The English language is not my native language, and my proficiency in it is quite poor. I did the best I could. But I was eager to share with the fandom, and a big part of it speaks English
N.A: I haven't written anything in many years, and this show reignited my desire to put my ideas into words. I have a lot of fic ideas, but I decided to start with this one since it's quick and simple. The narration and writing might not be the best—I'm out of practice.
Almost forgot: This is set during season five, but in my mind, Hightower returned as the boss after clearing her name (no other boss wanted Jane as a subordinate).
There's no explicit content per se, except for Jane's final messages.
Patrick Jane was sprawled across the couch in the CBI office. It was hard to tell whether he was asleep or just pretending. His phone buzzed with a new message, and Jane couldn't help but smile as he read it. It was a reminder from Lisbon asking him to delete their previous messages. He immediately replied, "I don't know how; maybe I should ask Van Pelt for help." He closed his eyes and tucked the phone into his pocket, returning to his nap. It buzzed again, but he didn't check. He knew it was likely an unkind response from the agent, which made him smile even more.
"Jane!" A kick to the side of the couch woke him up minutes later. He opened his eyes to see Lisbon standing beside him, looking none too pleased.
"Do you really not know how to delete messages? Give me your phone."
"Bah, I'd rather save them and reread them later," he said with a sly smile, waving his hand dismissively but speaking quietly enough that only she could hear. His grin widened as he saw Lisbon blush. He was going to enjoy this.
"Jane! Give me the damn phone or else…"
"Language, Lisbon! Or else what?" he retorted, raising his arms as if to say, "Come and take it yourself." In response, she kicked the couch again. "So much violence. Here you go."
"I can also teach you how to do it, so you can do it yourself," Lisbon offered, but Jane was already heading to the kitchen to prepare his first cup of tea for the day.
As Lisbon walked angrily to her office, carrying Jane's phone, he watched her from the kitchen doorway, smiling. This was going to be fun.
Unwittingly, she'd given him a new weapon to tease her and make her blush, although unfortunately, it worked both ways. He had fewer qualms or taboos about discussing more personal topics, and thanks to his self-control, he wouldn't spend all day blushing like a teenager. Still, those conversations would haunt his dreams and pop up as unwelcome guests whenever he looked at her.
Not to mention, they'd blurred an already fuzzy boundary in their relationship. "It's just conversations; we won't act on them," he told himself. No one needed to know that something had changed between them. He wouldn't put her at risk, and for now, he could allow himself to fantasize.
With a cup of tea in one hand, a coffee in the other, and a radiant smile on his face, he made his way to the Special Agent in Charge's office. On the way, he greeted Rigsby and Van Pelt, who had just arrived "at the same time," and the redhead was visibly blushing. He had no doubt something had happened between them after yesterday's radio program. He guessed the host's foot fetish had done more than one team member a favor.
He also encountered Hightower, who was walking to her office while casting discreet glances at Lisbon's. She ignored him, focused on an important-sounding call. She was speaking in a low voice, but he caught words like "impossible," "years ago," and "we need more evidence," but he didn't pay much attention. There were more interesting things.
"Jane! Tell Lisbon I want to see her in my office in half an hour," Hightower shouted at him before closing her door.
"Hightower wants to see you in her office in half an hour, and I brought you coffee so you won't be in a bad mood all day," he said, placing the coffee on her desk. Completely immune to her glare, he went to sit on his usual spot on the couch. Lisbon followed him with her eyes, and when she realized he wasn't leaving, she decided to pretend he wasn't there and returned to working on his phone, pressing buttons repeatedly.
"What did you do this time, Jane? Never mind; I'll find out from her," she muttered. Jane chuckled and made himself comfortable on the couch.
Jane drank his tea to hide his smile. He wondered if she was reading the messages as she deleted them. He saw her eyes scanning the screen, so he thought she was, but her stoic expression made him doubt.
When Lisbon blushed furiously and lowered her gaze, Jane knew she was reading them and had probably come across the first risqué message she had sent in response to one of his.
The Night Before
It all started with high heels and foot fetishes. Lisbon's slight blush in the CBI kitchen when he brought up the topic to tease her was forgotten when, after midnight, she sent him a half-joking message about foot fetishes, asking if he had one for feet and high heels. Between jokes and some impartial, slightly mocking information about fetishes, sex, and seduction, the texting continued and transitioned from a general conversation to something more personal, involving the two of them.
