Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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Chapter 3

Life’s mild deception

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The walk to Lisbon's house passed in mutual silence. Any words would have stood little chance against the rising wind, anyway.

Every now and then, a passing car cut through the murmur of the wind, its headlights grazing the two women, casting their silhouettes on the asphalt for a fleeting moment before they vanished back into the darkness.

Since they had left the bar, the wind had picked up considerably and was now tugging at their jackets and hair as if trying to tear them to pieces. Stray drops of water hit their faces at irregular intervals. Harbingers of an impending shower? Grace hoped not.

She pulled her thin jacket tighter around her shoulders.

The evening had grown unexpectedly cool. Not truly cold, but unusually cool for a Texan spring. At least, that's what she assumed, since this was her first spring in Texas.

The warming effect of the alcohol had long since worn off, and she could feel the low temperature slowly seeping through her clothes. She couldn't wait for the days to grow longer and the temperatures to rise.

In a few months, she'd probably be longing for February to return. Especially when the air conditioning failed and the California sun relentlessly tried to melt everything its rays reached. Her brain included.

The latter, she supposed, was also related to the rising crime rate and propensity for violence during the summer months. Which, in turn (if the newspaper article she'd read on the flight to Austin was to be believed), was directly linked to the higher temperatures… If that was true, she sincerely hoped that no criminal would ever be stupid enough to use this as an excuse. Fortunately, her dealings with law enforcement were now only indirect.

A bump in the sidewalk caused her to stumble, breaking her rhythm and abruptly pulling her out of her thoughts.

The brunette agent beside her strode on with determined steps. Lost in her own thoughts, she had stuffed her hands into the pockets of her decidedly more weatherproof jacket and seemed barely aware of the weather conditions. Or at least was better prepared for them.

The redhead hurried to catch up after her stumble made her fall behind.

Despite being nearly half a head taller than her former superior, Grace was struggling to keep up. She remembered how, in her first year as an agent, she had trailed after her boss like a lost yet eager puppy. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

Since then, she had learned a lot about her team leader and now knew that Lisbon wasn't doing this to annoy her. It was just her way of doing things when she had a goal in mind, however trivial it might be.

(Once, she had made the mistake of persuading her boss to go shopping. A brilliant idea… one she soon regretted. Lisbon had rushed through the stores as if she were tracking a suspect. She couldn't remember ever getting out of a mall so fast - or so drenched in sweat.)

For the next few minutes, all that could be heard was the rustle of wind through the almost leafless trees, their first tentative shoots cautiously stretching toward the sky, accompanied by the steady, dull clack of their shoes on the concrete.

Then, just as Grace was about to ask how much longer it would take, Lisbon turned onto a narrow path paved with irregular stones. Ahead of them stood a a single-story house, white picket fence and everything.

The facade appeared beige, though the sparse light from the streetlamp made it difficult to discern its true color. The entrance was sheltered by a small porch. A medium-sized tree stood in the front yard.

Perhaps an apple tree or a pomegranate or something else entirely. She was a tech expert, not a pomologist.

At least she was about seventy percent certain that said tree would bear fruit at some point during the year. Probably.

Knowing Lisbon as she did (and judging by the size of the tree), it had belonged to her predecessor, and she herself had been completely clueless until the tree had borne fruit for the first time.

Now the young leaves swayed in the wind, contributing to the song of the wind; thoughts of fruit hanging heavy from branches in the distant future.

Although the plants directly in front of the house also appeared quite well-kept upon closer inspection, Grace couldn't for the life of her imagine Lisbon sitting on her knees, meticulously eradicating every single weed.

More likely, a neighbor had taken care of it. Or perhaps there were undiscovered sides to her boss.

Whatever the case, this house was undoubtedly an improvement over her old city apartment in Sacramento.

Not just because of the increased living space. While it lacked the rural charm of her Washington home, there was little to complain about regarding the location. Which, if you knew Lisbon, was probably the real reason she'd moved there in the first place.

Practical as she was, the house was certainly fairly close to the office (by big-city standards).

While her former boss unlocked the door, Grace continued to take in her surroundings.

This wasn't the first time she'd visited her 'boss' at home, but it was the first time since her move to Austin. During her last stay in Texas, hardly any time had passed between their arrival, her kidnapping, and Haibach's 'capture'.

The fact that Lisbon had invited her so casually - had been willing to openly share this private, almost intimate part of her life - sparked an unexpected sense of excitement in her. Like visiting an amusement park you'd secretly begged your parents to take you to for ages. Or a trip to the toy store. Or a vacation at your favorite aunt's. Or-- Okay, maybe that was a bit much. But it was still a little exciting.

Perhaps some of it was due to lingering alcohol in her system.

How many drinks had she even had? She honestly couldn’t remember. After all, she and the guys had met at the bar at least half an hour earlier.

For two reasons.

The first, and most important one: She absolutely, under no circumstances, did not want to be late. Call her a people-pleaser, but she wanted to make Lisbon… well… 'proud', for lack of a better word.

As a welcome bonus, they had managed to snag the best seats. At least by their small group’s combined standards. Other people might have disagreed, but for them, it was perfect. Relatively secluded, yet close enough to keep a good eye on the crowd. Plus, easy access to the emergency exit.

Cop instincts, she guessed. And whatever Jane had going on.

Funny, actually, that Lisbon herself had ended up being the one who was late.

Her explanation of "Jane" was, while totally understandable, also extremely vague, leaving Grace to wonder what the real reason for their tardiness had been.

The fact that the two were newlyweds and Jane's comment about a 'bedroom' might have been a clue. Then again… this was Jane. Knowing him, it could just as easily have been a distraction. A false lead, so to speak.

She couldn't shake the feeling that the real reason had been something entirely different from what she had assumed…

Which brought her to reason number two for meeting early.

She had wanted to interrogate Cho without neither Jane nor Lisbon nearby.

The recent events, though anticipated for years, had still been rather sudden, and she longed to find out how it had come to this.

After all, the event had netted her a considerable sum of money.

One of the perks of being the founder and administrator of the CBI betting pool, including with the money deposited and the list of participants. Technically speaking, there were a few people from the CBI who had won smaller sums. However, she strongly doubted that even half of them remembered their gambling spree from over five years ago.

Especially since some of those select few were now spending their time warm and dry behind bars. Or were dead.

