A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful reviews of the last chapter. They were the perfect Christmas present. Now, I hope to return the favor…
Chapter 6: You'd Better Watch Out
"Could this possibly be the President of the United States?" asked the reporter, her voice laced withnw melodramatic intrigue. As she spoke, viewers were treated to a grainy black and white surveillance video from the St. Regis Hotel, where a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt moved quickly into the back seat of a black SUV in the hotel's parking garage.
"It has been confirmed that this woman—forty-one-year-old Teresa Lisbon, special agent for the California Bureau of Investigation"-and footage from her recent entry into the hotel flashed on the screen—"seen here entering the St. Regis Hotel, is actually the same woman President Jane danced with at the annual White House Christmas Ball Saturday night." The picture from the ball of the pair dancing replaced the hotel scenes. "So I ask you, could the president be arranging secret rendezvous with Teresa Lisbon? The evidence seems pretty compelling."
The camera switched to a live shot of the reporter and her co-host of the daily entertainment show. "But my real question is, Joe, if that was in fact the president in that SUV, how safe was his visit? One guard is all I could see—I don't think that reaches the levels of proper security protocols. What do you think, Joe…?"
Mashburn paused one of several televisions on the wall of the Situation Room, and turned angrily to Jane.
"That's just a small sample of what we're seeing. And you don't even want to know about the internet. You know, they've already got a couple name for the two of you? Jisbon. Jesus, that sounds almost pornographic. Why couldn't it have been, I don't know, Patresa, or LisJane or something more innocuous? Damn social media."
Jane shrugged, and had maintained a smug smile throughout the broadcast, except when he saw Lisbon's shock and fear as she was practically mobbed by the press on her way into the hotel the night before.
"What do you want me to say, Walter? She was going to leave. I had to see her again."
"She couldn't have come here? Although, now, with the press hot on her scent, I don't know which idea would have been worse."
"She wouldn't leave the hotel. The press is too much for her."
"Then it's probably a good idea she's leaving. Oh, she'll be hounded for awhile in California, but in a week, this will be old news."
Jane frowned. "I don't want this to be old news, at least not for me. I'm not giving her up, Walter."
Walter was torn now between anger and sympathy for his friend. He didn't want to think about the terror he'd felt upon being unable to locate the president earlier. Jane hadn't been in his private residence, hadn't answered his texts or calls, so Mashburn had gotten a pair of Secret Service agents to casually—he didn't want to cause a panic-search the entire White House for him. Then someone realized that Jim was gone too, and Mashburn quickly put two and two together.
Mashburn moved to sit in a chair to the right of Jane's at the long conference table.
"Look, I get it. I really do. You've been lonely for a long time, and you know damn well I've wanted you to find someone for years. But you're going about this all the wrong way, Patrick. You're not an ordinary man—you're the freakin' president. You can't just leave without—"
"I can't? I believe I did. I appreciate your concern about security, but the mere fact that it was spontaneous was probably the greatest guarantee of my safety."
"You could have let me know where you were going, avoided a nationwide panic."
Jane rolled his eyes at his friend's melodrama. "All's well that ends well, Walter. Take it down a notch."
"I will, if you promise me this kind of thing won't happen again."
Jane shook his head. "I'm not going to promise that, not where she's concerned. The stakes are too high, now."
Mashburn regarded Jane silently, and then a slow smile of realization spread across his face. He forgot for the moment he was talking to the president; now, he was speaking to his best friend.
"You slept with her, didn't you?"
At Jane's enigmatic smile and slight color in his cheeks, Mashburn laughed out loud.
"Well, halleluiah! Saints be praised! We should get Congress to declare this a National holiday."
But instead of sharing in Mashburn's joy, Jane looked troubled. He stood, his eyes on the paused picture of the news report, the still photo from the ball over the reporter's right shoulder. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and began to pace alongside one end of the conference table to the other.
"You're giving me whiplash, Walter," he said raggedly. "If you're so damn happy for me, give me a little support will ya? She's leaving me. Be my friend and not my chief of staff for about five minutes and help me figure out how to get her back. Now I can do this with you or-"
Mashburn's smile faded. "I'm always your friend first, Patrick," he interrupted. "And I am happy for you, truly. I just don't want to see you hurt, and I don't want that to affect a job you've worked so hard to obtain. But frankly, man, this looks like a dead end to me—at least right now. She's on the other side of the country. She's not involved in the political scene, and by all counts doesn't want to be."
