A/N: Here's chapter 2 and 3; thanks for commenting! The last scene of chapter 2 is M-rated so skip that if you're not into that.
Chapter 2: I replay my footsteps
His fingers were shaking as he was trying to put the photos back into the folder. Apart from the wrongness of looking at them, a moment so intimate, he felt a panic surge through him which he had not experienced in a long time.
He got his phone out of his pocket, dialing the speed dial to reach her, and the familiar voice mail greeted him: This is Teresa Lisbon. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message after the beep. He shuddered; the similarity of the situation a little over two years ago baffling. His pulse sped up, his fingers going clammy clasping the phone. It couldn't be - she was just there - he had just wished her a good night, he had just kissed her. He hadn't even tasted all of her. He halted his thoughts there; she was not gone. He just needed to find her.
He took a few breaths to remind himself Cho had said she was out with Fisher. He looked around for the familiar eyes of the Asian man to help him. Cho was working at his desk.
"Cho! Where did they go? What did Lisbon receive?"
"An envelope like yours. Are you ok? What's in it?" Cho turned in his seat, seizing Jane up.
"We need to get a hold of her asap. Call Fisher, I'll try Lisbon again."
He was thankful for Cho in this moment; their familiarity made that he called Fisher immediately without asking any more clarifying questions or demanding answers. Calling her again, he was met with the same message as a minute earlier. He felt the need punch something grow. Where was she?
He looked over at Cho, who had no luck either.
"We need to know their -" he began.
"Location, got it. Wylie?" Cho called out in the bull pen. "We need a location on Fisher's vehicle and both Fisher and Lisbon's phones."
Wylie's head shot up from behind his computer and went to work. Jane prepared to leave the office, to get on the road so he could get to Lisbon as fast as possible, but was stopped by Abbott just entering the bull pen from his personal office. Abbott held up his hands to motion Jane to stop.
"They're both fine, Jane. Cho, Wylie - meeting at my office," Abbott motioned with his hands for the agents to follow them.
Wylie took a seat on the chair opposite Abbott's desk, Abbott sitting down as Cho and Jane remained standing. Jane had put the photos in his jacket pocket, and feeling private of this invasion of Lisbon's privacy, he had crossed his arms around his chest and chose to not to disclose the mail he had received.
"This morning, Agent Lisbon received an envelope in the mail containing sensitive photographic material in which she was pictured. It contained two candid photos of her in a private setting. Upon recognizing the background in the photo as her motel room, Fisher and Lisbon went to check out the motel to find and seize the equipment used to take the material," Abbott started.
Jane let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. She was OK, or at least, alive. He thought the photos were probably the same stills he had received; both of which were taken in a state of undress Abbott had diplomatically called 'private'. He felt the bile rising up his throat, thinking of Lisbon opening the mail and seeing these photos. What a gross invasion of her privacy, her safety. He could almost picture her horrified expression; she was such a private person. He wished he could hug her, wished he had been there for her, wished he had foregone the run to the bakery so he was there already when she came in that morning, giving her a naughty smile to tell her without so much as saying anything he'd been thinking about her all night. However, he ascertained, she probably would've been discomfited for him to see these photos. His wish to have been there with her were borne from his own growing exasperation; his own need to make sure she was OK.
"Fisher just checked in to say they have successfully done so, and they are still on the scene to interview the staff and check out the records. Forensics are on the scene to dust the room for prints."
Wylie gasped and shook his head, seemingly looking around at the other agents to affirm they were as shocked as he was, but Cho never reacted outwardly and Jane's tensed posture was probably invisible to him.
Abbott went on, "Cho - I need you to go to the scene to help them. Wylie, check in with forensics if you can start on the digital trace. Jane, you can stay here until they get back - make a list of people from your past at the CBI who you think have motive."
As Wylie and Cho left the office, Jane intending to follow Cho and join him, Abbott called him back.
"Jane, stay here for a second."
Jane ceased his motion for now, but he needed to get to Lisbon, to see her with his own eyes. Abbott should know he was going to go to her regardless of any 'orders'.
"What's going on?" Abbott said. "What do you know about this?"
"Nothing," Jane replied. He was about fifty percent honest with his boss at this point, which was better than his usual percentage. He did know nothing, apart from the obscured envelope he held in his jacket. It would do nothing to tell Abbott about this detail. Possibly, it would make Lisbon even more uncomfortable. So he chose not to tell him, feeling the need to protect what was left of her privacy.
"She's okay." Abbott said then, in part to comfort Jane, but possibly to get him to open up. Abbott was somewhat of a cold reader himself, Jane thought. He probably knew Jane was hiding something.
"Sure," Jane said, and then he turned around and left. He briskly walked to the elevator and cast his look to the bull pen and saw Cho was just strapping on his service weapon.
"You're coming." Cho stated as he reached the elevator.
Jane said nothing to this but nodded his head and looked to the floor, hands in his pocket, and was grateful for the man for not attempting to hold him back. He needed to see Lisbon.
