Thought of the day: I have no thoughts today. I am a blank canvas.
A/N: Bit of a short chapter, I have another one nearly prepared but this one felt like it had a natural finishing point.
He doesn't go home, but he falls asleep on the couch before anything else can happen. By now I am wide awake, and stare at his sleeping form in resentment. But as I look down at him I feel myself beginning to smile.
I try to rouse him, hoping that we can at least sleep in the same bed.
He smiles up at me sleepily and murmurs something about breakfast, but he doesn't open his eyes.
I am unwilling to leave him there, worried that I will wake up and he will be gone, so I sit against the base of the couch. His hand has fallen off the side and I rest my head on it and close my eyes.
I feel like I have just barely drifted off when I wake to his lips on mine. I force myself lucid and kiss him back, then I look up at him drowsily. His hair is wet and it appears he has lifted me onto the couch at some point.
"Morning," he says. "I helped myself to a shower, I hope you don't mind."
"What time is it?" I ask.
"It's breakfast time," he replies.
I look at my watch. It's not breakfast time, it's work time. We are nearly half an hour late.
"Shit," I say.
"Don't panic, I called Abbott and said we had things to do. He thinks we're out working on the case."
I sit up quickly, almost headbutting him in the face. "Well, we should be working on the case. We can grab something on the way."
"But I made eggs," he says, looking a little hurt.
I look over to the kitchen and my panic softens a little. There are two plates sitting there, two cups, one sunflower in a vase. I pull him down beside me and kiss him again. He tastes faintly of tea, and it takes me a while to fully comprehend that last night was real, not a dream, not a trick.
"Okay," I say, and he smiles his full Patrick Jane smile at me.
He loves me. This is really happening, and he loves me.
But now what?
"So, do you have a plan?" I ask Jane on the way to work.
"For what? For you?"
I laugh at him. "No, to catch our killer."
"Oh," he says. "Not really. Abbott wants me to write up a profile, but that sounds pretty boring. Don't the FBI have other people to do that?"
"Yeah, but they're probably not as good as you," I reply.
"You flatter me, Teresa. Flattery is a beautiful thing. I'll do it."
He puts his hand on my knee and I smile idiotically. Is this what it's going to be like? Feeling lightheaded and stupid and happy all the time?
"Any theories?" I ask. "Anyone from your past that might be out to get you?"
He laughs wryly. "There are a lot of people that could be angry at me, you know that."
I am quiet, running through a list of people in my head that he has angered. It is a long list, and I have no idea who else he has pissed off in his personal life, or in the time before the CBI.
"Exactly," he says, reading my thoughts. "Look, I don't think he really cares about me anyway. I think this guy is just looking for a connection with someone. Maybe he's jealous of Red John, or trying to mimic him, and decided that I would be the perfect nemesis."
"But why now, why did he suddenly appear almost as soon as you're back at work?"
He sighs. "This isn't going to be like Red John, Teresa. I won't let it take over my life. I don't think this is about me at all."
"Do you really think that, or are you just hoping?" I ask him.
He doesn't say anything for a long time. He looks out the window, and from the corner of my eye I can see a slight frown on his face.
"It's nothing to do with me," he finally says, as if to himself.
Though it remains unspoken between us, we don't tell anyone about the change in our relationship. And no one seems to notice, which I find odd, because I can't stop glancing over at him all morning, and every time he speaks I'm sure that the look on my face completely gives me away.
We don't get a moment alone until just after lunch. He has been dutifully writing out his profile and I have been listening to the recordings of the people that we've interviewed.
He walks into the break room where I am preparing a coffee.
"Hi," he says, appearing next to me. He leans over and kisses me quickly on the cheek. "What are we doing tonight?"
I feel my face heat up and I mix the milk into my coffee for much too long, then finally pull myself together and look him in the eye. "Come to my place?"
"Okay, but we'll need supervision. It's not appropriate for a good Catholic girl to be alone with a man like me. And I can't be responsible for my actions," he says with a grin. "I have just the man for it. Cho? CHO!"
"Shut up!" I say, punching him.
"Just kidding. I'll pick up some fresh clothes and meet you there?"
I nod. "How's the profiling business? Have you looked over the new case files yet?"
"No, maybe later. I'm just trying to sort it all out in my head at the moment."
I nod again.
He goes to leave but then he turns back to me. "I'm not going to freak out, or run away, or close up, or any of that. But I want you to know that I'm worried about you. I'm worried what this guy could do to you if he really is trying to get to me. I just wanted you to know that."
I am about to throw myself into his arms in melodramatic gratitude when Cho walks in. "You called me?" he says.
Jane chuckles. "False alarm, Cho. I thought Lisbon was in trouble, but turns out she's perfectly capable of dealing with a bit of trouble in her life."
By mid afternoon I am a nervous wreck. I can't stop thinking about underwear. Do I have any nice underwear? Do I have anything that matches? I resolve to go home early to get ready. I stand up from my desk and turn to Jane, prepared to deliver the most convincing lie of my life. Something about work, about suspects... do I still have that lacy red set sitting in my drawer?
"Don't stress, Teresa," he says to me gently.
I am thrown out of my head and back into the room. "Huh?"
"Don't stress. Everything is fine. No need no rush anything."
I screw my nose up at him. "I don't think you understand," I say. "There is definitely a need to rush."
He laughs at me loudly and so suddenly that Van Pelt knocks her coffee cup off her desk from across the room.
"Sorry, I'll get you a new one," Jane calls over to her. Then he turns back to me and speaks softly. "I only meant that there's a lot going on right now. But if you're in a rush, then I'm in a rush too."
I colour. "I was talking about finding the murderer."
I immediately regret my lie, but he just smiles at me. "If you say so. You're the boss."
"No," I say, gathering my wits. "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to help her catch a serial killer."
He laughs again and Van Pelt glares over at him, wiping coffee from her legs.
Towards the end of the day I force Jane to look over the updated case files. He complains that he doesn't need to look at our 'boring cop stuff', but takes them from me anyway.
I walk to the elevator, planning to go home and go through my underwear drawer, but I hear his voice yelling from the couch- "Lisbon! Lisbon!"
I hurry back, immediately worried by the look on his face.
"Look," he says. "I can't believe I didn't notice before."
I look down at the picture in his hand, it is a picture of the Grey twins, but I can't see anything unusual about it.
"It's the smiles. All the photos I saw before were posed- forced family photos. But these..."
"What? What is it, Jane?"
He is pale, trembling a little. He pulls out his wallet and takes a small photograph from it. It is a picture of his wife. I am ashamed that my immediate reaction is jealousy, so I suppress it, and I take the photo from him.
"They look like her," he says, his eyes fixed on the photo of the twins. "They look just like she did when she was that age."