Thus, the money was well placed with her. The betting pool, of course, didn’t officially exist, so no one was likely to make any claims, even if they remembered it. She had made sure there were absolutely no traces of the small betting community's existence. In case Jane or Lisbon ever found out, she could deny it.

She'd tell Lisbon eventually. Probably. Just not… yet. Jane most likely already knew. But you could never be absolutely sure with that guy.

She could ask Lisbon.

But then again, that would mean letting Lisbon in on it first… And somehow, she valued her own life. Probably not a good idea to test the boss’s patience. Especially since… something… seemed to be going on with her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she had a suspicion Jane's 'bedroom remark' might be connected.

Perhaps her senses were playing tricks on her and she was simply not used to seeing married 'Jisbon'. (Or was it LisJane? Patresa? Jello?)

Well, Cho had probably lost the most out of all the 'investors' and she was planning to give him back part of his money. With a twist she hadn't come up with yet. One, that would amuse both her and Wayne immensely. She could involve the kids. Poor Uncle Cho could never be mad at them, even if he tried.

Two more people came to mind who had contributed a considerable sum. And who would definitely remember the bet. Especially since they had won. Although the two bets had been placed anonymously, she had a feeling she knew exactly who was behind the usernames NOTsoOldManFishing and MomOf2_MW. Besides, it wouldn’t take much to quickly find out (by slightly illegal means) who was behind those accounts. (What were Minelli and Hightower up to these days, anyway?)

Not… quite so quickly, though, in her current state.

The world around her swayed rather alarmingly whenever she moved too hastily, and her peripheral vision was also slightly blurred as well.

She had clearly had more to drink than usual. Not counting the pre-briefing drinks meant to loosen Cho up.

Unfortunately, her attempts to 'interrogate' Cho had been in vain.

Because, unsurprisingly in hindsight, the stoic agent had remained rather monosyllabic despite his own alcohol consumption. Which was a real shame, because the few pieces of information she had managed to get out of him were quite intriguing. Other parts she probably could have pieced together herself.

Most of them, at least. Jane's disappearance for a week after a tragic event, for example, was both equally unexpected and almost in-character for him. Even the part about being kidnapped by a serial killer was strangely… 'Ordinary' would have been an exaggeration. Normal? Not unusual?

After all, the man had now been kidnapped by serial killers at least twice (as far as she knew). (If one could call Bob Kirkland a serial killer. Or was he a serial killer-killer…?) Then there were the kidnappings by Hightower, the crazy lady with the cattle prod, her ex-boyfriend the lawyer, the Eco-terrorists, Lorelei… And the list goes on and on and on.

Though, she wasn’t entirely sure whether she had really understood the part about the kidnapping just days before the wedding correctly, or whether her imagination had filled in the gaps.

Whatever had happened, she was just glad the consultant had escaped with little to no damage. Aside from the house he had apparently blown up along the way. Very Jane-esque.

Well, maybe Lisbon was more talkative and could fill in the blanks. She, too, had had a few cocktails herself, and the alcohol possibly helped lower her defenses.

She just didn't seem particularly affected, though. Which was odd. Not that Grace had ever actually seen her boss get drunk. But she'd certainly seen her tipsy. Or so she thought. Because this time, the drinks didn't seem to have any noticeable effect on her. Yes, she'd been more open about her personal life today, but otherwise she wasn't 'acting tipsy'.

At the risk of repeating herself, but something was… off. She just had no idea what it was. Or maybe she'd drunk too much herself, and Lisbon was practically sober in comparison.

It had been kind of cute, watching her former boss and the consultant engage in their usual banter. Like old times. And yet different. More familiar.

She'd been watching them all evening (no, not in a strange, creepy way). Seeing how happy they were together (at last), even openly showing their affection, filled her heart with a quiet gratitude for whoever or whatever had made it possible.

A noise abruptly pulled her from her thoughts. She must have been standing in the same spot for too long. Lisbon stood in the open doorway, her jacket already off, looking at her questioningly. Grace grinned sheepishly and followed her into the house.

A short hallway opened straight into the living room. Somehow cozy, yet functional. Just as expected.

But like the exterior of the house, this room couldn’t quite compare to the fireplace and overall atmosphere of her Washington home.

As they both toed off their shoes, Lisbon asked what she wanted to drink. Grace only half listened.

Instead, her gaze wandered around the room. Not necessarily out of curiosity (or so she told herself), but mostly out of habit. Maybe a tiny, tiny bit of curiosity.

Jane and Lisbon were married. She definitely hadn't imagined that. No matter how absurd it sounded right now. So there had to be some kind of… proof here. Something that showed that Patrick Jane was actually living with the Boss. Which, incidentally, sounded just as absurd.

Lisbon's question completely slipped her mind when she spotted one of Jane's shirts carelessly tossed over the back of the sofa.

A wrinkled shirt. One sleeve turned inside out, as if it had been taken off in a hurry.

And, she remembered correctly, it was the same color as the shirt Jane had worn on the day of the wedding.

A thought flashed through her mind. Fleeting, but vivid enough to form a clear image of why the shirt was lying there of all places. An involuntary sound escaped her throat. Well. There she had her 'proof'...

Lisbon followed her gaze, and for a few seconds, her cheeks took on a faint flush. She hurriedly snatched up the shirt and hid it somewhere out of sight.

"Sorry about the mess," she muttered. "I hadn't expected to bring visitors home today."

Grace, whose thoughts were admittedly working noticeably slower than usual, looked at the brunette with a puzzled expression.

"Huh?"

"Oh, I just asked what you'd like to drink."

"Um, the same as you is perfectly fine," Grace replied, watching as Lisbon disappeared toward the kitchen. Or at least she assumed it was the kitchen. She silently hoped 'the same' didn't mean more alcohol. She herself had more than reached her limit.

Lisbon seemed to be thinking the same thing. When she returned shortly after, she was holding two wine glasses filled with a liquid the redhead took to be orange juice.

"Fancy," Grace laughed. Lisbon shrugged, a faint, slightly sheepish smile playing on her lips. With a small tilt of her head, she motioned for her to make herself comfortable on the sofa.

After they had both settled down and were quietly sipping their (indeed) orange juice, Grace finally couldn't stand it any longer and broke the silence.

"So… You and Jane, huh?" She raised an eyebrow. "How did that happen? Finally, I might add."

