16. MONDAY IN THE PARK WITH TERESA (or RULES OF ENGAGEMENT)

Cho snapped his phone shut and sat hunched forward in his chair staring straight ahead, considering the phone conversation he'd just had with his boss. Van Pelt didn't even try to hide the fact that she'd been eavesdropping.

"That was Lisbon?"

He straightened and sat back in his chair.

"Yeah."

"So-o-o-o-o . . ."

He gave in and looked at her. He really didn't want this to turn into a conversation.

"She and Jane are going to be a little longer. At lunch."

"How much longer?" Rigsby had just walked into the room, back from picking up lunch at the sandwich shop on the corner.

"How should I know? She just said longer."

"Well, is it 'I've-killed-Jane-and-I'm-having-trouble-finding-a-place-to-bury-the-body' longer, or 'Everything's-going-well-and-we're-almost-done-coming-to-terms-with-our-relationship' longer?"

"The second one, I think."

"You think?" Van Pelt really did not want the boss to come back in a bad temper. Lisbon's mood had seemed to be pretty good lately, in spite of the fact that Jane had been so out of sorts. It was nice not wondering if you were going to get your head bitten off every time you walked into Boss's office. If they could come to a meeting of the minds, Van Pelt had every confidence that it would be good for the both of them. And whatever was good for Lisbon and Jane made things very good for the bullpen.

"She didn't have that edge to her voice she has when you know she's thinking about whether she could get away with shooting him."

"So, it sounded like things were going good." Rigsby was hoping for a peaceful afternoon as well.

Cho swiveled to face the other two agents, leaning further back in his chair, his elbow propped on his desk, clicking a ballpoint pen.

"Define good. I mean, what are we hoping for here? Van Pelt, you first." If he couldn't keep them from talking about it, at least he could keep the discussion on track. Besides, the look on Jane's face when the boss announced they were going to lunch had been enough to pique his own curiosity.

"We're hoping that they tell each other how they feel." Van Pelt was tired of watching them dance around each other.

"They'd have to admit that to themselves first." Cho pointed at Rigsby with the pen. "Now you. Go."

"I think something must have happened last week and that's why Jane cut out Friday. I mean, why'd he call you? Why not call the boss or Hightower?"

"You're probably right, but not the answer to my question. Van Pelt?"

"I think Wayne's right. And Boss didn't try to call Jane all day Friday. That means she knew where he was, and she was okay with him being out. I mean, she wasn't angry or upset—just kind of resigned.

"Interesting observation. Rigsby?"

"This morning, she was fairly pleasant. Even before she had coffee. And she had to have known Jane was here, but she didn't go up to talk to him. Just worked in her office like she was waiting for him to come to her. And you should've seen her face when he did."

"You looked?" Weren't you afraid she'd see you?" Van Pelt knew how frightened he was of making the boss angry.

"No. See, if I move my monitor here—" He demonstrated by pushing his computer monitor to the left a few inches. "—and shift to my right like so—" He swiveled in his chair a few degrees and leaned his right elbow on his desk and pretended to type on his keyboard, "—I just have to move my eyes toward her office, and I can see pretty much everything that goes on in there without drawing her attention."

"How long have you been doing that?" Van Pelt's voice was rife with indignation that he'd been holding out on them.

"A few months now. After Jane's brother-in-law showed up. That detective with the SPD came in and ripped both of them a good one for letting him get away. I wanted to see what happened after he left, if Lisbon was going to let Jane have it. Anyway, if I know something's up, I shift everything around and . . . Eureka!" He grinned at Van Pelt, enjoying the joke of using one of her favorite words.

"So you've been doing this—watching them argue, make up, do whatever they do in there . . . and you never told us?"

"What? It's not like you could've turned around to watch!"

"Well, you could've told us what was going on! Like a play-by-play!"

"No, he couldn't have. And we're getting off topic. I gather we're all in agreement. If Lisbon and Jane get together, provided he doesn't drive her nuts and she doesn't kill him, we're for it."

Rigsby and Van Pelt looked at one another, shrugged and nodded, and turned back to Cho.

"Yeah, man. We're for it."

"Yeah, I mean, it's not against the rules or anything. And if they can be happy together . . .," Van Pelt let her voice trail off. They all silently wondered about the probability of that. Cho decided to weigh in with his two cents.

"They're pretty well matched. Just the right amount of screwed up for each other. She takes care of him, he takes care of her. We run a little interference, pick up the slack in the paperwork, take Jane off her hands every once in a while. It can work."

