fanfic: The Mentalist
Title: Always Worth It
Fandom: The Mentalist
Characters: Jane, Lisbon
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor, friendship
Spoilers: Very very vague hint of a reference to 2 x 05, Black Gold and Red Blood
Summary: "Jane is perennially the magician, armed with his bottomless bag of tricks; every day of his life is a show, with the world his stage." Lisbon watches Jane amuse himself, as she puzzles out the intricacies of their relationship. Jello oneshot.
Warning: I wrote this fic all in one go on Sunday- I've read over it carefully but forgive me any silly errors or typos, would you?
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Mentalist or its wonderful characters.
For my darling odakota_rose.
This may not be the TLW WiP of Doom, but it’ll have to do for now. ;P
Always Worth It
---
‘…me and myself, we have an ongoing war
There is an ongoing love affair, given up keeping score…’
- Lisa Mitchell, Time Means Nothing atAll
---
‘Half forgotten things, in the depths of time they lie
With significance, waiting for the simplest sign of life
See the evidence, that expense is part of life in time
Always worth it if only to realize
Not always perfect but somehow deserving of time…’
- Sarah Blasko, Always Worth It
---
“Lisbon, do you have three dollars?”
She narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. “What do you need it for?”
“You’ll see.”
“What if I don’t want to see? I might prefer to just keep my money safe and sound, out of your hands.”
“Come on, if you don’t like my surprise, you’ll get your money back. With interest.” He waits expectantly as she sighs, and then searches through her wallet, shaking her head as she wonders why she humors him.
“Just remember, car’s leaving in ten minutes, whether you’re in it or not.”
“But then you won’t get your money back. That would be a terrible investment, don’t you think?” he grins, kissing the one dollar bills with a flourish before weaving his way through the crowd to a bunch of market stalls across from where they’re taking a break on the long trip back to the office.
She rolls her eyes as she sees where he’s headed. Given a choice, she would never waste money on those games (everyone knows they’re rigged). But she figures it makes sense they’d draw his attention. Jane thrives on challenge.
He has a massive superiority complex the likes of which Lisbon has never seen before, and never thought could possibly be contained within a human body. The irritating thing is that he’s half-entitled to it, given the way the world seems to flex and mold itself to fit into his madcap schemes. More than once, in moments of grudging admiration and great annoyance, she has thought there was no axiom more suited to him than ‘fortune favors the bold’. (Til she remembers his dead wife and child, and then flinches away from her mental criticism of him)
Right now, watching him draw a crowd as he dramatically pretends to read the mind of a street vendor holding up one of those jars that raise money for charity by getting people to guess how many jelly beans are inside, Jane looks harmless. A show-off, sure, but his angelic looks belie his devilish nature.
If there is a line that shouldn’t be crossed, he will locate it with unerring accuracy and dance a jig over it.
Powerful people whose influence and position should be respected? Families whose loss should be acknowledged? Hapless law enforcement officers whose duties should be unencumbered by smart-asses? He will insult, prod and pry, manipulate and dictate to one and all without hesitation or any trace of consideration.
At times she is tempted to analyze his reasons for this perverse behavior in the hopes of tracing it to a single root cause, which would suggest a neat and tidy solution to magically make him a team player and model citizen, and no longer a burden on her shoulders.
She never does, though.
It feels like an invasion of privacy, for one thing. As intensely private as Lisbon may be, Jane is far more so, for all that he presents an open, candid façade to the world. He has infallible control over himself, effortlessly masking whatever he wants to remain hidden, revealing what he wants people to see, what they expect to see.
Jane is perennially the magician, armed with his bottomless bag of tricks; every day of his life is a show, with the world his stage. He needs to shock and amaze the crowds with his daring, outwit them with his cunning, make their hearts stutter as he navigates the tightrope between success and disaster.
She doesn’t know why, but she knows this: the act is as necessary to him as breathing.
To unveil him before the show is done, to puncture his larger-than-life persona and reveal the man behind the magician would devastate him. He would rather be consumed by the lions or drown in chains at the bottom of the tank or feel the sword pierce through his heart before he would accept being reduced to the status of mere mortal.
