Chapter Text
The Invisible Red String
In East Asian folklore there is something called the Red Thread of Fate, or more colloquially known as “invisible red string theory”. It suggests that two people can be destined to meet and be together usually romantically through an invisible red string that connects them. There are different interpretations of the legend, for example the Chinese believe the matchmaker god ties red thread around the ankles of the two people whilst in Japanese culture, the thread is tied around the thumb of the man and the little finger of the woman. Clearly, the latter theory is concentrated on heteronormative relationships, but it’s still nice to think about, believing that some couples are just meant to be.
The colour red generally is one that’s brash and in your face, symbolising anger, and ferocity, and danger. It has the power to strike fear, especially when used by one of California’s most dangerous serial killers, but on the flip side it symbolises something much more beautiful. Love.
The string being red represents love, true love, the kind of love that’s always there, even when the string tangles. It never breaks though, even through the most unimaginable turmoil. That’s the magic of string, it can become tangled, but it will still be there, and it will still be string.
So perhaps fate does exist and two people meeting in seemingly unassuming circumstances, maybe even in circumstances that shouldn’t be positive, can lead to something truly wonderful.
“Mr Jane. I’m Agent Teresa Lisbon. You wanted to talk to me?”
“Hi.”
And that was that.
Cannon River, Washington – 2015
Life is… quieter now than before. There’s more of a routine, less chaos, and although in some ways Teresa Lisbon is thankful for that, she would be lying if she didn’t say she missed the thrill of the chase.
Cannon River is nice. It’s beautiful in places and the crime rate is low which makes things simple for her. She rarely has to work nights and only the odd weekend, allowing her various underlings to take over when she’s off the clock. She promised herself when she moved here that she would find hobbies, meet people, and enjoy long walks through the scenery but eighteen months in and most of her free time she spends in the four walls of her house.
To be truthful, the peacefulness is starting to suffocate her. However, in this moment, with Supervisory Special Agent Dennis Abbott of the FBI sitting opposite her, she misses it. “I don't know where Jane is, and frankly, I don't care.” She claims, her expression the definition of bemused.
“Well... You two were so close.” Is his retort, and it’s like he’s insinuating something, but it’s something she won’t entertain.
“It was a long time ago.”
Two years, one month, and eleven days to be precise. She’s not consciously counting it, but it’s like she can’t forget. How can anyone forget that day? The day when the world turned upside down. They never spoke about what would happen after… after Jane got Red John. Lisbon thinks they were both too scared to. In all the scenarios she had created in her head though, none of them involved her not seeing him again, not once.
It was the next day when she was played the voicemail he left her in an interrogation room. He was breathing heavily and sounded… not himself. “Lisbon… It’s over. It’s done. I just want you to know I’m okay, and I’m gonna miss you.” That was when it all became very real.
“When are you guys gonna give up chasing him?” She snaps at Abbott, frustrated that they are still doing so.
“Oh, we're the FBI we don't give up.” For a second, Lisbon thinks Abbott is about to concede and leave her to jet off back to wherever he needs to jet off back to, but then he hums and somehow leans further back in the seat. "Answer me honestly Lisbon...” Considering she’s not been honest at all during this whole interaction, that may be impossible. “Were you in a romantic relationship with Patrick Jane?"
But turns out she can be honest. "What? No." It comes out so quickly that he has to believe her, and not only because it’s true.
"But you were in a sexual one." He tries again and she doesn’t have chance to even deny it. "We have a witness from your old life at CBI who says so."
Witness? What witness? No-one ever found out, they couldn’t, they were nothing but careful. Yes, she is sure there were rumours about her and Jane. She saw the looks, heard the mutterings, but no-one should have had any reason to believe that she was in a sexual relationship with Patrick Jane.
Even if it is, was, true. "People love to gossip." She manages to play it off effortlessly though, her poker face firmly in place. "Are we done here? It's just I have stuff to do." Abbott smirks but does finally leave.
When Lisbon is alone again, she has the urge to scream out, to throw something against the wall. She eyes up the stapler on her desk, but she doesn’t go there, she manages to compose herself after a couple of deep breaths.
The agent’s words echo around in her head, the words ‘witness’ and ‘sexual relationship’ being the most prominent. She casts her eye over the clock on her desk and sighs. There are still several hours before she finishes for the day and even though she is the Chief, so she could in theory come up with an excuse to leave without being questioned, her moral compass won’t allow her to.
Every time she is in Abbott’s company, she hopes it’s the last. She wants him, Jane, to be left alone, to continue his life of freedom – even if that means their lives no longer being woven together.
Costa Mesa, California – 2010
Sometimes the teams’ expertise is required a little further than Sacramento. For this case, they are needed over 400 miles away in Costa Mesa. There’s not an awful lot to the case, they’ve only been pulled in following a request from a political power, which is probably why certain members of the group are treating their expedition to the coast as a bit of a vacation. Lisbon disproves, of course, but perhaps there’s nothing wrong with sharing a few nice meals amongst the daily drudge.
They’re eating tonight at an establishment that has a little something for everyone. Lovely food, specialising in seafood, good beer on tap, picturesque views of the waterfront from the outdoor patio, but inside there are old-style arcade games. They have had a great meal whilst discussing the case, working out the plan for the following day and now they’re relaxing before heading back to their motel.
Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt are inside, joking around whilst competing at various games whilst Jane and Lisbon are outside, finishing their drinks, looking out at the views. “There’s nothing better than the sea.” Jane comments, his blue eyes shimmering with a genuine joy that she likes to see. If only he was this content, this relaxed all the time. “Did you know that the Pacific Ocean covers more than 30% of the earth’s surface?”
“Makes you feel kind of small, doesn’t it?” Lisbon comments in reply just as a couple of men pass them, being sure to make it obvious that they find her attractive without saying as much, it’s almost as if their stares might eat her up. She shifts in her seat, re-positioning so she’s more obviously facing her partner, but she doesn’t look uncomfortable, nor does she look flattered.
“That’s one way to look at it I guess.” He murmurs, peering at the two guys over her shoulder who practically reek of pheromones.
Jane has known Lisbon for around six years, but he’s never known of a boyfriend in that time (or girlfriend for that matter). She holds her cards close to her chest on that front, but it wouldn’t surprise him if he learnt that she has plenty of offers. She’s intelligent, witty, attractive, even he can see that. She is also adept at keeping her private life private. He hadn’t even really thought of her as having romantic or sexual relationships until one Walter Mashburn strode into their lives. She took a shine to him, and he did to her. “Are you going to see him again?” Jane finds himself asking.
"Who?" Lisbon questions with a furrowed brow before taking a sip of her drink.
"Walter." She almost chokes on the liquid, but she just about manages to swallow it down, being sure to send a glower her consultant’s way. "Don't look at me like that. It's obvious that's where you were when you were late joining up with us." Her cheeks turn slightly pink then, a subtle yet present blush, but Jane looks away, down at his clasped hands on the tabletop. It’s rare for him to feel like he’s intruding, but in this case he is. "I'm not judging." He feels the need to add.
Lisbon leans back in her chair, letting the buzz of the alcohol mingle with the comfort of the moment. The sea air feels like a release, loosening something inside her that she normally keeps locked up tight. She’s usually so guarded, especially around Jane, but tonight feels different. He’s watching her, not pushing, just listening, and it makes her want to be honest. For once.
