not me when i getting obsessed with a show that's been over for almost ten years in 2023
literally do not perceive me i do not want to be perceived unless u are leaving a comment in which case that would be much appreciated
i finished this a while back but just couldn't work up the courage to post it so im using the anniversary of speak now tv to release it because i listened to that song and "you're losing me" by taylor so much while writing this so. like clearly speak now inspired this (also 10x12 of greys iykyk)
jane and lisbon make me feel psychotic. like need to be institutionalized psychotic. don't even get me started on them they're so incredibly perfect and i love them so bad i wish they got more love from everyone because they DESERVE it. speak now is jisbon's ALBUM do not argue with me on this.
k bye kids stream speak now tv or i will haunt you as your sleep paralysis demon
Jane is running.
If one had asked him before today, he'd have scoffed at the notion. He wasn't the kind for running, not unless the situation was absolutely desperate for it, and it very rarely called for that. He preferred to leave the more physical aspects of his career to the trained professionals, people who liked running and physical exercise.
Not to mention, his shoes were never the correct kind to warrant any sort of running. He didn't dress in sneakers or tennis shoes, rather loafers that he rather liked, and he wasn't inclined to wear their soles down quicker than absolutely necessary.
But now, Jane is running, faster than he thought should be possible for someone who hated exercise in the way he did.
There's no other way. No time to hail a cab and no time to pull his phone out, no time to do anything but run there and hope he's in time.
The church. He had to get there.
He's so caught up in trying to get there—figuring out where he's going in this strange, unfamiliar city—that he doesn't even notice when he crashes into someone.
"Sorry," he mutters, and normally, he'd stay behind and make sure that man was alright, but right now he can't, he can't.
There's no time left.
His lungs were on fire, and every breath hurt to take, although that was a sensation he had become all too familiar with in the past three months. Jane prays that he's not too late.
How long had he been running already? Two minutes? Five? Ten?
Like a beacon, the steeple of the church rises in the distance, and he follows it. He'd avoided churches, for the most part, since coming back, too reminiscent of her, but this one he had to get to.
This couldn't happen to him. He couldn't let it happen to him. He had to do something about it, say something, choose something in a way that would terrify him.
But what terrified him more was losing her.
When he finally reaches the church, he spares no more than a passing glance at the flowers decorating the outside to confirm he's in the right location, and then he's lurching forward.
(he is all inertia, in this moment, nothing but forward momentum barreling towards a cliff's edge)
Jane bounds up the steps to the stairs two at a time, taking only one last, deep fortifying breath before wrenching open the doors.
"Wait," he gasps, even though the word is lost amongst his heavy breathing.
He takes one more step into the church, just as everyone turns to face him.
"Wait."
Two days earlier
"Jane."
He ignores the voice, choosing to keep his eyes closed.
"Jane."
Now, the voice is accompanied by a rather painful pinch on his shoulder, and he flinches, cracking open an eye to see Cho peering down at him, face impassive.
"Hello," he mutters, closing his eyes once more. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Get up."
Jane sighs, wanting to do nothing less, but Cho was perhaps the one person left in this building whom he owed something to, and so he did, stretching the muscles in his back as he rose.
"Yes?" he says, once more, once he's standing.
Cho frowns at him. "You know I'm leaving today, right? For the wedding?"
His jaw clenches, even as he responds, "I vaguely remember, yes."
Cho gives him a look of disbelief, which—
Yeah, that's entirely fair. Not only did Jane not forget anything, to even suggest that he could forget that Lisbon was getting married in two days was nothing short of ridiculous.
Especially since it had been all he had thought about recently. He didn't need to let anyone else know that, however.
"Alright. Well, since you're not going, Abbott wanted me to let you know you're off work for the rest of the week." Cho claps him on the shoulder. "He said to go home and get some rest."
Jane snorts. "The man doesn't know me at all."
Cho regards him with a strange look on his face, his expression carefully impassive. Of all the people Jane had met, Cho was still one of the most difficult to read, and perhaps that was why Jane trusted him as much as he did. "I don't know," he says, slowly. "He might know you better than you think."
He bites his tongue at the implication. It didn't matter how well any of them knew him, because the only person who was ever truly able to see through all his bluster and bravado, to the real heart of him, was no longer here. And without Lisbon around, he didn't care all that much for being authentic. It was easier to slip into a facade, even if it was exhausting to keep up all the time.
Jane shakes his head, clearing his mind of those thoughts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'm assuming everyone else in the office is headed to DC, then?"
Cho nods. "Me, Abbott, and Fischer are flying out on the red-eye tonight. Wylie couldn't come, some family thing or another. I know Grace and Wayne are already there, actually."