Van Pelt beamed at him. Cho was smart and level-headed. Not much clouded his thinking, and he knew Boss better than any of them. If he said it was okay, she was sure it would be. And Boss and Jane were an adorable couple . . . when there was no shouting.

"We can do that."

"Yeah, I'm in."

"Good. Let's get as much done as we can before they get back. No matter what happens at lunch, it'll make Lisbon happy, and that's always good."

Van Pelt turned her attention back to her computer, the romantic in her humming over the idea of a new romance in the office. Rigsby went to work on the stack of forms on his desk, leaving his computer where it was, confident there would be plenty to see when the Boss and Jane got back. And Cho, his work done and glad for the return to quiet, went back to the game of spider solitaire he'd been surreptitiously enjoying before the boss had called.

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Lisbon drove the twenty minutes from Selland's to Garcia Bend Park. It was far enough away from the capitol and surrounding state buildings that she didn't need to worry about running into colleagues or bureaucrats that might recognize them. Garcia Bend was a soccer park, used in the evenings for practice and on the weekends for games and tournaments and was pretty much deserted during the day. It was situated on a bend of the Sacramento River with picnic tables under trees at the overlook. And, it was the only park in town where she had never worked a crime scene.

The ride had been silent, but not unpleasantly so, even though each of them was contemplating the next part of the conversation they had to have. They climbed out of the SUV and headed toward the overlook, pausing so Jane could buy two fresh bottles of water from a vending machine.

"It's pretty here. How do you know about this place?"

"Sam's oldest daughter played soccer here. I came a few times after . . . until Mandy moved them all back to San Francisco. During half-times, Mandy and I would walk along the river. She didn't want to talk to the other parents."

He mouthed a silent "Oh" but didn't say anything, allowing the subject to drop. He followed her to the farthest picnic table, and they sat on the top of it looking out at the river.

"So, shall we start with the easy part?" That was his Lisbon: point-by-point and methodical. "What are you grinning at?"

He smiled around the bite he had taken. "I'm just curious about what you might consider to be the 'easy part' of all of this."

"It's the part where I get to make all of the decisions and you have to just go along."

"Oh. That part." It's not as if he hadn't known this was coming.

"About work—"

"I know. We keep it out of the office. It's not against the rules, you know." He took another bite.

"I know, but I don't want Hightower breathing down my neck about anything else. She watches us too closely as it is, second guesses me where you're concerned, always questioning my decisions. And that brings me to my next point."

"Is there a slide show with this presentation, Agent Lisbon?"

"Don't be smart. I need you to be up front with me, tell me about your schemes, your . . . plays before you put them in motion, whether I'm involved or not. I don't like not knowing what you're doing."

"I'm just trying to protect you in case something goes wrong so you can have deniability." Another unconcerned bite.

"There's no such thing. Not for me. And when have I ever played that card? Do you really think I want to stand in front of Hightower and try to excuse myself by saying I had no idea what you were up to? I don't like not knowing what's going on with my team. It makes me feel foolish and incompetent. I can't blame Hightower for questioning me when I question myself."

He stopped mid-chew and looked at her then strained to swallow the bite.

"I never meant to make you feel that way, and you shouldn't. You're the best at what you do that I know. Every case you send to the DA is airtight because you're obsessive about the details. You have the best trained, most cohesive unit in the bureau, and you can take all the credit for that. You deal with the victims and their families as well as you handle the criminals. And while you don't control me all of the time, I've let you come closer to doing it that anyone else, and you smooth things over after me like—well, like it's your job."

"Wow. I know who I want to write my resume when this all goes south."

"Nothing's going south, Lisbon. I'll tell you everything—schemes, plays, theories. Work's fine. Let it alone."

He said that, but he didn't really like leaving it that way, like there was more to it he needed to find out and put to rest.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you felt that way?"

She looked down at the water bottle in her hand and shifted position, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew the answer to his own question.

"You didn't trust me."

"I didn't know if you would care, and if you didn't, I didn't want to know."

"Oh, Lisbon—" He wasn't very hungry now. He wrapped up the rest of his sandwich and put it on the table beside him then pulled one of her hands away from the bottle so he could thread his fingers through hers. "—I would've cared. I always did. You could've always trusted me to at least care."

She looked down at their hands, his left entangled with hers, then shifted again, this time closer to him. He gave her hand a light squeeze.

"I hope that's all of the easy part. I don't think I can take much more."

She laughed as she looked up at him and knew he could read what she was thinking in her eyes. He was right, and she trusted him. Work would be fine. She held his gaze, wanting to commit him in that moment to memory, wearing an easy smile that stemmed from the happiness she saw in his sea-green eyes. She knew it wouldn't last long.