"But I'm sure she wants to be with me. If she would give it a chance, I know we could make this work."
Mashburn regarded his friend dispassionately. He hadn't seen him like this about a woman since Angela. Those two had certainly been a pair. It had been a love-hate relationship at first, and Jane had gone a little crazy there for awhile. He'd become obsessed to the point of recklessness until he and Angela finally admitted they were in love. After that, it was smooth sailing. Until, of course, he lost her.
Seeing his friend go through a mental meltdown was not something Mashburn wanted to repeat in his lifetime.
"You're falling for her, aren't you?" he stated almost grimly.
Jane stopped pacing to look at Mashburn. "I know it seems soon, but there it is."
Mashburn sighed in resignation. No way he could fight this now without sacrificing their friendship. "Fine. I'm sure you are already working on a plan to get her back. What do you want me to do?"
Jane grinned. "Well, if Mohammed won't come to the mountain…"
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
At two a.m. the next morning, Lisbon finally received notification that her flight would leave at five. Fortunately, the press had seemed to dissipate for the moment, and she was able to take a taxi to the airport in relative privacy. A lone paparazzo, who had braved the cold and snow, snapped her picture and called out a question, which she chose to ignore. She couldn't ignore the nondescript black SUV following her to the airport, however, and she was both touched and annoyed that Jane had been looking out for her.
It was a long flight, affording her a plenty of time to think. She relived her passionate moments with Jane over and over, alternately tearing up and becoming angry with herself—sometimes for succumbing to his charm, other times for leaving behind such an incredible man. During her layover in Dallas, however, she didn't even look at the texts or listen to her voice mail, mainly from the president. If she had, she might have jumped on the next plane heading back to DC.
Despite what her heart and body called for, she knew the logical thing would be to get out while she still retained a modicum of control of her life. She knew Jane could very easily become her entire world, and she had vowed never to let a man have that much power over her. She'd chosen her career over relationships for that very reason. She was her own woman, with her own important job; no man, not even the President of the United States, was going to stand in the way of her making a difference in the lives of the citizens of California.
It was a pretty speech she made to herself somewhere over Texas, one she'd given a hundred times over the years.
So why was she suddenly having trouble believing her own rhetoric?
She arrived in Sacramento early in the afternoon, took a cab to her apartment, another black SUV behind her. Word had gotten out that she was returning home, apparently, for the sidewalk outside her gated apartment complex was crowded with reporters. Once the gate closed behind them, one of the Secret Service agents emerged from the SUV and opened the taxi door for her, escorting her to her apartment, even carrying her luggage.
"I feel like I should tip you or something," she said flippantly.
"That's already been taken care of ma'am," he said without a trace of humor.
"Well Merry Christmas, Agent," she tried again with a smile. "I'm a state agent, you know. I think I'll be fine now, thank you."
"Merry Christmas, to you too, ma'am," he replied stoically.
And when she was safely inside, he returned to the vehicle and drove away.
After dropping her luggage on the living room floor, Lisbon went straight to her bedroom, crawling under the covers of her queen-sized bed without a shower or even brushing her teeth.
She slept for twelve hours straight.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
By Christmas Eve, Jane was going a little crazy. It had been three days since he'd made love to Teresa, and while he had been busy with meetings and parties and end of the year politicking, he still lay awake at night, thinking about her. When he slept, he dreamed of her, awakening in a cold sweat, unbearably hard.
She wouldn't respond to his messages, and while this was frustrating and even hurtful, he understood what she was doing. If he had been a less selfish man, he would have left things where they had parted, respected her wishes and gone on with his busy life without her. But those who really knew Patrick Jane, knew how ruthless he could be when it came to getting what he wanted. But he did it all with a charming smile, which was part of the reason he usually got it.
"But Dad, it's Christmas Eve! I have plans…" Charlotte was saying from her perch on his bed.
"What plans?" he asked, laying his shaving kit into his suitcase.
"Well, they involve you, actually."
Jane paused and looked at his daughter with a grin. "Oh, really? Does this have anything to do with the money you've been hoarding for the past three weeks?"
Her face fell. "You always do this, Dad. Ruin Christmas. You're worse than the freakin' Grinch."
"Teenage girls are so melodramatic," he said to the heavens. "And, you are changing the subject…again."
"Well, sorry; you'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out. And no guessing," she chastised, pointing an accusing finger the moment he opened his mouth.
He chuckled. "All right, I will try my best not to ruin Christmas. Just take whatever you got me with us. I'll open it up tomorrow."