"You also got the photos, didn't you," Cho asked him then, although Jane was sure Cho already knew the answer to his question; he'd seen Jane come in and fiddle with an envelope, after all.
"We'll get the sick bastard who did this to the Boss." Cho said.
The corners of his mouth turned up a fraction of an inch upon hearing this statement, appreciative of Cho's loyalty to Lisbon, of his unwavering drive to help her whenever.
They would get this bastard, indeed.
xxx
There she was, her back to him. She was talking to the receptionist. She was wearing one of her charcoal grey suits combined with her black boots. Her hair was shiny and loosely curled and Jane wondered momentarily if she'd kept it loose on purpose, knowing that he loved it most when she had her hair framing her face, whether she had thought of the fingers he'd raked through the strands the night before.
"So yeah, we're going to need all addresses and phone numbers from all of your employees," Fisher said with an air of authority.
He had to do his best not to touch her - this was not the moment. She did turn her head, locked eyes with him briefly and he almost came undone by the emotions conveyed in her gaze. It wasn't just anger, it was frustration, betrayal and a hint of powerlessness. But she turned to the receptionist again, not letting herself be overcome by these feelings. Oh, his sweet Lisbon.
After the interview, the agents caught up and Lisbon told them how they'd found a small camera mounted to the television set. She looked angry with herself when she explained she hadn't noticed the small device to be a camera, had just assumed it was part of the cable set installed to the television. She mentioned the forensic techs were sweeping her room and that she needed to go through her stuff, trembling as she concluded she needed to check whether anything else had been touched or had gone missing.
Cho echoed a similar sentiment to Lisbon as he had to Jane before about getting this guy and left for the receptionist to get all security tapes for Wylie to analyze. Fisher joined him, sensing they needed a minute together.
She didn't look at him anymore, walked purposefully across the parking lot to her room where the techs were finishing up dusting for prints. After they left, she methodically moved through the room and Jane hesitated to reach out to her.
His eyes were fixed on the television; the vantage point from which the photos were taken. He understood it immediately; they gave the most intimate view of the bed. He felt the bile rising up again.
x
She went through her stuff, most of it in her suitcase, some shirts and jackets hanging in the closet. As she inspected the room, she studied his glances and she knew then that he had seen the photos, his gaze moving from the television to the bed. She felt the tears threaten to spill. She hadn't cried just yet, but the realization that he had seen her like that - the vulgarity of the images - it angered and embarrassed her.
She retreated into the bathroom, looking for all her products. She saw herself in the mirror. She looked white, she thought. Her eyes shone - the tears brimming to the surface, but her hair was still neatly combed and styled. She had kept it down today, loosely curled it, reasoning she wore it down most often, that it had nothing to do with the way Jane had touched it so appreciatively the night before, but she knew he would know better. She concluded she still looked like a professional FBI agent, not the violated woman she felt. She cast her eyes downward, realized she gripped the sink so tightly her fingers started to hurt from the hold.
x
Lisbon had gone into the bathroom and he hadn't heard her anymore. He found her looking down, hunched over the sink, and he suddenly couldn't keep his distance anymore. He touched her shoulder to let her know he was there. She jolted at his sudden touch and he apologized immediately; she looked panicked.
"I can't find my toothbrush," she said. "I've looked everywhere - it's not here. Everything else is here. What does it mean?" her breath came shorter as she uttered the words.
He cupped her face with his hand and said, "It's going to be OK, Lisbon. We'll get him."
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and for a moment she leaned into his comfort, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. Her shoulders sagged. A tear escaped from her eye, and he brushed it away, approaching her. She searched for his gaze, now standing so close that he could smell her, and he leaned in to envelope her in a hug, but she turned, ending their contact.
"I know. I'm not afraid."
Fisher's voice came from the door then, telling them they were done and going back to the office.
xxx
In the car Jane had kept sneaking glances at Lisbon, but she'd ignored his gaze, looking out of the window. Fisher had felt uncomfortable and kept silent, so the ride had been spent in a tormenting silence. He wondered about her retreat from his touch earlier, whether he had pushed her the previous night, going further than she was comfortable. Maybe she was trying very hard to maintain the artificial barrier between her private and professional life as she'd always done. A boundary which Jane never respected, he thought soberly. The boundary was probably also a way of keeping her safe for so long, Jane realized; safe from hurt, his hurt. It must have been especially hard for her to receive these very private photos at work; to be the subject of the investigation, to have to subject herself to the scrutiny of her team, to have her personal life combed through and made visible. His heart constricted.
If Abbott cared Jane had disobeyed his orders, he didn't tell him as they all returned from the scene. Rather, Abbott went to Lisbon's desk as she sat down to ask her if she could take another look at the photos to ascertain a specific date they would have been taken to narrow down the search. Jane saw her flinch slightly, but it was so subtle he was sure no one else caught it.
x
As she looked through the photos, she realized she had no idea when they were taken. The underwear she was wearing was one of the few sets she'd brought, living out of her suitcase. She went to the laundromat twice in the past two weeks, waiting to have her belongings shipped until she'd found a place. She shuddered thinking the camera might have been there for more than a week already.
