I've received some fresh edits from my dear beta 'firstdown' who I'd like to thank once again for her great work.
Now you'll get to enjoy a slightly longer chapter to make up for the longer than usual wait , though strictly speaking it was a very short one, as I posted my little appetizer just yesterday...
No warnings.
It was a notably more alert consultant that came downstairs again half an hour later. Though he was still a bit bleary-eyed and pale, no one would suspect he'd been totally wasted eight hours ago because this was a rather normal look for him.
"Morning, Teresa," he greeted his lover and pecked her on the cheek. "Ah, you made grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon – no better remedy for a hangover than greasy food. You just have to stomach it first…"
He drained a mug of tea and poured himself another one before he took a bite gingerly. When nothing bad seemed to happen, he grinned and devoured the rest of his breakfast with gusto.
Lisbon just watched him with an indulgent smile while enjoying her third cup of coffee.
"So you're planning to drive Julie today?" he inquired after finishing his second mug of tea.
"I'll go easy on her – probably a lot easier than you do on a daily basis," she teased him.
He chuckled. "Oh, I'm not worried about her. More about you. We'll see if she likes you or not. Has a bit of a temper, that one. But so do you… Shall we?" he teased her back and got up from the barstool.
She rolled her eyes and went ahead of him. He led her out with his hand at the small of her back like he often did to her great enjoyment.
"Gimme your car keys, Jane," Lisbon demanded holding out her hand when they'd reached the parking lot.
"Maybe I should be the one to unlock her, you know, to placate her, make her more cooperative," he suggested with a grin.
"Keys, Jane," she insisted, tapping her foot impatiently. With a bit of reluctance he handed them over. "You're not fully comfortable with this, are you, Patrick?" she inquired carefully.
He looked a bit sheepish. "Just feels a bit strange. Sorry about the fuss. Go ahead."
She unlocked the door and got into the driver seat. Then she bent to the passenger side and opened the door for him. She had to adjust the position of the seat and all the while he told her in detail how to operate the old vehicle. "This is real driving, Lisbon," he explained. "Not that fully automatized nonsense you're used to."
Teresa rolled her eyes and ignored his ramblings. She had a certain interest in vintage cars herself and had in fact driven one or two at some point, so she was confident that this one wouldn't cause too big a challenge. She started the engine without a problem and was quite impressed: it purred like a kitten, obviously in very good condition. He certainly hadn't lied about his prowess as a mechanic.
"And you must get a feel for the clutch…" he prattled on but she'd already put the car into motion and left the parking lot. "Guess you have everything under control," he muttered slightly put out, realizing they were already on the road.
She snickered. "Seems like your old lady here likes me well enough, Jane," she teased him with a smug expression. "My compliments to the restorer – she's running as smooth as a baby's bottom," she added approvingly.
A sideways glance insured her of the proud look on his face and she could see tension leaving his body as he leant back in his seat for the first time since they'd gotten into the car.
Inside CBI Headquarters there was already high life going on that morning. With the news of their director being sacked and still without a new section head in place after Wainwright's death, things seemed to be in a state of mild chaos.
As the highest ranking agent, Lisbon took charge the moment she'd summed up the situation. This meant she had a more than busy day: she'd had to get a general idea of the state of affairs, sort through the piles and piles of paperwork that had accumulated, distribute new cases to the right teams, and talk with an endless seeming number of people from the media, the CBI, and the City Hall.
Fortunately her own team didn't catch a new case and so her agents tried their best to help with her tasks, presorting papers and organizing the run on her office. It was all very hectic and frustrating, especially because Jane wasn't the only one hung over that day…
Patrick made it his purpose (other than getting rid of nosy reporters on the phone) to keep everybody in good spirits as much as possible. He distributed coffee and snacks to Teresa, whenever he knew she needed it, got refreshments for the rest of the team, and even bought at least a hundred doughnuts, which he handed out to everybody in the building – from the guards outside, the administration staff, and all the lab technicians, to the agents of other units, the clerks, and the maintenance staff. Whenever asked about the occasion, he smiled mysteriously and called it a personal celebration.
A lot of people came by and thanked him for the great party at the Fir Tree and told him how much they had enjoyed themselves, and Patrick in return expressed his sincere appreciation for their sympathy and support.
