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There had been two drinks on the bar.
Now there were two empty glasses, an empty stool, and Jane.
Cho had disappeared twenty minutes ago, citing an early morning and a not-so-subtle preference for a book over a noisy bar. Lisbon hadn't come at all.
She had a date.
They'd planned the drinks a week ago. A small gathering. After years apart, the three of them were finally working together again. It wasn't quite the old team - Rigsby and Grace were missing, of course - but it was the principle of the thing.
Now Lisbon was missing too.
She had a date with Pike.
The bartender slid another drink in front of Jane. He nodded his thanks, rolling a cheap paper coaster, damp with condensation, to and fro along the bar top. Lisbon was always with Pike now. Jane couldn't say what it was about him exactly. He just didn't like the guy. No one else had any problems with him. By all accounts, he was a perfectly pleasant man.
Perfect for Lisbon, apparently.
He would finish this drink. By then, surely, Lisbon's date would be over.
The drink came and went. He stood, had a wander around the bar, and eventually returned to his stool. Another few minutes couldn't hurt. He crossed and uncrossed his ankles.
By now, it definitely wasn't too early to call her.
Ten minutes later, another drink was gone, and the basket of fries sat half-eaten and cold. Jane glanced at his phone again. He was merely checking that she got home safely.
As a friend, of course. That was what friends did. There was nothing unreasonable about that.
Jane peeled his phone from the sticky bar top.
Lisbon answered on the third ring. “Jane? Is everything okay?” she answered with concern.
“Hey, Lisbon,” Jane said. “How was your date?”
He said her name softly, making a valiant attempt at sounding pleasant. The bitterness creeping into his voice rather ruined the effect.
“My date is going fine,” she sighed. He could hear the concern in her voice give way to relief, and then to mild irritation. “What do you want?”
Before Jane could reply, Pike's voice came through the phone, muffled. He couldn't make out what was being said.
Only two words.
Jane.
Problem.
He frowned.
Then Lisbon said quietly, “I know.”
Jane. Problem. I know.
He stared at the drink in front of him.
Jane. Problem. I know.
“Jane, you still there?”
“Yeah, yeah...” he replied, his mind a million miles away. “Don’t worry about it.”
“What’s going on?”
An ugly little flicker of satisfaction went through him.
Somewhere behind him, a glass tumbled from a table and smashed against the floor. A cheer went up from the tipsy crowd.
“Are you at a bar?” Suspicion tinged her voice.
More muffled talking from Pike came through the phone. A joke? A laugh? At him? Jane couldn't tell.
Jane. Problem. I know.
“No, not at all.” With steely resolve, he added, “Hey, sorry for bothering you and Pike. I hope you have a good, uh, rest of your night.”
The buzz of alcohol was starting to take further effect, wrapping him in a warm blanket. It did little to dull the sting of Lisbon pulling further and further away. He hung up before she could reply. He didn’t want to know.
Jane waved at the bartender.
People spilt out from the cinema, their chatter carried away into the night as everyone scattered towards their cars. Lisbon pulled her jacket around herself. Marcus was still talking about how Errol Flynn’s Robin Hood had set the benchmark for other adaptations to come. She couldn’t help but smile and shake her head as he made his case. His love for old films was sweet. She stopped abruptly as someone passed in front of her. Marcus had made it several steps before noticing she was no longer beside him.
“Did you want to come back to my place tonight?” Marcus smiled. “We really need to talk some more about DC. You know, figure out what the plan is. There’s this place I saw-”
Lisbon reached for her phone as he ploughed on.
“We'll have to figure out what you're doing about…”
A couple of texts. Some junk emails. Nothing urgent.
She was about to put it away when it rang.
Unknown number.
It was nearly eleven.
“Teresa?” It was a familiar voice she couldn’t quite place.
“Speaking?”
“It’s Father Thomas. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I believe I have your friend here.”
Jane? No… surely not.
Someone was talking in the background. Loudly.
“I’ll just wait for her here,” Jane announced. “Hey... Hey, I need to talk to you. If your God is impotent… Omnipotent. If He’s omnipotent, then-”
How? Why?
