Kaleidoscope   von Jisbon
                                   (Jisbon)
================================================================================
                               Kapitel 1: Graze
                               ----------------


Set:  Somewhere in season 1, after 1/17 (“Let’s do a trust fall.”)
 
 
“Change came in disguise of revelation, set his soul  on fire.
She says she always knew he’d come around.
And the decades disappear like sinking ships”
(The Killers/A dustland fairytale)
Graze
 
“You can go  in now.”
The Doctor  whose name tag identified him as “Dr Cains”, was  ill shaven
and slightly overweight. Just as  obvious he was tired and frustrated and Jane
couldn’t help but ask himself whether  the fact that the man had been ignored
during the recent promotion or an  encounter with his latest patient were to
blame.  Given the circumstances the latter seemed to  be likely.  But if he
ever felt anything  remotely like pity, that feeling withered the moment his
wedding band was  briefly glanced at and all the wrong assumptions were made.
“Maybe  she’ll listen to you.”
The fool  hadn’t even read Lisbon’s intake form properly nor had he ever
looked at her  right hand. 
But Jane wasn’t  in the mood for explanation’s of any kind, he had already
smelled to much  disinfectant and lost enough time.   
“Oh, I  doubt that.”
Instead he  smiled and shrugged, like they were having that kind of a
relationship, where  he was used to waiting for her on hospital corridors,
because he told her to be  careful all the time and she just never listened. It
was a bad joke but the  irony wasn’t wasted on him and the moment his fingers
touched the doorknob the  grimace vanished. 
 
 Jane sneaked a quick peek before he entered  the small room, took a moment to
observe and to detect Lisbon’s mood. They  hadn’t talked since the incident;
there had been too many others around, too  much fuss. Which is why he had no
idea if they’d just talk or if he was about  to enter a grumpy lion’s den.
Not that it  would have mattered much anyway. 
What he saw  was no unusual sight and therefore held no evidence: Lisbon sat on
a small desk  and fought her way through a bunch of paper and she seemed
completely absorbed  by her dull task. The slightly stiff, banged left arm was
the only detail to  differ from the familiar picture—that and the fact that
she wasn’t sitting in  her office but in a hospital room. 
The coffee  from the machine that accompanied Jane was probably a thin swill and
lukewarm  at most, but he carefully placed the cup on the table corner
nevertheless. 
It was the  best peace proposal he had to offer and apparently it was an
unwanted one. 
Lisbon  didn’t say anything like that—in fact she didn’t say anything at
all—and she didn’t  have to. The way she tensed a little when she heard him
approach, the way she  didn’t look at him practically sang about her
suppressed anger and her wish to  be somewhere else. He took a few steps back
and leaned  his back against a wall.
This would  take a while. 
The first  thing he said was:  “Listen, I am sorry,”  because he really was
and for once she didn’t have to make him say these words.  
“Don’t beat  yourself up. I’m okay, it’s only a graze.”
She  answered absent mindedly, didn’t even bother looking at him. Instead, she
 scribbled at the dismissal form like her life depended on it. Two hours ago her
 life had depended on something else, but he was not going to point out the 
obvious for her. 
 “Once I’ve filled these out, I’m outta here.  Jones has probably already
lawyered up and I don’t want to waste any more time  in here.”
Cains had probably  tried to persuade her to stay the night “for safety
reasons, in case she was in  a shock” something like that, and fled because he
found that particular nut too  hard to crack, but Jane wasn’t going to give up
that easily. Honesty had failed  him so far, which is why he continued with
half-jokes. 
“I guess I  owe you a free punch.” 
He smiled  miserably, not only because he had seen her punch suspects before and
was  pretty sure that she had a terrible right hook, despite being so tiny. 
“I’ll keep  that in mind.” 
Still  nothing but the scratching of her pen to fill the small room.
“You should,  it’s probably your once in a lifetime chance to do what
you’ve been thinking  about for some time now. And don’t say you didn’t,
because I know you did.” He  shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and
became serious again. “The  situation was under control until I crashed the
party. I deserve it.” Another  variation of the truth—and an ugly little
understatement as well.   
“I know you  didn’t mean any of this to happen.” Polite emptiness seemed
to be all Lisbon  was willing to offer him but he could not content himself with
that “little”  here. This was something they had to clarify.
This had happened:  Last night the owner of a medium sized business was found in
a puddle of his  own blood. The first thing Lisbon wanted to do, in the morning,
was to have a  talk with his partner in business, Robert Jones. And she had
brought him, her  consultant, along for all the insight he could give. When they
arrived at the  house there had been a lot of screaming and waving of a gun, on
Jones’ side—a clear  case of a man being unable to cope with what he had
done. And a tale of too  much alcohol, judging by the smell on his breath.
 According to his own, slightly confusing  statements Jones had been torn
between shooting himself and shooting them. Lisbon  had told him to stay behind
and keep quiet, but like always, he had known so  much better. Instead, he had
been his usual self, playing his games asking all  the wrong questions and
drawing all the right conclusions, being about ninety  percent sure that the man
wouldn’t fire.
