Strike 2, ahaha. Hope it works out this time. Enjoy!


Normally, Patrick Jane would pride himself on being somewhat of a connoisseur in all things Lisbon.

Normally.

But not today.

Because there's an origami frog tattooed on the pale skin of the inside of Lisbon's wrist, and he has no idea when- or how- it got there.

They've slept together three times if you count last night -which he does- and he has seen her naked a grand total of seven times in just as many years.

How has he missed a tattoo, of all things? And not an ordinary one. A tattoo of his origami frog! A memory of him, printed forever on her skin.

Jane suppresses ruthlessly the fierce rush of sheer adrenaline and possessiveness that's making him lightheaded.

Not now, he tells himself. Now he must investigate.

Mindful not to jostle the sleeping cop too much, he gently extricates himself from her grasp so that he might be able to take a good look at her wrist.

It doesn't look new, that's the first thing he notices.

But it's also not too old- the lines are far from faded; the edges are still sharp.

The position puzzles him, though. Why the wrist? And why the frog?

He's made her countless origamis along the years, some arguably much better looking than an ordinary, run off the mill toad.

Jane frowns minutely, analysing the drawing.

His frown deepens when his mind presents him with a list of observations.

First. She couldn't have had it made while they were still working at CBI. A drawing on the wrist is too obvious, too exposed. He would've noticed it a long time ago. So, it must've happened at some point afterwards.

Second. It follows, then, that the possibility of him catching sight of it must not have represented a problem, so it was either during his two years on the beach or after the Great Plane Debacle.

Third- and last. Why would she need a tattoo that reminded her of him when she had Jane himself to look at whenever she wanted?

There is only one possible conclusion then, and it is one that makes his heart ache with how much he loves her.

If the years she spent by his side, fighting for him and loving him silently had not been enough proof of how much that stubborn, wonderful woman loved him, then this would've driven the point home.

Even after how much he knew he hurt her in his quest to kill the Red Menace, she still felt the need to keep him close to her in his absence.

Dear lord, he most definitely does *not* deserve this woman.

His curiosity finally satisfied, Jane allows his brain to shut off.

He slips back under the covers, pulling her close and pressing gentle kisses on her face, thanking God or fate or whatever for putting Teresa Lisbon on his path.

A tendril of fear sneaks in then, but Jane pushes it resolutely away. Now is not the moment. Teresa deserves better.

Lisbon wakes with a sleepy chuckle, her green eyes cracking slightly open.

"Good morning, Jane," she smiles.

His heart flutters in his chest. He feels warm all over, and so, so incredibly happy. (And so incredibly scared, too. How is that possible? That something that makes you so happy could be so frightening, too? This is like nothing he has ever felt before.)

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Teresa?" he asks, grinning.

She raises her eyebrows, then follows his line of sight to where her wrist is laying, slightly titled on the covers.

The frog is right there, a piece of him on her skin.

A choked laugh, then a sigh. "Finally noticed it, did you?"

"When did you get it?" he asks.

She looks at him sceptically, "Can't you guess?"

He already did, but that's very rarely the point.

"Tell me," he demands.

She looks away, her hands going absentmindedly to the cross at her neck. She doesn't want to, he realizes.

"Or not," he adds quickly, "You don't h-"

"Shut up, Jane," she tells him, half fond and half exasperated.

"It's just not a time I like to think about, that's all," which is exactly Jane's issue, just to be clear

"I got it the day before I left for Cannon River," she explains, still looking away, "I- well, I didn't have anything to remind me of you, other than a shattered cup and a few origamis. You've changed me so much, I thought it was only fair that the outside should match the inside, you know.

Plus, it was a good excuse to have a good cry. This thing," she says, nodding in the general direction of her wrist, "hurt like a bitch, you know." And she has this half-smile on her face, bitter and sad and self-deprecating, yet also amused- it makes him realize just how hard the last couple of years have been on her. How much she's suffered, and how much she's gone through.

He's so used to thinking of her as strong and resilient and impassable that sometimes he forgets that it's all just a façade, that she feels very deeply, very intensely.

He takes note of this, burning this very moment into the forefront of his mind palace.

Because he can read her pain clear as day on her face, but she's still smiling, and there is no sign of deception in her demeanour. Sometimes, he thinks, she can lie even better than he can. He needs to remember this.

"Why a frog, then?" he asks, his voice gentle, soft. He is enamoured with all the magnificence that is Teresa Lisbon. "Of all the stuff I gave you," he says with a shaky laugh, "why a frog?"

Her eyes meet his, full of compassion and affection.

"It's not just a frog, Jane. It's the frog you gave me after Tolliver Case, remember?" She sends him a small smile, perfectly aware that yes, of course he remembers.

"It was the first time you made it jump. And it was in the way you looked at me after you gave it to me, something-" she pauses, looking for the exact words.

"It looked like you cared," she says finally, "and that was the first time I thought there was hope for you. That maybe I would be able to help you, after all. And I was right, wasn't I?"

She sends him an impossibly smug smile, and he laughs even as tears roll down his cheeks.

"You were right, Agent Lisbon," he tells her, moved, "and I love you very, very much."


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