She was quiet a moment, considering. "I might be able to make that work…"
"I'm glad that crisis has been averted. Are you packed yet? We leave in an hour."
"Almost. We're going to see Agent Lisbon, aren't we?"
"Why do you say that?" he said casually. "We're going to visit soldiers at a couple of military bases for a Christmas surprise, among other things."
"Hmmm. You know, an old man I know once said, 'there are no such things as coincidences.'" Her voice had deepened animatedly at the end.
"An old man, eh?" said Jane in amusement, tossing in a few pairs of socks from a drawer. Of course, she was talking about him. "Old men are usually known for their wisdom."
"Well, then it must not be a coincidence that Agent Lisbon lives in California, and we are going to California today. Last week you said we were going to Texas. I haven't heard of anything bad happening that would keep us from going there, so something—or someone—must have changed your mind."
Jane moved from his drawer to the open luggage, carrying freshly laundered underwear—including a certain pair of plaid boxer shorts. He grinned, remembering.
"Dad?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry. Did you say something, sweetheart?"
She sighed, rolling her eyes in a way eerily similar to her father. "I was just wondering if Agent Lisbon changed your mind. I watch the news, you know."
"I told you not to do that," he said with mock annoyance. "Look, I haven't talked to Agent Lisbon since she left. She hasn't even returned my calls. What kind of masochist would I be would I be if flew all the way out to California to see a woman who wasn't interested?"
She looked skeptical to say the least. "Yeah, right. There's another old man saying I've heard—don't kid a kidder."
Jane walked over to his daughter, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.
"Finish getting ready," he said dismissively.
Impulsively, she hugged him tightly. "She won't be able to resist you," she said against his shoulder.
When she pulled back after a moment, she met his eyes, saw the telltale glow of excitement there. "That's the hope," he admitted softly.
Charlotte nodded sagely. "I thought so."
With a triumphant grin, she jumped from the bed to do as she was told, nimbly moving out of the way of the swift swat aimed at her behind. She laughed merrily on her way to the door.
"Hey! Don't forget your hat," he called with a wink. She deftly caught the ball of green felt he tossed her, and with a grin, she put it jauntily atop her platinum curls. She left him to his own packing, a smile of anticipation lighting his face.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Santa Claus presented his last candy cane to the last child in Sacramento's Mercy Hospital children's ward, his short, green-clad elf handing him the final present from the bag toted by one of his other elves—a large, well-muscled specimen named Jim.
The little boy smiled shyly from his bed, his parents tearful as he opened his present.
"It's a bummer being in the hospital on Christmas Eve," said Santa. "But as you can see, I knew right where to find you." White-gloved, he patted the boy's hand, trying to ignore the IV lines, trying not to tear up himself at the sight of his little bald head.
"And Santa will have left things at the house too, right?" his mother prompted.
Santa recognized his cue. "Of course." And he patted his amply padded belly with a meaningful, "Ho, ho, ho. When you get home it will all be waiting for you under the tree."
"Oh my gosh," blurted the boy, holding up his treasure, "it's just what I wanted!"
Santa stepped back with a grin, though his snowy beard hid most of it. "You've been a very brave and good boy, I hear, Levi. Keep up the good work, and I'll see you next year."
"What do you say, Levi?" prompted his father.
"Thank you, Santa."
"You're very welcome. Now, I must get back to my sleigh before Rudolph leaves without me. I have a long night ahead of me."
"Merry Christmas, Santa," said his mother gratefully, her eyes bright.
"Merry Christmas to you all!" he replied, and with a wave of their hands and a tinkling of bells, Santa and his elves left the room, where two more elves awaited them in the hallway, their earpieces hidden by their red and green felt hats.
As the motley group walked down the hall, wishing everyone happy holidays, Santa put his arm around his littlest elf, her telltale blonde hair stuffed inside her hat, glittering makeup concealing her true identity.
There but for the grace of God, he thought to himself, thinking of all the sick children he'd just visited. He didn't even want to imagine what life might have been like without her.
In the parking garage of the hospital, Jane slid into the backseat of his unmarked limo, joined by Charlotte.
"One more stop, boys," he told his escorts cheerfully.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was Christmas Eve at the Sacramento CBI Headquarters, and unfortunately, Lisbon was left to finish up the paperwork left by a murder they'd just solved. She'd sent the rest of her team home early to be with family, and, since hers was all in Chicago, she thought it was only fair that she be the one to stay. She was invited to the Rigsby's for Christmas dinner the next day, so she wasn't feeling depressed, exactly, but she was feeling lonely.