She thinks of her night with Walter, the lack of strings, the simplicity of it. She imagines her mother’s disapproving eyes, that strict Catholic upbringing where shame would’ve shadowed every moment of indulgence especially indulgence of this nature. But for Lisbon, it’s simpler this way with no commitment, no expectations, just pleasure on her terms. Being able to lose herself in someone, to mute the difficulties and horrors of real life. She knows it would scandalise her mother if she were still alive, her father too, but she has to live with that.
These one-night encounters give her a sense of freedom, without the baggage that comes with relationships. She shrugs, taking the last sip from her glass before answering. “It’s not really my style.”
“Oh?” Jane raises an eyebrow.
“It’s easier this way.” She says, green eyes flickering to meet his. “I’m not in the position right now to have a… boyfriend or whatever. I’m focusing on my career.” A small smile plays on her lips as she adds, “Plus babysitting you is a full-time job on top of that.”
Jane chuckles softly, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Fair enough.” He leans in slightly, more curious than anything else. “Why do you look surprised at my reaction? I’m really not judging you.”
The sincerity in his voice settles something in her. He means it. He isn’t judging, and she believes him, at least for tonight whilst she is warmed by drink. “Societal expectations of women. It’s nothing you’ve done.”
Sacramento, California – 2010
Jane lies on the worn mattress in his "thinking room”, staring blankly at the ceiling. He’s deep in a familiar spiral, overthinking every development in the Red John case. Everything circles through his mind like a whirlpool he can’t escape. His fingers absentmindedly trace a line on the mattress, grounding him in the room while his mind continues to wander. Then, a knock on the door breaks the silence. His brow dips as confusion flickers across his face. Who could that be?
They wrapped up a case earlier today, celebrated in their usual way with case-closed pizza, and then parted ways. If there was a new case, he would have been called. His instinct sharpens, but something feels off, unsettling. He sighs, reluctantly pushing himself off the mattress, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet as he approaches the heavy, sliding door. His hand hesitates on the handle for a split second before pulling it open. There, on the other side, stands Lisbon.
She doesn’t say anything. Jane’s eyes quickly scan her, instinctively reading the unspoken clues. She looks… off. Her skin is pale, almost grey in the soft light, and her usually sharp, expressive eyes are dull, as if she’s somewhere else entirely. The faint smudge of mascara under her eyes only amplifies her weariness. She’s dressed casually in black jeans and a leather jacket, far from her usual work attire.
This isn’t about work.
His chest tightens and his mouth goes dry. Lisbon never looks like this. “Lisbon?” he asks softly, his voice gentle, trying to draw her out of whatever dark place she seems to be lost in. But she doesn’t respond immediately, just stands there, distant, as if she’s still processing something too heavy to voice. “Has something happened?”
“Um.” Lisbon blinks rapidly as she finally snaps out of her dazed state, as though she’s just realised where she is. "Err, I don't know. I'm fine. Sorry, I don’t know why I came here." Her words tumble out, disjointed, almost as if they don’t belong to her. But Jane knows better. The way she’s standing, like she doesn't even remember how she got here, like her legs carried her without her mind's consent – something isn’t right.
He invites her inside, gesturing gently into the room. As he instinctively reaches to guide her, his fingers just brush her arm, she flinches. Jane steps back, his heart sinking. He pulls his hand away, motioning for her to sit on the chair by the window instead. “Please, Lisbon.” He doesn’t mind pleading if it means she stays so he can get to the bottom of what has happened. "Sit down. Talk to me. Whatever it is… you might feel better if you just let it out."
Lisbon looks at him, then at the chair, hesitating before she slowly moves to sit, curling into herself a bit, arms tight across her chest. Her gaze flits around the room but never really lands on anything, like she’s trying to keep her thoughts at bay.
There’s only the one chair in here, it is the room where he desires solitude after all, so now Jane has to work out where he’s going to sit. His partner is clearly not only upset but shaken, so he can’t be standing over her. He peers at the mattress but decides it is too far away and then at the desk but leaning on it so close to her would be wrong. It is then he spots the crate by one of the walls, he walks over to it and turns it over before taking a seat a few metres away from her. “You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. I can see it’s not. Please… tell me what happened.”
Her lips part, but it’s like the words stick in her throat. Finally, she takes a deep breath, her voice coming out in a whisper, shaky and uneven. “I… went out tonight, to a bar.” She avoids his gaze. “I just… needed something tonight, you know?” She pauses, and the silence in the room feels louder than ever. “Anyway, I met someone. Dave. He made good conversation, made me laugh and I thought… I thought it was going where I wanted it to go.” She runs a shaking hand through her hair, and he watches her close off, look down at her lap, gagged by the truth.
“Did he hurt you?” Hurt could mean many things in this scenario, and how she continues to avoid his gaze fills him with dread. “Lisbon, did he hurt you?”
She takes a shuddering deep breath and blinks away the tears, ignoring his question but she does continue. “We left together with to go… back to his place.” Her voice drops even lower, so much so that it’s difficult to hear her clearly. "But then he… he pulled me into this alley next to the bar. I-” Her breath catches, and Jane feels his pulse spike with fear. “I didn’t want it to be like that. Not out there, not so... open. But he didn’t care. He had no patience, it’s not like I didn’t plan to...” She shakes her head at herself, not quite believing she’s being this open with a man who constantly shuts her out. Regret will most likely hit her tomorrow, for more than one reason.
Lisbon swallows hard. Her hands are balled into fists in her lap so tightly that her knuckles are white. She’s pissed off and upset and ashamed. So many emotions hit her one after the other all whilst her mind replays the events of the evening in her head. It’s all so clear, until reaching here.
He was rough with her. She likes a little roughness in the bedroom sure, but once it’s discussed and boundaries are put in place. This was different, he was too rough, not listening when she told him to stop. He just kept pulling at her clothing and kissing her for sport, not because she mattered. It was terrifying. “Do you know what I was thinking about though?”
“What?” Jane replies, leaning forward with his elbow resting on his knees.
“About cases I’ve worked.” She reveals sadly. “The ones where it started like this for the victim… I should know better than to just hook up with strangers.”
“This isn’t you fault, Lisbon.” He tells her. “In this job, we see the worst of humanity. We can’t constantly be afraid that some of the things we see will happen to us.” And that’s coming from him, a victim. “What happened then?”
“I got free. Remembered who I was and what I do. A knee to the groin usually does the trick.” She ran so quickly, in no particular direction until thankfully she came across an empty taxi. “I-I don’t know why I came here. I should have gone straight home.”
“I am glad you came here.” She finally meets his eyes on hearing this, her face pale, her expression a mix of anger, shame, and fear. “You did the right thing. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” Suddenly it’s as if Red John doesn’t matter. He came into this focussed only on him and his cause, and now he has people who he cares about dearly. Despite what he may think, he’s not isolated even if he tries to isolate himself. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?” Lisbon sounds genuinely confused making him frown.
“Well you should tell someone.”
“No.”
"Lisbon, it's assault."
"No, I went out looking for it."
Jane is angered by her words for many reasons. One is that somehow, she is managing to put blame on herself. Another is that if a victim during one of their cases spoke these words, then she would be one of the first to reassure them that they have done nothing wrong. "You went out looking for sex sure. You didn't go out to have someone take advantage of you." Another reason is that anyone dared to lay their hands on her. "We could call one of our colleagues at SacPD, or I’m sure Bertram wouldn’t mind if we-"
"No." She interjects firmly, her voice strained as if she can’t think of anything worse than getting others involved. "I don't need everyone knowing that I sleep around."
