Title: Ebulliometry: A Crash Course
Disclaimer: Property of Bruno Heller
Author's Note: You guys are amazing – I can't thank you enough for the lovely, beautiful reviews. I am massively behind on individual replies, but I promise I will get around to it. Lauren'culpan – I will PM you, but just quickly wanted to say – write it! Please, please write it, because it will be different anyway and I would definitely read it! Also, Lothlorien Aeterna – your review made me laugh so much; it was perfect and I love you for it!
Hope you guys all enjoy this (somewhat longer) chapter in which… things happen ;-)
Upstairs, Jane pours some bottled water into a small, one-person kettle and flicks the switch. He settles into his chair, inhales deeply, and smiles with great satisfaction.
This has worked out even better than planned, he realises. Of course, it hasn't been easy to adapt to Lisbon's interference, but he thinks he's managed with considerable aplomb.
He grimaces when he remembers how she fooled him this morning. It was only when he reached his attic that things had fallen into place – Van Pelt's wide smile but tearless face, for example. Van Pelt cries when she sees a promotional poster for Finding Nemo. She would produce absolute floods if she found out her boss was getting married.
Rigsby – grinning like an idiot, for sure, but not pawing the cake? That ought to have tipped him off straight away.
And Cho. Cho, who knows Lisbon and John Fox very well and doesn't believe in romance unless it's in paperback form. No way would Cho be able to resist interrogating them both to find out if they were just making a giant, impulsive mistake.
Jane sighs, and reaches for the kettle as it automatically shuts off. It should have been plain to see from the beginning, but he'd let himself get distracted by… Well, it's all in the past now, he thinks. He's recovered spectacularly. Going to lunch has provided him with the perfect brain food for acting like a complete lunatic – and doing so in front of Brenda will only confirm what he suggested to her subconsciously this morning.
In the back of his mind, a small, unpleasant thought continues to demand his attention.
He remembers seeing John Fox kiss Lisbon this morning, remembers his hands all over her in the café at lunch. Remembers what she had said: 'we aren't getting any younger'… 'we're certainly attracted to each other'. Both of those things, he has no doubt, are true. And as certain as he remains that they are not engaged, there's still the nagging possibility that something may have begun between them.
Something he will not be able to destroy.
Lisbon is pacing and straightening in her office.
It's the first time John has ever seen her do anything like this. At first he thinks she's tidying, and tries to lend a hand. He learns his lesson when she delivers a stinging slap to his hand and removes the magazine from his grasp.
"Teresa, it's okay," he says soothingly. "This Wainwright guy seems pretty straightforward; you told him the truth and he seemed calm, right? Hey," he adds, with a smile, "wanna make out, wife-to-be?"
She gives up the straightening and slumps onto the couch next to him. Stress, worry and frustration are working together to gnaw a hole in the middle of her chest. She can't decide whether she's more worried about what Wainwright will do, or about Jane in general.
The truth is, no matter how angry she might be feeling with Jane, there's something going on with him, and her fear is that it will damage what has previously been a good working relationship. She and Jane have mocked and made fun of each other in the past – and yes, he's played more than a few tricks on her – but there has never been this weird undertone to it.
John slips an arm around her shoulders. "It'll be okay," he promises softly.
She holds up her left hand and slips the ring off. "It was nice while it lasted," she murmurs. That's not a lie – it's been strangely comforting to feel the metal around her finger and associate it with someone who cares about her. And it's been nice to have John on her side, too. He's a good friend. She's had to remind herself with a pang that he's not really her fiancé.
He wraps his free hand around hers, thumb stroking the bare finger. "Yeah," he says quietly, "it was." He leans in and kisses her quickly. "Hey, you ever need someone to be your fake fiancé again, just let me know."
She laughs softly. "You've been the most excellent pretend husband-to-be."
He winks. "Recommend me to your friends." Then, a little more seriously, "We could make a pact – if we both get to forty and we're still single, we get married in Vegas."
"I'm forty next year!" she admonishes him, elbowing him in the gut.
