Sorry it took so long! but here it is :)
Kudos to my beta, she's the bestest! LOL
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She wants a new desk.
Wait, scratch that. She wants my desk to be thrown out and a new one bought. She claims that this one is too old and I don't use it. She may be right on that last point, but it's still mine. My name isn't engraved on it or anything, but it's in my space and that makes it mine, not hers.
She started taking away my books the week after she started working. Hightower wanted her to be comfortable so she gave her MY desk. She didn't even have the decency to ask me if she could throw my books into a box, she just did it.
I don't like when people touch my stuff.
"Excuse me," I ask politely as she cleaned my desk, "what are you doing?"
"I'm cleaning my desk" she answered.
"You mean MY desk."
"You're not using it."
"It had my books on it; of course I was using it!"
"I've never seen you sitting here. Having your books here does not mean it's yours."
"Lisbon gave it to me when I started working here."
"Well, Agent Lisbon is long gone now and this desk is no longer yours."
"Fine, have it your way then."
I retreat to my beloved couch, but don't ignore the confused and scared look on her face. She looked at me as if I would actually do something dangerous! Well maybe not exactly dangerous, but still, her expression was positively laughable.
"What does that mean 'have it your way'," she finally asks.
"It means that if you want the desk, you can have it."
That was a lie, I'm sure the team knew it already.
"Good. Thank you," she said plainly before going back to cleaning my, I mean HER desk, while I went back to Elvis. Come hell or high water she was NOT touching Elvis!)
"Oh and I forgot to mention, there's a little white mouse, with red, beady eyes that lives in one of the drawers."
I've never seen someone move as fast as she did to get out of range of the desk. She's afraid of mice, 'how typical.'
"A rat?" she speaks and I notice her voice trembles a little. "There are rats in here?"
"Of course," I say matter of factly, "it's a humid, old building. You don't need to worry about Poppy though, he's a good pet and wouldn't harm a soul."
"You named a rat," she asks a mixture of amaze and disgust.
"Shhh, he can hear you," I whisper "he's a nice pet, kind of furry but sweet."
She blinks.
Then she blinks some more, dropping the wiper and cleaning her hands on her always impeccable suit.
"You know what," she whispers "I don't really NEED a desk, I can work someplace else."
"Are you sure," I ask innocently. "It's a perfectly nice desk and you did such a good job cleaning it."
After a moment of hesitation she responded, "No, that's alright, don't worry about it. I'll find my own desk to work at; one that is free of rodents. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wash my hands."
I smile politely, and she turns to run out of the bullpen as quickly as her slim legs will carry her and disappears around the corner to the restroom. Smiling triumphantly to myself, I know that part of my plan has been a success.
"Jane, that was just plain mean- even for you," Grace scolds me from her place behind the computer monitor.
"Grace, I was not being mean in the slightest; however, you know very well that that desk is mine," I correct her with a charismatic grin.
"She's right, you never use it."
"It's not about the desk, it's about having my own space," I clarify for her. "This is my space. She can look for her own somewhere else"
"But you did lie about the rat, right," she asked as scared as Clara was.
"Yeah, don't worry."
That was a lie.
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She wants her own space so she can work on her profiles.
She has turned the kitchenette into her own little makeshift office. Whenever I go to make a cup of tea she is always in there working, and if she's not, there are always miscellaneous objects that belong in an office strewn all over the place. At first, her working out of a kitchen was kind of funny, but now that the team officially has no private place to talk, it's getting rather annoying. If I go to make myself a cup of tea, as I often do during a shift, she claims that I am interrupting her or ruining her concentration, even though I attempt to make as little noise as possible.
That's another lie.
So maybe I do peak over her shoulder to see what she's writing about, and I may ask a lot of stupid questions just to get under her skin; but that doesn't mean that I'm interrupting! Fine, maybe I am interrupting and just being a general nuisance, but she doesn't have to be mean about it.
"I'm sorry, do you mind if I make some tea," I ask, being as polite as I can. She's not nice when she's moody.
"If you can make it quick, of course."
See what I mean?
I put the kettle on and wait, not like it's going to magically boil.
"What are you doing?" She looks at me briefly before turning back to her work in silence, obviously having decided to ignore my question. A moment later I continue, hoping to get some kind of verbal reaction from her, "can I help?"
"Mr. Jane, do you mind," she says.
"I'm sorry," I apologize as my kettle boils and I fix up my tea. Once I've added a little sugar and just a splash of milk into my steaming cup, I settle against the counter and continue to watch her work with no intention of leaving. I can tell from her body language that my observant presence makes her uncomfortable.
"Are you planning on staying there forever," she asks.
"Why, do you want me to?"
"I'm really trying to work, I cannot do it while you're standing there looking like an idiot."
"What do you mean looking like an idiot? I think I look quite handsome."
Within seconds, her expression changed from one of minor annoyance to furious as she dropped her pen on the table. I didn't think she would get that mad, that quickly, over something as trivial as my presence in a room.
"Mr. Jane, just because you don't do anything all day long doesn't mean that I have nothing to do at work either. I don't have the time to waste with you today, so will you please go find something to do somewhere else so that I can work?"
"I'm not doing anything to bother you," I defend myself. "I'm simply sitting here, drinking my tea. Perhaps you would like a cup?"
"No, I want you to leave."
"I can't do that, sorry. You see, this is the office kitchen, not your private office; therefore it is open for the entire staff to use whenever they please for as long as they please, so you can't kick me out of it. However, if this were your office you could kick me out, but since you don't have oneā¦"
"My God you're insufferable," she yells cutting him off abruptly.
"No, I'm Patrick Jane." I smile as she shakes her head vigorously.
"I don't understand how Agent Lisbon could even stand you."
"She loved me that's how."
"How is that even possible," she asks, more to herself than me.
"I'm a very lovable person."
After slowly gathering her things and mentally processing our exchange, she stands up and turns to face me with a myriad of emotions displayed across her face.
"You must be. Otherwise, I don't see why she didn't quite a long time ago."
I wonder if she's right about that.
TBC!
