Title: Ebulliometry: A Crash Course
Disclaimer: Property of Bruno Heller
Author's Note: Many thanks to the lovely people who reviewed! I'm not sure how obvious John's purpose in calling/visiting Lisbon was in the last chapter - this chapter goes into more detail and hopefully will make things clearer.
Lisbon eyeballs John Fox over the rim of her coffee mug. "A lot of people would take a hint," she mutters.
She's smiling, though.
"I'm just trying to give you a fair shot," he replies, from his position on her couch. "Who knows? This might be the last time I make this offer."
Lisbon doesn't read people like Jane does, but she's not stupid, either. Her smile grows a little as she leans back in her chair. "I might be happy about that."
John doesn't look remotely concerned. "Come on, Teresa, you're a practical person. You wouldn't be happy if I stopped trying to recruit you, just as I wouldn't be happy if you pulled your gun on me and forced me to leave and never come back." He pauses on an intake of breath, and she has the feeling he wished he hadn't said that. His mouth twists into a rueful grin. "Would make an interesting show for your team, though."
Her index fingers fly, somewhat automatically, to her temples. "No doubt," she mutters.
John puts his empty coffee mug on the table, reaches down, and gently tugs his shoes off. "That Jane guy," he says casually, as he makes himself comfortable reclining on the couch, still facing her, "what's his deal?"
Her soft sigh contains all the things she will find it difficult to put into words. "Actually, I'm a little surprised you're not trying to recruit him instead of me. He's kind of... legendary." She cups her chin in her hand and examines John carefully. "You must have heard of him."
His gaze is intense; he has a funny way of seeming a lot closer than he really is when he watches her like that. "I certainly have. But I don't think I... or many people, for that matter... could handle him the way he needs to be handled." His hesitation is only momentary. "He doesn't like me."
She feels oddly nervous. "He's not good with new people. Especially in law enforcement."
"He seems comfortable with you."
"It took him about seven years to get that way." She's not sure whether she's defending him or not. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"
John shrugs. "I'm not looking to recruit him. I just want to know if he's a barrier to me recruiting you."
She blinks at him. "What?"
For the first time, John looks a little uncomfortable. "He's obviously fond of you. He doesn't like me." He meets her eyes directly. "Would I be splitting up more than a team?"
Her mouth drops open. "What? No! John, how can... just - no, okay? It's not like that with me and Jane. At all."
"Okay, okay." He holds up his hands. "Sorry to pry. He comes across as jealous, is all."
She snorts softly. "He's a meddler. It's all he does. Oh, and occasionally solve crimes - usually as a byproduct of meddling."
John grins at her, and she feels a stupid little flutter in her chest. He's an attractive man, and he's exactly her type. When he'd first tried to recruit her, she'd thought maybe the bureau knew a disturbing amount about her tastes and had sent the perfect kind of bait to reel her in. Now, she understands it was just a coincidence. But as annoying as John Fox can often be, he can equally be a happy diversion to her otherwise frustrating workday.
"Listen," says John, "it's getting late, and if I keep occupying your time you'll be here until midnight doing paperwork. How about dinner?" He glances at his watch. "Say, seven thirty?"
She gives the stack of forms on her desk a critical once-over. "Better make it eight."
"Deal." He's surprisingly energetic as he almost leaps off the couch. "Same place as last time?"
"Steak," she replies. "Steak, steak."
He shuffles into his shoes. "Steak. Got it. Steak you later. Shall I steak you up?"
"No, I'll steak you there. Gotta steak home first, get steaked."
"Arrghh." He rubs a hand over his face. "I'm so hungry now. Stop it, woman, or I'll accidentally eat a burger before I get back to the motel."
"Fine, then." She makes a 'shoo' motion with her hands. "Get going. I'll see you at st- eight."
If his parting smile is warm enough to send a rush of heat down to her toes, she pretends not to notice.
She and John have previously flirted like this, but she doesn't want to screw things up. He's a good friend; one of very few, these days.
Now, if only she can keep Jane from screwing things up on her behalf.
Jane has every intention of screwing things up on Lisbon's behalf.
He's having some rather specific thoughts about it, in fact.
John Fox is FBI – that much is clear. Cho refuses to supply details, but the fact that the man is at ease within the CBI building and has a casual, flirtatious relationship with Lisbon would suggest that his offer – and Jane is now more than certain that it's a job offer – has been made many times in the past.
Not surprising, Jane thinks – Lisbon's a talented, courageous woman. She'd make an excellent federal agent… in a parallel universe. But here in this universe, he decides, she belongs at the CBI. If he has to persuade her, then so be it. And he intends to.
But in the meantime, sabotage is the ideal appetiser.
