A/n Out of nowhere here is a brand new multi-chapter Jisbon fic. It is an AU as well which has shocked myself but I had this idea that I had to act on. Coffee shop or "tea shop" AUs aren't exactly original but I hope you enjoy it.

/

The Tea Shop – 1.

It used to be a bar. A small, dive of a place which would entertain young professionals and students, anyone who didn't have the cash to frequent one of the more upmarket establishments a street over. She spent many an evening here in her late twenties with some of the other young detectives but also on her own after a tough case, it is almost a shame to see that it didn't survive the economic crash. Almost. If it weren't for the quaint tea shop which is now in its place.

Teresa Lisbon stands on the street corner and looks up at the beautifully painted sign that has been coloured in greens and blues, thinking to herself about how out of place it seems in this downmarket area of Sacramento. She was only visiting because she wanted to see the places where she used live, feeling both nostalgic and very bored. Life is hardly as exciting as it used to be when she was an officer of the law and although it was only six months ago when she last held her badge, it feels like an awful lot longer. That's the problem with working in law enforcement, it is unpredictable and can be snatched from you in a moment as soon as things go wrong.

She sighs, pulling her focus away from Charlotte's Tea Emporium and down the street where she spots to familiar deep green, fluorescent sign that must belong to a Starbucks. She isn't a tea drinker, coffee being much more her taste and she isn't sure whether this quirky café will be able to quench her needs but the dull ache in her leg tells her that the two-hundred-yard walk will be a struggle. So after shaking her head, she pushes open the front door, being greeted by the sound of the bell above it chiming chirpily.

Last year she visited a tea shop in Morocco with her partner. It was buzzy, teeming with locals who always greeted her with a smile whereas her partner would receive looks of jealousy. They enjoyed their tea though, amongst the busyness and it got them out of the scorching sun for the afternoon. It was that night they then got engaged, sitting on a stone wall looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. They said that they will be back on their honeymoon, whenever that will be, including a visit to the tea shop. The only resemblance that this one shares is the slight geometric print on the blue cushions which litter the various bits of furniture. Other than that, it is very different.

It is open yet cosy at the same time with dark oak floors matching the wooden furniture where no two pieces appear to be the same. There are a variety of cushions and throws all in different shades of blue that she could probably pick out of the sign above the front door, some with gold edges and tassels, giving it an almost regal theme. Three of the walls are painted an oyster grey-blue, it is very pale and mirrors the natural light that streams through the windows between the charming blinds. The fourth wall which is behind the impressive counter is exposed grey brick, decorated with shelves containing pots of tea and countless hanging plants. The amount of plant-life flowing throughout gives a kind of outdoorsy feel and fills her lungs with fresh oxygen. It is very pleasant in here to say the least. "Franklin, you're going to be late for school." A commanding yet soft tone pulls her from her daydream and her eyes are drawn to the owner of the voice who is stood behind the counter, a crease in his brow as he calls through a curtain behind him. "You can finish that later."

The man looks to be in his late forties, probably around her own age but if his gleaming white smile and healthy aura are anything to go by, life has treated him much better than it has treated her. He has a mop of bouncy blonde curls; the same blonde is growing along his jawline and his eyes are the most extraordinary shade of blue green that she has ever seen. She wonders for a second if the colour scheme inspiration for this place came from staring at them in the mirror. "Frank-"

Teresa isn't sure who she was expecting to pop up from behind the curtain, maybe a clear relation to the man stood calling his name but who actually comes is a young fella, probably around twenty years old, of a Latin America descent. "Is it okay if I study here with my friends later, Mr Jane?" Franklin asks whilst shrugging the straps to his backpack onto his shoulders.

"Of course it is! In fact, I insist." The older man who she now knows as Mr Jane says with a large grin, holding out an apple to his friend. "And how many times? Call me Patrick." Patrick Jane.

Her mother used to say that there were two types of people in this world, those who dance through it and those who do not. Teresa has never been much of a dancer. Whilst her friends at primary school did ballet, she played softball, at various proms and nights out she would wait at the edge, watching as everyone else danced their nights away. One look at Patrick Jane in his smart dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, pressed vest, and his care-free attitude, she can tell that he is one of life's dancers. "Can I help you?" His voice breaks through her thoughts, and she is nervously tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, a pinkish hue painting her cheeks.

"Sorry." She apologises, averting her gaze to her boot clad feet, feeling embarrassed to have been caught staring. "I don't suppose you do coffee." Jane laughs at this, but it isn't derisive. It is warm, full of life and joy that has her embarrassment trickling away being replaced by curiosity. "I didn't realise I was so amusing." She declares, almost accusingly.

