Title: In the Cards
Disclaimer: I own a slightly hurricane-battered house but no TV shows. Wanna trade, Mr. Heller? No, I didn't think so.
Summary: Minor spoilers for Not One Red Cent, The Crimson Ticket, and Blood Feud. Jane teases Lisbon about her poker skills, which leads to a conversation that surprises them both. Starts out as friendship but will wander into romantic territory before we're done.
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. There was a business trip and then a hurricane and, well, my Muse decided to go on vacation for it all. Now that we're speaking again, hopefully there are still be a few of you out there interested in this story!
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Chapter 2
Lisbon managed to make the next two poker games in a row, and both times Jane pestered her for a report under the guise of relaying the office gossip. It seemed that an alarming number of their coworkers had taken an interest in the game. According to Jane, she was becoming something of a folk hero. Of course, she had to allow for a certain amount of hyperbole, considering the source.
"I hate to keep disappointing you, but nobody's mentioned you," she told him. "I'll be sure to let you know when they do, all right?"
"Thank you. Tonight might be the night," he said cheerfully.
"There's no game tonight."
"No, but you finally agreed to go out for drinks with Mancini."
She stared at him. "How did you know that?"
He shrugged. "It's obvious. You took more time with your hair this morning, and you're wearing the expensive perfume, which you only do when you have a date. I'm betting if I looked in your desk drawer, I'd find your little makeup bag. When are you going to stop being surprised that I notice these things, Lisbon?"
"When you stop trying to surprise me, I guess."
"Speaking of which, did you enjoy the last one?" He leaned back in his chair and grinned.
Lisbon frowned, trying to figure out what he was alluding to. "This week has been unusually short on surprises."
"Exactly. I was making a point."
"Which was?"
"I behaved impeccably all through the Schneider case, despite the great tedium involved. But instead of being rewarded for my good behavior, I had to suffer through you asking about my health every half hour, Grace offering to be my amateur therapist if I felt the need to talk, and Cho and Rigsby dragging me to boys' night out. Though I must say that was by far the most amusing approach to my perceived problem. The look on Cho's face when the karaoke started was priceless."
She chuckled along with him. "Did you sing?"
"Lisbon," he chided. "They were trying to help me. Why would I repay that kindness with torture? So, which of the local watering holes will be honored with your presence this evening?"
"Right, like I'm going to tell you," she all but snorted.
"Now Lisbon. When have I ever interfered in your infrequent attempts at romance?"
"Never," she admitted. "That I know of, at least. But in your mind, this is not a romance, it's a trap for a potential mole. So no, I am not telling you where we're going. I do not need backup to have drinks with Mancini. Now, you may not have anything productive to do, but I need to get some work done."
"All right, I know when I'm not wanted," he sighed, heading for the door.
She waited until he was actually in the doorway before saying, "Jane. Call me around 8:30 in case I need an excuse to leave." His answering smile was contagious, but she tried to give hers a sarcastic twist. "Unless you don't have time, what with all the brooding and plotting."
"For you, Lisbon, I will make time," he promised.
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By the time 8:30 rolled around she had almost forgotten her instructions to Jane. Mancini was a little cocky for her taste, but he told funny stories and urged her to tell some of hers, so he was generally good company. Unfortunately, most of her funny stories involved Jane, and they could be funny or appalling – or both all at once – depending on your point of view.
When her cell rang, she made a point of rolling her eyes at the caller ID before answering. "Somebody better be dead, Jane. Preferably you."
"Sorry to disappoint," he said cheerfully. "So, have you guys talked about me yet?"
"Right, because we officers of the law have nothing else we could possibly talk about. Did you need something, or are you just being annoying on principle?"
"Just following orders, Boss. Do you need an excuse? Because I'm about ninety percent certain I could get myself arrested in the next ten minutes."
Her tone sharpened reflexively. "No, Jane!"
"All right, then. You have a fabulous night, Lisbon. See you in the morning. Oh, and I know some excellent hangover remedies if you need one."
"That won't be necessary. Good night, and try to stay out of trouble for eight or nine hours, all right?"
"No promises." She could hear the grin in his voice as he hung up.
"High maintenance, no surprise," Mancini remarked. "How do you put up with that?"
"He closes cases," Lisbon replied. "We all have our crosses to bear, but he does great things for our closure rate. Don't you guys have any eccentric genius types over at the FBI?"