He feigns surprise. "So am I – what a coincidence. See you next year, wife-to-be." He's just getting to his feet as Wainwright knocks at her office door, and steps inside without waiting for a response.
Something twists inside her chest when she sees that he's brought Jane with him.
John clears his throat. "Uh, I'll take off, then. I'll call you later," he tells her, and then he's gone, leaving her feeling like she's about to be shouted at by the school principal for misbehaving.
She pulls herself to her feet. "Uh, sir," she begins, "I just want to say that –"
But for what feels like the hundredth time in twenty-four hours, she is cut off as Bertram storms through her office door, purple in the face and practically incoherent. "What," he is saying, "the hell are you playing at, Agent Lisbon?"
"Sir –"
"Do you know how many people have been calling me today, saying that you're engaged to that federal agent? And worse – that Mr Jane appears to be having some kind of meltdown?" Here, he casts a wary eye over the man himself, and takes a step away. "There are concerns that you're about to climb the clocktower with a rifle, Mr Jane – please reassure me."
"Excuse me, sir," Wainwright steps in urgently, looking alarmed. "I think it's best not to provoke Mr Jane right now – I do believe he's in an extremely vulnerable state, and we need to handle the situation with the utmost –"
"Uh," says Jane, sheepishly, "I think I should explain something."
"No, you know what?" says Bertram. "Forget it, Jane. This has gone far enough."
Her breath catches in her throat and her heart pounds. This is it, she thinks, dread pulling her stomach all the way down to her feet. He's going to fire me.
"If this is what it takes to prevent the FBI from stealing my top agent and her consultant, then so be it," he continues, and pulls two thin folders from underneath his arm. "Needless to say, I'm disappointed that it's come to this – I expected more loyalty from both of you –" she notes he's only looking at her as he speaks, "– but nevertheless, here we are."
She takes her folder with a trembling hand. She feels suddenly nauseous, but she forces herself to continue. It's fine, she reasons. I'll just shove it down Jane's throat when I'm done.
Except it doesn't read 'Notice of Termination' as she'd anticipated.
She blinks at it, perplexed.
'Revised Contract of Employment' it says in bold, across the top. Slowly, carefully, she allows herself to breathe again while she skims the details.
Holy crap.
He's really done it. 'A higher salary,' he'd offered, and there it is. 'Better parking,' he'd said, and there it is. Not to mention an extra few days paid leave.
And…
Oh.
The blood rushes to her face, and she tries to stifle the odd choking noise in her throat.
Jane just made a similar noise.
They look up at exactly the same moment, meeting each other's eyes with surprise. It's the first honest look they've exchanged since he first met John Fox yesterday.
"Uh, sir," she says carefully. "This last, uh, clause…"
"Oh, yes." Bertram wrinkles his nose. "Look, just keep it out of the office, okay?"
"No, that's not what I –"
"Lisbon," Jane says sharply. "Perhaps we should talk about this."
"But Jane –"
"Excellent idea," Wainwright is saying. "You two need to have an open discussion – air all your grievances. Don't leave any issues unresolved. You can't achieve a stable, supportive working environment with all this tension between the two of you."
"You're absolutely right," Jane is nodding. "In fact, Lisbon and I will stay right here and hash it out until we're, uh, ready to work as a cohesive team again."
Wainwright looks ecstatic, and Lisbon forces herself to smile as he and Bertram let themselves out. But the smile drops away when Jane locks the door and closes the blinds.
"Now," he says, turning to face her. "Let's talk."
There's something rather satisfying, Jane reflects, about trapping Teresa Lisbon in her own office and stalking her like a predator.
Especially when she's radiant with anger like this: eyes flashing, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling gently with the slow breaths she's currently using to try and calm herself down.
"You made those phone calls, didn't you?" Her voice is laced with fury. "Last night – to John's –"
"To John's bosses and Bertram," he agrees. "Yes, I did."
She laughs incredulously. "You can just admit it – just like that." She throws her hands up, as if she's talking to herself. "Of course you can. Do you have any idea the kind of trouble you've caused?"
