Title: In the Cards
Disclaimer: I still don't own anything to do with The Mentalist. Obviously I need to start buying lottery tickets.
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: Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter—I'm glad you enjoyed it! I also really appreciate those who have favorited and followed this story. The inspiration keeps me going!
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Chapter 3
Lisbon anticipated a quiet, productive day spent catching up on paperwork without Jane interrupting her. She hadn't counted on his steady stream of text messages being almost as distracting as his presence. They began at seven in the morning with Good morning Lisbon, I hope you are taking the time to eat breakfast. I found a diner on my way but the eggs are mediocre at best.
An hour later: Is there a CHP convention somewhere? I haven't seen a single one.
I am not fixing any tickets for you, she texted back.
It was nearly two hours later before he sent: I'm here. Wish me luck.
All of a sudden you need luck? she responded.
He quieted down while he was playing, of course, and she did manage to clear more than half the stack of files on her desk by the time he called in the late afternoon. "Mission accomplished," he said. "I'm on my way home."
"How much?"
"More than enough. Since we're limited in how much we can put into savings bonds, you'll all have some left over to spend how you like. I'll bring everything in to the office tomorrow, unless you want to meet up tonight. I should be back around nine."
"I have plans," she said. "Tomorrow will be fine."
There was a pause before he said, "So what outrageous tales are you planning to tell Mancini about me this time?"
"It's going to be hard to top the last set," she admitted. "Any suggestions?"
He chuckled. "I wouldn't dare. I look forward to hearing what you come up with, though. Do you want me to interrupt you again?"
"No need," she said.
"You don't want me to text you that I made it home safe?" The forlorn note in his voice was deliberate, she knew.
"Actually, yes. Otherwise I'll probably wake up in the middle of the night with hideous visions of you trapped in the desert with that broken-down contraption of yours."
"Aw, that's sweet, Lisbon. I'll let you get back to your paperwork in the meantime."
"Drive safe," she admonished, without any hope that he would.
mmm
The next morning, Lisbon was glad for the distracting flurry of activity surrounding Jane's parcelling out cash to his teammates before Rigsby arrived. Grace and Cho had entrusted their contributions to Jane as well and were thrilled to max out their savings bond purchases for the calendar year at a tiny fraction of the cost to themselves. Cho even smiled, albeit briefly. "Nice job, man," he said.
"Yes, thank you, Jane," Grace said, beaming. "He's going to love this. Maybe we could do it for Ben's birthdays as well, you know, make it a regular thing."
Lisbon's gaze went to Jane in concern, remembering how he'd told her he always bought savings bonds for his daughter's birthdays. But his smile didn't slip even a little. It made her sad to realize how much practice he'd had concealing his feelings.
"If you're going to put me to work on a regular basis, Grace, I might have to start charging you," Jane said cheerfully.
"Do you want a tip?" She looked down at the brown paper bag of hundred dollar bills in her hand.
"No, thank you." His smile seemed a little more genuine. "I made my own tip this time. Use the extra to buy yourself something nice."
She shook her head. "Maybe I'll save it for your birthday."
"Yeah," Cho said. "We could buy you some new shoes."
"No!" Jane looked horrified now. "I'll buy my own shoes, thank you very much. Ah, good morning, Rigsby!"
Everyone turned back to their desks to stash their bags of cash, except Lisbon, who said, "Good morning, Rigsby. Well, I'd better put my lunch in the fridge," and headed for the break room, veering into her office instead once Rigsby's back was turned. She sat down at her desk and put the bag in her lap, glancing into it as she slid her bottom drawer open. Then she froze.
On top of the neatly banded stacks of bills was a small box. She glanced back at the bullpen, where Jane was chatting with Rigsby. She was pretty sure he was watching her out of the corner of his eye, though.
She carefully picked the box up, only then noticing the slip of folded paper beneath it. She took the time to read the note first, hoping she didn't look as tense as she felt. Surely he wasn't going to make her turn down another beautiful but inappropriate gift?