Lisbon: "At least I know I'm safe from high-heel perverts."
Jane: "Oh, don't be so sure. They're everywhere."
Lisbon: "There's something good about not being attractive enough to tempt perverts."
Jane: "Who lied to you like that?"
Lisbon: "It's nothing out of this world, Jane. I simply don't have that captivating kind of beauty."
Lisbon: "I don't have that 'something' that makes high heels look 'perfect.'"
Jane's smile faded as he blinked a few more times than necessary while reading Lisbon's last two messages. When had the conversation shifted from laughing about foot fetishes to Lisbon doubting her own attractiveness?
Jane: "I'd love to see you in those heels…"
Lisbon: "Sure."
Jane grinned widely at the sarcasm dripping from that single word. He could picture her in bed, phone in hand, rolling her eyes while blushing slightly.
Briefly, the idea crossed his mind that Lisbon might think he had chosen Van Pelt for the role because he found her more attractive. Which wasn't true. He'd picked her because: 1. She was better at playing that kind of part. He couldn't imagine Lisbon smiling innocently while letting the man touch her; she'd probably instinctively reach for her gun. 2. The tension and history between Grace and Rigsby were perfect for the setup. 3. Lisbon would have hated wearing those heels, although he made a mental note to ask next time.
Jane: "You just have to smile to captivate any man. You don't need heels."
Jane: "Although now I can't stop imagining you in heels, with a matching dress. I'll do some shopping."
Lisbon: "What the hell, Jane? You're not buying me heels."
Jane: "Oh no, now I need to see you in them. Consider it a visual experiment for my pleasure. Don't worry about falling; I'll hold you."
Lisbon: "Ha ha ha, very funny. I thought you weren't a foot fetishist."
Jane: "Bah! Say what you will, but I won't miss the chance to see you in heels and a pretty dress. You'll look stunning."
Lisbon: "You're impossible. I'm not waddling around in heels just to entertain you."
Jane: "Please, Lisbon. Do it for me."
Lisbon: "As if you really wanted to see me that way. You love messing with me, making me nervous, but I bet I could make you nervous too, and you wouldn't like it."
Jane read Lisbon's message and let out a low laugh, already scheming a reply to keep up with the game without scaring her off. And if possible, why not take it a step further? He knew he was pushing her boundaries, but this was getting interesting and worth the effort of typing on his phone, something he usually hated.
As he thought of a response, Jane got up and set water to boil for a new cup of tea. He hoped the conversation would continue for several more messages.
He figured the best way to get an answer was to challenge her. He knew she wouldn't resist wanting the last word. So he quickly typed:
Jane: "I'd love to see how you'd try. What would you do?"
Jane: "Bah, I don't think the Catholic girl inside you would let you surprise me."
With the water boiled, he prepared his tea while waiting for her response. He thought about her possible answers. It wasn't too hard to reply; she could say something about how she wouldn't let him hide from victims' families when they came to thank him, or about how she'd purge all the tea hidden in the CBI. But a part of him hoped she'd see the conversation as something intimate, bordering on flirtation, and wouldn't respond with something so predictable about work.
Sitting on the edge of his attic mattress, illuminated only by his phone screen, he drank tea as his phone buzzed with a message.
Lisbon: "Oh, trust me, you don't want to know."
He laughed out loud and quickly typed, "Coward," eagerly awaiting her reply, which took a few minutes to arrive.
Lisbon: "Coward, you say? Pfft, as if. Although your insistence is a little worrying."
Jane: "Oh, come on, Lisbon. You can do better than this."
He smiled into the void, imagining Lisbon lying in bed, thinking of her reply, completely blushing as she searched for something sarcastic or clever to leave him speechless. The fact that she hadn't responded with something generic about work and was taking her time told him she saw this conversation the same way he did—as something dangerously intimate.
Lisbon: "I probably wouldn't need to do anything. Just knowing what I'm thinking while you're lying on my couch would be enough."
Jane nearly spat out the sip of tea he had just taken. He wasn't sure what kind of response he'd expected, but it definitely wasn't that. He felt like a hormonal teenager rather than a grown man and widower. Still, he regained his composure and smiled. What harm was there in playing a little longer if they were both enjoying it?
He took another sip of tea while imagining Lisbon with a triumphant smile. Finally, he typed his reply, his grin widening as the words appeared on the screen.
Jane: "Are you telling me that while I was solving crimes, you were having inappropriate thoughts about me?"
