A/N: This is one of my favorite episodes, so I was really excited to write this installment, but when it came time to get started, I had a hard time deciding how to get started because there are already so many great tags out there for this episode. Ultimately I thought to myself, how can I add to this already wonderfully shippy episode? Why, by adding even more shippy scenes, of course! I'm shameless. Also, as previously stated, I adore writing Pining!Jane. Hope you like it!
xxx
Jane greeted Tommy and pulled into the CBI parking lot, feeling cheerful. Selfishly, he hoped the team didn't catch any new cases. The unit was mired in audit work, which meant it would be a perfect day for a nice long nap. When he woke up, he figured they'd be so desperate for a break from the monotony that they'd be sure to appreciate any amusing scenarios he happened to come up with. He already had the perfect trick with which to torment Rigsby in mind.
He also had a half-formed plan to drag Lisbon out for lunch at a new Italian place he'd discovered a few blocks away. He'd calculated his odds of success would be high if he napped in the morning. She'd be much more amenable if she felt she'd made considerable progress on her backlog without him wandering in to distract her throughout the morning.
He idly considered the possibility of persuading her to go to a late showing of 'Notorious' with him at Tower Theater that evening. Her sense of responsibility would likely keep her at work late so she could make sure the team stayed on track to complete the audit on time, but a full day's worth of paperwork would make her tired and irritable enough to crave a distraction from the tedious assignment at the end of a long day. The Lisbon calculus involved was tricky, but he thought that if he brought her Thai take out before the show, he could tip the scales in his favor.
The sight of Van Pelt delicately flirting with a young man by the coffee cart distracted him from his plotting. He smirked to himself. Oh, yes. This was going to be a fun day.
When he entered the bullpen after making himself a cup of tea (first things first, after all), he wasted no time in drawing Rigsby's attention to the cause of Van Pelt's extra sunny smile that morning. If she'd heard him, Lisbon would probably have scolded him for needling Rigsby about such a sensitive subject, but what Lisbon didn't appreciate was that Rigsby needed a little goading to prompt him into action. A blind man could see that Van Pelt and coffee cart man weren't going to last, and Rigsby and Van Pelt would be a good match. Since they both seemed overly attuned to those silly bureaucratic rules about agents not dating one another, clearly it was up to Jane to give them a little push in the right direction.
His phone beeped, signaling an incoming text message. Since all the people who would normally text him were currently within a twenty-five yard radius of him, he opened the message with some curiosity, still smirking over Rigsby's predictable reaction to the news about coffee cart man.
When he read the message, he set down his tea and saucer with a clatter. Before he'd even consciously processed the full significance of the threat, his feet automatically carried him to the place he instinctively associated with safety and security. "Lisbon!"
He held out the phone as he met her in the doorway of her office. Bemused, she took the phone from him and read the message aloud. "There is a very large bomb nearby. Are you smart enough to find it?"
Despite the imminent threat of being blown up, Lisbon remained calm. She called the bomb squad and told Jane to pull the fire alarm so everyone would get out of the building as quickly as possible. He hastened to obey, then hurried back to her side. She must have sensed his anxiety, because she kept talking as they exited the building with Minelli, her tone even and measured as she reminded him it was entirely possible the threat was a hoax.
Jane was not completely reassured. Agent Lisbon, cool, competent team leader may think receiving a bomb threat was all in a day's work, but Jane found the experience of receiving a threat from a would be terrorist to his personal communication device distinctly unsettling.
His agitation increased when they made it out of the building. Are you smart enough to find it?
Was this Red John, changing the game? The taunt about his intelligence, that sounded like him. But the clue didn't strike him as consistent with Red John's style. If Red John had sent him a threat, it would have been far more subtle and obscure. The bomb, too, was a blunt, inelegant choice. Jane felt that if Red John ever threatened him with a bomb, it would be a targeted culmination of a far more elaborate game.
His brain clicked into gear, parsing the information he had available to him. The bomb was nearby. He left Lisbon and Minelli still talking and started walking. He peered into the windows of every truck or van he passed as he walked by.
Lisbon, belatedly noticing that he'd left her and Minelli, followed a few paces behind. Catching up to him, she entreated him to abandon his search and return with her to safety.
Picking up his pace, he explained his reasoning to her. "The text said a very large bomb. A large bomb could only be transported in a large car. They didn't say in the CBI, they said nearby. Ergo, the state parking lot. Simple."
"Exactly," Lisbon said, exasperated. "They challenged you to an easy puzzle. They wanted you to find the bomb."
"If there is a bomb," Jane countered. "It could be a hoax, like you said." But he kept checking windows as he said it.
Lisbon's phone rang. She answered and he heard her assuring Minelli she would wrangle her wayward consultant and drag him back to the designated safety area by the ear if necessary.
He peered into the window of a tan van. Droplets of condensation dotted the insides of its windows. His heart rate accelerated.
He checked the next window, pressing his face to the glass to see better.
A man, his head bowed, knelt chained next to a bomb, its timer ticking down the seconds at an alarming rate. He looked up and saw Jane. His forehead bore the words, 'Ur next.' At the sight of a stranger, the man's defeated resignation vanished, replaced by a frantic urgency to claim this last, unlooked for shred of hope. Duct tape over his mouth rendered the words of his choked cries for help incomprehensible, but their meaning was unmistakable. Scrambling for purchase in the confined space, he yanked at his restraints. The frenetic clanking of the chain binding the man to the van turned the contents of Jane's stomach to acid.
"Lisbon!" Jane shouted. "I found him!"
He raced to the back of the van and seized the door handle. Locked. He rattled it, desperate to free the man from this torture chamber on wheels. He checked the timer. Nineteen seconds. He met the man's eyes, his fear palpable as Jane pounded against the window to no avail. Jane's eyes darted to the timer again. Thirteen seconds.
He ran to the front of the car and tried the handle on the driver's side. Locked again. Mad with frustration, Jane pounded uselessly on the window again. No, that wasn't going to work. He had to be smart, god dammit. He turned to Lisbon. "Shoot it out," he said urgently, pointing at the window.
"I—I can't," Lisbon said, her voice both pained and urgent. "There's no time."
Heedlessly, Jane returned to the back of the van and beat against the windows yet again. There was time. He just had to be smart enough—
"Jane, come on, let's go." Lisbon seized his arm, attempting to pull him away.
He shook her off, his gaze riveted on the man bound next to the bomb. Seven seconds.
"Come on, Jane, run!"
He couldn't stand the notion of leaving the man there to die alone. For half a second, he thought maybe he should just stay. It wouldn't be the worst way to die. It would be swift, at least. He and this stranger could die together, with a sort of strange kinship forged from that shared experience.
Lisbon's voice was desperate now. "Jane, run, I mean it! Come on!"
Her fingers tightened on his wrist. He resisted, but she only pulled harder. The damnably stubborn woman wasn't going to leave him, he finally realized. And that meant he had to abandon this man to his fate, because while the loss of his own life would be no great tragedy, the possibility of Lisbon dying because he hadn't been smart enough to solve the puzzle in time was unacceptable.
He met the man's eyes again. The man read Jane's guilt and sorrow on his face and knew what it meant. Jane saw the exact moment he accepted his own death, his head sinking into weary resignation once more.
"Jane! Come on!" Lisbon seized his hand and pulled again. Four seconds.
Jane ran.