"You make it sound so sordid. It's human. You have an itch that needs scratching just like the rest of us." This seems to make her eyes flicker, she’s shocked that he’s even suggested that he would have an itch that needs scratching. Jane chooses to ignore this though. "Teresa, there's nothing to be ashamed of." The use of her first name is almost too much and her eyes gloss over with unshed tears. "How about I drive you home?"
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask, I offered.” And then he stands up, showing that he isn’t going to take no for an answer.
On this occasion, she is happy for him to make the decisions because she currently cannot trust her brain to.
Palm Springs, California – 2011
She’s not been herself throughout this case.
Jane noticed it almost immediately after they arrived in Palm Springs. Teresa Lisbon, usually so sharp, composed, and unflinching, has been off since they landed. They’ve been here for days now, looking into the murder of a wealthy minor celebrity, a man with too much money, not enough privacy, and a long list of enemies. The case brought them out here from Sacramento when local police realised that they might be dealing with something bigger, and although it’s mostly routine, Lisbon’s focus has been slipping.
The rest of the team returned to Sacramento yesterday to work the case from there, leaving just the two of them behind, a decision she made herself. It’s clear she’s frustrated, but whether it's about the case or something else, he can’t quite tell. She’s withdrawn.
Even though they may be staying in some budget motel just outside the town, he decided to treat her to dinner at a golf resort where the victim used to play. He pitched it as a way to get more insight into how he lived, but the reality is he wanted the opportunity to talk to her, properly. If he hadn’t, then they would be eating takeout in their respective motel rooms.
She’s distant as she picks at her food whilst he leans back in his chair, studying her, his mind already turning over the possibilities of what could be on her mind. It could be the case he supposes, but it feels like something deeper than that. It’s been weighing her down and he hates her seeing her in this way. “Lisbon…” Jane says, his voice casual but probing, the usual glint in his eye softened by concern. "What’s on your mind? And don’t say the case."
Lisbon looks up at him and sighs. “I’m just tired. Can’t wait to be back home.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” He tells her but it isn’t anything he’s not said before. “You know you can talk to me.” Perhaps it’s unfair saying this, not-so-subtly reminding her that she came to his aid a little over a month ago, but how she deflates, gives him an indication that her behaviour is actually linked to that.
She doesn’t answer right away but when she does, her voice is low, hesitant. “Things have felt different since…” Jane watches her carefully, noting the way her posture shifts, the tension in her shoulders growing more pronounced. He remembers what happened about a month ago, he has thought about it a lot since even if he hasn’t tried bringing it up with her again. Lisbon is private, he was never going to push her into divulging personal information to him or anyone else. When she came into work the following day, she acted like everything was fine, but the cracks were glaring to him.
Lisbon takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and for a moment, Jane wonders if she’s going to shut him out again. “Since… well, you know.” But she doesn’t. “I’ve tried to… move past it but I just can’t.” He stays quiet, giving her the space to speak, and after a pause, she continues. “Hooking up with strangers, yes was for… gratification but it was also a way to deal with stress. It never felt complicated.” She bites her lip, eyes flickering down to the table. “But now it does. I just can’t, even though I want to.”
Jane experiences a pang of sympathy as he watches her. He knows how hard this is for her to admit, how much she hates feeling vulnerable. “That’s understandable, Lisbon. You were-”
“Don’t say it.” She interrupts, her jaw tight. “All I know is whenever I think about… going through the motions, I remember that moment. It’s driving me crazy. It’s like suddenly in that situation strangers are… strange, frightening.”
There it is, the weight she’s been carrying. He had suspected as much but hearing her say it aloud confirms it in a way that makes his heart ache for her. “It’s only been a month. Healing takes time, you can’t rush it.”
She lets out a frustrated laugh, her fingers rubbing at her temples. “I know that, but I hate feeling like this. Unfulfilled and vulnerable. It’s not a good combination.”
Jane watches her closely, the flicker of weakness in her eyes tugging at something deep within him. There’s a moment of silence between them, the sounds of the resort fading into the background as the weight of their conversation hangs in the air. He knows Lisbon, and has done for about six years, he’s very familiar with her toughness, her independence, but he also knows when she’s struggling, when she’s trying to bury something too deep for even her to handle alone.
The thought slips into his mind before he can stop it, something unspoken between them that’s always been there, just beneath the surface. He hesitates for a beat, then leans forward slightly, his voice dropping into something softer, almost teasing but layered with a seriousness he isn’t sure she’ll expect. “I could always… help you.” His words are slow, deliberate, and full of meaning.
She doesn’t react straightaway, as if the insinuation doesn’t quite register. But then her eyes widen, just a fraction, her gaze snapping to his face, searching for the familiar hint of a joke, some playful grin that would make this just another of his little teases. But it isn’t there. Jane’s expression is calm, unreadable in that way he so often is, and yet, there’s a glimmer of something else. Something new. “Jane…” She begins, her tone warning.
He smiles, but it’s gentle, more thoughtful than a playful smirk. “Just a thought.” He utters nonchalantly. “You said you can’t be with strangers right now… I’m not a stranger.”
She blinks, trying to wrap her mind around what he’s suggesting, trying to understand if she’s misreading him or if this is, in fact, what it sounds like. “This isn’t… what are you even saying?” She needs him to say it in no uncertain terms to ensure she’s right. There’s a lot of risk being carried here, and so much to lose if it goes wrong.
“You say it’s a way to deal with stress and that you need it.” He says, his tone matter of fact, though there’s an unmistakable warmth behind it. “Maybe what you need isn’t a stranger. Maybe you need someone you trust… someone who understands.”
The implication is clear now, and Lisbon’s heart pounds as she processes what he’s really offering. Patrick Jane is offering a physical relationship, out of nowhere, and it’s given her whiplash. Even if he says he’s doing it to help her out. She swallows hard, her throat tight as she tries to find her voice. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why not? It could be what you need.” What’s clear to her in this statement is that his needs don’t come into it.
She can’t deny that there’s a certain logic to it. Jane is the closest thing she has to a partner in any sense of the word. He understands her, knows about what she’s been through, and isn’t put off by the walls she builds around herself. He pushes her sometimes sure, but he’s never intrusive. Of course Lisbon has never thought of him this way, but the idea of being with him doesn’t bring her the same fear as the thought of hooking up with a stranger does.
But that doesn’t mean she isn’t terrified for a completely different reason. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” She may say, but her words lack conviction. Her gaze drops to the table, and the first thing she spots is the glint of his wedding ring still prominent on his finger. “Your… wife.”
“She’s dead.” Jane reminds monosyllabically but it isn’t bitter.
“I know that it’s just…”
Jane doesn’t push. He just watches her, patiently. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. You know that.” He says after a moment, his voice gentle but steady.
She meets his gaze again, and there’s not even a hint of pressure nor expectation in his blue eyes. “I… don’t know.” She admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can.”
“That’s okay. I understand.” The way he says it, so casual and yet so weighted, leaves her breathless for a moment. “Are you finished? I’ll get the check.”
“I am. Thank you.”
The drive back to the motel is painfully awkward, the air thick with everything said and unsaid between them. Jane doesn’t push though, of course he doesn’t push. He just stays quiet whilst she grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. She can’t believe what he suggested, it was so unexpected.