Lisbon: "Who said anything about you or anything inappropriate? Maybe I was just thinking how much easier my life would be if the ceiling collapsed on you."
Jane: "Oh, come on, don't be such a prude. I have thoughts about you all the time too."
Jane: "To clarify, yes, inappropriate thoughts."
Lisbon's uninhibited tone left her speechless. She surprised herself by sending the message without overthinking it. It was a response that arose impulsively, and as if that first message wasn't enough, she sent a second to clarify the first.
She stared at the phone screen, wishing she could take back her last messages. She felt she had crossed a line, something inside her twisting in warning. She had always been aware of the blushes Jane provoked in her and loved causing them. It was almost like a personal sport he loved practicing, not just with the blushes but also by making her laugh and, oh, how he loved making her angry. He loved the way she looked at him seriously, with a frown that made him want to smooth it out with his finger and make her blush. He was sure that if she realized how much he enjoyed seeing her pout at him, she'd stop getting mad.
A long time ago, Teresa became much more than just a colleague. At first, he thought she was a friend, but then the rest of the team also moved from colleagues to friends, and what he felt for her remained different. For years, he didn't allow himself to explore the feelings she stirred in him. The only conclusion he allowed himself was that she was too important to him. Why she was important was something he didn't want to examine.
But then he left for six months, slept with Lorelei Martins, and the jealousy Lisbon once seemed to find amusing now caused him anguish. Seeing real pain behind her eyes, hidden but real, made him wish he could undo what he'd done. Catching Red John no longer seemed like a good enough justification. And it was then he began to allow himself to evaluate the emotions Lisbon provoked in him more closely.
The conclusion was overwhelming, and knowing there was nothing he could do about it was devastating. He couldn't act on his feelings, not without putting her at risk, not without devastating her if Red John's end was as he expected.
Lisbon: "So all the time? If you tell me what you think, I'll tell you what I think when you're on the couch in my office or when I lie down in my bed at night."
His heart raced as he read the last message. If he hadn't already finished his tea, he would've spat it out again. Was this some kind of trap? Since when was Lisbon so open to this kind of conversation? This was uncharted territory; usually, she'd blush, get embarrassed, or hit him (not too hard). Under no circumstances would she respond in kind. Lisbon had changed the rules of the game, and now he was without a manual.
If he replied with something too daring, he could cross a completely confusing line and scare her off, or make things awkward between them. On the other hand, if he evaded or replied with something too ambiguous, she'd feel like she'd won, and the conversation might lose its spark. He had to admit he was very curious to see where this was going.
Jane: "Are you suggesting an exchange of fantasies and dirty thoughts? I like it, but it's not a fair trade. I'm not confessing my darkest fantasies just for you to say you think I'm cute. Lisbon, I already know you find me gorgeous."
Lisbon: "Mmmm, I couldn't look you in the eye afterward. And who told you I think you're gorgeous?"
Jane read Lisbon's message and smiled sideways, a gentle heat spreading through him in anticipation. The possible fantasies she might have blended with his own, and the heat accumulating in his body began to focus on one very specific part.
The wait felt eternal, so he left the phone on the makeshift bed and went to pour himself another cup of tea. For a moment, he feared Lisbon had fallen asleep, but he knew she was more likely thinking about what to write next. She had started and continued this conversation. Both were aware that no matter how annoying Jane could be, he'd never cross such a line with her, never make her feel uncomfortable in that way. He might tease her, yes, but he'd know when to stop.
While holding the teacup in one hand, he typed a brief message with the other. In just a couple of hours, he had texted more than he had in nearly his entire life and had acquired a newfound skill for typing on that tiny device.
Jane: "Needless to say, no one will ever know about this conversation. We'll delete the messages, and not a word outside of us. Also, there's no problem if you'd rather go to sleep."
Lisbon's response was immediate, a brief "Okay." The rational part of Jane told him to take this as an opportunity to end the conversation, focus on what he was doing before the first message, or maybe even speed things up by confessing something first. But he wanted her to set the limits, and he would adapt to them.
Lisbon: "I like your hands. When I lie in bed at night, I imagine that my hands are actually yours."
Jane set his tea aside, his heart racing as he read her message. He read it over and over, convincing himself that it had truly been Lisbon who wrote it. She had clearly surprised him—he'd give her that point. It was subtle, nothing obscene, but it must have taken all her willpower to send it. It went against her Christian upbringing, her strict adherence to rules, and probably her moral compass, to confess something like that.
