TW: this one shot contains mentions of past abuse and r*pe. if these tropics trigger u in any way, i advise u not to read this.
Jane knew something was wrong as soon as the whole team returned to the bullpen and Lisbon rushed to her office without a word.
She'd been quiet the whole drive there, and the team knew better than to chat amongst themselves. When Lisbon is in a mood, everyone tries their best to stay clear of her, not wanting to step on her toes and endure her lashing out.
It doesn't happen often, and Jane feels like this isn't just a random mood she's in. She seems truly upset, and he has an idea as to why.
To confront her about it would be a risk, but he always does what he wants no matter the consequences anyway, so he isn't worried. While others found Lisbon intimidating, Jane thinks of her as a fussy cat, not at all scary even with her claws out.
In fact, he finds her rather adorable when she's angry.
He can feel the eyes of the others burning into his back as he strolls for Lisbon's office, giving the door one soft knock before barging in, so when she scolds him for entering he can truthfully say he knocked beforehand.
She visibly jumps in her chair at the sound of the door whooshing open. Her eyes lift to his and Jane notices they're dull, like a swamp instead of a lively forest.
"Jane," she huffs, two fingers rubbing her temple tiredly. "What do you want?"
He shuts the door and studies her a bit more. Her body is tense, as if paranoid about something or someone. Her dark tresses of hair are thrown up into a messy updo of sorts, a few stray locks framing her paler-than-usual face. Her pink lips are chapped like she's been nibbling the skin off of them.
She looks nothing like the typical Lisbon he knows—quite the opposite, actually. And it's enough to have him worried about her well-being.
"You're upset," he declares slowly, maintaining her gaze until she drops hers to the case files littering her desk.
"No, I'm not."
"You are. It's about the case, isn't it?"
The way her jaw ticks tells him everything he needs to know.
"She was only ten," she whispers, still avoiding his eyes like a child being scolded. "Ten years old, Jane."
His lips thin as he recalls the dead body they found three days ago in the basement of an old shack. A ten year old girl with blood splattering her clothes from the wound in her neck. Abused, raped, and murdered by her own father.
He winces, the image of her lifeless body staining his mind.
It's not often they get ordered to tend the murders of children, but when they do, it's not good for anybody. Seeing a child's dead body is traumatizing, enough to have you sweating bullets and barfing on the side of the road.
Grace had done just that on the way back to the CBI, and he'd been on the verge of emptying his stomach as well.
He can't imagine what's going through Lisbon's head right now, other than torturing herself for not being able to save the little girl. She's the type of person who tries to save everybody, and when there's someone she can't save it makes her spiral. Has her curling in on herself, feeling like a failure.
He knows there's hundreds of scars left from the ones she couldn't save no matter how hard she tried. She seems to keep it together most days, but sometimes the pain becomes unbearable and there's no way to stop the hole in your chest from growing.
"She's somewhere better now," he says softly, and while he doesn't believe in the afterlife he does hope the little girl is somewhere safe, a place where she can be a kid and not worry about her disgusting excuse of a father touching her, abusing her. She can be happy and free from all her pain.
It's a nice thought, but he can tell it doesn't relax Lisbon any.
"She didn't deserve this," she says, her lower lip quivering. She hardly ever breaks down—he's only ever seen her cry once, and that was when she'd been framed for a murder her psychiatrist committed—so seeing her eyes full of tears and her lip wobbling makes him ache all over.
"No, she didn't," he agrees gently, close enough to her now that he can loop his arms around her. She's not a big hugger, never has been, but in this case she squeezes him tight and buries her face into his chest.
Like he's her safe space.
He can smell the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo and a smile begins to form on his lips, but it quickly fades as soon as he hears a soft sob, quickly followed by another. When her body starts to shake, he gingerly guides her to the couch and pulls her onto it with him, arms still wrapped around her comfortably.
"I'm sorry," she sniffs when the tears subside a little. "I hate crying. It's just...that girl had been through so much. What child deserves to go through that?"
He knows she's talking about the little girl, but the look in her eye makes him think she's speaking a little about herself, too. Her childhood wasn't great, that much he's aware of. Her father was a drunk and her mother died when she was young. She'd become the caretaker of her three little brothers while her father rotted away on the couch with a beer in hand, spewing fire and throwing belts whenever he had the chance, just because he could.
But he doesn't know every detail, and he feels that Lisbon is keeping the worst of it locked in a box he can't open without a key.
