A/N: For Fictober this year, I decided to write a multi-chapter fic consisting of tags to episodes I picked semi-randomly to create a connected story. I'm also doing the prompts in a random order, so the story won't be too predictable. Every chapter is a tag to one episode, told in chronological order. Sometimes, I decided to add a scene in the middle of the episode, sometimes at the end, and, of course, some of the dialogue is borrowed from the show.

A theme that turned out to be important for this story is jealousy. It's also quite angsty in parts, but, since it is heavily based on the show, there will be a happy ending. I haven't written anything like this before and I'm not sure yet if it'll work out, but I guess we'll find out over the course of this month.

Prompt: unacceptable, try again

The motel room was just as Jane had left it, except for the small black box on top of the TV. Lisbon looked around, her eyes scanning every corner, while Jane sat down on the couch, then patted the spot next to him to signal Lisbon he wanted her to join him. Lisbon glared at him, still on the fence about what he wanted to show her, still thinking she was right and he was wrong, still suspecting Hector Romerez to be Melanie's killer. But she did sit down in the end, which Jane considered to be a small victory.

Pressing a button on the remote, he turned on the TV and Lisbon's eyes immediately shot to the live feed of Van Pelt fixing her hair in a bathroom mirror.

"What is this?" Lisbon asked, her voice strained.

Jane smiled at her. "This is how we're going to catch Melanie's killer."

Lisbon took the remote out of Jane's hand and muted the TV. She was waiting for an explanation, and he was willing to give it to her, convinced he was on the right track with this. So he explained it all to her, explained how he knew the killer was picking his next victim today at the restaurant, that one of the twenty people working there must be the killer, and that the victim would end up in this room they were sitting it. But no matter how much he talked, how well he explained it, he could see Lisbon still didn't believe him, even when he showed her the bleach and the plastic sheet under the sink.

"And he's going to try it again today?" she asked, looking at him as if he had finally gone crazy. "Come on."

"Yes, that's just the point!" Jane pressed. "He will try again because we will make him try again. Because he's not in control of his desires. He's been thinking of nothing else but this perverse craving of his. He's gotten so close. He's desperate to go all the way. All we have to do is present him with something he can't resist."

Jane paused and nodded at the TV. Van Pelt and Rigsby had sat down on the terrace. Rigsby was smiling at Van Pelt; he looked nervous, almost as if this was a real date.

"Something he'll jump at, and damn the consequences," Jane added for good measure.

He could feel he was getting through to Lisbon, could tell she was considering his arguments by the way her eyes were glued to the TV screen. Jane sat down next to her again, trying to pull her attention back toward him.

"Give it a try. If I'm wrong, there's no harm done."

Lisbon looked at him, then shrugged. She handed him back the remote, then let herself sink into the couch again. He couldn't help but feel like he had just won a small victory, and he mirrored her body language, getting comfortable on the couch.

They watched in silence for a while, the volume of the TV turned low. Lisbon was focused on keeping an eye on Rigsby and Van Pelt, but her concentration seemed to wane when it became obvious the killer wouldn't jump out from behind a tree and drag Van Pelt away with him while she was talking to Rigsby.

After a quarter of an hour of silence, Lisbon finally said, "Okay, what's the gag?"

Jane had no idea what she was referring to and he told her so.

"You know," she said, with a non-committal shrug, still looking at Rigsby taking a sip from a glass of wine, "You said you wouldn't seduce me over a meal. So how would you do it?"

Jane sat up and put his right arm on the backrest of the couch, his full attention on Lisbon. He knew she was bored and wanted to talk about something, anything, but he hadn't expected her to choose this as a conversation topic, at least not while they were both on duty, waiting for a killer in a shabby motel room.

"This is what I would do if I was going to seduce you," he said, deciding he would have some fun with this. "A lonely motel and straight to the point." He nodded toward the bed. "Teresa, let's make love."

He stopped smiling when he saw the look on her face. He wasn't sure if he had just overstepped a line, but he thought it would be safer to go back to watching Rigsby sip his wine in silence. Lisbon thought so too, because she didn't say a single word.

Unacceptable , he thought. Try again.

The moment, however, passed, and Jane could feel he was getting bored himself. He had expected this surveillance to be much more exciting than it actually was.

"You know," he started again, "if you want me to ask you out, you can just say so."

"What?" Lisbon asked, sounding more confused than angry.

"I'm not sure I'm your type, but hey." Jane shrugged, trying to signal he was willing to give it a try, nevertheless.

Lisbon turned to Jane again, exasperation written all over her face. "What are you talking about?" she wanted to know.

Jane knew that he had her now and didn't even bother to suppress the feeling of triumph that was making itself known by a tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach. He had smelled blood.

"I saw the look you gave me earlier," he went on. "You were disappointed I wasn't making dinner reservations for … us."

"No, I wasn't," Lisbon denied his accusations immediately. "You kept going on about wanting to show me something, and I was waiting for you to finally do it. Show me something," she added for clarification.

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Interesting that you would feel the need to clarify that."

Lisbon turned back to the TV, signaling to Jane that she had said everything she was going to say on this subject.