"Right," Jane mutters. He steps back, gathering his suit jacket and slipping it on. "Alright. I'll see you in a few days, then, I suppose."
He's already making his way to the elevator, away from Cho's all-too-knowing gaze, when he stops him.
"You know, Jane, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you came. Even if you did RSVP no."
His shoulders stiffen, and he jabs the button for the elevator, praying it comes soon. "That's a rather significant social faux pas to commit, Kimball."
He hears Cho snort from behind him. "Like that's ever stopped you before."
Thankfully, the elevator doors open then, and he steps in, turning around to see Cho watching him. Jane smiles, a bit sad, and a bit rueful. "I think I've done enough damage as is."
He watches as the doors to the elevator close on Cho's face, and only then does he let his hands shake, releasing a ragged breath.
The drive back to his Airstream is non-existent, a gaping black hole in his memory, and it's not until he's unlocking the door that he really comes back to himself and processes where he is.
He doesn't mean to, doesn't want to, but he finds himself going over to the small desk near his bed and pulling open the drawer, where he had tucked the invitation that had arrived two months prior.
It had arrived in an innocuous white envelope, and he hadn't thought twice before ripping it open and pulling the paper out.
He should have, because he might as well have ripped his heart out of his own chest.
He hadn't known, but apparently Pike had proposed to Lisbon just before she'd left. And he would have known, had he talked to her, had he stopped her at the airport and told her how he felt, but in the end he was too much of a coward to do anything but watch helplessly while she walked away from him.
Getting the invitation to their wedding, barely three months after she walked out of his life, had been a knife to the gut. He'd felt his world collapsing around him for the second time in three months, losing everything that was precious to him because of his own mistakes, again.
(would he ever learn?)
The cardstock was simple, but when he turned it over he had realized there was a note, written on the back in Lisbon's handwriting, scrawled and messy. It was that note that broke his heart, that pushed him to say no and shove the envelope back into his desk, unable to throw it out and unable to look at it.
It's the same note he reads for the second time now, even though the words were seared into his brain.
Jane,
I know we didn't part on the best of terms, and I know I didn't tell you that Marcus asked me to marry him. I didn't know how, at the time, with everything going on. I'm telling you now, though. Maybe it's too late, but not inviting you would be even worse. I understand if you don't want to come, but I figured you deserved to hear this from me, at least. I hope you're doing well.
Lisbon
He can so clearly picture her, bent over a coffee table and scrawling these words out, candlelight playing over her face in pools of orange and yellow. Her hair, curling around her shoulders, green eyes turned hazel in the firelight, more a wisp of smoke than a woman.
It had been the note, more than anything, that had convinced him to stay away. There was nothing in her tone, nothing in the words that she wrote, that showed him she was thinking about him, wondering about him in the same way he was wondering about her. He didn't know what he had been expecting, in truth. An apology, of sorts, for leaving him behind? For marrying another man?
(not only was that ridiculous to presume, it was unfair. if there was anyone who was at fault here, it was him. he was the only one to blame for lisbon leaving, had driven her away with his machinations and schemes and manipulation. she'd told him as much when she'd left—had accused him of forgetting how to be a person, and the worst part was that she'd been right. every bit of it)
Sometimes, Jane thinks he never knew how to be a person, not really. The closest he had come before was with Angela and Charlotte, and even then, he was only selectively one. Only good around them.
Losing them had crippled him, had broken whatever small fragments of him remained whole after his childhood, and he'd had no intentions of ever treating another person with kindness ever again.
And then he'd met Lisbon. He'd met Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt, all of whom had shown him that maybe he could be a person again. Maybe he could dole out kindness, however limited it was, to make people happy. He could try, for them, at least. For the people who kept him upright.
To have it thrown back in his face by her had broken his heart, and he couldn't even be angry at her for it. He'd been trying, but it hadn't been enough for her, and he couldn't blame her for that. She deserved better than his desperate schemes and selfishness, deserved better than him lying to her and trying to hold onto her while never giving her what she so desperately wanted.
Jane tosses the invitation onto the desk and falls backward onto the bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The shitty bedsprings bite into his back, and it's good, for a second, to have that physical pain to distract him momentarily before his thoughts, as always, turn back to her.
In a strange way, Lisbon leaving had only made him think of her more. He'd thought of her when she was around, of course, but without her in front of him, the ease of her by his side and solving cases—which felt like the only home he'd known in over a decade—without the distraction of the job from her, he found himself almost obsessing over her. The slope of her neck and the smell of her hair, the way she would frown at him and roll her eyes whenever he annoyed her, the roughly two-thousand different expressions she had (he was finding more every day—or, well, he used to) and the way she yelled at him. The sound of her voice, her laugh, his name on her lips. The precise shade of her eyes and the curve of her smile.
