AN: So. Tomorrow is The End of our beloved show. Is that going to be the end of the stories? Certainly not. Once we're all done squeeing and tagging the finale (TOMORROW! WHAT?), Donna, Mlee, and I are in talks to write a post-series fic. I'm feeling very nostalgic at the moment, and just wanted to extend my thanks to all of you for reading my stories over the past few years. This fandom is an amazing place, and I've made some wonderful friends here. Can we find another TV show to watch together?
A nod to the lovely Hayseed Socrates, whose tweet inspired a line or two of this.
ALSO (I promise to shut up after this), as far as timelines go (coughweddingringcough), I'm exercising creative license. Deal with it.
Nights and New Beginnings
The press conference was a nightmare, but Cho handled it with his typical professionalism. He said all the right things, made all the right motions. Watching from the stairwell above, Jane was impressed. Cho was going to be an excellent boss.
Lisbon was standing next to him. Not as close as he would have liked, but on the same step, at least.
They needed to talk, but not here.
When the media circus beneath them dissipated, he turned, noting Lisbon's obvious tension. Serial killers made everyone edgy, and perhaps that was doubly true for them.
"Can I come over?" he asked, taking a step closer to her.
Slowly, she nodded. She was clearly exhausted. He wanted to pull her into his arms, the first time he'd touched her in nearly nine days, but this wasn't the place for that either.
Half an hour later, armed with Italian, he used his key to let himself into her house. Every single light was on, her way of dealing with the darkness that was starting to creep up on them.
Lisbon was sitting on the couch, absently scrolling through her phone. She'd already showered, and he tentatively stroked her wet hair before setting their dinner on the small kitchen table.
Noting her hunched shoulders and generally defensive posturing, he took a deep breath and sat beside her.
"Teresa," he said, willing her to meet his eyes. "Hey," he said, quieter. "Look at me."
She did, and he saw fear and uncertainty and a multitude of other things in those emerald depths. Not all of it was case related. He'd done a great deal of damage all by himself.
"I won't leave again," he promised.
She offered him a very tight smile, disbelief in every line of her face. That was okay; he was going to prove it to her this time.
"I mean it," he went on. "You'll see."
Her eyes were glossy, and he hated himself for it. "Sorry," she whispered, swiping at her face. "I think you're giving me abandonment issues."
He had nothing to say to such a statement, mainly because it was probably true. Instead, he carefully put an arm around her shoulders. When she didn't push him away, he tugged her closer, letting out a deep sigh when she gave in and pressed her face into his neck.
"Missed you," he whispered, holding her closer.
"Could've fooled me," she replied, and he felt her tears on his skin.
Another wave of self-loathing broke over him. "I'm sorry," he breathed, full of contrition, but she just cried harder.
She'd told him she'd thought he was dead in a ditch somewhere. It might have been better if he was. He knew what the root of the problem was - she thought he could just leave her without a backwards glance, that she meant that little to him, that she wasn't enough to hold him.
All of which were patently untrue.
He needed to prove that to her, though.
But for now, scared and full of emotion, she just needed to cry it out. He tightened his arms around her, kissed her hair. In another two minutes, her sobs had trailed off into shaky breaths, occasionally broken by a tiny hiccup.
When she relaxed the rest of the way, he shifted his hold on her, brought her fingers to his lips. Lisbon, probably looking for a dry place to lay her head, snuggled into his shoulder.
"Can I coax you into eating?" he asked after a few minutes. "I think you'll feel the better for it."
Slowly, she nodded, then stood, pulling at his hands.
He followed her into the kitchen, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Without asking, he knew she'd forgiven him, knew that she was taking him back.
He was just sorry they had to travel this road again.
After they'd both made a token attempt to eat, he'd grabbed a shower. Belatedly, he realized he hadn't asked if he could stay tonight.
She was already in bed when he emerged from the bathroom, lying on her side, facing away from him. Throwing caution to the wind, he slipped beneath the covers, pulling her back against his chest.
After a week of sleeping apart, this felt almost like Heaven.