She leaned back, relaxed. "I mean, the last I heard was that you were planning to move to D.C. with that... fish guy."

She let out a quiet giggle at her own joke. God, less alcohol next time, Grace, she scolded herself again. The boss must be thinking all sorts of things about her. At least she still remembered that the guy’s last name was some kind of fish. That had to count for something, right?

"Uh... yeah... What was his name again? Trout?", she tried to salvage the situation.

Lisbon grimaced, clearly a little embarrassed. "Um... Pike. Marcus Pike."

She couldn’t tell whether the expression was directed at her or at the boss herself.

Great, Grace. Another faux pas. She took a sip of the juice, hoping to clear her head.

"Oh, right. Him." The former agent frowned briefly, then her face lit up again. "Anyway, a few weeks later Cho calls and tells us you're not moving after all. Tell me! What happened?"

Lisbon brushed a strand of hair from her face and bit her lower lip. Familiar tells that showed her discomfort with the situation. But she wasn’t glaring at her, nor crossing her arms. A good sign.

Grace deliberately kept the tone light to avoid an awkward silence. More than anything, she wanted to keep her former boss from retreating into herself.

"You don't have to tell me if it's too personal," she backtracked cautiously, giving Lisbon an easy way out.

"No… it's okay. I think," Lisbon replied, pausing.

Grace didn’t press further. Maybe that would help steer the conversation in her favor, and Lisbon would elaborate on her own accord.

Silence, after all, was one of the most effective interrogation techniques. Sooner or later, most people felt the urge to fill it if the other person simply looked at them. Cho was an absolute natural at this technique. 

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Lisbon knew what Grace was doing. Once a cop, always a cop, she supposed. She herself had used the technique to her advantage often enough. She wasn't immune to it either (a weak spot in her defenses that Jane was all too happy to exploit) and now she felt that same persistent urge to fill the silence.

Still, the brunette agent wasn't entirely sure she was comfortable opening up about that matter. On the other hand, Van Pelt was fairly tipsy. There was a chance she would forget at least parts of the conversation by tomorrow anyway.

So what was the harm in a bit of girl talk and some honesty?

After all, she was the one who had suggested the 'girl talk' in the first place, she reminded herself. Besides, Grace was her closest friend, other than Jane. She trusted her with her life. Why not trust her with this as well?

"It's just--" she began hesitantly. "I haven’t talked to anyone about it. Not really. Aside from Jane, of course."

"Of course."

Well, Abbott probably knew far more details (according to Jane) than she would have liked to admit. Since ultimately, he'd been the one who had to get Jane out of trouble after his confession.

And who knew what the TSA agents had told him back then. Not to mention that Abbott had stubbornly insisted on referring to Jane as her 'boyfriend'. Long before they were even an item.

To buy herself some time, she reached for her glass and took a long sip. She let the juice slowly run down her throat, hoping the liquid would somehow calm her nerves. With a bit of luck, a kind of placebo effect would set in. After all, she was drinking orange juice from a wine glass. If she focused hard enough, she could pretend it was a Mimosa. Or something like that. Anything with alcohol, really.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to start a bit further back…," she finally said.

She took a deep breath, the inhale shakier than she’d expected. She tried again. This time she managed to calm her nerves and mentally brace herself for the conversation. And the inevitable questions that would follow.

"You know, when we - Jane and I," she clarified, "met again after those two years, it was great. I was so glad that he was still alive."

Sure, she'd had his letters. Kind of a sign of life, too. Only she'd had no idea where he was.

Or if another letter would arrive.

She'd lived in constant uncertainty, always wondering whether he would simply stop writing because he no longer wanted to. Or because he was dead.

"But something… wasn't right. Was different." She exhaled softly. "Of course, the circumstances weren't exactly what you'd call ideal. You know… technically, he was still supposed to be convicted of murder." A dry smile flickered across Lisbon's face, but quickly faded as she thought back to the time after his return.

"When we started working together again, it was like old times. The jokes, the crazy plans. Still, there was this… distance. I understood why he'd had to leave, don't get me wrong. But I was… angry. At him. At myself. For letting him back into my life after he'd basically turned it upside down. For missing him so goddamn much. And I was kind of… disappointed. I think he sensed that."

She sighed and took another sip of the juice. She let the liquid swirl in the glass, lost in thought as she watched the rotating patterns.

"I always felt like there was something between us back then, during the CBI days. Some sort of connection that went beyond friendship. But after he came back…"

She shrugged. A helpless gesture that showed she was unsure how to proceed. Grace answered it with an understanding nod.

"Anyway…" Lisbon eventually continued. "I think that's part of why I started seeing Marcus. He was normal. Open. And not… Jane."

She let out a soft huff.

"Instead of being happy, I just felt like the distance between us kept growing. I almost dismissed him once when he called and said it was important," she admitted, her tone bitter, almost angry at her past self.

"Yeah, well. As it turns out, without his hunch and persistence, a human trafficking ring would still be out there. And I tried to brush him off. Because I had a date and thought he was trying to ruin it. When all he wanted was to help and do the right thing!"

"You didn't know that." Grace placed a reassuring hand on her friend's shoulder. "Besides, considering Jane's history, a little caution isn't a bad thing."

"Yeah, I know. I didn't know." She let out a humorless laugh. "It's just that shortly after he came back to the States, we had an argument about that. Specifically, him not keeping me in the loop. And he tried to do better. He really did. Even so, I initially refused to believe him."

The agent felt tears welling up in her eyes. God, she needed to get those damn hormones under control.

Blinking rapidly, she hurriedly continued, trying to distract from it. And to finally get it over with.

"After that, things seemed to go better between us for a while. Still not great. But better. I had the feeling that if he was going to say something, it would be then. I think there was one moment when he almost did."

She recalled the sad sight of him on her porch, the scent of fresh cannoli in the air.

She had never eaten them. Nor could she bring herself to throw them away.

And the thought of sharing them with Marcus had made her feel sick that she had sent him home and gone to bed early that night.

The next morning, she gave the cannoli to her elderly couple next door, as a thank you for taking care of her front yard.

"He just kept saying he wanted me to be happy. I told myself that I was. That I wanted the stability Marcus offered me. It was fine. For a short while. Then it slowly became…"

"Boring? Too ordinary?" Grace offered.