And that would be precisely the result of her mentally re-examining his life and history to try and figure him out. She doesn’t know if he would be able to read her speculation in her eyes, (what with the way he occasionally jokes that he can read her mind and then spookily exposes her thoughts) but it is possible that she would subconsciously show him some hint of pity or sympathy, and she will not risk hurting him that way.
No matter the provocation, she will do him this courtesy of confining her thoughts of him to the here and now.
Of course, it isn’t only out of deference to his feelings that she steers clear of personal speculation. Self-preservation plays its part as well. As someone who is forced to endure his presence on a regular basis, Lisbon knows that there is a double layer of meaning to every sentence he utters, wicked insinuation in every gaze and some unfathomable motive behind everything he does. If she tried to figure out the hidden nuances to everything he said and did, she would drive herself crazy.
Besides, she can’t afford to be drawn deep into the shadowy labyrinthine depths of Jane’s psyche. She doubts the cheerful, arrogant golden prince will await her at its center, and she doesn’t want to have to confront whatever manner of dark beast lurks there. Knowing that she’s not emotionally equipped to soothe and heal him, her best recourse is to remain all the way out, before the lines can be blurred, before she’s tempted to make him something more than a pain-in-the-ass consultant (she can’t be his savior).
“Lisbon!”
She glances over to see that Jane (surprise, surprise) has won the jar of jelly beans. Judging by the applause of the crowd and the awed expression on the vendor’s face as she ceremonially hands it over, he has guessed the exact number, probably down to the proportions of each color represented in the jar.
She slowly claps with deliberate sarcasm, but it only prompts him to take a bow as he returns to her side. “For you,” he beams. “Two hundred and thirty one jelly beans.”
“How do you know I even like jelly beans? Let alone want two hundred and thirty one of them?”
Jane gave her a thoughtful glance. “It’s a shame it isn’t Halloween, we’d be able to quickly dispose of them without any waste. Although that isn’t a bad idea…” he looked around and beckoned over a few nearby kids, offering them the chance to earn some jelly beans if he could conduct a few mind-reading exercises with them.
The kids looked curious but wary at this offer. “Our parents said we’re not supposed to take candy from strangers,” the youngest one spoke up.
“That is a good policy,” he agreed. “You never know what nefarious intentions strangers may have towards you. But my friend here is a CBI agent…” he nudged her. “Show them your badge, Lisbon.”
She glares at him, but grudgingly produces her badge to a chorus of ‘ooh’s from the children, who examine it avidly.
“Her job is to catch bad guys. So it follows that she wouldn’t sit there and let one feed you poison or otherwise harm you right in front of her, right?”
They nod, all worries assuaged. She wouldn’t be too quick to suggest that Jane was trustworthy, by any means, or that a badge automatically imbued the carrier with honor and integrity, but the world could disillusion them later. Lisbon isn’t going to interfere with their fun.
“Do you have handcuffs?” one of the kids pipes up, eyeing her curiously.
“Uh, yes, I do,” she answers, taken aback. “And next time I’m using them to cuff you to the car, Jane, while I go stretch my legs,” she adds, sotto voce.
Before anyone can move on to the next obvious question of whether she's carrying a gun and has she ever killed anyone, she motions at him to begin his damn game already and settles back resignedly. Jane never fails to throw her schedule off-track.
From their first meeting, he has always delighted in finding new ways to amuse himself on the job, regardless of her disapproval. These days, it’s much easier to just accede to the simpler requests instead of taking up more time arguing with him over the matter. At first, she had wondered whether it was his way of challenging her authority or establishing dominance, or if it was just something he did on a whim, but she doesn’t bother with that now.
She finds it easier to take him at face value, accept the role he plays and do justice to her own part. Safer, too. Because Jane’s on a personal crusade and she needs to be able to reign him in if he becomes too reckless, which won’t be possible if she’s been emotionally compromised.
God, she hates the politics that uses him for his talents and strings him along with the hope that they’ll catch a break and capture Red John. Oh, she knows he’s using the system as much as it’s using him, that he gets a certain amount of satisfaction and finds some sense of purpose in their work, but it’s still wrong.
