I've got to hand it to you
You've played by all the same rules
It takes the truth to fool me
And now you've made me angry

-"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

Previously:

"Clear it with Cho, first. Lisbon is tough; she has been holding her own with Patrick Jane for a long time. The Serious Crimes Unit is already down by two. This murder investigation has the priority."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Tread carefully, Agent Van Pelt. Whatever is going on between those two, it might be more of a powder keg than we think. You don't want to be the spark that sets it off."

That time of day, it was a half hour drive up over the mountains to Westlake Village. Jane went to the T.J. Maxx, where he found light blue yoga pants, a thin cotton sweater to match, a sea-foam green linen/cotton blend tea-length shirt dress, and pink satin pajamas in Lisbon's size.

Another 15 minutes further into the mountains, toward Thousand Oaks, he stopped at a farm stand he knew. Jane picked out several ounces of basil, half a peck of tomatoes, a bunch of asparagus, a bunch of spinach, a half dozen each of lemons and tangerines, and a couple pomegranates. Taking his selections up to the counter, he paid for them and got back into the car. On the way back through Malibu, he stopped at a CVS Pharmacy and grabbed a toothbrush for Lisbon.

IIIIIIIII

After talking to Van Pelt, Lisbon retrieved her clothes from the dryer and put them back on. Today at least, her clothing was every bit the armor that Jane's suits were every day. She felt more secure in her own skin with her own jeans and tank top on. In Jane's thin t-shirt and boxers, she felt more exposed than she usually did completely naked. When naked meant clothed in the warm regard of a lover, there was strength and wholeness in it. His response that morning tore past her defenses, smirching her honest feelings for him with a dirty finger. She had long ago acknowledged their existence, then packed them tightly away as unlikely to be fulfilled in any satisfying way. Left dusty on the shelf, her feelings for Jane would harm neither him nor her. It was far cleaner to leave them be than to defraud herself by giving in to a moment's blazing lechery. Her fear as he hauled her around by the arm was not that he might succeed in coercing her, but that she would be left with a mockery of passion rather than a reverent consummation.

To keep herself occupied, she systematically searched the house. The fact that there was very little furniture or personal belongings in the open spoke to the devastation in the heart of the man who owned it. From the relatively small build-up of dust and grime in the place, she surmised that he had a cleaning service in at intervals - every month, or perhaps every six weeks. The master bedroom and bathroom were not so dust-free - obviously the cleaning service had orders to stay out. While she had long known he had kept the place and that he sometimes came here for a few days, she had had no idea that he lived this barren way when he was here.

There was nothing.

There was nothing, except for a few essentials in the kitchen cupboards and in the linen closet of the master bathroom. His only personal items had been brought in his overnight bag. In addition to the mattress on the floor, there were four stools around the kitchen island, and a couch in the living room.

The house was empty.

The house was empty, and she had no idea when he would return. She had already slept as much as she could. So she decided to walk along the beach road to a little convenience store she had seen on the approach to the house yesterday. Leaving the house unlocked, she felt a bit like she did cutting class back in junior high school - wild, uncontrolled. It was silly, she knew; Jane might very well become angry with her for this unauthorized jaunt, but she really did not owe him an explanation for her movements. At the store, she got herself a large coffee, a package of miniature powdered donuts, a copy of the LA Times, a crossword puzzle book, and some six hundred page historical romance, that looked a little less like a bodice-ripper and more like a psychological thriller.

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon finished her coffee at the kitchen island, nibbling on a couple donuts, slowly reading the paper. At first she attempted to eat daintily, struggling to keep from getting powdered sugar everywhere, but an ill-considered huff at an overly politically-correct political statement by some minor politician blasted the white stuff all over her shirt, and the newspaper. She rolled her eyes at herself, and waited until she got up to brush herself off. Generally when reading a newspaper, she skimmed for crime and sports stories, and when no one else was looking, the comics and Dear Abby. Today, to keep herself occupied, she meticulously read every article, including the two most tedious attempts at stock market analysis she had ever seen in a business section. She briefly considered going through the classified ads, but decided to save that for extremes of boredom.