He raises an eyebrow. " 'Trouble' is an interesting name for your new contract, Lisbon."
"You know what I mean, Jane. Bertram probably thinks I engineered this whole thing to get a better deal. And John! Do you know what he'll face when he gets back to Washington?"
Jane feels his teeth clenching automatically. John, John, John. He's heard quite enough about John. "No," he says stiffly, "and I don't care. I'm sure he can take care of himself, Lisbon. And as for Bertram – well, he knows the extent of my involvement; he's far more likely to blame me."
"Explain yourself," she demands hotly. "Explain how we went from complete normality yesterday to – this."
He tosses his contract to one side abruptly and approaches her. She folds her arms and stands her ground, glaring at him, but he sees her pulse flicker in her throat. He knows she's affected by his proximity, and he's glad (more than glad, in fact – about as close to thrilled as he can get without showing it on his face). "Let me put this simply," he offers, ignoring the fact that his own heart rate is increasing. "I suspected Agent Fox would try to tempt you away. I decided to take action to prevent it." He shrugs. "Simple."
He watches her reaction – the fire, accelerant added, that now rages in her eyes; the muscles winding and tightening in her face and arms; the way she discreetly wets her lips before she opens her mouth for what's certain to be a scathing retort.
It's taking all his self-control not to kiss her right now.
"I see," she bites out. "Why, exactly, did you feel it was remotely your business? Why do you think I'm incapable of coming to my own decisions without your involvement? And why do you have such a hard time respecting those decisions?"
That's not exactly what he's expecting to hear. "I don't have a hard time respecting you," he protests, "or your decisions. Why else do you think I've gone to all this trouble?"
Her nose wrinkles as she tries to figure that one out. "Excuse me?"
He doesn't even hesitate. "It shouldn't surprise you so much, Lisbon – you know my personality. You know I have very few limits when it comes to doing and getting what I want. The only exception I've made for you is to abandon my limits altogether."
He can't stop looking into her eyes. He's doing a moment-by-moment live reading of her, because every second counts, and he needs to know exactly how she interprets this.
She swallows roughly, and the anger dims just long enough to give him a glimpse of the turmoil beneath. Then it's back in full force, and she is the one stepping forward this time. He measures the distance between them by her warmth and by the strength of his own urge to reach out and touch her. "Don't do that," she says, through gritted teeth. "Don't try to make me back off by making me uncomfortable. This has been nothing but a game to you – all those shenanigans last night, calling the A.G., for crying out loud, not to mention the proposal!" Her eyes narrow. "You enjoyed it, didn't you? It's exactly the kind of crap you love – making other people feel on edge for your own personal amusement."
He can feel irritation bubbling in his blood. "You think anything about this has been amusing for me?" She's so close now – if he takes one more step, they'll be touching, and as intoxicating as that thought might be, he can't risk it. Too soon, and she'll interpret it as part of his 'game'. "You think I've enjoyed watching the two of you practically mount each other in the office –"
She gasps, outraged. "How dare you? That is not –" She shakes her head. "You know what? Screw you. You set up that whole fake proposal in the first place – why, I don't even know – and now you're just sore because we didn't play along. In fact, we got you."
He scoffs. "Please. I knew right away you were lying. Teresa Lisbon, giving in to impulse and getting engaged to a guy she hardly knows? 'Out of character' doesn't even begin to cover it…"
He knows it's a low blow. But in his mind's eye, all he can see is John Fox pulling her close and kissing her – and how comfortable they looked. He's been resisting the urge to analyse it, but the more he ponders it, the more he's growing to realise that they have kissed before. For real. And that thought is provoking the heat in his blood even more than the thought of her running off to marry him.
She's watching him now, suddenly impassive. It's unnerving. "Why," she asks slowly, "did you set up that scene at the restaurant, Jane? I mean, I understand calling Bertram – sort of – but what was the point of making me think he was going to propose marriage?"
