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Now, for the Christmas Ball…

Chapter 3: The Fish and the Bird

"Van Pelt," said Lisbon into her cell phone, trying hard not to sound panic-stricken-which she was.

"Yeah, Boss. What's up?"

"I uh, need your help right away."

Van Pelt's voice turned instantly concerned. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the lobby of the hotel."

"Do you need Rigsby too?"

"No, just you."

"Okay, I'll be right down."

An eternity later, the elevator door slid open, and Van Pelt moved quickly to where Lisbon was pacing near the posh lobby sitting area.

"What's wrong?" she whispered anxiously to her boss over the lobby muzak.

"You have to help me pick out a ball gown. My black cocktail dress is too informal for a ball at the White House."

Van Pelt stared at the more diminutive woman, momentarily nonplussed. She'd summoned her for wardrobe advice? She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing racing. But Van Pelt, always ready for emergencies of any kind, nodded in understanding, noting with sympathy now how agitated Lisbon seemed. She supposed she couldn't blame her. She'd been asked out by the President of the United States, for God's sake.

Lisbon pulled out her smartphone and began searching for the closest appropriate department stores and boutiques.

"Don't worry, Boss," she said with a reassuring smile. "I'd be happy to help."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's perfect, Boss," said Van Pelt, two hours later. After trying on several ball gowns, Grace knew how to gauge Lisbon's expressions regarding formal attire, though it was hard to separate dissatisfaction with a dress from annoyance with the entire dressing room process. To Van Pelt's surprise, Lisbon didn't look unhappy.

For the first time, when she looked at herself in the mirror, Lisbon actually smiled.

"It's not too bad, I guess."

"Well, halleluiah," said Van Pelt, her own face bright with a smile. Then Lisbon frowned.

"You don't think this looks more like…well, a wedding dress, do you?"

"Maybe a little, but the gold in the bodice and the embroidery on the skirt makes it look more like a ball gown."

Lisbon turned from one side to the other before the mirror, having the fleeting thought that she looked a bit like a princess. The very idea made her blush, as did the vision of the president seeing her for the first time in this distinctly matrimonial gown.

"Isn't there some rule about wearing white after Labor Day?" she hedged.

Van Pelt gave a huge sigh of exasperation. "Oh, for the love of God, stop!"

Lisbon's eyebrows shot up, and it was Van Pelt's turn to flush.

"I mean, Boss…you look beautiful. This is the one. No need to second-guess. When you know it's right, it's—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," said Lisbon in amusement. "Tell the clerk I'll take the damn dress."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You know," said Charlotte, "if these things are starting to make you this nervous, you should stop having them. You're the president, Dad. You can make some sort of executive order or something…"

Jane frowned in the mirror. It was a repeat of the other night—a repeat of many other nights—where he would chat with his daughter while putting on the final touches of his attire for some state function. Charlotte was on her usual perch on his bed, where she was normally either watching critically, or laying on her stomach while thumbing away at her cell phone. Tonight, she was watching him closely enough that it only added to his agitation. He usually treasured these moments with her, but he was plagued with nerves even worse than before the crime bill signing.

"I can't be a no-show at the Christmas ball, Charlotte."

He watched her shrug in the mirror, then he focused on his infuriating black bow tie. She didn't help him this time—bow ties were too complicated, she had said on many occasions.

"Rumor has it," she began idly, "that you have a date for tonight. When were you going to tell me, Dad?"

He pulled the ends tight on his tie and turned to his daughter sheepishly.

"I was going to wait to see how it turned out before I talked to you about her. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about my dating again."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. It's about damn time, as far as I'm concerned."

"Charlotte," he said, eyes narrowing at her bad language.

"Sorry," she said unapologetically. "It's just that it's been ten freakin' years since you dated, Dad. That's actually kinda creepy."

"You sound like Walter," he said, lips quirking. "But you're wrong. I've gone out before…"

"One date. And I don't think it even counts."

"Kristina was a very nice lady. We went to dinner. Of course it counts."

Charlotte gave a dramatic shudder. "Right."

"And that's the reason I didn't go out with her again. You didn't like her."

"She was okay. A little weird maybe, but okay, I guess, so there was definitely more to it than that."

He looked at her a moment, wondering if the fact that she'd inherited his shrewdness was a blessing or a curse.

"She just wasn't your mother," he admitted over the tightness in his throat.

"No one will ever be Mom," said Charlotte softly. "But I'm pretty sure Mom wouldn't want you to be a monk."

"Charlotte."

"It's true, and you know it. So, this tells me there must be something really special about this chick you're seeing tonight. Who is she? Is she hot? When do I get to meet her?"

