A/N: Thanks to lovely reviewers providing prompts, I ended up writing two Christmas stories this year. I'll post the second within the next few days. This story is dedicated to LT88 for prompting Christmas + Teresa pursuing Patrick.
xxx
Ever since Jane had told her about his list of seven suspects, Lisbon had spent more nights than not whiling away the hours staring at her bedroom ceiling.
Great. Not only had he passed along his paranoia to her like a contagious disease, now he had infected her with his insomnia, too.
Somehow, as the holidays approached, it got worse. The shiny decorations and twinkling lights jarring and incongruous against the knowledge of the dangers lurking at the edge of the shadows.
Lisbon had no desire to go home to Chicago for Christmas and pretend she wasn't on a knife's edge of fear and uncertainty for the sake of her brothers. She would call them and send presents to all the kids. Next year, if she lived that long, she would pay them a proper visit and spread as much joy as anyone might wish. This year, she would accept their scolding on the subject of her neglect and would fall on her knees with profound gratitude if only none of them became targets of Red John because of her.
Still, it was hard to contemplate the idea of spending Christmas alone with anything other than dread.
It couldn't be that bad, she consoled herself. After all, Jane did it every year.
This was not comforting. She knew he shut himself away every Christmas, pretending the holidays didn't exist. She'd always hated it, but felt powerless to stop him from hiding away and pretending he wasn't a real person during the time of the year when everyone else was full of glad tidings and Christmas cheer. It was none of her business, and it wasn't her place.
Except this year, she decided abruptly, still staring at the ceiling, it was her business, and she was going to make it her place.
Whether he liked it or not.
Xxx
She thought through her plan of attack carefully.
She kicked his couch first thing in the morning. Better to do it right away, so she wouldn't have time to get nervous and he wouldn't have time to develop any suspicions about what she was about.
"Jane," she said, holding her cup of coffee in front of her. She hadn't brought him any tea. Better if he didn't have all his wits about him for this conversation.
"Mm," Jane said sleepily, rubbing his eyes with his fists like a little boy. He gazed up at her, his gray green eyes for once open and unguarded.
Her breath caught in her throat. Sometimes, the way he looked at her—
"Come over to my place for Christmas," she said briskly.
He blinked. "Uh," he said, taken aback. "What?"
"Come to my place for Christmas," she repeated. "I'm staying in town. I know you don't have plans. We'll spend the day together."
He sat up. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
She sat down next to him. "You can sleep on my couch on Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day, we'll order Chinese food and watch movies. I'm not cooking."
"Lisbon…"
She fixed him with a look. "Do you really think you're going to get anything useful done on the Red John case on Christmas Day?"
"Probably not," he admitted. "But—"
"I don't want you spending Christmas alone this year," she said. "No retreating up to your thinking room and pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist. You'll come to my place or I'll come find you and drag you out by the ear."
"Lisbon, really, I—"
She cut him off. "This is not a debate. You're coming over. Bring wine."
There was a long pause. Then he said, grudgingly, "All right. Fine."
"Great. It's settled." She got up again. "See you then."
Xxx
In the end, Jane brought over a bag of groceries on Christmas Eve and accompanied her to midnight mass.
Lisbon was not sure of the wisdom of allowing Jane to set foot in a church she intended to return to as a member in good standing, but she didn't say anything when he told her he wanted to come along.
She wasn't sure why he wanted to, at first, but when she caught him casting suspicious glares at everyone around her, it occurred to her that he was afraid Red John might have set one of his minions to kidnap her from midnight mass. When Mr. Garcia returned his look with frank curiosity, Jane's eyes narrowed. Before he could start a scene by interrogating poor Mr. Garcia in the middle of the opening hymn, Lisbon dropped one hand from her hymnal and squeezed Jane's hand with hers. Hard.
"He thinks you're my boyfriend," she hissed in Jane's ear. "Relax."
"Oh," Jane said, shame-faced. He straightened and sent Mr. Garcia a weak smile. But he didn't let go of her hand.
The rest of mass passed without incident, unless you counted Jane remaining quiet and undisruptive throughout the ritual of Communion, which Lisbon was personally inclined to consider a minor miracle.
After mass, they drove back to Lisbon's apartment. Jane was subdued on the drive. Lisbon let him be. Despite her treatment of the outcome as a foregone conclusion, she was still relieved he'd turned up in the first place and hadn't yet made a move to bolt.
When they got back to the apartment, Lisbon made up the couch for him and they said good night.
xxx
The next morning, Lisbon woke to find Jane making pancakes for her.
He glanced up at her when she shuffled into the kitchen in search of coffee. "Merry Christmas," he said. His eyes lingered on her red flannel pajamas with little candy canes printed all over them. "Nice jammies."
She looked down at herself. "My brother sent them to me for Christmas last year."
"They're cute."
"Thanks," she mumbled. Jane, of course, was fully dressed in one of his gray three piece suits. No jacket, though, which counted as dressing down for him. She had always thought the vest and rolled up shirtsleeves look was a particularly good look for him. Even more so now that he was cooking for her. Realizing she was standing in her sock feet blatantly giving him a once over, she added belatedly, "Merry Christmas."