“Is he okay?”
“Oh, yes. He’s quite all right.”
As Lisbon stepped out of her car, the church stood ahead of her. Its heavy wooden doors were closed, stained-glass windows black in the darkness. St Jude stood in his usual alcove close to the entrance, staff in hand. The streetlights behind her cast a long shadow across the asphalt. The church steps were gently illuminated by the light spilling from the nearby rectory. Beyond it, the street was almost empty. Faint cheers drifted from the sports bar down the road, followed by the quiet whoosh of a passing car.
And somewhere, beneath it all, Jane was arguing about God.
She spotted them sitting on the steps. The stone had been worn smooth by decades of people passing to and fro. On one side sat an older priest, nearing his eighties. His gentle expression and the smile lines at the corners of his eyes made him appear as though the barrage of challenges made for excellent late-night entertainment.
On the other, the cause of her headaches.
Jane was speaking in low but impassioned tones, his arms flailing, apparently determined to provoke a man of peace. Lisbon already dreaded to think what he had the audacity to say while sober. Drunk?
She was already preparing a formal apology.
Armed with a bottle of water, she stalked towards the scene of the crime.
Lisbon could see Jane was trying to read Father Thomas. Even drunk, apparently, he couldn't help himself. She knew that look. He was searching for the hesitation before an answer, the tiny change in someone's expression when they touched upon something they would rather not discuss. Unfortunately for Jane, Father Thomas seemed to have very little to hide.
The priest sat comfortably on the church steps. He didn't fidget beneath Jane's scrutiny or try to fill the silences left hanging between questions. There was something almost irritatingly peaceful about him.
“Free will.” Jane shifted where he sat, studying him with narrowed eyes. “That’s always the answer, isn’t it?”
Father Thomas regarded him. “Sometimes.”
“Convenient.”
“How so?”
“God gets to be all-knowing, all-powerful, and benevolent, but someone can destroy another person’s life-a child’s-”
Lisbon heard Jane’s voice catch. Her fingers found the cross at her collarbone.
“Everything they were. Everything they were supposed to be.”
Father Thomas was quiet. His gaze remained on Jane, steady but not challenging.
“We believe God can bring good from suffering,” he said. “That isn’t the same as saying the suffering was good. Or necessary.”
Jane gave a humourless little laugh. “Must be nice.”
“You don't find that sufficient,” Father Thomas said.
Lisbon had heard it all before.
She wanted to believe it.
She needed to.
She needed to believe that her mother's death hadn't been something God had decided. That her father's abuse hadn't been some lesson scrawled into her life. That raising her brothers hadn't been some cross she was meant to bear.
That none of it had been given to her for a reason.
And in that moment, she was thirteen again.
She is standing in the darkened kitchen, barefoot, broken glass scattered across the floor. Tommy is crying upstairs. Stan and Jimmy are hiding behind her, Jimmy's small fist bunched in the back of her school uniform.
The front door slams.
Silence.
She takes her brothers' hands and carefully navigates them around the mess. Even so, a few pieces catch at their bare feet. At the doorway, she pauses.
Silence.
Then she hurries them upstairs, bundles them all back into their room, and checks the hastily installed lock on the door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Because control is easier.
If she knows where everyone is, she can do something.
If she knows what is wrong, she can fix it.
If someone she loves is hurting, she knows how to stay.
Her fingers tightened around the necklace.
Lisbon stopped in front of the pair with a sigh.
Jane peered up at her from the ground, legs stretched out in front of him comfortably, as though he were sitting in the sun at a midday picnic. “Ah, the cavalry has arrived.”
At first glance, he could have passed for relatively sober. Then Jane tried to pull himself upright, reached for the handrail, and missed by several inches.
He frowned at it. “It moved.”
She caught his shoulder on his second attempt, steadying him before he could pitch sideways. His weight settled heavily against her for a moment, warm and familiar, before he straightened, apparently satisfied that he had regained his dignity. Lisbon could already feel a dull pressure forming behind her eyes.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Just a couple…” Jane paused, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Maybe four…”
Another pause.