Lisbon,
These didn't come from the casino gift store, so they weren't expensive. And I used your winnings to pay for them, so they aren't technically a gift, either. Wear them in good health.
Jane
She didn't believe a word of it as she nervously lifted the box lid to find a pair of modest but perfect emerald stud earrings. They looked like something she might buy for herself, but she'd bet they were the real thing. She could wear them anywhere, and she appreciated that he'd chosen earrings, since she rarely wore a necklace other than her cross and bracelets tended to get damaged while tackling suspects.
That's what was making her throat close up, she realized. The earrings weren't special in themselves, but the thought behind them was. They were proof of how well he knew her, just like he'd known she wouldn't spend the extra money on herself.
She wondered if he'd regret the gift when he had a moment to realize she'd spent part of last night making out with Mancini.
mmm
Since they still hadn't caught a new case, Jane spent most of the morning going through cold case files to keep his boredom at bearable levels. Lisbon was surprised he hadn't come in to be thanked for the earrings, but apparently he was waiting for her to come to him.
She slid the little box into her jacket pocket and went to the restroom, where she switched her cubic zirconia studs for the emeralds. Then she went over to Jane's couch. "Anything yet?" she asked.
He looked up, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to draw his attention there. His grin was immediate and genuine. "Um, nothing definite. I think I'm about to hatch a hunch, though."
"Really? Which case?"
"The Kessler murder. I think we may need to go talk to the housekeeper again. Something's just not sitting right about her story."
Much as she appreciated Jane's effort to make up for lost time by reviewing the cases they hadn't closed during his absence, this was the sort of vague fishing expedition that usually ended in trouble. "When this hunch of yours hatches and is fully-fledged, let me know."
"I will." His expression sobered, and she realized that drawing attention to her ear had also given him a good look at her neck and the small mark there. "So, did you enjoy your evening?"
"I did," she replied. "But I cut it short. I think I'll make him work for it a little. His ego could use a trim."
She wasn't sure why she felt the need to tell him that, and he seemed a little nonplussed as well. But after a second, he was grinning again. "If anyone can teach him a thing or two, it's you, Lisbon. Good for you." He suddenly cut his eyes over at Grace, then returned his gaze to her and said, "After all the practice you get keeping me in line, I'm sure Mancini will pose no challenge at all."
She suddenly realized how their conversation could have sounded before he brought names into it and fought against the inevitable blush. The last thing she needed was to add more fuel to the gossip surrounding them, which had been going full steam ahead since Jane's return. "He does strike me as slightly more trainable than a certain consultant who shall remain nameless," she said. "It makes a nice change."
"Good. You deserve a nice change, Lisbon." He gave her one of those looks that told her he wanted her to take him seriously.
"Thank you, Jane," she said sincerely, reaching up to touch the earring so he'd know what she was actually thanking him for.
"My pleasure, Lisbon," he said airily, dropping his gaze back to the file in his lap.
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The wake for Rigsby's father was more enjoyable than Lisbon expected. They met at a nice but kid-friendly restaurant and enjoyed a good meal and a few drinks while they all got some cuddle time with Ben, who seemed to have inherited his father's easygoing nature. Lisbon sat between Jane and Grace, and after the meal was over the three of them competed to see whose lap was Ben's favorite. Jane had a good run, since he made the goofiest faces, but eventually Ben reached over toward Lisbon.
"Ah," Jane said, "I see you are a young man of discriminating tastes. Very well." He passed Ben over, but the boy was no sooner in Lisbon's lap than he grabbed a handful of her long hair, babbling happily as he tugged on it. Lisbon winced, but before she could coax Ben into letting go, Jane reached over to tickle him. Ben shrieked with laughter and released his grip, and Jane moved his hand to sweep Lisbon's hair back over her shoulder and out of Ben's reach, fingers brushing against her neck and shoulder. She smiled at him in thanks, and he smiled back.
