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Interesting fact: Liars don't actually look down - or to the left - more than someone telling the truth. They don't fidget more, either. They are just as likely to make eye contact.

They do tend to tell their stories in chronological order, to keep the facts straight. They are less likely to admit they don't know something, or correct something they said wrong. They typically leave perceptions out of their report and focus on logical inference.

So basically, if a story makes perfect sense, and is told cleanly and accurately, especially over time – well, that's a pretty good sign.

Of course, when you have a supposed witness whose heart-rate jumps about 20 points every time you ask a question, you don't really need all this fancy psychological insight. Also, every time he lied, he touched his hair.

"Describe the scene for me again, please," asked Jane politely.

"I was just standing there when a grey SUV pulls up, and the next thing I know they've opened fire on this poor dude. Man, he didn't even have a chance, he just went down. Looked like a cheese grater."

"Lovely," said Jane.

"Did you know this man?" asked Lisbon.

"No, ma'am." Ah, the hair touch.

"But you'd seen him around?"

"I dunno about that," said Henry nervously. "I see a lot of people, you know how it goes. Maybe he's been around the neighborhood before, I'm not sure." Touch. Touch.

Lisbon and Jane exchanged a long glance, then Lisbon sighed and shook her head. "Here's what we think, Henry," she said finally. "We think you were a lookout for the hit. And since we didn't find the shooter, we think you're looking pretty good for a charge of accessory to murder. That makes you just as guilty as whoever pulled the trigger. You're what, eighteen, nineteen years old? What do you think the next sixty years are going to look like for you?"

How Jane enjoyed it when Lisbon got tough (with someone other than him). "So what's the truth," he asked reasonably; "that you're a harmless little lookout who got in over his head, or a brutal killer we should have no compunction about throwing away?"

"Ah, man, I - I just don't know," said Henry. And then touched his hair.

...

"Yes, I understand what you're saying, but I just don't - " Lisbon was scowling at the phone in her hands as though it had personally insulted her. "Uh-huh. Well, If you think I'm flying to Washington to testify at the indictment, you don't know the CBI travel budget," she said. "Our witness admits that he's been running numbers, and he's willing to flip on his bosses in connection to the LeHolt murders . . . so why do I need you?"

Jane was two steps behind her on her coffee-run, hoping that in between angry conversations with the Feds, she might want to discuss their sex life. Sure, it seemed unlikely, but you never know.

"I'm just not sure why my cooperation is necessary – " She paused and made a face at whoever she was speaking to. "Fine, you do that," she said. "I'll wait to hear. Sorry, Jane," she said, hanging up, "it looks like this case is definitely going to go Federal, which somehow results in more paperwork, if such a thing were even possible. I'll take a venti skim latte," she added to the girl at the register. "And a muffin."

"And a cup of the minestrone soup," added Jane. Lisbon rolled her eyes and handed over her credit card.

"I'm glad we've got a chance to talk – " Jane started to say.

"Venti skim latte?" barista announced, and Lisbon turned to claim it at the pick-up counter, steadying the cup under her chin as she juggled the muffin and her soup.

"Why don't we get a table?" asked Jane sensibly, relieving her of the last two items and surreptitiously biting into her muffin. Mmm, blueberry.

"We should probably be getting back –"

"Here," he said, "Sit." He indicated a table by the window. "Take five minutes out of your day."

Surprisingly, Lisbon let herself be persuaded; she dropped into the chair and took a swig of coffee as if she couldn't get the caffeine into her bloodstream fast enough. "I guess it won't kill the suits to wait a while."

Jane dragged a second chair up beside her, grimacing as the hot soup sloshed onto his hands. Why did these places never have properly-fitting lids? Wordlessly, Lisbon handed him a napkin. "You're eating my muffin," she noted.

"The soup is better for you."

She rolled her eyes. "Good thing you're looking out for me," she said. "Way to jump on that grenade."

"Vegetables are very important," said Jane, breaking her muffin into pieces.

"You know that's a blueberry – "

"Okay, let's not argue," said Jane hastily. "These petty disagreements are really beneath us at at this point."

"Just because you loose every argument . . . "

"Shush, woman. Eat your soup." She was already looking brighter, her cheeks flushed from the hot coffee and the sugar flowing through her veins. Or maybe it was the company.

"So while we're taking a break, what's, uh, what's new with you? Anything on your mind, something you might like to talk about?" Smooth, Jane – very smooth.

No dummy Lisbon, she glanced quickly around the café, obviously checking that nobody in the vicinity could overhear. "Is this about last night?" she asked. "Do you want to - talk about it?"

Actually, what he really wanted was to listen while she talked about it. Told him what she was expecting and what she wanted to do next. Talking about it himself was not on the agenda.

"Jane?"

"Only if you do . . ." He knew he was being a coward, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Okay," she sighed, cradling the warm cup in both hands. "Maybe we should see if we're on the same page." Jane wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Where do you see this going, really?" she asked reasonably. "Do you see us having a big happily-ever-after here?"

Well, that was taking the bull by the horns. "Is that what you want?" he asked cautiously.

"I just want – I want us to help each other," she said, her voice soft. "I don't want this to be an extra source of stress. For either of us."

"And you think I do?"

"Hmm, good question - what you want. I don't think you know." Lisbon opened the tub of soup and stirred it with a plastic spoon.

Jane knew he had to answer, and he opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Silence reigned.

Why was this so hard? It had been easy enough with his wife – he had loved her, pursued her, and won her, and then they had settled down to grow old together. But this wasn't anything like that. Lisbon - dark, ragged, sainted little thing - wasn't anything like the woman he married. And Jane wasn't that person anymore, either.

He wasn't sure he could ever go that route again . . . you just weren't supposed to recover from the death of your child. Even if she wasn't the picket fences type, what did he really have to offer Lisbon, anyway?

She took pity on him. "It's okay, Jane."

"I – you know I have - feelings for you." I mean, come on, he had stalked her for weeks. He ate her meatloaf.

"I know," she reassured him. A heavy man squeezed between the seats, and she politely moved her chair so he could pass.

"Do you really?"

Evidentially misreading his expression, she touched his arm where it rested on the counter. "Don't worry, Jane, I'm not asking for anything. I'm not – expecting anything. I promise." She put the lid back on her soup and shook her coffee cup, finding it empty. Her voice was even and kind. "We don't need to talk about this now."

Long after Lisbon had finished her lunch and headed back the office with her phone in her hand, Jane lingered outside in the sunshine. Was it him, or did something about her tidy explanations seem a little too convenient?

Slowly and thoughtfully, he finished off her muffin and then crossed the street to the office, brushing off crumbs as he climbed the stairs.

He could hear her voice before he got to the door, and poked his head into the room to see her standing next to Rigsby's desk. "Listen up," she was saying. "I just got word from the chief that I'll be flying out to DC tonight with our witness for the LeHolt case, which I guess we'll be calling the Federal RICO case now . . . better than losing it to Organized Crime, I guess. So, I need you to get your reports in to me ASAP, and make sure you come see me by the end of the day. Cho's in charge while I'm gone, and Jane -" her eyes found his before skating away, "try not to give him a hard time, okay?" She shook her head.

It seemed like Jane had just received some breathing room, and space to think - that he wasn't sure he really wanted.

"I know the timing on this isn't great," said Lisbon, "I'm really sorry to be leaving town when there's so much left to do."

And then she reached up and touched her hair.