He nodded to the counter. "Your coffee."
He'd prepared her a cup, perfectly doctored with the amount of milk and sugar she liked. "Mm," she said, savoring the first sip. "Thank you."
"Have a seat," he said, piling a plate full of pancakes and setting it down at her usual spot at the kitchen table.
Lisbon sat down.
Jane set down another plate, then brought over the butter, syrup, and a bowl of fruit. "Bon appetit."
"Thanks for making breakfast," Lisbon said, reaching for the syrup.
They shared a leisurely breakfast and did the dishes, and then Lisbon nudged him. "I have some presents for you to open."
"Oh—really?" he said, seeming genuinely taken aback.
"Don't get too excited," she warned. "Just silly stuff. So you'd have something to unwrap."
He hesitated. "Okay."
They went into the living room, where Lisbon's small tree twinkled with colored lights and shiny ornaments.
Lisbon directed him to sit down on the floor, and handed him a present to open. Jane was impossible to shop for, so she'd mostly gotten him snacks and candy, but she'd wrapped them individually, knowing he would enjoy the ritual of unwrapping the presents more than caring about the actual contents within.
He unwrapped a box of Cracker Jacks. His face lit up. "I love these!"
She smiled. "I'm glad."
"Do they still come with prizes?" he said, inspecting the box. "I used to love finding those when I was a kid."
She smiled. "Only one way to find out."
She opened presents from her brothers and their families while Jane continued to open his various snack foods, tea, and candy.
She hung up a homemade ornament from her youngest nephew on the tree. When she sat back to admire it, Jane cleared his throat.
"I, uh, didn't get you a present this year," he said, voice low.
She shook her head. "That's okay. I wasn't expecting—"
"I wrote you a letter," he interrupted. "Instead."
"Oh. Okay," she said, puzzled by his evident nervousness.
He produced a plain envelope and handed it to her. "Don't open it now," he said, grimacing. "It's—it's for after."
"After?" she said, turning it over in her hands and studying her name in Jane's neat script on the front. Teresa. "After what?"
She looked up at him. Pain flickered across his face and she understood. "Oh," she said quietly. She felt sick to her stomach. She set the letter down on the coffee table and jumped to her feet. "You know what? Let's go for a walk."
"Okay," Jane said miserably.
Lisbon got dressed and they went out. It was a beautiful day. Sixty degrees and sunny, and the sky perfectly clear. They could see the snow on the Sierras in the distance.
They didn't talk. The weight of that letter hung between them, even though she'd left it on the table in her apartment.
A letter from Jane. What could he have put in it, she wondered. She'd never received a letter from Jane, unless you counted the times he'd sent decoy letters to the office pretending to be a killer. Yes, that had happened more than once.
She had some guesses. Having it in her possession but not being able to open it sounded like a recipe for insanity.
She knew that whatever she guessed, even if she was partially right, he'd find a way to surprise her.
Xxx
When they got back to her apartment, she turned to him just inside the door and said abruptly, "We need to have a conversation."
He winced. "I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't we just watch a movie and eat popcorn instead?"
"No," she said. She gestured to the couch. "Sit down."
He sat. She sat down next to him. Closer than normal. "Have you ever thought about kissing me?" she demanded.
He groaned. "Teresa…"
"I have," she said bluntly. "I've thought about what our bodies would be like together."
His neck was red. He buried his face in his hands. "Teresa, please—"
She took his wrist and drew his hand away from his face. He looked over at her, pained, and dropped the other hand from his face.
"You could die," she said, more harshly than she meant to. "Do you know what that would do to me? I'd spend the rest of my life wondering, Jane. It would be torture. It's not fair of you to ask that of me."
"The letter—" he began weakly.
"No," she said. "A letter won't be enough, if that happens. I know we can't—I know there's nothing for us, right now. But I need to know."
He took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. "All right," he said at last. "Let's have the conversation."
"Good," Lisbon said, nodding in satisfaction. She folded her hands in her lap. "I'm—I'm in love with you."
It was harder to get the words out than she'd expected. She'd braced herself to do it, but it still felt like she was swallowing knives, putting voice to them.
He stared at her. "You are?"
She huffed, exasperated. "That can't be a surprise to you."
"It…is, somehow. Hearing the words out loud. I thought…" he trailed off.
She arched an eyebrow. "You thought what?"
"I thought you might have some feelings," he allowed. "But I thought if I declared myself, I'd have to drag you kicking and screaming into having emotional conversations."
"Yet here we are, and it's the other way around," she said, annoyed. "And what do you mean, if you declared yourself? Are you in love with me, too?"
He brushed this off. "Of course I am. That's not the point."
She wanted to shake him. "Of course it's the point. And what do you mean, 'of course?'"
He looked at her like she was crazy. "Obviously, I'm in love with you. Why else would I be avoiding this conversation?"
Okay, now she wanted to strangle him. "That makes no sense!"