"Her name's Teresa, and she's an agent with the California Bureau of Investigation. And yes," he said, feeling a little warm when he said it, "she's very hot. But don't get too excited, sweetheart; she's only here for a few days."

"They have these cool things called airplanes—and you happen to have access to the coolest one. No more excuses, Dad. If you like her, don't let anything get in the way—not me, not even Mom."

Her wise words hung between them, and he covered his discomfort by slipping on his black tuxedo jacket over his snowy white shirt. Suddenly, he smiled.

"How old are you again?"

"Old enough to go out on dates without a chaperone," she quipped, batting her eyelashes persuasively.

He laughed, leaning over the bed to kiss her on the forehead. "Yes, I've heard this. Countless times. I sort of hit on this presidency thing at exactly the right time," he said dryly. "What normal father has a pair of Secret Service agents following his teenage daughter around wherever she goes? I never knew how much I'd come to appreciate the little perks that came along with this job."

She gave a derisive snort and looked at her phone to reply to a text.

"You know…Kristina gave me a quick psychic reading once while you were on the phone," she said, out of the blue.

"What?" said Jane, horrified. "There are no such things as psychics, Charlotte. Kristina was a fraud—another reason things wouldn't have worked out between us. I'd long since been out of that life when we met."

"Don't you want to know what she said?"

He stiffened, but tried to sound nonchalant. In truth, he was dying to know what the fake psychic had had the audacity to tell his little girl. That way, maybe he could send a drone to her home in California, and-

"I'm sure it was a lot of New Age nonsense," he said, "but I could use a good laugh."

"I don't know, Dad; maybe she was on to something. She said…I would have a new mother by the time I was eighteen."

Jane stared at Charlotte a moment, struggling between anger at Kristina for making such a prediction, and overwhelming guilt at his own selfishness. Should he have been trying harder to get her a new mother? Had she missed out on an integral part of her development because of his devotion to his dead wife?

He knelt on the bed and gathered Charlotte up in his arms.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered. "I should have remarried a long time ago, given you a woman in your life you could talk to about all those female things I didn't have a clue about."

To his surprise, Charlotte pushed him away slightly to look at his face.

"Dad, stop it. Sure, sometimes I wished I could have a mom to talk about certain stuff, but you've been such a great dad, I have never felt I was really missing anything. And for those things you didn't know," she said, her smile bright with humor, "there was always the internet."

Jane smiled in return, speechless with love for this girl who'd had his heart since the moment she'd curled her tiny hand around his finger. He pulled her close again, silently damning himself, Kristina Frye, and the unknown assailant who'd taken Angela from them both.

"No pressure with this Teresa chick, though, Dad," said Charlotte. He could feel her grin against his chest. "After all, by my count, you still have six whole months…"

Jane closed his eyes tightly.

The drone option was definitely still on the table.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walter Mashburn, the president's chief of staff, led Lisbon to an anteroom near the top of the grand staircase, from which the president would make his entrance. She stood as still as she could while she waited, wishing she still had her coat.

She couldn't decide once again whether she was chilly or nervous, and her hand went up to pat her hair for the hundredth time. She'd pulled it back into a simple low bun, with a soft part in the middle that allowed her wavy hair to appear almost like it had been molded into 1920's finger waves. Teardrop pearls hung from her ears, and she wore nothing at her neck—the gold threads of the bodice embellishment enough, she'd thought. She wore low gold heals beneath the skirt of her dress, desiring comfort over height since she had a feeling she would be dancing part of the night—and she loved to dance.

"You okay?" asked Mashburn. His voice lowered conspiratorially. "Need a drink?"

Lisbon laughed in surprise, though she had to admit a shot of whiskey might take the edge off.

"No, I'd better not. It wouldn't do for the president's date to make a stumbling entrance into the ballroom."

"Aw, to hell with all those old fuddy-duddies. They wouldn't know real fun if it bit them in the—Mr. President! Look who's here!"

Jane looked from Mashburn to Lisbon, noting their close proximity with raised eyebrows. Mashburn grinned and stepped away.

"They're expecting you in five," he warned, then exited the anteroom.

"Ignore Walter," said Jane. "He's a perpetual flirt."

Lisbon smiled. "He's a very charming flirt though."

"He likes to think so."

Jane allowed the admiration to seep into his eyes then, forgetting Mashburn and blatantly ogling her from head to toe and back up again. She blushed prettily, and followed his lead, taking in how his perfectly tailored, black tuxedo emphasized his blonde hair and his stark white shirt enhanced the faint tan he still sported from his recent trip to the Governor's Conference in Florida.