But this  time ninety percent hadn’t been enough.
The  catching remark that pushed Jones over the edge had been: “Go ahead,
shoot  yourself if you feel you have to. You’ll ruin that nice, expensive
looking suit  with your brain muck, but at this rate you’ll be very, very dead
and won’t care  anymore. That’s your choice.”
In this  very moment Jones had decided to shoot at them. Lisbon had been his
first  choice, because she was the armed one. She had thrown herself to the
ground,  but she had been a second too late, the second the bullet had needed to
graze  her shoulder. Seconds after that Sac PD had finally arrived and tackled
down  Jones.
Jane hadn’t  been of much benefit to anyone.  
“You leave  me hanging here, but I guess it’s only fair.” He tried to make
it sound like an  objective estimation, something to notice and cope with, but
failed miserably.  Because having earned such a treatment was dead certain
nothing to pass over  with levity—not even for him. 
 And he was used to passing over a lot of  things.
“I’m not  leaving you anywhere, Jane.” Lisbon sounded a little tired,
strained like she  had been explaining the same matter to a stubborn child the
whole day—a  stubborn child named Patrick Jane to be precise. “You simply
did what you  always do and this time I wasn’t fast enough to balance it. Now,
can we please  drop the matter?”
She meant  what she had said, that much was obvious to him. 
Justice was  the romantic ideal she clung onto, he had know that much already.
What he had  only guessed til today was where she saw herself in the big
picture. Now he  knew for sure—and he wished he didn’t. 
And  suddenly, he was so mad at her. 
For meaning  what she said, for not thinking about leaving him despite the fact
that he  nearly had gotten her killed today. For  being who she was. For blaming
herself instead of him, for acting like dying in  the name of “justice”
would be no big deal. For a whirlwind of reasons that  surprised and alarmed him
at the same time, but at the very moment they were  just another thing to pass
over.  
Right now,  he was just going to be angry, because that feeling demanded neither
excuses  nor explanation’s of any kind. 
“Oh,  please, Lisbon! Stop being a saint, just once!” he growled, seemingly
absorbed  with brushing away an imaginary lint from his shoulder with a tense
hand. 
Lisbon  stiffened before she put the pen aside and finally, for the first time
during  this whole mess, looked him in the eye. It was a cold and stern look and
she  was trying to hide something behind it. His always observing eyes noted
this and  a few other things, like how pale her face was and he was fairly
certain that  it was not only the effect of the neon light. The same applied for
the dark  circles around her eyes and the larger amount of make-up she had used
today to  hide those. 
This was  not about Jones, this was about something that she had been lugging
around for  longer.
“I never  pretended to be a saint, I’m just being reasonable. Somebody has
to.” She  clenched her right hand into a first.   “And besides you
wouldn’t know anyway, since you don’t even believe in  the existence of
saints.” She pointed out triumphant, her voice laboriously  controlled.
No, of  course he didn’t—how could he? He wasn’t even she sure Lisbon did,
catholic  school or not, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. 
Seemingly,  he had finally managed to get through to her, but he suddenly
doubted if it was  a desirable place to go in her current state of mind; or in
his for that  matter.  
But he  should have thought about that earlier. Much earlier, because now it was
now  impossible to retreat to his fortress of fake smiles and smug remarks.  
“I don’t  need to, and for what it’s worth, I never accused you of
pretending. I know you  don’t do that…at least not when it comes to
important things.” 
He shook  his head in awe, because she really was a puzzle. One he hadn’t
solved yet and  maybe never would. It was not the first time that the thought of
their limited  time together grazed him, but it was the first time that the
weight almost  buried him.  He’d find and kill Red John  and then… Yeah,
what then?  He had never really thought about that time.  It was an elusive
thing, too far away and much too close at the same time.  Maybe he’d die doing
it, maybe there’d be the death penalty waiting for him or  he’d have to live
out the rest of his days in a federal prison, he didn’t  really care—at
least that’s what he preferred to tell himself. Something else  he insisted on
fooling himself with was that he had become incapable of caring  about any
living human being; that Lisbon, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were just  background
actors, the supporting group preparing the stage for his grand,  final entrance.
(Someday and somehow, he would have to stop lying to himself.)
And Lisbon  had known enough about his private madness and agreed to working
with him  nevertheless, despite her own doubts. 
“You really are a saint.” The words came out  much more gentle then
originally intended, affectionate and a little surprised.  
He had  always enjoyed solving puzzles and if things were different… But that
was a dangerous  game to play, because things weren’t different.  They
couldn’t be.
With his  outlooks that would be an all too cruel joke . 
His words  had a strange effect on her. For a moment, before she hastily turned
away from  him, he even hallucinated angry tears glittering in her eyes. Absurd,
because  he had never seen her on the verge of crying before. Preposterous,
because he  would have bet on the fact that they’d not be there, because the
realization  that she could have died today took two full hours to hit her. 