"Genius?" Mancini echoed in disbelief. "Is that what you think he is?"
"Maybe more like Rain Man," Lisbon mused. "But as long as he keeps closing my cases, I don't actually care."
"Isn't that a risk for your team?"
Lisbon took another drink and thought about her answer. If Mancini was interested, she didn't mind giving him a little misinformation to gladden Jane's paranoid heart. Her real feelings about Jane were not open for discussion with anyone. Even herself, most of the time.
"Not really. Jane's used to us. He doesn't want to break in a new team, so he takes that into account when he's coming up with his cunning ruses. Or, at least, once they start going pear shaped. Or, sometimes, after we all think we're past the point of no return. But he hasn't gotten us fired yet, so we'll keep solving cases and taking bad guys off the street until he does."
"Wow. That's some dedication to the job you have there, Lisbon. Do they give out martyrdom awards at the CBI?"
"No, or I'd have a roomful by now. So, come on, you must have some eccentrics in the FBI."
"Not so much. The federal bureaucracy doesn't leave a lot of room for them. Which is why we find it so strange that you guys tolerate it. There are all kinds of theories about why. My favorite is that he must have the goods on Bertram."
Lisbon smiled into her drink. "God, I wish. That would make my job so much easier. Let me guess, the other theory is that I've succumbed to his Svengali-like powers?"
"That, or he's really, really good in bed."
Lisbon choked on her drink and quickly converted it into a light laugh. "Jane is like my brother, Gabe. A slightly deranged, way-too-clever-for-his-own-good one who rarely listens to his sister's wise advice."
"Really. That's not the vibe I get from you two." His expression was skeptical, and interestingly, it didn't include the relief that most of the guys she'd dated displayed on hearing that little story.
She shrugged. "Doesn't make it less true. Do we have to talk about Jane all night? Because I spend my days dealing with him, and I prefer having my nights off."
"Sorry," Mancini said. "Another round?"
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Jane brought Lisbon an extra large coffee the next morning, settling into the chair across the desk with his usual cup of tea. "So?"
"So?" she echoed innocently.
"Come on, Lisbon. After the phone call, you had to have talked about me a little."
She sighed. "Yes. Let's see. He asked if you kept your job by blackmailing Bertram or sleeping with me, and I told him I thought of you as my crazy brother."
Jane grinned. "Let me guess: he also asked how you put up with me, and you trotted out your usual answer, that I close cases. Really, Lisbon, don't you get tired of that old trope? Do you never feel the urge to rhapsodize about my sparkling wit or confess that you like to have someone around who's easy on the eyes to make up for all the ugliness you see on a daily basis?"
"Why Jane, where did all this newfound modesty come from?" she said dryly. "In the interests of full disclosure, a new and innovative idea I'd very much like to get used to, I may also have compared you to Rain Man."
Jane came perilously close to snorting tea out his nose.
Lisbon grinned and continued, "So if he is Red John's mole, he now has an entirely new take on our relationship."
"Brilliant, Lisbon. Wounding, but brilliant."
Lisbon went back to her work, since Jane seemed content to sip his tea and think his own thoughts. She expected him to relocate to her couch, which was certainly more comfortable, but he didn't. She'd noticed lately that he seemed to want to be close to her, if not actually in her personal space. Whether that was a deliberate signal of some kind or just an unconscious expression of his anxiety that she might be pulling away, she wasn't sure. She supposed she could try reassuring him and see if that helped, though she had a hard time wrapping her brain around the concept. He usually only needed encouragement when Red John slipped through their fingers, although the last time hadn't been that long ago, so maybe it was that after all. Or maybe he'd had time to process everything and was a little anxious about the whole "Bring me the head of Teresa Lisbon" thing. God knows she was, when she let herself think about it. Which she did as seldom as possible.
Jane suddenly spoke again. "I like your campaign of misinformation idea, Lisbon. I'm not sure it's going to accomplish much, though."
"Why not? Is it so hard to believe that after all the crap you've pulled recently, I might take stock and decide to become a little less personally invested?" The sentence was barely out of her mouth before she realized how much more it said than she'd intended.
Jane shook his head. "Not at all. It's certainly crossed my mind."
"Well, make it uncross your mind," she replied.
He took another sip of tea. "My point is, Red John isn't all that concerned with what you think about me, as far as I can tell. Because even if you were to wash your hands of me entirely, you'd still be important to me, and I'm the one he wants to manipulate."