“No more than five.”
Lisbon stared at him.
He stared back, as if this was a perfectly reasonable estimate.
She held out the water, the cap already loosened. “Here.”
Jane took the bottle dutifully. “I knew you’d come.” He glanced back at Father Thomas, apparently pleased with himself. “I knew she would come,” he repeated with satisfaction.
Lisbon rubbed the space between her eyebrows. “How did you even know I come here for Mass?”
“You have an old church newsletter in your car,” Jane replied. “I figured I would just wait for you to come on Sunday.”
“It’s Friday night.”
“Is it?”
He thought about it for a moment.
“So it is.”
Lisbon was at a loss for words before nodding towards the bottle sitting uselessly in his hand. “Shut up and drink your water.”
Jane took an obedient sip.
Lisbon shook her head and stepped forward to help the elderly priest to his feet, only to find Jane still attached to her arm. She tried to ease herself free, but he followed her movement.
“I am so sorry, Father.” A mortified Lisbon caught Jane as he nearly lost his footing. “If he has said or done anything-”
“There is nothing to apologise for, Teresa,” Father Thomas chuckled. “Nothing wrong with a bit of theological debate. Mr Jane here has offered me a stimulating break from everyday pastoral duties.”
Jane gave her a smug you see look as he straightened her rumpled coat and tugged her hair free from beneath the collar. Her hand flexed, itching to make contact. Next to him, St Jude remained stone-faced.
Father Thomas tilted his head to the side.
“It’s been a while since we last saw you, Teresa. How have you been?”
Lisbon faltered. Of all the churches Jane could have somehow dragged himself to, it had to be hers.
“Well, I've been busy, you know, with work. I end up having to work on weekends often, and-”
“Ah yes, fighting the good fight.” Father Thomas gave her a sympathetic nod. “Well, if you ever want to talk, be it faith or…” He trailed off as his eyes settled on Jane, who was extremely focused on picking at some thread on his jacket. Instinctively, Lisbon reached over and brushed the loose thread from his sleeve. “Anyway, you know where to find me. The door is always open.”
Father Thomas hesitated.
“Teresa?”
“Sorry. What?”
The old priest smiled faintly.
“It was a pleasure talking to you, Mr Jane.” Father Thomas reached out and clasped Jane's hand warmly. “God bless.”
Jane hummed noncommittally. Lisbon stepped on his foot with enough force that he appeared to reconsider his response and thanked the priest with a pained smile.
Father Thomas glanced at his watch. “Well, I had better head off. Take care, both of you.”
He headed away in the dim light towards the rectory. The pair watched as he gave one final wave from the doorway before disappearing inside. The rectory door closed behind him.
Beside Lisbon, Jane swayed.
“Come on.” Lisbon said it gently but firmly, grabbing his arm, partly to steady him and partly to make sure he didn't wander off. Lisbon felt heat creep into her face as he leaned more heavily against her as they descended the steps, his shoes scuffing against the ground.
Jane stopped walking.
Lisbon tugged at his arm.
“What?”
“I miss seeing stars.”
Lisbon followed his gaze. Above the buildings, the sky was a washed-out black, the few visible stars swallowed by the city glow.
“When I was… away,” Jane began, “I would look up at the stars and my brain could just shut off.” He tipped his head further back, squinting as though he could somehow pick out individual constellations through the city haze. He swayed slightly, one finger tracing shapes through the air, connecting points that weren't really there. “I would just trace every constellation I could. Name each one. Over and over.”
His voice had softened.
“Like counting sheep. Whenever I couldn't sleep, I would just look up and start again.” Jane paused. He turned his body toward her. “I would imagine telling you all about them…”
Lisbon swallowed nervously, stuck in place. Jane was standing no closer than before, his arm still flush against hers. It was the kind of contact that usually passed without a second thought, but suddenly she was acutely aware of it.
He suddenly shifted his weight, putting space between them.
“Did I tell you that in my letters?” He frowned slightly. “I can't quite remember.”
Her phone buzzed.
Jane's eyes flicked to her pocket.
“Are you going to get that?”
“Not important.”