It was an odd feeling, sitting next to her on the couch like this, watching TV. Odd, but nice. If he let down his guard, if he stopped focusing on the case for just a few seconds, he could pretend they were sitting in their house, in their living room, on their couch, watching a romantic comedy together. The only thing that didn't fit into this picture was the fact that Lisbon wasn't the type to enjoy romantic comedies. Or to sit through an entire movie without her phone going off, calling her away on yet another case.

And there was no such thing as their house, their living room, their couch. He had to stop his thoughts from going any further, from straying into domestic territory before it was too late. This was the first time he was watching TV with someone in more than five years, and it was only natural this activity would trigger such memories and feelings in him. There was nothing wrong with that. He just needed to make sure he wasn't taking it too far. The last thing he needed was a distraction from this case. And from his hunt for Red John.

While he was still trying to come up with another thing he could tease Lisbon about, she spoke up again. "I'm still not sure this plan of yours is going to work. Picking Rigsby and Van Pelt for this … it's risky."

Jane glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She had her guard up: Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, and even though she had spoken to Jane, she was still focused on the TV.

"Why's that?" he asked.

"You know Rigsby has a thing for her," Lisbon answered in the tone of a strict teacher who had to point out something so obvious she considered it to be beneath her. "You're the one who keeps pointing it out. This whole thing could backfire any minute now."

"That's why I asked them to do it. You can't deny there's chemistry there. It'll make everything more believable," Jane explained.

Lisbon only rolled her eyes.

The topic was a sore spot for her, obviously, because of CBI regulations. If Rigsby and Van Pelt started dating, Lisbon would be responsible for either breaking up their relationship or transferring one of them to another unit. And Jane could tell she didn't want to do either of these things. So he decided to distract her.

"Ah, I see what's going on here," he said, winking at her. "You're still disappointed the reservation wasn't for us."

"Will you stop it?" She sounded exhausted.

"I promise you we can get lunch together once we've closed this case," Jane went on, ignoring her objection.

"I don't want to have lunch with you," Lisbon told him without missing a beat.

"You don't?" His voice had a light, teasing tone to it, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. As soon as he recognized the feeling for what it was, he buried it as fast as he could.

Again, Lisbon didn't reply, so Jane decided to drop the subject as well. No matter how bored he was, he didn't want to make this conversation uncomfortable for either of them.

They went back to watching Rigsby eat his appetizer, but Jane caught Lisbon glancing at him from time to time. At first, he acted as if he wasn't noticing it, but when he finally decided to return her gaze, he caught her blushing. She looked away immediately.

Finally, Jane decided to pick up an earlier conversation topic. "Aren't you curious?" he asked.

"About what?" Lisbon asked in turn. "What it's like to have lunch with you?"

Jane opened his mouth to tell her that she was wrong, but she continued to talk.

"No, I don't. I know what you're like."

"I wasn't talking about lunch," Jane clarified. "I was talking about your type."

"My type?" Lisbon echoed.

"You never asked me why I think I'm not your type," Jane explained.

Lisbon turned to him, her left arm propped up on the backrest of the sofa, much like Jane had done earlier. He was surprised by that gesture because he had expected her to shut down the conversation immediately, just like she had done with every topic they had talked about since arriving at the motel.

"Tell me," she said, a challenge in her voice. "Why aren't you my type?"

"You're curious?" Jane asked, unable to hide the glee he was feeling.

"No, I'm not," Lisbon answered, a stern look on her face. "But you're going to be insufferable until I give you the chance to tell me, so go on."

"I'm too nice," Jane answered without hesitation.

This earned him a laugh from Lisbon, not a cold one that would have put a stop to this conversation immediately, but one that was loud and genuine. Hearing this sound filled Jane with so much happiness that he couldn't help but grin at her.

"I'm glad I amuse you," he said.

Lisbon took a deep breath, forcing herself to stop laughing. "Is this because of Melanie and Romerez?"

"Yes and no."

"You know, not every woman has a thing for violent men," Lisbon pointed out.

"No, of course not," Jane agreed. "Not every woman. And not always violent men. But you're a bit … adventurous when you find the time to get around to dating."

Lisbon opened her mouth to protest, Jane was sure, but he didn't let her. This time she would have to wait for him to be finished talking.

"You like your men simple, with no baggage, and no strings attached," he continued. It was something he had observed about her during their first week together. "Sometimes, when you feel like it, you like to be conquered, but not when the man is pushy. You can deal with men trying their luck again once you've rejected them but not if they are whiny. You want to make sure they are serious about you because even though you yourself are not looking for something serious, you don't want to indulge a man who's just asking you out because he's bored."

While Jane had talked, Lisbon's face had gone steadily redder until it was burning with something between shame and anger. "So why aren't you my type then?" she asked again, trying to keep her voice even. "Because you didn't mention nice men once."

Jane swallowed hard. He was beginning to regret having raised this subject because he had only talked himself into a corner out of which he couldn't easily escape. "You're right, it's not because of that," he answered slowly. "I … there's too much backstory. There's too much going on in my life. And I'm definitely not simple." He made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "I come with a myriad of strings attached."