“For somebody who claims to be so smart you’re  talking something that does
sound remarkably like bullshit right now.”
The boss was back—at least that was the impression  she tried to make. 
And she did  her best and did acceptable, but her performance was not nearly
good enough. He  was the expert, he noticed the little creak in her voice, the
clenched fist. Sarcasm  had never suited her much and the fact that she took
refuge there told him how  much she wanted the upper hand over him, to remind
him that she was his boss. 
 But for all that his expertise was worth  nothing because he had no idea about
what she was trying so hard not to think about. 
“You are  one to talk, Lisbon.” A cruel smile distorted his lips.
And he knew  then she’d be unable to leave things here. He was not only
questioning her authority,  he had somehow ended questioning her view on her job
and the whole cop thing.  Questioning who she was, that’s what he had been
doing. He hadn’t planned on  doing it, it had just happened.  Sometimes,
conversations just did that­—even to  him. 
Lisbon cleared  her throat and forced herself to withstand his gaze. 
“I have no  idea what you...” she hissed, reaching for the now certainly
cold cup of coffee  next to her in a hopeless attempt to steady her nerves. 
 “Really, Lisbon?” 
Jane  interrupted her impatiently while he took an impulsive step toward her. He
 didn’t even know what he wanted to do there, probably something pointless
like  grapping her arm and Lisbon breaking his because of that—fortunately
enough they  already were in a hospital, he thought humorlessly.  But whatever
it would have been his sudden  movement startled her enough and she ended up
sweeping the cup off the table  instead. 
For a  laughably long moment they both watched his peace offer taking a short
flight  in his direction, and then land in the space between them. The brown
liquid  splashed over the floor and the plastic cup rolled out of sight, under
the bed.  
“Damn it,  Jane!” Lisbon growled before she grabbed a stack of paper towels.

He didn’t  stir and he didn’t say a word. He told himself that it was
because he was a  coward and couldn’t tell her that apparently nervousness
made her inept; after  all she was the one with the gun in here.  A soft spoken
voice in his head, one which he  wanted  to silence so badly  and which
sounded remarkably like Charlotte’s  told him something else:  That he was 
sorry, again for getting rough and driving her into a corner like this, that 
she deserved better. 
And while  she moved to clean up the mess, she muttered something. Something
that was  probably never meant for him to hear, something he didn’t really
understand.  “Saint”, “resources” and “matter” were the few words he
was able to identify  unambiguously. 
 It was at this moment that the door opened and  a very young nurse stepped in
and she immediately noticed the loaded atmosphere.  “I…I’m sorry, I
didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just come back in a few minutes.” 
Something akin to panic stained her voice. 
Lisbon shook  her head and stopped her.
“That won’t  be necessary, we were done here anyway,” she said with the
full weight of her authority  acting calm and completely ignoring him, “And
I’m sorry for …this,” Lisbon added  while she pointed at the floor and the
soggy paper towels. 
Jane  considered himself dismissed then. 
 
During his  drive through Sacramento, his brain kept replaying the moment in the
hospital  room where Lisbon had muttered those words he hadn’t understood. 
They held the last clue to explain her  strange behavior; that was a safe
assumption. It took him til he was halfway  through Sacramento to solve the case
nevertheless. He tested the words in  various orders and a few gaps remained,
but he finally got the tune. 
“If I were I saint I wouldn’t want to know…would  it be the access to the
CBI resources or me you’d mourn so eager. It wouldn’t  even matter.”
And when he  finally did, he was on the verge of turning over, right there on
the freeway  just to return to the hospital. Of returning there just to shake
her til she  came to her senses; of continuing a fight that couldn’t be won
today because  some things just weren’t rational—fear wasn’t,
fundamental’s weren’t… and trust  wasn’t as well.
He knew  that probably better than anyone else. 
 And this is why he let the moment pass and  still followed traffic, still was
on his way to the CBI at the end of it. Because  he had to admit something: It
was an ugly question but maybe, perhaps  well-earned. 
And a part  of him was irked again, because he had told her the truth, only a
few weeks  ago. Maybe she hadn’t listened, or she had been too stubborn to
search for the  truth somewhere behind jokes and silly trust falls. 
“Lisbon, I want you to know that you can trust  me. No matter what happens,
I’ll be there for you. I will. I need you to know  that.”
He couldn’t  help but smile at the memory then, because it was so typical of
her, and of him  to dance around the truth like that.
Jane  fetched out his phone, flipped it open and dialed Lisbon’s number. 
And then he  had to wait, because she didn’t take his call. Maybe she
couldn’t because she  was somewhere on the road as well, but it seemed much
more likely that she just  didn’t want to. Either  because she wasn’t  in
the mood for struggling with him anymore or because she was embarrassed by  her
little outburst, the outcome was the same. It was no real surprise, the  real
surprise was how lost it made him feel. If he wasn’t able to tell her now, 
he’d…
And while  he was still trying to decide what to do, her voice suddenly filled
the car.