She had been feeling Jane's eyes on her from the moment they left the motel; he was clearly worried about her. It made her uncomfortable. He meant well, she knew that, he must have been so terrified, too, but the concern for her, being the subject of his sole focus, made her jumpy. Jane could be a tad obsessive in his concerns, that was all. She needed a breather.
As she made her way from the office to the rooftop, she looked at him as if to say: don't follow me, please. And he didn't.
x
The day went by slowly as they didn't have enough leads to follow yet. Jane spent the afternoon on his couch, going through the room in his memory palace that held all the information on all the cases they had worked at the CBI. Of course he had fashioned the palace in the lay out of the bull pen. As he ventured through the items on his old desk; the desk lamp reminiscient of the stage light in which he was caught as he had set up Panzer, the air conditioner in the corner of Chad Carmichael, the drug dealer who had killed police chief Marnie Green. It was the case when he had first met Lisbon's brother; Tommy. It was the only time he'd ever met her family. Thinking of her, he moved to her office in his memory palace. There was the paper frog, the one he'd given her as an apology after they he had wrecked havoc in the Wagner case, as he usually did. The poker cards, the tequila bottle after Bosco's murder, there was so much here.
Lisbon's arrival back to her desk interrupted his journey. He noticed her eyes were tinged just the slightest bit of red. She went to work without talking to him but gave him a small smile. He got up and came back with another coffee for her and the bear claw he'd gotten for her that morning.
"Thanks," she said softly, almost apologetic.
"It's alright, Lisbon," he said to let her know he was not angry with her at all. She had nothing to be sorry for.
At the end of the day, after a hasty takeout meal consumed by the team, Wylie announced the camera footage of the past week hadn't turned up anything yet. Cho and Fisher had spent the day checking records of employees, finding nothing so far. Forensics came back negative; no prints or other material found in the room apart from Lisbon's DNA.
Abbott told them all to go home. They would all perform better when rested, he argued. He had arranged a protective detail for Lisbon to be stationed at her new motel. He was right, though Jane wondered how much sleep he was going to get - how much sleep Lisbon would be getting. One thing was clear, he would need to be close to her. The day's beginning had spooked him. The briefest moment where he didn't know where she was, whether she was okay, had been so similar to that moment two years ago when Red John had violated her pretty face, that he had been worried for the rest of the day. He was off his game - his search through the memory palace coming up empty. And he thought she needed the company too, even though she would never admit to that. She might not even consciously want the company, but she was allowed to be the one who was taken care of sometimes. And he wanted to take care of her.
"Stay with me," Jane asked. "Please." He wondered whether he should manipulate her by saying it would be the safest place, stationed near the FBI, but decided against it.
Against his expectation, she gave in without even pretending to put up a fight. No arguments about the team knowing, or about the cramped space, or about needing space.
She must have been really spooked, he thought.
xxx
"You take a shower. I'll make some tea," he said as he let her in.
She didn't say anything as she opened her bag on the table they'd had dinner at the night before, got out her toiletries and clothes and walked to the small bathroom. He was not worried yet by her silence; she would need a moment to gather her thoughts. When he heard the shower turn on, he tried not thinking of her pale skin, naked, in his shower. Would she be the type to squeeze his soap bottles, smelling him, something he would definitely do were the roles reversed. He distracted himself by checking whether all the windows had been locked. He closed all the blinds and waved to the agents stationed in the patrol car in the lot. Abbott had insisted on them being there even though they were practically at the FBI.
He undressed and opened the drawer under the bed to put on his pajama bottoms and a soft cotton t-shirt. He made up the couch into a bed and put fresh linen on them. He got an extra blanket from the cupboard above it and he put it on the little bench attached to the table. He would sleep there if she wanted him to.
He was making tea when she got out from the shower. She came to stand next to him, smelling of the same soap as the night before, now familiar to him. She was wearing yoga pants and another one of her oversized CBI t-shirts.
"You have anything stronger?" she asked.
He proceeded to pull a bottle of whisky from the cabinet under the sink and waved it at her.
"Glasses are above the sink," he said as he walked to the bed. He wondered if sitting on it would be too presumptuous, but he wanted her to be comfortable, to be able to rest.
"I know," she said, and he remembered it was only last night that she had been here, too.
He poured them both a drink as she sat next to him, and he watched as she downed it at once and held the glass up to him again. He filled it again, and he was glad to see she only nipped at it this time.
Lisbon was looking down at her glass, Jane hesitant to touch her. They didn't say anything for a while, letting the amber liquid warm their throats. Her words, though spoken nearly almost inaudibly, pierced the silence.
"You saw the photos, didn't you?"