Teresa had the pleasure of witnessing maybe the most momentous acknowledgment, when she passed the break room on her way back from the toilet: a somewhat simple, but pretty blond woman, Barbara something, she couldn't quite remember right now, manning one of the phones on the switchboard, (in)famous for her monumental crush on Jane, stood red-faced in front of the consultant, who bore a charming, polite smile and neutral expression (at least to the uninformed observer – Lisbon saw the mirth in his eyes at the woman's discomfort). The poor girl seemed completely out of her depth and stammered desperately. Finally at his encouraging nod she gave her heart a push and squeaked out in a rush, "Oh, Patrick! It was the best funeral I've ever been to, honestly, it was so much fun!" before she realized what she'd just said, turned an even deeper shade of red, and sallied out of the room with a horror-stricken face and a screech.
When she'd stormed down the stairs and was out of hearing range, Patrick started to giggle, which in turn was the last straw for Teresa's self-control: her laugh was very un-Lisbon-like, drawing the attention of the whole bullpen to them. A moment later at least a dozen CBI agents stood and watched with great amusement, as their fearless leader and her aloof consultant roared with laughter. Nothing could have relieved the tension and stress of the day more effectively than that, and quite a few joined in with them, because their sounds of levity were so contagious.
The rest of a very long working day passed in a notably lighter mood after that. And when everybody but Jane and Lisbon had left, he did the unthinkable – he sat down in her visitor's chair and offered to help her with the paperwork. She looked at him as if she'd seen a ghost, but when she saw his serious face she shoved a pile of papers over to him. After a while she grabbed some of the work he'd already done and checked it over, only to realize with astonishment that he had actually really gotten down to business and that he could produce a very convincing imitation of both her handwriting and signature – the last part filling her with a slight sense of dread.
"Why the hell do you know how to copy my signature, Jane?" she asked in agitation.
"Why the hell not?" he retorted completely unconcerned, seizing another folder.
"Jane!"
He looked up at her and smirked. "Well, Agent Lisbon, it might surprise you, but in my former life I was a conman. And forgery is pretty much in the job description." He resumed his work.
"I don't like it," she grumbled. "If I ever find out that you've forged my signature on anything really important and serious…" she warned him in a huff.
"Would I do something like that?" he asked, brows raised, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, and just to make sure, we're on the same page: would a letter from you to the Department of Justice suggesting me for the job of CBI Director count as something really important and serious?" he added with a devious grin, drawing quotation marks into the air during the last part.
"You didn't, did you?" she inquired carefully, expression flabbergasted, not entirely sure whether he was having her on or not. One could never know with that man after all.
He chuckled merrily. "Had you there for a second, didn't I? Come on, Lisbon, it's a completely absurd idea. It would have been a bit amusing, I admit. But I wouldn't do that to you. If I had, I'm certain a whole bunch of white clad people would've come by within the hour to take you to the nearest closed ward." He finished another paper and signed it in her name with an extra flourish.
She growled and threw her pen at him, hitting his brow with precision. "Sometimes you really are completely insufferable, Jane. How I manage to actually stay sane in your presence is anyone's guess."
"Love you too, Lisbon," he replied happily, casting back the pen and striking her shoulder without even looking up. "Ready with this pile," he announced a moment later and shoved it over to her. "Anything else?"
With a deep and resigned sigh she passed him another bunch of folders. "Afraid, this is gonna be an all-nighter," she said tiredly.
"Maybe we should just call it a night and continue tomorrow. They-," he indicated all the folders on her desk, "-will still be here in a few hours. And you look really exhausted."
"If you don't want to help me anymore, you can just go home and laze around like usual, Jane. And let me work in peace," she barked at him. "I don't expect you to understand the importance of this. Though it's actually your fault, we're in this mess in the first place."
He was completely taken aback by this sudden outburst. "Sorry," he mumbled, grabbed his pile of work and left her office silently, slinking off with his tail between his legs. She didn't dignify his retreat with a single gaze.
An hour later he put a mug of fresh coffee in front of her and returned his finished work. "You're still here?" she asked perplexed. "I thought you went home."
He shook his head no, grabbed another pile of unfinished paperwork, and left her office again without a word. This gave her pause and she took a moment while drinking her coffee to go over their earlier conversation. Shame filled her when she remembered her hurtful words. He'd helped her for hours and had only expressed his worry about her health – a valid one, considering how she'd lost her temper with him over nothing. She knew she had a habit of becoming grumpy when exhausted, but he certainly hadn't deserved to be the outlet for her frustration.
With a sigh she got up from her chair, stretched, and went in search of him. He wasn't in the bullpen, so she made her way to the next probable destination: the attic. She climbed the stairs with heavy steps and realized, just how tired she really was. Maybe catching a few hours of sleep was a good idea after all.
