Work Text:
My Blue Heaven – Pt. 2
The sun hangs high in the sky, the rays beating down on the silvery, turquoise waters that lap gently at the shores of Isla de Margarita. The salty breeze carries the giggles of local children playing along the coastline, their footprints quickly erased by the rhythmic waves.
Out on the cliffs, hikers tread the dirt paths, armed with plenty of water and skin coated in sunscreen. Below, the beach stretches in a crescent of soft, white sand, kissed by the Caribbean Sea. Only the tourists would be out walking during an afternoon like this, but various stands are dotted around the area, offering sustenance and shade under parasols if needed – for a buck or two of course.
The local town is bustling with activity from market stall owners calling out they day’s deals in cheerful Spanish, to the scent of freshly cooked food at the cafés. The arteries of the area are the narrow, dusty cobblestone streets that are now being walked on by a woman who’s not from around here. She steps onto the edge of the road when a motorcycle zips past her so fast that she’s almost pushed up against the vibrant pink bougainvillea that decorates the walls.
The woman moves with purpose then, her flowing sundress swaying with each step as she weaves through the lively streets. The sun is relentless in the cloudless sky, but the occasional sea breeze offers brief relief, rustling her dark brown hair and cooling the sweat at the nape of her neck.
This is the third island she’s set foot on in just a week, yet despite the paradise surrounding her, she can’t seem to shake the weight pressing against her chest. She should feel relaxed, after all people come here to escape, to have a vacation from their busy lives, but she isn’t here for that.
She’s here for him.
It’s been two long years since he disappeared from normal life – well, whatever counted as “normal” with him around. One day he was there, obsessing about getting his answers, obsessing about finding Red John, and the next he had vanished like a ghost… after committing multiple crimes. Jane had a knack for keeping her in the dark about his plans, claiming it gives her deniability, yet she was still shocked that he managed to escape the country and evade the FBI, at the drop of a hat.
He must have been planning it for months, and that was what hurt the most. Teresa Lisbon was so angry with him for a time, that he had managed to run away and avoid the mess he had created, but when his first letter arrived out of the blue, it hit her that she was angry for other reasons.
She had missed him. A lot. And she was upset that he now gets to have this peaceful life probably with sun-kissed skin and no responsibilities, yet she had to clear up after him once again, before being thrown into a new job that she hated every second of. Is it no wonder that she’s risking it all to find him again? Even if that means she can never go back to her old life, to the US, to law enforcement.
Lisbon doesn’t know exactly what she’ll find – if anything – but she has a better feeling about this island than the last two. Or maybe that’s just hope.
It was six months ago that she decided she’s had enough. Cannon River was dull and being a Police Chief there may have paid the bills and kept her in a profession that meant a great deal to her, but it was also soul-destroying. Jane’s letters, however few they were, gave her a purpose and any free time she had she started to spend analysing them to work out where they came from. To work out where he is.
It's also when she started dusting off her Spanish, having learnt some back in High School and picking up certain phrases on the job. It has been good for her, it has been keeping her brain whirring when she was struggling to stimulate it. About a month ago though, the Rigsbys came to visit, and Wayne picked up a textbook off the coffee table before making some quip about how she needs it now that he isn’t around, that Grace joined the dots. “Do you know where he is?” She had asked, her eyes imploring.
“Who? Jane?” Rigsby then questioned.
“I don’t know where he is.” Lisbon used her standard line before being a little more honest. “But I am trying to work it out.”
She thought they would talk her out of it, point out that this would potentially mean never returning, but they didn’t. They encouraged her. They said how they thought it would make her happy, and happiness is something she has desperately been lacking since the dismantling of the CBI, and Jane skipping out of her life.
She really hopes that he is here, because if he isn’t, then she doesn’t know where to look next.
Lisbon comes across a tiny store wedged into the side of an old building, it entrance an archway revealing a cramped space lined with trinkets, advertisements, and postcards. Behind the counter, two women sit, locked in an animated discussion, their hands moving as rapidly as their words. Their voices, melodic and quick, bounce off the walls, until they notice the visitor lingering just outside.
Their conversation halts as one of them cranes their neck to try and get a look at the obvious tourist. When Lisbon steps inside she’s immediately grateful for the shade the overhang provides. The relief is instant, the contrast between the suffocating heat outside and the slightly cooler air inside allowing her to take her first deep breath in what feels like hours.
Her gaze flickers past the women to a sign behind them, handwritten in bold, looping script. It lists everyday items such as agua, dulces, tabaco, but one word stands out to her like a beacon.
Sellos – stamps.
Her pulse quickens. If Jane is here, then this could be the place he comes to send her those cryptic, lovely, infuriating, heartbreakingly familiar letters. For the first time in years, she feels close to him. However, she tries not to get ahead of herself. “Hola…” She greets and the two women then repeat the word back to her as she takes another deep breath. “Disculpen, señoras.” (Excuse me ladies). She starts, trying to remember all the Spanish she has learnt. “Estoy buscando a alguien que pueda vivir aquí. Él también es de Estados Unidos.” (I am looking for someone who may live here. He's also from the US.)
These words are pretty well rehearsed now after having the same query on the previous two islands she has visited, yet they still feel alien on her tongue. She just hopes she isn’t completely butchering the language. “Tiene cabello rubio, rizado y ojos azules. Mide aproximadamente...” (He's got blonde, curly hair and blue eyes. He's about...) She holds out a hand above her head. “…así de alto.” (…this tall.)
“¡Ah, sí!” One of the ladies exclaims and Lisbon’s heart skips a beat. “¿Señor Jane?”
Jane. She just said his name and Lisbon becomes a little dizzy.
No one talks about him to her anymore, well, apart from Abbott and whoever else the FBI sends to check in with her to ensure they have had no contact. So hearing someone say his name again, is a lot for her to process. “Lo siento, pero... ¿acabas de decir Jane?” (I'm sorry, but... did you just say Jane?) She questions breathlessly. “¿Él vive aquí?” (He lives here?)