"We don't get many people come in here asking for coffee." He explains, the wide grin still very much present on his face. There is also a glimmer of something in his eye, something more than amusement. There is something about her which definitely interests him but not in a strange way. "I can do coffee though." He gives her the answer she wants and now she can mirror his smile. "Find a seat, take a load off your leg. I will bring it over." And before she can express her mystification, he has disappeared behind the curtain. How did he know about her leg? Patrick Jane. That name…

She casts a glance around the establishment, at the gaggles of older women gassing, two gentlemen playing chess at the far end of the room and a group of what looks to be students with piles of closed books on the table and cards in their hands. It really is an eclectic mix. Teresa eyes an empty table in the corner near the door, her attention drawn by the white orchid in the centre. Her mother loved orchids. They're very difficult to care for but it, like every plant in this place, seems very lush and healthy, a complete juxtaposition to the sandiness outside. Sacramento is hardly known for its green spaces, but she swears it used to be greener – a sad reality for most of America.

When she worked here, she thought that she would never leave. After spending too much of her life not feeling at home, she started to make a life for herself here. She was climbing the ranks, made some dear friends and she had her routines. The crappy studio apartment she rented above the laundromat on this very street was enough for her because she got her thrills from her work, all her energy was focussed on that which is why her calling to join the FBI perhaps shouldn't have been unexpected. It was a reward for her hard work, she was told, and although walking away from Sacramento was hard, she had earnt it. Now, she is back, and her partner suggests that they could possibly lay down their roots here. Get a house. Start a family. It is a nice idea, of course it is, and she is grateful that Marcus wishes to remain in California rather than chase down job offers further afield, but she is still finding not working hard. She is hoping that this trip gives her the nudge she needs to move forward with her life, with their lives. "Here you go." A grey mug of steaming black coffee is slid before her and the scent immediately greets her like a reassuring hug. "Let me guess, you would like milk?" He realises and she nods.

"And sugar."

"And sugar?!" Patrick acts mock offended with his larger-than-life persona, the kind of persona that would generally irk her but there is nothing irksome about him. Perhaps it is the boredom of the past six months, it has mellowed her. "You are lucky Franklin is no longer here. He would be giving you a lecture about how to take your coffee. I will get you your milk and sugar."

When her plane landed early afternoon, she had no idea what her trip would really entail never mind her day. Venturing out straight after checking into her hotel certainly was not her original plan, but people's messages of "I hope you are resting" just spurred her on. She isn't an invalid. She may no longer be Special Agent Teresa Lisbon, but just because she has lost her fancy title, doesn't mean she has lost a part of who she is. One accident doesn't erase over two decades of police service… does it?

She didn't have to retire. They would have given her a desk job if she wanted it, but it isn't why she signed up and she would miss the thrill of the chase too much. It is better this way. She has a decent pension and was given a hefty settlement for the incident that rendered her unfit for field duty. It doesn't really make up for it, but it is better than nothing. She hadn't touched the money until last week when she decided to make this last-minute trip. All the sitting around had begun to drive her crazy and she does have some friends out here she can visit. Plus, she had to get out of L.A., it is a very odd place at the best of times, and she hasn't enjoyed feeling stuck there.

Patrick reappears with a small jug of milk and a dish of sugar, both grey matching her hot mug. "Milk and sugar." He unnecessarily announces, his gold wedding band gleaming in her eyeline. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised that this charmer is married. A man this enchanting probably has a long line of suitors, it is probably the second or even third wedding ring he has donned. "It is a Venezuelan dark roasted blend." He indicates to the dark liquid in her cup, and she hums. "Can I get you anything else?"

"How did you know about my leg?" She can't help but ask, it has been playing on her mind for the past few minutes and patience is something she has appeared to have lost since her accident. Months of bedrest does that to a person.

"You lean a little when you stand, putting more weight on your left foot and you were limping slightly when you came in." His candour is somewhat a surprise, she wasn't expecting him to be so honest and blunt, but she appreciates it.

"I didn't realise you saw me come in."

"How could I not?" He retorts and although the question has flirtatious undertones, there is no smirk or cheekiness in sight. It is like it is obvious. "I hope that me bringing it up hasn't upset you."

"No, it hasn't… I guess it is part of my life now." On sensing herself drift she clears her throat, in attempt to draw her focus back to the present. She daydreams a lot. Much more than she used to. This could be a result of her brain injury… but she couldn't say for sure. Life did seem a lot easier beforehand though. "It has been a long time since I have been around here, too long. When did you open?"

"Almost five years ago." He replies. "It was slow going at first, but business is pretty good now. Are you here for long?"

"Two weeks for now, but maybe permanently in the future."

"Well perhaps next time I can tempt you with some tea." Next time. Another customer, one of the old dears sat at a large table near the counter, calls his name and waves him over. "Excuse me." He says to Teresa before leaving her to her coffee.

I didn't realise you saw me come in.