Memories of Lisbon were abundant, scattered throughout his life with startling clarity. He couldn't count the number of them, and yet he still didn't have enough memories of her. He wanted more, wanted to build at least three or four memory palaces worth of her. She deserved that many, at least. But he wasn't the man that could give her that, that deserved to have memory palaces worth of her.
(he already did)
It didn't even matter what he wanted to be, because she'd made her choice, and she'd made the right one. Pike wouldn't hurt her in the same way, couldn't. And he wanted that for her anyways.
(somehow, jane is always to blame for everything he's lost)
But knowing that didn't change how much he fucking missed her.
He thought losing her would be like those two years on the island. He thought he could sustain himself by imagining what she would look like, how she would be living her life without him. He couldn't write her letters, anymore, of course, but he composed them in his mind anyway, long, flowing messages about how much he missed her and how much he didn't deserve her and how she had changed his life.
But it wasn't like the island. Not at all. It was worse.
He couldn't breathe without her around. His chest would burn without her, and walking into the office every morning only to be reminded she was gone was a new form of torture. He was moving through the days in a haze, on autopilot. Nothing meant anything without Lisbon there. Her loss in his life was like that of a phantom limb, he would turn to her, only to find an empty space, and the absence of her was physically painful.
Jane knew he had broken her heart. He knew that leaving her behind after Red John had hurt her, had damaged her already fragile trust in him. And he'd never been more sorry for anything in his life, because even though he had needed it, had needed that space away from everything, he had never wanted Lisbon to hurt like that, not really. It was perhaps one of his greatest regrets, leaving her the way he did.
But for all his regrets, Jane had never been the one left behind. The people he loved had been taken from him. They hadn't walked out of his life. He was the one who left people behind, who ran away from them.
He hadn't anticipated how painful it was to be the one left behind, and now he was. Lisbon had walked away and taken whatever was left of his heart with her.
(how had she forgiven him? he knew what he was feeling was only a fraction of what he had put her through, and he thought he would lose his mind from it. he had somehow gotten her forgiveness again, after everything, and he took it for granted)
Jane tries to think of anything, but when he does, all he can see is her face, her green eyes, looking at him like she hardly recognizes him.
She was getting married to another man. Somehow, the reality hadn't sunk in yet, but it was starting to. How many times could he lose her?
(he will be losing her every day for the rest of his life)
When Jane opens his eyes, Lisbon is standing in front of him.
"Hi," she says, tilting her head and grinning at him. Her eyes sparkle with mirth and joy, her face free of stress, and she looks so happy his heart nearly hurts with it. "There you are."
For once, he finds himself at a loss for words.
She taps him on the shoulder, holding her hand out. "Come on."
Dumbly, Jane takes it, and she drags him backwards until they stop abruptly. Before he knows what's happening, she's stepping closer to him, one hand sliding around his shoulder as she raises their clasped ones. He wraps his arm around her waist instinctively, bringing her closer until her body is pressed flush against his.
She starts swaying to the music, and normally Jane would be taking everything in, but he's so overwhelmed by her nearness, by having her close to him, that he cannot fathom anything that is not her. He feels dizzy with it.
Jane looks down at her, and she's dressed in white, her hair swept back from her face, eyes painted with just the faintest bit of kohl to bring out their brightness. A ring wraps around her finger, hand in his. He's in one of his nicer suits as well, shoes shined and flowers at his lapel, and he realizes where they are.
"Are we—"
She laughs, throwing her head back, and he aches to follow the column of her throat with his lips. "We're dancing, Jane."
Jane resists the urge to drag her off to some corner and kiss her until he faints. This has to be a dream, because the only time he lets himself want like this is in his dreams, when he has no control over his thoughts. And wanting this with Lisbon, dancing with her at this, it's always been his most buried fantasy. He doesn't dare to want it, because it seems so unattainable that desiring it would only be harder to fathom, but now that he's confronted with it, it seems impossible to let go of.
"You look beautiful," he says, because this is not real, and he can tell her whatever he wants. He can tell her the truth.
It's the only time he can.
Lisbon blushes, pink spreading down her cheeks to spill over her collarbones, making her only more radiant.
"Thank you," she says. She sighs, looking around the room, even as they sway to the music. "It's a nice party, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he says, although in truth he has no idea if their wedding would be. He hasn't gotten much further than picturing her there, because that's the only part that matters, really.