And the responsibility falls on her to make sure that he keeps closing cases and making the department look good, while repressing any inclination to dispense vigilante justice when they eventually arrest Red John. (But how can she blame him for wanting vengeance upon the murderer of his wife and child?)
She cannot be torn between upholding the law and misguided loyalty to Jane; she will not let herself face that dilemma, not when she knows that it is possible an otherwise scrupulously honest cop can be swayed into protecting a friend and ally over following procedure and the justice of the courts.
She doesn’t want to believe she’ll sacrifice her principles for him, but she knows too well that life has a way of redefining one’s priorities. The best way to ensure that doesn’t happen is to keep things professional. Cordial but neutral. She has to remember that she’s his supervising agent, not his friend.
It is a simple, clear-cut distinction. Each of them allocated to their neat categories with absolutely no emotional entanglements between them. The line has been firmly drawn ever since they first began working together, and she is still determined to maintain it.
Naturally, Jane is equally determined to thwart her intentions.
“Here you are,” he holds out the jar to her again, now only about a third full. “I saved you the red and green ones.”
Her favorites.
She won’t even ask how he managed to guess that. Or the fact that she usually doesn’t get jelly beans because she can’t be bothered sorting through the other colors to get the ones she likes (and she hates it when people call her obsessive-compulsive behind her back when she’s not). The smug look on his face would be too much to bear.
Lisbon thinks about refusing for a moment but decides that would be churlish. Besides, it would be nice for the drive home. “Thanks,” she accepts it, and adds diffidently, “I suppose that was money well-spent.” Ignoring his look of triumph, she leads the way back to the car.
Perhaps she erred from the start, by being aloof and formal. She realizes now that it must have made him itch to get under her skin just to prove he could. Rigsby and Cho were suitably intrigued and impressed by his tricks, although the latter was less obvious than the former with his open boyish eagerness at each new demonstration. And the team’s newest addition, Van Pelt, is all too easily charmed by him. It amuses Lisbon to see her make the mistake of pursuing her curiosity and entering into verbal debate with Jane, whereupon he mercilessly toys with her (she sometimes reminds Lisbon of an innocent rabbit transfixed before a snake, too mesmerized to realize it has wandered into a trap).
All this attention flatters him, plays into his hands. But her initial contrary resolution to keep strictly to formal interactions made him seek the opposite. And slowly, but surely, he has eroded her professional barriers. Their banter is more informal these days, she is more tolerant of his games and eccentricities, and he is becoming a little too familiar with her.
She feels comfortable with him. And that scares her.
With this realization, she quickens her pace, eager to get back to the office and out of Jane’s company so she can clear her head without his distracting presence. But since it is late afternoon and Jane hasn’t caused any major havoc today, he decides it would be best to further delay her with some more nonsense.
As she turns the handle of the car door, his hand unexpectedly drops over hers to keep her from opening it. The physical contact sends a pleasurable jolt through her and she flinches, jerking away from him.
“What?” she says, taking refuge in annoyance. “I’m not letting you drive, Jane. Once was more than enough, never again.”
“One moment,” he says blandly, taking out his cell phone and aiming it at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Smile, Lisbon,” he orders, unperturbed by her murderous glare.
“No!”
He looks disappointed. “Why not?”
“I don’t feel like it. And why do you want a photo of me? We work together, you see me all the time.”
“I’d like to add your photo to my contacts so that it pops up when you call me,” he explains in a reasonable tone.
She heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Just take the damn shot and let’s move already!”
“But you’re frowning. Not that it’s unattractive, exactly- your features are arranged in a very pleasing manner, Lisbon, it’s near impossible for you to look bad- but you could look better.”
“It’s not like I care how this turns out. You’re the one that wants the picture.”
“Stop being so stubborn,” he tells her in the calm, logical tone that drives her nuts.
“Stop being a pest!”
“You’re still frowning.”
“I don’t exactly feel overwhelmed with joy at the moment, which explains why I’m not smiling. I feel irritated, which accounts for the frown. I didn’t think it was too difficult to grasp.”
“Does it make you that uncomfortable when I acknowledge you are a beautiful woman?” he asks casually.