How could I not? Jane mentally chastises himself for being so forward but there was something about her presence, her beautiful presence, which compelled him to. He notices everyone that sets foot in his tea shop but nowadays it is all the same people, regulars, and there is nothing wrong with that especially for financial security, but it does therefore make sense that he would notice a new face so quickly. Especially one as pretty as hers.

But still now it feels wrong to look at another woman in this way.

He set up this little café, Charlotte's Tea Emporium, as part of his recovery from great loss. Grief is a strange thing, something that set him down a dark and dangerous path. The man he became following it was not one he recognised and one that he definitely does not want to see again. Tea is much better than booze and his business venture has not only kept him busy, but it is a very sociable vocation, and being sociable is good for the soul. There are still difficult days, the ones when the number of visitors is low mimicking his mood and as he counts his takings he wonders if he is going to be able to continue to pay Franklin, but the next day is better and busier and happier for it.

A lot of the time, he stresses about nothing. Financially he is very stable and this place that has become his home would be okay if things turned quiet for a few weeks, it is just very important to him because it is all he has. Patrick Jane used to have a family and now he has his tea shop… and Franklin he supposes. He did promise Señora Morales that he would look after her son whilst he was studying abroad and that is a job he takes very seriously. It was him who persuaded the young Venezuelan to leave his home for the big and somewhat scary United States. It has been a good arrangement though, for both of them. He provides Franklin with accommodation and a job whilst the young man returns his favours (and cash) with hard work and company. He is the only member of staff Jane has but it is perfect because it only really takes two them during the busy shifts.

Like the breakfast shift. The only time in a day they serve food, and every day is different, depending on what he is able to get from the market. He carefully writes in white the following day's menu on the small blackboard behind the counter, having already placed his order with the bakery down the road for tomorrow's treats. Once he is happy with his penmanship, he props up the board on top of the now-empty glass cabinet, knowing that tomorrow it will be full once more. "You do breakfast?" He hears his newest acquaintance ask as she skilfully puts down her empty mug along with the milk jug and dish of sugar.

"Yeah, kind of." He murmurs, scratching slightly at his blonde stumble. "Very limited menu and only for a couple of hours but people do like my eggs."

"Might pop by tomorrow to sample them." She thinks out loud and he chuckles at her statement, earning a quirk of her eyebrow. "What?"

"I'm not sure giving up your fancy hotel breakfast is worth it for my eggs."

"How did know that I am staying in a hotel?"

"Educated guess." He claims. "You're not denying that it is fancy."

The mystery brunette the other side of his counter frowns at this, evidently trying to work him out but not getting anywhere – people very rarely do. He just hopes that he hasn't annoyed her because he wants her to actually visit again. He would apologise but that isn't really his style and thankfully his style isn't tested because she shakes the bothered expression of her face, moving on with their interaction. "What do I owe?"

"Two dollars fifty."

"Is that all? What about all the refills?" He shrugs and the trace of a smile returns to her lips making relief flood his form, his shoulders untensing in the process. "I am not sure how you have managed to stay in business for five years…" She muses quietly whilst unzipping her purse before fishing three one dollar bills out of it. "Keep the change." Three words which are always music to his ears as he takes the money from her.

"Thank you." He beams, sliding the notes into the register. "So am I reserving a table for you for breakfast?"

"What's the latest you serve?" He opens his small, red notebook at her query and searches his scrawl for any bookings for tomorrow. As Franklin is repeatedly telling him, he needs a much better system.

"I can book you in for nine thirty? If that isn't too early."

"That will be fine." She is still on FBI time which is awake at all hours and not a lie-in in sight. Maybe that will change now she isn't an agent anymore. "The name is Lisbon." Teresa nosily watches him etch her name into the yellowish paper with a black biro, deliberating about how lovely it appears when written in his hand. He can sense her watch on him, and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and stand up on end. This isn't normal and that excites him, or maybe the years of living a sheltered life are finally catching up with him.

"That's all booked in." He tells her and unceremoniously shuts his book, being sure to flash her a smile in the process. "I will see you in the morning Lisbon."

Most would maybe be perturbed about being called by their surname but not Lisbon. She loves it. It reminds her of who she was before her accident. "You will and thank you for the coffee." Being back in Sacramento, albeit it is a somewhat different, has instantly made her forget the difficulties the past few months have brought her. She may be planning to start afresh here, but there is no reason why the new Teresa Lisbon has to be that much different to the old one.

Jane watches her walk out, her right foot dragging slightly as she moves, raising questions in his mind about what could have happened to her. Perhaps, he will find out tomorrow. If she even comes back. He forces himself to look away from her hovering outside, the setting sun catching her silhouette beautifully. Instead he gathers up the dirty crockery that she left and turns to take them to the small kitchen behind the curtain, not catching how she turns on her heels to give him one last look before wandering off herself.