Now assured that he was following her, Lisbon broke away from him for several steps, pulling slightly ahead as Jane hesitated and risked a look back.
He felt the explosion before he heard it. A wall of heat slammed through him. He only became conscious that his feet had left the ground when his shoulder smashed into the unforgiving metal hood of a car on the way back down. His head bounced off the windshield. He tumbled to the ground, landing with a painful thump.
Then Lisbon was there again, her strong hands on his shoulders, then his sides, helping him to his feet. She wrapped her arm around his waist as he staggered, trying to regain his balance. When he stumbled, her other hand pressed into his hip as a counterpoint, anchoring him.
"I'm okay," he said, winded.
"You all right?" she said, a little breathless herself.
"I'm okay. I'm okay," he repeated. He bent over and pressed his hands to his knees, trying to get his bearings.
He heard a rustle that told him Lisbon had pulled her phone out of her pocket, but her other hand was still on his back, grounding him.
A beep. "I need an ambulance, now," he heard Lisbon command into the phone. Her hand slipped away from his back.
"No, no ambulance," he said quickly. He blinked into the darkness, trying to clear his vision. He pressed a hand to his face, feeling strangely disoriented without her touch as a reference point. "I've just got something in my eyes." And his head hurt. Quite a lot, actually. He blinked rapidly, hoping the stinging sensation would go away.
He could feel Lisbon's eyes on him. He knew the exact mix of worry and compassion in her bottomless green eyes, but he couldn't see them, and it was this that finally forced him to recognize the truth.
"I can't see." Panic seized him. "I can't see!"
Lisbon crooked her fingers around his elbow to steady him. He straightened, not wanting to betray how comforting he found her presence to orient himself around. When she shifted, he followed her instinctively so as not to lose her touch.
The ambulance arrived in record time. He attempted to persuade Lisbon that he didn't need an ambulance, but Lisbon proved intractable on the subject of head trauma. When he resisted the paramedics' efforts to bundle him into the back of the vehicle, Lisbon told him to stop being a pain in the ass and helped him in herself. Her hand on his arm, she briskly informed the paramedics she would be riding to the hospital with him.
She got him settled on the gurney, sarcastically commenting that he might as well lie down, since that was all he ever did during the day anyway. He found her snarkiness absurdly reassuring. He submitted to the gentle press of her hands and allowed himself to be eased into a reclining position.
She let go of him then, turning to ask the paramedics something.
Jane bore this as well as he could, but his heart rate escalated. His lungs, independently of his brain, suddenly started pumping air in and out twice as fast. He concentrated on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.
Lisbon took her hand in his. "Hey," she said softly, giving it a squeeze. "You're gonna be fine. It's going to be all right."
He didn't answer, preoccupied by all the what ifs unhelpfully supplied by his brain, clicking through his mind like a slide carousel. But his heart rate slowed fractionally.
She held his hand the rest of the ride.
xxx
Lisbon was much less soft and gentle after he managed to piss off the registering nurse, three orderlies, and the attending resident. When the specialist came in to discuss the results of the CAT scan, Jane had had enough of being poked and prodded. He just wanted to know why he couldn't see.
The doctor explained that his vision was being obscured by blood clots floating around in the blood vessels around his eyes, but seemed curiously unperturbed by this fact. Blood clots in general were never good, were they? And anything floating around in blood vessels near one's eyes sounded downright alarming to Jane, but the doctor remained maddeningly calm. She even attempted an unfortunate pun in an effort to lighten the moment. Wait and see, indeed.
Jane's patience snapped. "Humor. Great. Everybody loves a witty doctor in times of trouble. You know, I've heard enough." He was tired of hearing himself discussed like he was a small child. "Do you think you could take this conversation outside, please?"
The doctor assured him the blindness was temporary and advised she would check in later.
Lisbon thanked the doctor as she took her leave. He felt her warmth move closer to him. He experienced a fleeting hope that she might take his hand again, but this brief fantasy was rudely quashed by a none too gentle pinch to his arm. "Ow!"
"I'll do worse if you don't stop mouthing off to people who are trying to help you," Lisbon said, utterly without remorse.
"You pinched me," Jane grumbled, feeling decidedly put out.
He heard footsteps, followed by a familiar voice. "How's he doing?" Cho asked.
"Guess what?" Lisbon said, her voice laced with a familiar mix of exasperation and annoyance. "He's a bad patient."
"I'm not a bad patient," Jane said petulantly. "She's a bad visitor."
Bad visitor or no, he found himself disappointed when Lisbon left with Cho after discussing the case for a few minutes. Left alone, he had nothing to do but think. Hospital staff came in and out, but aside from these tiresome interruptions, he whiled away the hours in the darkness, oppressed by an unceasing onslaught of what ifs.
What if the doctor was wrong? What if he never recovered his sight? He relied on his compulsive observations of others to distract him from his own thoughts. He couldn't bear an eternity of being trapped inside his own mind. He couldn't imagine a more perfectly devised version of hell.
What if he couldn't work for the CBI anymore? He suppressed a pang at the thought of not seeing Lisbon—that is, the team—every day. He glumly concluded that he'd have next to no chance of catching Red John without his sight or the team to help him. If he couldn't solve murders for the CBI anymore, he would be alone and without purpose.
Before he could follow that depressing line of thought any further, a gentle voice interrupted his brooding. "Hey," Lisbon said softly from the doorway.
Relief flooded every fiber of his being. He turned his head towards her instinctively, a small smile gracing his lips at the sound of her voice. "Lisbon," he said, making no effort to hide how pleased he was to see—er, hear her. "What brings you here at this late hour?"
"I wanted to check in on you," Lisbon said. He heard her cross the room to stand by his side. "How are you feeling?"
Jane's head still ached fiercely and his shoulder was sore where he had landed on it. "Right as rain."
He could hear the smile in her voice. "Liar."
"I don't suppose you brought me a midnight snack?" Jane said hopefully. "They tried to give me the most atrocious imitation of a Salisbury steak for dinner."
"I brought you a cup of tea," Lisbon said. She took his hand and pressed a warm paper cup into it.
"That was sweet of you," he said, pleased. He pretended to fumble the paper cup slightly so he could prolong the brush of her fingers against his.
"Don't get your hopes up," Lisbon said. "It's from the vending machine down the hall."
His face fell. "Oh."
"This is where you're supposed to tell me that it's the thought that counts," Lisbon said, amused.
He took a cautious sip. Bleh. Well, it was hot. That was about all that could be said for it. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you could have thought of an Oolong tea from that tea shop on 18th street."
"I don't think they're open this late," Lisbon said dryly.
He heard her pull a chair up next to the bed and sit down. He listened to the soft rustling of her clothing as she settled into it. "What time is it, anyway?"
"A little after two am," she told him.
He hadn't realized it was quite that late. He frowned. "You should be home sleeping. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," she assured him. "We had to go to a club to question a suspect, so it was a late night to start. He assaulted Rigsby when we tried to question him, so we ended up arresting him and taking him back to holding. We just got done processing him. I thought I'd stop by and check in on you on my way home."
They'd been caught in the explosion just after nine am. "That's a long day for you," he commented, taking another sip of his terrible tea.
"Since you're stuck in a hospital bed and unlikely to cause any major incidents at the office tomorrow morning, maybe I can afford to come in late and sleep in," she teased.
