"This was really lovely, Walter. So thoughtful and relaxing…"
She felt his hands slowly begin pulling her caftan up from the bottom, caressing her muscular legs, then slipping up beneath the silk to knead her naked behind.
"Stop, Walter," she murmured, sitting up, readjusting her caftan.
"Why?"
"Because—" and she cast her eyes down. "I don't think we should be together in that way until I sort some things out."
A million thoughts went through his head, all of them meandering around the subject of Patrick Jane. He couldn't let his jealousy show, though, or his uncertainty. Confidence was the secret to getting what you want.
"Okay. You're tired. I can stand for a kiss and a cuddle. I promise not to go any farther than you want."
Her green eyes met his, and she smiled, then moved into his arms.
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Outside Lisbon's window, Jane saw the silhouettes of his love and his rival, and he thought about what he could do about it. He wasn't above playing dirty to get what he wanted; actually, underhandedness was often the secret to his success. He went through his options. Fire alarm? Urgent phone call? Then the perfect solution occurred to him, and he grinned in satisfaction.
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Mashburn was thinking that things were just about to get very interesting, that maybe he was wearing down Teresa's resistance, when suddenly a loud cacophony of electronic sounds screamed from the parking lot. They heard sirens and alarms and a deep, police voice saying: "Step away from the car! Step away from the car!"
"Dammit!" exclaimed Masburn. "That's my car alarm. It'll go on like that for fifteen minutes if I don't turn it off."
"Well, don't you have a remote for that?"
"Yeah, but I'll need to go outside. Sorry, Teresa. Someone must have bumped it. This'll just take a minute." He got up and reached for his keys off the kitchen counter.
Just out of curiosity, Lisbon walked out with him, laughing and poking fun at the official sounding voice from the car. When his remote was in range, Washburn pressed the button. Nothing happened. Then they caught the smell of smoke in the air. From that distance, they could make out the flashing headlights of Mashburn's car, and dark smoke billowing up around it, backlit by the parking lot safety lights.
"Son of a bitch!" He yelled. Lisbon ran back into her kitchen and grabbed her small fire extinguisher, then ran back to catch up to Mashburn, who was running barefoot through the dew-drenched lawn toward his burning car.
Jane emerged from the shadows around Lisbon's apartment door. While the occupants were otherwise engaged, he walked to her door and peaked inside, laughing out loud when he saw the lengths Mashburn had gone to impress Lisbon. Then, with a smile, he turned the lock on the inside doorknob, and pulled the door shut, effectively locking them out. He snuck around the other side of the apartment complex, standing in the bushes to watch the fallout. It was comical to see both of them, looking like they were in dresses, hopping around the smoking car like they were some ancient natives dancing around a camp fire. The car continued to honk and warn maniacally, while other people came out of their apartments to gawk at the spectacle in curiosity or annoyance.
Whistling softly to himself, Jane walked to the back parking lot to his car, zipping out the side-entrance, leaving the chaos he'd created in his rear-view mirror.
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When Jane got to the CBI Headquarters the next morning, Lisbon was already there. She looked tired and harried, no doubt nursing her second cup of coffee already.
"Rough night?" he asked, leaning against the frame of her open office door.
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
"Try me," he encouraged, trying hard not to grin.
"Walter was over last night," she looked sheepish as she said this, but plowed ahead. "We'd just finished dinner when his car alarm went off."
"Really? What's so unusual about that?"
She gave him a look of barely contained impatience. "It looked like the damn thing was on fire, but when we got there, someone had just set a lot of old rags and junk on fire in the parking lot right next to his car. I put the fire out, then, when we got back to my apartment, we were locked out. I didn't have my key on me, and we couldn't find the super, who had conveniently taken the night off."
She sighed, taking a gulp of coffee. She burned her tongue, swore, then took another sip, more slowly this time.
"What did you do?" he asked, putting just enough disbelief and concern in his tone.
"I had to break open a window to get inside. Walter had to call his car alarm company to get the damned thing turned off, so we had to wait two hours for the guy to get there. The neighbors began to complain…very loudly." She picked up a lock of her hair and took a deep whiff, making a face. "My hair still smells like smoke."
"It looks lovely though," Jane said softly, causing her to pause in her diatribe and look into his eyes.
"Thanks."
Then, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where were you last night between the hours of nine and ten?"
"Huh? I was at home, sipping tea and watching Glee. You know what a sucker I am for musical comedies."
"Right," she said, having realized the culprit of her night's troubles was likely standing before her. "You know, there are security cameras in my apartment parking lot. I should check those to see who lit the fire. And you know how much it's gonna cost to replace my window? Three hundred dollars."
"Good luck with those cameras. I hope you catch the bastard." He smiled at her and took his leave, grinning as he headed toward the break room. On the way, he passed Walter Mashburn, who nodded at him politely, then went on in to Lisbon's office, carrying a white paper sack emblazoned with the name of a local bakery.
"You have interesting taste in pajamas, Walter," Jane called casually, but didn't wait for a response.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
Ten minutes later, Jane was throwing away his tea bag when Mashburn joined him in the break room.
"You were a busy boy last night," Mashburn said with reluctant admiration.
"So were you, according to Lisbon. I hope your car is okay. No smoke damage or anything?"
"No, lucky for you, otherwise that'd be the second car you owed me. I didn't know you were capable of stooping to such childish methods."
"Oh, I'm capable of lots of things, Walter, when it comes to getting what I want."
Mashburn paused, looking levelly at Jane as he sat at the table, settling in for a reviving cup of tea.
"So much for your contention that you aren't playing games…"
"I'm not, but by my count, that's two points for me."
"Two?" Mashburn said in disbelief, joining him in the chair opposite Jane.
Jane grinned, thinking briefly of his lovely interlude in the attic with Lisbon the day before. "I don't kiss and tell either, Walter."
"But you weren't there the whole night last night, Patrick," Mashburn countered. "You missed out on Lisbon, naked in her bathtub, and then later, how my magic fingers worked her like a baby grand. I'd say that's at least one point for me."
Jane hesitated, but only briefly, before taking a tentative sip of his oolong. "Alright, I'll concede you a point, for effort. But just so you'll briefly experience that nice, winning feeling." They sat in silence a moment, then Jane said, "Oh—forgive my lack of manners—there's fresh coffee there that Rigsby just brewed. It's dark and strong, and can also double as paint remover."
Mashburn chuckled. "No thanks, Patrick. I really should be going. No rest for the wicked, as they say."
"I don't know about that," Jane countered, leaning back in his chair and grinning. "See ya, Walter."
"Later, Patrick."
Mashburn got to his feet, nodding to Jane and taking his leave. He didn't notice Lisbon, who had ducked into an empty office so as not to be discovered eavesdropping. She emerged after he'd had time to reach the elevator, angry as a wet cat. So, they were competing for her, playing her and even using a point system. It took all her self-control not to run into the break room and sock Jane in the nose. But wait. If they wanted to play games, well I'm more than capable of competing with the boys. Time for some good, old-fashioned Lisbon ingenuity. She smiled evilly. They won't know what hit 'em.
With those thoughts in mind, Teresa Lisbon went back to her office to hatch a plan of her own.
A/N: Next chapter, Lisbon strikes back. In the meantime, please let me know what you think of this chapter!