“Sí, señora. El señor Jane vive en un pequeño apartamento en la cima de la colina, aproximadamente a un kilómetro al norte.” (Yes madame. Mr Jane lives in a small apartment up the hill. About one kilometre North.)
“A la vuelta de la peluquería de la señorita López.” (Around the corner from Miss Lopez's hair salon.) The other woman then adds.
“Peluquería…” Lisbon mutters, missing the word from her Spanish vocabulary.
“Peluquería.” The second woman repeats, miming using her index and middle fingers on her right hand as scissors as she brings them up to her hair.
“Ah hair salon!” Lisbon realises.
Jane is here, on this island, living in a small apartment near Miss Lopez’s hair salon. She’s actually going to see him again. The idea – despite being her goal of being here – makes her woozy and her confidence wavers as she glances behind her in the direction of the hill. Her whole plan assumed that he would be pleased to see her – but what if he isn’t? “Disculpe, señora.” (Excuse me, madam.) The first woman breaks through her thoughts making Lisbon turn back to them. “¿Es usted Teresa?” (Are you Teresa?)
Lisbon beams. “Sí.”
“Ah.” The woman smiles slightly. “Creo que el señor Jane estará feliz de verla.” (I think Mr Jane will be happy to see you.)
These words knock her off her feet more than everything else. The sun continues to tear down on everyone outside the shop, but it's this that makes her feel weaker. She’s surprised she is still upright, with her legs now turning to jelly as her wooziness amplifies. Her reaction speaks volumes, and this is all the courage she needs to make her move. “Muchas gracias por tu ayuda.” (Thank you so much for your help.)
xxx
The island is alive with the steady hum of life – vendors calling out their wares, the laughter of children kicking a worn soccer ball down the dusty road, the faint strains of a guitar drifting from a nearby café. Patrick Jane moves through it all at an easy pace, his well-worn shoes scuffing against the uneven ground, a paper grocery bag tucked securely under one arm. The bag crinkles softly with every step, filled with ripe tomatoes, crisp peppers, a bundle of fresh herbs, and a sack of rice. Simple ingredients for a simple meal that perhaps perfectly reflects his now simple life.
This is what he wanted. A life without high stress and anxiety, and even though he has a strong feeling that something is missing, maybe even someone, he’s still grateful to be here. It took twelve years to take down Red John, but he did, they did it, and he got away without having to face the consequences of that. He knows it was selfish of him, leaving others to clear up his mess, but it seemed like the best idea at the time because he frankly was selfish. There’s not a lot to have an impact on here on this island, but he hopes to continue his life unselfishly. Plus, the solitude is probably punishment enough.
Today has been a better day though. He’s thinking about the dolphins as he wanders towards his apartment. Earlier, as he stood near the cliffs, he had watched a pod of them skimming the water’s surface, their sleek bodies cutting through the waves with effortless grace. They had moved as one, freely and playfully, completely unaware how precious their existence was to him in that moment.
It was precious because he knows the sight was something Lisbon would appreciate.
She would have smiled, maybe even let out that soft, breathy laugh she reserved for moments that truly struck her. He can already see the words forming in his mind, the way he’ll describe it to her in his next letter. Letters that he doesn’t know for sure she’s receiving, but he’s hoping she is because although it may be cruel to advertise his peaceful life to her, at least she then knows that he’s alive and well. He thinks this is something that would matter to her.
The thought lingers as he rounds the corner towards his small, rented apartment, the ocean breeze rustling his shirt. There’s also another reason why he writes the letters though… He could disappear forever in a place like this, but they tether him to something. To someone. They help him remain real.
But something else that could help him remain real that’s more tangible than letters, is being recognised again, being known, it’s only humanising – and it’s like his wishes are answered.
Jane stands frozen near the bottom of the external staircase, his breath catching in his throat. For a second, he thinks the heat is playing tricks on him, or maybe it’s his own mind finally unravelling after two years of isolation. Because she’s here, in front of him, his former professional partner, his friend. Teresa Lisbon.
Sitting on the steps, looking just as real as the grocery bag he nearly drops. Her dark hair is dishevelled after a day of being outdoors, and her beach bag is slung over her shoulder like she belongs here, like she’s been here all along just waiting for him to come home. His heart almost stops beating when she looks up and smiles.
It’s not just any smile, it’s a huge one. It’s the kind that reaches her stunning green eyes, that accentuates the lines beside them, and it cracks something open inside him. Jane knew he missed her, he knew that mere hours after running away, but he hadn’t allowed himself to feel how much, and suddenly it’s hitting him hard. It feels a bit like drunkenness in how foggy his head becomes.
He barely registers her standing, barely hears the sound of her voice as she moves towards him, because his body reacts before his mind can catch up. The grocery bag lands with a muffled thud on the warm ground, not caring that his fresh produce will most likely blemish and bruise.
He closes the distance between them in an instant, wrapping her up in his arms like she belongs there, pulling her so close that he swears he can feel her heartbeat against his chest. Lisbon has never loved being embraced, most of the time she’d rather people keep their hands to themselves, but with Jane, it’s different. She melts against him, showing just how much she has needed this too.
His hands press firmly against her back, fingers gripping like he’s afraid she might disappear if he lets go. His head dips, nose brushing against her warm locks, and for the first time in two years, something inside him clicks back into place. He feels like himself again. “Teresa…” Jane murmurs, not quite believing that he’s able to utter her name again.
Lisbon clings to him as if he’s the only thing that matters in this world. “What are you…?” He tries to ask, but the words won’t come, any resolve he had dissipates and he squeezes his eyes shut to try and stop the tears from coming. So he hugs her tighter instead.
They stand, tangled in each other’s arms, not caring for now about the past, the world around them, or about what may come next, because this is real. They’re really together again. His lips brush against her temple as he whispers, almost to himself. “Am I dreaming?”