He studied her for a moment, then turned away. “Could be your boyfriend.”
There it was again.
Marcus and Jane.
Why couldn't they just exist separately from each other?
One life with Marcus. One with Jane.
In neat little boxes, where she could keep them contained and never have to think too hard about what happened when the two halves of her life collided.
“It could be,” She tugged Jane forward carefully, and they resumed walking; their footsteps echoed loudly against the pavement. He staggered along beside her for a few more steps before stopping again.
“What now?” Lisbon asked, exasperated.
“I'm sorry.”
He mumbled the words so quietly she almost didn't hear them.
“I'm sorry I made you come all this way to help me.”
“Jane…” Lisbon hugged herself uncertainly.
“I mean, you shouldn't have to. You have your own life. You've got work and…” He waved vaguely in the direction of nowhere. “Pike.”
He kicked at a pebble by his foot. “And I know you don't like doing this.”
“Doing what?”
Jane's foot caught the edge of the pavement. Lisbon's hand closed around his arm before he could stumble properly. He steadied himself and gently pried her hand off his elbow.
“This.” He gestured between them. “Looking after me.”
“I don't mind.”
“You do.”
“Maybe a little.” Lisbon sighed, too tired to argue anymore. Their footsteps fell out of rhythm as Jane's steps slowed as he focused on walking. Without thinking, Lisbon adjusted her pace to match his again.
“And I'm sorry about the priest. I argued with him… about God.”
“I gathered that.”
There was a pause as Lisbon hooked his arm through hers and guided him down some more steps.
“I know you worry that I judge you.”
“For what?”
“The Catholic thing,” Jane said.
What on earth…
A slight flush rose across his cheeks as a car passed along the street, its headlights briefly illuminating his face before carrying on into the darkness.
“Anyway, I don’t.” His words tumbled over one another. “I like that you can believe in something without needing to prove it.” He frowned. “You’re you.”
Jane appeared to consider his next words.
“I like you being you.”
He held her gaze before looking down at the pavement, weeds pushing through the cracks between them.
“I knew you’d come.”
Lisbon didn’t know what to say. Something uncomfortable twisted inside her stomach, a knot of feelings she couldn’t quite untangle.
His hand slipped from her arm, fingers trailing lightly down her sleeve until they reached her wrist, then her hand. For a moment, his fingers hovered against hers before gently catching the fabric of her sleeve.
“That’s probably not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“Knowing you’ll come.”
His hand fell away.
It’s okay came automatically to her lips, but she swallowed the words.
Jane had been what could only be described as off for the past few weeks. Not enough that she could point to any one thing and demand an explanation, but enough that she noticed. She would test the waters, only to find him already somewhere else, armed with a joke, some sort of lie, and a determination to cause as much chaos as humanly possible. It was nothing he hadn't done before. She just thought it would be different now.
It wasn’t like this with Marcus.
Or rather, Lisbon realised with a small twist of shame, it was the other way around. Marcus would extend a hand; she would offer what could perhaps be considered a limp handshake, at most. Enough to keep the conversation going. Not quite enough to reveal everything. He was forever trying to bring her with him, while she couldn't quite work out what it was that kept holding her back.
But that was different. She and Marcus were still getting to know each other. Of course it was different from whatever she and Jane had. There was history there, although history didn't seem quite a big enough word for it. She just needed time to get used to him. To them.
Them…
That was all.
Wasn't it?
Lisbon yelped as Jane toppled sideways, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Oops,” he said mildly, as though he had not nearly tumbled into a bush and taken her with him.
“If I get hurt trying to help your sorry ass, so help me-”
Whatever that conversation had been, she could deal with it later. Right now, she needed to get Jane home in one piece.
The church car park was empty save for Lisbon’s car and a fast-food container that skittered along the concrete. Jane made his way to the front passenger seat, as he always did. Lisbon climbed in after him and pulled the door shut. The church disappeared behind glass, and the outside world became muffled.
Jane nudged an empty coffee cup around the passenger footwell with the toe of his shoe. Lisbon dropped her phone into the cup holder.
She glared at him. “Seatbelt.”