"I'm not one for big parties, but I think this occasion calls for it, a little."
Jane nods. "A lifelong commitment like this requires a nice ceremony, I think."
Lisbon looks at him, her gaze softening. "Somehow you always know what I'm feeling."
His fingers flex at her hip, resisting the urge to pull her closer, at least, not here.
"We've known each other for over ten years," he says instead, choosing to spin her gently. "If I didn't know what you were thinking by now, Lisbon, that would be embarrassing for anyone, let alone me."
She laughs. "That's right, I guess." She shakes her head. "I guess I just expected a little more inaccuracy considering everything." She blushes. "You know, what's happened lately."
He furrows his brow. "Considering what? What happened?"
Before Lisbon can answer, the music ends, and she's pulling out of his arms. They nearly ache with the force of letting her go. "Thank you for coming, Jane. Marcus and I are really happy you did." She squeezes his arm and sweeps off, and he watches her go, tucking herself into Pike's side as the pieces fall into place.
This isn't their wedding. It's her wedding, what would happen if he let her go and never spoke to her again. It's what would happen if he gave her away and let her be happy.
Jane stumbles backward, settling in a chair, and suddenly the scene warps, turning from the warm glow of an intimate wedding to something cool and sterile, something wrong. He presses a hand to his chest, expecting to find it wet with blood at how much it hurts.
Lisbon laughs at something Pike says, her eyes dancing, and the sight nearly cripples him. That used to be him at her side, used to be him making her laugh. She would search for him in rooms, going to stand next to him, gravitating towards him like the moon orbited the earth.
(he would do the same thing, of course. he searched for her in every room—it took him three months when he was on the island to stop doing it on instinct, and when he came back, slipping back into the habit was as natural as breathing)
It hits him then, the loss of her in his life like this. She was gone, that was the truth, but her marrying someone else would be something more permanent, something more visceral. She would take her heart with him—because as long as Lisbon lived, Jane's heart was hers. She would no longer be anything to him—and she would be Pike's everything. She would give Pike her love, and he would get everything in turn. He would get her in late nights and half-asleep and her dancing to the Spice Girls and in rainy Mondays and every awkward family holiday for decades. He would get the way her nose would scrunch in frustration when her coffee burned and how she would insist on driving everywhere and her godawful cooking and her laughter, whenever he wanted. Her kisses and smiles and her joy, every emotion painted on her face and every moment that she had in her day, she would share with him.
They would build a life away from him, and the thought is nearly unbearable. For years, Lisbon has been the center of his world, the sun around which he orbits, and the idea of her becoming someone else's sun was unfathomable. It was impossible.
It was happening.
His insides turn to ice as he watches her take Pike's hand in hers, fingers glinting with the rings he slipped onto them, the promises Pike made her a tangible, real thing.
(what promises did jane make her? how many did he break?)
He wants to tear his gaze away, but he can't. It's like watching a car crash, watching his life implode in front of him.
Just as she tilts her head up to press her lips to Pike's, he blinks, and then startles awake. It's violent and sudden, the dream melting away as he opens his eyes to the brutal sunlight, and for a second he's so disoriented he doesn't know where he is.
He swears he can still smell her, cinnamon and jasmine.
It takes him a second to fully wake up, but when he does, he grabs his phone, somehow fearing he's slept for three days and she's lost.
He's only been asleep ten hours, which means the wedding is tomorrow.
Fear crystallizes in his gut, ice cold and sharp. He's losing her.
Jane thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was letting her go and being happy, because he couldn't do what she needed. He couldn't love her like she deserved, all the broken, mismatched pieces of him that made him a shell of a human being only hurting her instead of worshipping her.
But he won't ever stop loving her, as long as she walks this earth. Letting her go wasn't going to change that fact. All it meant was that every day, he would wake up and be haunted by her. She would join a long list of his ghosts instead of being the person by his side who helped keep them at bay.
He is up and moving before he really knows what he's doing. Pulling his phone out, he finds the next flight to DC. Thank god, it was leaving in an hour, and there were still a few first class seats left.
He books one, and barely has the foresight to grab his keys and wallet from his desk before he's running out the door.
It's a fever dream, getting to the airport. He remembers it in bits and flashes, parking his car and checking in, practically running to his gate to make it on time, and it's not until he's in his seat and the plane is nearly 10,000 feet in the air that the insecurity starts to settle in.
What was his plan, really? What was he going to do? What was he going to say?
Hi, Lisbon. I'm sorry for doing this now, but I've been in love with you for over a decade, and I needed to tell you before it was too late.
He winces. The words sound fraught and desperate—and they are, but she deserves better than that, doesn't she?