She releases a breathy, relieved chuckle at this. “I hope not.” Lisbon swallows hard. “I need this to be real.”
“I have so many questions.” Jane pulls back just enough to look at her, his blue eyes still wide with disbelief but also relief. He could ask her a thousand things to try and find out how she’s been, how she found him, and why, but none of that feels urgent right now. Instead, he exhales, still holding onto her, as if anchoring himself to reality. “I was going to make dinner.” He says it like her being there is a completely normal occurrence as he takes a step back, letting her go. “I think I have enough for you too.”
She blinks, not quite believing she found him, but then nods as she regains some composure. “That sounds good. I am hungry.” With that, he picks up his forgotten grocery bag, and together, they climb the narrow staircase to his apartment.
It’s small, tucked away above the street, with marked walls, wooden shutters that let in the golden evening light, and a few potted plants dotted around the place to give the space some life. It’s simple with its single bed, desk that’s decorated with any books he could find in English, and a tiny kitchenette tucked into the corner, but it’s enough for him. It may not be fancy, but she smiles because he has managed to build some kind of life here, routine, after many years of barely living and certainly not having somewhere he could call home.
He really has grown.
Jane sets the bag down on the counter, but before Lisbon can even take in the space properly, his arms are around her again. She lets out a light laugh, surprised but not resisting. “What are we having?” She asks, her voice slightly muffled against his shirt.
“A hug.” Is his reply and her smile gets wider. “And then…” He adds, finally letting her go to unpack the paper bag. “Vegetable paella with the tastiest tomatoes you’ll ever eat.”
It isn’t long before the sound of oil sizzling in a pan meets her ears and the scent of garlic and peppers cooking on the single-ringed stove tickles her nose. Jane stands over it, wooden spoon in hand, effortlessly moving through the rhythm of cooking, showing her a domesticity she never got to see back at CBI. There’s a lot about him that’s different though – his clothes, the blonde stubble lining his jaw, and the air of tranquillity that now surrounds him. He’s changed.
Lisbon stands awkwardly a few paces away watching him. She watches the way he loosely grips the utensil, the way his fingers brush against the pan handle, the way he seems so settled, as if this small life that he’s built here is enough. She’s glad of that… in some ways, but also envious. The past two years might have been the hardest of her life, which is really saying a lot considering life has been hard ever since her mother died when she was a child.
She’s had to rebuild her life, start over in her forties, with not a single sign of fulfilment or satisfaction. Yet he’s been here, sunning himself, just living his life. Is that selfish of him? Or is she the selfish one for being riled about him finally finding some sort of peace?
She doesn’t bring it up.
They talk, but only about small things, skimming the surface, avoiding the deep waters. She tells him about her bumpy flight over, how the tiny plane rattled through the sky, and how she nearly spilled coffee all over herself when they hit turbulence. He chuckles at that, shaking his head as he chops tomatoes, the rich red juices pooling on the worn wooden cutting board before he adds them to the pan.
He tells her about the dolphins he saw earlier, how they moved together, effortless and free. He almost describes how much she would have loved it but catches himself. Instead, he glances up, meeting her eyes briefly before clearing his throat, shifting his weight as he stirs the rice. “Maybe we could…” He stops himself.
His fingers tighten around the spoon, his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly. It had come out too easily, that familiarity, that natural slide back into ‘we’. He wasn’t supposed to do that. Not now, not this soon.
Lisbon spots his internal struggle, unsurprisingly considering her profession, but she doesn’t push, perhaps because she’s scared about what she might find out. Jane exhales softly, adjusting his stance, refocusing on the food. He gives the dish one final stir before reaching for two plates, forcing the moment to pass.
They eat like a couple of college students, balancing their plates on their laps whilst sitting wherever they can. Jane perches on the edge of his bed, one leg stretched out, the other bent as he spears a forkful of rice. Lisbon takes the creaking wooden chair at the small desk, leaning back as she tucks into her own portion.
The paella is really tasty. It may be simple but it’s full of flavour and perfectly cooked. The tomatoes are as good as he promised, so sweet and bursting with juice, blending seamlessly with the other ingredients in a way that makes them feel as if they were all grown together. It’s a very comforting meal and maybe one of the best she has had in a long while. Lisbon takes another bite before nodding in appreciation. “This is really good.” Jane smirks but doesn’t respond, letting the compliment just sit between them. “Better than the garbage I had at the airport in Washington anyway.”
At this, he pauses mid-bite, his fork hovering just above his plate. “Washington?” His voice is laced with mild surprise, his head tilting as his gaze sharpens on her. Lisbon hums in confirmation, popping another piece of pepper into her mouth. Jane then sets his plate down on the bed beside him, suddenly losing interest in eating. “You left Sacramento?”
She nods again, slower this time, before confessing. “It was tainted.”
Tainted. Sacramento was her home for years before he even stepped into it, and suddenly she couldn’t stay anymore. He had no idea where she was, he’s been sending his letters to Pete for him to pass onto Lisbon...although now he’s musing this, he realises he doesn’t know for sure that she got them. “Where did you go?”
Lisbon slides her plate onto the desk behind her, also now losing her appetite. She knows they have a lot to talk about, this barely scratches the surface, but she’s nervous about that. “I left to be a Police Chief in Cannon River.”
Jane lets the name roll around in his head for a second, and then wrinkles his nose, deciding that because he’s never heard of the place it must be unremarkable. “Sounds tedious.”
She huffs out a short laugh with a shake of her head. "It is... was." His ears perk up at her change in language. Was.
His limbs suddenly feel heavier, the remnants of his dinner tasteless on his tongue. Guilt creeps in, a real guilt, that’s slow at first but then quickly becomes all-consuming, like he’s being dragged underwater by a rough tide. He’s tried not to let himself feel guilt after running away because he has spent too much of his life feeling guilty and vengeful, he wanted to move on, but he can’t.