Putting the newspaper back together, she left it on the island with the bag of donuts. Then she put the coffee cup in the recycle bin. Picking up the book, she went upstairs to the balcony. She had noted in her earlier exploration that there was no seating out there. Whatever outdoor furniture had been there was long gone. So she sat on the floor, leaning up against the railing, reading.

She read for half an hour before seriously thinking about how best to arrange herself for Jane's return. Facing the beach, the balcony offered little chance to see him coming. Suddenly, Lisbon felt restless, needed to move. So she went back through the house, and out, pacing along the patio. She wanted to kick off her shoes and walk in the sand again, but before she did, she heard a car pulling up nearby. So she carefully peeked around the corner of the house to the driveway. Sure enough, Jane had just parked the Citroen and was starting to unload the bounty of his shopping expedition. She thought he had not seen her, and decided to take the chance on walking on the beach again.

IIIIIIIIII

The front door was unlocked. The house was quiet. His cell phone, the note, and the money were still on the counter in the kitchen. He saw the newspaper and bag of donuts Lisbon had left earlier. Jane went looking for her. Not finding her in any of the rooms downstairs, he did see the pitcher of sun tea. Upstairs, he looked into the bedrooms, then he stepped out onto the balcony, and spied her on the beach.

The thought of calling her in like an errant child gave him a grim satisfaction. But he had a few things to do first.

IIIIIIIIIII

When he was ready, he walked out to the beach. Within shouting distance of her, he got her attention then said, "Five minutes, Teresa," and went back into the house. Jane's lip quirked up as he wondered whether the imperative itself or his bland assumption that she would obey would irritate her more.

Entering the kitchen Lisbon saw the tea pot in front of him with several tags hanging over the edge under the lid. Empty of everything but plain ice, the pitcher she had placed in a sunny room earlier that day sat on the counter behind him, next to the refrigerator.

Taking the lid off the tea pot, Jane pulled the tea bags out and put them in the sink. Then he poured the steaming tea over the ice in the pitcher. He gestured toward the large bowl he had placed the fruit in - "If you insist on wasting my good tea on this shameful drink, at least you'll have it properly made. If you want a lemon, wash the rind and slice it up."

"That's for you," he continued, pointing at the shopping bag on the center island. "It's just a couple changes of clothes, and something to sleep in. There's a toothbrush, too."

"Thanks Jane, but this really wasn't necessary. I called Van Pelt and asked her to Fed-Ex the stuff I keep at the office for emergencies."

"Just take it, Teresa. After this morning -"

"Yeah. Thanks." She was unsure if he was trying to apologize outright, but she knew she did not want to deal with hearing him put on a backhanded apology that would cast blame on her. She opened the bag and, a little bewildered by the pastels, thought, "I'm not sure whether to be glad you didn't try to pick out undies for me, or not." At least it would not be difficult to rinse out her one pair of panties in the sink before bed.

He got a glass out of the cupboard, filled it with the iced tea, and put it in front of her. He watched her keenly, as she sat down at one of the stools at the island. For her part, she was aware of his gaze without looking up. It made her hesitate over the tea. Finally deciding not to fight over it, she took a sip.

The expression of satisfaction that flitted across Jane's face as he watched her would not have surprised her; but the look of affection that followed might have.

IIIIIIIIIII

Lisbon retreated to the bedroom with the bag. Taking the items out and looking at them again, she thought quizzically, "Jane, what possessed you to get me pastel yoga pants? And a dress? Really? Who wears this stuff?" She did not hate them, exactly, but the light colors seemed impractical to her. Satin - pink satin - pajamas would be only marginally better than the thin t-shirt and boxers. The advantage would be at the distance - less skin exposed, and the material was less clingy and revealing than the thin cotton. Within arm's reach, though, the advantage disappeared - this was good satin, sensuous to the touch. She would go up like a pile of matches in a forest fire if he put a hand on her. And which was a stronger statement of ownership - a woman dressed in a man's underwear, or a woman wearing lingerie - these were far too nice to be considered simple jammies - the man bought for her?