Stunned into silence, Lisbon takes a moment to make sure her mouth doesn’t hang open and that her eyes aren’t round with surprise. Without being vain, she knows that she looks- decent, but to hear Jane call her beautiful is flattering and uncomfortable at the same time. He says it in an objective manner, but the compliment coupled with his warm scrutiny of her features is too intimate for her liking.
“You don’t need to deliberately downplay your attractiveness, Lisbon. And in any case, if you think you can achieve that by refusing to smile for a photo, you’re sadly mistaken. You still look lovely even when you’re upset and glaring at me.”
She gathers her wits and regroups. “If this turns into a lame line like ‘you’re beautiful when you’re mad’, I swear, Jane, I will push you off a cliff.”
He looks around. “There is a shortage of cliffs available at the moment, so I’m inclined to think I’m safe from your wrath. But if you’re planning on driving me to a suitable location to do me in, do you think you could repeat your threat so I can record it on my phone as evidence?”
Her lips twitch. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need a cliff, I’ll just stuff this jar down your throat,” she tells him, but without rancor. As usual, he’s managed to cajole her into a better mood.
And that’s when he snaps the photo, as she raises her eyebrow at him ominously, secretly amused, even though her lips are pursed in resignation.
“Well, then. If you’re satisfied, can we go now?” she snaps briskly.
“Quite satisfied,” he answers with a wide smile, and opens her door like a true gentleman, ushering her in.
She climbs in, muttering, “I should just leave you behind,” and pulls it shut with exaggerated vigor before he can do the honors.
But as Jane rounds the car to his side, she opens the jar, pops a red jelly bean in her mouth and smiles.
---
A/N 1: I experimented with a new writing style for me, this present tense thing. Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward and I didn’t make too many mistakes, it gave me a bit of a hard time, but that’s how it chose to express itself, so what could I do?
A/N 2: I wrote the exchange about the photo first- as a joke in a discussion with luisa_f- and then all these months later, turned it into a fic. I still have no idea where all the introspective stuff came from, this was supposed to be just a short humorous banter fic and then it turned into something of a character study. Ah, well.
The pic in question:
---
Fandom: The Mentalist
Characters: Jane, Lisbon
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor, friendship
Spoilers: Very very vague hint of a reference to 2 x 05, Black Gold and Red Blood
Summary: "Jane is perennially the magician, armed with his bottomless bag of tricks; every day of his life is a show, with the world his stage." Lisbon watches Jane amuse himself, as she puzzles out the intricacies of their relationship. Jello oneshot.
Warning: I wrote this fic all in one go on Sunday- I've read over it carefully but forgive me any silly errors or typos, would you?
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Mentalist or its wonderful characters.
For my darling odakota_rose.
This may not be the TLW WiP of Doom, but it’ll have to do for now. ;P
Always Worth It
---
‘…me and myself, we have an ongoing war
There is an ongoing love affair, given up keeping score…’
- Lisa Mitchell, Time Means Nothing atAll
---
‘Half forgotten things, in the depths of time they lie
With significance, waiting for the simplest sign of life
See the evidence, that expense is part of life in time
Always worth it if only to realize
Not always perfect but somehow deserving of time…’
- Sarah Blasko, Always Worth It
---
“Lisbon, do you have three dollars?”
She narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. “What do you need it for?”
“You’ll see.”
“What if I don’t want to see? I might prefer to just keep my money safe and sound, out of your hands.”
“Come on, if you don’t like my surprise, you’ll get your money back. With interest.” He waits expectantly as she sighs, and then searches through her wallet, shaking her head as she wonders why she humors him.
“Just remember, car’s leaving in ten minutes, whether you’re in it or not.”
“But then you won’t get your money back. That would be a terrible investment, don’t you think?” he grins, kissing the one dollar bills with a flourish before weaving his way through the crowd to a bunch of market stalls across from where they’re taking a break on the long trip back to the office.
She rolls her eyes as she sees where he’s headed. Given a choice, she would never waste money on those games (everyone knows they’re rigged). But she figures it makes sense they’d draw his attention. Jane thrives on challenge.