And now? Now Lisbon is practically vibrating with frustration. Her body feels like a live wire, buzzing with the pent-up tension that’s only grown worse since they started talking about it. Her mind won’t stop replaying his words, his calm expression, his quiet offer. She’s almost overwhelmed.
They go their separate ways at the motel. Her mind is racing when she’s back in her room, wondering if they could ever move past this. She tries to shake off the many thoughts as she changes into her favourite sleepwear, a well-loved, oversized Chicago Bears jersey that falls down to mid-thigh, her name and number printed on the back. The familiar fabric should make her feel comfortable, balanced, but tonight it feels like it’s clinging to her in all the wrong ways.
She prays that sleep comes easily, but it doesn’t. Soon it’s after midnight and she’s still awake, staring at the ceiling, shifting restlessly in bed, dissatisfaction building with each passing minute. Until tonight she hadn’t thought of Jane in that way, perhaps hadn’t allowed herself to. Yes she’s noticed that he’s attractive, how could she not, but he’s also damaged, her colleague and a pain in the ass.
But there’s only one solution in her head – and it’s his fault.
She sits up in bed, her heart racing as a decision forms in her mind, almost without her permission. She tries to rationalise it, telling herself that she just needs to see him, talk to him, but she knows deep down there’s more to it than that. It doesn’t stop her though, standing up, padding barefoot across the room before she slips outside, her oversized Bears jersey swaying just above her knees. The cool air does little to calm her racing thoughts.
Before she knows it, she’s standing in front of his door and then she’s knocking on the wood. It’s a quiet knock really, but she doubts he’s sleeping, he should be able to hear it. She almost forgets how to breathe when the door does open, because it’s too late to go back and pretend that this never happened.
The door creaks open and suddenly he’s in front of her, Patrick Jane, still awake and still wearing his daytime clothes including his vest although the buttons are undone. He doesn’t look surprised although he doesn’t look unsurprised either, in fact his expression is indecipherable, but she does spot how his eyes quickly look her over. “Lisbon, are you alright?” He may be acting like he doesn’t know what’s going on, but he does really, she can tell.
Her mind scrambles for something to say, her throat tight. She feels exposed, emotionally more than physically, as she stands in front of him, her nerves suddenly on fire. Part of her wants to brush it off, to make an excuse, to turn and leave before this gets any more complicated. But she’s here now. “I couldn’t sleep.” She admits, her voice a little shaky but more resolute than she expected. Her eyes flicker to his, and she sees the shift in his expression – something softens, something sharpens, as if he’s beginning to understand why she’s really here.
Jane steps aside, his silent invitation clear. She hesitates only a second longer before stepping inside, the door closing softly behind her. The room feels smaller with both of them in it, the air heavy with the weight of what could happen.
She stands still for a moment, until she finds the courage to turn and face him. Jane is watching her closely like he does, his gaze steady but now tinged with a quiet intensity she’s never quite seen before. The silence stretches between them, thick with tension. “Did you come to talk?” He asks, though his voice is knowing, like he already suspects there’s more to it, but he needs her to confirm it.
“I don’t know.” Lisbon answers honestly. “I’ve just been thinking about what you… proposed.”
He nods slowly but doesn’t move an inch. “And what are you thinking now?” She wishes she knew, but her body is confusing her.
When she went to Jane after the incident outside the bar, adrenaline was coursing around her body. Her heart rate was high, breathing irregular, she was sweating all whilst her body was experiencing frisson. She was shivering despite being warm and her skin tingled, goosebumps decorating it. Lisbon is experiencing the same physiological changes but it’s different, because that was fear and this, well, it might be excitement. “That maybe you’re right. Maybe.”
There it is – the confession she didn’t expect to make but can’t hold back any longer.
Jane watches her, his expression softening. “Are you sure?” He checks, displaying complete patience.
Her throat may feel tight, but she nods. The voices in the back of her mind are shouting at her, telling her that this is a terrible idea and could ruin the relationship they already have, but she’s no longer being rational. “Yes. I’m sure.” She whispers.
For a moment, neither of them moves. The tension between them is palpable, and it’s as if time stands still, both of them suspended in the charged silence.
Then, slowly, he closes the gap between them, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of dark hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. His touch is soft, almost reverent, and when he leans in just slightly, the warmth of his breath against her skin sends a shiver down her spine. “Promise that you’re doing this for you and not for me.” He murmurs, his thumb grazing her cheek. He’s relieved that she doesn’t flinch.
She closes her eyes for a moment, letting herself lean into his touch dangerously, her body telling her what to do more than her head. “I promise. I’m doing this for me.”
There’s no hesitation then. “Okay.”
“Really?”
“Why are you surprised, Teresa?” She shudders at the use of her first name as he slides his hand down her arm and encases her wrist with his fingers, feeling her pulse. It’s quick, but not so quick that she risks passing out or hyperventilating or worse. “I did offer.”
“I know but… this is crazy… isn’t it?”
“Friends sleep together all the time.”
“But we don’t.” She unnecessarily points out.
“There’s a first time for everything.” It’s crazy how laidback he’s being about all this.
Jane and Lisbon may be friends – and it has taken a lot to get to this point – but there’s been many subjects that have been out of bounds during their conversations. She knows he has dated since his wife died, well, he certainly went on a date with Kristina Frye, but has there been anymore? Has his understanding of her needing sexual release and having casual one-night stands come from a place of him doing something similar? She very much doubts that. When was the last time he even had sex? “Wait, you’re not going to have protection.” She realises and he fills in the gaps about why she’s been quiet for the past few moments.
“That’s very presumptuous. You are right though.” She huffs then, it just comes out, and it makes him smirk. “Doesn’t mean I can’t do something to help you.”
“Really?”
Jane hums. “Only if you want me to.”
“Okay.”
“Go and sit in the chair.” He instructs, tilting his head towards the chair by the window. “Are you wearing underwear?”
“U-underwear?”
“Briefs… panties… that kind of thing.” She nods ever so slightly. “Take them off.” It isn’t that he doesn’t want to have the honour of pulling them down her legs, he’s trying to work a balance here. He wants to scratch the itch for her, make her feel less frustrated and, well, better, but he’s also very aware of what their relationship currently is and how late it is. He needs to work his magic and quickly, although it’s magic, he’s going to have to dust off.
Lisbon checks in with herself one last time before following his instructions. It’s just sex, is what her brain tells her, and then she’s walking over to sit in the chair, skilfully removing her briefs without showing him any of her flesh. He does, however, see the dampness to the fabric before she hides the underwear behind her back as she sits down.
She’s turned on, and naturally Jane’s body responds in kind with his cock stirring, becoming a little hard in the confines of his boxers. He almost laughs because it’s felt like a long time since he has had such feelings. He doesn’t though, he remains focus because he wants to do this right for her. She needs it.
He kneels down in front of Lisbon, with a hand firmly on her knee to help himself down. All she can do is watch him and subconsciously drag her bottom lip through her teeth, deciding that although she’s nervous (and for good reason), she can appreciate what’s she being offered. Plus it’s being offered by a man who is undeniably handsome. “Teresa.” He utters and she forces herself to be cognisant for a little while longer. “If you want to stop at any point, just say and we will. We don’t even have to talk about this again.” She nods…
…and he pries her knees apart.
Her skin flushes including her cheeks that turn pink because her most private of areas being exposed to him. There isn’t time to be embarrassed though, because when he starts to pepper kisses to the inside of her thigh, she knows she’s not going to be able to stop him.
