A/N: So, it's been a while since I last updated this collection. I apologise; I haven't had much cause to write oneshots lately. However, I've just managed to finish this one for the Paint It Red ficathon. We're looking for more fic, more prompts and more art, so please come join us! Also, the Paint It Red Awards have just launched. We're looking for nominees for many fic and art awards, so if you know of anyone who deserves recognition, please join the forum and nominate.

Right, so that's enough promoting.

Thank you to: lil smiles, Wldwmn, Frogster, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, mentalistfan123, anthropologist, SharpestSatire, lolly2222, saeo and MentalMeg911 for reviewing Better Days.

This one is along a very similar theme... sorry.

x tromana


Title: Circles
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Jane/Lisbon
Summary: Jane needs Lisbon, but he knows where he needs the boundaries too.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Written for browneyesparker as a part of the Paint It Red ficathon 2012.

Circles

Lisbon sits, her head buried in the palms of her hands. She remains stock still, almost oblivious to the rest of the world. Jane knows that she's lost in her own thought, her own mind. It's something she does when the straightening doesn't work, when barking at the rest of the team for pointless reasons doesn't quell her frustrations. He knows he shouldn't be quietly pleased about the fact, but it does mean he can creep into her office unannounced. There's something rather tempting about a stationary Lisbon. So rarely does she completely withdraw herself from her environment; even when engrossed in paperwork, she keeps at least one eye open. It's her way of keeping an eye on her own back. For some reason, she hasn't quite learned that she can trust the others to do so for her.

Moving stealthily, Jane gently pulls out the chair and takes a seat opposite her. It doesn't take a psychic to realize exactly what has sent her into this catatonic state. It doesn't even take somebody with his, frankly, staggering skills either. Jane remains stock still, not particularly in the mood to pull her out of her reverie. If he does, then he knows that she will tear him to shreds for not bothering to knock when he entered her office. Then again, it's highly likely that she will do that anyway, so he is not entirely sure what he's waiting for. Possibly, he believes that she deserves these few moments of respite; that she needs a brief while to come to terms with the situation.

He had been there, had witnessed the precise moment when the shock had entered her system. Lisbon had shaken visibly, though it had been barely noticeable to the untrained eye. Of course, being a seasoned professional, she had quickly pulled herself together and sent the grieving father on his merry way, but not before the words had already taken their toll.

"I am going to make sure that you are held accountable..."

That wouldn't have been too much of a problem, had Lisbon not already been blaming herself. But of course she does; she would t be Lisbon if she didn't. If only she had moved a little faster on her feet, if only she had been able to get that shot in in time…

If only the innocent girl hadn't been kidnapped in the first place.

And that's the crux of the matter. Jane knows full well that Lisbon tried her utmost to save that man's daughter. If she had succeeded, then she would have been hailed as a hero. As she failed - as happens so often in this situation - that somehow means she is the one to blame. Only in a twisted world like this one could somebody be blamed for trying and failing rather than the bastard who is actually responsible for the girl's death. And even worse, Lisbon herself somehow believes the callous words and that she didn't do enough to prevent it from happening in the first place. Jane knows from years of observation that she can never do enough, though. He is also more than aware that she just needs some time to pull herself back together again and then all would return to normal.

It takes a few more minutes for her to notice his presence and when she does so, she almost jumps. Only almost, for she is more than aware of his shenanigans and almost expects them at times like this. She has to be, to be able to clean up after his atypical wake of destruction.

"Jane," she says, her voice wan and hollow. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Don't exaggerate," he chastises, a small smile tracing across his features. "You knew I was here."

Lisbon scowls in response. Only she can make such an expression look endearing; Jane isn't quite sure how she manages. For somebody so full of fire, so intimidating, she can be awfully cute without even really trying. He knows that if he even dares to put forward that point of view, that she would never accept it, however. Though he does enjoy bickering with her on occasion, even he knows what a step too far is. Instead, he knows that he has to pull her out of this mood. The longer she stays in it, the more the repercussions are felt on the rest of the team. Besides, she isn't the one to blame. Jane is more than experienced when it comes to guilt; he also knows that hers is entirely misplaced. They've arrested the kidnapper-come-murderer. There isn't anything more that she could have done. The case is closed; the relief should be washing over them in waves.

Instead, she is just dwelling on the words of an angry man. He doesn't blame her; she is one who always tries a little too hard to please. She only appears relatively healthy and normal in comparison to him. Everyone knows she works too hard; it's just they don't dare say it to her face. Even he doesn't dare to do so, for fear of the reaction it would receive. The last thing Jane wants is for his main connection to the land of the living to close off, to shut him out again. Though he is loath to admit it, he needs her, more than (almost) anything else.

"So?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, Jane," she sighs.

"Who said anything about playing games?"

"Isn't that all you ever do?"

He shrugs and reaches across the desk to take her hands. Almost as soon as he makes contact, she withdraws her own and places them neatly on her lap, almost as if she is afraid to make physical contact. This isn't the first time he's seen Lisbon so broken, and he sincerely doubts it will be the last, though he wishes it is. After all, she's such a good person, (there is a reason he once nicknamed her Glinda the Good) she doesn't deserve to be messed around like this, especially by people she's trying to help. It's hypocritical, he knows it is. If he could give her more than he currently is, then he would. But it's difficult; there's so many unanswered questions, so many loose ends to tie up. If everything wasn't so complicated, then maybe he would be able to give her what she deserves, instead of the scraps he currently has on offer.