And he didn't have words to describe how it made him feel. Knowing that she imagined his hands on her, touching her in ways he'd forbidden himself to even think about. Now, he was certain that all the time and energy he had spent avoiding such thoughts about touching her, or doing a thousand other things, would be wasted.
Knowing that she lay in bed, touching herself while imagining that it was him doing it, was something he wouldn't forget easily.
Jane: "Agent Lisbon! You've made me blush. But I must say, if you want my hands on you, all you have to do is ask."
He read his response several times, knowing it was just a tease. He didn't really believe she would accept. He was aware that just as he respected her boundaries, she would respect his. And for now, he couldn't allow himself to go beyond a conversation, although the reasons were no longer the same as they were a few years ago.
Jane knew that when they returned to work the next day, he could act normally around her. He would use biofeedback to erase any signs of nervousness or awkwardness she might have caused in him—he had experience with it. Especially since he became painfully aware of how her pants hugged her curves when she climbed stairs or how stunning she looked in the dresses she wore to BIC charity galas.
He was a lost man, a thirsty one in the desert, admiring from a distance the mirage of an oasis with the most delicious water of life he couldn't have. If he approached the oasis and touched it, it would vanish, never to be seen again. He was the thirsty man, and Lisbon was the beautiful oasis he could only admire from afar.
Lisbon, on the other hand, would blush every time she saw him—something he would take full advantage of and love. She would also feel ashamed and regretful at first, but later, their relationship would return to being exactly the same. They would go back to being themselves, with their confusing need for each other.
He finished his tea and lay back down. With his phone resting on his chest, he thought about what he would say because she wouldn't let it go that he still hadn't confessed.
He had a wide range of fantasies and dirty thoughts to confess, from something as innocent as admiring her while she worked to others that would make a prostitute blush. Usually, he didn't allow himself to dwell too much on them. In his other life, he had been a very sexual man. His sex life with his wife had been a fundamental part of their relationship. Both had been raised in a traveling carnival, where social norms played out a bit differently. Before her, sex had been a new area of manipulation to master—knowing how to take his partners to the limit, make them feel pleasure, and bring them to the edge without even touching them, making them desire him. Knowing what to say, when to act. All of it had made him a natural seducer when he wanted to be.
Almost ten years of celibacy hadn't made him lose his touch. A smile, a look, a light touch could still make a big difference, even outside the context of sex. Although his three favorite agents had become immune to his usual charms, he knew that even Lisbon, Van Pelt, and Hightower could fall under his spell if he put his mind to it.
Lisbon: "Of course, you would come. You'd probably run like a chicken before even touching me."
Jane: "Chicken? Oh, woman, you underestimate me. Let the record show that if it happened, I wouldn't be the one running like a chicken."
Lisbon: "Don't distract me; fulfill your part of the deal. Or was this just a trick to make me confess first?"
Jane: "I'm hurt that you think so poorly of me. If you knew the things I think about, you'd be blushing forever."
Lisbon: "Ugh, I suppose it's not strange that you have dirty thoughts. What I don't believe is that you have them about me. If you told me you had thoughts like that about Van Pelt or even Hightower, I'd believe it without a doubt."
Jane: "I sense a bit of jealousy in your words. I'm flattered that you're concerned about who occupies my fantasies."
Lisbon: "They're not jealousy. They're facts. You flirt with anyone you want something from: victims, witnesses, suspects, colleagues, bosses—YOU FLIRTED with suspects who turned out to be murderers."
Lisbon: "And with no intention of solving a case: you tried and insisted on asking Van Pelt out, you flirted—sorry, 'empathized'—with a widow who killed her husband over diamonds, and let's not even talk about Erica Flynn. At least we can agree that you clearly have a type."
Jane chuckled softly. The fact that she was so aware of his interactions with other women had always amused him. It was evident she paid attention, and a part of him stored each of those moments. And maybe, just maybe, sometimes he provoked them solely to see that little spark of jealousy in her. Stirring emotions in her was a pastime he greatly enjoyed and complemented his day-to-day life.
He knew she wasn't reproaching him for anything. If they had been face-to-face, she would've rolled her eyes and spoken in a firm voice but with the threat of a smile. Lisbon knew him well enough to understand none of it was serious, though at times she doubted, and it was more irritation than actual jealousy that drove her.
Jane: "And what would that type be?"