"You look incredible," he said sincerely. He brought her hand to his lips, then sandwiched it warmly within his two palms. He could feel her thready pulse beneath his hands. But she hid her nervousness well, as, he hoped, did he.

"Thank you, Mr. President; so do you," was her bold reply.

"It's Patrick, remember?"

"I remember," she said with a small smile, but she still didn't say his name. He'd have to keep working on that.

They were separated for his entrance into the East Room, where he was welcomed in his usual fashion, this time by the band hailing him once again amidst the deafening applause of congressman, their spouses and other dignitaries. Behind him, Vice President Madeline Hightower, resplendent in sapphire blue, was escorted by her handsome husband. Lisbon stood off to the side of the beautiful room, looking in awe at the huge, sparkling chandeliers, the golden draperies, the shining wooden floor where she hoped she'd be dancing soon. It was really like a fairytale, complete with yet another beautiful Christmas tree as a corner focal point.

She suddenly felt a hand on her elbow.

"Sorry about that," said the president near her ear. "I'm all yours now."

She shivered slightly as his breath stirred her hair. "I doubt that," she said softly, as another person made a comment to him, dividing his attention briefly once again.

Then Vice President Hightower stepped up to the microphone in front of the band.

"On behalf of the president, I'd like to welcome all of you to the annual White House Christmas Ball. We are so pleased you joined us to help celebrate this holiday season. Enjoy the hors d'oeuvre, but please don't drink too much eggnog," she warned, garnering many knowing laughs. "Now, my husband is quite the dancer, and he's itching to get me on the dance floor, so please, give it up for the band, and let's get this party started!"

There was wild applause and a few whistles, and then a famous singer, popular for his style in the same vein as Frank Sinatra, began to sing his jazzy version of "Jingle Bell Rock." Lisbon was doubly star struck. Jane grinned almost gleefully as he took her hand, and Lisbon found herself breathlessly swing dancing with the President of the United States. She laughed and blushed as he gently twirled her around, pulled her close and stepped away. She felt every eye upon them, and it was a few minutes before other dancers joined them out on the floor. She had never felt so exhilarated by a dance in her entire life, so proud to be someone's partner.

When the Christmas song ended, the crooner slipped into an old slow, standard. Jane and Lisbon stood awkwardly for a brief moment, both of them a little out of breath from their dance and their closeness, though neither of them wanted to find other partners. They felt the expectant eyes of the room upon them, and with a smile, he took her hand, while she rested her other on his shoulder. His right hand found her waist, and they began a slow back and forth sway to "The Way You Look Tonight."

"You are a surprisingly good dancer," she said, looking up into his light green eyes.

"You expected me to have two left feet?" he asked, feigning offense.

"It's not that. It's just…I find it hard to believe someone could be that…perfect," she admitted.

He laughed, drawing even more attention, but Jane ignored the stares and the speculative smiles, pleased to see by the twinkling in her eyes that she was only teasing him.

"Well, Teresa, I hate to tear down this very high pedestal you've built for me, but I am not, in fact, perfect—not by any means."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Tell me one thing you're bad at."

He pretended to contemplate her question seriously, while he marveled at the tininess of her waist, the fragility of her hand in his, the heavenly scent she wore, redolent of rich vanilla and chocolate. Good enough to eat, he thought. His eyes darkened at his forbidden thoughts, and Lisbon averted hers shyly at the sudden heat she saw there. They listened to the singer for a moment, felt the music envelop them, drawing them closer, making them feel as if they were the only dancers in the room.

"Singing," he said at last. "I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

She looked up at him again, her expression skeptical.

"It's true," he protested. "Ask my daughter about the times we've sung Karaoke. It's really horribly cringe-worthy, or so says Charlotte."

She shook her head. "I'm sure you're exaggerating. I'd have to hear it to believe it."

"Deal," he said, squeezing her hand. "Come tomorrow night and I'll prove it. You can meet Charlotte."

He was just as surprised as Lisbon at his invitation.

"Okay," she said softly.

He nodded, already anticipating having her to himself—and Charlotte, of course—in their private rooms. As the singer finished the last strains of his song, Jane managed to hold her a respectable distance away, though he longed with everything in him to press his body flush with hers, to bury his face in her soft neck and breathe her in.

More enthusiastic clapping met the end of the song, and Jane caught Mashburn's eye across the room. He immediately headed their way.

"I'm afraid I should spread myself around a bit," he said to her reluctantly. "If your dance card isn't full in awhile, will you save another for me?"

"Of course," she said. "Thank you for the dances."