“This is Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon. I can’t  take your call right now, but
if you leave a message…”
He let his  hand fall slowly and then completely stopped because he had just
changed his  mind: He would just follow the orders of that very distant Lisbon
and leave her  a message.
“…I’ll call you back as soon as possible.”
Jane  cleared his throat. Speaking to machines had always made him feel stupid,
but  he had to do this. “Lisbon, for somebody so smart you seem to think
something  that does sound remarkably like bullshit.” 
He put  effort into faking a cheerful voice and then he held off, again. Because
he hadn’t  called to say something like that. 
There were  many things he could and should have said, things she probably
wouldn’t believe  because sneaky remarks and disbelief were her way of
protecting herself—but  knowing that failed to legitimize his omission.
Despite all this, was a unique  possibility, because she wasn’t there to brush
him off.
 “No, I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny at all. And  actually, that’s not
what I wanted to say.” He grimaced and found himself at a  loss for words,
again. It wasn’t like him to stutter like this, but then again  it wasn’t
like him to tape or to be this…real. His showman camouflage felt very  far
away and he felt so vulnerable, but he forced himself to continue speaking.  
“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry we agued and I’m sorry, I…You matter. Don’t
ever think otherwise.”  His voice sounded hoarse, throaty and he spoke  way
too quick. This was not a joke. 
 “So…take care of yourself, please. Let me…”
He quickly  hung up then because he just couldn’t say, “Let  me take care of
you, you have no idea what you mean to me”. 
 It was neither the time nor the place for  these words.  
 

If  he ever had those psychic powers he had faked in another life, Jane would
have known  how wrong he was about many things, about the time when he would say
this or “It’s  over, it’s done”, about Sheriff Hardy, Red John and a
million other things but  since there never was such a thing as psychics he had
no idea then.



                             Kapitel 2: White lies
                             ---------------------


Set: Somewhere  around 2/16, Code Red (“Because it’s better to be happy than
sad”)

Confessions: Janes  next to last line is a Byron quote. And I drink too much
coffee. 
White lies    
 
Jane had been acting strange today and so had Lisbon. 
During the team meeting, while the rest of them were  doing their jobs, like
catching a killer, Jane had barely said a word. Apparently  he was fully
occupied with lying on his couch and pretending to be asleep.  Later, when
Lisbon had told him to head out with Rigsby he had flatly refused  to follow her
order. 
His exact words had been: “As much as I’d love to  obey, I’m afraid I’ll
have to decline this inviting offer. My best laid plans  force me to stay
here.”  A challenging glance  under half closed eyelids had accompanied his
latest, muttered brazenness. 
And Lisbon knew she should have accepted the challenge  and insist, simply force
him to go like she’d have done weeks or month ago. But  not today. Today, her
mind was engaged elsewhere and she just couldn’t summon  the energy to
struggle with one of his silly moods. On this forenoon she simply  settled for
squinting her eyes a second too long and retorting with a half-assed  snappy
remark. 
“Fine. Just stay here until you start to rot. Cho, you  go.”
Lisbon waved dismissively, turned on her heel and headed  for her office where a
probably long and definitely exhausting talk with the  D.A.s office awaited her.
She didn’t miss the disbelieving looks the team tried  to exchange behind her
back, though, and they only confirmed what she already  knew: She had just made
a mistake. Cutting him slack like that made her look tattered,  nonprofessional
and Jane would take advantage of that, sooner or later. Probably sooner than
later, she thought  with a trace of humor, it wasn’t like him to waste time
when he could create confusion.  
He always did. 
“Morning, Lisbon.” The lukewarm greeting of the  passing agent Wiks from
 the gang unit  snapped her out of her thoughts and she realized that she had
been staring into  space—and that she had nearly raced the other agent round
in doing so. Great, just great. Any more of this and  people would start to
assume that she was losing it. And maybe, these people  would hit close enough
to home.  
Next week  you’ll have to be a little more convincing, she silently  reminded
herself for the millionth time during the last few weeks. 
Next week it had to be, because by then the new boss was  supposed to
arrive—and today and the ones following weren’t supposed to be  pleasant for
anybody in the building least of all for her team or herself.  
“New brooms sweep clean”, that was how the proverb  went. Unfortunately she
had already seen two new bosses come and grow old to  know that it was much more
than a hackneyed old saying, especially in law  enforcement. 
Hightower would be bent on proving that she had earned  her tough-as-nails
reputation the hard way and she’d start with cleaning up the  smaller
sloppiness and greater squalidness that had crept in during her  predecessor’s
regency. It was a current method, after all, Lisbon had tried the  same when she
made her way up in SAC PD. It sounded ludicrous today, but there  had been a
time when she used to make secret lists of the things that needed  close
observation. Nothing fancy to that, really. 