As he thought about what to confess, he walked back to his electric kettle. Another cup of tea would help him think. He reread the last messages, and if there was something he didn't like, it was the insecurity she hid between the lines, as if she wanted to highlight there was no comparison between her and other women. Something they both agreed on, apparently, but in very different ways.
Lisbon: "Mmm tall, blonde, stunning, voluptuous, and sensual?"
The water boiled at the same time her message arrived. As he prepared the tea, the image of a woman surfaced in his mind, but he pushed it back where it belonged; it wasn't something he wanted to think about at that moment.
The ideal woman Lisbon described only matched his deceased wife, but he was sure that wasn't who she had in mind when she wrote it. Although she would never admit it, Jane was sure her conclusion was the result of more than one analysis, and he wondered how much time she had spent thinking about what kind of woman attracted him.
Back on his makeshift bed, sitting cross-legged with his tea in hand, he thought about what to say next. He could tell her there were more important things than physical beauty, but he supposed that wouldn't help, and he wanted her to know that, besides being the most important person to him, she was also the most beautiful. That he dreamed of seeing and touching what her clothes hid from him. That he would blush just from seeing what her body did to his.
Jane: "Maybe, more than 10 years ago. When I was a hormonal teenager. Nowadays, I don't have a type—I don't need one because I'm not looking for women in the first place. Secondly, there isn't a woman, no matter how blonde, tall, or voluptuous, who occupies my fantasies more than my small, very well-proportioned, sexy homicide detective."
He left that "my" intentionally to make his point clear. Oh, how angry she would be about the "small" part. Outside of the BIC, she had an average height, but in the office, surrounded by tall and big officers, she looked smaller, more fragile. And it was a contrast he loved; her appearance screamed tenderness and fragility, but it was only a façade. Just one look, one order, and her authoritative, imposing tone made even bigger men step back. Not to mention her physical strength, skill, and marksmanship—she was his knight in shining armor.
Lisbon: "You still owe me a confession."
"Ugh," Jane sighed, amused. The coward had blatantly changed the subject. He knew she was lying on her bed, with the glow of her phone screen as her only light, completely blushing, wondering why this conversation was still happening. She would be wearing one of her brothers' oversized shirts as pajamas, without pants—she didn't usually wear them.
He finished his tea and picked up the phone to type. A mischievous smile spread across his face as he wrote. He would be vengefully generous.
Jane: "I'll be kind and share two dirty thoughts I have about you."
Jane: "When we're in your office, and why not in public too, whenever you start scolding me with boring rules and protocols, I feel like silencing you...with my mouth and tongue. While I touch you until you forget what you were talking about. And if you want to know how that fantasy ends, usually with you on your desk."
Jane: "Ever since I first woke you up in the middle of the night while on a case, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you in your pajamas, with nothing underneath. About how easy it would be to touch you and undress you. About how exciting it would be to see you trying not to make noise because the rest of the team is in the rooms next door. I wonder if you'd bite the pillow to keep from screaming."
Jane: "Right now, you're wearing one of those oversized pajama sweaters. Only in your underwear, those modest cotton ones fitting for a good Catholic girl. And my previous messages affected you more than you thought, so you couldn't help but let your hand wander there, slowly, feeling guilty because you know I'm on the other end of the phone, but you prefer to imagine I'm there, that it's my hand sliding down your stomach and slipping under the fabric."
Lisbon: "DAMN YOU, JANE!"
Back in the present (the next day)
Jane lay calmly on the couch as he shamelessly watched Lisbon.
"Don't smile like that," she scolded without looking at him, her face completely flushed. Jane wasn't sure if it was because of the content of the messages, the realization that she had written half of them herself, or the memories of the brief phone call they had shared, during which he told her what to do with her hands, pretending they were his. They hadn't spoken; they had just listened to each other's soft sounds as they reached their climax, imagining it was another's hand touching them. He figured it was a combination of all three.
"Smile like what?"
"Like a hungry wolf," she said, rolling her eyes and glaring at him, though the blush was starting to fade. Jane's phone, which Lisbon was holding, began to ring—an unknown number.
"Let it go. If it's important, they'll call back," he said, rising from the couch with a fluid motion. He sat down in front of Lisbon as she gave him a questioning look. "I know we said we wouldn't talk about this, but… Don't interrupt me, woman. I just want you to know—though I feel it's unnecessary to say, because I know you already know—that I'll never breathe a word about this. I won't do anything to jeopardize your career or reputation. And you shouldn't feel ashamed of your thoughts—they're natural. Besides, it's not like you have much of a life outside of work, so it's normal for you to fantasize about me. I'm your best option. And it goes both ways—deep down, your subconscious knows you're reciprocated, and that's what allowed you to imagine things further. Otherwise, you wouldn't have imagined anything beyond a kiss, if that. It would be weird if you had those thoughts about Rigsby or Cho," he concluded with a mock shudder.