Then she remembered whose bedroom she was in. Her heart leaped into her mouth. He must have chosen these clothes because they were the sorts of things his wife had worn.

Her stomach felt like she had swallowed a rock. She rushed out of the room, out onto the balcony. She sucked deep draughts of the sea air. She wanted to bring them to him and tell him she would not accept them. But it was a confrontation that would end either in him denying any such motives behind his choices while secretly being pleased by her discomfort then ordering her to wear those clothes anyway or in him being hurt by the rejection of his (or his wife's) taste. This was not the thing that would drive Lisbon to give up on him. She would yet again tamp down her discomfort in the hope of doing him some good.

This strategy was taking its toll on her. Being there for Jane, putting up with his crap, acquiescing to his demands - it was putting cracks in the support structures of her emotions. To survive - and more than that - to thrive, to succeed, Lisbon had had to encase her vulnerabilities in concrete. She got through the darkest times by holding out hope that she would one day be free of the need to knuckle under to the demands of a man slaking the bottomless maw of grief by punishing those around him. And here she was again.

After several minutes, she steeled herself to go back inside. She could give him more time. After all, as unpleasant as it was, his behavior had nothing on what she had already been through. Lisbon looked at the face on the wall and said out loud, "I'm sorry, Angela - this stuff is nice but it's not me." She paused for a moment then continued, "I think I'm coming unglued. If something doesn't give soon, I don't know how I'll hold myself together, let alone him."

Kicking off her shoes and removing her own clothes, she put the dress on. He wanted her conforming and docile to his demands, she would give him more than he bargained for. Going to the mirror in the bathroom, she noticed that the green worked for her. The style might have been far from her own, but he had distinctly had her skin and hair and eyes in mind when he selected the color. Then combing through her hair with her fingers, she saw the mark on her jaw. It was not quite like a hickey, but it was a far cry from the kind of bruise one got from a punch. It made her angry, though. She was angry with Jane for being such a caveman, and angry with herself for not seeing it coming. This too she would have to tamp down.

IIIIIIIIII

When Cho called to have Van Pelt obtain background checks on several suspects, she put the question to him. "It sounds like you and Rigsby are making progress. So I was wondering if you really need me on this one. You saw the security feed from the parking lot, and the Boss's cell phone smashed up. I think someone should go and check on her."

"You think Jane could hurt Lisbon? She can protect herself."

"He is an extremely angry man, who has her geographically isolated from the people who care about her. That rings a warning bell in my mind - it's a flag for potential abuse. By destroying her phone, he has made it so she has to go through him to contact us - another alarm bell. When I asked the Boss if he was hurting her, I couldn't get a straight answer from her - one more bell. Abuse isn't about who is stronger or the better fighter, it's about control and dominating the other. For all Jane seems to love chaos, what he likes best is to pull strings like we're all marionettes. He's teased her about control issues, but his are more deep-seated. And you can't tell me you have never noticed how possessive he is of her. I think she's in less danger during an average fire fight. Maybe he hasn't stepped over the line, but I won't rest easy until I can see for myself that she is ok."

"Lisbon sounded fine when she called yesterday. She's not going to let him kill her. Even if Jane keeps flipping out on her, he is more likely to make her crazy than beat her. That takes time. You charge in there too soon, before she thinks she needs the help, she'll dig her heels in, and you won't do her any good.

