AN: For those of you who asked - yes, in the promo for 6x20, you can clearly see Jane is being led out of the FBI bullpen in handcuffs.
Depth and Determinations
Chapter Two
To say that he had been shocked to be indicted for murder would have been an understatement. Just when he'd started to think that he'd left Thomas McAllister in the past, there he was again, coloring the world in bloody shades of red.
The look on Lisbon's face when he was arrested...that was something he wasn't going to forget soon. Fear, outrage, determination to get him out of this.
He'd winked at her as he was led out, trying to calm her down. He was fairly positive it didn't work.
The day then got very long and very stressful.
Despite Jane informing the agents multiple times that part of the deal with the FBI was that all charges got dropped, no one seemed to believe him. He wondered what the hell had happened for this to all come back.
He heard the words 'grand jury' and he knew where this was heading.
They would decided his fate. Did he go to trial? Or did he get to walk? Again? For the same charge?
How many chances did he get?
Charming he could be, but he didn't know where it would get him here. After all, there was no arguing that he had done the deed. He hadn't even attempted to conceal the fact.
He thought of Lisbon often, wanted her close. Imagined her soft skin beneath his cheek. He wanted to be held again, wanted to know that there was someone who gave a damn about what happened to him.
All the talk of McAllister brought back memories he had long tried to forget. The smell of the bedroom in Malibu, all copper and dread, the feeling of the cold metal gun in his hands that last sunny day, where he'd thought about ending it once and for all.
Dark thoughts, partly bleached by the years of sunshine in Venezuela, but now back in their full dismal glory.
It was a full twelve hours later when he was released, and he suspected they only let him go because Abbott pulled strings. He took a moment to be profoundly thankful for his new supervisor.
His shoulders were hunched, and he felt like an old man. He was now staring down a prison sentence. It would take away what was left of his life.
He was tired, so tired of dealing with it all.
And his night didn't get to end just yet.
He had brought very few things with him from Venezuela, but what he had mattered a great deal. Carefully, he put the letters, the ones that he had never sent, into a box and wondered why he was compelled to do this.
But he knew why.
Just in case.
He didn't bother to call before heading to Lisbon's. Too late, he realized Pike might be there, and the though made the bile rise in his throat. He wondered if he should pray, just once, just for this one thing, then decided against it. He hadn't said a prayer in twelve years, not since he'd stood in a hallway with his hand trembling against a doorknob.
They hadn't been answered then, and he wasn't interested in trying now.
He held his breath as he pulled up.
There were no cars in the driveway, but her living room light was on and he could see her shadow.
He felt strange as he walked up her steps, like it wasn't really him doing it.
It took her a second to open the door after he knocked. When she did, she gave him a worried smile.
"Hey," she said, eyebrows furrowed.
"Hi," he replied. "Is it okay if I'm here?"
Meaning was Pike going to come out of her bedroom or something equally horrible.
"Yes," she almost whispered. "Do you want to come in? You look awful," she added, as he followed her inside.
"Thanks," he said with a bare hint of amusement. "I can always count on you to make me feel good about myself."
"Like you need help with that," she replied. Then, "What's with the box?"
He smiled just a little. "I'll get to that later."
They sat on the couch, turned towards each other, knees almost touching. "Jane," she said. "What the hell is going on?"
Carefully, concisely he told her, watching her expression go from worried to downright horrified. At one point, he reached for her hands and she let him.
"So..." she searched for words, "So what's going to happen now?"
He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "I don't know. Mostly, it's out of my hands."
There were several seconds of silence. Her thumb nervously slid against his, and he realized this was the closest they'd been in months.
He wanted to tell her it would all be okay, but he just didn't know.
And anyway, he had more important things to say.
"Teresa," he nearly whispered, "I need you to listen to me." He swallowed hard, and her eyes widened. "If the worst happens, if I get tried for murder..." Her fingers tightened compulsively, and he took a breath. "Then I want you to go to DC. Go with Pike."
She sniffed. "What?"
"You heard me," he said. "Go with him if I get sent to jail. But," he added, holding her gaze. "If I don't..." This was harder to say than he'd imagined. "Then stay."
"Jane..." Her eyes were glossy, filling up with unshed tears.
"Stay," he repeated. "Stay here, where you belong. With me."
She let go of one of his hands to swipe at her cheeks, and he smiled wryly. He brushed away a tear she'd missed, then rested his palm against her face. She leaned into his touch, not even trying to be subtle, her finger curling around his wrist.
"You have awful timing," she choked out.
"I know," he said, lips quirking again. Then he screwed up his courage. "Teresa, there are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I should have told you years ago. And now isn't the time, either."
She blinked, frowning.