"I guess that just leaves the hard part."

He knew what she meant, of course, but he didn't want to talk about it. He felt so good right now, as if Lisbon had infected him with the light-heartedness he knew was at her true center. He didn't want to drive that light from her eyes, and he certainly didn't want to fight, but he knew she had made up her mind to talk about it, and if he refused her, that would cause a fight, too.

"Lisbon . . . Teresa, I know what you want me to say, but I don't think I can—"

"I don't want to talk about that. I know how you feel, and you know how I feel, and I don't want to fight. I meant this," she looked down at their joined hands. "Us. And him."

"This is the part I can't . . . I don't like that this will make you show up on his radar."

"Jane, I became a blip on his radar the day my unit got the case. If he's been as close as we suspect, as close as we know, he's got to have noticed how close we've gotten, that we're at least good friends. I'd say after the last few months—and even before—I've become a major ping."

He frowned down at their hands. "I can't pretend to know what he's thinking or how he sees this. I don't know what he'll do. It's probably a good idea to tone it down outside the bureau as well."

"You mean no holding hands in public parks?" She smiled up at him again, and he couldn't help but smile back in spite of his heavy heart.

"He's not done playing with you, is he? The game, I mean."

He was actually astonished that she saw it that way and could speak of it so easily. It was usually the kind of thinking she would deny had any validity.

"No, I don't think he's anywhere close to wanting to finish the game."

"If anything were to happen to me, that would take you out of it, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, probably for good."

"We'll leave it at that then." He was relieved to not have to talk about Red John in the context of their relationship and equally so about his precarious mental state. But he could tell there was something else on her mind.

"I know there's more. Spill, Lisbon."

"Just one more part of the hard part. I need you to tell me the truth."

"I said I would, every play—"

"I need to know the truth about all of the things you've been keeping from me so you could find him on your own. I know why you've done it—why you do it. You want to get to him first. But I want to stop him, too, and I can't do that if you're holding out on me. I want to know what he said to you, and anything—everything—you know about him and any of the cases that I don't know. This isn't a competition, and it's not about leveling the playing field. Regardless of what you want, I've got to be able to do my job. I won't be angry. I know you're hiding things, keeping things from me and the team. I just need to know the things you know. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She didn't mean it as a test, but it was just the same. He could give her bits and pieces, but she would know if he held out on her. She would never trust him again. And she would wish she'd never loved him.

"I'll tell you everything. Today if you want, as soon as we get back."

She laughed suddenly and quietly with relief and had to bite her bottom lip to keep it from turning into tears.

"Thank you, Jane. I . . . just . . . thank you."

"Are we done talking now?"

"Yeah, I guess it's time to get back." She started to move from the table, but he pulled her against him, still holding her hand and sliding his free arm around her shoulders.

"No, I mean I just don't want to talk anymore."

He bent his head and kissed her as he untangled his hand from hers and raised it to cup her cheek. His tongue swept across her lips, and when they parted for him he traced along the top of her bottom teeth. She smiled against his mouth just before she gently bit his tongue's tip. He chuckled, and she felt the hum against her lips.

He pivoted her gracefully and laid her back on the table top, his hand on her cheek moving to her neck, fingers playing along her skin there then trailing down to her chest before his hand moved to cup her breast. He squeezed her gently, and she gasped, pulling away from him.

"Jane, we're in a public park. And people eat on these tables!"

"We're the only ones here—" The movement of her head had brought her ear close to his lips, and he bent to kiss her earlobe. "—and what those people don't know won't hurt them."

He bit the lobe then, teasing it between his teeth.

"We can't do this. It's one o'clock in the afternoon."

He pulled away from her now so that he could look her in the eyes. "Then what can we do at one o'clock in the afternoon? You'll have to teach me your preferences for the days and times."

She laughed and wiggled under him, and he tightened his hold on her, his gaze going dark. She remembered what he had said just a few nights ago. Don't taunt me, Teresa. She felt her breathing go shallow, and she knew her eyes had darkened, too. She swallowed, and it took all of her willpower to pull herself together.

"My preference is to not be ravished on this picnic table in this public park on a Monday afternoon."

He stared hard into her eyes. His jaw tightened, and she could tell his teeth were clenched. His breathed through his nose, each slow exhalation forced and clipped. She could see him struggle to regain his composure. She fought the urge to writhe under him just a little to see what it would be like if he lost control. Instead, she raised her hand to smooth his curls back at his temple, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. Finally, he breathed in then out, deep and slow. He turned his face to kiss the inside of her wrist. He opened his eyes and smiled down at her, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"I love you, Teresa."