"I hope you do," Jane said. He knew she wouldn't, though. Her resolution to talk to the suspect that night told him that she was determined to catch the person who had done this as soon as possible. She'd be back at the office by eight the next morning, prepared to chase down and eliminate any further threats to him. He found the thought oddly touching.
"We'll see," Lisbon said noncommittally. "I don't want to miss Cho's interrogation."
"Who's the suspect?"
"Guy named Terry Andrews," Lisbon said. "He used to work with Medina." The sound of her hair swishing around her shoulders as she shifted in the chair distracted him from inquiring further about Andrews' arrest.
"You took your hair down," Jane observed. He imagined it falling around her shoulders, loose and wavy. "It was in a ponytail earlier."
He could hear her decide not to ask him how he'd known she'd released her hair from the confines of its elastic. She hesitated, clearly weighing whether she should reward his nosiness with an explanation. Only Teresa Lisbon would bother guarding such a trivial decision from the possibility of deeper inspection, Jane thought to himself. As though even the tiniest insight into her thought processes was a breach of intimacy she was determined not to permit without careful consideration. "It gets heavy," she said finally. "Towards the end of a long day, it starts to give me a headache."
"Ah," Jane said. He thought about offering to massage her scalp for her, but somehow inviting her to sit on his bed and burying his fingers through her hair in this quiet room in the small hours of the morning seemed like a bad idea. He cleared his throat. "Did you find anything else on Medina yet?"
"We talked to his widow. She gave us a line on Andrews. Haven't got much else yet," she admitted.
Silence descended. Lisbon's breathing changed, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. He could feel her tension from three feet away. "You're thinking about Medina," he stated.
"Yeah," Lisbon said, her voice heavy. "I can't stop thinking about the look on his face. He was so scared."
Jane couldn't get the man's face out of his head either. Specifically, the look in his eyes when he'd realized they weren't going to be able to save him. "Yeah."
"We're trained for this type of situation," Lisbon said. Her voice was too controlled, too quiet. "The protocol is very clear. If a hostage is in a situation where saving him would put others at risk, the officer in charge is supposed to get as many people as possible to safety, regardless of the consequences to the hostage." He heard the swish of her hair again, signaling a shake of her head. "Doesn't make it any easier to be the one who makes the call to leave an innocent man to die, thought."
"You did the right thing," Jane said. "If you hadn't gotten us away, all three of us would be dead right now." He sighed. "But if it helps, I feel the same way."
"It does," she said quietly. "Thanks." A pause. "You shouldn't, though. You were the one who found him. You did everything you could to save him."
Jane frowned. If only he'd figured out the clue sooner. "Fat lot of good it did."
"It was brave, what you did," she said softly. "Trying to help him like that."
"Stupid, you mean," Jane said bitterly. His so-called bravery hadn't resulted in anything but a man's death and the loss of his own sight, as far as he could tell.
"Caring," Lisbon countered.
Jane had no defense for this unexpected charge. Disarmed, he shifted uncomfortably. "What makes you think I wasn't acting in my own self-interest?" he said weakly. "That note on his forehead—'UR Next.' I figured if I could free him, I could find out who wrote the note and make sure the guy didn't have a chance to come after me."
"Yeah," Lisbon said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "You're a real selfish bastard. I should have known that was what you were up to all along, risking your life like that for a stranger."
He heard her stifle a yawn. His heart ached a little. He didn't want her to leave. "It's late," he said softly. "You should go home, get some rest."
"Mm," Lisbon said, confirming his guess that she was fast approaching the point where she was in danger of becoming too sleepy to drive. "You're probably right."
She stood and stretched. The sound of her clothes rustling again followed by a barely audible hum of pleasure as she stretched her muscles formed a mental image far too enticing for Jane's liking. He pressed his lips together and studiously banished those wayward and unwelcome thoughts from his mind.
"Hey," she said, apparently reading something else entirely from his countenance. She stepped closer. He swore he could feel her hand hovering over him as she debated whether it would be safe to touch him. Was she going to punch him on the arm? She probably considered that an appropriately "colleaguey" gesture of affection. Finally her hand came down to rest on his forearm. Her strong, delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist. The sensation of her hand wrapped around his arm warmed him from the inside out. "I'm not going to let anything else happen to you, okay? We're going to get the guy who did this."
Jane nodded. There wasn't a doubt in his mind about that. He might never see again, but Lisbon and her team would make sure whoever had killed Medina would rot in jail for the rest of his natural life. He knew that as surely as he knew his next breath.
"Get some rest," she said softly.
He reached over and covered her hand with his. "You, too." He felt her skin heat beneath his fingertips. Ah ha, he thought with some gratification. He could still tell when he'd made her blush. The thought was enormously cheering.
She squeezed his arm and bade him a soft good night, then took her leave.
The room felt cold after she left. He pulled the blanket up under his chin and rubbed his arms, lingering over the place where her hand had rested.
Lisbon rarely touched him, he realized. She tolerated him invading her personal space on a routine basis, he supposed. She didn't object when he rested his hand at the small of her back or appropriated her wrist to check the time, but she rarely initiated touch, unless it was to forcibly restrain him from provoking some local bigwig or another or push him out of the way when he happened to stray into the path of danger. In fact, it was entirely possible that she'd touched him more that day than in the entirety of their acquaintance to date. Pulling him away from the bomb, then picking him up from the ground and guiding him to safety. Holding his hand in the ambulance when he betrayed his distress. He grimaced. Pinching him. That was the one he should have expected. Far more consistent with the pattern of attempting to physically influence his behavior when she deemed he'd crossed a line somewhere. In other words, she touched him when she thought he needed her to, whether for comfort or chastisement. Or saving his life, of course.
Jane wasn't sure how to feel about this. It made him aware of an imbalance in their relationship. He actively sought her touch, while she could take his or leave it.
There was that flushed skin, though, he comforted himself. That proved she wasn't completely indifferent to him. Of course, the fact that he was analyzing the balance of their touches in a hospital bed in at two thirty in the morning seemed an indication of another disturbing imbalance, but it was probably best not to dwell on that too deeply.
Still, she had come to visit him in the middle of the night.
Jane fell asleep thinking about the warm weight of her hand on his arm.
Xxx
When he woke the next morning, the nurse informed him they planned to keep him under observation for another twenty-four hours. He prodded at his tasteless oatmeal morosely, twenty-four more hours of darkness stretching out before him interminably. His neighbor in the room next door had turned up the television to an intolerable pitch. If he had to sit here all day with nothing to do but listen to that awful drivel, he'd go mad. He thought of his couch at the CBI with longing.
He wanted to go back to the CBI. At least there the sounds were familiar. The tap-tap of Grace typing. Rigsby crunching on potato chips. The sound of Cho turning the pages of his latest book. Not to mention Lisbon's dulcet tones, yelling at him for one thing or another. The click clack of her boot heels as she stomped over to kick his couch.
He applied his mind to the problem. He didn't think the team would mind if he recuperated there. Besides, he was the one who'd been blown up, hadn't he? He would undoubtedly be the person best equipped to find whoever had done this to Medina. He just needed a way around the blindness thing, and he'd be able to go on solving crimes as usual so he wouldn't go insane with boredom.