But time was the factor here. Or in other words: “had  been” was the ugly
sticking point. 
Because today she could barely remember the person  that used to make these
silly lists. She had changed a lot since then, she had  been changed a lot since
then, and now the new boss would find enough  rule violations to clean up under
her own supervision. 
A dragging pain in her neck made her pause. It was the  kind of sting that would
grow into a real, steady cramp too soon— she knew that  first hand. In
addition she felt a little queasy because she had skipped  breakfast to get to
the crime scene in time and if she wanted to survive this  day without falling
asleep standing she’d need a painkiller and a cup of  coffee. At least.  
Lisbon stopped at the kitchenette and she was  unreasonably relieved to find it
empty. While she waited for the machine to  perform it’s magic, she choked
down a couple of tablets and then something  bubbled up inside her mind: She
could make a list of her flaws too—to keep her  mind focused, to kill the
waiting time. For old time’s sake, for that younger  Officer Lisbon that was
lost beyond recall already. Naturally, no pen or paper  would be involved. 
Writing down  something like that would make her feel completely unprofessional
and it bore  the risk that the one person who’d dare to snoop around her
office would find  it. 
It was easy enough to set out her Senior Agent sins  anyway. 
The first: One safety hazard in form of a consultant,  who was out to commit a
capital crime himself and owned a club of enemies that  included both half of
the state of California and a dangerous serial killer?  Check.
The second: Two agents involved in a romantic and 
strictly-against-office-policies relationship? Double Check.
The third and her favorite point: Herself, the head of  the unit. The one who
let them all do what they did because she didn’t want to  lose anybody for
whom she had come to care far too much. The representative of  the law that
didn’t play by the books anymore;   the one that went along with breaking the
rules, lying and blackmailing  when necessary, the one with the many blind
spots. The one that closed more  cases and caught more bad guys, the one that
did more good. The one who juggled  with complaints and lawsuits, the better 
one.
 Triple check. Guilty  as charged. 
The consoling smell of hot coffee finally surrounded  her and with a small
smile, she pressed her damp fingers against the cup,  before she puffed
repeatedly and took it to her lips. She would probably burn  her mouth, but that
wasn’t the point. It was like being six-years-old again,  years before her
world had crashed for the first time and playing “I dare you”  all by
herself. If she drank his now, she’d immediately feel better—as if  coffee
was a magic potion. It would make her feel strong and full of energy, 
professional and…undamaged. Fine, maybe she overdid it, but she craved, so 
much, to feel  better, to  feel like the person she had been one year ago  .
A sudden loud smack against the doorframe broke the  spell and startled her
enough to make a few drops spill over and burn her  fingers.
Lisbon didn’t need to turn around and look at the  intruder. Maybe it was
because of her innate trouble radar or maybe it was the  way her hackles raised
and her empty stomach made itself known again, but either  way she just knew. 
“Jane. What do you want?”  she hissed, while she hastily set down the mug 
and waved her hands in an attempted to cool them.
“What a wide question,” he answered soulful, whereas  he stepped next to her
and casually reached for his boiler.  She watched him pour in the water and
light  the gas flame and for a split second she thought about slapping him. She
was in  no mood for this kind of crap. All she wanted was to be left alone and
drink  this damned coffee and because Jane was Jane he knew. He always knew more
than  he was ought to, after all that was why the CBI had hired him in the first
 place. 
It also made him dangerous to be around. 
“I’ll tell you, but only because it’s you,” he went on—pestilent, 
blithesome, “In the long term that would be what we all want, but in the short
 term…” Jane winked and presented his empty cyan cup and saucer “I’ll
have to  content myself with a cup of tea.”
Lisbon clenched her teeth and snatched the sugar caster.  Out of the corner of
her eye she watched her consultant open the cupboard and wave  between the
different kinds of tea while he quietly hummed to himself. She  squinted. Maybe
if she ignored him, he would grow tired of messing with her and  just vanish.
Otherwise…she had no idea what to do in this case; maybe she had  to shoot
him. All she knew for sure was that the more vivid he appeared the  heavier she
felt her own exhaustion. 
“Eureka.” Apparently pleased, he took out a box and  fetched a tea bag out
of it. Lisbon stared stolidly ahead and kept adding  sugar. As if he were
completely unsuspecting, as if he had all the time of the  world he poured the
boiling water into his cup, still humming while doing so.
 And then he  paused and Lisbon found herself piping down because she finally
saw through  this little siege.  So much for chitchat  about “best laid
plans,” his couch and tea, he was getting at something. And  she even had a
pretty accurate foreboding regarding that something. It would be  right on the
mark, it would be outrageous, not case-related, and she did not want to hear it.
Not for  the world. 
 Because maybe,  just maybe, she was a tad afraid of  it. 
And conveniently she didn’t have to stay here and  listen to him. She even had
a professional sounding excuse for backing off  again: her urgent call with the
D.A.s office. And really, she should have been  on the phone by now anyway
instead of wasting her time here with him. She  reached for her coffee but Jane
got the drop on her.
