Lisbon wakes with a jolt in the morning, slams her hand down on her blaring alarm clock, breathes in the quiet of the moment after, and listens for Jane. Hears nothing but silence, the dull ticking of the clock in the hallway. She'd wonder if he really stayed, whether he'd crept out the moment she'd fallen asleep, but she knows he did, heard him cry out in his sleep shortly after one AM. It took everything within her not to go to him, to fly across the hall, be with him, talk to him, hold him; but she knew it wouldn't be welcome.
She sighs, takes a moment to collect herself, unsure of what she will find, climbs out of bed, takes cursory note of her appearance, tugs on her hair, then pads to her spare room. The bed is made neatly, almost painstakingly so, every fold crisp in its perfection, the only sign anyone has slept there the fact that it is made up at all. She bites her lip, attempts to smother the burgeoning worry and trepidation in the pit of her stomach as she makes her way down the stairs. And then, her foot hesitating on the fifth step, she smells it, the aroma of coffee, wafting from her kitchen. He's made her coffee, and that makes her grin, even if it falters when she finds her kitchen empty.
The disappointment comes over her in a wave, startles her, leaves her briefly questioning her own sanity. What else did she expect? She crosses the kitchen in quest of a coffee mug, touches the teapot on the stove on her way by, finds it still warm. Must have just missed him. Another, perhaps unreasonable, pang of hurt, opens the cabinet that houses her mugs and is surprised by a burst of color - a goldenrod post-it note with two words in a familiar scrawl, "Thank you," and nestled on either side of her favorite mug, two impeccable origami figures. A cat, and a butterfly. She picks them up, turns them over in her hand, and smiles.