"I did. I-" he doubted whether to tell her he had received a copy, too, which he had put away in a drawer, feeling the knowledge might close her off again. Before he could speak, she interjected.
"I never wanted you to see me like that."
"I'm sorry," he said, and he felt difficulty keeping his face neutral. He felt sorry she had been violated, and a part of him was also wondering if what she said was true: if she hadn't wanted him like he wanted her.
Sensing his doubts, she continued, "I'm not saying this right. I mean I did want - I do want you to," she began, almost hesitant, "see me like that. I just imagined it to be in private, you know."
He felt his eyes well up, similar to hers. "Teresa -" he tried again, but this time she cut him off with a kiss. She pressed her whole body into his, nearly toppling him over with the force of her hands to his collarbones, her mouth to his. He quickly set his glass on the windowsill to be able to grab hold of her, too. His hands came to rest at her waist and for a moment he let her explore him feverishly, let himself be comforted by her. She pushed her tongue inside his mouth and her hands came up to his neck, stroking the curls on the back of his head. She tasted warm like the whisky they had and a little minty. She had probably already brushed her teeth.
His hands moved under her shirt, tracing circles on her lower back. He moved one hand to the back of her head, caressing the base of her skull to comfort her. He placed small kisses on her cheeks and tasted salt. She was crying now, he realized.
"Teresa," he said as he broke off the kiss but not their contact, wanting her to look at him. "We will have that moment. I promise."
She nodded, "Yeah, we will," and to his surprise she pulled away from him a little to pull her t-shirt over her head to reveal herself.
She was half bare before him, face serious, watching his reaction. A part of him wanted to look away; this was not the right time, but he couldn't help his eyes roaming over her. Her skin looked alabaster in the soft light coming from the sink. He saw the faint scar on her left shoulder from the bullet wound that she'd obtained all those years ago and traced his finger over it before cupping her breast almost involuntarily. As his thumb brushed over her nipple she shivered, biting her lip.
"So beautiful," he commented, and he realized she needed the confirmation he still wanted her, and he needed the confirmation she was alive.
He proceeded to move his fingers in a circular motion over her now hardened nipple. He bent forward and put the tip in his mouth and she gasped a little. His tongue repeated the circular movements his thumb had made moments before, sucking her softly. He then pressed a kiss on her sternum, before kissing her mouth again, his one hand covering her breast, the other in her hair.
"Touch me," she said, and he obliged.
His hand on her breast traveled over her stomach and he flattened it to move it under the waistband of her pants, stroking her softly over her underwear. He kissed and stroked in a rhythmic manner and he felt her breath come in bursts. He put his fingers on the elastic of her panties, tugging the fabric down, wanting to feel her naked flesh.
She leaned backwards, on her elbows, her breasts bouncing a little because of her movement. It was mesmerizing. She lifted her hips, motioning for him to slide the material down her legs. As he touched the fabric over her buttocks, he studied her eyes intently, looking for signs they were moving too fast; whether this was a bad idea.
"I'm OK, Jane. I want this. You."
Her hair was still a little damp, splayed over her shoulders, now messy from his caresses. The ends almost touched her nipples, the dark curls providing the most enticing contrast to the creamy white of her skin. He saw her eyes were glazed, and then he moved her pants over her calves and pulled her to him, kissing her once more.
Her hands moved under his shirt, motioning him to put it off, too, and he did so. Her hands roamed all over his chest while he found her soft curls below, stroking her wetness.
He pushed them down on the mattress, wanting her to lie down. As he hovered over her, her lying on her back, he stroked her and kissed her mouth, tracing his other hand over her jaw. He groaned in her ear a little when hers came to stroke his erection over his pants.
"Let me, Teresa," he said as she squeezed him, wanting to focus his attention her alone, which was going to be difficult if she continued touching him like that.
With the hand he had been using to caress her he grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers. She groaned a little at the loss of contact on her wet skin, feeling the wetness from his fingers now touch hers. He squeezed her hand and guided it back to safe territory on his waist before moving his back to her sex, dipping one finger in her as he pushed his tongue in her mouth again.
"Oh," she said as he broke off the attack on her mouth, letting her catch her breath.
He continued his touches with his hand, now dipping two fingers inside her, moving them in and out while circling his thumb over her clitoris. He watched as her eyes rolled back into her head, her breath coming in shorter pants.
It was only a short time before he felt her convulse around his hand, her hips jerking. He slowed his movements, his fingers leaving her, resting on her hip bone. She opened her eyes again and as her breath slowed, he saw tears roll from her eyes into her temples.
"I'm sorry," she said, as she wiped them away.
"It's okay," he affirmed, but wondered again if he had taken it too far.
He lied down next to her on his side and pulled the blankets of the bed over them. He rested his hand on her hip again, tracing slow circles on her skin. He kissed her jaw, inhaling her scent.
"I don't regret this, Jane," she whispered. "I wanted it. I'm just a little overwhelmed, I think."
"I get it, Teresa. It's okay. I love you," he murmured.