It doesn’t matter that they’re colleagues, it doesn’t matter that she’s repeatedly been a pawn in his schemes, it doesn’t matter that they haven’t yet agreed on how Red John should be punished, because he’s going to give her what she wants, what she desires, what she needs. Lisbon can’t help the quiet yelp that leaves her when he hooks his arms behind her knees to pull her abruptly towards him.
And that’s that. It’s like she loses the ability to think when his tongue is on her, tasting her sweet nectar.
Sacramento, California – 2011
Lisbon told herself it would be a one-time thing when she left his motel room, legs like jelly – but it wasn’t.
The second time was more difficult than the first because she knew what she wanted, but she didn’t know how to instigate it. It was after a particularly tough case, and she was feeling self-destructive. She hovered around Jane’s couch for a moment too long for him to realise what she wanted, what she needed. “Lisbon…” He had murmured her name as he laid on the leather couch, his eyes closed. “I will be around yours at eight.” They didn’t need to say anything else.
The first few times it wasn’t sex, not really, just oral. Her always on the receiving end and although it was enjoyable to say the least, she wondered why he was holding back. When she asked him in her living room after an especially gruelling day on the job he just said, “This is about you, not me.” Lisbon then made it clear that it’s what she wants and that night they broke that particular seal.
Sex with Patrick Jane is fiery yet gentle at the same time. It almost annoyed her how quickly he became attune with her body, knowing what she likes and how she likes it. Yet another string to his bow. It’s so good that sometimes he doesn’t need to be physically present for her to experience it. The memory alone has got her off on more than one occasion.
They’re careful of course because they have to be. No-one can find out, it’s a term they both made very clear. One night they were interrupted whilst in her bed by her phone ringing, a new case coming in. They arrived at the crime scene separately, but she was completely paranoid that someone, one of the many law enforcement officers around them, would deduce that something was going on. Jane had to lead her out of earshot of everyone else, just to reassure her that people don’t know anything. Lisbon told herself when driving away from the crime scene, that her anxiety isn’t worth it, and that the dalliance had to stop, but it was only a few days later when she had her legs wrapped around his head again.
He makes her feel… alive. He brings her pleasure, obviously, but also companionship that her previous partners did not. They were all flings, in bed with her just for one night, and knew very little about her. This is different. The arrangement may have only started because of what happened to her last year, but she has been enjoying being with someone who she can chat with afterwards, share some pillow talk with, have a giggle. It has made her feel warm inside.
But that’s over now. Now that he’s in jail and unlikely to be released anytime soon.
Jane got him, he got Red John. It’s sort of been underwhelming to discover that Red John is some businessman with a wife and an adopted daughter. Timothy Carter. He’s dead now, Jane saw to that. Lisbon is driving home from the County Jail, thinking about how that is now it, with an ache to her shoulder as she recovers from her gunshot wound afflicted by Craig O’Laughlin.
She should be thinking about how they move on as a unit without their consultant. She should be thinking about how she’s glad Hightower and her family can now live freely. She should be thinking about Grace, and how she’s got to get over the fact that she shot her fiancé, even if he was working for a serial killer. What Lisbon is actually thinking about, is how good Jane looked in those blue inmate scrubs.
It's crazy. He killed someone, someone who according to the police reports was unarmed, yet when he sat down in front of her, she found herself checking him out. He probably noticed, but didn’t mention it. It was not the time or setting for it. This is what he’s done to her though.
They had a strong link before, sure, but now it’s like there’s an invisible string, tying them together. She had to see him, ignored the pain she is in and the medical advice, to go to the jail to visit. She needed to know if he was okay. “Oh, you should be in the hospital. What are you doing here?” But he was more concerned about her.
Lisbon doesn’t know how Jane is going to get out of this one, it seems impossible, but she will pray that he gets out. She’s not ready to say goodbye to him.
Malibu, California – 2011
The night presses in, thick and unyielding. The breeze carries the faint tang of salt from the ocean, biting but not quite cold, just enough to raise goosebumps along Jane’s skin as it slips beneath the collar of his shirt. It tugs at his curls, pulling them in all directions like a gentle taunt, but he doesn’t attempt to neaten them. He can’t bring himself to move.
Each memory that surges forward is as sharp as broken glass, cutting him open. He can’t breathe. There’s a thick weight in his chest, pressing, tightening, a silent panic that leaves no room for air. It’s the old porch, the same steps he sat on countless times as he would watch his daughter cycle round on her bike, but it feels alien now, haunted by echoes he can’t ignore. Laughter, anger, whispered words, all of it tumbling over him, drowning out the rhythmic lull of the ocean beyond. He tries to focus on the waves, counting each one that crashes against the shore, but it’s useless; the memories are relentless, clawing their way up from places he thought he’d sealed off.
He has spent the past several days stuck in a fugue state. It was oxygen deprivation that did it, but also his desire to keep his demons at bay that was the assist. Perhaps it should have been peaceful, not knowing about Red John and the horrors that occurred here, but truthfully it was like his brain was itchy because it wanted him to know, needed him to remember.
His heart pounds, too fast, his pulse thrumming in his ears. Each beat is like a hammer, reminding him of things he’d rather forget. There’s a rawness in his throat, a choking tightness, like the weight of all he’d left unsaid has coiled around his neck, squeezing. He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until he feels his hand tremble against his knee, and it scares him, this unravelling, this slow dissolution of control. It’s like he’s fighting to keep himself in one piece, but every gust of that relentless breeze pulls another fragment loose, scattering pieces of him he’ll never get back.
Sitting here, a man haunted, a stranger in his own skin. And he knows that if he stays here any longer, he might lose himself completely, swallowed whole by ghosts that never really left. History has taught him that he can be his own worst enemy.
Lisbon locks the door to the empty house. Jane can just about hear her doing so through the sound of water rushing in his ears. The heels of her boots hitting the steps that he’s sitting on is louder and breaks through the haze. She looks at him, formulating her next move, but it's hard when all she's thinking about everything he's been through.
She’s never actually been here, his house. She’s seen photos of it of course in the Red John case file but seeing it in person is… upsetting. The dried bloody smiley face on the wall is a sight she’s not going to forget in a hurry. She can’t believe it’s still there, but she supposes it will be until they catch him, and Jane can finally move on.
Lisbon decides to sit beside him on the step, settling down, her shoulder almost brushing his, and Jane is surprised at how much the warmth of her presence steadies him. The closeness, the small touch of her knee against his, anchors him just enough to breathe easier, to remind him he’s not alone with these ghosts, these demons. For a while, she doesn’t say anything, and he’s grateful. They sit in the heavy silence, both of them feeling the weight of what’s happened, and the difficult few days.
Finally, her voice cuts through the quiet, low and careful. “Did I make a mistake, bringing you here? Should I have let you live in peace, even though it wouldn’t have been an honest life?” Her question hangs in the air, raw and unguarded, and he can feel the uncertainty in her words, the way she’s second-guessing herself. She rarely shows her own vulnerabilities, but tonight is different. They’re both too tired for pretence.
He doesn’t hesitate. “No." He states sincerely. “I needed to know the truth.”
She glances over at him, her brow creased with that same worry he’s seen in her face since this whole thing started. “How’s your head?”
“It hurts." He admits. "But it’s no longer fuzzy, which is something.”
She nods, but he can see the exhaustion in her green eyes, the lines drawn deep by days of worry. It’s as if the weight of his own burden has somehow seeped into her, leaving her worn and frayed at the edges. Her worry is constant, and he knows she’d shoulder it all if she could. But it’s exhausting her, and that knowledge twists something inside him.