"Ah, yes, I was forgetting that you're the star of this show and I'm merely a supporting actor." She rolled her eyes and went back to looking at the monitor.
"No, no, Lisbon. You're definitely the leading lady," he smiled.
Her response was cut off as Cho stuck his head in the door. "We're up. Homeless guy found a body in a dumpster at the edge of a state park."
"Great," Lisbon sighed. "All right, let's get going."
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Jane loved nature and hated dumpsters, so his interaction with the park ranger jealously guarding the scene was brief, but spectacular. After the consultant wandered nonchalantly away in response to Lisbon's death glare, she summoned up her most soothing tone. "I apologize, Ranger Simmons. Mr. Jane does not speak on behalf of the CBI, and as fellow state employees, we have the greatest respect for the work you do. Your treatment of the crime scene was correct and enormously helpful."
He was only partly mollified. "How do you put up with that jerk?"
"He closes cases." Jane was right; she was tired of the standard answer. On impulse, she added, "And he's nice to look at."
Too late, she realized Jane had wandered back within earshot. Cho, never looking up from his examination of the ground around the dumpster, said, "Yeah, but I'm not wild about that thing his hair is doing lately."
Lisbon could have hugged him. Rigsby looked puzzled. "He's changed his hair?" He stared at Jane, looking for differences.
Lisbon didn't dare look at Jane. She could feel the waves of unholy glee coming off him from ten feet away. Ranger Simmons looked puzzled and slightly alarmed at the change in conversation, so Lisbon said soothingly, "He's kind of like our mascot, Ranger. Don't worry about him."
"Right," the park ranger said uncertainly. "I'll, uh, I'll be in my truck if you need me."
"Mascot, Lisbon?" Jane said indignantly.
Rigsby said, "More like a poster boy for what not to do at a crime scene. Seriously, we could make a whole library of training videos based on stuff you've done. Drinking evidence, stealing evidence to plant elsewhere—"
"—walking over footprints at the crime scene," Cho said pointedly.
Jane looked down and took a few steps back. "Sorry, Cho. And what's wrong with my hair?"
"It's weird," Cho replied.
"Could you be more specific?" Jane asked.
"Could we get back to the crime solving?" Lisbon intervened.
"You started it," Jane pointed out.
"And I'm ending it. You and Cho can swap haircare tips later."
"Not as long as I'm armed," Cho murmured.
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The whole mess with Rigsby's father cast a pall over the team, and Lisbon skipped that week's poker game and begged off a not-quite-date with Mancini with the excuse that she had extra paperwork to do and a funeral to go to. Rigsby at first declared that he wasn't having a funeral for his father, who thought religion was nonsense and had always declared that he didn't care if his son just tossed his body in a dumpster after he was dead.
"But funerals aren't for the dead. They're for the living," Grace pointed out gently.
"I'm not religious either," Rigsby said. "And I don't want to have to meet all those deadbeats he called friends."
"Then don't invite them," Cho said.
"Who else would come?"
"We would," Grace said. "Of course."
"Yeah," Cho added.
They both turned to look at Jane, who was eavesdropping from his couch. He stood and walked over to them. "I'm not a big fan of funerals myself. Rigsby, what would you say to a wake instead? We'll meet at a bar and skip the part where we exchange horror stories about our parents."
"Or," Grace added, "we could meet at a restaurant and you could bring Ben."
Rigsby began to look less harassed. "I guess we could do that. I don't know if I'm going to want to talk about Dad, though."
"Nobody will make you," Jane promised.
"But if you want to, that's okay," Grace said.
"And you know the rule, right?" Cho added. "It's okay to cry as long as it's into a beer."
Lisbon had come over to see what was afoot; she always got a little nervous when Jane huddled with the rest of the team. "When did you turn into a country song?" she teased Cho. "What's up? Are you going out for beers without me?"
"Of course not," Rigsby said hurriedly. "I was just telling them that there's not going to be a funeral, so I guess we're having a wake instead."
"A fine Irish tradition," Lisbon said with a gentle smile. "Just tell me where and when. I'll buy the first round. Hey, Grace, you have a minute?"
"Sure, Boss." Grace followed her into her office, looking puzzled as she closed the door behind her.
"We should do something for Rigsby. If there's not going to be a funeral, flowers are out. I can't imagine he'd want them at home. Any ideas?" Lisbon asked, sitting behind her desk.