She turned at his words, coming to lie on her side as well. She looked up at him, her eyes big.
"I'm sorry," he began, realizing she was not the only one overwhelmed. But it was the truth, he loved her. "I didn't mean to unnerve you. I'm in love with you, but I didn't plan to tell you like this-"
She interrupted his apology with a small kiss of her own. "I'm in love with you, too," she confirmed.
They both grinned at each other. She laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him. He pressed a kiss on top of her head.
After a while, he heard her breath even out as she fell asleep. He waited a little until he quietly slipped from the cover to relieve himself.
He splashed some water on his face and then went back, sitting down in the booth beside the bed. He couldn't sleep. He watched her chest rise and fall, whimpering softly in her sleep. He had to find who was doing this to her, and fast.
Chapter 3: can we just get a pause?
She woke up feeling cold. She tugged the sheet higher over her bare shoulders and realized she was naked, and then it came back to her: kissing Jane, her asking him to touch her, the way he had held her, his confession. I'm in love with you. A part of her wondered whether they had moved too soon, whether she had let the heightened state of her emotions make her behave irrationally. She'd only been working with him for a month now, having seen him for the first time in two years just four months ago. Then again, they'd known each other for more than a decade, and if she had to admit it to herself she had been love with him for nearly half that period. His letters to her had contained the hint of feelings, his hugs upon her return a touch of want. And then he'd cooked for her, cared for her. No, she concluded, this was inevitable. Scary, overwhelming, but inevitable.
She petted the space next to her, but felt the soft material of the sheet only. She opened her eyes and saw that he was not lying beside her - he was not in bed, at all. As she turned to her other side, her movements agitated, she could hear his voice, and then he sat beside her, his hand coming to rest over the sheet on her thigh.
"I'm here, Teresa."
She sat up, covering her chest with the sheet, and studied him for a moment. His hair was disheveled, as if someone had run their hands through it and she blushed remembering she had been the one to do that. He was wearing a shirt and pajama bottoms, the ones he'd already been wearing. She had never known him to wear pajamas of any kind, never seeing him in any other outfits than the suits he wore; nowadays sans vest. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all yet, his expression weary.
"Were you up?" she asked, looking around for her shirt, feeling uncomfortable in the juxtaposition; too vulnerable.
"I couldn't sleep," he admitted, and he picked up her shirt from the end of the bed and gave it to her.
"Thanks," she said as she put it on. "What time is it?"
"A little past three."
She nodded and calculated she'd slept for a little over two hours, then made to move from the bed, needing to pee a little. He scooted over and let her out. She was bare underneath the shirt, barely covering her thighs, and on her journey to the bathroom she looked for her panties but couldn't find them.
"Uhm, have you seen my-" she started. He handed her the garment wordlessly.
"Thanks," she mumbled.
"Thanks" she repeated as she came out of the bathroom, "for being there, I mean."
"I want to be," he said as he handed her a steaming cup of tea he'd made while she'd been in the bathroom. As he sat in the booth, she scooted next to him, pressing her thigh against his. It was a cold place, the airstream, during the night. She wondered whether he would be opposed to another cuddling session. She had felt so comforted, so safe in his arms. She knew when it came to an actual confrontation it would be her who would do the protecting; she glanced at her gun now resting on the table in its holster as she took her first sip of the light green liquid - of course he'd made her some non-caffeinated tea.
"I will do my best not to let anyone harm you," he said, as if reading her thoughts. He was doing a lot of that in this moment, she considered. Did he gain access to another part of her now that he'd seen her naked? Had this situation left her more vulnerable to his suggestions? She shook off the thought immediately; she had wanted him to touch her. She felt guilty for even momentarily entertaining the thought he might have manipulated her. He wouldn't do that. Moreover, he had been able to read her for years now, she admitted to herself.
When she looked up she saw him studying her, a barely perceptible grimace crossed his features before turning back into a neutral gaze.
"I've been thinking about who could've done this," he said while running his fingers over hers. "Do you want to go over it?"
"Hmm," she affirmed.
"One option is Richard Haibach," he said, and her eyes widened at the realization. Of course, it was his M.O. He was a known stalker and photographer of girls. Moreover, he had been angry with them, with Jane, for losing his finger in the confrontation with Bob Kirkland. He had not been arrested as far as she knew. But why her? He'd been annoyed with her for her harassment of him (his words, not hers, she maintained he was a creepy pervert), but he had never shown any interest in women past legal age. Nor had he really shown any foreboding violent tendencies, she thought. But he had sworn vengeance as he'd been rushed to the hospital. If anyone, it would be Jane he'd target, Jane was the one who was partly responsible for him losing the finger.
"Because he probably also knows that the way to hurt me is through you, Teresa," Jane began. "I-" his voice broke and he rubbed his face with his hand, combing it through his hair. "I can't lose you."