And right now, it seems that that is better than nothing at all. If it can drag her kicking and screaming back to normal, then it would be a job well done.

Jane's eyes linger on the emptied yoghurt pot precariously balanced on the edge of her desk. Next to it lays a banana peel. The detritus hasn't even made it into the bin yet; the cleaners would be furious if they saw it. He's also rather annoyed, in a way. That is all she's eaten since eleven a.m. and it's nearly seven in the evening. It's little wonder people worry about her, despite her protestations that she can, indeed, look after herself. She's too independent for her own good sometimes, too busy worrying about the needs of others before herself. Still, this is something he can work, something he can actually fix. It won't require too much effort on his part, though it will hit his bank balance. However, as its Lisbon, he doesn't have to worry about it making too much of an indentation; she's frugal to the extreme. She also seems convinced that everyone else ought to live in such a way and that's despite his frivolous gifts of ponies, jewelry and couches. At least she's kept one of the three, he surmises.

"No games," he assures her, though the look in her eyes suggests she's less than convinced. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

He even draws the cross over his heart with the index finger of his right hand. That alone is enough to draw a snicker out of Lisbon, in spite of herself. It's childish, just as she told him not to do so, but that's half the point. Besides, Jane sees it as half the battle being won. It's good to see her smile, especially after a hell of a day, like this one. He smiles once again, in response, and she finds that she has to tear her gaze away from him. There's only so long she seems capable of looking him directly in the eye.

"You need to eat," he adds, when the silence gets unbearable. "Unless, you're trying to make yourself sick of course. Then, I'd suggest that you just use some of your vacation instead."

"I don't need a vacation."

"Sure you don't," he responds skeptically. "C'mon, my treat."

She looks suspicious, but Jane is relieved when she actually relents. Most likely, because his pointed reminder has made her realize just how little she's eaten all day. Besides, even she cannot say no to free food. The meal ends up being a quiet, casual affair. Italian; nobody can beat the lasagna at Mario's, as far as he's concerned. And anyway, he knows that it's her favorite cuisine, even if she only picks at her linguine today. Again, he's not surprised, but he does try and convince her to eat a little more before the plates are whisked away. He explicitly keeps the conversation away from work, light and airy. Though she barely seems to realize, this is more than just a way for him to feed her up a little. It's his way of trying to divert her mind from dangerous territories such as lawsuits which will never happen. The man has no grounds; anyone of sound(ish) mind can see that she tried her best.

When she invites him into her modest townhouse, he absolutely cannot resist. Jane can count the number of times she's willingly invited him inside on one hand and each time, he aches for more. It's not that he wants to be an integral part of Lisbon's life (he knows he cannot offer her everything she needs), he just finds her terribly fascinating. She's not transparent, she's translucent and it's that small detail that makes all the difference. If things were different, then maybe, just maybe, he'd allow himself to give into her. As it is, he holds back for both their sakes. It's not as if she really wants to settle for somebody as broken as him, anyway.

She offers him tea, as she always does whenever he's in her kitchen. Jane watches as she moves around, painfully aware that she is being observed. Still, she prepares his drink swiftly. Not to perfection, but there's always been a quality in her tea that he enjoys, even if it isn't how he would make it himself. Lisbon's still on edge, even after they've taken a seat with their drinks on her couch. Jane watches as she fiddles with her cross, before tapping her foot incessantly. It's like there's something trying to explode out of her; but somehow, she cannot find the right way to get it out.

"What's wrong, Lisbon?" he asks quietly, concern eventually getting the better of him.

"Us, this," she eventually utters. "It's like we're going round in circles."

Jane frowns. He does know what she means, despite the slightly obscure phrasing, but it's something he explicitly brushes under the carpet and he has always assumed that she was happy to do the same too. Clearly, he has sorely misjudged that. Or rather, she's seeing his olive branch as being the invitation to open up that little bit more. Though she indulged in a glass of wine or two over dinner, it's no way near enough for drunken confessions. She's not even tipsy, not really. No, Jane knows that she's more than aware of what she is saying. That she will be able to remember this come morning, instead of being able to brush it aside.

"You know how I feel about you; you always say that I'm easy to read," she says, gaining confidence as she speaks. "I just want us to stop pretending."

"Stop pretending?" he echoes, slightly unsure.

"Yes, that nothing's there. We've been doing so for so long and it's…" she trails off as Jane pushes the teacup away from him.

She watches nervously as he stands. This isn't how Jane expected the evening to end. If he had predicted it, then he would never have accepted her invitation, however much he loves having the chance to investigate her home. Instead, he'd have just said goodbye at the door and waited until morning to see her again.

"Thank you for the tea," he says, knowing that his tone sounds stilted, almost strangled.

He just knows that he needs to get out of there, to be able to think straight.

Lisbon's confession should never have hit him like this; she's right, he did know they had been lying to one another for years now. However, it doesn't make it any easier now that the fact is being addressed out in the open.

It hurts him to leave, but not as much as it hurts her.

He'll give her a proper answer as soon as feasibly possible. Right now, it just isn't.