He has to face his past now, because she’s sitting in front of him.
He really looks at her now, allowing it to sink in that she’s actually here with him again, and as much as that fills something empty inside him, it’s also very frightening. Jane doesn’t know if he’s ready for any of this.
Lisbon cocks her head to one side as she takes in his clear change in demeanour. He’s leaning forward now, clasped hands pressed between his knees, all closed off. All closed off from her. His tongue darts out to run over his dry lips and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet but there’s also a hard edge to it. “Lisbon… what are you doing here?”
The question hangs in the thick air between them, and it makes Lisbon straighten in her chair, a flicker of something defensive crossing her face. But before she can answer, he’s sighing and combing his fingers through his curls, and the words spill out before he can stop them. “Don’t you know the risk?” His tone rises slightly, frustration creeping in now. “If the FBI knew you were here with me, you would be arrested when you went back. You couldn’t work in law enforcement anymore. You couldn’t do a lot of things anymore.”
Now, she can’t stop the anger from coming. Her green eyes flash with ire as she pushes back the chair with a loud scrape against the floor, standing so fast that it nearly topples over. The sudden movement jolts Jane, but before he can say another word, she’s already speaking, her voice hot with fury and her chest rising and falling sharply. "Don’t you think I’ve thought about this?!" It almost sounds accusatory on her part. “I’ve done nothing but think about this!”
Jane has seen Lisbon angry before, sure, about cases mainly and sometimes directed towards him too – but never this angry. She’s truly and deeply furious, and he’s quickly scrambling because he has no idea how to fix it. He doesn’t even know if it can be fixed.
She steps closer, the heat radiating off her in waves. “You left, Jane.” Her voice cracks slightly when she says this, giving a bit too much away, but she quickly finds her strength again. “You left and you didn’t tell me your plan. You left me to deal with all the mess, like I meant nothing to you. Like everything we had gone through together-” She stops herself from continuing and swallows hard.
He knows he should probably say something, to try and diffuse the situation, but her unforgiving words have silenced him because she’s right. Of course, she’s right.
Her hands tremble slightly as she crosses her arms over her chest. “And now you have the nerve to ask me if I know what I’m doing? I’ve thought about this more than you ever did.”
Jane exhales, looking away, his jaw tight. He hates this. Hates the way she’s looking at him, hates the way she’s right. The weight of his choices is crashing down on him, and he can feel himself beginning to drown in it. His heartrate quickens slightly as his breaths become minutely shallower, but to him it feels like a major change. He does everything in his power to stop the spiral from coming, to stop himself being thrown into full-blown panic. Not now, he tells himself, please not now.
To Lisbon though, all she can see is how he has zoned out, and that just pisses her off more. He’s not fighting to make this right, and he’s not fighting for her, but what she doesn’t realise is that’s because he’s fighting to remain in control, to prevent himself from spiralling.
Her following words are very sobering as they punch through him harder than he expects. “This was a mistake.” They are muttered under her breath, but it’s enough to act like a physical blow, knocking the air out of his lungs. He barely has time to process the sharp sting in his chest before she steps back, arms tightening around herself like she’s physically trying to hold together the pieces that are splintering inside her. “I’m going back to my hotel.”
She turns and Jane reacts immediately, his movements clumsy in his urgency to stand. “Lisbon, wait. I’m sorry.” She laughs bitterly then, telling him it’s going to take much more than an apology for her to believe him.
“Yeah? For which bit?” Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she stares him down. “I don’t think you even know what you’re apologising for.” Jane gulps down nothing as his hands clench at his sides, because he has no idea how he’s going to make this right. “I am tired, so I’m going back.”
Bile rises in his throat because it can’t end like this. He has to do something. “I’ll walk you.” He decides as she moves towards the door, making her pause. It isn’t a request, it’s a statement, one that makes her huff as she turns on her heels.
“Jane-” She is prepared to argue but it’s no use.
“It’s getting dark.” He interjects seriously. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
She falters, her jaw tightening in an indignation that courses through her veins. Lisbon wants to refuse him, to leave without him following, but how can she be annoyed that he cares about her? Perhaps because she wants to know how deep that care runs. “Fine.” She gives in with a monosyllabic response.
They step out into the fading light, the sun having dipped low enough that only the last streaks of gold and pink remain on the horizon. The warmth of the day still lingers in the air, thick and humid, but the worst of the heat has passed. The streets are much quieter now, the earlier bustle of island life winding down into something slower, more lethargic.
Things between them continue to be awkward, the earlier anger still sitting between them, heavy and unspoken. Neither of them reaches for it, neither of them knows how to soften the edges of it, so instead, they walk in silence.
Jane doesn’t need to ask where she’s staying. He’s already guessed because there aren’t many options on this side of the island and when he hugged her, he smelt the lemongrass from the hotel’s complimentary shower gel. His buddy Franklin has snuck him all sorts out of the resort over the past couple of years including that.
They walk for ten minutes like this, the only sounds around them the occasional chatter from open windows, the distant crash of waves, the rhythmic scuff of their shoes against the dusty road. Then, finally, she murmurs, “It’s quiet here.”
Jane glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s looking straight ahead, her face unreadable in the dimming light. “It is.” A pause settles between them as he waits for her to continue but she doesn’t, so he’s the one to keep the conversation going. “But I bet Cannon River is also quiet.”
Lisbon hums. “I guess it is.”
He keeps his gaze ahead, watching the shadows stretch across the road as they walk. “How long have you been there for?” He broaches carefully, almost expecting her to clam up and not reveal anything.
“Almost eighteen months.” But she does answer, managing to keep her tone steady despite the anxiety trying to claw its way out of her. “After… you had left, it took a while for us all to be cleared.” Jane feels a flicker of something sharp in his chest. It isn’t just guilt, it’s something deeper, uglier. He knew there would be a huge fallout, that much was obvious, but hearing it now, laid out in her voice so plainly, makes it more real.