She realized then his disheveled appearance had less to do with her ministrations some hours ago and more with his nocturnal worrying. As he had done only a few minutes before, she now put her hand on his thigh, comforting him with slow movements.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jane," she said resolutely. "It's just some photos. It's creepy, yeah, but I'm safe. Nothing's going to happen to me," she said as she moved her hand from his thigh to his neck, smoothing his hairs. It was the truth, she thought, while she had been pretty shook by the invasiveness of the violation, she was unafraid of her physical safety. She was a trained police officer. She had her gun. They would figure it out.
He wrapped his arms around her as she sat next to him, his face now breathing in her neck, and he pressed a kiss to her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair, softly massaging his scalp. It was his turn now to be comforted. He looked up at her again and she could see his eyes were shining, as were hers. She moved to sit on his lap, her arms around his neck, his around her waist. She kissed him then, softly.
"There's other people I've thought about, what about Tommy Volker?" he asked.
"He's in federal prison, I already looked it up," she replied and kissed him again.
"Come to bed, Jane," she said, standing up and tugging at his hand for him to join her.
For the second time that night, they crept under the covers, Jane now spooning her from behind, entangling his legs through hers. She moved her foot in an up-and-down motion to soothe him, and he pressed tiny kisses to her shoulder. This time, both of them fell asleep.
xxx
They were not the first to arrive at the office the next morning, despite having spent the night in closest proximity to the FBI building. Lisbon put on the charcoal suit again, now with a cream blouse, and Jane kissed her softly before she could grab the handle of the door of the airstream. There was a lot he wanted to say and they had a lot to talk about, but right now all he could do was give her a kiss and solve this damn case so he could finally take her out on that proper date.
Wylie was already at his desk, going through the camera footage the motel had sent over.
"I'm making note of everyone who entered your room since your arrival," he said by way of explanation. "I'm timing their stay to see if there's anyone who spent more time there than the others, to uh, set up the equipment, obviously taking into account a standard deviation of the average time spent to account for their individual differences, of course," he rambled as he typed in the data.
"Thanks, Wylie," Lisbon said.
As the others got in, Lisbon asked Abbott if she could have some time to brief the agents of Jane's theory that it might be Richard Haibach. Fisher, Cho and the others went to sit on the black chairs, Jane sat down on his couch to the side.
x
"He was pretty annoyed with us, with me specifically, for holding him," she said as she informed the team of her connection to Haibach. "Then, about two years later, he was abducted by a Homeland Security officer because of a false identification as a suspect in the Red John case," she glanced at Jane then, thinking about what the mention of Red John would do to him.
She realized they hadn't really talked about all of that yet, had kept their conversations rather light until they were catapulted into this dreadful situation. She wished they'd discussed it, wanting to know what killing the man responsible for the horror done to his family had done to him. She knew, she had killed many people before, and it had changed her. He had already killed, too, she remembered, to save her. But she'd read the report - Thomas McAllister had died from asphyxiation. You couldn't just move on from something like that, she thought. Instead, they'd rekindled their friendship over dinner first and then .. became lovers? Partners? They had always been partners, although he had treated her like an annoying sidekick sometimes. It hurt to think about; all the lies he'd consciously told to keep her out. They definitely needed to talk.
x
Jane zoned out while Teresa was updating the agents on Richard Haibach. He felt nauseous watching the photos of the man being shown; he was positive there were some people who just oozed pervertedness out of their pores. Everything in Haibach screamed deranged person. Yet, he wondered how Haibach had figured out where Lisbon was staying - finding out she was in the FBI was easy enough, he supposed, but how had he found out about her motel? And who had he trusted enough with his sick scheme to put the camera there - he hadn't done that himself, that was for sure.
When she mentioned Red John, he saw her expression change from concerned to hurt, and he knew they definitely needed to have some conversations in the near future.
Before he could do anything, however, the mailman who had casually strolled in handed Jane another envelope before moving to the other offices. His eyes flew to Lisbon's, and hers to him.
He opened the envelope using the adhesive tear-off strip, the ripping sound hopefully masking the quickening of his breaths. He saw Lisbon approach, the rest of the team giving them a little privacy by hanging back.
There was another note. "Hopefully this provides as much enjoyment as my last present to you, Mr Jane. It did for me." Accompanying the note was a CD which had "Teresa" written on it in black sharpie.
Lisbon, now next to him, snatched the CD from his hands and walked away to one of the conference rooms to put it in her laptop. Jane followed her, put the note in his pocket.
The video began to play. It was dark, but the outline of objects were visible; a bed, the chair next to it. The same vantage point as the photos; it must have been the same camera. That was a relief, he thought. There was barely any sound except for her breathing.
As the video continued to play, the sounds of her breathing in the video picked up a little, becoming shorter, higher in pitch. Jane knew then what this video was, and after the first audible moan she figured it out, too. She shut the laptop with considerate force.
In an instant, she stood up and paced the room. "We need to find this fucking asshole," she said determined. "Now is a good time to tell me you have a plan, Jane."