Speaking of which…
It's nice to go out for dinner, Lisbon thinks. Really, genuinely, out for dinner, instead of undercover-at-dinner, or trawling-for-suspects-and-witnesses-at-dinner, or plotting-secretly-against-Red-John-at-dinner.
Across the table from her, John encounters a peculiarly long fry and lays it out across his plate. They stare at it curiously. "Giant potato?" Lisbon ventures.
"Fry-fusion, maybe," he offers. Then winces, "Or reproduction."
Lisbon takes a picture on her phone for posterity. "If I had Facebook, I'm sure this would be the sort of thing I'd want to post there."
They haven't talked about the job offer yet, and it's possible they won't even bother. The truth is, Lisbon already knows her decision and so does John. Pretending not to know is just a nice excuse to go out and eat steak.
They prove this point spectacularly, she thinks, by talking about everything but work for the next half an hour.
Later, she realises that she should have been suspicious from the outset. Jane meeting John Fox for the first time? Of course he would feel the need to meddle.
Still, when John's cell rings, she doesn't think anything of it. He answers it at the table; they're comfortable enough with each other, after all these years, to do that sort of thing.
"Yes, sir." He pauses. "What? Uh, how did y…?"
She freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. The green bean falls off, unnoticed. John's eyebrows draw together. "No, sir, of course not," he says, looking directly at her, which naturally worries her even more. "No, it's an entirely personal meeting. I wouldn't dream of –"
He appears to deflate a little, mouth opening and closing silently for a few seconds until he can interject. "That – that's true, sir, but it's not the nature of –" He is once again interrupted, and the way his shoulders sink suggests he's given up the fight. "I see. No, sir. Absolutely, sir." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, sir. See you then."
He hangs up, and heaves a long sigh. "What the hell…?"
She watches him, concerned. "Your boss?"
He nods, grabbing his beer and taking a long swig. "You'll never believe it," he says, slumping in his chair. "He's heard – and don't ask me how, because it was the one thing he didn't mention in that freakin' monologue of his – that you and I are having dinner, and get this: he thinks it's a date on the taxpayers' dime!"
Her jaw drops. "What the -?" She shakes her head. "I don't even know which part to address first!"
"Tell me about it!" He finishes the beer. "He knows I've tried to recruit you in the past – he thinks I'm going to use that to claim this as an expense."
"But he knows you, right? Surely he trusts you?"
"That's what I thought!" He runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, how the hell did he even know? I came to California to give a training seminar –meeting up with you was a bonus, and I didn't tell him I was…" He stops suddenly, avoiding her eyes. "I mean…"
A sly smile tugs at her lips. "What? You didn't tell him you were going to try to recruit me this time? Why?"
He's grinning self-consciously now, eating a couple of fries before he answers. "Well, I – I mean, come on, Teresa, you've never wanted to leave the CBI in the past and I was pretty sure you wouldn't change your mind this time. But I figured it was as good an excuse as any to come and see you."
She fights the rush of colour to her cheeks, and says boldly, "Well, why didn't you just say that? Maybe I wouldn't have avoided your calls."
He appears momentarily stunned. "Are you actually saying that, if I'd asked, you would have agreed to a date –"
The interruption is from her phone, this time. It's Bertram's number, so she doesn't suspect anything when she answers, assuming it'll be a call about a case. "Hi, sir," she begins to say, but Bertram doesn't let her get that far.
"The FBI, Agent Lisbon?" he's saying, sounding an odd combination of wounded, exasperated… and afraid. "Really?"
"Uh… what?" She blurts out, and winces. "I mean, what, sir?"
"Need I remind you that at this stage of your career, uprooting and moving to the other side of the country would in fact be more damaging than –"
She decides to be brave, and interrupt him. "Sir, who called you?"
"That's hardly the point," he dismisses her. "The point is, you owe a loyalty to this agency, and to me. Not everybody would have reinstated you after that Jane fiasco last summer, but I took a chance, Lisbon."
"I know, sir," she says hastily. "And I think you should understand that –"
His tone changes. "What will it take?" he asks urgently. "A higher salary? Better parking?"
"I… park in front of the main entrance…" she mutters, but he's not listening.
Across the table, John is mouthing, 'what the hell?' and all she can do is shake her head, baffled.
"You want the Organised Crime offices for your team? That delightful view from the top floor? Say the word, Lisbon, and I'll kick those cowboys out by tomorrow morning."
"Sir!" she hisses finally. "Sir, I don't want anything – I'm not going to work for the FBI! Where exactly is this coming from?"
"You're not?" The sigh Bertram heaves rattles through the phone. "Oh, Agent Lisbon, you don't know what a relief it is to hear that. Do you have any idea how inconvenient it would be to find someone else who could handle Jane? Especially given his… particular allegiance to you?" He makes a noise of aggravation. "Pure hell, Lisbon. Well, anyway, good talking with you." And just like that, he hangs up.
