A/N: I finished another one! Hurray! Only three more chapters/episodes to go. :)
xxx
Jane hummed Italian opera under his breath as he bustled around Lisbon's office, making preparations. The lovely agent herself was not present at the moment. He wasn't exactly sure where she'd gone, but he wasn't worried. She'd be back soon, if he didn't miss his guess.
He folded two red and white checked cloth napkins and placed them with great ceremony on either side of Lisbon's desk. He eyed her computer, debating whether he should move it out of the way. It would undoubtedly spoil the ambiance he was going for, but he strongly suspected that if he disturbed the set up of her workspace, she would be likely to inflict bodily injury upon his person. Which was really not the outcome he was aiming for on this particular occasion. He settled for moving her keyboard off to the side of her desk, which at least didn't involve unplugging any of the wires.
He set out two plates, two sets of silverware, two plastic cups, and a bottle of excellent Italian wine that Lisbon didn't need to know how much he'd spent on.
He completed the set up by placing a single wax candle in the center of the desk and lighting it with a flourish. It was at that point he became aware he was being observed.
He turned to see Cho standing in the doorway, watching him impassively. "Nice candle," Cho commented.
Jane sensed danger in the offing. "I thought it added to the celebratory mood," he said neutrally.
"Pretty romantic set up. You making a move on the boss?" Cho didn't sound particularly interested in the answer. The object of this interrogation was to give Jane a hard time.
"It's hardly romantic," Jane protested. "Her computer is right there. This is just a friendly working dinner, that's all."
"Uh-huh," Cho said, unimpressed.
Jane felt the need to justify himself. "You know how she is. Forgets to eat properly half the time. I'm worried she might get scurvy. And I have extra red sauce, made from vine-ripened tomatoes. Tomatoes have lots of vitamin C, you know."
"I see you're not saving any for the rest of us," Cho commented.
"Well, there's only a little left, and it is her birthday," Jane said. "Every woman deserves to have a fuss made over her on her birthday."
Cho folded his arms across his chest. "Her birthday was three days ago."
"We had a case," Jane pointed out. "You know she'd never take time out for herself when there was a murder to be solved."
"And you didn't want to risk her appreciation of your fuss being interrupted," Cho surmised. "I get it."
"That's…hardly the point," Jane said feebly.
"I think I've got it pretty straight. For the boss's birthday, you bought her a pony, cooked for her, and set up an elaborate picnic in her office," Cho summarized. "On my birthday, you gave me a book of short stories and told me not to read them all in one place."
"It was an anthology," Jane protested.
Cho looked at the desk. "All I'm saying is, I think the candlelight speaks for itself."
"Point taken," Jane said. "Next year, I'll bake you a soufflé and set up a bonfire of candles around your desk for your birthday."
"Great," Cho said. "I don't want a pony, though."
"A pony would be all wrong for you," Jane agreed. "And I already know you aren't a fan of goats." He tapped his index finger against his lips. "I see you as much more of a llama man, myself."
"If you bring me anything that shits in the bullpen, you're the one cleaning it up," Cho said, and turned to leave.
He nearly bumped into Lisbon, who had just returned from her mysterious errand. "Hey," she greeted him, casting a curious look between the two of them. "What are you guys talking about?"
"Jane's worried you might have scurvy," Cho said, mercifully refraining from offering further comment on the subject of candlelight.
Her brow crinkled in adorable confusion. "Scurvy?"
"Ask him," Cho said, jerking his head in Jane's direction, and left.
"Where have you been?" Jane asked her, crossing the room to help her off with her jacket. "Slacking off now that the case is closed, Agent Lisbon?"
She let him help her off with her jacket, but he could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Thanks to you, I had to spend all afternoon figuring out where to put a pony on short notice."
"Where'd you put it?" Jane asked curiously. He resisted the urge to brush his fingers through her soft hair. Instead, he folded the jacket neatly and placed it on the back of the chair by the table next to the door.
She stuck her chin out. "I'm not telling." No doubt she was pleased to seize the opportunity to keep him guessing for once.
Ah, well. It was her birthday. He might as well indulge her, just this once. "Well, I'm glad you're back. You're just in time." He gestured to the spread on the desk.
She looked, taking in the plates, the napkins, and the candlelight. Her eyebrows narrowed. "What are you up to now?"
"So suspicious," he chided her. He put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to her desk chair. He pulled it out for her with a flourish. "Dinner is served, milady."
"Seriously," Lisbon said, allowing him to hold her chair for her as she took a seat. "What did you do?"