"I can't go around staring at with you with longing and smiling foolishly whenever I'm in your presence," he said—again, as though this were obvious. "It would draw an even bigger target on your back than there is already. We just need to get through these last seven suspects without either of us dying, and then—"
"It's not your job to protect me," she said, for the thousandth time. "It's my job to protect you, remember?"
He shook his head. "I told you a long time ago. I'm always going to protect you, whether you like it or not."
She looked at him. "Jane. What's in the letter?"
He grimaced again. "Oh…you know. A lot of sentimental drivel."
She arched one eyebrow. "What kind of sentimental drivel?"
He sighed. "The kind where I wax poetic about your many fine qualities and tell you…" He took a deep breath. "Tell you how I never meant to fall in love with you, but I couldn't help it. How I tried to fight against it, because I was afraid for you. How losing you would…" He swallowed hard. "Would be the end of me." He cleared his throat. "The kind where I tell you how profoundly grateful I am to have you in my life. How much I admire and cherish you. How I would have spoken a long time ago, if I wasn't so afraid of making you a target. What I would have done for our first date. What I would have done for our thousandth. How I would have…have wanted to have a family with you, if everything weren't so impossible." He met her eyes. "How I will love you with every particle of my being until my last breath."
Tears filled her eyes. "Jane."
He looked down. "I'm sorry. I know it isn't fair."
"I'm so…mad at you," she said, wiping tears from her eyes.
"I know," he said softly. "You have every right to be."
"You shouldn't have put that all in a letter that you planned to leave with me to read when it was too late to do anything about it," she said, sniffling.
"I'm so scared," he whispered. "I'm terrified for you. Keeping my distance…it felt like the only way to keep you safe." He sighed. "Even though I've failed miserably on both counts."
She shook her head. "I'm terrified for you. And I'd—I'd rather know. Better that than live the rest of my life wondering what could have been."
He took her hand and gazed at her with affection and admiration. "You're the bravest person I know, Teresa Lisbon."
She put her arms around his neck and hooked her chin over his shoulder, hugging him fiercely. "I don't want to lose you, Jane."
He dropped his chin to her shoulder and held her close. "I don't want to lose you, either," he said in abject misery. "But it's the only way I see of keeping you alive."
She let him go. "That's dumb."
He shrugged helplessly.
She sighed. "I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"
"I almost wish you could," he said softly.
She stood and held out her hand. "Come on, then."
He took her hand hesitantly and allowed her to draw him to his feet. "Ah…where are we going?"
"Upstairs," she said decisively. "If I can't change your mind—" she shrugged. "At least we'll have had this."
He looked at her for a long moment, then drew her close and kissed her.
"That," she said a few minutes later, a little breathless, "is much better than a letter."
They went upstairs. Jane trembled a little at first, moving over her. He stopped at one point, holding himself inside her, and buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply with a hitch in his breath, over and over. She stroked the curls at the back of his neck and murmured soft assurances in his ear. She was happy, she wanted this, she was so happy to have this moment, to have seen his eyes when he looked at her without hiding anything from her, to have smelled the sweat on his neck, to feel known like this, by him. She felt so lucky to be loved by him. His love was an extraordinary thing. It was a great blessing in her life, no matter what he thought, and she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
He held her so tight she thought her ribs might crack. "I feel the same way," he said hoarsely. "So—so lucky."
Hours later, they lay in bed together, staring at each other in mutual wonder and appreciation.
Jane reached out and twirled a strand of her hair around one finger. "I must say," he said, leaning forward and kissing her bare shoulder. "This has turned out to be a much merrier Christmas than I anticipated."
She shifted and planted a kiss at the hollow of his throat. "Same."
He raised his eyebrows. "Really? Seems to me you had this all planned out. Determined to get your Christmas cheer no matter what I had to say about it."
"Securing your cooperation was critical but not guaranteed," she said. "I'm glad you showed some sense and listened to me for once."
"I'm glad I listened to you, too," he said, drawing her to him.
"I know it's just for today," she said soberly, nestling into his arms. "That we can't be together while we're searching for him. But I'm still glad we had—had this one Christmas together."
He held her tighter. "Me, too."
They lay together in silence. Happiness wasn't quite the right word for the sensation that enveloped them, in that moment. Nor contentment. Perhaps the word didn't exist. Something like sweetness and ache and a—a strengthening. The feeling of knowing that difficult times lay ahead, but this moment was here to fortify them. A drawing of strength from the other, that left them stronger than the sum of their parts.
Maybe that word was love. A sustaining love. Love that brought strength, peace, and resolve to face what was to come with courage and grace.
"We're going to find a way," Jane said abruptly.
Lisbon turned her head to look up at him. "A way to do what?"
"We're going to find a way to have more Christmases together," he said. "I don't know when. Or how. But this isn't the last. It's the first."
She kissed his jaw. "Yeah?"
"Definitely," he said fervently.
"Okay." She nestled closer. "Merry Christmas, Patrick."
"Merry Christmas," he said, kissing the top of her head. "My dearest love."
[End]