But they were also true, and he doesn't know how to give her anything but the truth, at this point.
He tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that says it still may not be enough.
Jane taps his fingers on the seat, wishing he brought a notepad and pencil, so he could at least write something out, organize his thoughts so they weren't a complete and utter mess, but every time he tries to, all he can hear is Lisbon's voice, begging him to leave her alone.
(was he making a mistake?)
Maybe. But he'd be making a bigger mistake if he let her leave without saying anything. He'd done that once, and he couldn't do it again. He wouldn't survive it.
Jane's only pulled out of the spiral of his thoughts when the plane shakes, and then an announcement is made.
"Ladies and gentlemen, due to a huge storm system on the East Coast, our flight has been diverted to Miami. We apologize for the inconvenience and can assure you that our airline is committed to helping each of you find flights to your final destinations upon our arrival."
Miami.
That was—
The fear sitting in his gut burns ice cold. He might not make it in time. He might be too late.
He fumbles for his phone, but of course, he doesn't have service on a fucking airplane.
All he can do is sit in terrified silence as the plane slows down, hits the runway. Time was warping around him, stretching out and speeding up simultaneously. He stumbles off the plane and grabs the first employee he sees.
"When is the next flight to DC?" he snaps, too frantic for his usual charm.
The attendant shakes his head. "All flights are grounded until tomorrow night. We can't be sure when the storm system will pass, so the best I can do is put you on standby and see when it leaves."
"There's nothing leaving today?" Jane clenches his fist, resisting the urge to put his hand through the drywall.
The employee frowns. "No, I'm sorry."
Jane runs his hands through his hair. He couldn't waste anymore time arguing with the employee. He still had until tomorrow. He would make it. He had to.
"Where's the nearest rental car service?"
He gets the first car he sees—some garish orange monstrosity that hurts him to look at and presses his foot on the gas.
He would drive through the night if he had to.
He wants to drive at 120 miles per hour, but getting pulled over wouldn't help his cause whatsoever, so he sticks to 80, weaving in between lanes of traffic on the I-95 N as he speeds out of Miami, headed straight for DC.
The sun dips as he tears through Georgia, and he can't help but look at the sunset and think about him and Lisbon, on that cliffside a lifetime ago, before he killed Red John, when he had done everything but tell her he loved her, in the hopes she would somehow understand.
He'd never stop seeing her, not really. Just like he saw Angela in a woman's laugh or Charlotte in a little girl's frown, he would see Lisbon wherever he went. He would never escape her, not truly.
He drives through the Carolinas under the cover of night, and hits Virginia just as the sun rises. The wedding is in the morning, but he should be able to just make it in time, according to the GPS.
Of course, that's until he enters DC and finds his path to the church blocked by a motorcade.
Fucking politicians.
Jane swears, turning down a street and parking haphazardly, stumbling out of the car and pulling his phone out of the pocket, typing in the address to the church.
It's a fifteen minute walk away, and the wedding was starting now, according to the time on his phone, and so Jane does the only thing he can do, under the circumstances.
He runs.
"Wait," he gasps, one last time, as everyone turns to look at him.
Everyone, including Lisbon.
His heart seizes in his chest at the sight of her, impossibly beautiful.
But she doesn't—she doesn't look like Lisbon. Her hair is down and she's dressed in a beautiful white gown, but she looks nothing like the Lisbon from his dreams. There are fraught lines around her eyes and mouth, and he can see the exhaustion on her face, even from here. Her hands are gripping the bouquet of flowers tightly enough that her knuckles are white, and her eyes are wide in shock.
She doesn't look like the Lisbon from his dream, happy and content and soothed. She looks rougher, somehow, but also realer because of it.
"Jane?" she says, almost too quiet to hear, as if he's not real.
"Lisbon," he gasps, into the quiet. He's suddenly aware that literally everyone is staring at him, and in all honesty, he hadn't expected it to really pan out like this. He thought he would arrive in time to pull her aside before she was standing at the end of the aisle, Pike staring at him as well.
Lisbon shakes her head as if to clear herself of cobwebs, but she's still staring at him in disbelief. "What—what are you doing here?"
"I had to see you."
Her spine stiffens. "I'm busy, as you can obviously see." Her eyes flash with anger, and something more painful. "I don't want to talk to you now."
"Lisbon," he tries again. When he glances around, he sees everyone—Cho, staring at him impassively, Grace with hope shining in her eyes, Wayne, his face slack with shock—dead silent.
Pike looks like he'd rather like to use Jane for target practice as well.
