Chapter Text
1.
Austin. The capital of the Lone Star State that sits in the heart of Texas where there’s always something going on. The sun casts a bronze glaze over the warm pavements, where the heat has blurred the edges of everything. Cars shimmer in the haze, crickets pulse in a rhythmic drone, and traffic trickles through the city like blood through veins. To the locals, this is just normal life, but to her – after a year in a town that’s blessed with plenty of greenery and a quiet atmosphere – it almost feels alien to be around it all.
It’s only the second time she’s been here, the first was many years ago for a conference that ended up being three days of her being belittled for trying to make it in a man’s world. Somehow though, she is more unsure now than she was then.
Teresa Lisbon is inside what is a clean and modest hotel room. It’s hardly luxurious, but not uncomfortable and she has stayed in a lot worse over the years. A double bed rests against a pale taupe wall, dressed in crisp white sheets and a navy throw. The air conditioning whirs steadily, fighting the Texas heat with a slightly too-cold determination. There's a laminated menu for room service tucked beside the TV remote that she’s already glanced over, having decided what she plans to eat for dinner if she has an appetite by then.
She stands in front of the mirror above a low dresser, the coarse bristles of her hairbrush halted halfway through a stroke. Her reflection stares back with an obvious lack of confidence that almost makes her wonder how she managed to cope with the high stakes and stress of her CBI days – especially in the final couple of years.
There are dark circles marking underneath her green eyes, giving away just how tired she is, and her make-up has barely made an effort in concealing it. She adjusts her cross for the third time, how it sits above the neckline of her black top, then frowns at herself, brushing again, more out of ritual than necessity.
Two years. Every minute ticked by so slowly yet quickly all at once. She never thought this day would come; the day she would get to see Patrick Jane again. To say he left a hole in her life would be an understatement, she has missed him terribly, but now he’s just a few blocks away.
Lisbon is excited of course… but she’s also incredibly nervous – and that’s for more than one reason.
The sharp, sudden wail of a toddler’s cries shatters her anxious thoughts into smithereens. She blinks as her hand tightens around the hairbrush which she then sets down on the dressing table with a quiet thud. “I’ve got him.” But Carly, her babysitter, is already there. Turning towards the travel cot near the corner before she lifts the boy with practice grace.
Lisbon takes a deep breath but it’s a little shaky as it really hits how huge a day this could really be. Her gaze lingers on her son, who is her whole world wrapped up in a pair of wide blue eyes and perpetually messy brunette curls. His cheeks are flushed from napping in this warm climate, but thankfully he is starting to calm. Lisbon crosses her arms over her chest, watching, letting the wave of emotion roll quietly through her.
He’s eighteen months old, and he’s never met his father, but today that might all change. It’s a lot to take in, especially because she had written off the chances of this ever happening completely. There was no reason for her to believe that she would ever see Jane again, never mind his son meeting him.
They may have acted like nothing had happened between them at the crime scene the following morning – she and Jane – but it did.
Not even twelve hours before they were stood over a decomposing body, he was screwing Lisbon against the sliding door of the attic space back at CBI. His head was nestled against her neck as he rocked with need, her moaning cries aimed at the cobwebby ceiling, as they both had their eyes firmly shut as if opening them would break the spell.
What surprised them both, was how it wasn’t actually awkward the following day. It was like they silently acknowledged that they both needed the release, perhaps for differing reasons, but that was okay. And anyway, when it turned out the decomposing body they were stood over had links to the Red John investigation, what they did no longer mattered.
Not when his obsession took him back over.
She doesn’t think she will ever admit how much it crushed her when it became obvious just how much it didn’t matter to him, when he ran away after killing Thomas McAllister, without even saying goodbye.
A tiny part of her thought that perhaps he felt something too, like she did, but he was gone before she could even ask. It has been a long two years or so (seven-hundred-and-sixty-four days if she did the maths), and even though she should be thankful that today may be the end of the pain, the grief, there are too many unknowns for her to relax.
She fiddles with her mother’s cross again as if searching for strength. “You nervous?” Carly asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity as she bounces the toddler on her hip.
“A little.” Lisbon lies, trying to downplay her anxiety but her palms feel clammy, and her pulse is a steady throb at the base of her throat. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. There are some snacks in his bag, and I’ve also put some money in the side pocket in case you need anything.”
“We will be fine, Teresa.” Carly assures her brightly. “Go. They’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”
“Right.” Lisbon’s voice is faint, more breath than sound. She crosses to them, brushing her fingers through her son’s soft curls one more time, memorising the way he smells of baby powder and milk. She leans in and presses a lingering kiss to the side of his head, breathing him in.
“Be good.” She whispers to him, and to herself. Then she straightens, turns, and grabs her bag before she can lose her nerve, meeting up with the agents waiting for her in the lobby.
She did cry, after getting the call from Cho about Jane’s impending return. Somehow she managed to keep her cool whilst on the phone, still pointlessly pretending to her friends that her son was a result of a one-night stand with a stranger because admitting the truth felt so impossible, but after she hung up, she broke down. Was it relief? Disbelief? Just being utterly overwhelmed? She’s not given herself the time to analyse this.
It's all so surreal. Lisbon moves like she’s underwater with every movement being slightly delayed, like her body and mind are out of sync. She barely remembers signing in, she couldn’t recall a single face of someone she’s met, because she’s back sitting in an oddly familiar setting.
She may have not worked for the FBI, and this meeting room is a lot nicer than the ones she sat in for many hours during her time in Sacramento, but it still feels the same. It’s like stepping into a past life. “Did you want a drink?” Cho’s voice is monotone but in a way that’s somehow calming.