“I love it when you go all authoritarian on me.” He pulled the seatbelt across himself and clicked it into place.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Lisbon’s head fell back against the headrest, the beginnings of a headache still lingering behind her eyes. Jane mumbled something about painkillers beside her. Lisbon’s phone vibrated again, rattling in the cup holder.
Marcus.
Of course.
Jane’s eyes flicked to the caller ID, then away. She pointed a warning finger at him before he could say anything.
He raised both hands in surrender.
“Hey, Marcus.”
Her voice lifted automatically. Jane tilted his head.
Lisbon shot him a look.
“I’ll call you back soon. I just have to deal with something.”
“Evening, Pike,” Jane called out.
“You said you had a minor emergency to deal with.”
“It is,” Lisbon said defensively.
“Wasn’t that exactly what you said two weeks ago? Every time he does something, you act like he’s still your responsibility.”
“Well-” Lisbon shifted the phone to her other hand and pinned it between her shoulder and ear as she fastened her seatbelt, slapping Jane’s hand away when he started rummaging through her handbag. He withdrew his hand, looking somewhat offended.
“He knows you'll come. He knows exactly what he's doing.”
I knew you'd come.
Lisbon gritted her teeth.
Marcus sighed, “We’ve talked about this. I know you’ve been friends for a long time.”
“It’s just that…”
“He doesn’t really have anyone, I know. And I sympathise, I really do. But he has you…That's the problem.”
“Mar-”
“He needs to rely on other people.”
Lisbon bit the inside of her cheek. “Marcus, I’ll call you back. We can talk about this later.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “I love you.”
Lisbon’s eyes darted over at Jane, who was studying a plain brick wall out the window with remarkable fascination.
“Teresa?”
She winced.
Beside her, Jane dragged one finger through the condensation on the window.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I think the call broke up.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You were cutting out.”
“I said I love you.” His voice was filled with reproach now.
Jane's finger stopped.
Lisbon’s grip tightened around the steering wheel.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Teresa?”
“Goodnight.”
She ended the call before he could say anything else.
Stillness settled over the car as the phone screen went dark in her hand. Lisbon ran a hand through her hair and shifted in her seat. Beside her, Jane said nothing. She could feel his eyes on her.
“Don't.”
“High voice, you lying liar.” Jane grinned. “You just told your boyfriend the phone broke up because-”
“Seriously, Jane. Shut up.”
“I knew you were a terrible liar, but-”
“Considering your own decision-making, you're hardly qualified to comment.” Lisbon adjusted the already perfectly positioned rear-view mirror. “You are literally the last person who gets to judge me.”
She turned the ignition. “Where are you staying?”
Jane pointed down the street. “That way.”
“Helpful,” Lisbon said dryly and pulled away.
The silence was wrong.
Usually, silence with Jane was easy. Familiar. They could sit beside each other for hours without needing to fill it.
This one felt crowded.
She watched from the corner of her eye as Jane’s thumb moved over his wedding band.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The gold caught the passing light as they drove beneath a streetlamp.
Take it off.
The intrusive thought came from somewhere unfamiliar. Lisbon immediately buried the thought before it could take shape, pushing it away deep inside and locking it away with shame.
Jane stared out the window, the ring still turning slowly beneath his thumb. Lisbon reached for the radio. The familiar guitar of Tracy Chapman's “Give Me One Reason” broke through the silence. She hesitated, her fingers lingering near the dial, before she let the song play.
Jane's eyes were closed, but Lisbon knew him well enough to know he wasn’t asleep. Over a decade, she'd seen him doze off on his couch often enough to know the difference. He had done so often enough during work hours that it could reasonably be considered wage theft.
His breathing was too measured.
His hands were too restless.
Something was wrong.
She needed to know.
The light ahead turned red.
Lisbon slowed to a stop, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. A nearly empty bus lumbered through the intersection, its windows glowing against the dark. On the corner, a bachelorette party spilt out of a bar, the young bride-to-be’s plastic tiara askew as she beamed at her friends crowding around her.
She watched them for a moment.
They seemed happy.