But no one mattered except her. He didn't care, suddenly. Didn't care about how these people would perceive him and what this would do to his career, because none of that meant anything if she didn't know what was in his heart.
He could survive anything but losing her.
"You told me that I forgot how to be a person," he says, watching her. Lisbon's shoulders tense, and then the anger melts away, suddenly, and she turns to face him as he makes his way down the aisle, closer to her.
"You were right." Jane walks closer, about halfway down the aisle, looking right into her eyes. "I did forget how to be a person. I don't think I really knew how to be one, unless I was with the people I loved. And when I lost them—it made me worse, in a lot of ways. It made me better in some ways too, but I didn't know how to be someone good. That was until I met you."
"Jane—" she says, her voice breaking, but now that he's started, he can't stop, the words pouring out of him as easily as sand slipping through an hourglass.
"You showed me how to be a better person. You did that and I can never repay you for what you've done for me. And I spent years, years trying to pretend like you didn't put me back together because I was terrified of what it meant." He presses a hand to his chest, feeling the tears in his throat, trying his best to get the words out. "You healed me and I spent my life running away from you and everything that was important because I was so scared of how I felt."
Lisbon is shaking now, her eyes bright with tears as she looks down at him, even though a single one does not fall. His entire world narrows to them, to him looking at her face.
"I've spent my life running away from you and letting you go because of how I feel for you. Because of what you mean to me," he confesses. "And it scares me more than anything else in the world. Anything except for losing you."
"I—" she says, her voice trembling. She takes a step forward, but she can't seem to manage any words.
He has enough for both of them. "I love you, Teresa," he says, and it's the hardest thing he's ever had to say, but as soon as the words are out, it feels like he can breathe once more. Like he's spent his life deprived of oxygen and this was what it was like to have it in his lungs. "I'm sorry for everything, for treating you like I did and hurting you as many times as I have, but I had to tell you. I couldn't let you go again, not like this." Jane takes a deep breath. "I'm in love with you, and all I've ever wanted was you."
The silence that follows is almost deafening, and Lisbon is staring at him like she's never seen him before, a mix of anger, shock, and sorrow on her face. His heart is pounding, adrenaline flooding his systems, and he can't do anything but wait for her. Wait for her to either rip his heart out one last time or to put it back together.
"What the actual fuck?"
Lisbon stomps down the altar and shoves her bouquet into Pike's chest, not even tearing her glare from Jane's face. Pike grabs it, looking helpless, but Jane's more preoccupied with how she's looking at him like she'd love to dice him up into little pieces and feed him to a pool of piranhas.
"You," she hisses, pointing at him. "Come with me."
He doesn't have much of a choice, because then Lisbon is grabbing his wrist and dragging him over to a door near the altar, yanking it open and shoving him in before slamming the door shut behind her.
They're in a small room—Jane recognizes it as where the priests prepare mass from Lisbon's numerous explanations whenever they happened to be near a church—and the only light is from the weak, almost yellowing lightbulb overhead.
He turns to face her. "Lisbon, I—"
"Shut up," she breathes. He watches her shoulders heave, her fingers curl around the doorknob as she struggles to calm herself down.
Jane does as she asks, because he's said his part and she deserves as much, even if she's going to crush his heart.
But when Lisbon looks at him, her eyes are rimmed with red, and her voice breaks. "Why?"
Jane blinks at her, and everything in him aches to go to her. They're not that far apart in the small space, but enough distance is between them so that he cannot reach out and touch her.
"Why?" he repeats.
"Why would you say that?" she says. She looks away from him, and finally, the tears fall. "I always knew you could be mean, Jane. But I never thought you would be cruel, like this."
Her words are like physical blows, and he struggles to recover. "Lisbon, I didn't mean to hurt you."
She laughs, then, high-pitched and incredulous. "Oh, Jane, don't lie to me." Lisbon shakes her head. "All you've done is hurt me, you know." He swallows as her eyes meet his, suddenly full of anguish and pain. "Ever since we met, all you've been doing is hurting me." She presses a hand to her chest. "You broke my heart over and over again. I begged you to talk to me, to listen to me, to do something, anything before I left, and you didn't. You let me go. And that was okay, because that was your decision. I made my choice, and I tried."
Jane's hands tremble. He didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't this—Lisbon unleashing a decade's worth of heartbreak onto him.
"Do you know what you did to me?" she says. She runs her hand through her hair, messing up her beautiful waves, hands trembling. "You wrecked me, Jane, when you let me go. But that was your choice, and I did my best to pick up the pieces of myself. I've done it so many times, and I had to do it again." Words spill out of her in the same way they did him—messy and unfiltered. Maybe this is why they have never talked about it—because the both of them knew, somehow, that if they started, there would be a chance they never stopped.