“You shouldn’t drink this, Lisbon.” 
Lisbon blinked. Once, twice—but that didn’t make him disappear  or his
statement less irritating. 
“Why not?” She asked grumpily as she eyed him  suspiciously. 
“Ah.” Jane grinned triumphantly, but his eyes remained  searching and
unfazed.  “For two reasons.  Number one: because during your understandable,
but childish attempts to ignore me you’ve already put in way too much  sugar.
And number two…” He leaned forward and snatched the cup away while he  spoke
“...it’s not healthy.” 
Lisbon frowned. “Jane? Are you sick?” She  got on her tiptoes and pretended
to check if  he had a temperature, her hand hovering inches away from his
forehead, (because  touching him would have been  too much,  wouldn’t it?) If
he was going to play silly games so would she—at least for the  moment.
“It’s just coffee. I drink it all the time, maybe you remember that?” She
emphasized each word carefully, acted as if she  really was dealing with a
mentally troubled patient.
 “Oh. Thanks for  the enlightenment, I didn’t know that.” Jane rolled his
eyes to let her know  that he just had to endure incredible stupidity on her
part and hadn’t already  fled out of pure generosity.  
“We both know it’s more than just coffee.” And there  it was—the
suggestion she had been afraid off.
Of course he was right, it wasn’t just coffee. For  weeks her body had been
running on coffee and cheap imitations of real sleep,  ever since her world had
crashed for the second time not so long ago. And ever  since she had been
feeling tattered and out of whack and at the same time  anxious to hide that
form everyone around her. 
Because Sam Bosco was dead and they were alive.   
 She cleared her  throat and averted her gaze. “I have no idea what you’re
talking about.”
“Liar.” The tone appeared to be cheerful, but she knew  him well enough to
notice the little edge in his voice, the one she couldn’t  quite place.
Impatient, regretful, wistful, something in between. Or maybe she  didn’t know
him at all and it was only in her head, because she wanted him to  feel that
way. Everything was possible with Patrick Jane—always. 
“But I’ll humor you. What time is it, eleven? And it’s  your fifth…”
She shook her head fiercely and made an attempt to cut in on him  but he just
grimaced and carried on “…No, your sixth one. Really, Lisbon? That  can’t
be healthy.” 
Sometimes, sometimes she almost hated him.
“So now you are watching over my caffeine intake?  I’m fine, thanks a
lot.” She folded her arms  and smiled drily.
So maybe she was not just yet fine, but he was the  last person on earth she was
willing to admit that to. Well, actually there wasn’t  anyone she’d confess
something like that to, but still…She was the boss, she  was the one fixing
things, and she couldn’t appear weak. Least of all to him. 
Besides, she was feeling better already. Really, thanks  also to him, even if it
seemed farfetched at this particular moment. There was  no need to put up a
fuss. She had it all under control. As always.
Jane watched her closely. Something like a smile  crinkled his lips and for
another moment, Lisbon was afraid he’d just say it.  But then he shook his
head, hardly noticeable and made do with saying,  “Somebody has to.”
“I’m not lying!” she claimed, hell bent on ignoring  his last statement
and everything that could possibly have followed in the wake  of it. 
Jane caused her trouble, he was sometimes bothersome,  and nearly always useful
because he kept the solve rates high, and one fine day  he’d get her fired.
That was the deal and she better kept in mind what she had  signed for.  
“Besides, I haven’t even had that many!” Lisbon  hastily added, hoping to
get away with it and already suspecting that she was  fighting a losing battle
here.
 “Meh. Sixth is  exactly the number,” he said in a singsong voice, before
he set down her mug on  the fridge, leaned back and started listing her coffee
crimes.
“The first and the second were in your office, you  worked past midnight again
because you were so sure you wouldn’t be able to  sleep anyway and because
sleeping pills are not an option for you. Wise call,  by the way.” Jane dipped
his tea bag twice before he threw it into the trash  can. “You drank the third
at home after you were called in for the case,  stopped for the fourth on the
way to the crime scene. How am I doing so far?” 
“Crappy. Trust me, you are not even close.” Lisbon  clenched her teeth. She
had seen him play the same cat-and-mouse game with  suspects many times before
and she was sure that she’d never grow tired of it,  when it was useful and
case related, but this was an entirely different story. 
It was too easy to misunderstand things. This, all  this, meant nothing. Not to
him and not to her—if she was wise. 
“That good? You flatter me. So—where was I?” He smiled  in false modesty
and then looked down at his leg and carefully flattened the  fabric. This time,
she didn’t have to search for undertones in his voice. “Ah,  yes. The fifth
was offered to you by that guy from Sac PD who has had his eyes  on you for
weeks. What’s his name again? Wench? Trench?”
He hadn’t forgotten the name, it was just another  variation of the same
game—she’d have bet her badge on that. He was trying to  embarrass her and
it worked splendidly. 