"No," he went on. "Not with something like a jail term hanging over my head. When I tell you what's in my heart, I want to do it with the understanding that I'm going to be free to act on my feelings. I won't do it otherwise. It's too cruel to you."
He could tell she was going to protest, to tell him she didn't care about the circumstances. Hell, that was probably even true. But he didn't want to burden her with the words she so wanted to hear when there was the possibility that the only way he would see her again was during visiting hours at a federal prison somewhere.
Regretfully, he slid his hand away from her pale cheek and her expression mirrored his reluctance.
With a sigh, breaking the spell he'd unintentionally been weaving around them, he reached for the box he'd brought with him, putting it in her lap.
Her fingers traced the top of it, unthinking.
"These are the rest of your letters," he told her with a self-deprecating smile. "The ones that I wrote and never sent."
"Why not?" she wanted to know.
He shrugged, trying to convey nonchalance he didn't feel. "I wrote them when I was...sad. Or lonelier than normal. Or I'd had too much to drink. All I wanted to do was talk to you, and this was the only outlet I had at my disposal. I couldn't bring myself to throw them away."
Her eyes welled up again. "Why are you giving them to me now?"
"Just in case," he explained. "In case I don't ever get the chance to tell you what's in them myself."
She nodded, sniffed, angrily swiped away tears. "I'm gonna need a bigger box," she said, trying for humor.
"Hm?"
She stood, then crossed the small room, going to a shelf and pulling a dark wooden box off of it. When she sat next to him again, she was closer than before.
He flipped open the lid. Smiled.
She'd kept them all, every last one of them. It wasn't surprising, and he'd hoped she would, but to see the evidence of her devotion, of what his words had meant to her...it was humbling. The letters looked well-worn, like she had read them over and over, and he realized she probably had.
He took her hand. Kissed her fingertips with something approaching reverence. She was trembling, just a little, and he sat both boxes on the coffee table, pulled her into his arms.
She came willingly, without hesitation, and he buried his face in her neck.
Here it was, what he had been looking for.
Just the night before, he would have given almost anything for her open arms. And now he had them.
Originally, he had sought to comfort her, but there was no doubt their roles had been reversed now. Her fingers slid into his hair, nails lightly raking his scalp, and he almost shuddered with emotion.
Her skin smelled like vanilla and honey and home. His arms tightened around her.
Why, why had he waited so long, waited until it was maybe too late? Why was he so goddamn stupid?
He bit back an unexpected sob.
She ran her hands down his back, under his jacket, giving him the kind of comfort he hadn't had in years. His eyes opened, lashes brushing against her neck as he blinked.
He wanted to stay like this all night, to fall asleep wrapped in her warmth and softness, to feel her heartbeat under his cheek.
But he didn't have that right.
Not yet.
And possibly not ever.
Slowly, carefully, he untangled himself from her, then stood with a sigh.
"I should go," he almost whispered.
Her gaze told him she didn't want that, but understood the reasons why it was for the best. She absently bit down on her lower lip, and his eyes followed the motion.
God, she was so beautiful, with her tumbling hair, pink cheeks, green eyes still glossy from tears. And though it was wrong, knew it would hurt them both if things didn't work out, he leaned down, one hand sliding to her neck, pulling her forward until she was just a a breath away.
Her eyes were still open, waiting, wanting, and the last of his hesitation faded.
He kissed her softly, tenderly, trying to put everything he felt in this moment into it without scaring her off. Her fingers pressed against his jaw, one of her arms around his neck. He knew without looking that she was on her toes, stretching up to meet him.
His arms went around her waist, holding her steady.
For just a second, he touched his tongue to her bottom lip, but when she opened her mouth with a deep exhalation, he pulled back, instead pushing his nose into her hair.
Too much. It was too much for tonight, for this moment.
Lisbon leaned heavily against him. "What was that for?" she asked quietly, voice muffle by his shoulder.
"Just in case," he murmured. In case he never had the opportunity again. "And," he went on, tilting her chin up so they faced each other. "Something for you to think about. You have options, you know," he added with a bit of a grin.
She shook her head affectionately. "No, I don't, you idiot."
He frowned. "Teresa," he said, seriously. "Listen to me. I meant what I said: you have options. If I'm lucky enough to have the opportunity, I'm going to fight for you. But you need to do what's best for you, what makes you the happiest. I hope that's me, but if it's not, then please know I love you enough to walk away." He hadn't meant to say the words, not really, but now that they were out there, he felt better. Lighter.
And then she surprised him again by smiling. "One thing at a time, Jane. Let's worry about your indictment first. And then I'll let you fight for me as much as you want."
He let out an almost startled laugh. He wanted to kiss her again, but felt he'd pushed his rather limited good fortune too far already.