"We need you on this one, Van Pelt," he continued. "Get background checks, financials, and phone records for everyone on the suspect list today. We wrap this up tomorrow. First thing the next day, you drive out there, look in on them. Take your laptop and call in when you get there. If we need you to pull more records, you check into a hotel with wi-fi, spend the afternoon working on it, sleep there, drive back at first light. If not, drive home right away, and get back here in the morning."

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon came down to the kitchen again. The second before walking in, she fluffed her hair so that it hung forward, hiding the mark. The last thing she wanted to deal with was comforting him because he felt oh, so bad about it. The second to last thing she needed was for him to have another caveman moment. She was not sure which would be more likely, and hoped she would not find out. The look on his face when he saw her, a brief flash of shock swiftly covered, told her he was not expecting to see her in the green dress. There might have been something else behind it, but the look had been so brief she could not completely read it.

Jane felt unsettled. He had expected to feel a whisper of possessiveness seeing her in clothes he had provided. He had expected a more obvious struggle for her to wear them, then a rush of satisfaction. He had expected her to ease herself into wearing them by starting with the pants and sweater. This dress made her look different, her presence felt different. He could see she was carrying herself differently, as well - not looking him square in the face.

She poured herself another glass of tea, and said softly, "Thank you for brewing the iced tea for me. This is much better."

The doorbell rang. He wanted to challenge the oh, so demure way she had spoken, but instead went to get the door. It was the grocery delivery. Once everything was brought inside, Lisbon joined him in bringing the bags into the kitchen. She made sure to take only the lighter ones. At any other time, she would have scoffed at the idea of leaving the heavy lifting for him, but she had a point to make.

In the kitchen, she helped him put things away. Then when he started to gather tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella together, she asked what he was making.

"Insalata Capresi. Chiffonade basil, layer it with slices of tomatoes and cheese."

"Why don't you sit down and let me do that?" She edged up to him, took the tomatoes out of his hands and rinsed them off. Then she grabbed the basil from the counter and rinsed it as well. The brisk efficiency of her movements bulldozed him into letting her take over. "Have you got an apron I can use? It would be a shame to mess up this dress."

After a few moments' work, she darted a look at him. The expression on his face told her she had succeeded in discombobulating him; she was willing to lay money down that he was thinking, "Who are you and what have you done with my Lisbon?" But he did get an apron out of a drawer for her. After she finished slicing everything up, Jane took out a serving dish. He laid the salad out, and dressed it with olive oil.

"Let's take this out to the patio to eat." she asked. "It's a lovely day for it."

"If you like," he said. The sense of unease had not dissipated. He found himself going along with her to buy time to puzzle out what, precisely, was bothering him. The stone bench was the only place to sit, and there was no table, so they filled their plates and balanced them on their laps while they ate.

Lisbon put an effort into easy chatter, mentioning a few of the news stories she had read that morning then going on to talk about the few beach vacations she had taken. When they finished eating, she gathered up their plates and forks, and went inside to clean up the kitchen. While she worked, he looked at the newspaper. Unease continued to nag at him.

Done in the kitchen, she asked, "Do you have any laundry? I want to run those new clothes through the wash, but even with the shorts and shirt I borrowed from you this morning, it won't be a full load."

He looked at her a moment before replying, "Thanks, I'll go get them for you."

"Oh, no need. I can get them myself."

She said it such a confident tone of voice that only Jane would be able to detect the wavering she covered. It was plain she was hiding something. What did she have up her sleeve?

IIIIIIIII

After starting that load of laundry, she gathered up what cleaning supplies she could find. Jane continued to watch her. When she started up the stairs, he broke down and asked, "Teresa, what are you doing?"

"Just going to clean the bathroom. I learned a long time ago when more than one person is using it, it's easier to keep it clean than to have to scrub the heck out of it after it gets nasty."

"Of course. Go to it." Very disconcerting to him, having her bustling around doing housework.

She did as she said she would, then on her way out through the bedroom she paused for a long look at the face on the wall. It was doing him no good to keep it there. She had the tools in her hands to remove it.