He has a massive superiority complex the likes of which Lisbon has never seen before, and never thought could possibly be contained within a human body. The irritating thing is that he’s half-entitled to it, given the way the world seems to flex and mold itself to fit into his madcap schemes. More than once, in moments of grudging admiration and great annoyance, she has thought there was no axiom more suited to him than ‘fortune favors the bold’. (Til she remembers his dead wife and child, and then flinches away from her mental criticism of him)
Right now, watching him draw a crowd as he dramatically pretends to read the mind of a street vendor holding up one of those jars that raise money for charity by getting people to guess how many jelly beans are inside, Jane looks harmless. A show-off, sure, but his angelic looks belie his devilish nature.
If there is a line that shouldn’t be crossed, he will locate it with unerring accuracy and dance a jig over it.
Powerful people whose influence and position should be respected? Families whose loss should be acknowledged? Hapless law enforcement officers whose duties should be unencumbered by smart-asses? He will insult, prod and pry, manipulate and dictate to one and all without hesitation or any trace of consideration.
At times she is tempted to analyze his reasons for this perverse behavior in the hopes of tracing it to a single root cause, which would suggest a neat and tidy solution to magically make him a team player and model citizen, and no longer a burden on her shoulders.
She never does, though.
It feels like an invasion of privacy, for one thing. As intensely private as Lisbon may be, Jane is far more so, for all that he presents an open, candid façade to the world. He has infallible control over himself, effortlessly masking whatever he wants to remain hidden, revealing what he wants people to see, what they expect to see.
Jane is perennially the magician, armed with his bottomless bag of tricks; every day of his life is a show, with the world his stage. He needs to shock and amaze the crowds with his daring, outwit them with his cunning, make their hearts stutter as he navigates the tightrope between success and disaster.
She doesn’t know why, but she knows this: the act is as necessary to him as breathing.
To unveil him before the show is done, to puncture his larger-than-life persona and reveal the man behind the magician would devastate him. He would rather be consumed by the lions or drown in chains at the bottom of the tank or feel the sword pierce through his heart before he would accept being reduced to the status of mere mortal.
And that would be precisely the result of her mentally re-examining his life and history to try and figure him out. She doesn’t know if he would be able to read her speculation in her eyes, (what with the way he occasionally jokes that he can read her mind and then spookily exposes her thoughts) but it is possible that she would subconsciously show him some hint of pity or sympathy, and she will not risk hurting him that way.
No matter the provocation, she will do him this courtesy of confining her thoughts of him to the here and now.
Of course, it isn’t only out of deference to his feelings that she steers clear of personal speculation. Self-preservation plays its part as well. As someone who is forced to endure his presence on a regular basis, Lisbon knows that there is a double layer of meaning to every sentence he utters, wicked insinuation in every gaze and some unfathomable motive behind everything he does. If she tried to figure out the hidden nuances to everything he said and did, she would drive herself crazy.
Besides, she can’t afford to be drawn deep into the shadowy labyrinthine depths of Jane’s psyche. She doubts the cheerful, arrogant golden prince will await her at its center, and she doesn’t want to have to confront whatever manner of dark beast lurks there. Knowing that she’s not emotionally equipped to soothe and heal him, her best recourse is to remain all the way out, before the lines can be blurred, before she’s tempted to make him something more than a pain-in-the-ass consultant (she can’t be his savior).
“Lisbon!”
She glances over to see that Jane (surprise, surprise) has won the jar of jelly beans. Judging by the applause of the crowd and the awed expression on the vendor’s face as she ceremonially hands it over, he has guessed the exact number, probably down to the proportions of each color represented in the jar.
She slowly claps with deliberate sarcasm, but it only prompts him to take a bow as he returns to her side. “For you,” he beams. “Two hundred and thirty one jelly beans.”
“How do you know I even like jelly beans? Let alone want two hundred and thirty one of them?”
Jane gave her a thoughtful glance. “It’s a shame it isn’t Halloween, we’d be able to quickly dispose of them without any waste. Although that isn’t a bad idea…” he looked around and beckoned over a few nearby kids, offering them the chance to earn some jelly beans if he could conduct a few mind-reading exercises with them.
