AN: I know I say this nearly every chapter, but I was seriously gobsmacked by the really kind reviews left for the last chapter. It makes me realize how lucky I am to have found this fandom. Thank you all!
PS: This is another of my favorite chapters (especially the ending).
(And I blatantly borrowed a line from Jane Austen.)
As it turns out, having Lisbon sleep next to him is far better treatment for his insomnia than any drug.
Jane wakes up just before dawn the next morning, feeling dazed and slightly hungover from the emotional upheaval of the day before. He immediately notices a warm weight across his abdomen, and he looks down to find Lisbon's arm slung over him, her delicate fingertips touching the bare skin above his hip where his shirt has ridden up. She breathes softly but deeply next to him, and he turns his head on the pillow to look over at her.
She's lying on her stomach, her other arm beneath the pillow. Her face is toward him, and he takes a moment to study her.
He'd catalogued her face long ago, of course. He'd long since memorized every curve of her body. But he has so few opportunities to simply watch her.
He savors this.
It suddenly occurs to him that falling in love the second time around has been completely different from the first.
With Angela, he'd known it was love at first sight. And it was glorious—everything a first love was supposed to be. Neither of them had yet to become jaded by the world. He had no reason to believe loving her could end in anything but ecstasy.
It wasn't that way with Lisbon.
He hadn't seen their future together flash before his eyes the moment they'd met. Instead, he'd fallen little by little, moving toward her in infinitesimally small steps. He'd been somewhere in the middle before he'd realized he'd begun.
And he is more careful now. He realizes how fragile life is—how easy it would be to lose the woman sleeping next to him.
So he savors this. He savors Lisbon in a way he hadn't been capable of with Angela—because he'd been too arrogant, assuming they'd have the rest of their lives with one another.
He doesn't take this for granted with Lisbon.
A thought occurs to him.
What the hell is he waiting for, then? He loves her, and he's fairly certain that she feels the same way, if her actions toward him the past few days are any indication. And he of all people knows life is too short to waste time. It would be only too easy to lean over, to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth…
Her fingers move slightly on his hip, and he smiles. God, how is it possible that she makes him so happy even in her sleep?
Happy.
He frowns.
And there's his answer.
He could never make her happy. After all, he's carrying around two ghosts with him wherever he goes. Not to mention the threat of a serial killer. And he very likely will have these three phantoms with him for the rest of his life.
He can't subject her to that.
Yes, he'd been right to keep quiet. Let her fall in love with someone else. Someone whole. Even if that would kill him a little, it would be best for her.
Anyone who gets close to me—bad things happen to them.
He shifts to pull away from her, to get out of bed, and her hand falls from his hip. Lisbon mumbles something in her sleep, her tone troubled, and Jane freezes, his hand on the sheets to throw them off him.
He looks at her face and sees the crinkles on her forehead between her eyes. "Mmmm…Jane, no," she says quietly, her words muffled by the pillow.
Jane sighs and slides back into bed.
He may not be good for her, but he can't refuse her.
She reaches for him instinctively, and he hesitantly shifts to move an arm underneath her. Then he pulls her toward him, settling her head on his chest and wishing with every fiber of his being that things could be different.
"Have you seen my cross necklace?" asks Lisbon from up the stairs.
She's getting ready for work, and he's raiding her tea collection in the kitchen. He makes a note to himself to buy her some proper teabags. Lipton simply will not cut it.
"Sorry, no," says Jane, raising his voice slightly so she can hear him, and he's struck suddenly by the feeling of domesticity.
It's a warm feeling, almost a glow within him. He'd missed that—having a place to really call home. Having someone be part of that home.
The glow is immediately extinguished when he remembers the guilt he'd felt this morning upon waking up with her.
She's not his home. He won't allow her to be.
He dumps out the last of his tea in her sink and slips out her front door just as she begins to descend the stairs.
Jane becomes better at keeping his distance over the next few days.
Though there are several moments when he catches himself reaching for his cell phone to send her a quick text, he becomes paralyzed every time, his mind at war with his soul.
Rational thought tells him what he already knows—he cannot make her happy. He cannot keep her safe.
In spite of this, his soul begs for the chance to try.
So, late Friday night he finds himself holed up in his motel room, trying to find a show that doesn't involve some romantic subplot. He eventually lands on a program about ancient aliens, thinking that, at least, should be safe.
There's a loud knock at his door.
"Jane?"
It's Lisbon's voice, sounding slightly unsure. His brow furrows. She's never showed up at his motel room before—does she have bad news?