He can only offer partial honesty. "To kill the romantic mood," he says, without preamble. "Nothing scares two people away from each other more than an unwanted display of commitment. It would certainly make you uncomfortable, and regardless of Agent Fox's feelings for you, something like that was bound to make him back off, if only to avoid giving you the wrong idea."
She's nodding. She seems to be in a reasonable mood all of a sudden, and Jane doesn't like it. "Really?" she murmurs. "Makes sense, I suppose. It's just – the only thing is, Jane – I really don't see how that benefits you. I mean, you're right – I wouldn't get engaged a guy I hardly knew. I wouldn't even leave my job and move to the other side of the country for him. So, regardless of whatever John and I felt for each other, you had to know that it wouldn't affect my decision." She's standing tall, tapping her foot impatiently. "So why get involved at all? Especially when my love life has nothing to do with you whatsoever."
He stares at her. She's been choosing her words carefully, and that last sentence is intended to lead him to a conversational crossroads. Does she… Could she possibly know? Or does she still assume he's playing her?
"Doesn't it, Lisbon?"
They're silent, neither knowing how to move forward from here. Jane is beginning to wonder whether, in trying to keep her by his side, he's managed to push her further away than ever – and the fear that accompanies that thought is clogging his throat and lungs. He's about to reach for her and beg her forgiveness, when her phone beeps once.
She might have been inclined to ignore it, he can tell, but the sound broke her concentration and she's already reaching automatically into her pocket. He watches her expression as she reads the text. There's some flicker there – a mixture of amusement, apprehension and unmistakeable fondness.
All he hears is the roar of blood in his ears as he pulls the phone from her grasp and reads the message: 'Yo, wife-to-be, I've given it some thought, and I want this pact in writing, preferably SWAK. Talk later x'
"Jane!" she exclaims, reaching for it. If he were the Hulk, he thinks he'd crush it in his fist. Instead, he turns and throws it against the brick wall. It shatters, and he knows the smile of satisfaction on his face must look ugly to her right now.
"Jane!" she says again, voice heavy with barely controlled anger. Her fists open and close briefly, and then she hits him – hard – in the shoulder.
He catches her wrist as she withdraws it. "Pact, Lisbon?" He doesn't yield to her attempts to yank her hand out of his grasp. "SWAK?"
She's furious now. "None of your goddamn business, Jane – what is your problem?" She stares at him for a moment. "You did this earlier. All that weird psycho behaviour. I thought it was part of the act, but how does that even make sense?"
He pulls her toward him a little, just enough to make him drunk with her scent and her pulse and the sight of her lips (so close now – within his reach). "It didn't take much," he murmurs, directing his reply to her hairline. "People already think I'm bananas. All I needed was to make them see how much worse I'd be without you – and look what happened. Bertram suddenly found himself inundated with requests to get you to stay." His laugh is a puff of air against her cheek. "It's part of my 'Lisbon Protection System' – anyone so much as thinks about suspending or firing you, and you'll have the entire CBI lining up to protest. An entire agency of allies, Lisbon, doesn't that sound good?"
Her voice is breathy with astonishment. "You arrogant, manipulative son of a –"
He slides his other arm around her, splaying his fingers in the centre of her back and pulling her closer. "What are you -?" she mutters, shoving at his chest. "Jane!"
"What," he murmurs, lips brushing her ear, "is the pact?"
She stills instantly, and white-hot jealousy flashes behind his eyes. "Lisbon?" he says, aware of the danger in his voice.
When she looks up at him, it's with a sly grin. "What?" she retorts. "The great Patrick Jane can't figure it out?" She rolls her eyes. "John wants to get hitched in Vegas if we're both still single by next year."
He's torn between fresh dislike for a man he's known for less than twenty-four hours, and slight relief. After all, Lisbon's relationship status is something he can, at least, change – assuming she doesn't murder him first.
"I see." He keeps his grip on her wrist and pulls her a little closer with the hand at her back. "And SWAK?"
She raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to be the font of all knowledge? Haven't you ever heard of 'sealed with a kiss'?"