"No!" Lisbon was quick to reply. That wasn't fair to Marcus. He had tried. Even though, in the end, he had talked her into more and more things, sometimes pressuring her in ways her old self would have frowned upon. But that was another story.

And it was true. In a way, she had been bored, the small voice in her head insisted. Even watching old movies, a pastime she usually enjoyed, had begun to feel more like an obligation than fun.

"Kind of. Maybe," she finally relented.

Van Pelt laughed. "I guess you get used to a bit of Jane-style chaos. I have to admit, I kind of miss it too. Working with Wayne and running our own business is a dream come true. I can't help but sometimes miss his crazy antics, though. Especially on the slower days."

"Good to know. I'll keep that in mind," Lisbon snorted. "Next time he decides to cross the line, I’ll put him on a plane and send him straight your way."

Well, you married him. He’s officially your permanent problem."

"Oh God, don't remind me!" Lisbon grimaced, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her barely concealed amusement. I have no idea what I've gotten myself into, do I? Well, I suppose it's too late for an annulment."

Grace giggled. "Probably. Maybe there's some legal loophole, but…"

"Yeah… Maybe." Lisbon sighed, suppressing a laugh of her own. "But why bother? It's only a few decades. I've already survived one with him. How bad can it get?"

Sipping her juice, she tried to appear as nonchalant as possible. "And just in case, I own a gun."

Strictly speaking, she owned MORE than one… but that wasn't the point.

"Don't worry, I'll take it to the grave."

Lisbon shot her a sideways look. Something about that tone, combined with Grace's expression, made her suspicious.

"Okay. There seems to be a catch, or am I missing something...?" she carefully asked the redhead.

"Yep." Grace's grin widened, far too smug for her own good. "I want to hear the rest of the story in exchange for my silence. I know there's more. Otherwise you'd be in D.C. right now, bored to death with Mister Normal."

Lisbon groaned. Life could be so simple. "Does this already count as blackmail? Should I call my lawyer?"

"Ha ha. Oh, come on, Boss. I want to hear the rest. Otherwise, I'll ask Jane. And I'm pretty sure he'll give me more details than anyone would EVER want to hear."

"Okay, that's definitely blackmail!" the brunette protested.

Grace shrugged innocently. "Hmm. Maybe. Let's just say I have my ways of getting the information I want."

"God, you sound like Jane." The agent sighed. "Fine, then ask Cho. He knows too." At least the less 'detailed' parts. Unlike Jane.

"Tried that. The guy's more closed off than an oyster. Plus, we're talking about the man who thought you two were like siblings, remember?"

Damn it.

Should she buy the guy a drink for his silence, or curse him for making her tell the story herself? Why were the men in her life… the way they were? In her next life, she definitely wanted to be reincarnated as a cat in a wealthy household with busy owners. Then she wouldn't have to deal with stuff like that.

Although… someone would find a way to bother her anyway.

Probably her brothers. Or Jane, who would be reincarnated as a talking parrot or some equally noisy creature.

Grace just kept grinning at her.

"Fine!" Lisbon groaned, resigning herself to her fate. "Where was I?"

She knew perfectly well where she had left off. But a not insignificant part of her hoped Van Pelt would pick up at a later point.

"The part where you were explaining how boring that fish guy was."

Damn it!

"Okay. Um… Marcus had this job offer in D.C., and…" She paused. "…and he sort of asked me to go with him. And I sort of agreed. I don't even know why... I mean, I'd only known him for a few weeks. But since things with Jane had felt... I don't know... like my life wasn’t going anywhere, and I thought this was my last chance for a change and--"

Grace stopped her spiraling thoughts with a reassuring touch to her elbow. "Yeah, I get it."

With a hint of self-irony, she tried to lighten the mood and distract Lisbon. "At least your boyfriend didn't turn out to be some serial killer's henchman. And you weren't engaged to him either, so... all good."

Lisbon said nothing.

The silence apparently spoke volumes, because Grace's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh, boy."

"Yeah…" she admitted quietly. Embarrassment tinged her voice. "Not exactly one of my finest moments."

"How? Why? I mean… When?"

She avoided Grace's expectant, albeit questioning, look as best she could. A loose thread on the sleeve of her blouse suddenly became very interesting. Her eyes fixed on it, she searched for the right words.

"In short…" She hesitated. How could one possibly fit so many conflicting feelings into just a few sentences?

Perhaps the way she would have approached a murder case. First, create a timeline of events, and then report it concisely and to the point. Stick to the facts. That, she could do. Facts.

"In short," she began again. "After Jane learned that I was moving to D.C. with Marcus, a letter arrived at HQ. In it, the killer in an unsolved case threatened to kill again. The old case was reopened. We all thought the real killer was about to strike again. Well. As it turns out, Jane had written the letter himself, pretending to be the killer. To lure us to Miami… and to stop me from leaving.

An echo of the emotional storm she had felt back then reverberated within her.

"When I found out, I was furious. Absolutely livid. Confused. Hurt. And…" She took a deep breath, reminding herself that this chapter of her life was over. With each deliberate breath, the tension drained from her shoulders. Calmer now, she continued.

"Marcus had proposed to me a few days earlier. And all I wanted was to get away from Jane. On the way to the airport, I accepted the proposal. Mostly out of frustration. I think."

"Why did you stay?"

The answer to that could be summed up in a single word:

"Jane."

~ A few months earlier - Key West International Airport ~

How could one man be so damn arrogant and selfish?, whe wondered as she stowed her carry-on luggage in the overhead compartment of the airplane. Why did he always have to make everything so complicated? God, how she hated him right now.

She couldn't wait for the stupid plane to finally take off so she'd never see that guy again.

The delay at the airport gave her time to question whether she had made the right decision.

She had concluded that it had been the only possible choice, one that neither ruined what remained of her dignity nor landed her in prison. She could think of plenty of ways to punish that bastard. And the glass of water to the face had been the mildest of them.

Her fear that he would be waiting for her as she left the room turned out to be unfounded. He hadn't. Good for him. Otherwise, he might have had to get used to a black eye - in addition to his wet shirt.

But that never happened, and everything was fine (she told herself). In D.C., her fiancé would be waiting for her, and--

Damn it.

She'd almost forgotten about that. Fuck.

She dropped into her seat. Middle seat. Great. She couldn’t wait for the day to be over. An exasperated huff escaped her.

The man in the window seat next to her gave her an irritated look. She didn't care. Whatever. It wasn’t even close to the worst thing that had happened to her today.