He rolls off the bed and strides to the door. When he opens it, he finds himself at a loss for words.
Lisbon is wearing black jeans that leave nothing to be imagined about the contours of her lower body, and her flowing blouse is nearly the precise color of her eyes, which appear more striking than usual thanks to the darker makeup around them. Her hair is pulled into an elegant knot at the base of her neck, and the soft shade of pink lipstick she's wearing directs his attention to her mouth.
She's gorgeous.
After staring at her stupidly for a few seconds, he pulls himself together. "Lisbon," he says. Suddenly, an irrational, white-hot feeling begins to build inside him, and he realizes he's feeling jealous. Had she just been on a date?
"Hey," she says, blinking nervously. "I hoped I'd find you here."
Jane is still having difficulties forming coherent sentences. "Here I am," he says, obviously, and he cringes. Then he blurts out, "I didn't know you had a date tonight."
She gives him a confused look. "What?"
He gestures to her. "You clearly spent some time on your appearance," he notes. He is babbling, but he can't seem to stop. "Your hair, your makeup, your clothes—you look incredible, by the way—and I can't think of any reason for you to go through all that effort unless you'd planned on going on a date."
She flushes immediately. "I...um, I didn't," she says. "Go on a date, that is. I just thought—well, both of us have had a pretty shitty week, and we deserved a reprieve."
Oh.
Jane just stands there, feeling like a complete idiot.
She'd dressed up for him.
Lisbon looks at him hopefully. "What do you say?" she asks. "Want to get out of here for a while?"
He wastes no time in answering her, squashing down his rational voice and letting his soul speak for once.
"God yes," he says, and he follows her to her car.
They end up going to a theater on the other side of town that only plays old movies. Though the venue has clearly seen better days, it's still charming with its bright marquee lights and red velvet seats. They have the entire theater to themselves.
Partway through An Affair to Remember, as the cruise ship pulls into New York Harbor, Lisbon leans over to him. "Have you ever been to New York?" she asks him quietly.
He nods, still looking at the screen but very aware that she is looking at him. "Once," he says, trying to keep his tone light.
She notices. "What were you just thinking about?" Lisbon asks. "Your eyes hardened for a second."
"I had a client who flew Angela and I out there," Jane says. He looks over at Lisbon. The light from the screen makes her look even more pale than usual. "We found out she was pregnant on that trip."
He watches as her eyes become sad. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't..."
Jane takes her hand. "It's okay," he says, squeezing her fingers. "Really, I'm okay." He gives her a sad smile. "What about you? Have you ever been to New York?"
She shrugs, clearly still a little uncomfortable. "I've never been much for traveling," she says with false nonchalance. He knows immediately that though she doesn't travel outside the state much, it isn't for lack of interest.
Rather, Lisbon has been far too busy placing the safety of California citizens above her desire for travel.
"I'll take you," he promises. "We can catch a hockey game at Madison Square Garden—you like hockey, right?"
Lisbon smiles softly at him. "I love hockey," she says. She hesitates, as though weighing her next words. "We could go see an opera or a ballet, if you want."
He grins, knowing very well that she would find either of those things dreadful. He is touched, though—clearly she offered because she thought it would be something he'd enjoy. "How about a musical?" he suggests instead, hoping this would be more in line with her tastes.
"Deal," she says, and suddenly the movie in front of them is the very farthest thing from their minds.
A couple hours later, she walks him to the door of his motel room, as though worried he won't get there safely without her presence. He smiles to himself.
The light has burnt out above his door, so they stand there facing each other in the darkness. "Thank you, Lisbon," he says, holding her gaze. "For tonight. For everything."
She's silent for a beat.
"I hate not working with you," she blurts out suddenly. "I miss not seeing you every day."
"I miss that too."
This is an understatement. How much of an understatement, he can't bring himself to admit.
He takes a step toward her, letting his hand come to rest on her hip. She looks up at him, her eyes wide with half fear and half wonder.
He reaches out to cup her face with his other hand, and her eyes flutter closed. His eyes drop to her lips.
Suddenly, he catches the outline of a dark shape by their feet. When he realizes what it is, he wraps his arms around Lisbon and picks her up slightly to jerk them both quickly away, as though the surface they'd been standing on was made of quicksand.
Or lava.
He begins to breathe heavily, and he finds he can't loosen his grip around Lisbon's waist. One of her hands rests on his chest, and he knows she can feel his heart beating erratically.
"Jane?" she asks, her voice unsure. Then she looks over to where they'd been standing.
The light suddenly flickers on, revealing a freshly painted red smiley face on the ground in front of Jane's motel room.