She missed Jane. After two days, he'd stopped texting, and even though she'd read every one, listened to every pleading or funny voice mail, she'd resisted contacting him. With no new news or photo ops, the press had dissipated, as had her shadows. Her coworkers had stopped teasing her about her date with the president, and in the midst of holiday excitement, Lisbon's brief contact with American royalty had been nearly forgotten.
Well, by most people.
This had been what she'd wanted though, right?
It was better this way, she told herself for the hundredth time. Soon, the whole thing would seem like nothing but a dream, a fling she could relive when she was an old woman in a cop's retirement home. This was the only way she could think about it, or she would drive herself crazy with regret.
"You still here?" asked Minnelli, popping his head into her office.
"Yeah. As are you, Boss," she noted with a grin.
"Hm. Well, make sure you finish that uh, paperwork before you leave," he said gruffly. "And then get out of here and have a Merry Christmas."
"Yes, sir. Will do. Merry Christmas."
He left and Lisbon frowned a little as he disappeared back toward the direction of his office. He was never one to push her to get her reports done, especially before a holiday; she always completed them in a timely fashion. And why was he still there, anyway? She was sure his wife, Mae would be waiting for him.
Weird.
She put her face in her hands, sighed, and flipped on the radio to a Christmas music station. According to Bruce Springsteen, Santa Claus was coming to town.
Picking up her pen, Lisbon got back to work, humming along absently to the music.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the lobby of the CBI building, with its skeleton crew of mostly single people with nowhere to go for the holidays, there was a bit of a flurry when Santa Claus appeared at security. Three of his elves flashed their Secret Service badges, and had no trouble passing through security. But the youngest elf had no ID on her, and neither did Santa.
"Santa doesn't need a driver's license," Jane joked, his face still covered by his fake beard, his fur trimmed hat pulled low over his forehead.
The CBI security guard wasn't amused. "You need an ID to pass through security, sir."
"Just call Minelli, will you?" said Jim impatiently to the guard. "He knows we're coming."
The guard frowned, but picked up the phone. Obviously, if the Secret Service was here, this particular Santa must be a very important visitor.
The guard was surprised Minelli hadn't left yet. He described the unusual visitors, briefly wondering if Minelli would think he'd been in the eggnog.
"Let 'em through, George," said the boss nonchalantly.
The guard shook his head and waved them on through security.
Jane passed through the metal detector like everyone else, grinning behind his beard as Charlotte followed with no incident.
"What floor is Serious Crimes on?" Jane asked George on his way to the elevator.
"Three," said George.
"Thank you, George," called Santa Jane. "Merry Christmas!"
George watched them get on the elevator, his eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about that Santa Claus, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He chalked it up to the wackiness of California in general.
Santa and his four elves huddled closely in the small elevator, Jane's heart tripping along excitedly in his chest.
He would be seeing Lisbon in a matter of seconds. And boy, would she be surprised. He grinned down at Charlotte, his eyes twinkling.
"This is pretty lame, Dad," she said.
"You don't think it's romantic?"
"It's kinda weird, even for you."
But inside, Charlotte was secretly thrilled to see her father so excited to see a woman, and impressed that he had gone to such lengths to do it. She prayed quietly that Agent Lisbon wouldn't break his heart, would understand the romantic sentiment behind his off-the-wall actions.
Minnelli was waiting in the elevator landing on the third floor. He was smiling politely, and solemnly shook hands with the president.
"She still here?" asked Jane a tad anxiously.
"Yes, in her office. I stalled her as long as I could."
When Minnelli was introduced to Charlotte, his smile grew more genuine.
"You're quite the good sport to go along with your dad on this."
Charlotte grinned. "I don't mind. It's fun to see the kids so excited to see us. They'd have no idea who my dad was—but they all know and love Santa Claus." She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "I think that's what he likes about it the most. That and giving presents. He loves giving presents."
"I'm sure he does," replied Minnelli. "He's certainly gifted the world with a fine young lady."
"Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas." And she presented him with a candy cane.
Minnelli laughed and accepted the gift. Then he turned once more to Jane, his smile fading somewhat.
"Mr. President, I know you must be pressed for time, but may I have a private word?"
Santa's elves met his eyes askance, and Jane nodded. "Of course, Agent Minnelli."