"I've been thinking about that. I know it's not traditional, but maybe something for Ben? He'd like that better than anything we could buy for him."
"That sounds fine to me. Get Cho's input—he might have some ideas too."
"Not Jane's?" Grace smiled as she headed for the door.
"Depends on how brave you're feeling, I guess," Lisbon smiled back. But when Grace was gone, Lisbon sighed. Other people sent flowers or brought casseroles when a friend's loved one was killed—Patrick Jane served up vengeance on a silver platter. It was touching, in a way, since it was the one thing he hadn't been able to obtain for himself. But she wondered if he ever thought about the long-term consequences, if that kind gesture would end up being a burden to Rigsby's conscience.
She also wondered what it said about Jane's own thinking. She'd hoped that the whole Timothy Carter mess had made him rethink his plans, but he probably thought the chance of mistaken identity in Moss' case was negligible.
Oh, who was she kidding? She'd sent him off to meet Lorelei and Red John with a melon and a gun. Jane hadn't changed his mind. And Lorelei's disappearance had proven that they were up against someone who could work inside the system. Even if she got her way and someday arrested Red John, what were the odds he'd ever make it to trial? She didn't want to admit that Jane's plan might be the only realistic one, but she couldn't help thinking it sometimes.
Jane poked his head in her door. "Hey," he said. "I was thinking about taking the day off tomorrow, since we're not on a case at the moment."
Lisbon blinked, running the sentence back through her mind to make sure she hadn't misunderstood. "You're taking a day off?" she repeated slowly.
"Yes. Just one, I promise. You can call me all you want to make sure I'm not in trouble," he grinned.
"Where are you going?"
"It's my understanding I don't have to answer to you for my actions or whereabouts while I'm on leave," he said piously.
A stress headache began thumping against her skull. "Jane. Promise me you're not going looking for trouble."
"I promise. My itinerary doesn't include anything illegal. And I'll be back on my couch in the morning. You'll hardly have time to miss me."
So not true—her stomach was already tying itself in knots. She hoped it didn't show on her face. "I'm calling you when I get into work, and if you don't answer I'm having Grace track your cell phone," she warned him.
Jane came all the way into the room, letting the door fall closed behind him. "Hey. I'm coming back. And I'll answer my phone."
"Okay." She swallowed, trying to calm down.
"I'd invite you to come with me, but it's not something you'd enjoy," he said. "At least, not the way I do it."
"Now you're trying to make me nervous," she accused.
"I seem to do it without trying," he reflected. He scrutinized her for a few moments, frowning slightly. "What can I do to make you okay with this?" he finally asked.
"You could try telling me what you're up to. I might be shocked into acceptance." She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, waiting to see what deflection he'd offer.
"I'm going to run over to Nevada-not Vegas, don't worry-and work on my contribution to the savings bond we're buying for Ben."
Lisbon blinked at him. She hadn't expected him to actually tell her the truth. "Poker?"
"Maybe a little blackjack too. Want to come with me? We'd have to play at separate tables, of course. You could up your contribution too." He seemed to warm to the idea as he spoke.
"Is that what we're doing instead of flowers? That was fast." But perfect, of course. They couldn't do anything Rigsby would like better than setting something aside for his son's future. "Whose idea was that?"
"Uh, well." He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "I used to buy one for Charlotte every birthday. You can't start saving too early." He looked down at his feet, then back up at her with a slightly strained smile. "With the pittance you pay me, I figured Rigsby needs all the help he can get with the college fund."
She smiled. "You're probably right, although I'd like to point out that I don't have much say in the compensation levels around here. That's sweet, Jane. I'd wish you luck if I thought you needed it."
"You don't want to come?"
"As much as I appreciate the invitation, no. But if I give you some seed money, will you add to my contribution too?"
"It would be my pleasure." His smile was dazzling. "Wow. So this is what happens when I tell you the truth without making you beat it out of me?"
Lisbon realized that her headache had vanished. She probably looked a lot more relaxed, too, now that she knew this wasn't Red John related. "Yes. So much better for my health and sanity. But put your phone on vibrate so you don't miss my call if a case comes up."
"Don't worry, Lisbon. You've filled up my voicemail enough for one lifetime. I'll answer."
Lisbon dug in her pockets and handed him all the cash she had. "Is that enough, or should I hit an ATM?"
"It'll be enough when I get done with it," he grinned.