30 Shades of Red:
Red Raspberries
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Teresa Lisbon loved red raspberries. She always had. They reminded her of spring and summer, of sunshine and bare feet. And she probably enjoyed eating raspberries to an unnatural degree, but her affinity for the small fruit could not be denied.
So, it was her guilty little pleasure to eat raspberries at work. There, she downplayed her femininity, becoming simply 'boss.' She was controlled and professional. Eating raspberries was her admittedly small rebellion. She smiled. A rebellion that only she knew about. As wimpy as that may seem, it actually made her feel even more empowered—a secret that she kept from those who knew her and saw her on a daily basis.
She loved them in chocolates, in ice cream, in a dish of fruit, or even straight up by themselves. She prided herself on the fact that no one even realized that they were clearly a favorite food of hers, if not the favorite food. That was until Patrick Jane joined her team. For the first year, even he didn't seem able to tell. After that, she allowed a little smugness to slip into her experiences of eating raspberries. Even the great, observant Jane couldn't break into her secret ritual.
It was slow today. She was reviewing and signing paperwork while her team killed time at their desks. Looking at her pile of files, she sighed and pulled a Tupperware of raspberries out of her desk drawer. She needed a 'pick me up' to finish these files.
She was so involved in savoring the taste of the first berry that she didn't notice the body in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his gaze intent on her face.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember the last time she had hit the beach. It was a little game she played sometimes, associating the taste of her favorite food with an experience. She swallowed, and then smirked. Her team would never think her capable of doing something so frivolous. She popped another berry into her mouth before opening her eyes.
She was startled to see her consultant's intense gaze fixed on her. She cleared her throat as she averted her eyes, hastily putting the raspberries away and working to swallow. Finally, with an empty mouth, she looked back to the door. "Yes, Jane? What can I do for you?"
He was silent for so long that she wondered if she had really spoken or if she had something on her face. Maybe some raspberry juice around her mouth. She forced herself to not reach her fingers up to her lips self-consciously. This was another game she played (well, tried to): not giving Jane the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. More often than not, it seemed that she lost that game.
Just as she was about to roll her eyes and get back to her paperwork, ignoring him, he spoke. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
He smiled knowingly, immediately making her suspicious. His gaze flitted down to her desk before going back to her face. His smile turned into a grin and he turned around, leaving her to her files. She blinked after him, not quite sure what had just occurred.
"Huh."
As the days passed, Lisbon noticed that Jane would appear (as if out of nowhere) whenever she dipped into her raspberry stash. The intense gaze that she had encountered in her office that afternoon weeks ago would reappear at times as she ate (even if it wasn't raspberries, actually), causing her to wonder what he was thinking.
As he didn't say anything, she still thought her secret was safe. After all, it wasn't like Jane to keep quiet about much, especially when he had the chance to showcase just how much he could decipher about a person. So she continued to indulge her slight addiction (hey, should could kick it at anytime!).
Her illusions shattered one day when she came into the office early after having concluded a particularly stressful case the day before and found not only a container of fresh red raspberries on her desk, but also some chocolates filled with the succulent fruit. Her brow furrowed and she stood in her doorway, surveying her team's workplace. No one else had made it in yet—no, wait. There he was. Jane was on his back on the couch, his hands resting lazily on his stomach. He seemed to be asleep. She scowled a bit. So much for keeping something from him. Her scowl faded, though, as she eyed him. She knew from past experience that he may or may not be sleeping. She would bet on the 'not.'
She sighed. "Thanks, Jane."
She turned around and returned to her desk, not expecting nor really wanting a reply. Because of this, she missed the satisfied smile that crept across his face.
He thought to himself that he really shouldn't encourage her addiction—especially when said addiction so fascinated him that he found it increasingly harder to forget about the afternoon when he first saw the expression of complete happiness and reverie on Lisbon's face. He wished he knew what else could cause that expression.