"Let me know as soon as anything happens tomorrow," she said, serious again. "I'll try to be there if I can, but..."
"I know," he said softly. "Duty calls."
There was a moment of loaded silence. Then, "Goodnight, Teresa. Get some sleep."
"Goodnight, Patrick," she echoed, and the use of his first name made him smile widely.
And then, since he couldn't resist, he took her face in his hands and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.
After he left, he looked back once. Lisbon was on the couch again, and he knew she had his box of unsent letters in her lap. He should have told her not to read them until they knew what would happen with his indictment, but selfishly, he hadn't. He knew what she found find in them.
Dear Teresa (she was always Teresa when he was drinking),
I miss you. More than I thought I could miss someone who was still living. If I sent you a plane ticket, would you come? Would you stay?
All I can think about when I'm laying here each night is what it would feel like if you were next to me. I bet you'd hog the covers, but I promise I wouldn't mind.
I think I'm slowly going crazy without you. I wonder what you would do if I showed up at your door.
I adore you. More than I could ever tell you. More than I could ever show you. I never expected to fall in love again, so imagine my surprise when I figured it out.
Come here. Stay. With me.
We can spend our days drinking pina coladas and making love on the beach. You can be the island police. We can get a dog. Whatever you want. Just come.
He tended to ramble sometimes, his thoughts scattered. She would make sense of his words, though, he knew that.
It was strange, giving her those letters. There was a reason he'd never sent them - he'd bared too much of his soul in them, more than he had shared with any person save one.
And now she would know. Would know everything.
The empty beer bottles were still on the kitchen counter from where he had left them the night before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He realized he'd been awake for almost twenty hours.
Still, he showered again, dressed in pajama pants and puttered around the trailer. His mind was too awake. Too much had happened.
The knock on his door came perhaps an hour later.
He didn't have to wonder who it was, but was surprised nonetheless.
Was even more surprised when he saw her face, red and blotchy, streaked with tears.
"What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door behind her.
Lisbon didn't answer, just threw her arms around him. He felt her tears on his neck.
"Shh," he whispered, hands at her waist. "It's alright, whatever it is."
She sniffled loudly, then pushed back to look at him. Her eyes were snapping. "You're a goddamn moron, do you know that?"
Unexpectedly, his lips twitched. "Yes."
Her head found his shoulder. "I love you, too," she whispered.
His eyes closed, and he held her closer. She'd already been through all the letters, then, and found the one he'd put in the very back.
I love you. I love you so much that it's almost ridiculous. I love the way you smell and the way you laugh and the way you yell at me when I've done something you don't approve of. But mostly I just love you. I've loved you for so many years that I don't really remember a time that I didn't. If you need more clarification, I'm in love with you, too. In the way that I've spent entire days wondering what you taste like and wishing that you would fall asleep in my arms. I love you that way. And I will never stop dreaming about what I wish I could have with you. I love you.
"You're a fast reader," he murmured.
She swallowed. "Jane," she said quietly. "I need you to say it. I want to hear it. And not just in passing." There was something very much like need in her tone.
He shifted them, tilting her head up until their noses almost touched. "I love you," he told her, and she let out a shaky breath.
Well, there went not telling her until he was out of the woods as far as legal trouble went. Then again, if this was going to be one of his last nights in the free world, he wanted it to be with her. Openly.
"Patrick," she said, using his given name for the second time that night. "I want to make a deal with you."
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really?"
She nodded. "Yes." She paused, looking like she was working up her courage, and he wondered what she was going to say next. "I'll do what you wanted," she finally said. "If you're tried for murder, I'll go to DC. I promise."
He hated the words, even if he knew it was the best thing for her in the situation.
"And what's the deal?" he asked.
She raised her eyes to his, all dark green and hot, and he felt a thrill of anticipation.
"I'll go," she said again. "But I need you to do something."
His hands fell to her hips. "And what's that?"
"Your end of the bargain," she told him. "I'll go, but tonight..." she trailed off, losing her nerve for a second. Then she found and held his gaze again. "I want you."
His mouth went dry.
She would do what he asked. In exchange for... "Are you asking me what I think you're asking?" he choked out, voice hoarse.
Her cheeks pink, she nodded.
"Say it," he breathed, echoing her earlier words. "I want to hear it."
He could see her heart pounding in the base of her throat.
Her tongue darted out, licked her dry lips. "Make love to me."
It wasn't a question.
He stared, blood racing through his veins. Slowly, he tucked her hair behind her ears, noting absently that his hands were shaking.
There were so many reasons why he shouldn't.
But more why he should.
He leaned down, lips against her ear, and when he spoke, she shivered.
"I accept your deal."