He squeezed her hand. "My extreme pleasure."

"May I cut in?" asked Mashburn gallantly.

Lisbon smiled. "Please do."

"Take care of my date for me, will you, Walter? But not too good of care." The last was said in a teasing tone, though Mashburn felt the distinct possessiveness behind it.

"I'll be the very model of gentlemanly restraint," he replied dryly.

Jane looked heavenward, gave Lisbon a smile of farewell, and went off to ask the vice president for a dance, much to the delight of the crowd.

The singer began another song, and Lisbon enjoyed being in the hands of another charming dancer.

"You two make a lovely pair," said Mashburn sincerely. "Everyone is commenting on it."

Lisbon blushed. "I still can't believe I'm even here."

"It is a bit overwhelming, isn't it? But you're doing fine. Now, if Patrick can avoid accosting you on the dance floor, all will be well."

"What?" she said, startled. "He's being a perfect gentleman."

"Naturally," said Mashburn. "But that's not how he wants to be. Just a little warning. I haven't seen him this way with a woman since his wife."

Lisbon's eyes widened. "He'd probably be mad as hell if he heard you telling me this."

"Oh, I'm sure he would be," said Mashburn with a little chuckle. "But I like you, Agent Lisbon, and I can see you like the president. He's moving very fast though, and I just don't want you to get too caught up in his…enthusiasm. You live on opposite sides of the country, and he's the President of the United States. You see the inherent problems…"

"Yes, I would, if we were involved, but we aren't. This is only our first date; we're not picking out rings tomorrow."

"Oh, I understand that. I honestly don't want you to get hurt, Teresa—may I call you Teresa? But I definitely don't want him to get hurt either—his job is too important for the distraction of a broken heart."

"Are you warning me away from him?" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Of course not," he hastened to explain. He grinned kindly, showing his engaging dimples. "I guess what I'm trying to do is suss out your intentions."

She glanced across the room where Jane was laughing with Madeline Hightower while they danced, obviously very comfortable in one another's company. An unexpected wave of longing came over her, and she wished she could still feel his hand wrapped warmly around hers. She resented Mashburn's implication that she was out to take advantage of this wonderful man.

The very thought made her stiffen in Masburn's arms, her voice becoming as steely as it did when she was interrogating a perp. "I'm only here for a few more days, Mr. Mashburn, but I intend to see him as much as he wants to see me. I enjoy his company—it's nothing more than that."

But Mashburn was far from blind; he saw how the two of them looked at each other, saw how taken his friend was with this petite woman with the sexy job and the sexier ass.

"I didn't mean to upset you. Patrick isn't just my boss, Teresa; he's my friend. And my priorities are his happiness and the welfare of the United States—in that order. Nothing personal—you seem to be a lovely person."

"Hmph," she said, but she barely spoke to him the rest of the dance, despite his attempts at pleasant small talk. When the music ended, she excused herself to head for the open bar.

"I think I need that drink now," she told him. "Thanks for the dance."

"Teresa—"

But she had slipped away before he could apologize.

"Shit," Mashburn muttered.

He looked for the president in the crush, saw that he'd been watching them dance, his eyes narrowed unhappily. Jane could read a situation instantly, and Mashburn felt his stomach clench. There'd be hell to pay for this one, but Mashburn was only looking out for his friend.

He didn't feel a bit guilty, not one iota.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Your date seems lovely," Madeline was saying, as she caught Jane glancing surreptitiously at the petite brunette dancing now with Mashburn. "She's the agent from the CBI you met at the reception the other night. I wonder that we had never met."

"California is a big state."

"By all accounts, she's an amazing investigator, with a fine team. I had met her boss, Minelli before-a great man. I can see how she would blossom under his command."

"Yes," agreed Jane proudly. "Teresa's sharp as a tack, and a heroine to boot. She'll be the perfect choice to head the California task force."

Hightower raised an eyebrow. This was news to her. "Hmm. Sounds like a perfect choice for you."

"Madeline—"

"Oh, come on, Patrick. I've been trying to get you to date for years."

"Yes, I know," said Jane, remembering very well how she'd encouraged him to go out with Kristina Frye, the psychic who had shown up at the Santa Barbara police station, claiming she'd had a vision of who might have killed Angela. That had led to nowhere, in more ways than one.

"Well, Charlotte's almost grown," Hightower was saying, "and it's about damn time you started thinking of your own happiness for a change."

"Agent Lisbon is just an interesting woman I've only recently met, and would like to get to know better. Don't read too much into this."

"Patrick, I love you dearly, but you are full of crap."