In truth, he didn't. He hadn't figured out how Haibach had set up the camera system, how he had tracked her, and what they desperately needed now is to find out where he was. He wasn't even sure it was him; it sounded awfully clever for a man he had always cast aside as a simple pervert. It didn't fit, sending the material. Haibach kept his photos for his own enjoyment, but these were sent to unnerve her. And what about the notes? Was it to intimidate him, or did this person actually believe he'd enjoy the materials?
"This is not simple voyeurism; why else send it? He must want to see your reaction," he thought out loud.
"So he's close then," she said, still pacing the room. "Fuck."
He wanted to put a hand on her shoulder, but she was already in go mode, and left the room.
"Wylie," she called out, "see if you can analyze anything from this video. Please mute it."
And with that, she left the office. He would give her 10 minutes.
x
This person thought he could just film her and terrify her? She wasn't scared, she thought. She was embarrassed and angry and frustrated and felt dirty, but she wouldn't give him her fear. She walked up the stairs to the rooftop, and as the door to the stairwell fell closed, she heard it open again. It was probably Jane following her.
"I can't, Jane," she said with a hint of desperation in her voice.
"I thought coming here was a fresh start, that I could finally… I thought we…" she didn't finish her thought, a little too self-conscious still to speak her desires. He had told her he loved her, but it was all so new, so much between them still unspoken.
He came to stand behind her, put his hand under her jacket, tracing circles on her back. It was a semi innocent gesture, a bystander probably wouldn't think anything of it.
Furthermore, they had always touched each other like this; comforted each other, though he would always keep some distance in his approach. Partly because he knew she needed the layer of professionality in work settings to be taken seriously, but also because they had never veered beyond the line they'd unconsciously drawn between themselves. Now, they they were given another chance. She didn't want some pervert to come between them, and so leaned into his touch, letting it warm her.
"We'll have that, Teresa, I promise," he said resolutely.
"What did the note say?" she asked, now remembering the CD had come with some explanation.
His hand on her stilled then, and then was removed to retrieve the note from his pocket and he gave it to her.
"What's he talking about? Last present?" She turned, frowned, then eyed Jane.
"The photos," he said.
"But they were sent to me?"
"I received them, too, in a separate envelope. He sent them to me with a note about me liking them, too, I-"
"What the fuck, Jane, why didn't you tell me?"
"I was going to, I was. But I didn't want to upset you more, and-"
"Not telling me is what upsets me, Jane. You should have told me," she said, and then walked away from him again.
xxx
As they'd come downstairs to the office, Wylie had found Haibach still lived in California, but he did have a sister who lived only two hours away in Brownwood, Texas. He informed them Hazel hadn't shown up on any of the videos he had analyzed. He also said he hadn't been able to trace any of the data yet on the video, but his analysis of time spent at Lisbon's room had resulted in a name of the cleaner who'd spent more time in the room than the average cleaning took.
"Let's move fast on this, people," Abbott began, "Cho, take Jane to find the cleaner. Fisher, you and Lisbon go to see what Hazel Haibach's been up to. I've asked the Sacramento department of the FBI to go to Haibach's residence in Fresno."
He felt uncomfortable leaving without Lisbon, yet knew she wasn't in a mood to talk to him, anyway. He had made a mistake not telling her, he knew. He told himself he just hadn't come around to it yet, but he wondered whether he was lying again. Maybe he was incapable of being completely truthful with her - he'd prioritized her safety over the truth more than once, even if it made her hate him. He still would.
xxx
The address for Tamsin Povo, the cleaner, had been bogus. They were led to an apartment where, according to the resident, no one lived there by that name. After some prodding, Jane was certain the woman opening the door had nothing to do with it and they had left for the office again.
It was suspicious though, a cleaner with a false home address - so Wylie went to check out this Tamsin woman.
And then it was just Jane and his thoughts as he settled on the couch with a cup of tea. Fisher had called before to tell him they'd arrived at Hazel Haibach's house, but they wouldn't be back for hours.
He wondered about the sexual component of both the video and the photos they had received; a pervert like Haibach was definitely sexually interested in women, but he had usually chosen more vulnerable targets, teenage girls who had no idea of his gaze. Moreover, his interest in Lisbon had never been sexual, she'd been far too dominant and confident for a guy like Haibach to be interested in. It made no sense. The other sexually motivated suspects they had ever come across were in lock up or dead, he reasoned, so it had to be him. He quickly canceled the idea that it might be someone they were unfamiliar with, as the notes had definitely been personal enough to imply some sort of acquaintance with them both.
He went back to the woman who might have an answer, Tamsin Povo, whom they hadn't been able to find yet. What an odd last name; there must be few people with that name - so any would have to be related to her. Maybe they should check other Povos, or assume the name was an alias. Who would choose such a convoluted name as an alias? That was unintelligent, and Jane was sure this person had some of that to be able to pull off sending material to the FBI without any trace.
He asked Wylie to pull anyone with the name, and at that moment Lisbon called him.
