8. A NEW APPRECIATION

Well this was the workday from hell.

Grace had come in at 9:30 and reported that Lisbon's appointment had gone well. She was tired and hurting when she got home, but the doctor said she was progressing better than he had hoped. She had taken a pain pill, told Grace to be sure to tell Jane she was barricading herself in for the day and then had taken herself off to bed. It was all downhill from there.

They pretty much chased their tails for the rest of the morning and beyond. At mid-afternoon, they caught a break which led to Jane hatching a plan. Cho grudgingly went along with it, resisting the urge to confer with Lisbon. Part A of the plan blew up in their faces, but Part B went off without a hitch. What happened later in Hightower's office completely overshadowed any sense of satisfaction he had from catching the killer. Cho got the basic I-had-higher-hopes-for-you spiel. He was only in charge temporarily, so she really couldn't hold him accountable for Jane's actions. Besides, she knew Cho wasn't the one that could produce the desired results. He was in her office for about fifteen minutes before he returned to the bullpen. Lisbon was always much longer with the big boss.

"You're up." Cho headed to his desk and started the paperwork. Jane straightened his suit as he strolled to the stairs then headed up and over to Madeleine's door. She started in on him before he could utter a greeting.

She began with "What the—" and went on to weave a tapestry of expletives that nearly turned the air around her blue. She was four questions into her tirade before he realized he wasn't expected to actually answer her. He stood and took it, nodding when he thought appropriate and shaking his head accordingly, pressing his lips together in a thin line as if he were taking it seriously. After a while he tuned her out, wondering how much longer this was going to take and marveling at her stamina. It was half past eight in the evening after all. Finally she seemed to run out of steam. She was looking for some sort of contrition, and he offered it up as best as he could. She must not have been appeased because she made some strange noise of disgust and waved him away. On the bright side, he knew this couldn't help but raise Lisbon a few notches in her boss's esteem. Nevertheless, the whole thing left him with a slight case of indigestion. He'd just have a bit of tea before he left. He made himself a cup and took it to the leather couch.

"Hightower bawl you out?"

"Yes. And it took forever."

"Give you a new appreciation for Lisbon?"

"Words can't express, my friend. Words cannot express."

"Guess it was worth it then."

Jane looked up and across the desk at him, but Cho was intent on the report in front of him. In a few minutes, he signed the form, faxed it—Jane suspected to Lisbon— then made a copy and left both copies on her desk on his way out.

It was now 8:55. Jane washed out his cup and headed back to the hotel. He sat on the bed, clicking through the television channels looking for a black and white classic film. Nothing but reality shows, crime dramas with their ludicrous dialogue and some show about hunting ghosts. He pushed the power button and a quick search around his hotel room yielded a recent copy of "What's Up Sacramento" magazine. Flipping through it, he discovered that a new outdoor theatre was opening up on the riverfront in May. He thought the premier performance of "Twelfth Night" under the stars sounded very nice. He wondered if Lisbon liked Shakespeare. Of course she did. What person of taste and humor didn't?

He wondered if she had felt better after taking her pain medication. Then he wondered what she had for dinner—if she had dinner. He thought about calling her to remind her to lock up, but he knew it would make him sound . . . What? Silly? Foolish? Over-protective? Lisbon knew how to make her own dinner and lock her own doors. If she fell asleep on the couch, though, she'd be hurting in the morning. Stop it.

It had been a long day. He was tired and just needed to relax. He ran a bath and sat in it until the water started to feel cold. He dried off, put on his pajamas then lay down on the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

Something was buzzing. How did a fly get in his room? And why couldn't it buzz right? My phone. His eyes shot open. The LED on the clock read 2:37. Only one person would be calling him at that time of night.

"Lisbon?"

"I can't . . . they won't—why won't they leave me alone?" She groaned pitiably.

He turned on the light and stood up looking around the room.

"Lisbon, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

"I was in the cellar." She was crying. He slid his pajama pants off and found his trousers.

"Their hands were on me, and it hurt, and then he was leaning over me—"

She sobbed. He was slipping his shoes on.

"He was wearing a mask, and the knife was dripping with blood, and I wasn't me anymore. I was you, but I was watching you, and—"

She let out an anguished wail. He was running to the elevator.

"There was so much blood!"

"Lisbon? Lisbon! Teresa! I'm coming! Just hold on. Hold on. Keep on talking to me, Sweetheart!"

