Title: Ebulliometry: A Crash Course
Disclaimer: Property of Bruno Heller
Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the delay with this! It's actually been written for ages, but things have been crazy at work and I haven't had time to do that all-important last edit before finally committing to posting. This is the final chapter of Ebulliometry, and I just want to mention the title again - I'm not sure whether I ever really explained why I picked it, but the idea in my mind was that Jane's boiling point - something we've yet to truly see on the show - was reached, or perhaps altered, by the arrival of John Fox.
[Sidenote: if there are any chemists reading this, I'm sure I've displayed a fundamental lack of understanding of the underlying principles of this; please excuse my ignorance. I would learn about it better if I could, but I seem to spend all my time online staring at pictures of Robin Tunney and Simon Baker instead...]
They do go outside, as it happens, but not the front of the building; Jane leads John Fox to the small public garden one block away from the CBI building. Fewer prying eyes or straining ears, he reasons.
John starts, as he'd expected. "You son of a bitch." He seems to be trying to control his breathing – and his temper. "Son of a bitch," he repeats, more to himself this time.
"I'm sorry," Jane interjects.
John looks directly at him, startled.
"For what I said on the phone, earlier," Jane clarifies. "It was… childish, and pathetic, and selfish. I didn't behave like a gentleman or even a man. Lisbon deserved better, and… so do you."
John scoffs. "You're damn right – she does deserve better."
"Says the man flying to the other side of the country," Jane snipes.
John's jaw tightens. "Don't you think I'd stay, if I thought it was what she wanted?" He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair with frustration. "Look, this isn't just jealousy, okay? I mean, yeah, I want to beat the living shit out of you, obviously, but I don't have any kind of prior claim here. She's a free woman. She can do whatever – whoever – she wants. But she's my friend, too. I care about her."
"At last," Jane mutters, feeling a little wrong-footed by so much honesty, "something we have in common."
"She deserves better than you embarrassing her like that just because of your ego. And I don't know what the hell was going on earlier with your 'here's Johnny' routine, but you keep doing that and best case scenario, she'll get sick of it. Worst case scenario, she gets hurt because of it."
John steps up to him again, and Jane can't help but feel something positive towards him, even if he struggles to define it.
This man loves Lisbon – he has no right to object to that – but even more, John Fox will want the best for her even if it means giving her up. That's admirable. In fact, it's downright likeable. Lisbon can never have too many allies, in Jane's view.
But Jane will give up tea for coffee before he'll ever admit to liking John Fox, even a little.
Instead, he nods. "You're right, of course. And you can rest assured that I plan to spend the rest of my life making sure she never gets hurt again."
John nods, not quite looking at him. "Rest of your life, huh?"
"Mm-hmm." Jane's voice is a little hard when he adds, "So don't go making any hotel reservations in Vegas, okay?"
John's head shoots up. "She told you?"
He shrugs. "Well, I saw the text. She filled in the gaps."
"Son of a bitch," says John again, but there's no anger there anymore. "If I were a better man, I'd wish you every happiness, but personally? I hope she turns up on my doorstep in two days and says she's dumped your sorry ass." There's a half-smile on his face as he says it, as if he knows it'll never happen. "Still, I've got one thing going for me."
Jane eyes him cautiously. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
The satisfied gleam in John's eyes gives him away entirely. "I kissed her first."
The anger stirring in Jane's chest isn't half as potent as it was earlier. Of course, it helps that he has his own memories of Lisbon's hot mouth against his in full sensory detail to recall to mind… but her kisses with John will always be an unknown quantity.
John is still talking. "And if you screw this up Jane, I swear, I'll make sure I'm the one kissing her for the rest of both our lives."
"Understood," Jane mutters gruffly. He can't deny, after all, that the potential to screw this up horribly still exists. But he knows that if he does, it won't be the end for them. He can't allow that. He doesn't share this sentiment with John Fox, however. Instead, he says, "You're a decent person, I suppose."
"Oh, thank you," says John, voice laden with sarcasm.
"If something ever happened to me," Jane continues, "I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing if you were to be around for her."
"Try and keep me away." Although it sounds like a challenge, John is looking a little more relaxed, a hint of a smile on his face. "I'll be out here before you're cold in your grave."
Jane can't help but give a little huff of laughter. "Have I mentioned what a stand-up guy you are?"
"No, but when you hugged me this morning, I knew we'd be best friends forever."