Lisbon sighs, rubbing her hands together as if to ward off the chill, though he knows it’s more a gesture of fatigue than anything else. The past few days have been brutal on both of them, draining, sapping every last reserve of strength and patience. She’s been his rock, despite him pushing her away, not remembering who she is and the great partnership they share, and amongst everything else, he is feeling guilty about that.
The road ahead is still long and unforgiving; Sacramento feels like a lifetime away, and sleep is even further. But sitting here, with her beside him, he feels, for the first time in days, like he knows his own mind. The ache is still there, the memories clawing at him, but with Lisbon so close, he feels just a little less lost. "We should go back." She decides but he doesn't move, a fresh question in his mind.
"Why did you act like we aren't sleeping together?" Instead he asks before adding. "Back at the hospital."
She sighs, but she expected this to come up at some point. "When you asked that, you sounded so confused that I knew there was something wrong with your memory. Being truthful in that situation could have been harmful to us."
Jane nods at this, seemingly accepting it. “I’m sorry." He then says quietly, the words almost lost in the breeze. “For hurting you.”
Her response is immediate, instinctive. “Hush...” She murmurs, a soft, soothing sound, and she takes his hand without a second thought. Her fingers are warm and steady around his, keeping him secured to the present, letting him know he doesn’t have to apologise, doesn’t have to carry it all on his own. The touch is so gentle, so natural, it’s as if they’ve done this a thousand times before. Her thumb grazes his knuckles in an unspoken reassurance, her eyes soft as they meet his.
And he wants to lean into it. He wants to let himself feel comforted, to let her touch ease the ache he’s been carrying. For a moment, he does. He lets himself absorb it all, lets himself imagine, if only for a heartbeat, that this could be enough to keep the darkness at bay.
But there’s a tug at the edges of his mind, a warning he can’t ignore. This closeness, this comfort… it’s dangerous. It blurs the lines he’s been so careful to keep clear, lines he knows shouldn’t be crossed.
Jane looks down at their hands, his ears still ringing and head thumping, and it hits him that they’re getting too close. Him and Lisbon. It may have started just as sex, but now they’re spending time together socially with any kind of relations off the table. Tonight doesn’t count of course, there’s a reason they’re here together – but they shouldn’t be sat here, holding hands, anyone could be watching them.
However, he doesn’t let go. His body doesn’t allow him to.
Sacramento, California – 2011
She’s in her office when he messages. It’s a simple text reading ‘can you come upstairs?’ Lisbon doesn’t reply, but she does get up and heads upstairs where Jane has come to live.
At first, she did voice her disapproval about him living on the premises until she decided that at least no harm can come to him here. Plus, there’s the added benefit of her knowing where he is, making it harder for him to cause trouble (although not impossible of course).
The door is slid open when she gets upstairs. Lisbon enters the room, her eyes landing on him just standing in the middle of it, and instantly, something feels off. He’s there, but it’s as if he isn’t really there; his gaze drifts past her, his blue eyes distant and unfocused. She notes the disarray in his usually carefully arranged curls, now wild and tangled, like he’s been anxiously tugging or running his hands through them over and over. “Jane, are you alright?” He nods but she can see he isn’t, his vibe is almost vacant. “I understand there’s a lot going on right now but-”
“I don’t want to talk.” And this is all he needs to say for her to catch on.
They’ve never done it here, at work, in the CBI buildings. He has also never been the requestor before. And she’s a little frightened that it has come to this.
Then Lisbon remembers how they got here in the first place, everything he has done for her, to help her find release but by feeling safe at the same time and she knows she has to return the favour. There will be time to talk later, she decides, and then she’s sliding close the door to his “thinking room”.
It is quickly apparent that he’s in no mood for any pre-amble. His hands fly to her emerald, green blouse where his fingers work at unbuttoning it with a surprising adeptness considering his apparent distant mood. It’s okay though, that much is clear by the biting of her bottom lip and the flat of her left palm pressed against his chest, clawing at the fabric of his shirt.
She feels more than exposed even though she isn’t fully naked because he hasn’t shed a single item of clothing. He doesn’t strip her completely, he leaves her in her black socks, peach laced bra, and her open blouse hanging from her form. The rest of her clothes are scattered all over the floor showing their eagerness.
Jane lifts her up like she weighs nothing, his hands pressed to the curve of her ass. She wraps her legs around his waist and throws her arms over his shoulders to support herself with her skin prickled with goosebumps. It doesn’t take a lot for him to rile her up, but somehow doing this here at their place of work, with the risk of being caught makes it hotter. She will be peeved at herself later for taking that risk, but for now she’s feeling too hot and bothered to care.
He sits her on the edge of his mattress, his lips attaching to her neck where he sucks at her pulse point hard enough to elicit a reaction without leaving a mark because he knows that drives her crazy. Her moans are evidence of that. He rubs at her exposed centre with three of his fingers, to try and ready her for the next stage, a stage that she’s probably already ready for, but then he does something completely out of character for them.
He kisses her.
Lisbon has lost count the number of times they have slept together now. She has lost count the number of times they have taken comfort in each other’s arms and the number of times he has brought her to orgasm – but she can count the number of times he has kissed her.
Before today, it was none. They have never spoken about it, but it was clear to both of them that although they had crossed many lines, this was too big of one to cross. A kiss would mean more than sex in their minds, it would be an indication that there may be something else present like feelings, but she can’t think about that because she’s melting into his touch.
Jane and Lisbon’s first kiss is soft yet electric, charged with unspoken feelings finally set free. The world blurs around them as their breaths mingle together. One of Jane’s hands lingers at her waist, hesitant, with his other squeezing her thigh while Lisbon’s fingers trace his jaw. When he does try to pull away, she chases his lips, not quite ready for it to be over. Her heart races, a warmth blooming in her chest as a question or two manages to form in her mind, but she doesn’t have the chance to ask them.
The words are lost, and a gasp replaces them when two of his fingers slide inside of her.
Cannon River, Washington – 2015
She should have realised then that he planned to leave her for six months. It was like a goodbye fuck, something she replayed over and over in her mind in his absence. Then he told her he loved her in her office before faking shooting her (for the benefit of some elaborate ploy) and everything crumbled. Suddenly, what they did wasn’t a good idea, it was a mistake, but then there was a part of her that wanted it to be real even though it would complicate everything.
He then denied he even said it.
Lisbon sits on her couch, a drained glass of wine on her coffee table and the box of letters from him beside her, thinking about him and how much she misses him – but then the all-too-familiar ache returns. That realisation, the hard truth that she probably will never see him again.
She will never see his bright smile again, his blue eyes, his curls. Never be around his wit, his intelligence, his company. His letters give her a snapshot of what life is like for him now and it seems idyllic. He’s living in paradise, even if it is in solitude.
When the heat died down and she was no longer suspected of illegal activity by the FBI, she became angry. Angry at him and angry at the situation. The first letter came, and she almost ripped it to shreds, wondering how he could have the audacity to contact her after everything that happened. She read it for a second time the following day and cried, bawled her eyes out and went to bed with a massive headache.
Now she isn’t mad, she isn’t even that sad (the two years that have passed has helped that), but she does miss him.
Her mobile phone ringing pulls her from her daze. Lisbon sighs, expecting it to be an issue at the station, but it isn’t anything to do with work – certainly not her work nowadays.