"Um... thanks?" she said as Jane left his chair and pretended to head for the door. At the last second, he closed it and walked back to Lisbon's desk, placing his hands on the table and leaning in as close to her as possible.
"But now I'm certain of two things," he said with one of his big smiles—the kind that always guaranteed trouble. "First: I'm sure your sounds are very quiet. Outside your office, they wouldn't be heard. Second: I'm sure the thing that makes you moan so softly is shame. So, I wonder, what would it take to make you scream?" The moment he finished speaking, he turned to leave the office.
"Shut up, Jane!" she yelled, grabbing an eraser from her desk and throwing it at him, hitting him squarely in the head.
"Such violence," he complained dramatically, rubbing the spot where she had hit him.
"Boss, we have a case," Van Pelt said, walking into the office and bumping into Jane, who was still exaggerating his complaints. "Jane, Rigsby said he sent you an urgent message."
"Oh, Lisbon has my phone," Jane said, hoping the redhead would ask why, just to see Lisbon's reaction.
"I'm helping with some settings."
"Really? I can handle it," Van Pelt offered, always eager to help.
"Of course," Jane said with a smile.
"No!" Lisbon almost shouted as Jane remained completely unfazed. "I'm done with it anyway. Did you say something about a case?"
"Uh, yes, boss, but…" Van Pelt glanced at Jane, who pretended not to notice. Since when was he excluded from case briefings? Was it something to do with Red John? No, he was always informed about those, even if Lisbon didn't agree. Maybe it was a matter of higher security? No, Van Pelt wouldn't have been the one to deliver the message in that case. "The boss said I could only tell you, and you could share it with the rest of the team."
He was part of the team too! He found it insulting that they were practically asking him to leave the office—a space that wasn't technically his, but where he spent most of his time. He had seniority rights!
Van Pelt looked nervous and avoided meeting his gaze, but in the brief moments he caught her expression, he saw pity. He wondered if it was something related to him, and that Hightower's reason for telling Lisbon first was to prepare her to deal with him. After all, if it were something truly urgent, Hightower would have come to speak to her directly. He considered pulling a trick to get Van Pelt to spill, though it didn't seem necessary.
"This deeply offends me, but I'll leave. And when Van Pelt leaves, I'll be back for you to tell me everything," he said with a fake smile before exiting the office and closing the door behind him.
"What's going on?" Lisbon's expression lost all trace of amusement or embarrassment. It didn't take a psychic to see that Grace was nervous—sad, even. Adding to the secrecy, Lisbon wondered why, if it was so important, Hightower hadn't come to speak to her directly.
"We have a problem, boss," Van Pelt said hastily, nearly running to sit in front of her, handing her a folder. "Two days ago, a woman was found wandering disoriented around Santa Helena. Some kids found her and offered help. She was terrified, telling them a bad man had kept her captive for many years. She was shaken and kept insisting the man would find her."
"Kidnapping? Unless it's connected to one of our homicides, I don't see why the case was referred to us."
"It's not really ours, not by jurisdiction or anything. But Hightower pulled a lot of strings to get it for us. She wanted to tell you herself, but had to leave urgently. And since Jane was here, she didn't want to say anything in front of him—she knew he wouldn't leave if he saw her here…"
"Van Pelt, just tell me. I don't need to be Jane to see how nervous you are."
"When the police arrived, the woman fainted, so she couldn't tell them anything. But they took her fingerprints and ran blood tests. It turned out no one was looking for her because she wasn't missing. She was supposed to be dead. According to her fingerprints, she's Angela Ruskin."
I hope you liked it. Regarding the ending, when I said this fic was something quick and simple, I lied. The idea started with the ending; it was supposed to be something that explored Jane and Lisbon's relationship during the fifth season, post-episode 5x20, and then introduce the plot involving Angela's appearance. But this didn't go the way I expected, and it ended up being something much lighter and a little out of place. However, I kept the ending because I really wanted to present that possibility to you—what if Angela were somehow alive? And I doubt I'll actually make a separate fic because I'm working on two other ideas, so it just stayed here