“The name is Officer Hench,” Lisbon interrupted him,  already blushing
without reason. With a little effort she managed to recall a  man with brown
hair and a bright smile who had lifted the police line a few  times for her and
who had asked her if she’d take care of an abandoned coffee  at the crime
scene this morning. “And has not been eying me, he was just being decent  by
offering me a spare cup!” She folded her arms and gave him a triumphant 
smile, not so sure why she made such a big point out of this. 
“Please, Lisbon?” He grimaced at her sorrowfully, the  rhetorical question,
Don’t you know that  I’m always right? practically flashing over his head. 
“You’d really think he’d miscount the people in  his unit? Don’t make
the poor guy dumber than he already is.” 
In this moment, the most ridiculous thought flickered  into her mind: Jane not
liking the idea of other men paying attention to  her…because he was somewhat
jealous. The very idea was absurd. Absurd enough to  tell him, to share a laugh
or two about it together but she didn’t. She was  well aware of the fact that
she was into that particular thought just a tiny  bit too much. 
And Teresa Lisbon wasn’t one for self-delusion.
“Whatever,” she concluded, trying to wipe the slate  clean—under this
silly conversation as well as her own ascending confusion.  Even if he stopped
this nonsense now and gave her coffee back, it was probably  cold by now. 
She rubbed the root of her nose and then looked at her  phone with ostentation.
The D.A.’s Office was still waiting and all she had  done in the past few
minutes was wasting time here with him. Great job, really.  
“If you have no other information to share, I…” She pushed  past him.
Jane cut her off. “Oh, I do have new information.  Plenty, actually.” He
didn’t smile and for the kind of talk they had, his voice  suddenly held too
much steel.  “Such as  the fact that the poet Balzac drank himself to death
with coffee.” 
And that…explained  it all, didn’t it?
Lisbon turned back. This time, she didn’t need to  pretend how much he
confounded her or how little she had seen that one coming.
“Nice. Fortunately, I’m not a poet.” She cracked a  sneer. “Really Jane,
you read too much.”
He lifted his cup to his mouth and enjoyed a sip, eyes  closed and apparently
too absorbed to answer. 
Lisbon knew she should simply consider their talk  finished and leave, but
curiosity got the better of her. “Is that really  possible? I mean—how did
he do it? How much did he drink?”
“About eighty cups a day—at his worst,” Jane answered  dismissively,
before he put away his cup with a chinking sound, “and if you  keep this up,
you’ll be catching up with him soon.”  He approached her, his eyes never
leaving her  face. “But that’s not the point.”
“And what is  the point?” she retorted, impatient and just a little
breathless. All she could  think of was that he was standing too close now. She
could faintly smell his aftershave  and heard his clothes rustle when he moved.
It made her heart flutter just a  little. She tried to suppress the rising
panic. It was the duet of painkillers  and coffee in her empty stomach, nothing
more but still…This was not good. 
In spite of that, she forced herself not to flinch. If  she did, she’d give
herself away more than she’d already done and this was  exactly what she
couldn’t have. Not with Jane being Jane. 
“Ah, Lisbon.” He lowered his eyes and smiled bashfully.  “Just one last
thing before we forget this conversation, you know…”
And suddenly there was no more foolishness. 
“I want you to be well, always. Nothing can happen to  you, it would be...”
“Oh, shut up already!” Lisbon exclaimed and the moment  the words were out
she knew that she had slipped up. What she had attempted had  been a tone of
easy mockery and weariness and what she had managed had been a  dangerous
mixture of a laugh and a sob. She couldn’t miss the sharp creak in  her own
voice and she didn’t need to look at him to confirm that he hadn’t  missed
it either. 
It was just…Nobody had warned her that looking after  herself would become
this exhausting or confusing. Not at the academy and not  afterwards.  She was
pretty sure it was  never meant to be that way.  
“Just don’t say those things. I know better, I’m  not...” Her voice
trailed off.  ‘I’m not dumb’, that was what she had  thought of and what
she didn’t say. 
Because sometimes he said things, like, “You can trust  me”, “I’ll be
there for you, no matter what happens,” like “you matter,” or  “It’s
gonna be all right, it’s gonna be fine, I promise”, but he didn’t mean 
them. 
He didn’t.  He  just said them because they seemed useful to him, because
deep down he was still  a conman trying to sell his product. The words weren’t
real. None of them.  Never. 
Jane needed this job to do the one thing he really cared  about—taking
vengeance on Red John. She had known that from the start. He’d  been honest
about that, always. He’d  use everything, them, her, anything to get there.
That was a fact and she could  live with it—as long as the boundaries were
clear.
But the boundaries became blurred every time he  actually did those things. Like
 shooting his best lead to save her life or like believing in her innocence when
 the rest of the world including herself had at least had second thoughts. It 
made her think stupid things and sometimes she thought she couldn’t live with 
that. 