The kids looked curious but wary at this offer. “Our parents said we’re not supposed to take candy from strangers,” the youngest one spoke up.
“That is a good policy,” he agreed. “You never know what nefarious intentions strangers may have towards you. But my friend here is a CBI agent…” he nudged her. “Show them your badge, Lisbon.”
She glares at him, but grudgingly produces her badge to a chorus of ‘ooh’s from the children, who examine it avidly.
“Her job is to catch bad guys. So it follows that she wouldn’t sit there and let one feed you poison or otherwise harm you right in front of her, right?”
They nod, all worries assuaged. She wouldn’t be too quick to suggest that Jane was trustworthy, by any means, or that a badge automatically imbued the carrier with honor and integrity, but the world could disillusion them later. Lisbon isn’t going to interfere with their fun.
“Do you have handcuffs?” one of the kids pipes up, eyeing her curiously.
“Uh, yes, I do,” she answers, taken aback. “And next time I’m using them to cuff you to the car, Jane, while I go stretch my legs,” she adds, sotto voce.
Before anyone can move on to the next obvious question of whether she's carrying a gun and has she ever killed anyone, she motions at him to begin his damn game already and settles back resignedly. Jane never fails to throw her schedule off-track.
From their first meeting, he has always delighted in finding new ways to amuse himself on the job, regardless of her disapproval. These days, it’s much easier to just accede to the simpler requests instead of taking up more time arguing with him over the matter. At first, she had wondered whether it was his way of challenging her authority or establishing dominance, or if it was just something he did on a whim, but she doesn’t bother with that now.
She finds it easier to take him at face value, accept the role he plays and do justice to her own part. Safer, too. Because Jane’s on a personal crusade and she needs to be able to reign him in if he becomes too reckless, which won’t be possible if she’s been emotionally compromised.
God, she hates the politics that uses him for his talents and strings him along with the hope that they’ll catch a break and capture Red John. Oh, she knows he’s using the system as much as it’s using him, that he gets a certain amount of satisfaction and finds some sense of purpose in their work, but it’s still wrong.
And the responsibility falls on her to make sure that he keeps closing cases and making the department look good, while repressing any inclination to dispense vigilante justice when they eventually arrest Red John. (But how can she blame him for wanting vengeance upon the murderer of his wife and child?)
She cannot be torn between upholding the law and misguided loyalty to Jane; she will not let herself face that dilemma, not when she knows that it is possible an otherwise scrupulously honest cop can be swayed into protecting a friend and ally over following procedure and the justice of the courts.
She doesn’t want to believe she’ll sacrifice her principles for him, but she knows too well that life has a way of redefining one’s priorities. The best way to ensure that doesn’t happen is to keep things professional. Cordial but neutral. She has to remember that she’s his supervising agent, not his friend.
It is a simple, clear-cut distinction. Each of them allocated to their neat categories with absolutely no emotional entanglements between them. The line has been firmly drawn ever since they first began working together, and she is still determined to maintain it.
Naturally, Jane is equally determined to thwart her intentions.
“Here you are,” he holds out the jar to her again, now only about a third full. “I saved you the red and green ones.”
Her favorites.
She won’t even ask how he managed to guess that. Or the fact that she usually doesn’t get jelly beans because she can’t be bothered sorting through the other colors to get the ones she likes (and she hates it when people call her obsessive-compulsive behind her back when she’s not). The smug look on his face would be too much to bear.
Lisbon thinks about refusing for a moment but decides that would be churlish. Besides, it would be nice for the drive home. “Thanks,” she accepts it, and adds diffidently, “I suppose that was money well-spent.” Ignoring his look of triumph, she leads the way back to the car.
Perhaps she erred from the start, by being aloof and formal. She realizes now that it must have made him itch to get under her skin just to prove he could. Rigsby and Cho were suitably intrigued and impressed by his tricks, although the latter was less obvious than the former with his open boyish eagerness at each new demonstration. And the team’s newest addition, Van Pelt, is all too easily charmed by him. It amuses Lisbon to see her make the mistake of pursuing her curiosity and entering into verbal debate with Jane, whereupon he mercilessly toys with her (she sometimes reminds Lisbon of an innocent rabbit transfixed before a snake, too mesmerized to realize it has wandered into a trap).