He sucks in a breath. That bastard. "Let me make something clear, Lisbon." He closes the gap at last – nerve-endings breathing a sigh of relief to feel her warmth pressing against his chest through the fabric of his suit. She's angling her head and shoulders back a little, looking up at him with an enticing mix of anticipation, arousal and frustration. That little pulse in her throat is drumming against her skin, and he mentally marks the spot to return to later. "John Fox," he continues, leaning in to press his lips softly against her cheek, "will never," her eyebrow, "ever," the tip of her nose, "be allowed to kiss you again."
He angles his head and leans in… only to feel cool skin against his mouth.
The anger in her eyes is cold. She keeps her hand against his lips as she says, "I'm done with this, Jane. You've had your fun – you got the outcome you wanted. But I am so sick of you treating me like some… toy, getting all upset because somebody else played with me." She lets her hand drop. "I never thought you'd stoop so low as to nearly… Well, look, it doesn't matter now. Let's just move on, okay?"
For a moment, it's all he can do just to breathe.
This whole time, she thinks he's been playing her.
There's a chill seeping into his clammy skin, and suddenly he finds his heart pounding. He can feel her slipping away, and he knows that if he doesn't take action now, everything they have between them is going to come crashing down, and he won't ever be able to rebuild it.
The truth is, he's angry with her, too. She ought to know him better. She's always been good at reading him when no-one else can; she can usually tell when he's lying. If she were paying attention, she would see everything – all the things he isn't saying; things he's never dared say – particularly since he isn't even trying to hide his feelings now.
However, as he watches her carefully trying to school her features into impassivity, he realises that she isn't even looking.
She doesn't want to know.
It hurts for a moment, until sense kicks in and tells him that it's probably out of self-preservation. She doesn't want to know because she assumes it'll confirm what she's thought all along.
Well. That just settles it, then. He doesn't know it – Lisbon only tells him later – but he's got that crazy look in his eye again. "'Toy'?" he repeats, in a tight voice. "'Play'? You're using those words, Lisbon, not me. The only one who sees this as a game is you."
She sucks in a breath, and he can see her gearing up to retort, indignant now.
No.
He strengthens his grip on her wrist, taking careful note of her gradually increasing heart rate. The hand he'd removed from her back encircles her waist again, lower this time, pulling her back to him. "Nothing about this has been a game to me," he continues. "Everything I've done has been with one serious purpose – to make you understand that I'm in love with you, and I can't let you go."
She's looking directly into his eyes now, and he knows the exact moment she realises he's telling the truth – the slackened muscles around her mouth; the way her lips part and her pupils dilate just a touch more. "Jane," she says unsteadily – and suddenly he can't wait anymore.
Her mouth is already open when he leans down, letting go of her wrist to slide his hand into her hair and bring her lips to meet his. He takes advantage, turning a kiss that was intended to be soft and sweet into something else altogether – a hot, wet, achy slide of his tongue against hers, electricity crackling across every synapse in his body as he pulls her flush against him in a desperate attempt to bury himself in her warmth. His fingernails scrape her scalp and she gasps, letting him plunder her mouth thoroughly.
He feels her hands fist in his shirt, then flatten, then curl again. She's undecided, he can feel that; she isn't fully kissing him back yet.
Okay, he thinks, challenge accepted.
He takes hold of her shoulders and steers her to the nearest wall next to her desk. By necessity, he has to stop kissing her to achieve this, and naturally she starts to talk. "Jane," she says, lips beautifully pink and swollen, "shouldn't we - ?"
He crowds her.
He loves crowding her. Her personal space is the most enticing space he can imagine, and doing this for the express purpose of kissing her again is a delicious thought, because of course it's what he's wanted to do on every previous occasion.
He presses the length of his body against hers, trapping her against the wall. His hands rest against the cold brick, and she automatically braces hers on his biceps (which, he's sure, are nothing compared to John Fox's… but then again, she isn't thinking about John Fox right now, is she?)
