A/N: The TM Discord Challenge is back! And we picked a doozy. Jane and Lisbon are hardly in the same scene together in this episode. When they are, they are alone—no one to fake out. But switching that up was the easy part. Putting them in a situation where their best solution was making out? In character?
Here's what I came up with. Where would you put the make-out?
Teresa Lisbon felt a headache coming on. The pressure behind her eyes was nearly a constant companion at this point. But the stress was almost worth it. Almost. Maybe. They were the closest to Red John they'd ever been, whittled down to five suspects. The fact they had to help one of them evade the FBI so they could confront him later definitely rankled. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I told you, you didn't have to come along." Patrick Jane's voice rumbled through her as they stood together in the foyer of the Ecuadorian Embassy. She didn't remember standing so close. It happened that way sometimes, like she was helpless against his gravitational pull. She stopped fighting it long ago.
Her consultant. Partner. Best friend. She didn't know what to call him anymore. It all blurred together. A pain in her side to complement the pain in her head. But she refused to leave his side today.
"I wasn't going to leave you without back up." A half truth. Any other day, she would have gladly left him to wrangle Bret Stiles on his own. Getting tangled in this drama could be bad for her career.
And yet she couldn't shake the idea that Jane would sneak off at the first opportunity and leave her behind to pursue Red John on his own. So here she was, bored and anxious, waiting for one of his plans to be sprung.
"I told you, I won't leave without you."
She exhaled slowly and let her hand drop. Of course he would see through her, but she didn't need to have this conversation again. He was trying to lure her into a false sense of security. She made a show of looking around the opulent room they were stuck in. "Where are those security guards?"
"You could still go. No one needs to know you were here."
No one except a cult leader on the lam. If this didn't work, how long would it take him to spill? She'd be fired for sure, or worse. "How is this even supposed to work? You don't look anything like Stiles."
"I don't need to look like him. I'll be hidden by security. The rest is intrigue. The Visualize limousine put them on alert. The Feds see someone sneak out to it, they will see what they want to see."
She winced. She couldn't ignore the FBI's role in this predicament forever. Jane had insisted she leave her badge and gun locked up in his car in case she was questioned. She missed their weight. She didn't feel like herself without them. Then again, that was kind of the point.
"Teresa. I got this." Jane shifted closer.
No, not Jane. Rick. He was Rick Seville until Stiles was clear. No wonder she had a headache. Playing along with a short con was one thing. Fake names and pretend identities was a whole other level.
A little sarcasm broke through. "And who's got you?"
"Sentimental and grumpy. You, my dear, are primed to explode."
He wasn't wrong. "I hate all this waiting around."
His hand rested at the small of her back, familiar and comforting. She felt some of the nervous energy leech out of her body.
Two big guys in suits strode into the room. They stopped two paces away, intimidating as hell. "You ready to go?"
Jane grinned. "Show time!"
Her head was pounding in rhythm to her heartbeat by the time they got to the limo. She went in first, sliding over to make room for Jane. She turned to look out the back window. No sign of the Feds. Yet. "How long, do you think?"
"Hard to say. I expected it to be more gaudy in here. That's a bit of a let down."
What was he talking about? Lisbon twisted back. It was a standard limo layout. They were in the short bench seat at the back of the car. There was one long sideways seat with a small, tasteful bar along the opposite side. The Visualize logo gleamed in the light of three electric candles.
She felt the car shift into gear and pull away from the curb. She closed her eyes as her head started pounding.
"Relax. We're just driving here."
"I'm fine."
"There are lots of reasons to visit an embassy. They have nothing to connect us to Stiles."
"We're in a Visualize car."
He nodded to concede her point. "Fewer reasons for that, but nothing I can't handle. Hey. Why are you so worried about this?"
"I'm a state agent, and I'm aiding and abetting a suspected criminal." That dang logo was staring into her soul, accusing. "I know we're doing the right thing. We need Stiles to get Red John. I don't have a problem with that. But I don't know if I can lie to the FBI. This was a really bad idea."
"So let me do the talking. We've done this a hundred times."
"Rick?" Even his name felt wrong. "We're not tripping up a suspect here. You're asking me to lie to the good guys."
"Good guys? That's debatable."
"Don't." What if they recognized her? What if they were detained for questioning? She was risking too much. What if this was what let Red John slip away again?
He studied her. "You have always been a terrible liar," he conceded.
What the hell? Not helping.
Sirens whooped behind them. Two cars were coming up on them fast, lights flashing.
"Welp. Here we go."
It was happening too fast. "We didn't even make it to the end of the block."
"I do have another idea, but it's a little unorthodox."
She snorted. That didn't even classify a response.
Jane shifted next to her, pressing close as they steered slowly back to the curb.
"It's foolproof really. Less explaining, and it will get you out of your head."
"Then why didn't you suggest it before?"
He turned to face her fully. One hand landed on her thigh, squeezing gently. That was… nice. But weird.
"It's asking a lot. Emergency use only." His other hand cupped her cheek. He smiled, almost apologetic, but there was something else there. Something she hadn't read on him before. His hand moved into her hair, teasing it.
She froze, eyes wide. The heat rose in her cheeks. "Wait. What are you doing?"
He locked eyes with her. Smoldering heat. Her thoughts wandered, but she dragged them back. This was Jane. They didn't do this. He leaned in ever so slightly. She glanced down at his lips. So close. Surely, he wasn't going to...
"Changing our cover story."
The kiss landed at the corner of her mouth, lingered. Jane pulled back, still far too close, his voice far too calm. There was yelling outside. They were running out of time. "When they open that door we can either be having the time of our lives, or the biggest breakup fight they've ever seen. The first one is my preference, but it's your choice—"
She dragged him back. For the sake of their cover story.
