I got caught up in uni/exams etc and despite having this written two years ago, here I am only just posting it!
Thank you so much to Emma for beta-reading this when I first wrote it :)

Chapter Four~

September 2015

Jane could remember the relief he had felt. That had been the turning point, and from then on they'd began to uncover a complicated web of deceptions and schemes. Grace had pulled out the name Eugene Westside, who was a previous member of a DC gang who went by the name "Bull". He had recently had $100,000 deposited in his bank and Grace, who had turned up his name in connection to the shooting that night, had thought it suspicious. Rigsby and Cho had integrated him (or maybe it was more on the borderline of aggressive threats) and he had told them everything. He had been paid to carry out a killing of an unknown homeless woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Lisbon, and later that evening of Lisbon's death he had kidnapped "some dark-haired Agent" and handed her over to a law enforcement official, together with the dead body. From there he swore he had no idea what had happened.

They had discovered this in the March after Lisbon's disappearance, and the trail had gone cold from there. Westside had not known who he had sold the two woman to, and with no legitimate trails to the person who had transferred the money into Westside's account, the trail had gone cold. In the meantime, however, Jane had gone off the rails; there had been a rather unfortunate incident in the FBI where he had had a slight meltdown after finding out he was being assigned a new case and forbidden from following up any more leads in regards to Westside, Amos or anyone else related to Lisbon's "death". He had flipped over several desks, broken many of the electrical equipment in the process and in return for leaving the FBI, his trailer and being refused any contact with any members of the FBI he was not charged for the damage he had caused. Of course, that had made following up Lisbon's case extremely difficult. Jane had hopped from motel to motel, desperately attempting to find someone who knew anything about Lisbon.

Two weeks ago, however, Jane had received an anonymous phone call from a previous employee of a large business. They had cryptically left a message telling him that Lisbon had been held by a business corporation who had a grudge against her, but she had been helped to escape, with the set-up of an apartment abroad and a fake ID. That moment had led Jane to where he was; sitting outside of this apartment building she was rumoured to be staying in.

And that brought him to now; sitting in his car outside of a small apartment block, with the nights darkness overtaking the suns last rays.

It was completely dark when he finally saw her; the night sky was devoid of stars and the street lights where dim but he still knew it was her from her shape, the way she walked, the way she carried herself. He bolted upright in his chair,

uncharacteristically clumsy as he knocked the switches on the side of his steering wheel, simultaneously spraying cleaning fluid onto the window screen and switching the window wipers on. He fumbled to turn them off, his heartbeat loud in his ears and almost painful and then she was gone; she had entered the building and he cursed at his sudden inaptness. It was ironic that he had managed to do the impossible, he had overcome those sixteen months without her, yet his cognitive abilities had melted at the sight of her.

Jane closed his eyes for a silent second, steadying himself and forcing down the uncontrollable waves of emotion, before opening them, switching off the car and swinging open the door.

He had to at least seem like he wasn't falling apart (even if he was).

Teresa Lisbon flung open the door to her apartment in frustration, closing it behind her with her foot and walking the few steps to the table to throw her keys down and hang her overcoat and bag on the chair. The apartment itself was rather small; a small oven and worktop occupied the corner by the door with a mismatched table and chairs a couple of feet in front, two small sofas sat at an angle to face the old fashioned TV set at the back of the room, together with a wooden bookcase, with the contents being a couple of fiction novels that were there when she moved in and a small box. Two doorways were adjacent on the right hand side, leading to a darkened bedroom that held almost none of her possessions and a tiny bathroom. She had lived there for a few months but it still didn't feel like home, although her apartment in Sacramento had hardly been a home, nor the house she and Marcus had shared in DC.

Lisbon, if she were honest, completely hated it here. It had been almost six months since she'd escaped from her captors and she still hadn't settled in; she didn't understand the locals, she hated having to constantly look over her shoulder and she was just so god-damn bored. She spent her days going to work in the local gardening centre under the false name "Heidi" (not a name she would have chosen, but that was what her fake ID listed her as) and then coming home to spend the evening watching Spanish TV and polishing her gun.

After coming in the door and throwing her stuff down she carried on with her normal ritual, she locked the door, flicked the coffee machine on before meticulously checking her rooms for signs of intruders or wires or any sign that she had been found. She had just finished checking the bedroom when she heard it; someone was outside her door.

She had her gun out and aimed at the front door in no time, and edged forwards carefully, the continuous sound of someone at the door demonstrating that she wasn't mistaken.

The heavy door was opened quickly and suddenly Jane was standing there, looking like Hell with a week old stubble shadowing his face and a rumpled vest and shirt untucked from his trousers. His blue eyes were sharp and fixated on her as he slammed the door shut behind him without looking and he strode deliberately and quickly towards her.

"Jane, what the Hell-" she began but was cut off by his arms constricting around her in a tight embrace, hands interlocked at her waist and face buried in the crook of her neck. Her arms hung limply at her sides, gun still in hand but no longer aimed.

Jane held her to him desperately, taking in her scent of soap and lavender (no cinnamon?) and smoothing a hand down her back and over her long hair, needing to hold her to reassure himself that she was actually here. He had finally found her; she was alive. "Teresa," he breathed and pressed his lips against the side of her neck, against her pulse point.

That small action startled her and she pulled back, pushing him away from her and stepping back furiously. "What the hell are you doing here?!" she hissed with flashing eyes. If Jane had found her did that mean that she was found? Were they just behind him?

Jane looked unaware of her worries and instead (uncharacteristically) unfocused and erratic, his breathing unsteady and his hands refusing to let her go completely, despite her efforts to push him away. He hooked his hand around hers until his hand cupped her elbow, his thumb brushing patterns against her clothed skin.

"Jane!" she said sharply and pulled her arm away from him to reach behind him and slam her door. She awkwardly tried to suppress the feelings bought up by the familiar smell that was purely him and stepped back, hands on hips and eyes narrowed.

"I found you." he simply said, calming himself and straightening his crumpled clothes and focusing himself. A wide grin split across his face.

"Well, you shouldn't have. Don't you think there might have been a reason for me not telling you where I am?" Lisbon huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her emerald eyes fixated on his.

Jane studied her for a moment, now able to see her better than he had been able to outside. He took in her furious demeanour, her small but fiery stature. Despite the relative warmth of her apartment she wore long sleeves and a high neck t-shirt, legs clad in tight jeans. Her hair was longer than before, brushing against her arms and covering her apartment was completely empty from personal touches despite her relatively long residence here- except for a small box on her bookcase. She noticed him notice and blanched slightly and he filed this information away for later. "You can't tell me you wanted to wallow in self pity here alone," he said eventually, "So you need to tell me what's going on."

"I don't owe you anything", she shot back.

Jane didn't speak for a long time, and they stood that way; her seething and clenched fisted, him feeling overwhelmed and shaky, wishing he had been his old self when he entered her apartment- that Jane would know exactly what to do and say, how to get back into her good books again and to help her in a way he knew she needed. Now, he hadn't slept properly in months, he hadn't eaten in 24 hours and he was dealing with the aftermath of emotional trauma. "Lisbon," he began uncertainly. "Do you think we could have tea before we get into the ins and outs of this?"

He watched her eyes flash at the cheeky but tired tone he emanated, before she bought her hands up to her face and closed her eyes briefly, the annoyance on her face fading slightly. She opened her eyes again and looked at him, and he could tell she was debating the pros and cons of letting him stay. Finally, knowing there was no way he would leave her alone, she answered him.

She sighed, "fine."