They trade a look of mutual understanding combined with an odd mix of irritation and outright annoyance. And then they nod at each other as though this is perfectly normal, and begin to walk back to the CBI building.
Lisbon is aware that by now, gossip in the office is raging out of control.
She also knows that Brenda is to blame for the majority of it. The most popular story she seems to be hearing is that she's pregnant with Jane's child but doesn't think he's mentally stable enough to be the father; John Fox is apparently her 'safety' choice, rescuing her from the madman and whisking her off to Washington to make an honest woman of her. Jane, being Jane, has supposedly figured all of this out and lost what remains of his mind, threatening her to stay in California or else. And now he and John have disappeared to murder each other in a duel. The consensus, apparently, is that if they both die, Cho should be the one to step up and marry her.
Evidently, her worries about not having enough of a life compared to her colleagues have been somewhat unfounded all these years.
Still, she accepts that she probably doesn't help matters by pacing around her office straightening the hell out of everything and snapping at anyone who walks through the door.
When Jane and John get back, she doesn't bother to hide her relief – or her obvious inspection for war wounds.
"See, Lisbon," says Jane knowingly, "didn't I promise? No violence – from either of us."
"Well, I'm glad," she says honestly. Then, without preamble, "Jane, you need to go and see Brenda and put everything straight, or this will all be a lot worse by tomorrow."
He tuts, exasperated. "Honestly, Lisbon, what harm is it doing? I mean, really, these people trudge in and out of work every day, do the same boring things over and over again, and then the three of us come along and stir everything up." He makes a gesture as though he's mixing the contents of a large cauldron with two spoons. "A little interest in their lives. Something to talk about, to connect with. Consider it a good deed, Lisbon."
"Yes," she says pleasantly, "that's nice, Jane, but if I hear one more person saying I'm pregnant with triplets, I'm going to snap and kill everybody."
Jane whistles and glances at her stomach automatically. "Well, now that's just baffling. You're tiny; where are they getting the idea of three from, let alone one?"
"I don't know," she says impatiently, "but seriously – Brenda. Now. Go."
"All right, all right…" He glances back at John before he leaves. "Hands off my pregnant fiancée," he instructs, loudly enough to be heard by the – thankfully few – people in the vicinity.
She growls with frustration. "He's enjoying this," she mutters, almost to herself. "Of course."
Looking at John feels different now, which she guesses is to be expected, but it's a little sad nonetheless. "So," he says sheepishly, "you and him."
"Uh…" She darts past him and pushes her office door closed. "We're trying to keep it quiet, but… yeah. Me and him."
He raises an eyebrow and points his thumb over his shoulder. "Did he understand the message about keeping it quiet? Because he's like a one-man broadcasting system, I don't know if you noticed…"
She laughs, fiddling self-consciously with her hair. "Yeah, that's Jane alright." She glances at him. "Listen, John… I'm – I don't want you to think that I was trying to-"
He holds up his hands quickly. "It's okay. We didn't… We never made any promises to each other, Teresa. And much as I was looking forward to coming back here next year and whisking you off to Vegas, I'd much rather see you happy right now. That is… if you are? Happy, I mean."
She has no way of knowing it, but the genuine, gentle smile on her face reflects exactly how happy she is, and it rips John's heart right out of his chest.
"Well, then," he says, with false brightness, "I guess that answers my question."
Something painful clenches inside her chest. "John…"
"Hush," he says softly, opening his arms up. "Just hug me and tell me you'll name your firstborn after me."
She does hug him, at least. "You know I'm not pregnant, right?"
He glances down at her sceptically. "I dunno. That was a pretty big steak last night – could be a food baby in there." And he has the audacity to pat her abdomen.
What remains of their dedicated audience is treated to the sight of Teresa Lisbon chasing John Fox out of her office, whacking him over the head with a rolled-up case file.
EPILOGUE
"Damn it," Lisbon curses. "Damn it all to hell."
Jane, passing her office, chooses to interpret this as some kind of satanic invocation designed to summon him. "You rang?" he intones in a deep voice, lurking in her doorway.
She aims a lethal glare at him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
He pauses for a moment, racking his brains. She could be referring to anything. He's already committed at least three wrongs just this morning that he's aware of (although, to his memory, she'd been present for two of them and hadn't complained once. In fact, she hadn't been very coherent at all).
On the other hand, it could be a trick question along the lines of, 'son, do you know how fast you were going?'
Everybody knows that there is no right answer to that question. Except maybe, "No hablo ingles."