(it's too late now)
"I should have never let you go, Lisbon."
"But you did!" she snaps. "You did and I had to make my choice. And I picked Marcus."
The words feel like a knife to the gut, even though he knew they were true. She blinks then. "And I only picked Marcus because you would never even present yourself as an option." Lisbon shakes her head. "And now you have the audacity to come here and tell me you—you love me? You had years, Jane! I was right here—" she says, her voice breaking. "I've been here for years, and you only have the guts to pick me when I'm getting married to another man? Is that all I am to you? Just something to—to have? What, if you won't let yourself have me, no one else can?"
"No!" he snaps, suddenly angry at the implications. "No, of course not, Lisbon." He didn't want her because she was marrying someone else. "How could you think that?" He shakes his head, stepping closer to her, but she doesn't move and he counts that as a victory. "Lisbon, I—I need you." He tries to swallow, the lump in his throat making it hard for the words to get out.
(there is so much he has to tell her, and it seems like over a decades worth of feelings were coming rushing out and getting stuck in his throat)
"I loved you before him," he says, "and I will love you after, but I was so scared of letting anyone get close to me that for years I hid how I felt. I pretended those feelings weren't there, because that was easier than thinking about them. I didn't think about them, because if I did, I could lose you."
Lisbon shakes her head, her jaw clenched in rage. "If this is about Red John, he's been gone for two years, Jane. You have no excuses."
"You're right," he admits. "I don't have any except for my own cowardice. And I'm so sorry for that. But I've lost so many people in my life, and I couldn't—I couldn't lose you. Not like this. I had to tell you, even if it was too late."
She looks at him, her eyes so haunted that it almost hurts. "I was doing alright, you know, after you left," she says softly. "I was doing ok without you. I was moving on and building a new life without you and it was hard and it hurt but I was ok. And then you just," she gestures at him with both hands, "come running back and upend my whole life, asking me to move to Austin, without thinking about how this is affecting me." Lisbon shakes her head, brushing back the tears. "And I let you do it, too many times, because now you're doing it again.
"This is my life, Jane. My wedding, and you don't care about anyone but you, and how you feel. Did you even stop to think about me? To think about how I would feel about you crashing in, like this, and just telling me you loved me in front of everyone we know?" She laughs, slightly hysterical. "No, of course you didn't, because all that matters are your feelings."
"Fine," he snaps. "Then what are yours, Lisbon? Because I can tell you're angry at me, but you still haven't told me how you feel about anything I've said. Don't think that I haven't noticed that."
She freezes then, and he knows she's been avoiding this, latching onto anger because it was easier than any other emotion. But he also knows Lisbon, and he knows that she's avoiding something else, some other truth that she refuses to confront with him.
(that's fine. lisbon has been the brave one for so long that jane thinks he's far overdue his turn)
"Do you love him?" Jane asks, because he realizes, suddenly, that he does not know. Lisbon never told him, and he never asked, but it seems like the most important thing. The only thing.
Lisbon looks at him, eyes wide. "What?" she whispers.
Jane steps closer to her, suddenly feeling a little wild and desperate for her answer. "If you love him, then I'll leave. I'll get on a flight back to Austin and you will never, ever see me again. I'll leave you alone, and I will never speak to you, and you'll be free of me. If you love him, I promise you I will do that." He presses a hand to his chest. "I swear it."
"Jane," she whispers, staring at his face.
"But if you don't," he says, looking at her, drinking her in, "then I can't just let you go. Not that easily. I'll fight for you, if I have to."
Lisbon swallows. "Do I lo—I'm marrying him."
He shakes his head. "That's not what I asked."
She can't meet his eyes, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. "He's a good man, Jane. I could learn to love him."
"Do you? Do you love him?"
She's silent for long enough that he can hear his blood pounding in his ears, staring at her as he waits for her answer. Her gaze drags up, meeting his, green eyes drowning in regret, and pain. "No."
Jane takes a deep breath, trying to fortify himself for the question he asks next. "Do you love me?" He swallows convulsively. Everything in his life has narrowed to this, this moment where he waits for her answer.
(he thought he knew it, once upon a time. but now, it is different. now he has hurt her and pushed her away and come back to her, and he needs to know. in this moment, he needs to know if she loves him)
"Teresa," he says, and her whole body shivers at the sound of her name from his lips. She closes her eyes, and then opens them, looking up at him as he steps forward, closer to her. "Do you love me?" he asks again.
She breathes in, her hands trembling. "Yes."