All this attention flatters him, plays into his hands. But her initial contrary resolution to keep strictly to formal interactions made him seek the opposite. And slowly, but surely, he has eroded her professional barriers. Their banter is more informal these days, she is more tolerant of his games and eccentricities, and he is becoming a little too familiar with her.
She feels comfortable with him. And that scares her.
With this realization, she quickens her pace, eager to get back to the office and out of Jane’s company so she can clear her head without his distracting presence. But since it is late afternoon and Jane hasn’t caused any major havoc today, he decides it would be best to further delay her with some more nonsense.
As she turns the handle of the car door, his hand unexpectedly drops over hers to keep her from opening it. The physical contact sends a pleasurable jolt through her and she flinches, jerking away from him.
“What?” she says, taking refuge in annoyance. “I’m not letting you drive, Jane. Once was more than enough, never again.”
“One moment,” he says blandly, taking out his cell phone and aiming it at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Smile, Lisbon,” he orders, unperturbed by her murderous glare.
“No!”
He looks disappointed. “Why not?”
“I don’t feel like it. And why do you want a photo of me? We work together, you see me all the time.”
“I’d like to add your photo to my contacts so that it pops up when you call me,” he explains in a reasonable tone.
She heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Just take the damn shot and let’s move already!”
“But you’re frowning. Not that it’s unattractive, exactly- your features are arranged in a very pleasing manner, Lisbon, it’s near impossible for you to look bad- but you could look better.”
“It’s not like I care how this turns out. You’re the one that wants the picture.”
“Stop being so stubborn,” he tells her in the calm, logical tone that drives her nuts.
“Stop being a pest!”
“You’re still frowning.”
“I don’t exactly feel overwhelmed with joy at the moment, which explains why I’m not smiling. I feel irritated, which accounts for the frown. I didn’t think it was too difficult to grasp.”
“Does it make you that uncomfortable when I acknowledge you are a beautiful woman?” he asks casually.
Stunned into silence, Lisbon takes a moment to make sure her mouth doesn’t hang open and that her eyes aren’t round with surprise. Without being vain, she knows that she looks- decent, but to hear Jane call her beautiful is flattering and uncomfortable at the same time. He says it in an objective manner, but the compliment coupled with his warm scrutiny of her features is too intimate for her liking.
“You don’t need to deliberately downplay your attractiveness, Lisbon. And in any case, if you think you can achieve that by refusing to smile for a photo, you’re sadly mistaken. You still look lovely even when you’re upset and glaring at me.”
She gathers her wits and regroups. “If this turns into a lame line like ‘you’re beautiful when you’re mad’, I swear, Jane, I will push you off a cliff.”
He looks around. “There is a shortage of cliffs available at the moment, so I’m inclined to think I’m safe from your wrath. But if you’re planning on driving me to a suitable location to do me in, do you think you could repeat your threat so I can record it on my phone as evidence?”
Her lips twitch. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need a cliff, I’ll just stuff this jar down your throat,” she tells him, but without rancor. As usual, he’s managed to cajole her into a better mood.
And that’s when he snaps the photo, as she raises her eyebrow at him ominously, secretly amused, even though her lips are pursed in resignation.
“Well, then. If you’re satisfied, can we go now?” she snaps briskly.
“Quite satisfied,” he answers with a wide smile, and opens her door like a true gentleman, ushering her in.
She climbs in, muttering, “I should just leave you behind,” and pulls it shut with exaggerated vigor before he can do the honors.
But as Jane rounds the car to his side, she opens the jar, pops a red jelly bean in her mouth and smiles.
---
A/N 1: I experimented with a new writing style for me, this present tense thing. Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward and I didn’t make too many mistakes, it gave me a bit of a hard time, but that’s how it chose to express itself, so what could I do?
A/N 2: I wrote the exchange about the photo first- as a joke in a discussion with luisa_f- and then all these months later, turned it into a fic. I still have no idea where all the introspective stuff came from, this was supposed to be just a short humorous banter fic and then it turned into something of a character study. Ah, well.
The pic in question:
---