What had she been thinking, accepting a marriage proposal on a whim like that?

She was over forty, for Heaven's sake. She should have known better.

Her last engagement had lasted three weeks. Then she’d run.

Something in her told her that, in the long run, she wouldn’t be happy with Marcus either.

The thought irritated her. Why wouldn't it work out in the long run? Right now, everything was going well. Perfectly, even. She had a respected, well-paid job. She was engaged to a fairly good-looking man who also understood that her job demanded sacrifices. Everything was great.

If it weren't for this gnawing feeling that she was making the biggest mistake of her life. And she had made plenty of mistakes. Starting with her brothers.

Maybe she just wasn't cut out for this kind of life. Married. Children. She had always wanted children and knew that Marcus had certain expectations in that regard. But once again, she felt that uneasy twist in her stomach.

Why was everything so damn complicated?

This time, she couldn't even blame it entirely on Jane. It had been her decision to go to D.C. To accept the proposal.

Yes, she was angry with him.

Angry.

The word didn’t even begin to cover the emotional turmoil raging inside her. But he hadn’t forced her into any of it.

If it weren't for that damn case - reopened because of Jane, mind you - she’d be in D.C. by now, putting random things into cupboards while Marcus ordered food. If there was one thing the man couldn’t do, it was cook.

Was this really what she wanted? This 'domestic bliss'? Takeout every night. Thai. Or Italian. Or Indian. Or Mexican. She used to live on that stuff for weeks at a time. So what was wrong with it now? She just couldn't understand herself.

A dull pounding spread behind her temples. She closed her eyes and leaned back. With a bit of luck, she might be able to sleep for a while. That way, at least, she wouldn't have to think about all of this anymore.

Someone sat down next to her. Judging by the strong scent of perfume, an older woman. Or someone who'd fallen into the shelf of perfume bottles at the duty-free shop.

(Did this airport even have a duty-free shop? Should she have bought Marcus some kind of engagement gift? She didn’t even know what he'd have liked. Alcohol? A Florida-themed souvenir? She knew he didn't smoke, so at least that was off the table.)

Above her, she could hear the ventilation humming.

The man by the window sniffed. More than once.

Didn’t he have a tissue?

A flight attendant walked down the aisle.

Another sniff.

The pilot announced they were cleared for takeoff.

Sniff.

The sounds of the plane merged with the murmur of voices.

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.

Then: commotion. Loud voices. Footsteps moving hurriedly down the aisle. A curtain was thrown open. Her eyes snapped open, ready to face the danger head-on. Even without her gun, she had a good chance.

And there he was. Patrick Jane.

And she was trapped between Mr. Sniff and Perfume-Bottle Lady.

Had she already said 'damn it' today?

"There you are."

Oh God. How she’d love to punch him right now.

"What are you doing here?" So, he had followed her. If this was one of his stupid plans--

"There's something I need to say." Good for you, she thought. Why couldn’t the guy just leave her alone? Her life was complicated enough right now, thanks to her questionable spur-of-the-moment decisions.

"I don't want to see you. Go away." And she meant it.

He could hardly undo the mess and chaos he'd created in the last 24 hours, not just for her, but for everyone involved in the case. No matter what he had to say.

Oh, how she longed for a door she could slam in his face. Preferably one made of wood or metal. Didn’t matter. As long as it was sturdy. Let him break his nose on it!

Instead, she was trapped on the plane, in her seat. No escape. Forced to listen to him, unless she wanted to draw even more attention to herself.

"You're right. You're right!" he conceded. "I-I have forgotten how to act like a normal human being." Pfft! The understatement of the century. Like saying the Great Wall of China took a few years to build.

With increasing urgency, he continued, growing faster and faster. She could hardly keep up with him. His words nearly tumbled over each other. Like a rushing stream he could no longer control.

If the situation hadn't been so emotionally charged, and if she herself weren't on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she probably would have found it amusing to see Jane so rattled.

"And I play games, and I lie, and I-- And I trick people to avoid the truth of how I feel. And the idea of letting anyone close to me i-is terrifying, for obvious reasons. But the truth, Teresa, is that I can't imagine waking up knowing that I won't see you."

Whoa, okay. Wait a minute. What the hell was going on? Just a few seconds ago, she was determined to personally send him to the hospital.

But he had called her Teresa. He only did that when it was really important to him.

Involuntarily, her breathing quickened. She silently begged him not to say it. Whatever it was. Because she knew whatever he was about to say would change her life completely.

And she wasn't sure whether she was ready for that.

"The truth is…"

Her lips started to tremble. Her heart was racing. Barely noticeable, she shook her head, as if that alone could stop the words from coming. She wanted to interrupt him. She SHOULD stop him. But something held her back.

"I love you."

Oh god.

Panic.

Panic.

Panic!

What was she supposed to say to that?

She tried to find the right words. She gasped for air. It didn’t help. The world seemed to stand still.

Everything around her - the plane, the people - faded into the background.

Helplessly, she stared at him. Then squeezed her eyes shut. Pointless. It wasn’t a dream. And she had no idea what to do.

The change in him was almost palpable. He let out a sharp breath, like a weight he’d carried for years had finally been lifted. "You can't imagine how good that feels to say out loud, but it scares me. And it is the truth. It is the truth of what I feel."

She had to say something. Anything.

He looked at her, with those beautiful eyes she had lost herself in countless times, only to pretend afterward that she hadn’t. She had never quite been able to tell whether they were blue or green. But that didn’t matter now. Only the way he looked at her. Not expectant. Not demanding. Eyes full of truth. He saw her as she was.

The words that left her mouth hurt all the more.

"It's too late. Jane, it's too late."

Why did the words sound so wrong? Like a lie. Rehearsed often enough to pass as truth. And yet, at its core, still a lie.

But it had to be this way. Marcus was waiting for her in Washington. She had made a promise.

She couldn't let Jane change her mind.

No matter how long she had yearned to hear those words from him. How long, she was only beginning to realize. She wanted to say it back. To wipe that heart-wrenching look off his face.

But she couldn't. She just… couldn't.

The tears she hadn’t even noticed gathering finally spilled over.

And him? He responded with understanding. He surrendered. Without asking for anything in return.

"Maybe. And I understand. That's okay. I needed to get to this…" He took a noticeable breath. "And you deserve to hear it."