Lisbon continues, her steps even, but her hands are curled into tight fists at her sides. “I knew I couldn’t stay in California’s law enforcement. No one would touch me.” Jane exhales through his nose, staring down at the ground for a moment. Of course, they wouldn’t. Not after everything. Even though Lisbon wasn’t part of the corruption that was running deep around them, they – as a team – crossed too many lines all whilst she made it her mission to protect him. She had fought for him, and it had cost her. “So when this opportunity came up, I jumped at it.”
He may know very little about her time there, but the lack of enthusiasm as she refers to it tells him all he needs to know.
She has hated every second of it, and although taking the job is a decision she made, the guilt belongs to him. Jane nods slowly, not trusting himself to say anything just yet. Because what could he say? That he was sorry? That he never wanted that for her? That none of this was ever supposed to be her burden to bear?
It wouldn’t solve everything, but perhaps it could be a start. “Teresa...” Jane’s voice is softer now, but there’s an urgency to it, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t say this now, he never will. He comes to a sudden stop, making her take a step ahead before she notices and turns back, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I am sorry.”
The words land heavily between them. She sighs at this, shaking her head as she braces herself for what could come next. “Jane…” She murmurs warningly, like she’s telling him that she doesn’t know if she can take him being earnest right now, but he isn’t done. He’s turned on the faucet and the sincerity is now going to pour out.
“I do know what I’m apologising for.” He takes a pace closer to her, searching her face, making sure she’s really hearing him this time. “I am sorry for... keeping you out of the loop of my plan. Masquerading that it was to keep you safe, so you had deniability, which was true, but there was also the concern that you would try to stop me."
Lisbon swallows, shifting on her feet, but she doesn’t dare tear her piercing gaze from his. It’s like their eyelines have been fused together. “I am sorry for leaving you such a big mess to clear up, for leaving without properly saying goodbye, and for breaking your trust in doing so.”
His voice wavers slightly, but he doesn’t stop. “I am sorry for leaving you on the beach that night. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.” Lisbon’s jaw tightens, her arms wrapping around herself, as if the action is a shield that will protect her from his honesty, because although she has been waiting for this apology for years, she isn’t sure she’s ready for it.
"I am sorry for my selfishness, my ego, for treating you so badly.” Jane looks down, exhaling sharply. "I am so sorry for-”
"Hey, Jane. Stop." She has to shut him up before he breaks something inside of her that she’s only just started to patch back together. He looks at her, a little wide-eyed, like he wasn’t expecting her to stop him. “It's okay. It's okay.” She claims after a deep breath. He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to tell her that no, it’s not okay, that he doesn’t deserve for it to be, but she just tilts her head towards the path ahead. “Let’s keep walking. Come on.”
And after a moment, Jane nods, falls into step beside her once more, and they walk again but without the heavy silence.
There’s something else he needs to say though, in the spirit of honesty, even though it would reduce his machismo. “I thought I was going to have a panic attack. B-Back at my place.” He explains his earlier distance, the same distance that caused her to understandably fly off the handle. “I wasn’t trying to block you out.”
Lisbon stops mid-step, turning to face him fully now. The sporadic streetlamps cast a flickering glow over them, but the shadows in Jane’s expression feel darker than the night that has arrived around them. “A-a panic attack?” She repeats back at him as she still processes the words, because she never imagined those words coming from him.
Jane rubs the back of his neck as he starts to walk again, forcing her to do the same. He feels uncomfortable under her scrutiny, and moving makes it seem less potent because of the distractions of life continuing around them. “Yeah.” She barely hears his admittance it’s so hushed. “The first one came on my second night here. I couldn’t sleep…” His fingers twitch at his sides. “I’ve not had one in a while though.”
She peers at him as they wander, to search his features for the little signs that he probably thinks she wouldn’t notice. Like the tightness of his jaw, the way his fingers still curl slightly as if he’s bracing for something he can’t control, the way he’s focussing on keeping his breathing steady.
He really has been struggling. Alone. And she had no idea. “You didn’t mention panic attacks in your letters.” She says gently and he gasps. Gasps because she has been receiving them and reading them, but perhaps that should have been obvious by her presence here. There must be a reason why she knew he was here of all places.
“I didn’t mention any of the bad stuff.”
Lisbon tilts her head, frowning. “But there has been bad stuff?”
Jane lets out a slow, measured breath, his gaze flickering up toward the sky for a second before settling on her walking at his side. “Plenty.” And the way he says it so matter of fact is an honesty that almost shatters the tenacity inside her.
“I'm glad you apologised because it has been a long time coming.” Lisbon says because she thinks he needs to hear it. She glances at him, spotting how his posture is still slightly guarded even after his outpouring of honesty. He almost seems vulnerable in a way that she doesn’t think she has ever seen in him before. “And if I didn’t think I could forgive you… then I wouldn’t be here.”
This makes him look at her, really look at her, with his blue eyes boring into her, but before he can say anything, she continues. “It’s just going to take time for me to trust you again.”
Jane nods slowly. “I understand.” And it’s the truth.
When he woke up this morning, he thought it was just going to be another normal day on the island involving roaming, practicing his poor Spanish, and enjoying some food. He thought it was going to be another lonely day – yet here she is, back in his life out of nowhere. He’s completely fine with it taking time to regain her trust, because the main thing is that she’s here… Even if he has no idea why.
They continue walking, the tension between them lessened – not gone entirely, but it’s different now. The glow of the resort where Lisbon is staying comes into view, the buildings illuminated by golden lights against the deepening blue of the evening sky. It’s not the fanciest of places, but right now to Jane it appears so grand compared to his small yet practical apartment. “How are the others?” He asks, partly because he’s interested but also to shift the focus off himself.
“They’re good. I think.” She frowns at herself fleetingly when it hits her that she doesn’t know for sure. “Cho is training at Quantico to be an FBI agent.”