Her brow dips on seeing who’s calling her, someone who she has not heard from in some time. Initially, she’s almost giddy at just seeing his name, but it seems unlikely for him to pick up the phone and call her unless something is wrong. “Hey Cho! Nice to hear from you.”
“Hey Boss- Lisbon.” Cho corrects himself quickly but not at all seamlessly. “I am calling about Jane.”
“I don’t know-”
“You do.” He interrupts, hating doing so because of the respect he has for her, but needing to in this situation. “Lisbon, they traced the letters. Abbott went out to see him. He’s coming back.”
It’s like the room goes fuzzy for a second, her vision certainly does. Two years. Two long years of not seeing him, of not seeing Jane, only hearing his voice by reading his letters, and now there’s a chance she may actually be with him again. See his face, really hear his voice and not from her memory. It’s a lot to take in. “He is?” Lisbon sounds breathless as she questions.
“Yes, and he has terms. You being there to greet him is one of them.” She doesn’t know whether to be nervous or flattered, but she doesn’t have time to make up her mind. “We are going to fly you to Austin.”
Austin, Texas – 2015
Lisbon can’t sleep. She thought tonight would be the first night she would in some time now that not only Jane is back in her life but he’s not locked away. Three months of solidarity confinement must have been brutal, but he showed no signs of it being so when they walked out of the FBI offices this evening like nothing even happened.
They fell into step easily, chatting about the case they had just closed, but skirting around the topic of the future. Even over dinner. They ate at some diner not far from their motel, him practically moaning whilst devouring his burger, before they came back here and said their goodnights.
That was a couple of hours ago and she’s still staring up at the ceiling through the darkness, her mind working at a hundred miles per hour. She’s trying to envision what it’s going to be like, working for the FBI and working with Jane again. At least she won’t be in charge of him now, if he misbehaves it won’t be on her head, they could even properly be friends without the chaos of Red John and everything else.
Then why can’t she sleep?
Lisbon groans into the quiet of the night before reluctantly conceding that she is unable to sleep by switching on the bedside light. The situation echoes when they were on a case in Palm Springs back in 2011. That was the first night she and Patrick Jane engaged in any kind of sexual activity with one and other, and that was the moment things really changed in their relationship. Getting close in that way made many other situations harder, especially whenever he would draw away from her whether that was physically or emotionally.
She went back home briefly to Chicago and stayed with her brother Stan during the stint between her leaving California to move to Washington. It was just shy of a week she was there and although it was tough in a lot of ways thanks to the demons of her past, the familiarity of the place also brought comfort. Her brother though asked about whether she was seeing anyone and when she declined, he mentioned Jane.
Lisbon cried then. They were the first tears she had shed since it all kicked off and she couldn’t stop them coming. Stan didn’t know how to deal with his big sister crying though, she was always the strong and dependable one, but thankfully his wife swooped in to help. Lisbon was embarrassed, and she left the next morning, ran away from her feelings. “Shit.” She curses, sitting up in bed.
There are so many questions she has for Jane, and she doesn’t know in what order she should ask them. She wants to know about his time on the island, properly, and not little snippets like in his letters. She wants to know how he envisions them working together again, but this time for the FBI. She wants to know about that day over two years ago when he slayed Red John, and how he felt in that moment.
And she wants to know if he still thinks about their nights together, what they used to do... He’s staying just a few doors down, so she could ask these questions.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she gets out of bed before slipping on her pair of shoes by the door. It’s a balmy night so there’s no need to grab a jacket for the short walk, her t-shirt and grey plaid pyjama bottoms will be just fine. She is shaking though a little when she steps out of her motel room, but that’s from nerves, not from a chill.
The walkway to his room is dimly lit and with it being so late it’s very quiet, apart from the crickets singing to themselves. She pauses briefly outside his room to take a deep breath or two, focussing on the crookedness of the room number, hoping it helps ground her. This is silly, she tells herself – it’s just Jane.
She knocks with a surprising level of confidence and waits, that confidence diminishing slightly the longer she waits. Lisbon is about to knock for a second time when she hears movement from inside the room and the click of the lights being turned on, and then the door is being opened by Jane who is rubbing at his right eye lethargically, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. It must be attire he has procured since arriving back in the U.S., it is definitely hanging oddly on him and doesn’t look like an outfit he would own. "Hey." He greets drowsily and suddenly Lisbon is very aware of how late it is.
"Sorry, were you sleeping?" She quickly apologises, sensing her cheeks flush from embarrassment.
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"I actually do that now." She’s glad about this because it certainly wasn’t healthy his sleep schedule or the lack of back at CBI. It was a constant, niggling worry at the back of her mind, even when she was irritated by him.
They have not really had the opportunity to speak since he has returned, but she can tell from their limited interactions that he has seemed to have found peace. She may not fully agree with how the Red John investigation ended, but if it’s helped him, if he can now sleep easier, then it was a success. When they were hooking up, they very rarely actually spent the night together, but when they did, he never slept, just lay beside her, thinking, but keeping her company. “Earth to Lisbon?” Her eyelids flutter as her attention returns. He’s no longer looking at her tiredly, but with concern. “Are you alright?”
“Can we talk?”
“Of course.” He says and steps inside, letting her into his room.
Their rooms are almost identical just flipped so the beds are on opposite sides of the room. Another difference is the box of teabags and tea-making facilities on the counter of the little kitchenette. In one of his letters to her he explained that the locals on the island he was hiding on were dismayed at his hot beverage habits as he was definitely in coffee country. It humoured her that he became a pain in the ass on an international scale.
Lisbon takes a seat at the small table and chairs set. It’s just a glass round table with two chairs that don’t even match. Jane doesn’t sit with her but perches on the edge of his bed, noticeably leaving distance between them. Before he left, he would have practically sat in her lap, he didn’t know the meaning of personal space when it was her. She hopes in time they will get back there, and that patience will be a healer. “So Lisbon, what’s keeping you up tonight?” He has a kind of blasé attitude when he asks this, like he’s scared to be serious but he’s going to have to brush that aside.
"We never talked about... before..."
"About?" She glances heavenwards with a long, drawn-out exhale, evidently exasperated that he hasn’t yet caught on. "Lisbon, there's a lot we never talked about." But he’s right.
The months leading up to the conclusion of the Red John investigation, he withdrew. It was as if he had gone back in time and was the version of Patrick Jane not long after they first met. Trust was an issue, and their strong relationship fragmented. There was a day when they fell out in Salton Sea State Recreation Area and she drove off, angry, not quite believing that she ever allowed herself to get close to him, to sleep with him. "About how we used to..." She doesn’t know how to put it but when she meets his gaze the flicker of realisation in his blue eyes has her understanding that she doesn’t need to expand.
"Oh, that." A hint of a smirk crosses his features. "Why now? Wait, are you feeling-"
"No, no." Lisbon is quick to shut him down. She didn’t come here for that, not tonight, she’s come here for answers. “One day we just stopped and neither of us said anything.”
“I had left you for six months.”
Lisbon hums. “Yes and when you returned with your elaborate plan, you told me you loved me and then pretended you never said it.” It comes out more bitter than she was expecting, giving a bit too much away in how she feels. “Is that why it stopped?”