He couldn't tell what it was that had upset her, but Lisbon suddenly had a sad look on her face. The flush was gone. "No, it's not that," she told him, her voice soft. Her left hand twitched as if she wanted to put it on his shoulder, but she didn't.

Jane sat up straight at hearing this. "So you do think about it?"

Lisbon pulled a face, then sighed. "No, not really. I mean, yes, sometimes," she corrected herself. "I've been … wondering. Some of our colleagues have been asking me about you. So the thought has crossed my mind. But there's just too much … I value our work relationship too much to risk it for something that might not work out. And not because of you, but because of me."

"I don't think a one-night stand would ruin much." He had said it before he could stop himself and now it was his turn to blush.

Lisbon laughed once, a sound like a bark. "Is that what you want? I didn't think you were that kind of man."

Jane shook his head. "I'm not. And please don't think I have so little regard for you that I just want to get you into bed."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow at him. "That's what it sounded like earlier."

Jane smiled softly. "I was joking, Teresa."

He hadn't meant to use her first name again, he knew he shouldn't but, again, he was unable to stop himself in time. He really needed to focus because if he kept slipping up like this, it wouldn't end well.

"You were?" Jane couldn't tell if she sounded disappointed or relieved.

"Unless that's what you want," he answered, trying to keep as many options open as possible. "If you want a one-night stand with me, no strings attached …" He trailed off, wondering if she had always been sitting this close to him.

"Jane?" The look on her face was definitely confusion. "Are you offering …?"

The first thing that popped into his head was, "Why? Are you interested?" but he thought better of it before he could slip up for a third time. "No, I'm not." He focused his eyes on a spot behind Lisbon, somewhere next to the door. "I like to take things slowly. I like all that stuff that you would consider to be romantic crap, I like to give a woman flowers on the first date, I like to take her out to a good restaurant, maybe followed by a walk on the beach. You know." He shrugged.

Jane knew it didn't sound like much, but he was out of practice. He hadn't had a first date in almost two decades and even though he remembered the basics of it, he felt unsure if he was on the right track. And there was nothing he disliked more than not being in control of a situation.

"That sounds lovely," Lisbon said, to his surprise. "It's … it's just not what I'm looking for."

"I know," Jane assured her. "Hence, I'm not your type."

Lisbon glanced at him full of mistrust. "I didn't just break your heart, did I?"

Jane laughed, more to reassure himself than to reassure her. "God, no. As I've said, I was joking."

He was joking, and he was relieved to discover she didn't have feelings for him. He wouldn't be able to deal with that right now, and he knew it would make both their lives miserable. He had lost his family more than five years ago, but that pain was still an open, festering wound, and he couldn't focus on another woman right now. He wasn't sure if he would ever be interested in another woman again. And that wasn't fair to Lisbon.

"Good," Lisbon said. "Because I don't want things to get weird between us."

"They won't." He paused, then decided to go back to teasing her. "And why do you think you're my type?"

Her voice was full of mock-offence when she said, "I'm not?"

"Would you like to be?" He made it sound flirty on purpose and she laughed again and punched his arm.

They were interrupted by a sound Jane couldn't immediately identify until he realized it was coming from the TV. He had forgotten that they were supposed to be keeping an eye out for a killer and snapped to attention immediately. Rigsby and Van Pelt were fighting, which ended in her slapping him. Then she was alone, walking back to the main road slowly, waiting for the killer to make his move. Jane and Lisbon sat next to each other, both fixated on the screen, watching the graveled road with bated breath until they both jumped when Sheriff McAllister appeared out of nowhere. From then on, it was chaos.

McAllister tried to get Van Pelt to come with him, which resulted in Rigsby punching him, and suddenly they were both trying to arrest each other. Next to Jane, Lisbon sat with her head in her hands, while he watched how the situation escalated into a ridiculous farce, a big smile on his face.

Finally, Lisbon stood up and turned off the TV. "Everything's a joke, everything's funny." She was angry again.

Jane stopped laughing. "If you try." That didn't cheer her up. "Come on. That was funny. Strange though." He looked at the black TV screen thoughtfully. "I was sure the chef would bite. I still think there's a good chance he'll show …"

Lisbon cut him off, her voice strained with anger. "The chef … Malcolm? Why do you think it's him?"

"He uses way too much butter."

The look on her face told Jane she was yet again demanding an explanation.

"He's a gluttonous baby. Self-indulgent," he explained. "He wants what he wants, and he takes it."

"Too much butter. Fascinating, how your mind works." It sounded cold. "Only thing though, Malcolm was in the kitchen in front of twenty people when Melanie was taken. He couldn't have done it."

Jane finally stood up too. "Well, hold on a second," he said, a hand raised in front of him to calm her down. "There's ways that he could –"

"Forgive me if I don't stay for more theorizing," she interrupted him again, "but I have to go try to save your colleagues from getting a formal complaint in their files."

Before Jane could stop her, she was out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Jane sighed deeply, feeling guilty. He looked around the room, lamenting Lisbon's absence, before he made his way to the bed and flopped down on it, closing his eyes.