Lisbon startles, blinking up at him. She hadn’t even heard the door open, hadn’t seen him walk in, and now that he’s standing beside her it really starts to sink in why she’s here. She offers a faint smile, small and apologetic. “I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah...” Her voice trails off. The lie is thinner this time, barely held together, but Cho doesn’t press. He would never press.
He nods once, accepting that she is keeping her truths to herself, and then glances toward the hallway. “He should be here soon. I’ll meet him out front.” She nods and watches him leave, the door clicking shut behind him.
Lisbon considers if Jane’s as nervous as she is – but she doesn’t consider this for long because she knows the answer. He won’t be, he will come in here all carefree, maybe even tanned from island life, not knowing the truth of the real life that’s about to hit him. Lisbon has not even had time to deliberate whether he will be happy about being a father again… And now her stomach twists even tighter than before.
Somehow though, as if he casts a magical spell, when he walks through the door minutes later her anxiety is trumped by joy. Joy to see his face again. His sun kissed skin, curls blonder than before thanks to the climate of wherever he has been living, a smattering of hair lining his jaw.
He smiles brightly, a trademark Patrick Jane grin that straightaway gives her insight of how at peace he now is compared to before, and butterflies start to soar in her belly. “Hey.”
“Hello.” After so long apart she thought she would have more to say, but she’s thrown by breathing the same air as him again. “Nice beard.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for the letters.”
“Oh, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
The hug is sudden, like they’ve both been holding their breath for two years and finally exhale at once. His arms wrap around her shoulders whilst hers circle his waist. It’s not graceful and it’s certainly not polished, but it’s real.
Lisbon feels a breath catch in her throat as his hand presses gently against her back. She closes her eyes and lets herself lean in, lets her body remember what it felt like to be safe with him, to trust him even despite everything.
For Jane, it’s like touching a lost part of himself, it’s that feeling of coming home. He had missed the US a great deal but missed her even more. His grip tightens slightly, as if anchoring himself in the reality of her presence. She’s not a dream, she isn’t a drunken vision, she’s here and he’s here with her.
“What's going on, huh? Why am I here?” Then as almost as quickly as their greetings come, they’re turning back the clock and being thrown into Patrick Jane craziness once more.
All Lisbon can do is watch the scene unfold completely puzzled. From the list of Jane’s crimes to the job offer on the table, it’s frankly bizarre. Only he could potentially get away with homicide, obstruction of justice, aggravated assault, grand theft auto, and given some sort of lifeline. She wants to be mad, but she’s too relieved to even entertain such an emotion.
But he’s fighting back, claiming it wasn’t what was agreed, and almost as quick as it came, her relief starts to fade – until it’s wiped away completely by the ringing of her phone.
Everyone looks towards her and her eyes widen slightly in embarrassment as she scrambles to pull the phone from the pocket of her coat. “I’m sorry.” She mutters before she stutters on seeing Carly’s name on the screen. “I… uh… I have to get this.” Her chest tightens almost instinctively, thinking the worse even though she has no reason to.
Lisbon goes to stand but realises she doesn’t know where to go, so instead turns slightly from the table in her seat. “Hey, Carly, is everything okay?”
“Sorry to interrupt, everything’s fine, I just wasn’t sure if I should go ahead and give him his meds.” Her voice is calm but also a little uncertain. “He’s really fussing and pulling at that ear again. The change in pressure on the flight probably aggravated his infection.”
When Lisbon exhales her posture becomes less rigid. “Yes, go ahead and give it to him.” She says in a gentle tone that doesn’t belong in a federal meeting room. “Make sure he has some water with it to help it go down.”
Beside her, Jane’s head slowly tilts, eyebrows drawing together as he studies her. Fischer and Abbott glance at each other as if they already have a feeling where this interaction could now go. “I will do that.”
“If he gets any worse, call again and I’ll come straight back.”
“Okay, but I’m sure he will be fine.”
“I’m sure.” Lisbon smiles. “See you later.” She turns back towards the table as she ends the call, slipping the phone quietly into her pocket. “Sorry about that.” She apologises again, trying to recover from the awkwardness but it’s too late. Something has shifted and Jane is looking at her a whole lot differently now.
He noticed everything that changed in her demeanour when she answered that call. The sudden tenderness in her voice, how she became more protective in an instant, how she’s willing to drop everything, discard the first time they’ve been together in years to be with this person she cares about. She wasn’t speaking like a friend checking in, but a mother.
The potential truth hits him like a punch to the nose. It’s sharp and has an inexplicable clarity. “You’re a mom.” He doesn't mean to say it out loud, it just slips out, and his mind is racing now, connecting pieces, memories of them together that he didn’t even realise were part of a puzzle.
She physically flinches at the three words, a flicker of vulnerability cracking through her practiced calm exterior. There is an attempt to mask it of course, but it’s too late. He can see the subtle pinkish hue to her cheeks, how she avoids his gaze, and – perhaps the biggest tell – she doesn’t deny it.
Jane’s gaze sharpens as he leans towards her. “Y-You have a kid?” Lisbon hesitates but she then does nod, knowing that there’s no use denying it. “How old?”
“Mr Jane, if we can focus-” Fischer tries to cut in, but she doesn’t get anywhere.
“How old?” He repeats urgently, eyes locked on Lisbon as if she’s the only other person in the room.
“Eighteen months.” She admits quietly, and the truth drops like a bomb between them.