His Angry Little Princess
She is tugging and twisting the chiffony concoction like it's a straitjacket when he enters, her dark scowl a mix of awkwardness and discomfort.
Ah, the dreaded bridesmaid dress.
Knowing Lisbon's modesty, he half-expected a frantic attempt to hide and familiar with her bite, he was prepared to duck any sudden, flying object.
"Jeez, Jane! You mind knocking?"
Ok, given he'd failed to knock that might have been warranted. She huffs irritably.
"Woah."
She continues to pull at the neckline of the dress as he adds, "Oh my."
"Van Pelt must die."
"No, no, no," he shakes his head in disagreement. "You look good. This is beautiful."
She feels out of her element and the twitchy gestures, the growing blush... it's endearing.
"Like a princess."
She glowers.
"An angry little princess."
"Patrick? You ok?"
He jolts back to the present when her fingers meet his rolled up shirtsleeve, still smiling at the memory. Teresa waits patiently and he is only too happy to let her join his pleasant trek down memory lane.
"Perfectly fine, my dear. I was recalling an uncomfortable agent garbed in a very fetching strapless blush gown. She was threatening to kill a valued member of her team."
She ahhhhs with a nod, revisiting the instance.
"And pretending she wasn't secretly loving every second of feminine, frilly froth."
A snort of laughter. "Oh, yah right. With its powder-puff poof, that dress would burn the retinas of any self-respecting, law enforcement woman. Thank God I only had to wear it for five minutes."
He chuckles, allowing her the skewed recollection. "Whatever you say."
She notices the sarcasm and her hand smacks his shoulder. He exaggerates the grunt at impact and she snorts again.
The levity fades, sinking into a shared fondness at the shared memory, each privately reminiscing. In the quiet, she echoes his sigh.
"Can I tell you something?"
He makes a small noise at the back of his throat in affirmation.
"It's silly really, given all that happened afterward...and I hope I don't sound insensitive because Grace went through a lot..."
From the stinted, roundabout introduction of her thoughts, he knows she's about to confess something she views as embarrassing. He prompts her with a quiet, "But?"
"But I sort of wish I'd had the chance to wear it. You know, despite the gag-worthy poof."
He acknowledges the admission with a nod. "I understand."
Another comfortable silence, and this time he breaks it.
"I'm sorry too. But if it's any consolation..."
His palm moves with agonizing slowness to capture hers, entwining their fingers together firmly. There is no tease in his voice when he continues, "You will always be my angry little princess."