Well, it wasn't like his vision was his only source of observation. He had excellent hearing. He'd just need to tune into people's breathing patterns, the pitch of their voices when they were lying. Lisbon's voice climbing higher than usual was one of her worst tells when she tried to lie to him, for example. And he'd been able to tell when she had blushed, hadn't he? He could throw the criminals off their game by invading their personal space and getting a read of their pulses. And he'd always prided himself on his sense of smell. That could be useful.
Besides, Lisbon must be missing him by now. Probably needed a hand with the case. She'd come by late last night to tell him about the suspect, after all. Her way of hinting around without coming right out and asking. If she was resorting to showing up late and trying to bribe him with a substandard cup of tea, she was clearly desperate for him to come back to the office. The team needed him, too, he was sure. They really couldn't get along without him.
Clearly it was time for him to start thinking about how to orchestrate his escape.
xxx
"Hey!" He heard Van Pelt's voice, both exasperated and worried. Her voice came closer. "Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"
"Nope," Jane said, holding onto Officer Powell's shoulder as he tapped his way into the bullpen with his white cane.
"Yes, you are," Van Pelt contradicted him.
"No, they had enough of me," Jane said. "Can't say I blame them. Officer Powell here was kind enough to give me a ride back."
Van Pelt sounded conflicted as she addressed Officer Powell. "Thank you, I guess." Her phone beeped.
"Have a good one, Mr. Jane," Officer Powell said to him, and departed.
Van Pelt's phone beeped again. "Go ahead," Jane said. "Talk to your boyfriend. I don't mind."
"Shush," Van Pelt said, her voice exasperated again as she snapped her phone shut. This was great. He didn't even need to touch her—he could hear her blush.
Jane grinned. "Why are you embarrassed?"
"I'm not," Van Pelt said quickly and untruthfully. Oh, yeah. He still had it. Human lie detector. And if his senses weren't mistaken—
"What the hell?" Lisbon demanded, her footsteps warning him of the potential of an incoming tirade.
"Doctor's orders," Jane said immediately. "She said it was the best thing for me to do, get back to work."
"She did not," Lisbon said, not taken in. "She said you insulted the entire ward and were a complete pain in the ass."
Hm. He hadn't counted on Lisbon bonding with the doctor to the extent that the woman would feel the need to call her up and tattle on him. "Meh. So?"
"So, you can't do that."
"What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and listen to television? Besides, the food was terrible."
"You need to rest," Lisbon said, her voice both gentle and pleading.
"I need to work," Jane said firmly.
Her voice was less gentle now. "You're blind."
"It's no problem, honestly," Jane argued. "My other senses are heightened. They're super-heightened. I'm like… Daredevil." Now there was a cheering thought. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said loftily, tapping his way in the direction he thought his couch was in before Lisbon had a chance to argue further.
"Okay," Lisbon said dubiously, prepared to indulge him for the time being.
"Okay," Jane said in satisfaction.
Clang! He ran his cane into something hard and metallic. Startled, he reached out to confirm the suspect's identity. Ah. One of the metal posts separating the bullpen from the hallway. He mentally reoriented himself and proceeded along on his way. He thought he felt a sharp corner brush against his arm and frowned. He must have turned a corner inadvertently. His couch was back the other way.
"Hey, Jane," Cho said from somewhere in front of him.
"Cho," he said gratefully. "How are you?"
"Fine. You on your way to the interrogation?"
Jane immediately seized upon the opportunity. "Yes."
Cho prodded one shoulder until he'd rotated thirty degrees to the left. "It's that way. First door on the left."
Good old Cho. Jane tapped his way down the hall until he found the door handle, then entered the interrogation room, reassured that he'd found the right place by the sound of Rigsby's voice asking the routine logistical questions used to establish the whereabouts of suspects at the time of the crime.
"Sorry, don't mind me," Jane said as he groped his way into the room.
"What is this?" a deep, melodious voice demanded. Jane deduced that the voice belonged to the suspect, one Mr. Terrence Andrews.
Jane ignored the question and focused on finding a chair.
"Is he blind?" the melodious voice asked Rigsby.
"Yeah," Rigsby muttered, clearly at a loss.
"Cool, huh?" Jane said. Perhaps Mr. Andrews was a Daredevil fan, too. He located a chair in the corner and dragged it over to the interrogation table, placing it next to Mr. Andrews and plonking himself down uncomfortably close to the other man. Well, uncomfortably for Mr. Andrews, anyway. Jane was perfectly comfortable, himself.
He sniffed deeply. "So. Did you kill James Medina?"
"Did I kill James Medina?" Andrews repeated. "Man, screw him. I didn't kill him. I could have, and I wanted to. But I didn't."
Jane sniffed him as he spoke. Interesting.
Andrews turned towards him. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.
"Have we ever met before?" Jane inquired, ignoring the question.
"No," Andrews said, disarmed.
"So what happened?" Jane asked. "Why did you and Medina fight in the first place?"
"I was a junior trader with the company's program," Andrews explained. "He'd been picking on me for months. I took a job his nephew wanted. Anyway, a freaking envelope falls off his desk. 'Pick it up,' he said." Andrews voice rose in volume at the remembered outrage. "'Pick it up.' Like that. I don't think so. Pick it up your own damn self, I said. Big deal. But I guess he figures—" Jane flinched as the sound of a quick snap, snap, snap of the agitated man's fingers echoed in the small space, very loud and far too close to Jane's ear. "I'm just going snap my fingers and totally ruin this dude's life," Andrews finished, referring to the ease with which Medina had fired him.
Jane listened patiently, then asked, "Can I hold your hand?" He helpfully held out his own hand as a gesture of good faith.
The other man hesitated, then reluctantly placed his hand in his.
Jane examined the man's hand with his own. "Artistic fingers," he commented. He reached out and touched Andrews' face and neck. "Soft."
Andrews shook him off. "Don't do that."
No matter. Jane had gotten what he needed. "Nice to talk to you, Terry. Be well." He turned and addressed Rigsby. "You can let him go."
"Uh, that's not your call," Rigsby said.
"I didn't say you must let him go," Jane said reasonably. "I said that you can. If you want…being that he's innocent."
The blinds on the interrogation room door rattled and shook as the door was flung open and Lisbon's voice sharply called his name.
Jane jumped. "Ooh, that was loud," he said. "That was very loud."
"With me. Now." Lisbon's tone brooked no argument.
Jane dutifully got up and made his way towards the sound of Lisbon's voice. She held the door for him. A heavenly scent wafted towards him as he brushed past her on his way out. He paused when he got into the hallway, thinking of his revelation of the evening before. He held out a hand. "Help me back to the bullpen?" he said, injecting just the right amount of pathetic into his voice. Now that he knew Lisbon was more generous about physical contact when she felt he needed assistance, he had every intention of exploiting that fact.
Lisbon sighed heavily but permitted him to place his hand on her shoulder so he could more easily find his way.
He didn't recognize the shirt she was wearing, some kind of cotton blend, long-sleeved, and judging by how the fabric fell against her shoulder, quite form-fitting. "New shirt?" he asked curiously.
"What?" Lisbon said, thrown. "No. I've had it for ages."
"Hm. I don't recognize it. What color is it?"
"Who cares?" She sounded defensive.
Well, now he really wanted to know. "Come on, Lisbon. You won't indulge the curiosity of a blind man?"