Lisbon tangled their legs together under the sheets and he smiled.
"I have something to show you," he whispered. "Tomorrow or the next day."
"Oh, yeah?" she asked, voice sleepy. She could still throw him out on his ass, but he was beginning to believe he was going to be sleeping beside her for the next seven hours or so.
"Yeah," he answered, squeezing her fingers. She pulled her hand away quickly, and he frowned until he realized his wedding band had been inadvertently hurting her.
With a start, he concluded that that was a pretty good way of looking at the thing in general.
He hated to wreck the fragile peace they'd found, but...
"You've never asked me to take this off," he said quietly, tapping his ring with one finger. "Why?"
She shrugged, though it was with caution. "I just figured you weren't ready." There was a lot of weight behind her words. They covered a lot of ground, after all.
And maybe she was right. Maybe he hadn't been. He'd told her he loved her before he was quite prepared to do so, kissed her before he'd expected, had taken her to bed within the first day.
But that was months ago.
He should be ready now. In fact, he rather thought she needed him to be ready now.
Carefully, he slipped the band off and pressed it into her hand.
She turned to face him, eyes wide in the darkness.
"If anyone should have this, it's you," he said, surprised at how hoarse his voice was. "It means a lot to me, so don't lose it or pawn it or anything..." he tried to joke, but the words came out all wrong.
Gently, she kissed him, her touch soothing. He could feel himself trembling.
"Do you know what I see when I look at this?" she asked, holding the ring up, one eyebrow raised. It was clearly a rhetorical question, so he said nothing, waiting. "I see you," she told him. "I see who you used to be, I see how deeply you loved, I see the first time you walked into the CBI office, looking like a homeless bum." They shared a small smile at the memory. "I see the way you looked the first time you told me you loved me. I see you asleep on the couch in my office." She brushed the hair off of his forehead, a tear away from the corner of his eye. "This ring means a lot to me, too. It's everything you were, everything that brought us here."
His eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and he tried to hold himself together. She smiled at him, then with deft movements, unhooked her gold chain and slipped the band on it where it rested next to the cross her mother had given her.
He took a deep, unsteady breath, touching both objects as they nestled against her heart.
"Is this okay?" she asked.
He nodded, unable to speak. In fact, it was perfect.
Lisbon pulled him into her arms, and it was his turn to have a little bit of a breakdown.
Later, Lisbon asleep across his chest, he discovered he felt lighter than he had in an eternity. Despite the turmoil of the past week, he thought they were now closer, stronger, than they'd ever been.
He intended to keep working on that.
He wondered what her reaction was going to be when he told her he'd bought 24 acres of land. And a pond. And a run down little shack.
Hopefully, she would see this as proof of his commitment to her, proof of his promise that he wouldn't leave again. He was already planning out what their house would look like. It would be yellow, he decided, just like the one she grew up in. He'd never had a home, not really, not anything permanent, not until he married Angela and they moved into a one-bedroom apartment. For a few, precious years, he'd belonged somewhere.
He belonged somewhere now, too. He belonged with Lisbon, and she belonged here. He was just sorry it had taken him so long to figure it out. Maybe he should get drunk and pass out in fields more often.
He didn't believe in God, but surely it was a sign from the universe. Opening his eyes, it had felt right. The sun was radiant, making the whole place soft and peaceful. Untroubled by dead bodies or gunshots or dark memories. It wasn't the cold, sterile FBI. It wasn't the genteel shabbiness of the Airstream, or even the four walls of Lisbon's house, where he was the second man to walk the halls.
This new place...this could be home. Their home.
Not built with dishonest money, fleeced from starry-eyed believers. But built with honesty.
He'd felt a sweet shiver, standing in that field, like he'd been traveling for miles and had finally come home. He wanted to spend his life here, Lisbon at his side, the years ahead no longer things to be feared.
He kissed the top of her head, careful not to wake her. It was far past the time for him to still be breaking her heart.
She unconsciously snuggled closer and he tenderly pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. "Love you," he whispered.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a lifetime, dreamed about the future like it was something he was allowed to enjoy.