“No, you are not,” Jane affirmed, passing over the  fact that she hadn’t
said another word. “You’re far from that. You’re  authoritarian, have a
violent temper, are sometimes way too stubborn and  distressingly political but
no…never dull.” 
“I suppose that was meant to be a compliment…But don’t  you think it’s
kinda cheesy?” It was a bad joke and her voice sounded hollow in  her own
ears. 
He passed over that. Instead, he reached out slowly,  left her enough time to
avoid his touch, and then ever so slightly patted her  shoulder. “But you
still haven’t figured it all out. That’s a shame, Teresa.”
Absent-minded she touched her cross pendant and then  wearily nodded her head. 
And even if she did make concessions to that more  honest part of herself and
admitted that having him around actually felt nice and  even if she did let him
wreak havoc with her mind, and believe that he meant it  when he said those
words, that still didn’t mean that…
That she was going to keep him.
Steps, laughter voices. A group of four agents form  Missing Persons Unit
entered the kitchenette and the all-too-familiar mixture  of ease and
disappointment washed over Lisbon. 
“We are not interrupting anything, are we?” One of  them asked. 
“No, of course not.” She shook her head and tried to  make it sound like the
most ridiculous idea on earth. 
Jane turned back to his tea and she got on her tiptoes  and finally got hold of
her mug. Just as she had expected it was less than  lukewarm so she poured it
away and made herself, maybe being a tiny bit  childish, a new one. Out of the
corner of her eye she felt Jane’s smile and  forced herself to focus on the
words buzzing around her. Apparently, rumor had  it that Senior Agent Brown,
(married, Narcotics,) and Agent Wade, (filing for  divorce, Gang Unit,) were
having a hot and forbidden affair. Apparently they  were seen spending too much
time together, standing to close, backing off when  others arrived—the kind of
things that nearly always got the rumor mill in  motion.
And maybe Jane had been right and she had too much  coffee already but judging
by the prying looks and the subject of conversation  she couldn’t help but ask
herself whether the same kind of rumor was in the air  about her and Jane. 
If they really were thinking something like that, they  were way off. Way, way
off. 
And judging by the mischievous glint in his eyes, he  was well aware of these
possible rumors, and definitely had been for much  longer than she had been.
No wonder, but still…That son of a bitch. 
It was so much easier to be mad at him and those who  talked than at herself. 
She had been a  cop long enough to know that most rumors had a petty true core,
and she did not  want to know where this one had come from. All she could do now
was to smother  this ludicrous stuff. Fast.
She cleared her throat to call the attention of her  annoying colleagues. “If
you think…”
Jane broke in on her, still smiling his damned smile.  “Oh, please Lisbon!
Don’t deny it, they won’t believe you. Where there’s smoke  there’s
fire, that’s what they’ll say.”
The conversation of their colleagues abruptly died  down. One head after another
turned towards them. 
Nothing was wrong with his words, if she faced facts  he was probably
right—squashing rumors was virtually impossible, in most cases  you had to
wait till people found out that they were not true or til they grew  tired of
them. But everything was wrong with the way he said the words. His  voice was
too soft, too intimate and because he only looked at her, she was the  only one
who saw him wink.
“You should pass on the coffee. Just let me make you a  nice, healthy cup of
tea, will you?” He asked hypocritically and Lisbon  clenched her teeth. Before
she could cut in on him, he did more harm and  proceeded, “Would you prefer
chamomile or peppermint? Both of them have a very  calming effect, just what you
need right now.”
Slack-jawed, she stared at him, feeling the rise of  blood to her face already.
Oh. That. Son.  Of. A. Bitch. If there hadn’t been rumors before, they were
now. And on top  of everything people would probably wonder if she was pregnant
and start to  congratulate her, but that was okay as long as Mister Jane was
enjoying  himself—and  because she would be the one  to pay the consequences.
The prying eyes and bloody stupid questions to last a  month, included. 
Lisbon squinted and closed her mouth. By now, all eyes  rested on her or her
belly and no matter what she said or did now, the damage  had already been
done.
On some days, she really did hate him. 
She did the only thing she felt she could do: She  turned on her heel and
stormed off.  
No sixth coffee, then. 
 
About half an hour later, in the midst of her call  with the D.A.’s office,
which had turned out exactly the way she had expected  it to, her office door
slowly opened and Jane’s head appeared. 
She gestured for him to get lost, that she was still  mad at him, but he ignored
it. Instead, he entered on mock tiptoes, carrying a  dinner tray with a cup of
tea and a paper bag on it. A delicious smelling paper  bag form Maries, to be
precise.
 “Tis strange,“  he declaimed in a low voice while he set it down of the
table before her, “but  true; for truth is always strange; Stanger than
fiction.”
He winked and then he was already at the door where he  turned one last time:
“More poets, less caffeine.”
And all Lisbon could do was stare. Ardilles had to  call her name three times
before she answered him. 




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