"Forget the shirt," she groused at him as he tapped his way along half a step behind her. "How many times do I need to tell you to stop interrupting interviews like that?" The silk of her hair brushed against his fingertips as she walked down the hall, her shoulder beneath his hand both strong and delicate. No offense to Officer Powell, but he had nothing on Lisbon as a personal guide.
Jane found her annoyance reassuring. She was irritated with him. That meant everything was normal. He would be able to contribute to the team, after all. She wasn't going to banish him or keep him on out of pity. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said insincerely, failing to conceal his pleased smile. He found his old friend the metal post and leaned against it. Things were really looking up. In fact—
"What are you doing?" Lisbon asked.
He removed his glasses and peeled away the tape sticking to his eyelids. "How will I know if I can see or not if I have bandages on?" He winced as he pulled off the second one. "Here goes."
"Well?" Lisbon said anxiously, her annoyance forgotten in her concern for him.
Jane's heart sank as he blinked. "Black as night," he confirmed.
He felt Lisbon sink down a little, dejected. "I'm sorry."
"Never mind." He put his glasses back on and returned to the business at hand. "Andrews didn't do it," he announced.
"Did you sense that with your superpowers?" Lisbon snarked, amusement evident in her tone.
"Yes, I did," Jane said, pleased that she was catching on. "He's filled with anger, but not fearful, guilty, murderous anger. That has a tang of ammonia about it. His is a more clean, righteous anger. Lemony."
"Lemony," Lisbon repeated, her voice thick with skepticism.
Jane grinned. "This blind thing really works. Without my vision, I can tune into my other senses much more clearly." For example, he was even more aware than usual of how absolutely amazing she smelled. A spicy, intoxicating blend he'd never quite parsed out to his satisfaction. Cardamom, that was the mystery element he'd never been able to nail down before. He'd suspected cinnamon for a while now, but now he was ninety-nine percent certain.
"That's great," Lisbon said, still amused. "Let me go make you a superhero costume. What do you want to be called?"
He liked hearing the smile in her voice. It occurred to him there was another opportunity to exploit here. He reached out and found her arm, then groped his way up her arm to rest his hand on her shoulder again.
Lisbon leaned away ever so slightly, suspicious, but didn't step back. "What are you doing?"
His fingers threaded through her hair again. "I want to know what your face feels like when you're smiling." He gently took her face in his hand and traced his thumb and forefinger over her cheeks. Surprised but apparently still amused enough to go along with it, she indulged him, letting her smile go big and wide beneath his fingertips.
Captivating. That's how her face felt when she was smiling. Smooth skin and that delightful dimple on one side. And he didn't need to see her to know that her green eyes were sparkling with mirth as she laughed at him.
"Uh…so what's the deal, boss?" Rigsby's voice interrupted the moment.
Jane suppressed a groan. Of course Rigsby would have to stumble in on their moment. What kind of wing man was he? Didn't he know it was an unforgiveable breach of guy code to interrupt a blind man when he was trying to feel up a woman's face? Defeated, he dropped his hand.
Lisbon, of course, remained brisk and professional. "Have forensics check him for any explosives residue. If he comes up clean, let him go."
"Will do," Rigsby said, and made his escape.
Back to business, yet again. "I'm still convinced there's a connection between Medina and me, so before you make me that superhero costume I'm looking forward to, can you take me to visit his widow?"
"Maybe," Lisbon said.
"Thank you." He inhaled deeply, hoping to get a few more minutes of flirting in before it was time to visit the widow. "And incidentally, you're smelling particularly good today. Is that cinnamon in the mix in there somewhere?"
No answer.
"Lisbon?" He reached out, searching for her, but she'd escaped. Apparently the limits of her indulgence did not extend to discussing her personal bath products.
If he'd guessed wrong, she wouldn't have run away, he reasoned. That confirmed it then. Definitely cinnamon.
xxx
Jane meandered over to Rigsby's desk. "Rigsby, question for you."
"Yeah?"
"What color shirt is Lisbon wearing today?"
"Red," Rigsby answered. "Why?"
"Just wondering."
"I'm wearing a white shirt, if you were wondering," Cho said dryly. Jane had the distinct impression he was being mocked.
"I wasn't," Jane said loftily. "You wear a white shirt every day. You really have a terribly unimaginative wardrobe, my friend."
"Is that why you want to know what the boss is wearing?" Cho asked, deadpan. "So you can assess the 'imaginativeness' of her wardrobe?"
Jane was saved from having to answer by Lisbon herself coming over to join them. "What are you guys talking about?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing," Cho said, turning his chair swiftly back to his computer. Jane could tell he'd buried himself in work because Cho's chair squeaked slightly when he turned and he could hear the turn of pages. Jane smirked to himself. Cho may have had no issue mocking Jane for his interest, but he wasn't about to let on to Lisbon that they'd been discussing her clothing selection. He valued his life more highly than that.
"You ready to go?" Lisbon asked Jane. He heard the faint jingle of keys in her palm.
"Ready," he confirmed, and they went to visit the widow of James Medina.
The trip to Medina's house brought him crashing back down to earth. The realization that his lying life as a con artist had most likely provoked the rage of not one but two murdering bastards was both disturbing and depressing. His temporary optimism about his 'superpowers' faded and he sank into an angry, impotent state of anxiety about the possibility of his blindness enduring beyond the few days the doctor had predicted and the certainty that someone was determined to kill him for something he'd done as a fake psychic. Frustrated at his inability to recall the exact details surrounding the watch linking him to Medina, he vented his feelings by torturing Rigsby about coffee cart man. He was so sick of watching Rigsby sidle up to the question sideways instead of making a bold move to win the woman he loved. Rigsby was free—no one was determined to kill everyone he cared about, so why was he so damn hung up on those ridiculous regulations? He and Van Pelt would be good for each other, if they would just stop tiptoeing around the thing and be honest with each other.
There was a reckoning to be paid with Grace afterward, however. He apologized—perhaps he had gone a tad over the line—but couldn't resist the urge to continue sticking his oar in. Grace ignored him, but eventually agreed to let him meet coffee cart man, possibly as a sop to get him to shut up.
Then to really round out the evening on a stellar note, he had to go and pass out in the bullpen.
When he woke, Lisbon was kneeling on the floor by his side, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, measuring his heart rate. Grace, just behind her, asked anxiously, "Is he going to be all right?"
"He's gonna be fine," Lisbon said calmly, but the tension in her touch betrayed her worry.
"I'm all right," Jane croaked from the floor. He attempted to sit up, but Lisbon's hand on his shoulder forced him to lie still.
"Don't move," she ordered. "The paramedics are on their way."
"Oh, Lisbon, really?" he whined. "I don't need paramedics. I just had a little dizzy spell, that's all."
"Hush," Lisbon said, but she relaxed slightly at this evidence that he was acting like just as much of a pain in the ass as usual. "Did you hit your head?" Her fingers moved through his hair, gently tracing the contours of his scalp, apparently in search of injury.
"I—I don't think so," he said, a little dazed. Jane knew perfectly well that he hadn't hit his head, but he wasn't about to say anything that hastened her removing her fingers from their current location. He knew he was blind, but he closed his eyes anyway, luxuriating in the feel of her fingers in his hair.
He heard the elevator ding, and Lisbon's hands fell from his hair. The paramedics had arrived. "Over here!" she called. "He's over here."
Jane sighed. Just his luck.