She gingerly places her phone back on the table. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
John frowns at her. "You think someone's messing with us?"
"Oh, I don't think," she says, in a low, flat tone. "Would you mind if I made a call?"
"Go right ahead." He lifts his hands to indicate that the floor is hers. And promptly leans forward, jamming fries into his mouth and preparing to eavesdrop shamelessly.
She stabs Jane's speed-dial number viciously. Contrary to his opinion, he isn't number one. Number one always has been, and always will be Kimball Cho, because the odds are that if she's in some kind of trouble, Jane is probably the root cause rather than the solution.
His phone rings… and rings… and goes unanswered. Three times.
She shakes her head. "Coward," she hisses.
"I'm going to take a stab at this," says John, tapping his finger against the corner of his mouth. "Let me guess… Jane?"
She mock applauds. "You want a front row seat to his murder?"
John grins at her. "No. I want to forget him and split the abnormally large fry with you."
There's a warm sensation in her chest, and it isn't heartburn. She does, indeed, partly forget about Jane while waiting for her half-fry, which she wolfs down. She even partly forgets about him until after they finish their steaks and order dessert.
Which… turns out to have been a mistake.
The waitress is beaming widely as she slides the large sundae between them. It's evidently one of those desserts intended for sharing.
It's also not what they ordered.
"Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry," she says politely, "but this isn't what –"
The gentle background piano music that she's hardly noticed all night suddenly shuts off.
The next thing she sees is a couple of penguin-suited minstrels sidling up to the table, readying their violins on their shoulders. By now people are starting to look over at them. "What is happening?" she whispers to John, hair prickling at the back of her neck.
John is ghostly white, and staring at the sundae. "They've definitely got the wrong people," he manages, nodding at the peak of white cream in the very centre of the dessert.
Oh, shit.
Right there, in the very middle…
A sparkling engagement ring.
Her stomach drops. And not in a good way.
The violin players suddenly launch into a slow, harmonised rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On'. She can hear sighs and coos from around the restaurant.
The waitress, who has been standing by for unknown reasons, is looking at John as though he has two heads. She promptly kicks him in the ankle. "Go on," she hisses, and smiles again at Lisbon.
"No, uh…" he puts his hands up, one towards the waitress and one to the musicians. "Uh, you've made a mistake, this isn't…"
Two other waiters come jogging up, slowing at the last minute to try to appear smooth – part of the romantic picture. Between them, they're carrying a set of sparkly cut-out letters, mounted on a string. The younger one, looking nervous and rather sick, takes his end and crosses in front of the waitress.
Her breath catches in her throat.
The letters read: 'Will you marry me, Teresa?'
She tries to mute the absolute horror in her expression, but she's pretty sure John can see it as well. In fact, his face looks much the same as her own. "You definitely didn't –?" she begins, just as he is leaning across the table and saying, "I swear, I didn't organise –"
They both look around and see the way the other patrons are openly staring now. The waiters and waitress are watching, bewildered, as this non-proposal continues. "Okay," says John hesitantly, "please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm thinking the quickest way to get out of here is –"
She slips the ring quickly onto her finger and bellows, "I accept!"
In the midst of the applause and camera flashes, John flings a wad of cash at the astonished waitress, grabs her hand and they literally run out of the front door.
Outside, they collapse onto a stone bench by the parking meter. A strange, strangled noise escapes Lisbon's throat before she clamps her lips shut. She doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or scream. Probably both.
John is breathing hard, and not looking at her when he says, "Was that Jane, too?"
She slips the ring off, holding it in her other hand while she pops her knuckle in her mouth to remove the cream. "Definitely."
"Wow." He exhales, and cautiously turns to glance at her. "What a mood-killer."
They both snort with laughter at the same moment, quickly dissolving into hysterics. "Wh-What did that poor waitress think?" she giggles. "We both looked so terrified!"
"I know!" He's doubled over, wheezing. "She kicked me! She thought I was about to chicken out!"
She holds up the ring. "Where did this even come from?"
He grasps her wrist lightly, bringing it closer to his face to examine. "I dunno," he says, still smiling. "Looks fake, though. I think I've seen these for fifteen dollars in the 7-11 near my house."
She's sobering now, the unpleasant sensation of being utterly duped taking hold. John's expression is serious, too, but as his hand closes a little more around her wrist, she realises it's for a different reason. "Teresa," he begins –
And both of their phones start to ring.
Author's Note: To anyone concerned that this might end up John/Lisbon, have no fear! Jane/Lisbon stuff is coming, I promise, as is a full explanation of what exactly happened to make John & Lisbon's dinner turn into the evening from hell. In the meantime, I'll bestow abnormally giant fries upon everyone who reviews*.
*Invisible abnormally giant fries, that is.