"No child deserves that," he says, unconsciously tucking one of her stray locks behind her ear. "Her father is a poor excuse of a human and will get what's coming for him in prison."
"It's not enough," she says, then chuckles humorlessly. "Now I know why you won't settle for throwing Red John in prison. Some people deserve far worse than that."
"Yes, they do." He blinks away the thought of his wife and daughter and swallows hard. "Some people deserve nothing but the pits of hell."
She nods and curls into him more. She's no longer crying, but her sorrow still clouds the air like a heavy fog.
Without thinking, he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. "She's happy now, I'm sure of it. No more pain and suffering for her."
Beats of silence pass, and just as he's about to suggest they leave early for the day she blurts, "my dad raped me."
His entire body stills. He's not even sure if he's breathing.
He knew about the abuse. Both physical and mental. But he didn't know about this.
"I didn't tell anyone," she continues, either unaware of his idleness or choosing to ignore it. "I didn't want him to get in trouble, as dumb as it sounds. He did a lot to me that I kept a secret because I was afraid of him going to prison. I knew he'd get out eventually, and when he did, he'd come after me. I knew he would. So, I stayed quiet."
"Teresa..." He doesn't know what to say. Words have left him. But she keeps talking as if he's said nothing at all.
"I was fifteen at the time," she confesses, eyes locked on her hands in her lap. Jane notices they're trembling a little. "He'd been angry one night when I got home from work late. I tried telling him that my boss made me close, but he didn't listen. He...he..."
She stops to inhale a breath. After she lets it out, she says, "he forced me over the kitchen counter and...tore off my clothes. He told me he'd kill me if I made a sound. My brothers were home at the time, asleep. If I were to scream they definitely would've heard me and try to help, most likely call the cops. I couldn't risk their lives too, so...I did what he said. I didn't make a sound."
If Todd Lisbon wasn't already dead, he'd storm out right now to kill him himself.
"He killed himself a few months after," she says. "Guess he couldn't handle the guilt. That, or he just wanted to die."
"He took the easy way out," Jane mutters, his fists clenched so tight he can feel the nails biting his skin. "A coward's move. He couldn't handle the guilt of torturing his own daughter, so he killed himself like a fucking coward."
She shrugs half-heartedly. "Doesn't matter anymore. He's dead."
"It does matter," he hisses. "He abused you and raped you. Hell, he even threatened to kill you. That's not something to gloss over, Teresa."
She shoots him a glare, but it's wary, the usual fire in her eyes extinguished. "What do you want me to do about it now? He's dead."
"I don't want you to act like it's not a big deal when it is," he says, trying hard to keep his anger at bay. He's not angry at her. He's angry at her father, at the way she's brushing his sins away like lint on a shirt. "He may be dead, but that doesn't mean nothing happened."
"I don't like talking about what happened," she utters softly. "The only other person who knows is Minnelli, and that's because he read my file. He knows everything about me."
Relaxing a little, he asks, "so what made you want to tell me?"
She fiddles with her fingers, anxiety pooling in her stomach. "I don't know. I guess I just know you won't tell anyone."
"Of course I wouldn't," he murmurs. "Why haven't you told your brothers? They would know it's not your fault. They wouldn't blame you."
"I know they wouldn't. I just don't need them worrying about me. It happened years ago, and with him gone there's nothing anyone can do."
Silence falls upon them. Jane is rarely at a loss for words, but in this moment he truly doesn't know what to say. There's no way to comfort her; his words will just fall on deaf ears anyway.
A full minute passes before either of them speak again. Lisbon glances up at him, and while her green eyes are no longer bright and full of life, he still thinks they're the most beautiful pair he's ever seen.
"Thank you," she says quietly, her gaze flitting away from his, almost as if she's embarrassed. "For being here, I mean. For...caring."
"Of course, Teresa." His hand inches towards hers, their fingertips touching. "I'll never stop caring about you."
A small smile graces her lips, lighting up her office for a few seconds, and it's one of his favorite moments because this smile is specifically for him.
No one else. Just him.
She still has the strength to smile after all that she's been through, and he is the one to pull it out of her.
It makes him feel like he has a purpose, in some way. He hasn't felt like this in years, not since his family died, but Lisbon's smile is his remedy. His ambrosia.
He's living for this woman right here, to put a smile on her face and ease the boulder of pain off her shoulders. Without her, he'd truly be nothing.
She gives him a purpose.
And deep in his cracked heart, he hopes he gives her a purpose, too.