He tolerated the paramedics' attentions with an ill grace, reflecting sourly that he would have much preferred to receive more of Lisbon's attentions than theirs.
Lisbon tried to make him go back to the hospital, but there was no way he was going anyplace with such terrible tea. Even Rigsby's tea was better.
When he resisted, she appealed to Minelli, trying to get him to order Jane to go back to the hospital. Minelli took his side, however, claiming that they could protect him better at the CBI, 'at less expense.' He left with an aside to Lisbon, advising her that if Jane did die, she should move his body to a public area so he wouldn't be stuck with an undue quantity of paperwork.
Lisbon, frustrated and worried, tried to get Jane to rest, but he insisted on sitting in on the briefing he knew the team was supposed to have in a few minutes. He didn't want to miss anything.
What he ended up not missing was more reminders of what a complete waste of a human being he'd been back in his psychic days. Carol Gentry, dead by her own hand, most likely because of what he'd told her about her mother. Paul Krager and Jill Lamont's marriage destroyed as a result of his 'reading' on the watch Lamont had brought to him.
He was getting depressed again.
When the briefing was over, Lisbon took him back to his couch and made him lie down. "Are you sure you want to stay here tonight? I can take you home."
He didn't want Lisbon to see the place he stayed when he wasn't at the CBI. "This is fine," he said firmly. "I'll sleep better here." This much, at least, was true.
"All right," she said reluctantly.
He gave her a cheeky grin. "Are you going to tuck me in?"
Lisbon muttered something under her breath that he personally wouldn't repeat in polite company, but she draped his blue blanket over him nonetheless. Jane snuggled down into his couch, feeling much better.
He felt Lisbon's eyes on him, no doubt still full of worry. "Maybe I should stay, too. Make sure you're safe."
"Good idea," Jane said, yawning a little. "You can keep me supplied with fresh tea."
He felt her worry turn into a glare. "I'm serious. Somebody is after you. You need protection."
"Teresa, go home," he said sleepily. "This building is full of cameras and people with guns. I'm perfectly safe. Go home and get some rest. You can protect me tomorrow."
"Fine," she said grudgingly. "But if you die, I'm making Rigsby and Cho be the ones to move your body."
"Okay, so long as they don't wake me," Jane joked.
He didn't need to see her to know she was rolling her eyes. "Very funny. I'm going home now."
He heard her straighten up and called out to stop her. "Hey, Lisbon?"
She paused. "Yeah?"
He smiled into his couch cushion. "You look good in red."
He heard her jaw fall open. "How did you—?" She shook her head. "You know what? I don't want to know."
His smile widened. "Good night."
She squeezed his shoulder this time. "Sleep well, Jane."
Surprisingly, he did.
Xxx
He woke early the next morning. He managed to make his way down to the CBI locker rooms with his overnight bag and showered without incident. He even managed to shave by feel, though he did end up with one or two more cuts than usual.
Lisbon accosted him outside her office when he got back to the bullpen. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded. She sounded upset. He blinked into the darkness, taken aback. What had he done now?
"Around," he said, listening intently for clues as to what had set her off. Her breathing was accelerated, each breath ending in a little huff. She was stressed.
"Jane, someone is trying to kill you," she said, her voice tight. "You can't just wander off like you always do. It's too easy for someone to get the drop on you when you can't see them coming."
She'd been worried about him, he realized. His heart warmed at the thought. For now, though, he wanted to put her at ease. "Lisbon, would you relax?" He propped his cane up on a wall and took her hands in his. "I'm perfectly safe. I just wanted to clean myself up a bit, that's all. I didn't even leave the building."
She exhaled. "Oh," she said lamely. "Okay."
He grinned. "You were worried about me?"
"What? No," she said, yanking her hands away from him.
"Yes, you were," he said, still smiling.
"Fine, yes, I was worried, okay?" she said irritably. "You're in danger. I don't want you wandering off without one of us along to keep an eye on you."
"Very well." He could think of worse ways to pass the time than by sticking to Lisbon like glue. "What's on the agenda for today?"
"I'm going to head over to Lynch-Halstead and see if I can find out anything else about Krager."
"Good idea. I'll come, too," Jane said, picking up his stick again.
"You're not going," Lisbon said.
Jane's face fell. Days in the bullpen were so monotonous when Lisbon wasn't around to pester. "Why not? You were fine with me coming with you to talk to Medina's wife yesterday."
"That was before you passed out in the bullpen. The doctor said you needed to rest."
"I'm rested," Jane protested. "I rested all night."
"Rest some more," she said, unmoved.
"But you need my help," Jane said, disgruntled.
"Cho will go with me. I'm sure we'll manage," Lisbon said dryly.
Jane sighed. "Fine. I suppose I could go down to that tea shop on 18th and finally get a decent cup of tea while you're gone." His stomach growled. "And maybe a scone. I'm starved."
Lisbon shook her head. "I don't want you to leave the building."
"What about my tea?" he said pathetically.
"Have Rigsby make you a cup."
Jane groaned. "Are you trying to torture me, woman?"
"Cheer up," she said. "I brought you a blueberry muffin for breakfast."
Jane perked up. "Really?"
"It's waiting for you on your couch," she confirmed.
At least the morning wouldn't be a total loss.
Xxx
When Cho and Lisbon returned from Lynch-Halstead, they told him Medina had been the one to fire Paul Krager. Based on this information, it seemed certain that Krager was the link between him and Medina. At this point, it was mostly a matter of running the man down.
Jane hated it when cases ended in this sort of anti-climactic 'boots hitting the pavement' police work. It was such a let down. Still, he supposed it would be nice to be assured that the man that wanted to kill him was safely behind bars. And it wasn't like he could really let loose the full range of his creativity on the suspect while he was still unable to see. Jane settled himself on his couch and listened to the bustle of activity around him.
The team spent the afternoon compiling research on Krager. Once they'd gathered the facts they needed, Lisbon informed them that she and Cho were going to go out and follow some leads.
She addressed Jane, still lying on the couch. "You, stay right there." To Grace and Rigsby, she said in her 'I'm the boss and if you defy me you will regret it' voice, "Nobody take him anywhere. No excitement whatsoever. Clear?"
"Clear, boss," Van Pelt and Rigsby answered in chorus.
Jane suppressed a sigh. There went his evening. No way he was going to be able to escape to get his tea now.
Xxx
A soft voice was calling his name.
Jane started awake, disoriented.
Van Pelt's voice was apologetic. "Sorry. I didn't know if I should wake you."
Jane shook the cobwebs from his head. "I'm awake."
"You said you wanted to meet the man I've been dating."
Jane sat up. "Yes, I did. Is he coming?"
A smile in Van Pelt's voice. "He's here."
"Here?" Jane felt a prickle of foreboding. If there was a third person in the room with them, why wasn't that person making any noise? "Here now?" Not even a rustle of clothing. It wasn't natural.
"Yes."
"Right here." A man's voice. One too eager to meet a total stranger. "Dan Hollenbeck, sir."
Jane reached out, offering his hand to the stranger. The man's grip was too hard. His hands too rough for a lawyer. And he smelled all wrong. "It's a real pleasure to meet you." His pulse was elevated—he was excited, anticipating something positive, but full of nervous tension at the same time. A chemical scent reached his nose. One that Jane had smelled before. Namely, outside a van, just before being blown up. "Grace has told me so much about you." The nervousness wasn't due to pre-date nerves. These were more 'my-grand-murderous-plot-is-about-to-come-to-fruition' nerves. Jane didn't know who this man was or why the man had decided to kill him, but he knew with absolute certainty that this was the bomber.