"As always, I appreciate your ladylike candor," he teased, giving her his most angelic smile.

He'd met Hightower years before. She'd been the chief detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department, in charge of the investigation into his wife's murder. He'd been impressed with her kindness and compassion, but it was through her that he'd found that most of the police departments in southern California were extremely shorthanded, and they'd recently had to cut down on patrols near the beaches to deal with the increasing crimes inside the cities. What's more, upon further research, Jane had found similar shortages all across America.

Hightower proved to be thorough and dogged in her investigation, but despite her devotion to tracking down every possible lead, Angela's murderer had never been found.

Hightower had gone on to join the CBI, and as Jane had thrown himself into the world of politics and the pursuit of anti-crime legislation, he'd called upon her frequently for advice and insight. When he'd considered his run for president, he'd thought of her immediately as his running mate. She'd been tough on crime as a special agent, but had been even tougher on Jane to get himself back in the saddle dating-wise. Next to Mashburn, Madeline was his closest friend.

"I plan to keep things very casual with Teresa," Jane continued, "so like I told Charlotte, don't get your hopes up."

"Charlotte doesn't have a problem with your dating? Well, isn't that interesting."

"Madeline, my dear, you are a wonderful friend and an excellent vice president, but Dolly Levi you are not. Witness the disaster that was Kristina Frye."

"I had nothing to do with the fizzling of that relationship, Patrick. The blame for that falls directly upon your pretty head."

"I wasn't ready then," he said, meeting her eyes seriously.

She nodded in understanding. "No, but I think you might be now," she said, following his gaze to Agent Lisbon, who seemed suddenly not to be enjoying herself.

"What the hell is he saying to her?" Jane muttered through gritted teeth. He couldn't see Mashburn's face to read the man's lips, but he could clearly see that Lisbon appeared almost stricken.

"Mashburn? Not everyone gets his charming sense of humor," she commented dryly.

By the time the dance ended, Hightower could feel the anxiety suffusing Jane's body, and he was fairly chomping at the bit to find out what was going on with his date.

"Excuse me, Madeline," he said, after escorting her back to her husband.

"Go get her, partner," she said with an indulgent smile, but he was already too far away to hear her.

It took a few minutes to get through the crowd on the dance floor, and Jane had to pass on a few dance invitations from a beautiful senator and the Secretary of Education, putting them off politely while he went in search of his date. He found Lisbon in the parlor just off the ballroom, exchanging her empty shot glass for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray.

He nodded to his guests, but didn't stop to engage them in conversation, which was his usual habit. Instead, he made a beeline for Lisbon, frowning when he saw her drink half her glass in one gulp.

"Go easy on that stuff," he told her, his smile tight with concern. "It's not called Iron Horse for nothing."

She flushed, both from his presence and the alcohol.

"Sorry. Dancing makes me thirsty."

"You're upset," he said simply, too angry himself to beat around the bush. "What did Walter say to you?"

She was surprised that he already knew, surprised at his anger. She sighed. "Nothing really. He was very polite."

"Teresa."

"Look, this—us—we are probably not such a good idea. You're a busy, powerful man, and I live in California. You know that old saying about the fish and the bird—where would we live?"

Jane stared at her a moment, looking deeply into her eyes, evaluating, considering. Was she truly not interested? No, he thought, looking deeper still, that wasn't it at all.

"The Eighth Amendment be damned," he said coldly, "I'll have the bastard drawn and quartered for this."

Lisbon laughed and looked around nervously. Her hand went out to tentatively touch his arm. "No, don't be angry. He's your friend; he's concerned about you. He's worried I'll be a distraction, that I'll break your heart. Silly, isn't it? We barely know each other."

He looked down at the contrast of her white hand on the dark sleeve of his tuxedo jacket, and he felt the anger drain out of him. He was amazed to find that, much like Charlotte, she had the power to instantly calm him. And no, Jane realized, the fact that she might be a beautiful distraction from his loneliness, from the weight of the world upon his shoulders, wasn't silly at all.

"I apologize for Walter. He had no right to upset you. I like you, Teresa. I like you a lot. And I don't know where the fish lives with the bird, but I'm sure if it's important enough to both of them, they'll find a way to make it work."

She smiled. "Maybe."

His heart gave a mighty thump at the promise in her eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Now," he said, taking the half-empty glass from her hand and setting it on a nearby table. "I believe you owe me another dance."

"Yes, Mr. President, I suppose I do."

A/N: Coming up, things definitely heat up between our bird and fish, but in case I don't get another chapter in before Thursday, I wish everyone a blessed Christmas!

Thank you once again for reading.