He rolled his eyes and returned to the opposite side of the desk, reaching for the stack of Tupperware he'd arranged in a neat tower. "This isn't a guilt dinner, to make up for something bad I did. It's a birthday dinner. Purely to celebrate your presence on this earth, my dear." He opened all but the last one, which he made a show of hiding from her beneath his side of the desk. She played along, craning her neck to try to see what was inside it, but she didn't ask about its contents.
"And to prevent me from getting scurvy, I take it?" she said, watching him plate pasta with red sauce, then salad, topped off with grilled asparagus and, of course, garlic bread.
"Exactly," he said, pouring her a glass of wine. "I wanted to get a nutritious meal into you for once, so I decided to cook one for you."
"You're feeding me leftovers of a meal you cooked for a murderer," Lisbon said, amused. "I'm not sure that counts as 'cooking for me.'"
"Meh," Jane said dismissively, taking a seat opposite her and pouring a glass of wine for himself. "It's the thought that counts."
She surveyed the bounty before her. "It does look good," she admitted.
He grinned and raised his glass to her. "Bon appetit," he said. "And happy birthday."
She clinked her glass with his. "Thanks, Jane. You really didn't have to do this, you know."
He shrugged. "I wanted to."
"You already got me a pony," she protested. "It's too much."
"Nonsense. It's your birthday. It's just enough."
She bit her lip. "Thank you," she said softly. "This is very sweet of you."
"That's me," Jane said, trying not to be distracted by the sight of her teeth cutting into that soft lower lip. "Mr. Toothache."
She raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Toothache?"
"It sounded better in my head," he admitted.
"I think Mr. Headache would be more appropriate, most days," she teased.
"Only most days?" he said, absurdly pleased.
"Well, you are feeding me," she said, gesturing to her plate. "And you bought me a pony. So today you can be Mr. Toothache, if you like."
"Speaking of feeding you," Jane said, nodding at the plate in question. "Are you going to try that red sauce, or not?"
She obligingly took a bite. "Mm," she said appreciatively. "Delicious."
"A few more bites of that, and you will officially be safe from scurvy," Jane said, satisfied.
"What a relief," she said dryly, and took a bite of the asparagus.
"Not a bad wrap up to the case, eh?" Jane said, watching her enjoy her meal.
"Pissing off a mob boss and threatening to sic him on a woman in witness protection? That's your idea of 'not a bad wrap up?'" Lisbon said, exasperated.
"Meh. All's well that ends well. And she was a murderer, so she deserved to be scared a bit."
"I'm glad Knox is okay, at least," Lisbon said, taking another bite of her pasta. "That's got to be rough for Exley, though. Losing his partner like that."
"You handled him more gently than I would have," Jane said, thinking of Lisbon, calm in the face of the raging marshal.
"You hugged him," she reminded him, shoveling in another bite of pasta.
"Oh, that," Jane said dismissively. "I put a frog in his pocket."
Lisbon stopped eating and looked up. "A frog? As in, a live one?"
"Just a small one," Jane said modestly.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Lisbon demanded.
Jane shrugged. "He was rude to you."
"He apologized!"
"Yes. Therefore, all that was necessary to put in his pocket was a tiny, adorable little frog." Jane hadn't been pleased with the way the marshal had treated Lisbon, but he did feel for the man. Pining for his partner, knowing that it could never be. He tried to put himself in the other man's shoes. What if it had been Lisbon? What if he found out she was sleeping with an ex-criminal she was supposed to be protecting? What if the man's wife found out and tried to stage her death as a suicide? What if Lisbon was the one lying in the hospital, stripped of her badge, her future uncertain? He stopped breathing.
No. He dismissed the thought. Lisbon would never do that. It was unthinkable.
The woman in question looked at him, torn between amusement and exasperation. "A frog? Seriously? Can't you ever just forgive and forget?"
"Not really my style," he said, taking a bite of his own pasta.
"No kidding." She bit into the garlic bread. "Speaking of forgiveness… you're sure Sonny Battaglia isn't going to come after you for screwing with him like that, right?"
He grinned. "Aw, Lisbon, you're worried for me?"
"Of course I'm worried. You deliberately provoke a violent criminal!"
"Don't worry. I sent him a new set of golf sticks and included a note that Gina had been arrested for Russo's murder."
She raised her eyebrows. "Did that note include an apology, by any chance?"
Jane looked skyward. "Not in so many words."
"Not in any words, you mean," Lisbon interpreted.
"He's a mob boss! He's got his golf and his Italian opera to keep him busy. He won't bother with the likes of me for the sake of a couple of prank phone calls," Jane said, rolling his eyes.
"I hope you're right," Lisbon said doubtfully.
He smiled at her. "Bet you five bucks he won't come after me."