"Good to meet you, too, Dan," Jane said, his mind whirring. He needed to stall for time.
"I hope you don't mind my asking," Hollenbeck said. "But are you-?"
"Blind? Yes," Jane confirmed. Knowing of his handicap would make Hollenbeck relax, lower his guard. Jane could exploit that to prevent anybody else from being killed, he hoped. "As a bat."
"Temporarily," Van Pelt said, a smile still in her voice. "Think positive."
Poor, sweet Van Pelt. Why had Hollenbeck dragged her into this mess? He couldn't possibly have a vendetta against her, too. "Yes, positive," Jane echoed. "That's right." Well, there was one positive he could think of. Rigsby was still on duty, and if he saw Van Pelt threatened by this twerp in an Italian suit, he would rip the man in two. He kept his tone casual. "So, Van Pelt. Where is Rigsby, exactly?"
"I don't know. Probably out getting pizza, if I know Rigsby," Van Pelt said. "Do you need him for something?"
Jane's mind worked rapidly. "Lisbon? Cho?" The need for backup in this delicate situation pressed in on him with urgency.
"Still chasing down Paul Krager. There's nobody here but us."
Jane's heart sank. "Of course." He changed tacks. He needed to go on the attack. "So, Dan. Quite the hard grip you have there. Working man's hands. And a faint scent of chemicals, but an expensive Italian suit. That's interesting."
"Dan's a lawyer," Van Pelt informed him.
"A very junior lawyer," Hollenbeck put in, oozing false modesty. "I lobby the state senate."
"But you're good with your hands," Jane pressed. "You're good at building things. As a hobby, maybe."
"I guess."
"What sort of things do you build, as a hobby?"
"You know. Stuff." Hollenbeck evaded the question, a smirk in his voice. He was enjoying this. He betrayed no sign of anxiety that they might be interrupted. He must have incapacitated Rigsby somehow.
Jane probed delicately, still stalling for time. If he could get to the next room, he could call for help before Hollenbeck decided to wring Van Pelt's lovely neck for whatever it was that Jane had done to him. "Well, I'm hungry," he announced, getting to his feet and reaching for his cane. "I guess I'll get myself something to eat."
"Don't be silly," Van Pelt said. "I'll get you something."
Jane cursed her kind nature. "No, that's okay," he insisted. "I can manage."
Before he could take another step, Hollenbeck was there, his breath hot on his neck. "You think I'm dumb?" he said in a vicious whisper. "Make the wrong move and I'll shoot her in the head."
"I hear you," Jane said.
"What are you guys whispering about?" Van Pelt asked from the other side of the room.
"Nothing," Jane said. He paused. "Some chips would be nice."
"What kind?"
The kind that would get her safely out of Hollenbeck's reach. Jane shrugged. "I'm easy."
Van Pelt's phone rang. It was Lisbon. Jane couldn't hear the conversation, but at the end of it, he surmised that Van Pelt had learned Hollenbeck's identity—he must be related to Paul Krager, Jane realized—and Hollenbeck had Van Pelt at gun point.
"I'm sorry I had to lie to you, Grace. Truly. But I needed you."
Van Pelt's voice was level and full of venom. "Why?"
The answer clicked into place in Jane's mind. "To access the state house lot. He used your security pass."
"You son of a bitch," Van Pelt seethed, and Jane felt cheered. A pissed off Van Pelt was a worthy ally. Okay, yes, Hollenbeck had a gun on them and Jane couldn't see, but it was still two against one.
Jane advised Van Pelt to stay cool, to do as the man with the gun said. Far better if he kept Hollenbeck's ire focused on him and him alone.
It worked. Hollenbeck ranted for a few minutes about how Jane had ruined his life, while Jane desperately tried to think of a way to get them out of this.
Hollenbeck ordered Van Pelt to cuff herself and Jane to drop the cane. The gun dug into Jane's back. He put his hand on Van Pelt's shoulder as directed and allowed himself to be frog marched out of the bullpen. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"Someplace quiet and private," Hollenbeck answered, his voice full of malice. "You won't like it."
They went down the elevator and crossed the deserted lobby. Jane bumped into the door as he passed through it.
He heard a noise. A footstep and a clinking chain. "Tommy?" he said, hope surging. "You're still here."
"Hey, Mr. Jane," Tommy's cheerful voice greeted him. "Just locking up. You folks need anything?"
"Ah—" Jane gambled everything on one move. He brought his elbow back as hard as he could into Hollenbeck's gut. "Run, Grace!"
He held onto Van Pelt's shoulder as she sprinted away as best she could with the cuffs behind her back. The sound of gunshots echoed behind them. Jane hoped Tommy was okay, and better yet, that he'd put a bullet in the bastard, but there was no way to tell for now. They had to keep running.
A grunt of pain, and the sound of a body slumping to the ground. Then silence. Footsteps followed the silence, and that was how Jane knew Tommy had been hit. If he'd been the victor, he would have called out to them. He and Grace were on their own.
He and Van Pelt ducked behind a car, and he persuaded her to give him her keys.
"But I can't drive," Van Pelt protested.
"We'll manage," Jane said firmly.
They made their way to Van Pelt's car. Jane wondered if this was the worse plan he'd ever come up with. But they had no choice—this was the only way his panic-addled brain could think of that ended with them surviving the night.
It turned out that driving while blind wasn't as easy as Jane had anticipated. He'd thought he'd be able to read the cues from Van Pelt's voice as a supplement to her directions, but there was a lag somewhere along the line that resulted in him bumping into what felt like half the vehicles in the parking lot. Plus, the gunshots being fired in their direction were fairly distracting. If only she hadn't been cuffed behind the back, he thought with frustration. He was sure he could have managed fine if she could have put her hand on his shoulder so he could read the tension in her reactions and maneuver accordingly. Of course, this was a moot point, since if she hadn't been cuffed, she probably wouldn't have agreed to get in the car with a blind chauffeur in the first place.
This was the last thought he had before he crashed the car into another vehicle with a sickening crunch. He hurried to put the car in reverse, acutely conscious of the gunfire growing nearer with each passing second.
Another shot, and the window shattered. Jane put the car in reverse and slammed his foot on the gas. They shot backwards, crashing into another car behind them. The Jeep sputtered and died. Jane desperately turned the key in the ignition again and again, flooding the engine. It wouldn't start.
"Jane!" Van Pelt screamed. Hollenbeck had caught up with them at last. Jane's heart beat a frantic rhythm against the inside of his ribcage. He prayed to a God he didn't believe in. Please, he begged the universe. Let Hollenbeck shoot him let Grace go.
A shot rang out, but Jane didn't die. That was strange. His heart lurched. Surely Van Pelt hadn't—
"Oh," Grace breathed. "Oh, thank God."
Jane clutched the steering wheel. "What happened?" he said, his voice on edge. "Did something good happen?"
Then the sound of Lisbon's beautiful, wonderful annoyed voice reached his ears. "Didn't I say no excitement of any kind?" she demanded.
Jane slumped against the steering wheel in relief.
Lisbon uncuffed Van Pelt, and Van Pelt rushed off to check on Rigsby. Cho had arrived on the scene by then and was dealing with calling the paramedics for Tommy and Hollenbeck.