Excited about whatever came next.
Beside her, Jane’s thumb continued its back-and-forth around his wedding band.
Summoning something that resembled both courage and panic, she started. “Why are you acting like this? I don’t understand.”
Jane stilled.
“Is this about DC? Because-”
“I just want you to be happy,” he said too quickly.
Ask me to stay.
“I don't want-”
Lisbon‘s breathing became shallow.
Jane’s jaw tightened.
Ask me to stay.
“I don't want you giving something up because you think I want you here.”
Because you think I want you here.
The words lodged somewhere beneath her ribs.
Think.
As though it were something she'd made up. Something she'd invented to read into the silences and the looks.
Heat crept up her neck. “Does it matter to you whether I'm here?”
The indicator clicked steadily in the silence.
“Of course it matters.”
Relief came too quickly.
“Then why won't you say it?”
Jane dropped his head. His shoulders tensed.
Lisbon waited.
He said nothing.
Lisbon’s knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. She blinked hard as the streetlights blurred beyond the windscreen.
“You know what?” she snapped. “Fine. Maybe going to DC is best. I don't know if I can do this anymore.”
Lisbon’s voice continued rising. “Acting like you're doing me some amazing favour. Telling me you want me to be happy. Like you don't care if I go.”
Jane stopped fidgeting. “I never said-”
“You don't have to say it! I've spent weeks trying to figure out what you want from me,” she continued. “I try to talk to you, and you give me some bullshit about what would make me happy.”
“Lis-”
“No. You don't get to do that.” Her voice cracked. “Maybe Marcus was right. This is a problem. Me always tidying up after you is a problem. You... You expecting me to be there whenever you need me is a problem. Knowing I’ll come.”
The words were out before she could stop them.
Lisbon's chest rose and fell sharply. Jane went very still.
Something in his expression sharpened. For a moment, the haze of alcohol seemed to vanish from his eyes.
He stared at her, then gave a small, bitter laugh.
“She speaks poniards, and every word stabs,” he said.
“What?”
“Daggers.” Jane rubbed a hand over his face wearily. “Little knives.”
Lisbon swallowed hard, hearing her blood rushing in her ears.
She couldn’t cry.
Not here.
“I appreciate the honesty.” Jane shut his eyes again and reclined the seat. He tapped a finger against his temple. “Don’t worry. With the amount of alcohol I’ve had tonight, my memory palace has become somewhat of a sieve.”
Shame tightened her chest, panic knotting in her stomach. “You can’t sleep. I don’t know where I’m going.”
“I’m not asleep,” he said serenely. His hands were clenched in his lap. “I’m resting my eyes.”
Lisbon watched him for a moment. She recognised the retreat. She had seen him do it a hundred times. And this time, she had to let him shut her out.
She turned her attention back to the road.
The radio played quietly beneath the hum of the engine.
Jane's hands remained clasped tight, his eyes closed.
Daylight seeped through the gap in the mostly drawn curtains, far too bright for Jane's current condition. Somewhere outside, a car passed, followed by an angry horn and swearing. Apparently, the world had decided to keep turning without any consideration for him.
He rolled over and sat up, his head pounding and his mouth feeling as though it had been stuffed with cotton.
Someone had plugged his phone in to charge. A glass of water sat on the table beside a blister pack of what he presumed (and desperately hoped) was ibuprofen.
Lisbon.
He knew she suffered occasional stress headaches, a number of which he had personally contributed to.
And she'd left some for him anyway.
Pieces of the night began to surface. His memory was spotty, blurred around the edges.
The reality was, in the car, Jane didn’t want to look at Lisbon.
Looking at her had felt dangerous.
There were some things that, once acknowledged, couldn't be put back where they'd come from.
They were friends.
Whatever else there was could remain unnamed.
Lisbon had Pike.
Pike was a good man.
A stable man.
A man without the looming threat of jail time.
A future.
He vaguely remembered leaving the bar. An old priest. Nearly falling into a bush. Lisbon's car.
His supposedly impeccable memory had developed some unfortunate gaps.
Although not enough.
Jane. Problem. I know.