Jane raises his eyebrows, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Really? That suits him.”
“Yeah. He’s going to be a hell of an agent.” Neither of them doubts this. Cho was always steady, focused, and unshakeable in the field and this is the perfect (and most obvious) step up. It makes sense that he would move forwards by doing what he was good at and what he believed in. “Rigs and Grace have their own security business in San Francisco, and they’re going to have a baby.”
His face breaks out into a grin on hearing this as he lets out a joyful chuckle. “A baby? That’s amazing news.”
But Lisbon’s expression changes, her gaze dropping slightly. “A baby who I’ll never meet.”
Jane stops walking at this just as they reach the steps that lead to the hotel’s reception. “What?”
Lisbon draws her bottom lip between her teeth and takes a deep breath as she steadies herself, waiting a few moments before looking at him again. “Jane… I really thought about this before I came looking for you. I accepted the fact that I probably would never see my family again, my friends, or work in a profession that meant so much to me.”
He stares at her, his chest suddenly tight but not from panic or anxiety, because he’s overwhelmed by her need to see him again. He knew she had taken a risk coming here, but he hadn’t let himself really think about what she had given up to do so or what it could mean. “Because I needed to be here with you.” She shakes her head, almost frustrated with herself. “I don’t know why. Maybe I should have worked out why before following through.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He agrees with a lopsided smile before sincerely uttering, “I am so glad that you’re here, though.” Lisbon watches him carefully. “You’re the one thing that almost stopped me from running.”
She catches the word immediately. ‘Almost’. “Almost, though.” She points out seriously, the slight change in her tone giving away her true hurt. “You did actually run away.”
Jane presses his lips together to make a thin line as he nods. “I did.” There’s a long pause between them that gives them chance to take in the sounds around them from the distant crashing of waves to the hum of music coming from the resort’s terrace restaurant and bar.
“A week after getting here, I started to doubt my plan though. Because of you.” He confesses and Lisbon’s breath catches in her throat. “But it was too late. I was already here and a wanted man back home.” He would be rotting away in jail serving a life sentence right about now if he stayed, only seeing her on visiting days if she was around and had the time and also the desire to actually see him. “I have dreamt of this though. Many times. You coming here to find me.”
Lisbon angles her head, intrigued. “Yeah?” Jane hums in response, only grasping the gravity of his words when he spies the smirk ghost her lips. “And how do the dreams go?” He hesitates, his mouth now becoming dry as it becomes abundantly clear to him what he’s started.
How his confidence depletes intrigues her further and she feels the amusement slip from her features as it becomes replaced by fascination. She’s dreamt about him, many times, but she doubts their dreams are even remotely similar because, well, he was the one to leave not her. Making that decision made his feelings very clear. “Err…”
She steps just a little closer to him. “Please tell me.” She will beg if she has to because suddenly this feels like the most important thing in the world.
Jane sighs and sweeps back his curls from his forehead nervously, looking down for a second before meeting her eyes again. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Why not?”
He quietly groans as he leans back slightly, looking heavenwards as if searching for courage but Lisbon knows that he doesn’t believe in any kind of deity. He swallows thickly when he resumes in looking at her, his voice low as he answers, “Because once I tell you, I can’t take it back.”
There’s something charged between them now, something Lisbon feels deep in her bones, but she doesn’t look away, doesn’t back down. Instead, she whispers, “Please.”
Jane studies her like he has done many times before when he’s considered letting her in on one of his many plans, like he’s weighing up whether to give in or not. This time though, he can’t see any benefits to keep this from her. She deserves his honesty after all this time. “Not here.”
“My room is on the third floor.”
He hesitates briefly before conceding to whatever happens to them the rest of the night. “Lead the way.”
Jane’s heart thumps hard against his ribcage as Lisbon slots the electronic key card into the door. The quiet beep, the small green light, it all feels strangely significant, like crossing an invisible threshold in their relationship. The door clicks open, and he follows her inside, his interest then turning to taking in the space, just like she had done when she entered his apartment.
It’s not lavish and certainly is not her style but it’s modestly comfortable. The decor is soothing shades of blue, a contrast to the warmth of the island outside. There’s an ensuite, no doubt stocked with miniature bottles of toiletries, the kind that most would take when they leave but she’ll be too honest to. To him though, after two years of the simple life, this room may as well be the Presidential Suite.
He drags his gaze back to her, watching as she hovers near the minibar, her fingers brushing absently against a row of small bottles. “Did you want a drink?” She asks, watching him as he looks around.
Jane hums as he considers this before moving towards the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge. The mattress sinks a little under his weight. “No, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
His lips twitch, just slightly. “Lisbon, I don’t need any Dutch courage.”
“Okay... I’ll just grab us some water.” She turns back to the fridge, retrieving a bottle of water which she pours into two glasses. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass and swirling within it is the only noise in the room for a moment. She takes a few sips from one of the glasses before sliding them both onto the nightstand. She then takes a seat beside him, the mattress dipping again.
Jane may be motionless, but she can sense his nerves. They’re potent and electric and completely unnecessary. He doesn’t need to be nervous around her, she thinks but doesn’t say. “You okay?” She questions instead, shattering the silence with just three syllables.
He takes a long, deep breath in to try and settle the butterflies in his stomach, and then turns to meet her gentle stare. “I don’t know.” Is his confession. He feels the weight of the moment and the fragility of it, hanging between them like a thread that might snap if he pulls too hard in either direction. “I don’t want to say anything that screws us up again.”
Lisbon doesn’t answer right away. He can feel her examining him, dissecting what they could mean. What is ‘us’ to him? Is it a partnership, a friendship, or something more? She exhales warily but she pushes her anxieties to one side, and when she speaks her voice is firm yet gentle, preparing to be his lighthouse and guide him safely back to shore. “How about you just tell me about the dreams, and we can go from there?”