Lisbon came around to the driver's side and helped Jane out of the car. Jane, shaky with relief, reached out and gathered her to him in an adrenaline-fueled embrace. "You're here," he said, dazed. He clutched her to him.
Lisbon patted him on the back. To his surprise, she hugged him back. But then, he remembered, she would, if she thought he needed it. Which he did.
"Van Pelt sounded weird on the phone," she explained. "And Krager had a picture of his son on the wall. I recognized him—I saw him getting coffee with Van Pelt on my way in the other day."
She was breathing heavily. He held her closer. "Did you run here?"
"I heard the shots as soon as I got to the parking lot. And seriously, Jane? Driving a car blind? That was your brilliant escape plan?"
He huffed a laugh into her neck and let her go. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
"You destroyed half the cars in the parking lot and nearly got Van Pelt and yourself killed."
"Meh," Jane said. "Bought us time until the cavalry arrived, didn't it?"
She took his hand in hers. "Come on," she said, guiding him away from the car. "Paramedics are on their way. Let's get you checked out."
Xxx
It took some doing, but he managed to persuade the paramedics and more importantly, Lisbon, that he didn't need to go back to the hospital.
Even after he managed this feat, Lisbon still hovered, watching over him anxiously. Realizing that she had no intention of leaving him alone anytime soon, he set about convincing her to order Thai food for dinner and share it with him on his couch. He was starving, and he'd be willing to bet she hadn't eaten either.
She agreed, and before long, they were happily ensconced on his couch, fighting over the spring rolls and tucking away pad see ew and green curry. Having determined to her satisfaction that Rigsby was fine and Jane hadn't hit his head again, Lisbon relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the meal, teasing him some more about his ill-fated joy ride around the parking lot.
Though Jane took exception to the term 'joy ride' in this particular context, he let her have her fun. He was too happy to have her there beside him to mind a little teasing. Being in the dark wasn't so bad as long as you had pleasant company and nobody was trying to kill you.
He turned towards her, the bandages still over his eyes. He wished he could see her face. Some of his anxiety about the blindness returned. "What color shirt are you wearing, Lisbon?" he asked abruptly.
It shouldn't be possible to hear someone roll their eyes, but he would have sworn that he did. "Again with the shirt," she huffed. "What the hell does it matter?"
He made a discontented hm-ing noise. Lisbon was the most attractive element of his daily scenery. The thought of being robbed of the sight of her beautiful green eyes, of her crooked, mischievous smile filled him with resentment. God dammed Hollenbeck. What if he never saw her smile again?
He'd have to maintain his memory palace meticulously, so he wouldn't forget what her eyes looked like when they were worried for him, or how they flashed when she was angry at him. If he never saw again, he'd embroider copies of those images with his imagination every time she fretted or yelled at him, so that he'd have new memories to add to his collection. He shrugged, feigning indifference. "Just trying to visualize my surroundings, that's all."
There was a silence. Lisbon, no doubt, was biting back a retort reminding him that they were alone in the bullpen, on his couch, a place he was so intimately familiar with he could no doubt recite every damn detail of his surroundings with his eyes closed. "Green," she said finally.
He smiled a little wistfully. "You look good in green." He filed away the image of her brilliant eyes set off by a fabric of the same color for future reference.
He felt her skin warm up next to him again. "Hush," she said, jostling him in the ribs with her elbow.
He rubbed his side theatrically. "Learn to take a compliment, woman."
She started to gather up the remnants of their take-out containers. "I'd better get going."
Damn. Note to self, he thought. Compliments were guaranteed to make Lisbon run from the room. He'd have to be much more devious about slipping them into conversation in the future.
He heard her dump the containers in the garbage, then return to stand in front of him. "You gonna be all right here tonight?"
"Yes, Lisbon," he said, resisting the impulse to ask her to stay.
"The vision thing is temporary, Jane," she said softly. "By this time tomorrow, you're going to be annoying me with a running commentary about every little thing you see. I know it."
"I hope you're right about that," he said. "Though if you are, you'll probably complain about it."
"This once, I'll suffer in silence," she promised. "Take care, okay?"
They bade each other good night, and she left.
xxx
The warmth of the sun on his couch woke Jane the next morning. He sat up, nervous anxiety flooding his system. The doctor had said forty-eight to seventy-two hours. They were just about coming up on that now, as near as he could tell. If she was right, his sight should have returned by now. He pressed his palms onto the knees of his trousers, gathering his courage. He heard soft footsteps in the distance, but he ignored them.
He tossed the sunglasses to the side and reached for the first bandage. He peeled it off slowly. He kept his eye squeezed tightly shut and peeled off the second one. He exhaled slowly and blinked.
Light. He could see light. Also muted colors and a fuzzy shape, moving towards him. A familiar fuzzy shape about five foot two, with dark hair and pale skin.
He blinked, and the image cleared. Lisbon. Her eyes worried, her mouth softly parted. In that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. A smile broke out over his face. His favorite object of study would not be denied to him after all. He wouldn't have to imagine. He'd get to examine every flicker of emotion that passed through those expressive green eyes, to bask in the glow of every glorious smile she bestowed upon him. His face broke into a smile.
She walked closer to him, smiling in response. Her happiness for him was evident. His heart thumped a little at the sight.
His smile widened. "You have no notion of how good it is to see your face…Rigsby."
Her face fell. "Rigsby?" she said uncertainly.
Oh, he'd missed the expression she got when she was trying to decide if he was messing with her. He crowed his laughter, pointing at her in a 'gotcha' gesture. She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, reaching out and gently punching him on the shoulder. "Funny."
He grinned.
"Does this mean you've lost your superpowers?" she teased.
"Too early to tell," he said, unruffled. "But I'm optimistic that some vestiges will remain."
"Well?" she said expectantly. "What's the first thing you're going to do to celebrate having your sight back?"
"Excellent question." He sighed in pleasure. "I think later this morning, I'll go for a nice long walk and admire all the spring flowers. But first, I'm going to have a cup of tea. I haven't had a decent one in days." He paused. "Care to join me?"
"All right," she said, clearly indulging him. Lisbon didn't normally care for tea, but apparently she was willing to go along with the idea for his sake, at least for the moment. Jane intended to take ruthless advantage of the grace period.
He jumped up and took her by the arms, sitting her down on his couch. "Stay right there," he said, enormously cheerful. "I'll be right back."
He made the tea, stealing glances at Lisbon, sitting with uncharacteristic patience on his couch, checking her email on her phone while she waited for him.
She was wearing a brown shirt. He wondered if she'd selected it in hopes of thwarting his curiosity about her wardrobe choices with a less than vivid color. Ha. Little did she know she happened to be wearing his favorite kind of shirt…any one that allowed him to steal a peek at her cleavage.
He admired the view as he crossed the room and bent down to deliver her tea.
She put her phone away and accepted the tea. Jane sat down next to her. He took a sip of tea.
He sighed in contentment. Finally.
Next to him, Lisbon took a sip of hers and made a face.
He closed his eyes and breathed in her intoxicating cinnamon scent. A moment later, in the spirit of experimentation, he brushed his thumb against her wrist. He was rewarded by her skin heating against his yet again. He smiled to himself, his eyes still closed.
It seemed his superpowers were here to stay.