Somehow, he thinks that won't quite cut it with Lisbon. He clears his throat. "Uh, could you be more specific?"
She waves her phone rather threateningly at him. "This, Jane. You told me you got the store to disable Autocorrect!"
"Ah." In fairness, he'd asked them to. But then the extremely helpful assistant had started to teach him how to personalise the phone - something he wouldn't have had the first clue about doing otherwise - and the opportunity to mess around with her ringtones and provide her with a stock of photos of himself in funny poses had been utterly distracting. "Well, you know how it is, Lisbon, sometimes these devices have minds of their own."
She places her hands flat on the desk, inhales deeply through her nose and exhales out through her mouth. She's either trying to calm down or gathering the strength to vaporise him with one glance. "Jane," she says at last, "I changed my mind. I don't want this anymore."
Something twists violently inside him.
"Too bad," he says, his voice hard. "You're stuck with me."
When she opens her eyes, they're full of astonishment. "I meant the phone!" she says, as though this should be obvious. "I trusted you to pick a good one, and you got a touchscreen. I can't type worth a damn with this thing."
Relief makes him beam like a crazed child; he moves to perch on her desk, deliberately planting his hand close to hers. "You'll get used to it," he tells her. "Besides, by 'a good one' you meant the exact same model you had before. Face it, Lisbon, technology has advanced far beyond three menu options and a 1 megapixel camera."
She scowls again, but allows her little finger to rest just next to his thumb.
This is their version of 'keeping it out of the office'. Jane feels it demonstrates immense restraint on both their parts.
She leans a little closer, and his breath hitches in his chest. "Jane?" she says softly, angling her head so he can see that perfect, delicious dip behind her collarbone.
"Yes?" It's almost a plea, and he finds himself inclining his head towards hers.
"Kindly remove the photo of your butt from my home screen background, or I will remove something of yours."
He deflates a little as she pulls back, disappointment conflicting with the thrill of anticipation still racing through his veins. "Bad girl," he murmurs, holding her gaze long enough to convey the idea that he's having some pretty impure thoughts right now. It's perversely satisfying to see her wriggle in her seat and know that she'll be thinking about it for the rest of the day.
He pushes himself away from her desk and goes to flop gracelessly onto her couch. "Dinner later?" he asks casually. "I was thinking we could go to that steak place you love."
Her nose wrinkles with curiosity. "Really? There's not a lot on the menu that you'd enjoy."
He shrugs. "I'll find something. Besides," he casts a wicked look in her direction, "I thought we could create a scandal by running the 'disastrous proposal' con again. Same staff, of course."
She flicks a little bit of paper at him; it falls short and lands next to him on the couch. "No, Jane," she says sternly, "it was so embarrassing the last time. Can you imagine what they'd think of me if I turned up with a different guy?"
"Obviously, that you're a smart, vivacious woman who deserves the attention of as many men as she desires." He says this matter-of-factly, because of course it's the truth – but he knows she'll blush anyway, because she resists compliments in the same way that superbugs resist antibiotics.
"Shut up," she says self-consciously, and ducks behind her computer.
He rearranges her cushions and makes himself comfortable, closing his eyes and listening to the soothing sound of her gentle fingers against the keyboard. It isn't the first time he's brought up the idea of doing another fake proposal, and the truth is, he doesn't raise the subject because he actually wants to do it – he mentions it because he's running a new con.
A con that involves desensitising Teresa Lisbon to the idea of a proposal. Specifically, training her to believe that he's joking every time he brings it up. Training her not to dwell on anything he says and to take pretty much everything with a pinch of salt.
He cracks one eye open to peek at her sitting comfortably at her desk. She's completely relaxed, flipping idly through a file to check something before she continues typing.
He supposes she's had a lot of practice at not taking him seriously over the last eight years.
It bothers him a little, of course, but right now it's working for him.
Because there's a day coming – a day that's been long in the planning – when he intends to lay everything on the line and ask her to put the rest of her life in his hands.
And when that day comes, he'll do absolutely anything to make sure that her answer is 'yes'.
Author's Note: *sigh* So there we go - the end of a story I have enjoyed writing so, so much. Even more than that, I've been absolutely over the moon to read each and every review/favourite etc. Thank you so much for sticking with me, and for giving so much love to an original character (John of course) when you were in no way obliged to even like him! I hope you enjoyed this final chapter, and I can't wait to be a slave to many more plot bunnies in the future (provided the last 4 episodes of Season 5 don't leave me a traumatised, useless husk).