"She says she doesn't know where he is, and I believe her," she said without any sort of greeting. Not that he was expecting any, but it would've been nice to hear her throaty 'hello' once more.
"Do you want to take her into custody? I might be able to weasel something out of her," he offered.
"We're competent officers, Jane."
"I know that, I'm sorry, I just want to help," he said.
"Besides, we don't have anything to bring her in. She won't come voluntarily, so we'll just leave for now," she said, and he thought he could hear the resignation in her voice.
Before he could say anything else, she had ended the call. He threw the phone on the couch and got up again to make another cup of tea.
xxx
Many cups of tea and restroom breaks later, he finally saw the elevator open again and Lisbon and Fisher stepped out. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when she became visible, her shoulders slightly slumped and face looking tired.
Fisher went to Abbott's office, and Lisbon sat down on her chair by her desk, turning to him.
"I'm sorry, Lisbon," he began, knowing she might not want to talk about it, but he just had to let her know he was sorry for adding to the hurt and frustration she was dealing with.
"I can't talk about it now," she said, her voice smaller and devoid now of the frustrated energy that had fueled her this morning.
She looked down, and he held himself back from enveloping her in a hug.
"I've checked into another motel," she said then, looking up but avoiding his eyes.
"Fisher went with me, we made sure it was safe. We have stationed agents outside. I-" and then she finally met his eyes again. "I just need some space."
He nodded and drew a hand over his face.
"May I drive you there?" he asked, wanting to ask to come over but knowing she would definitely consider that to trespass the boundary she had just put up. However, he couldn't just let her go, and he knew she wasn't adverse to him - it was just that Lisbon tended to retreat in moments of emotional conflict, and he would let her, a little.
"Sure," she said.
Abbott and Fisher came to the bullpen then, announcing that Richard Haibach was not at his residence, nor had he been located yet. The Sacramento department was prioritizing finding him, and they would just have to focus their attention on this cleaner, Tamsin Povo.
x
They left the office at nine, having eaten a sandwich from the cafeteria in lieu of dinner, and he drove her to the motel in silence. They hadn't found Tamsin Povo yet, not finding any relatives either. It was definitely sketchy, but after going to the motel again to interview the owner, they had found Tamsin was a temp worker and hadn't been spotted there, since.
So, at nine, she drove to her new motel while he sat beside her. When they arrived, he grabbed her hand before she could exit the vehicle.
"I really only wanted to keep you safe, Teresa," he tried again, willing her to understand. He felt the tears well up in his eyes again, noticing how he was less and less able to mask his feelings within her proximity now.
"I don't need you to do that. I need you to be honest with me."
She had turned to him and hadn't retreated her hand, which he took as a good sign.
"I know that now, Teresa, I'm really sorry."
It was the only thing he could offer her.
"I'm not giving up on us, Jane. You might be a massive idiot, but I did come here to be with you."
She squeezed his hand, and the weight he felt on his chest lifted a little. He gave her a small smile.
"You did?"
"Now don't go fishing for compliments. I'm still mad at you," she began, and then she smiled, too, and leaned in closer. "See you tomorrow."
She kissed him lightly on the lips, taking him by surprise, and she was already half out of the car before he could respond.
He left the car too, following her to her motel room door, and spun her around to kiss her again, keeping his hands on her waist to prevent her from escaping.
"Good night, Teresa," he said, and he waited for her to open her door to scan the room for its safety before walking to the car again.
He stayed in the car until he saw her lights turn off and stayed after that, too.
xxx
She saw his car in the parking lot a few cars down from the patrol car assigned to watch her, and shook her head. She might as well let him sleep here, she thought, that way he would actually get some desperately needed sleep. But she also felt they had moved very fast in the past 24 hours, and she was overstimulated from all the emotions she had gone through - she needed some space, she told herself again.
Two hours later, in bed, she turned to her other side for the umpteenth time, feeling cold and uncomfortable in the cheap sheets, and came to the realization she wanted him next to her, even if she was a little mad at him and they needed to have a good conversation about lying and manipulation. Again. She scolded herself for being so weak, but grabbed her phone to text him anyways.
As she rolled over to grab her phone from her nightstand, she heard a noise outside of her door and went for her gun, instead. Creeping slowly to inspect the disturbance, she stood next to the door with her gun raised, taking quiet breaths but finding it difficult because of her raging heartbeat and peeked out of the curtains to see what was causing the noise outside. A few hundred feet in front of her, she saw Jane advancing towards her. She let out a shaky breath. Reassured now, she put the gun down next to her on the table.
She turned around then, wanting to check herself in the mirror before he arrived. Don't be stupid, Teresa, she thought, he knows what you look like. But as she turned around in the dark, she felt a hand cover her mouth, while another arm wrapped around her waist. Instinctively she started kicking and screaming, hoping to do some damage and free herself from the grip. However, as she had to take another breath, she smelled a sweet, tangy scent. Chloroform. Shit. And then everything went black.