Jane already knew what the older man had in mind, and he tried not to smile at the thought of the fatherly talk he was about to endure. Minnelli drew him a short distance from his posse. Jane pulled his beard down out of respect, his own face going serious, though he couldn't hide the amused glint in his eyes.
"Sir, we appreciate how you're honoring us with your presence and all, but well—Teresa doesn't have a father to do this, so I just have to ask—what are your intentions toward her?"
Jane's lips quirked imperceptibly, but he respected the man's position, was actually deeply moved that Lisbon had someone looking out for her best interests like this.
"I know I've only known her a few days, but I like Teresa. Very much. She's one hell of a woman. The last thing I want to do is hurt her or make her uncomfortable—playing Santa notwithstanding," he said with a small smile. "This seems like an impossible situation, but I'd like to give it a try, if she does."
"She's not one to bask in the spotlight, and she'd hate me for telling you this, but she doesn't go out much. She's married to her work. It will take a hell of a man—playing Santa notwithstanding—to deserve her."
"I'll try to be that man," said Jane sincerely, sticking out his hand.
Minnelli stared into Jane's eyes a moment, assessing his authenticity. He must have been satisfied with what he saw, for he took Jane's hand and shook it firmly.
"Good," he said, then, still grasping his hand, lowered his voice to a dangerous level. "And just so you know, a hundred Secret Service agents won't be able to stop me if you do her wrong. Arrest me now for threatening a president, but there it is."
Jane couldn't help his smile then. "Understood, sir. And you'd be well within your rights."
Minnelli relaxed and returned his smile. "Now, I'd give a million bucks to see her reaction when you show up, but I suggest for your own safety, that you go it alone."
"You're probably right. Thank you, sir. I'm glad we had this talk."
Minnelli nodded; pleased they understood each other.
Jane pulled up his beard, adjusted his hat at a more rakish angle. "Wish me luck," he said to his elves.
"Are you sure, sir?" asked Jim.
"Quite sure. She's already going to be embarrassed enough without an audience." He looked at Charlotte. "Cane me."
She reached into her shoulder bag and slapped a candy cane into his hand. "Go get her, Santa."
"Down the hall and to the right," Minnelli told him helpfully.
"Thanks."
And with a deep breath and a jingling of bells, Santa Jane continued the last leg of his long winter's journey.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
At first Lisbon thought the Christmas bells she heard were from the radio, but she looked up in confusion when they seemed to be coming closer. Her eyes widened when she saw none other than Saint Nick himself at her open glass door.
What the hell…?
She stood with a grin, wondering who had been roped into dressing up in this get up. He was too short to be Rigsby; too tall to be Cho…
"Ho, ho, ho!" said Santa Claus. "Merry Christmas!"
Lisbon walked around her desk to greet her Christmas Eve visitor.
"Well, hello, Santa. Shouldn't you be somewhere over the North Pole by now?"
"I thought I'd start with California this year," he said in his deep, Santa voice.
Her eyes roamed up the man's costume, from his shiny black boots to his jolly stuffed belly, upward to the ermine trimmed red coat and his curling white beard. This was no street corner Santa. This costume looked really authentic. Her eyes moved on up to his lips, barely perceptible within the thick beard, though she had the impression he was smiling at her. Then she met a pair of familiar, mischievous, blue-green eyes and she gasped aloud, one hand going to her mouth.
"Jane?"
"You mean that guy in the big white house in Washington?" he said, still in character. "He's been very naughty lately. Nothing but coal in his stocking."
She moved hesitantly closer, trying hard to believe her own eyes.
"Oh, my God! I can't believe it's you!"
"It's Christmas Eve, young lady. You didn't expect to see Santa this year?" His eyes narrowed. "Have you been a bad girl?"
She shook her head at him, laughing now in exasperation.
"You've lost your ever-loving mind," she said, but then she threw herself into his arms, both of them laughing as she tried to hug him over his oversized stomach.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered, her head resting on his soft coat.
"I missed you," Jane said simply, in his own voice now.
Lisbon looked up at him, and with eyes sparkling with wonder, she reached up and pulled down his beard, revealing the warm smile of the president.
"I'm really hoping you missed me too."
Her passionate kiss was her answer.
A/N: Fluffy fluff, I know. But I love Christmas, and I'm a hopeless romantic. Combine these two things in a Jisbon fanfic, and this is the result. Thanks for reading. I have to go back to work soon, but I'll write as often as I can. Happy New Year everyone!