This was bad. This was very bad. He thought she had bounced back, seeming to be handling everything. He should have realized it was too soon for her to be doing so well. She kept crying, and he kept talking, saying anything to try and comfort her and keep her on the phone until he could get to her. He shouldn't have left her for the night. He wasn't staying through the night with her anyway, but maybe if he had been there for just a while . . .

"Teresa, I'm pulling onto your street. Can you get to the door? Come to the door so you can let me in."

He pulled to a screeching halt in front of her apartment and barely got the key out of the ignition before he tumbled out of the car, not stopping to lock it. As he ran up the walk, he could hear the bolts being thrown back just before the door opened and she flung herself into his arms on the stoop. She leaned back to look him up and down briefly then pulled him back to her in a death grip.

"Sh-h. I'm here. It's okay. You're all right now. Everything's all right."

He needed to get her inside, but she wouldn't move her legs. He managed to lower himself enough to slide one arm behind her thighs and twist her lower half to the side as he lifted her. Carrying her inside, he reached back with one foot and pushed the door shut then turned and extended his hand away from her shoulder awkwardly to throw the two bolts. He carried her to the couch and sat down with her in his lap, relieved he'd been able to make it. If he had dropped her, he would never have heard the end of it.

With her body now turned partially away from him, her grip wasn't so tight. She did, however, keep her face buried so firmly against one side of his neck that he didn't see how she could breathe. His collar was pulled a bit tight, and he realized she had it crushed in her fist on the other side of his neck. He ran out of comforting words and decided the best thing would be to rub her back and let her cry it out. It didn't take long for the sobs to quiet to gentle weeping then to soft hiccups. Finally she pulled away from him and frowned down at his chest.

"What are you wearing?"

"I was sleeping when you called. I had to dress in a hurry."

"Is this your pajama top?"

"Yes." She must be hysterical because now she was trying not to laugh.

"It's very . . . mature."

"What did I say about jokes like that?"

"What? I'm just saying it makes you look very . . . grown up."

"I am a grown up. But I can see why you'd be confused."

She started to snipe back at him, but instead, she just looked at him wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry I woke you up. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not like I've never had a bad dream before."

"It was a nightmare, Teresa."

"I've had plenty of those, too."

"Is this the first since we found you?"

"Yes."

"Is it the first about me and . . .?"

She paused, uncertain if she should tell him. Keeping it a secret didn't seem important now. "No. I've had those before."

She was having nightmares about him and Red John. He would ask her later for how long and how often. She was frowning at his chest now, deliberating. He just looked at her, waiting for the inevitable. But it never came. No lecture. No preachy speech about the law and justice. Instead, she just laid her head over on his shoulder and played with one of the buttons on his shirt. Suddenly she felt so dear, so precious, something surged through him and he pulled her against him, squeezing her as hard as he could. She turned her face into him and yawned. He laughed and dropped a kiss on top of her head. He didn't even think about it this time.

"You think you can go back to bed now?"

"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

"I wouldn't be able to lock you in or set the alarm."

"I'll give you a key, and the alarm takes sixty seconds to arm once it's set."

He paused to consider, and a boldly ludicrous thought popped into his head. Even as he dismissed it, the words tumbled out of his mouth. "How about if I just stay with you?" He held his breath.

She thought about it, chewing on her bottom lip. He was relieved that her overbite wasn't too pronounced.

"I think that would be all right."

That was that. He slid her off his lap, and walked to the door. When the chain was in place and the alarm was set, he asked if she needed anything for pain. She answered in the negative and moved toward the stairs. Comprehending she meant for him to come with her and for some reason not thinking it at all odd, he followed her, pulling up short when she stopped abruptly on the second step and turned back to him, shaking her finger just in front of his nose.

"No funny stuff."

"I could say the same to you."

She turned and started back up the stairs with a snort. "In your dreams, Jane."

Her bed linens were even nicer than the hotel's. He lay on his back and snuggled in. Lisbon had found him a pair of flannel sleep pants, and the comfort of the softness and warmth surrounding him had him nearly asleep in minutes. He felt the bed dip as she slid under the covers next to him. She turned out the lamp and rolled toward him to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Before she could pull away he brought his hand up behind her to cradle her head and hold her in place against him just a little while longer.

"How'd you French braid your hair with your hand in a cast?"

"Grace was here today."

"Mm."

When he woke up, the morning sun was heating the room through the curtains, and Lisbon's head was lying on his chest. Her ear was centered over his heart and two of her fingertips lay lightly against the side of his neck.