“I don’t really know.” He admits. “I thought that I would come back, and we would have Red John, but we didn’t. Things got messier, more complicated, and scarier. If Red John had found out about us, you would be dead.” He rattles through his explanation with an uncharacteristic nervousness, but perhaps it’s understandable to not be as put together as she remembers after his stint in solitary confinement. “And anyway, it was only supposed to be a short arrangement until you felt comfortable again with strangers. And I know you are now.” She pulls a face at this, almost like she’s offended at what he’s implying. “Are you telling me you haven’t had sex in four years?” But then she’s looking down at the floor from a sort of shame. “Exactly.”
“I didn’t come here to be ridiculed.” She mumbles and stands up quickly, but so does he, and immediately he’s raising his hands, hoping to stop her from leaving.
“I am not ridiculing you, I’m not.” He then releases an exasperated sigh, but he isn’t annoyed at her but himself – and it makes her sit back down.
Jane’s walls lower briefly, it must only be a few seconds, but it gives her the opportunity to see the real him. Him being vulnerable, truly vulnerable is rare, and she’s silenced by it. Torn between wanting to be respectful, patient, and wanting to rush over to him and pull him into her arms. He resumes in sitting on the bed, this time leaning with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. Closed off. “Teresa, I’ve been alone for so long. I need to get a grip on reality before we have any conversations about… us.” Yet his words are anything but closed off, they’re honest.
“Us…” Lisbon trails off, letting the single syllable word hang in the air between them. It feels alien on her tongue perhaps because she had never really allowed herself to think about them being an ‘us’. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m sorry for pretending I didn’t tell you that I love you.” Love not loved. “I’m sorry for lying. Believe it or not but I lied to protect you.”
“From Red John? Because we were about to get him-”
“Not from Red John.” Jane interrupts before taking a deep breath. “From me.” He confesses and Lisbon can’t mask the surprise from crossing her features. “Us sleeping together was one thing but me having feelings for you was another. I couldn’t… give you anything including myself, not while he was still out there, and that wouldn’t have been fair.”
“Who says I want that- wanted that? Who say I had feelings for you?”
“The kiss.” He is of course referring to the final time they hooked up, the image flashes up in her mind and if the weight of their conversation wasn’t pressing down on her, then she would smile at the memory. “I know i-it was me who instigated it, but I felt your reaction.”
Lisbon peers down nervously, spotting in her peripheral vision him getting up from the edge of the bed and walking over to her, pulling out the chair near her to sit on instead. She’s relieved about this, because he’s closing the gap between them. “I don’t know. I suppose I had started to feel… safe around you.” She tries to find her voice but she’s speaking so quietly that he has to strain to hear. “Before you disappeared for six months.” He hums but that seems to add some ire to her veins. “I’m still mad at you.”
“Why?” He asks simply before catching himself. “I mean… what in particular? You have every right to be angry at me for so many things, the list is endless.”
“For leaving.” Her voice cracks when she confesses this, forcing her to clear her throat. “You killed Red John and ran away without a trace which means you were planning that for some time. You never told me that.” And that pissed her off because it was evidence that he didn’t trust her, not really. He can claim that he did so she didn’t have to commit perjury, but she would have perjured herself for him, she did on multiple occasions.
“We had to clear up the mess. We were under suspicion for so long, at one point I thought we would be punished for something we hadn’t done.” She continues, her tone raising the more syllables she utters. “Grace and Rigs were cleared first. They packed their bags as quickly as they could, to start their new life together. Cho was next who did the same. And then there was me. Alone.”
There was a time when days would go by without her speaking to another soul. She had started to talk to herself, something her mother used to do frequently, and it is habit she didn’t want to let consume her. So Lisbon started to force herself to go out and interact people whether it was the barista in her local coffee shop or a cashier in the grocery story, but it wasn’t enough, not really. “It wasn’t Grace or Rigsby or Cho who I wanted to speak to more than anything it was you.” And then she got the job in Washington, which she accepted without a second thought because she needed to get out of Sacramento, away from her old life. “When I got your first letter I… almost ripped it to shreds.” She can’t stop the truths tumbling out now, it’s like she has no filter, even with him looking back at her with hurt etched into his features. “I then stopped being angry and just became sad. Empty. Spent my days working the dullest job in law enforcement and my nights missing you.”
“You don’t have to miss me anymore.”
“I know.” But it’s like she can’t quite believe it yet, as if this might be a dream and the nightmare will be when she wakes.
“I’m sorry though. Really.” It’s the third time an apology has left his lips tonight, but it’s the first time that it has really hit her, like a punch in the gut despite wanting to hear it from him for so long. “I did feel guilty, I do still. I never meant to put any of you through that, least of all you. I hope you know that.” Lisbon nods, not trusting her voice right now but the smallest of smiles that she manages to express gives Jane some relief. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know, sleep I guess but that’ll be a struggle.” She laughs resentfully at herself more than anything.
Jane watches the idea form in her head before it really hits her what she’s thinking. Lisbon becomes coy, her body language small, sweet, as she looks to him with a reserved smile. “Can I… Can I sleep here tonight?” His brow shoots upwards so she is swift in clarifying. “Just sleep.”
“Sure.” He shrugs, but secretly he’s thrilled that she isn’t going to be walking out of the door tonight. “But this conversation isn’t over, right? There will be time to talk more about... everything.”
“Loads of time.” She tells him gently and he beams at the implication that maybe, just maybe, they will be able to explore their relationship too.
There’s no hesitation standing up and heading to the bed. Lisbon is a little confused when he wanders around to the other side of the bed to where he was clearly previously snoozing. She is about to query it, but there’s no need because her puzzlement has decorated her face. “I know you prefer the left side.” He clarifies, and she feels her heart double in size.
They lie side by side on the stiff motel bed, inches between them that feel heavy with the weight of their past. The quiet in the room is thick, pressing down with unsaid words, echoes of old discussions, and too many years lived parallel but never quite together. Lisbon's breath is slow, controlled, but Jane can sense the tension in the way her fingers curl against the covers, the faintest tell that she's just as awake as he is.
"Goodnight." He murmurs, not expecting an answer. She says it back just as quietly, almost to herself, like a formality.
The minutes drag, the darkness settling around them, the cheap curtains letting in a sliver of moonlight. Jane stares up at the cracked ceiling, listening to the silence, feeling her presence so close but still distant. He knows her well enough to feel her wakefulness, to sense her restlessness even when she’s silent. He wonders what she's thinking about. It's times like these he wishes he really was psychic but there's no such thing as he has told her many a time.
He could have a guess though, because they're probably ruminating similar scenarios. Questioning whether they have a shot of something more together past the bounds of a platonic relationship. There's a lot to work through first though before they can get to that point...
But that doesn't mean they can't be close tonight. "Teresa, you can get closer if you want to." He speaks up, voice low and hesitant.
He waits, his arm held out slightly in invitation. She doesn’t respond, doesn’t move at first, her breathing staying measured, almost like she's considering pretending to be asleep. But then, slowly, she shifts, giving in to the unspoken invitation, her body angling toward him. She lets herself settle into his side, drawn in by his warmth, the place where she fits almost instinctively.
His arm comes around her, holding her there, and she relaxes, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, a quiet, reassuring rhythm. The room fades away, the years of distance and unresolved memories softening into the comfort of this moment. Her eyes close, the rise and fall of his chest a lullaby, the pleasant heat between them enough to quiet the world outside.
Bit by bit, they drift off, held by each other’s presence, by the safety and ease that still exists here, where words aren’t necessary. In each other’s presence, the past loses its hold, and they surrender to the darkness together.