Before she could respond, the world around her came crashing back with full force.

"Put your hands in the air right now. Do it!"

In an instant, the bubble that had been just Jane and herself burst, and she found herself back on a plane full of people.

And one very angry TSA agent.

Jane surrendered without protest. Whatever fight had been in him was gone.

"I love you, Teresa," he said again as he was being led away. "And it makes me happy to be able to say that to you!"

His sole focus was on her. As if she held the answers to all his questions. As if she alone could recognize the truth in his words.

And she… She didn't know what to say or do. She had been prepared to yell at him. To beat him up, right here in front of all the passengers. But the honesty in his eyes. That took the wind out of her sails.

Jane didn't pressure her. That was the problem. He just accepted it. No argument. No pleading. No 'Please choose me.' Just quiet, simple acceptance. He respected her decision.

She could still hear him talking, professing his love for her.

"I love her. That woman in 12B. I love her. You take care of her!" His voice was laced with desperation. Like keeping her safe was the most important thing in the world at that moment. And maybe, in his world, it was.

Even as he was being taken away, he repeated it like a mantra. The words burned into her mind. A sob caught in her throat. She fumbled for her tissue, trying her best to dab the tears from her eyes.

By now, even the last person had turned their attention to what was happening in row twelve. Perfume-Bottle Lady looked at her, a hint of pity in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. That was embarrassing," she tried to salvage the situation, acutely aware of the undivided attention of the entire plane.

"Oh, shush, honey. Every woman on this plane is green with envy," Perfume-Bottle Lady replied. She highly doubted that. Who would want to be the center of attention for well over 50 people at once? She felt like she was part of a cheap soap opera.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the past few minutes and the people around her.

Jane's expression as he spoke those words haunted her. She saw it in her mind's eye, over and over again. As clearly as if it had been captured on camera.

She had rarely seen him so distraught. For a split second, the thought crossed her mind that this was one of his tricks. She immediately dismissed the idea.

Jane had done a lot of questionable things in his life. But he had never made jokes about this.

Love.

He might be an atheist, but for him, love was sacred. A part of him he didn't give away lightly or to just anyone. And she had just rejected that love.

Another sob escaped her.

She had a life of stability ahead of her.

In Washington, D.C.

And on the other side, a life of uncertainty and chaos in Texas.

And love. Apparently.

Was Jane worth the risk?

Yes, she decided.

Then the pilot announced that the plane was ready for takeoff again after the interruption.

She made a decision.

"I was so embarrassed." Everyone on that damn plane had probably seen what had happened.

She silently prayed that no one had recorded it. Otherwise, she might as well change her name and disappear into the wilderness. (She wasn’t that far off. Lisbon-Jane could pass for a new name. And their little cabin by the lake could count as wilderness - at least by her Chicago standards.)

"I think it's kind of cute. And so Jane," Grace's inner romantic chimed in.

"That's one way to put it."

Though the brunette agent had to admit: In hindsight, it had been pretty romantic. He had (literally) overcome obstacles and hurt himself to confess his love for her.

A bouquet of flowers and a dinner invitation would probably have done the trick as well. However, this way she could tell her offspring about their father's 'heroic deeds'. Jane would surely have a blast with it.

"And you? What did you do after that?" Grace asked curiously, eyes wide. On the edge of her seat, so to speak.

"After… I couldn’t leave." Lost in thought, she traced the ring on her finger, as if she needed to make sure it was really there. It still felt foreign. Unfamiliar. Not uncomfortable, but different. But just as the closeness between Jane and her had become familiar over time, she would get used to this, too.

"He didn't pressure me to stay," she continued. Unlike Marcus, she added in her thoughts. "Of course, Jane had tried to manipulate me at first. But in the end… He would have let me go."

He would have let her live her life. A life she thought she wanted just seconds before he appeared on the plane.

"How could I just leave after a confession like that? Reject him without talking to him one last time? He at least deserved that. I owed him that much. That we wouldn't part on bad terms."

The last time this had happened, she had been kidnapped by Red John.

Not that there had been any chance of a repeat this time, but it had felt wrong.

"Especially because I felt the same way he did." The realization had been quiet back at the time. But all the more true for it. And irreversible.

She shrugged. "So I got off the plane. Abbott had arranged for me to see him in the holding cell."

For hours, she had talked to the TSA agents. Argued with them. Tried to explain the situation. In her desperation, she had called Abbott at least five times.

Until he showed up in person, no one would let her into the room.

When she was finally allowed to see him, her heart was hammering as if trying to break free from her chest and reach him.

All the tension vanished the moment their eyes met.

"Jane looked at me like he had seen a ghost. I asked him if he was serious. If not, I probably would have kicked his sorry ass." She scoffed. "And that idiot had nothing better to do than make jokes."

Grace chuckled. "Well, that's Jane for you," she said before taking a sip from her glass.

Lisbon did the same before continuing. "But when I asked him to say it again, he leaned in. And…"

"And…?" Grace pressed. Her fingers drummed restlessly against her glass, her foot tapping up and down. Impatience personified.

"Then he kissed me." She smiled at the memory.

She had guessed what he was about to do the moment he stood up and his eyes locked on hers. Time seemed to slow down in that instant, almost in slow motion. ven though she probably only had a few seconds to prepare for it.

And yet, nothing could have prepared her for the intensity and strength of feelings that first kiss had stirred within her.

Van Pelt squealed and probably would have clapped her hands if she hadn't been holding her glass.

Lisbon fought the reflex to cover her ears. Briefly, she wondered if the glass could withstand that pitch. Good thing she hadn't offered the former agent any more alcohol.

Quickly, she continued the story to relieve the poor glass.

"On the way to the hotel, he kept telling me how much he loved me and how sorry he was about how everything went down. It was kind of cheesy... But I loved every second of it," she admitted, shaking her head. Jane had done what no one before him had. He had awakened her own romantic side.

"So? How was it?"

If she had just been drinking, she would've spit it out in a perfect arc. "How was what?"

A blush immediately rose to her cheeks. She couldn't possibly mean-- No matter how drunk Grace was, and odds were she'd forget what she'd said by tomorrow… She was DEFINITELY not ready to talk to her former co-worker about her first time with Jane. Girl talk or not.

Luckily, the redhead saved her from further embarrassment and clarified, "Well, the kiss!"