"Lisbon," he says, "do you trust me?"
Her eyelids flutter shut for a moment, and she inhales. "Of course I do, Jane," she replies, as though this should be obvious.
For him, though, they are five words he will hear reverberating around his head for days to come. "Good," he says, grinning, and bends down to kiss her again.
It's intense, and brutal, and open-mouthed – tongues tangling and grunts and gasps and wet sounds – his teeth catching her lip and swallowing her moan, and it's perfect because she's kissing him back. Eventually he can't keep his hands off her, and slips one inside her shirt while the other one falls to her thigh. He's going crazy; all he wants is to feel her legs wrapped around his and to lose himself here and now…
But the hand sliding up next to her breast is cold, of course, because it's been pressing against a brick wall for the last few minutes – she jumps in his arms, and he hisses with shock as he realises he's already well on the way to 'losing himself'.
They arrive at the same conclusion at the same time. He presses his mouth to hers once more, pushing down his sense of urgency and stepping back at last. They're both breathing hard; Lisbon's hair is mussed and her cheeks are a lovely colour.
She reaches up to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ears, and he can't help it – he reaches out to tangle his fingers with hers. "Do you regret it?" he asks, and it's a genuine question, because right now she looks pleased and slightly frustrated and just-kissed – but who knows how soon she'll be withdrawing back into her worries and fears?
"No." She shakes her head. "But I think… we need to talk about that clause. In the contract."
Oh, yes.
He smiles widely without meaning to, and she frowns at him. "Jane, did you ask Bertram to include that?"
"Of course not!" he protests. "Bertram came to his own conclusions based on everything that's been happening, and I for one think it's for the best."
"For the best?" Her eyebrows tell him exactly what she thinks of that. "In what way is the entire bureau gossiping about us and the fact that we somehow blackmailed Bertram into exempting us from the rule that applies to everyone else 'for the best'? Not to mention…" she drops her gaze abruptly. "Well... it's not exactly…"
He curls his fingers tighter around hers. "True?"
The hurt he feels is only momentary. He can't blame her for being wary with her heart, not when he's known all along that she's a naturally guarded person. Lisbon would never assume that a kiss was anything more than a kiss, not even if it came with a declaration of love attached.
Not even if it's from him.
He tries to think of some smooth way of asking her to enter into a relationship with him, but his mind is supplying him with only the most pathetic, juvenile things he can think of. He can't ask Lisbon, 'will you go out with me?' like a twelve-year old. Is that even what twelve-year olds say these days?
What he comes out with is probably even worse. "It could be true," he offers. "I mean, I would like it to be true."
She bites her lip. "I don't know, Jane," she says hesitantly, and he feels his stomach twist. He forces away the sudden desperate urge to take hold of her and kiss her again, to do everything in his power to convince her. She's still talking, after all. "What if this screws everything up? I mean, we work together every day – it's bound to take its toll."
He tries to project an air of calm, but he knows his hands are unsteady as he fumbles to put them in his pockets. "You're right, Lisbon – who knows what might happen? We might end up arguing or otherwise disagreeing… one of us might storm off to some secret hiding place somewhere… we could have an awkward moment or even make a scene on the job… Oh wait!" He makes a show of smacking his forehead. "We do all those things anyway. Besides… history suggests we're both pretty good at compartmentalising."
There's a small smile growing on her face. He can't measure her pulse at this distance, obviously, but the way she swallows and her hand wanders up to play at her throat suggests she's thinking about it – really thinking about it. "Well," she says eventually, "I guess we could take Bertram's suggestion and keep it out of the office –"
He tries not to lunge, exactly, but that's probably what it looks like. She squeaks as he grins against her lips and slaps at his shoulder. "Jane," she mumbles, but he's already lost.
Author's Note: To those of you who might be thinking that this argument doesn't quite feel finished yet - you're right! Next chapter: Jane has to answer for his behaviour (and the destruction of Lisbon's phone), and John shows up again. In the meantime, I'm dying to hear what you thought – please review!