He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. He laces his fingers together, staring down at them like he’s hoping they give him a boost of courage.
At first, they weren’t dreams, not really. They were… miserable. Nightmares that would unfortunately keep him company night after night, the kind that would wake him up in a cold sweat as he grappled at the sheets. He’s no stranger to nightmares, in fact they became his normal after Red John murdered his wife and child, but he hoped with him having avenged them somewhat, that they would pass.
They did – for a few days – after slaying Thomas McAllister, Jane’s sleep was deep and uninterrupted, because it hit him how truly exhausted he was. It was when he started to feel rested that his nights became full of terror once more. “It was almost like I was hallucinating you at times.” He continues and Lisbon doesn’t interrupt, although now a frown tugs at her lips. She just watches him, waits patiently, for the perfect time to interject. “Like you were there, helping me through it. The panic attacks. The…”
He stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose, and Lisbon feels her chest tighten. It’s obvious about how he’s still trying to hold back a little that there’s still so much left unsaid, stuff that is worse than the panic attacks, and it hits her how much he’s been drowning. And his mind, his brilliant mind, had created a fictitious image of her to keep his head about the water.
She blinks, forcing the thought away, but there’s an internal ache that’s making itself known. “That’s when I started writing the letters.”
It became his coping mechanism. It was to get the thoughts out of his crowded head, and it helped, even if it was a risky decision because it meant he could be found. However, he wasn’t expecting it to be her to find him and not the FBI – perhaps he underestimated her detective skills.
In his mind though, it was an entirely selfish move, but what he doesn’t know is how much they meant to her. She remembers how each letter had felt like a piece of him, a fragment of something lost slowly being stitched back together. Lisbon isn’t sure how many times she has read them, as she searched for things he hadn’t written, for meaning between the lines, but the natural oil from her fingertips had started to leave marks on the paper.
Jane releases a slow, deliberate breath, his voice turning almost wistful. “Then… gradually…” He rubs at his jaw fretfully. “They stopped being nightmares.” He started to dream up all the ways they could be brought back together and the joy throughout each scenario was unmistakable. “I started to dream about what if…” He trails off, looking anywhere but at her.
Lisbon notices the falter. The way his voice hesitates, as if standing on the edge of something he isn’t sure he’s ready to admit. She doesn’t need to rush him, she doesn’t need to hear it straightaway, because it wouldn’t take a detective to see what’s really going on here.
His nightmares and then his dreams speak volumes because you can’t deny subconscious thought. She, even though she wasn’t here, was keeping him tethered to reality, kept him going, and it’s something she completely understands from her own experiences, from her own lonely nights.
Deciding to put him out of his misery, Lisbon reaches out, her fingers brush his skin before she rests her hand over his clasped ones. Jane stiffens minutely as if startled by the contact, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax beneath her touch. His hands are warm beneath hers but also tense, like he still isn’t sure he deserves to be comforted. Like he isn’t sure he deserves for her to be here with him.
Lisbon’s thumb moves gently, stroking against him in a way that’s almost instinctive. His next exhale comes out as a shudder but the tension in his entire demeanour lessens. “It’s okay, Jane.” She reassures, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flick up to meet hers, his uncertainty obvious, but how she holds his gaze is encouraging as are her words. “It’s okay.”
It's okay. Something twists in Jane’s features, a flicker of vulnerability masked by the faintest smile. Her delicate words, the way she’s here with him after all this time, it provides him with a quiet kind of comfort, a reassurance that maybe, somehow, this is okay.
But it sort of has to be, doesn’t it? She was brave enough to come all this way, to risk everything, to make the kind of decision that means she may never get to go home again. For him, for her, for them… so perhaps he can be brave enough to speak his truth.
He takes a steady breath, before the honesty comes tumbling out. “Before… I-I didn’t let myself… feel.” He begins, sounding measured as he chooses his words carefully. “Because if I did, then you could have got hurt. Or maybe we would have never got Red John, maybe I never would have finished what I set out to do.” Lisbon chooses to stay silent, or maybe she’s silenced out of shock. “But being here… the peace, the quiet… I’ve become more aware.”
Jane takes another breath and looks her in the eye now. “About the grief.” His throat bobs with the weight of that word. “The longing. The love.” Her breath catches. “I’ve been telling myself that I am unsure. That I’m just missing the U.S., missing my old life.” He shakes his head at himself and his own stupidity. “But it wasn’t that. It was never that.” His lips part slightly, his breathing uneven, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too far gone now. “And having you here in front of me is confirmation.”
“Confirmation…?”
He nods once, slowly. “That I love you.” It’s raw, real, and she has no doubt that he really means it. “You don’t have to say it back.” He rushes, suddenly unsure of what he’s done. “I-I mean, I don’t know if you even… even feel the same.”
And when she doesn’t immediately respond, his stomach tightens, the feeling becoming stronger when she releases his hands. Jane’s heart sinks as he begins to wonder if he’s made a mistake. His pulse thuds in his ears as she stands and steps away, crossing the hotel room to crouch by her suitcase that’s on the floor by the closet. She roots around the bag and all Jane can do is watch with a confused tension.
It isn’t long before she finally pulls something out – a stack of papers tied together with an olive-green ribbon. Lisbon turns to face him again and even in the lowlight of the room he can see that it’s his letters that are in her grasp. How she strokes her thumb over them almost absently gives him a sense of familiarity, as if she does it often.
“I didn’t bring a lot with me.” She starts as she steps closer to the bed where he sits once more. “But I couldn’t leave these behind.” She passes them over with so much care that it tells him of their worth to her. “Maybe that shows how I feel.”
“I can’t believe you kept these.”
“You can’t?” She knits her brow together. “How could I throw them away?” Lisbon takes her seat again beside him and quietly murmurs, “I thought…”
“You thought?” He prompts cautiously.