Oh… Oh! Okay.

Of course.

The kiss.

Not… the other thing.

Come on, Lisbon, get a grip.

She'd long since lost count of how many times her thoughts had drifted to the bedroom today. Including her… indecent thoughts during the meeting at the bar.

"Does he kiss well? I've always wondered." Now it was Grace's turn to blush. A part of her, not under the influence of alcohol, apparently remembered that she was sitting across from her former boss.

She scrambled for words to explain herself.

Whether the words she chose saved her situation was more than questionable.

"You KNOW your husband is hot! The definition of hot. I mean, my guy is also damn handsome, and I wouldn't trade him for anything, but Jane was already hot, even back when he was a crazy mess. So, naturally, I'm a little curious."

To her credit, Grace seemed somewhat embarrassed, even if her inhibitions were clearly lowered.

Normally, Lisbon would have ended the conversation right then and there. However, she had to admit, it was actually kind of fun (even if a little childish) to talk about their crushes like love-struck teenagers. Something she'd missed out on at that age.

Even though her face could rival a tomato, she kept going and gave Grace the information she'd been craving. With conditions.

"Jane absolutely cannot find out. I don't want it getting to his head." She could already picture his smug grin if he ever were to find out.

"My lips are sealed," Grace replied, accompanied by a fitting gesture.

"Okay. Between you and me... Every time I kiss him, there's this tingling feeling." She laughed nervously. Saying it out loud almost sounded exaggerated. But that didn't make it any less true.

"I've never felt like that before. It's perfect. He's so considerate. He seems to know what I want before I even know myself."

Another tense laugh.

"God, that sounded very sentimental, didn't it?"

"No, not at all." Grace vigorously shook her head. "Marrying a mentalist has its advantages, huh?"

Oh yes. Not just when it came to kissing. Her cheeks flushed again. "You have no idea."

Judging by the suppressed giggles coming from her, Grace could guess what hadn't been said. The agent cleared her throat and looked away.

Her former colleague took pity on her, rescuing her with a change of subject. "You know... only the two of you could manage to have a serial killer show up at your wedding."

Lisbon laughed, relieved by the shift in the conversation. "Well, it wasn't exactly what I'd call 'planned.' We didn't want any guests to begin with. You see how that went."

"We were happy to be there."

"So was I. Despite the chaos… I'm glad you could make it."

"We wouldn't have missed it for the world!"

The two women smiled at each other.

In the end, the celebration, with its blown-out-of-proportion scale (and the uninvited killer), had been the happiest day of her life.

Her only regret was that Minelli hadn't managed to come on such short notice. She would have loved to have him there.

The last real contact had been well over a year ago, around the time Haibach had been targeting former CBI members. She had wanted to make sure he was okay. And, of course, there were the few minutes when she and Jane had called Minelli to invite him. That hardly counted as 'keeping in touch'.

"So… no honeymoon? Cho told us."

"Oh, did he now?"

Grace nodded, her expression almost apologetic.

Lisbon didn't hold it against her. There were no secrets among the three of them. That was an open secret.

Rigsby was a lost cause. Cho tried, but he didn't stand a chance against Van Pelt's charm. She had a way of getting people to talk, and she knew exactly how to use it.

She had experienced that firsthand in the past few minutes.

"No, not right now," she answered. "Cho is already understaffed as it is. It certainly wouldn't make a good impression on the C-suite if the team of their newly appointed Supervisory Special Agent suddenly became completely inoperable."

"Don't skip it. When Wayne and I caught up on our honeymoon, it was one of the best things that's happened to me in a while. Well, after Maddy. But she was probably conceived right th-- Sorry. TMI." She exhaled sharply through her teeth and scratched the back of her neck."Phew. I should've drunk less."

"No, it's fine," Lisbon waved it off, even as the warmth lingered in her face. "After everything that's happened with the CBI, it was nice for a change to have some good news, having a new member join the family."

"Maddy was a surprise, but she means the world to me." She smiled gently. "Just like Ben. I love that little guy. Just as food-obsessed as his dad. And the cutest little monster there is."

A thought seemed to cross her mind. She seemed to consider it for a moment before blurting out: "What about you?"

"W-what do you mean?"

Lisbon tried to hold her gaze.

And suddenly became acutely aware of the hand resting protectively on her stomach.

When did that happen?

She suppressed the urge to pull her hand away as if she'd been burned, afraid of drawing attention. With a fervent hope, she prayed Grace hadn't noticed. Luck seemed to be on her side. The younger woman went on talking, unfazed.

"Well, you know. You and Jane and kids."

"Um... well..." She searched for words that sounded as neutral as possible. "If it happens, it happens. If not, then not. I'm not against it... But with work and everything else, it won't be easy." Her face remained unreadable as she emptied her glass in one go. For good measure, she added a deliberately indifferent shrug.

"I bet your kid would be the cutest around."

"I sure hope so. Well... if it happens."

Grace gave a firm nod, as though any other possibility was not just unlikely, but utterly absurd.

"Uh, and Jane has gorgeous hair," she went on, nearly fangirling. "It would be a shame not to pass that on to the next generation."

She had a point. Lisbon herself had always had a particular fondness for his curls. A trait she hoped her baby would inherit. And his eyes. Still, none of that truly mattered. As long as the baby was healthy, she would be overjoyed, regardless of its appearance.

Enthusiastically, Grace continued her train of thought. "Jane would probably go overboard with everything. Still, he'd be a great dad. And you an even better mother."

Lisbon didn't quite know how to respond to that compliment. Instead, she latched onto the part about her partner, if only to keep the focus off herself.

"Yeah, he will be," she agreed, the words out before she had a chance to really think them through.

Shit.

Should she have said 'would' instead of 'will'?

Hoping Grace hadn't noticed, she hurriedly added: "I mean, if it happens, it happens."

"Sure… But you already said that. Twice."

"Huh. Weird," Lisbon deflected. "Must be the alcohol. Might've been a bit much."

Grace narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Then her expression suddenly brightened.

"Of course." She giggled. "I should've stopped earlier too. No idea if I'll remember the whole evening tomorrow. You, on the other hand, seem to have handled the alcohol quite well, huh?"

"Well, I didn't drink as much."

Technically, that wasn't even a lie. Zero glasses of alcohol was less than however many Van Pelt had had.