Before he can do anything else, though, she keeps talking. "I tried, for so long, not to. I tried to move on from you because I never thought you would love me back. It took me forever to admit that how I felt about you had changed, but I thought it was hopeless. I tried everything. I tried moving on with someone else, I'm at my wedding to someone else and nothing worked." She looks at him, her eyes bright. "I'm still in love with you." She scoffs then, laughing a little. "You're such a jerk. You made me love you and then you made me unable to love someone else."
He can do nothing but stare at her, all words on the tip of his tongue dissolving into dust. He doesn't have anything to say. He's not sorry, because he wants her for the rest of his life. Jane is selfish, and he is sorry for hurting her, but not for the fact that she loves him. He can never be sorry for that.
Words don't suffice, and so instead, Jane acts.
Before Lisbon can run away from him, he strides towards her, hands cupping her face before he tilts her face up and brings his mouth to meet hers.
Her lips are impossibly soft, and addictive, and he is insatiable for them the second her mouth touches his. He presses his lips against hers firmer, harder.
Lisbon stiffens in shock, but a second later she's kissing him back, just as hungry and desperate. Her hands slide around his waist, gripping at the material of his shirt, pulling him closer, even though he's as close as physically possible.
(he understands. he wonders if he will ever be close enough to her now)
Jane pushes her back up against the wall and kisses her again, drowning in the taste, smell, touch of her. He is ravenous for it, having starved himself for years, subsisting on mere looks and the briefest of touches for a decade. Now she is here, a veritable feast, and he cannot stop himself from indulging. His fingers flit over her body, feather light, but sure, as if to assure himself that this is real, and it isn't another dream.
(it has to be, because kissing her is so impossibly perfect he can hardly imagine anything less fantastical. they may be in a church, but jane has never felt more godly than when she is touching him)
Even when she pulls her mouth from his and murmurs his name, he's undeterred, moving his lips to her cheek and pressing kisses along her jaw. "Jane," she breathes, and his fingers tighten at her hips, preoccupied with dragging his mouth over the curve of her cheek.
"Patrick," she says, and he finally regains enough control to pull away from her. He looks at her, cheeks flushed, her mouth swollen with the force of his kisses, and just barely restrains the urge to drag her off to a hotel room and keep her there for the foreseeable future.
"Yes," he says, dragging his fingers down her spine, relishing in the way she sighs and curves into him.
"We can't—" Lisbon sighs again when he cuts her off by pressing his mouth to her neck, breathing in her scent, cinnamon and jasmine. "We can't go out there like this."
His grip tightens on her waist. "You're insane if you think I'm letting you out of my sight."
"We have to talk about this," she insists.
"Yeah, sure," he murmurs, kissing her again. "We can talk, if you want. But I'm not letting you go. Not again. So we have to get out of here."
"What about everyone?" she says weakly, melting into his touch as he traces patterns on the small of her back.
"Who cares about everyone else?" Jane brings his mouth to her ear. "We've spent our entire lives caring about what other people think about us. I'm tired of that. Pick us, Teresa," he begs. He doesn't care what happens, as long as he's with her.
Lisbon pulls back to look at him, her eyes searching his face. For once, he masks nothing, letting how he feels about her shine through. He wants her to know he will be with her to the ends of the earth, if that's what she wanted.
He can see the moment she gives in, and it is the sweetest victory he can remember.
"We have to sneak out around the back," she whispers. "Otherwise everyone is going to know what we've been doing here."
He squashes the possessive part of him that wouldn't exactly be opposed to that—there was likely only so much humiliation she could take in one day, really—and nods. "Alright," he says. "Lead the way."
Lisbon opens the other door, into the back hallway. She creeps out slowly, peering around, and Jane follows. "There," she whispers. She points to the door at the end of the hall. "We came in that way, it leads outside."
"After you," Jane murmurs.
Lisbon steps through the door, creeping down the hallway silently. He watches her throw a glance back in the direction of the altar. "Hey," he whispers. "Are you ok?"
Lisbon looks back at him, and straightens her shoulders. She stands tall—or, well, as tall as she can. "I am, actually." She smiles then, at him, the first genuine smile she's seen from him all day. "I have you."
Jane grins back at her, his chest feeling like a bottle of fizzy champagne, bubbles of happiness bursting in it. "Always."
Lisbon pushes open the doors, and they blink at the harsh sunlight. "Well," Jane says, stepping out of the door. "Let's run away together, for a change." He extends his hand to her.
She looks at it, a smile playing over her lips. Pulling off her engagement ring, she drops it on the hallway behind her and slips her hand into his.
Pulling her out the door, they run into the sunlight.