A strange sensation took hold of her, like déjà vu from a life that never was. This is what it would be like if we—
She stomped down hard on the thought and made a funny face at Ben, hoping Jane hadn't noticed.
mmm
On her way home, she couldn't get that moment out of her head. It was as if she'd momentarily slipped into someone else's life, someone who lived in a parallel universe where Jane's devotion was to her and not Red John, where they were building a life together instead of hurtling down a twisting road to heartbreak and disaster. She felt a piercing sense of loss, no matter how firmly she told herself it was silly to be sad about something that had never happened. Would never happen.
Chocolate. She needed chocolate. This had to be a hormonal thing, because she was fine with her life. She didn't waste time pining for things she was unlikely ever to have. She liked living alone. She couldn't even imagine living with Jane, much less attempting some kind of white picket fence life with him. Even if she were to want that, Jane had entirely different goals that were almost guaranteed to eliminate the possibility.
She had to admit that she sometimes regretted her life didn't include children, especially when she was around them. But the pull wasn't strong enough to make her radically change her life, and even during the fleeting moments when it was, she didn't see how she could possibly do so with Red John at large. Even if she walked away from her job, she'd still have a target on her back because she was important to Jane. And she supposed it was possible she might be able to make herself walk away from him someday, but she didn't think that would be enough to make him indifferent to her fate if Red John threatened her. Jane was right; her feelings weren't the issue. His were. And Jane didn't let go of people easily if he really cared about them. He could drive her nuts, get her in six kinds of trouble before breakfast, and break her heart with no apology, but he would never stand by and let Red John hurt her, now or twenty years from now.
She was well and truly stuck. It was worse than marriage because divorce wasn't a possibility. The only bright side—and it wasn't that bright—was that she could still date if she wanted.
She might as well try to enjoy her sole perk, she decided. She would call Mancini when she got home.
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Jane rarely suffered from a lack of concentration, especially where Red John was concerned, but when he got back to his drab motel room that night, he found himself staring blankly at his notebook instead of coming up with a new angle on his search for Lorelei. For some reason he couldn't stop thinking of that odd little moment. He tried to tell himself it was just a flashback to Charlotte's babyhood, when she'd sometimes pull on Angela's hair and he'd intervene, but then why was he thinking of how soft Lisbon's hair was and what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, to have it trail across his bare chest—
With an annoyed frown, he abruptly got up to make some tea. Obviously his self-control needed bolstering. He wondered if this recent inability to shut off unwanted thoughts was because long-dormant parts of his brain had been awakened during his night with Lorelei, or if it was a product of how much he'd missed Lisbon during his self-imposed exile. Sometimes he found himself staring at her just for the pleasure of being able to do so. He hoped he'd never again come up with a plan to catch Red John that involved giving her up, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to make himself do it twice.
He had to stop thinking about her this way. His only thoughts about Lisbon should be how to protect her from whatever was coming. Because he believed he was getting close to Lorelei and therefore Red John, and he didn't want Red John thinking about Lisbon, even for a second. Whatever happened to him, whatever happened to Red John, Lisbon must come through it safely. And the best way to ensure that was to keep her out of it, as completely as possible.
Mancini might be a problem if he were involved, but so far there were no indications that he posed a threat. And he served as a distraction for Lisbon, which reduced the tension between them. Jane might be determined to keep her away from his quest, but he didn't like making her unhappy. She would let him do what he needed to do, but she would worry, would fret that he didn't trust her. He wanted to keep that to a minimum.
The electric kettle began to boil, and he poured the water into his teacup and began the soothing ritual of dunking the tea bag. He could do this, he reassured himself. He would focus on tracking down Red John and stop wasting time with pointless fantasies. Her soft, silky hair, her warm skin, and the delicious way she smelled were irrelevant data points. He would file them away in his memory palace and get on with the work.
Ten minutes later, he found himself having to repeat the stern lecture to himself. He clicked on the television, hoping to drown out his own thoughts for a while until his subconscious gave up on trying to get through to him.