"What good would that do me?" Lisbon asked, unimpressed. "If he kills you, that hardly puts me in a position to collect."
"I'll put it in my will," Jane promised. "'In the event of my death being caused by one Sonny Battaglia, please award five dollars of my estate to Teresa Lisbon.'"
"That will be a great comfort to me, I'm sure," Lisbon said dryly, but beneath the sarcasm, she sounded troubled.
"Hey." He reached out and touched the back of her hand. "He's not going to come after me. I know how far I can push a man like that. I wound him up, yes. But I was careful not to tread too close to the line."
"You're never careful," Lisbon said, but she seemed reassured.
"I'm very careful." He reached for the box under the desk. "Especially with mob bosses…and dessert."
Her brow crinkled in confusion. "Dessert?"
He whipped the box out from under the desk. "Why, Lisbon, I thought you'd never ask." He pulled the lid back so she could see its contents.
She peered inside. "Tiramisu?"
"Homemade by Anton at Castelli's," Jane confirmed.
She bit her lip in pleasure. "Castelli's is the best."
He produced two spoons and handed her one, placing the tiramisu between them on the desk. "Really, Lisbon? After tasting my red sauce, you still think Castelli's is the best?"
"I'll never betray Anton," she said loyally, taking a bite. She paused. "Hang on. There's a piece of paper taped to the lid."
"Must be a receipt," Jane said idly, taking a bite for himself. "Mind putting it in the recycling for me?"
Lisbon pulled the tape off and smoothed out the piece of paper, glancing at it before reaching under her desk to pull out her recycling bin. Then she froze. "Jane," she said, her voice a warning.
Jane took another bite of tiramisu. "Yes, my dear?"
"This isn't a receipt for Castelli's," she said. "It's a bill of sale for a pony."
Jane feigned ignorance. "Is it? How do you suppose that got in there?"
"I can't imagine," she said dryly.
"Well, I suppose it's for the best that you have a copy," Jane said. "That way you can prove the pony really does belong to you, if anyone should ask. After all, you wouldn't want word getting around that you stole it, would you? Imagine the scandal if that got out. Special Agent Teresa Lisbon, pony thief."
"Pony thief?" she said, amused. "That's what you're going with?"
"Pony theft is a serious crime," Jane said with mock sternness. "I'm sure I read an article about the hidden costs of pony theft just last week. It's not to be taken lightly."
She shook her head and looked at the bill of sale, the price scribbled out in black marker. Then she looked at the order date and did a double take. She looked up at Jane, surprise written on her features. "You ordered this a month and a half ago," she said in wonder.
"I'm not sure if you know this, Lisbon, but it's actually quite difficult to acquire a birthday pony on short notice," he said lightly. "Such things require careful planning." He nudged the tiramisu in her direction. "And even then, sometimes there are a few bumps in the road."
She flushed with pleasure at the revelation that he truly hadn't forgotten, then valiantly tried to hide it by ducking her head and taking a huge bite of tiramisu.
"Thank you, Jane," she said a moment later, softly and quietly. A thousand things beneath two words.
"You're most welcome, my dear," he said, in just the same tone.
He paused. "You're really not going to tell me where you put the pony?"
She grinned and pulled the tiramisu closer to herself. "Nope."
When they finished the tiramisu, Lisbon declared herself ready to call it a night. "Do you need help cleaning this stuff up?" she asked, gesturing to the remnants of their Tupperware picnic.
"No, I've got it," he assured her. "You go on home. Get some rest, birthday girl."
"Okay," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and coming around the desk. "Good night, then." She hesitated. Then to his utter shock, she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and brushed a quick, soft kiss against his cheek. "Thanks, again, Jane," she said, blushing furiously and avoiding his gaze. She scurried out of her office without looking back, apparently desperate to flee the scene of the crime. Possibly to establish grounds for plausible deniability.
After cleaning up, Jane didn't look twice at his own couch. Instead, he headed back to her office and floated over to her couch in a delighted, disbelieving haze. He nestled into the cushions with satisfaction as the delicate scent of cinnamon enveloped him. He didn't even try to tell himself he wasn't going to bother saving that particular moment in his memory palace. He set about the task of committing the heady sensation of that whisper soft kiss against his skin to a room that seemed to have gained rather a lot of square footage since its initial construction. He stretched languorously. He hummed in pleasure, reliving not only the touch of those soft lips, but the sight of her skin glowing in the candlelight, the soft parting of her mouth when she realized he'd remembered all along, the look in her sparkling eyes when she teased him. He touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth, remembering every moment in perfect, exquisite detail. The lingering taste of tiramisu was light and sweet on his tongue.