She hesitates, glancing down at the pages in his hands before sighing. “You were going to tell me.” She says finally. “On the beach that night. Before you… ditched me.” He winces at her choice of words. “I knew how I felt about you, and there was a tiny part of me that thought you felt the same.” Lisbon shakes her head at herself. “And then you left. And I couldn’t believe how stupid I had been.”
“You weren’t stupid.” She scoffs at this humourlessly. “You weren’t.” He insists but she looks away showing just how much she believes this, and he can’t be having that. “I didn’t allow myself to have feelings for you while… Red John was still around.” Her eyes snap back to his. “I actually didn’t allow myself for a while after either.” He admits. “Because what use was it? Me having feelings for you when I was here, and you weren’t?”
Lisbon doesn’t say anything, just watches him, waiting. “And then I found myself writing love letters to you.” Her eyes widen slightly, as she looks back down at the pages in his lap. “That’s when I knew I was completely screwed.”
Her focus darts up to his face again, searching his expression as if she’s trying to figure him out all over again. Jane sighs and taps his fingertips a couple of times on top of the letters. “Teresa… I don’t expect you to trust me right now. I know I have to earn that back. A-And I don’t even expect you to share my feelings.” She blinks at him, completely dazed by his frankness. “I just need you to know the truth.”
She’s quiet for a moment, letting the gravity of his words sink in, before mumbling, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” Jane smiles faintly. “John 8.”
He tilts his head slightly, voice almost curious now. “And has it? Has it made you free?” Jane barely has time to process what’s happening before she makes her move.
Lisbon doesn’t reply with words, she rests a hand on his thigh, high up so it’s closer to his hip than his knee before she’s leaning forward, brushing her lips to the corner of his mouth. It’s featherlight and fleeting but devastating all the same.
His breath catches and he knows without a shadow of doubt that he is completely done for. For two years, two long years, he has been starved of her. Of her presence, her voice, her touch, everything about her, and now, with just the tiniest of kisses, she’s managed to set him on fire.
Lisbon pulls back just enough to look at him, her face impossibly close as she searches for his reaction. His reaction is him being frozen, as he tries to hold himself together all whilst his body thrums with an energy he hasn’t experienced in years. “Does that answer your question?” She asks, her breath hot against his skin, and it completely wrecks him. Any coolness he had is lost.
He closes the distance with quiet certainty, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that’s gentle at first, cautious but only for a second. Because the moment she responds to his ministrations, the moment her lips press against his with a clear desperation, he can’t help but turn his efforts up to eleven.
A shudder runs down his spine, through his chest, to the very core of him. Lisbon grips at his shirt, pulling him in closer, deeper, and he allows himself to fall completely into the moment, into her.
The kiss shifts, deepens, becomes something heavier, something consuming. Jane’s hands find her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress, holding her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go. Her lips are soft but urgent, demanding more, and he gives it to her. He gives her every ounce of longing, every ounce of everything he’s held back for years.
They pull apart ever-so-slightly to catch their breaths that mingle together in the small gap between them. Their breathlessness may be dramatic considering how little movement was actually involved, it was only a kiss, but it felt like a lot more than that.
Lisbon sighs happily, the kind of sound that merges into a light laugh, as her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “Did that live up to your dreams?” She teases.
He releases a winded chuckle at this as his lips curve upwards into a lazy, surprised smile. “It blew them out of the water.” And before she can respond, he’s chasing after her lips again, kissing her with an obvious fervour that has her buzzing with need.
The bundle of letters in Jane’s lap slips, threatening to fall, but he catches them, tossing them carelessly onto the nightstand to keep them out of harm’s way. Because right now, the only thing he wants to hold onto is her – maybe because he finally can.
The moment Lisbon’s back hits the mattress, a surprised gasp escapes her lips, one that is swallowed by Jane’s lips as he smirks. The kissing is different now, it’s hotter and more desperate, with any hesitation now gone completely.
Her hands move instinctively, one tangling in his now messy curls and the other sliding under his shirt down his back, allowing her to pull him even closer. He groans quietly against her mouth, and the sound is thrilling to her, intoxicating. Combined with his weight above her, the press of his body, Teresa Lisbon is completely drunk on Patrick Jane.
He kisses her like he’s starving, like he’s making up for all the lost time, all the years of restraint and distance. His hands, his rough yet delicate hands, map her body like he’s committing every part of her to memory, and she knows he probably is. Locking it away to revisit later. He traces the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, fingers splayed wide as if he can’t fathom not touching her.
Lisbon’s back arches as she is consumed by disbelief that she’s feeling this wrecked from just a make out session. They’re still both fully clothed yet panting and that excites her because there’s so much more to come.
The sound of voices, faint voices, from people walking past the room in the corridor outside breaks through their bubble. They separate like they’re doing something they shouldn’t be, which is ridiculous really and will hopefully be something they lose over time. Jane mouths at her neck whilst she listens to the laughs and the chatter as their chests rise and fall in tandem. The noises are gone almost as quickly as they came.
A gentle tug of her pulling some of his hair at the nape of his neck brings his head up to look at her, and then he whispers, “What now?” Although he mainly wants to hold and kiss her all night, he can’t stop the nagging voices at the back of his mind wanting to know more about where this will lead for them.
Lisbon’s heart pounds, but her answer is surprisingly easy. She reaches up, cups his face in her hands, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “What now is I think I found my home.”
For a second, Jane just stares at her, wide-eyed, before a brilliant, ecstatic smile breaks across his face. “Lisbon, this place is perfect. The beaches, the food, the people, the peace-”
She shakes her head at him as she laughs, but it isn’t a dismissive laugh. “Not the place.” His brow dips in reply, his confused expression just making her smile even more. She pulls him down so their lips touch again where she whispers. “You. You’re my home.” And Jane has barely a chance to grin before she’s putting his mouth to work again.
Who knows what the future holds? But right now, this, what they have, is not just enough – it’s plenty.