She opened the sliding door to her lover's lair and as expected he sat at his makeshift desk, bent over her paperwork. "Hi, Lisbon," he greeted her warily without looking up. "Not quite finished with those," he pointed at the files in front of him. "Would have brought them down to you. There was no need to waste time coming up here."
She went over to his chair and stood behind him, one of her hands finding its way to the curls at his neck of its own volition, caressing the sensitive spot there. "I'm sorry, Patrick," she said quietly, bending over him and pressing her lips to the top of his head. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm just tired and grumpy and you were the only available target."
He shrugged. "It's okay. I mean, you're right. I AM kind of responsible for this mess. It's my fault Bertram lost his job after all."
She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh Patrick… You're really hopeless sometimes." She sighed. "I'm not mad at you for getting rid of Bertram. He had it coming." She pressed another kiss on his hair. "I was just venting my frustration, love. It had nothing to do with you. It's been a long day and from the looks of it, the next ones won't be much better." Another heavy sigh escaped her. "I think I really need a few hours of sleep, but it's already past two in the morning. With the drive to and fro, I would probably only catch less than three hours."
He turned around in his chair and pulled her on his lap. "May I suggest something or will you just bite my head off immediately?" he inquired carefully.
She looked a bit shamefaced at him and nodded. He gently put a strand of her hair behind her ear and continued, "I know you don't really like this place," he motioned with his head to indicate the attic, "But my little makeshift bed over there isn't as uncomfortable as it looks. Why don't you lie down for a while and catch some sleep? I'll head home and get you a change of clothes. You can shower at the gym and no one will be any the wiser you spent the night here."
She eyed his lair dubiously, but with longing as well. "You sure it's comfortable?"
"Give it a try." He got up with her in his arms and carried her over to the cot-like gadget and lowered her carefully down on it. He took off her shoes and moved her under the blanket, and by the time he'd covered her, she was already asleep.
He tiptoed out of his favorite hiding place, taking along the paperwork. The first task on his agenda was to leave the CBI and drive back to Lisbon's apartment – or theirs, as she insisted – where he picked out a fresh outfit for her to wear the next day. Though he knew she had some overnight stuff in her office, he opted to take along her body wash and shampoo as well as a big towel – the ones the gym provided were most certainly not up to standard as he knew from personal experience. At the last moment he remembered to pack some sanitary products also, because by his estimation and considering her snippy tone earlier tonight, his girlfriend had obviously reached that time of the month.
He took a quick shower himself and changed his shirt and underwear, preparing himself for a long night without sleep.
Back at the CBI, Patrick sneaked into the attic and placed her things, so she would see them when she woke up. Right now she was still sleeping like a log. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, programmed the alarm to go off at seven am and put it down on the floor beside her head, then he left again quietly.
His next stop was the break room, where he brewed a pot of tea, which he took along to her office. He sat down behind her desk with his usual cup filled with his favorite drink and started on her files. Three hours later he'd nearly finished all he felt comfortable with working on, so only half a dozen forms were left unattended in a neat, little pile. Completely exhausted his head had sunken down on the desk while he'd been filling out the last one, and he'd fallen asleep with his cheek on the last lines he'd written.
That's how Teresa found him at 7:15 am when she entered her office fresh out of the shower and carrying her dirty clothes, a wet towel, and his phone. She took in the scene and when she realized what he'd done, warmth blossomed in her heart. She was caught up with her work, felt relatively well rested, she was wearing clean clothes, and felt ready to face the new day in a good mood, all thanks to her thoughtful boyfriend.
She stepped closer and could see dark circles under his eyes. He was breathing evenly indicating deep sleep and she hated the thought of having to wake him. But soon the first people would come to work and it wouldn't do if they found him sleeping like that. On a couch wouldn't have been a problem – everybody working at the CBI was used to that sight for sure, but this situation would cause all kinds of rumors.
She caressed his cheek and whispered, "Patrick, love. You have to wake up."
He woke with a start, mumbled, "Wha.. wher…?" and sat up, wide eyes bleary, and she couldn't help but laugh out loud at the sight of him: the part of his face which had been pressed to the paper on her desk was sporting 'her' mirror-inverted signature – talk about poetic justice, she thought.
She calmed herself down and said, "Sorry, imp. You can't continue to sleep at my desk like that. Move over to the couch. But if I may suggest something? You might want to go to the men's room and wash your face first." She couldn't quell another giggle.
