Sorry this took so freaking long, life has been a tad hectic lately. This chapter is a little softcore, so apologies to those who were expecting anything more intense; that'll be in later chapters.
A few hours of driving later, the team arrived in San Francisco. Any beautiful dreams she might have had about this amazing city were crushed shortly after their arrival, when they got to their motel. The first thing Lisbon noticed about the place, after giving it a quick once-over, was the dust. It covered everything, from the yellowing brochures at the front desk, to the chipped wooden tables, even the receptionist's glasses were covered in at least an inch of it.
"Huh, Bureau money; what do you expect?" said Rigsby flippantly.
The place was dingy, with old lamps, flickering overheads and threadbare couches, covered in a nauseating floral throw that should have stayed buried with the rest of the 80s household upholstery. The rooms were hardly any better; with the same kitsch upholstery and bed linen, and faded wallpaper, peeling at the corners, and to top it all off, Lisbon discovered to her horror that she would be sharing with Van Pelt. They had shared a room before – more often than not the Bureau was pretty tightfisted when it came to out-of-town accommodation – but this was different; she couldn't focus anymore when Van Pelt was around. She felt awkward and insecure, unsure of herself. It scared her, and she didn't know what to do. All she wanted was Van Pelt, and that scared her more than anything, and to get as far away from her as possible. She didn't know how she was going to handle working this case, and that was almost as scary. She jumped at the sound of Van Pelt dropping her bag on the floor behind her.
"You OK, boss?" asked Van Pelt, her face the very picture of friendly concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine" Lisbon mumbled, tossing her suitcase on the bed.
"We should go see what the guys are up to, we need to start planning the investigation."
"Um yeah, let's go."
Jesus, Lisbon, what's the matter with you? Pull your shit together. You're the boss; you're supposed to be in charge. They headed downstairs to the guys room to start planning the investigation.
A few hours later, after interrogating numerous unhelpful suspects and sifting through mountains of blood-spattered evidence at the crime scene, Van Pelt sat alone in the interrogation room at the local precinct, glad to finally be in a room that was not coated in an excess of blood or dust. It was dark outside, and the clock ticking loudly on the wall behind her told Van Pelt that it was 12AM. She sighed, massaging her heads with the tips of her fingers; a headache throbbing dully in the back of her head. She laid her head on the table, intending to catch a moment's shuteye before heading back to the motel. She sighed again, this time with relief at the thought of a night's rest in a bed, however creaky it might be, and closed her eyes…
She awoke with a start, a loud clack behind her sounding off like a gun in her still-dreamy head. She whirled around, one hand reaching automatically for her holster, only to find herself staring at her boss closing the door behind her. Lisbon jumped her eyes like those of a deer caught in the headlights, and "guilty" written all over her face.
"Hey boss, what're you doing here so late?" asked Van Pelt, blinking through sleep-blurred eyes.
"Oh, um, nothing, just wanted to review today's interview tapes, in case we missed something. Something that'll solve this case." She replied, clearly baffled by the all the intricacies that were emerging as the investigation progressed.
"That's a good idea, I'll stay and help, four eyes are better than two."
Lisbon's eyes widened. "N-n-no, you should go back to the motel, and, you know, get your beauty sleep." She smiled nervously.
"You think I'm beautiful, boss?" said Van Pelt quietly, her eyes locked with the other woman's.
"Um, yeah, I…" Lisbon looked away nervously, gluing her eyes to Van Pelt's shoes. Silence pervaded the room, save for the whirring of the cheap fans trying futilely to combat the oppressive heat. Just whirring and whirring.
"So, do you want to take a look at those tapes now?" said Lisbon, breaking the silence at last.
"Yeah, let's." said Van Pelt quickly, the picture of innocence at naivety, smiling nervously.
Did the boss just say I'm beautiful? How crazy! But then again, she had been acting pretty weird lately. Maybe the case was getting to her. No, this definitely started before we started the case; she was acting weird at the motel. I guess the pressure must be getting to her; she does have a pretty tough job.
But that didn't sound quite right either; Van Pelt knew her boss was tougher than that. In Van Pelt's eyes, Lisbon could do almost anything; her boss was amazing. Van Pelt hero-worshipped Lisbon, she dreamed of her, dreamed of one day being a CBI agent just like her. That said, Van Pelt would rather die that admit it, to Lisbon, or any other members of the team. But still, there was something about her boss, something she couldn't quite understand, and something that stirred inside Van Pelt whenever Lisbon was around. She really liked her boss, whenever she worked with Lisbon on a case she worked as hard as she could to impress Lisbon, to be special in her eyes. She smiled inwardly, shaking herself out of her reverie. The tapes proved to be useless, and Van Pelt spent numerous hours watching footage of Cho staring silently at uncooperative suspects, punctuated briefly and occasionally by Jane's humorous interruptions. She looked over at Lisbon, marveling at her beauty; her pale, flawless skin, her lips, so smooth, luscious, kissable. Everything about her was so fucking hot, all she wanted to do was reach out and touch-
"Van Pelt? Are you OK? You look a little spaced out, snap out of it! We have work to do!"
"Yes boss, sorry!" Van Pelt replied, wiping the drool out of the corner of her mouth and blushing furiously.