She was kissing Patrick Jane. The forbidden fruit. He was sunlight and sweet tea. Velvet and fine stubble. Fire and— He nipped her bottom lip and she stopped thinking.
His hands skimmed her sides, not quite crossing the line into inappropriate. It was maddening. It was too much and not enough. The air was too warm, her oxygen growing thin. But nothing could convince her to exit this slice of heaven.
The door yanked open, light and sound intruding. "Keep your hands where we can see them!"
Okay, maybe that.
She let her hands fall from his soft curls and vest buttons, but Jane tightened his hold. His lips pressed to hers; still, but firm. There was a finality to it, a farewell, a savoring.
She mourned the fact this could be their only moment.
"Hands. Now."
He dropped his forehead against hers, holding his arms out slightly in compliance. Turning without relinquishing contact with her, he said, "You guys are really killing the mood here."
Lisbon smiled despite herself. Then she got her first good look at the situation. She hadn't realized how much she'd relaxed until her shoulders tightened up again. They had pulled out all the stops. At least five agents wearing bullet proof vests and aiming high powered firearms surrounded the car. They already had the driver out. She hoped they were paying him enough. Did they expect to find Stiles with a small army?
This was for the Red John case, she bolstered herself. This was for Jane. Her hand brushed his knee.
"Out of the car. Now."
She wasn't used to being on this end of things. As she untangled herself from Jane—Rick—and moved towards the door she struggled to piece her thoughts together. What was a normal civilian response to having a bunch of guns shoved in your face?
"That's a lot of guns," Jane observed. "What can we do for you gentlemen?"
That would work.
He buttoned his jacket as he stood, playing it cool. Okay. She could be cool.
"What's this about?" In a blink she was pressed against the hard metal of the car and getting frisked. Now that was just insulting.
"Nothing on her. No ID."
"Oh, that's my fault," Jane added conversationally, unphased by their rough treatment as they patted down all his pockets. "I made her leave her purse back at the office. We're celebrating and she has this annoying habit of paying for everything."
"Car is clear."
"Can you explain what you're doing in a Visualize car, Mr... Seville?" The agent flipped Jane's wallet shut. Lisbon raised her eyebrow at him. He had his fake name on an ID? He winked at her.
"Yes, sir. As I mentioned, we're celebrating. Six months. I got a lead on a cheap limo. They just asked me to drop off a package here first. It wasn't anything bad, was it? I mean, they're a church, right?"
"You don't know what was in the package?"
"No, sir."
"Who was it for?"
"No idea. I left it at the front desk. I thought it would be a quick stop, but Teresa was admiring the statues so we got a quick tour out of the deal. Really elegant decor. We'll have to put visiting Ecuador on our bucket list. I heard it's a nice place to retire."
"What do you know about Bret Stiles?"
"Stiles? You mean that guy on all the brochures? He's like their lead pastor or something."
"Did you see him inside?"
"No. Do I need to call my lawyer?"
"Why did you sneak out to the car?"
Jane grinned. "That was fun, wasn't it? Just like the movies."
The agent did not look impressed. Lisbon couldn't blame him. "What's your name, ma'am?"
Ma'am? She was half convinced the agent was being annoying on purpose."Teresa Jones."
"You work together?"
"That's right."
"She's my supervisor," Jane winked again.
"Where do you work?"
Lisbon hesitated.
"Mashburn Industries. Only," Jane turned from the car and leaned in. "Don't tell our boss. We're, uh, not supposed to date within the office." He said that last bit in a conspiratorial whisper.
Her headache was back.
A radio crackled. One of the agents responded, leaning into the walkie on his shoulder and turning away. The atmosphere shifted into something less tense.
"Are we free to go?" Lisbon asked.
The agent didn't look happy about it. "Yeah."
"Can we keep the limo?" Jane pointed to it with his thumbs. "It is a sweet ride."
"Yes. But. Next time, hire from a vetted limo service."
"Oh, we will," Lisbon assured him. She couldn't push Jane into the car fast enough. Hiding behind tinted windows, she closed her eyes and let out a long breath.
She jumped as a tinny voice filled the compartment. "Would you like to go back to Visualize?"
Jane buckled his seatbelt as he answered. "Drive us around town, nowhere in particular. About twenty or thirty minutes should do it."
"Yes, sir."
Lisbon fastened her own seatbelt as she watched the flashing lights recede behind them. They rode in silence for a few blocks.
"Well, that was intense."
Jane sighed. "We should probably talk about-"
"Why do you have an ID for your fake name?"
He hesitated, just a fraction. Never a good sign. "That came in handy, didn't it?"
"Stop deflecting. It's illegal, Jane."
"Yes. But never you mind, I won't be using that one again. I was thinking we should talk about the other thing."
That one. That implied there was more than one fake ID. Just what was he planning to do after Red John? Where would he go? Who would he be? Her stomach twisted.
His fingertips grazed her knee. "The kiss, Lisbon." Her eyes focused again. "We should talk about the kiss."
She did not want to talk about the kiss. Talking was not what she wanted to do. She realized she was staring at his lips and huffed in frustration. "It's fine. It made for a good cover." She shrugged. "I was hyped up."
His eyes crinkled in appreciation. "Touche."
"What?" she challenged, feigning confusion.
He settled into his seat, refusing the bait. Just as well. "We're good then."
"Yeah, we're good."
His phone vibrated. "Stiles is in. I'm going to set the meet. Can you find us some water?"
She slid over to the other seat and rifled through the bar. She found two bottles of water and some painkillers. This headache was on the way out. The pieces were falling into place.
Next stop: Red John.