"'kay," he mumbled, obviously far from being coherent, and staggered out of her office. She decided to follow him to make sure he actually ended up where he was supposed to go. To her relief he took the right direction and disappeared into the right lavatory. She counted to ten and on cue she heard an indignant, "Lisbon!?" from inside. A moment later a head appeared in the doorway and Jane asked, with a disgusted expression, "Why is your damn signature on my face?"
She smirked. "Actually, it's your signature, you measly little forger," she teased him.
It became very obvious that her lover wasn't fully alert yet. He looked at her without the slightest sign of comprehension and she decided to take pity on him. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back inside the rest room, while she explained the situation to him in short, easy sentences. She pushed him down onto the closed lit of the toilet, wet a paper towel, and wiped his face clear of the offending letters.
When she was satisfied all traces were eliminated, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He got to his feet, opened his pants and stepped over to the urinal without a second thought. But as this wasn't the first time he'd done that in front of her, she wasn't sure whether this was another indication of his incoherent state or just him being himself. She still hoped that no one had arrived yet and especially no one with an urge to use the men's room, because this scene would have been very hard to explain.
She shook her head in slight amusement. "You do know where we are, don't you, Patrick?" she inquired carefully.
"Yes, of course. At the CBI," he answered nonchalantly. Then suddenly he blanched when realization finally hit him. His eyes widened and an "Oh!" escaped him. "Shit! God, I'm sorry. Did anyone, I mean, have I…"
"It's okay. Relax. No one's arrived yet," she reassured him. "How about you finish up here, so we can leave as soon as possible?" He nodded and did so.
They managed to get back to her office just in time before Van Pelt entered the bullpen. With incredible presence of mind for his sleep deprived brain, he grabbed Teresa's used clothes and towel and managed to hide them from sight just before the young woman came in. "Hi Boss, Jane. You're already here? I thought I'd come by a bit earlier and take over some of that paperwork of yours. You seemed to nearly drown in it yesterday."
"Thanks, Grace. That's very thoughtful. But I'm actually almost finished with it," Lisbon told her.
"Finished? But that's impossible! It was so much and, and…" the redhead rambled.
Teresa nodded and interrupted her, "Yes, you're right. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have been able to, but, believe it or not, I had help." She cast a pointed look in Jane's direction.
Grace squealed. "He actually helped you? With paperwork?"
"Yes, hard to believe, isn't it?" Lisbon replied.
Patrick pulled a face. "Now I'm truly insulted. You sound as if I've never done any useful work around here…"
Both women sent him stern looks.
"Well, okay. So I'm not really into this tedious, boring stuff you're all so very fond of, but just because I do so lying down doesn't mean I'm not pulling my weight around here," he said, and Teresa was pretty sure he was honestly indignant.
Grace beat her to answering. "Sure, Jane. So it's only a coincidence that each and every time there's some actual work to do, you end up snoring on your couch while everybody else is busy…" the young redhead teased him.
Lisbon was convinced now that Patrick was truly affected by their accusations, but on the outside he didn't give away much of it. "Well, Grace, why would I do the tedious work of mere mortals when I can put my superior powers to much better use during sleep? Let's face it: I'm more effective asleep than you could ever wish for being even wide awake," he said snootily and left the office.
"Seems like you got to him, Grace," Teresa told the younger woman.
"But I wasn't serious." The younger woman looked slightly alarmed. "I know he's thinking or listening attentively, not sleeping most of the time he spends on that couch. And it would be a waste of resources to make him do our jobs. He isn't even trained for it. Do you really think I offended him, boss?" the poor woman asked anxiously. "I mean, he must know that we appreciate his work. He probably studies case files more than anyone else. He always memorizes all the facts, or he wouldn't be able to figure things out. Guess he does a lot of that during sleepless nights or something."
Lisbon smiled at her soothingly. "Don't worry, Van Pelt. This is more my fault anyway. And he's not fully awake either. I'll let you in on a secret: he spent the whole night filling forms for me, so I could catch some sleep. I found him in a deep slumber with his head on my desk not even thirty minutes ago and had to wake him," she explained with a happy smile.
"He did that for you? How sweet! And I called him lazy. Poor guy," Van Pelt said, emphatic as usual.
"It's okay, Grace. I'll go find him and treat him to some breakfast. Eggs maybe? I'm sure that'll pacify him."
Her younger colleague left her office with a hesitant nod. Lisbon picked up her phone to call her consultant only to realize that his cell phone still rested on her desk, were she'd put it before waking him. She sighed. "Damn, guess I have to find him the hard way."
TBC
Reviews are like a supportive Jane: sweet and very much appreciated... ;-)