"I know."

He grinned down at her, as pleased at that response as if she had replied in kind. After giving her a last affectionate squeeze, he lifted himself off of her and stepped down from the table, taking her hand as he did so and helping her down after him. They turned to walk back to the SUV, stopping to throw away the remnants of their lunch. He pulled her hand to curve around his elbow then covered it to hold it in place there.

"So . . . when would you rather be ravished on that picnic table?"

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They did talk when they got back to work, sitting together in the attic, and true to her word, Lisbon didn't get angry. She didn't understand much of what he had written in his journal but knew it required more than a scanning perusal. She flipped through forensic reports he had copied without reminding him that he didn't have proper authorization to have access to them or confiscating them. Making a mental note to have a subtle word with the evidence clerk, she moved on to the subject of the gun he'd gotten from Max Winters. If he applied for and received a permit and went to the CBI range for certification, she saw no reason for him not to keep the weapon. She would register it and keep it in her office until he met the requirements then transfer ownership to him. As for the journal and some of the reports, they would go over them together at a later time. They also agreed he would spend less time in the attic and she would get the custodial staff to clean the place up—under his supervision, of course.

She was just extracting a promise from him that he wouldn't spend the night up there anymore or sleep there during the day if he could help it when her phone vibrated with a call from Cho. They had a case.

Four hunters were found dead in a state park five hours from Sacramento. They worked the case for five days, staying at a nearby inn. Finally, after receiving the forensic report, they discovered a nervous park ranger had gotten a careless with his sidearm when the four men started causing problems while under the influence. He had tried to confuse the forensics by using their weapons to fire into and through the bullet holes made by his gun. They wrapped up the case and headed for home.

Then, for the next three days, Lisbon and Cho were in depositions for a pending trial. Another case followed hard after, and it continued like that for the next week-and-a-half. Jane and Lisbon both stayed at the CBI most nights, the rest of the team doing the same in various combinations, based on their duties. Jane and Lisbon were rarely alone together except for when they worked in the field or he slept on her couch. He would periodically retreat to his attic hideaway where she knew he worked on his journal, but he always wandered back to revolve around her wherever she was. They managed to keep their relationship on the down-low—as they believed—with the exception of Cho, who had asked Lisbon archly on the way back to the office on the final day of depositions what was up with Jane and why was he so "on"? She had simply smiled and shrugged, and Cho had firmly trained his eyes on the windshield.

Finally, on the last Thursday of May, they could see light at the end of the tunnel. All pending cases were either closed or stalled—thankfully there were far more of the former—and they could go home. Jane didn't push Lisbon for an invitation. She was dead on her feet and needed her rest, so it was the hotel for him. There was, however, one thing he needed to ask her before they went their separate ways for the night. He stopped at her office door on the way to the elevators and leaned in.

"You're going home soon." It wasn't a question.

"Mm-hm." She didn't look up from the papers in front of her. Her voice had a light, absentminded tone, and he knew he only had half of her attention. "Just have to read through and initial these last pages."

"You want to go out tomorrow night?" The words felt strange coming out of his mouth. He had been practicing for the last fifteen minutes, trying to find the right way to say it, and he was a little embarrassed that that's the best he could come up with. He and Angela had been together since they were kids. He didn't remember ever having to ask her out.

"Can't." She continued reading. "Got plans."

He had asked her months ago and bought the tickets the day after she said yes but didn't know if she remembered, so he was disappointed. More like crestfallen, but he wouldn't let her see.

"Going to see Shakespeare," she continued.

He tilted his head to one side, watching her.

"The Starlight?" he asked her. "On the river? 'Twelfth Night'? That Shakespeare?"

"Mm-hm. That's the one." Initial and turn page.

He took a quick but thorough look around the floor to make sure they were the last ones there before he stepped inside.

"You think you're pretty cute, don't you?"

"That's what my boyfriend tells me."

"Meh, there's no accounting for taste."

"Meh, I know. You should see my boyfriend." She looked up at him then, and when he leaned across her desk for a kiss, she stretched toward him and gave him one.

"Not too late," he murmured against her lips.

"Okay," she whispered back.

As he walked to the elevator, he slid his jacket off to drape it across his forearms and carry it in front of him, marveling at her effect on him after such a chaste encounter. They were the only ones left on the floor, but there were still lots of people he would have to walk past downstairs. He mentally chanted the mantra "She needs her rest, she needs her rest, she needs her rest" all the way to his car.