She shifted under Van Pelt's scrutinizing gaze, trying (and failing) to maintain eye contact. Uncertain, she brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

"Speaking of drinks. Would you like more juice? Or water? We also have tea, naturally," she asked nervously, nodding toward Grace's empty glass.

The redhead shook her head and kept staring at her.

Then she opened her mouth. But before she could say anything, Lisbon's salvation came in the form of the sound of a key in the front door.

A moment later, Jane and Rigsby appeared, and Grace seemed to forget her question as she jumped to her feet and threw herself into her husband's arms.

"Whoa!" Rigsby exclaimed, surprised, but returned the enthusiastic embrace without hesitation. Glancing at the empty wine glasses on the coffee table, he teased, "Guess you didn't have enough earlier, huh?"

With a soft chuckle, Lisbon stood up and went to join her friends.

Considerably less energetic than her former co-worker, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a brief kiss to her husband's cheek. With an almost shy smile, she lifted her gaze, peering at him through her lashes. He returned her look - emerald meeting sea-green -, took her hand, and squeezed it gently. A silent 'How are you? Everything okay? I missed you.' conveyed all his affection and care in a single gesture.

She felt that familiar flutter in her stomach that always came with his presence. With a slight squeeze of her own, she answered his unspoken questions. 'I'm fine. I missed you too.'

Satisfied, he looked deeply into her eyes for a moment. A slight nod signaled that he understood. Then his attention shifted to the two former agents, who had by now broken free from their embrace and were watching them with interest.

"Well then, what were you ladies talking about?", Jane asked, head tilted as he gestured between the two women with his finger, his other hand still holding hers.

Said ladies exchanged seemingly meaningful looks. Just like before, Grace mimed sealing her lips. Both burst into giggles - Lisbon somewhat reserved, while Grace laughed freely, barely making any effort to hold it back.

"Oh, nothing. Just girl stuff, you know?" Van Pelt replied once she had somewhat recovered. Only to start giggling again right away.

"Wow, someone's very drunk," Rigsby remarked (though he himself seemed a bit unsteady on his feet).

Unnoticed, Jane and Lisbon's eyes met. She caught a hint of curiosity in his features.

Her husband knew she wasn't drunk, and he had probably also noticed the faint color in her cheeks, which accordingly couldn't be attributed to alcohol. No doubt he would ask her about it once the Rigsbys had left.

Eventually, their mutual staring was noticed by the others. Grace cleared her throat. "I think we should leave the newlyweds alone," she said, stressing the word 'newlyweds' just a little too much.

Wayne looked at her, puzzled. "Why?"

Van Pelt nudged her husband. With a pointed look, she rolled her eyes.

"Oh," Rigsby realized. Discomfort was written all over his face, and a slight flush spread across his cheeks.

Lisbon fared no better, but her challenging 'boss look' - arms crossed, eyes narrowed - spoke volumes, daring him to say it out loud.

Rigsby appeared visibly intimidated by the smaller woman, instinctively raising his hands in a defense. Jane watched the exchange, amusement flickering in his eyes as his attention shifted back and forth between them.

He'd better not get too ahead of himself. If he pressed her too hard about their little 'girl talk', (and he would almost certainly ask about it) he’d feel the full force of that look himself.

"Uh, sure thing. It was good to see you, Boss. Jane." Rigsby spun around, suddenly very eager to leave.

Although it was always a bit entertaining to watch this giant of a man shrink into himself like a little boy, and though her gaze was genuinely serious, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Rolling her eyes, Lisbon caught his arm before pulling him into a brief hug. It wasn't anything like their greeting hug in the bar, but warm nonetheless. When they pulled apart, Rigsby looked visibly relieved not to have provoked her wrath.

Of course, the situation had been uncomfortable for her. It had felt good, no doubt, to talk to someone other than Jane about her feelings. Even so, it had taken quite a bit of emotional energy.

She cared deeply for the Rigsbys, but in hindsight, she felt a little overwhelmed by so much interest in her private life.

It's not that she was glad to see them go. She simply looked forward to to ending the evening quietly in her husband's arms.

"Should I call you a taxi?", Jane asked, as if he'd read her mind (or simply worked his mentalist magic).

"No need, it's not that far," Grace waved it off, slipping into her jacket. She zipped it up and straightened the fabric. "I think the night air will help us sober up. Can't hurt." A glance at her slightly swaying husband confirmed her words.

"How are you getting to the airport tomorrow? Is Cho driving you?", the blond man continued.

Rigsby nodded. "Yeah. Flight's at 8."

For a brief moment, no one quite knew what to say.

Then Lisbon spoke: "I'm going to miss you guys," before pulling Grace into an embrace.

"Thanks for the talk," the brunette murmured softly, close to her ear. "It felt… good."

"Anytime. And if you ever need to talk…" Van Pelt raised her voice "… or want to rant about Jane--"

"Hey! I heard that!"

Grace remained completely unfazed. "--call me. No matter what. I'm always there."

"Thank you," Lisbon replied fighting back tears and relieved that Grace couldn't see her face. She gave her friend another tight squeeze before letting go.

"Well then, I'll go take care of my drunk wife," Rigsby announced. Then, turning to Jane: "You, take care of the boss, will you?"

His words might have come off as threatening. If not for his obvious attempt to lean against the wall as inconspicuously as possible.

"For the rest of my life," Jane said solemnly.

The tall man nodded in satisfaction, and they exchanged their goodbyes.

Rigsby was about to open the door when Lisbon suddenly remembered something. "Hang on."

She turned, headed to the hallway closet, and began rummaging through jackets and other scattered items. After a brief search, she finally pulled out a (very pink) polka-dotted scarf.

She hadn’t shown it, but she had noticed that Grace seemed to be getting chilly on the way to her house. Thanks to Jane's insistence and overprotectiveness, she herself had brought a warmer jacket.

"Here." Lisbon stepped back and held out the scarf. "You can keep it. Or give it to Maddy. Or return it whenever. I don't need it." And it was so not her color.

Karen had gifted it to her when she moved to Washington, saying it was to keep her from 'freezing after the California heat'. A well-meaning gesture from her sister-in-law, but she had never worn the scarf.

Grace smiled with gratitude, and the two Rigsbys bid their farewells once more.

Jane and Lisbon watched as their silhouettes moved down the garden path toward the street, arms linked.

Moments later, they rounded the corner and disappeared from view.