advent calendar fic: day 10
Tidings of Comfort and Joy
The Mentalist | Jane/Lisbon | 2,614 words
Happy Holidays, watchyouwalk!
Notes:
(i) watchyouwalk's original prompt was for Anne/Gilbert from Anne of Green Gables, but I didn't quite have that in me this month (although I'll try writing them in the future) so when she gave me a second prompt that was a Lisbon prompt, I kind of combined them in my head and ended up with, well, you'll see when you read. Once I latched onto this idea, I had no choice. It was happening. I was tempted to title this story, Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon is Surprised, for the sheer entertainment value of doing so.
(ii) Standard timeline disclaimers: imagine this story is set about a year from now, in a magical world where Red John is actually no longer an issue, etc, etc.
Teresa Lisbon studies the scene in her living room with a critical eye. Her Christmas tree looks out of place, standing in the corner of the room with the lights only half on. The tree stands about six feet tall but its branches are somewhat sparse, giving it the appearance of a tree that is much shorter. It had been one of the only ones left at the tree lot.
It isn’t much to look at, but it’s better than nothing.
She isn’t even supposed to be in Sacramento for the holidays. The next morning, she is supposed to be boarding a flight to Chicago to meet her brothers, who are already there. The key word being supposed to be. But a snowstorm hit the city early that morning, shutting down all airports and major roadways, and leaving travelers stranded. No one can get out of the city.
No one can get into it, either.
And therein lies Teresa Lisbon’s problem.
She is supposed to join them tomorrow morning, and Annie is supposed to fly in from Florida late two days later on Christmas Eve, after spending the first week of her winter vacation with her mother. This sudden change in plans and Annie are the only reasons Lisbon is bothering to decorate in the first place. With both Lisbon women unable to rejoin the rest of the family, Annie has decided that she would rather come back to California to spend the holiday with her aunt than stay in Florida.
Lisbon is pleased about this decision in more ways than one; she is genuinely looking forward to her niece’s visit and the chance to spend time together, just the two of them. Still, she had been looking forward to seeing all of her brothers and all of her nieces and nephews this Christmas. Lisbon’s disappointment is palpable.
A knock at her front door interrupts her thoughts. Inwardly, she groans; there’s only one person that could be.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to see him -- in fact, under the circumstances he’s the only person she’d want to see -- but she’d really rather have a little time to wallow on her own first. (And possibly attempt to make her apartment appear a little more festive.)
The knocking grows more insistent. Damn him; he’ll just pick the lock if she doesn’t answer it soon.
Lisbon swings the door open with Scrooge-like enthusiasm, revealing the darkened evening sky and cool December air. “What do you want, Jane?” she grumbles.
The man in question grins, that infuriating, self-satisfied grin that says he sees right through her gruff, pouting demeanor. “Merry Christmas to you too, Lisbon. May I come in?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer and slips by her. She rolls her eyes before closing the door.
“Make yourself at home,” she gripes under her breath, only half hoping he’ll hear her.
If he does hear her (and she suspects that he does), he chooses to ignore it. Instead, from other side of the room he calls out, “Did you get your tree this afternoon?”
She crosses her arms over her chest as she walks up behind him, giving him a questioning look. “Nice guesswork there,” she deadpans. “You should take that show on the road.”
Jane ambles over to the tree, studying it more closely -- and sniffing it, almost like he would a body at a crime scene. “This is a good tree. With a little help, no one will ever know that you bought it a mere three days before Christmas.”
“This tree needs more than just a little help.”
“Alright then,” Jane grins in concession, “more than a little help. Doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Don’t be so defeatist, Lisbon. A little holiday spirit never killed anyone.”
Not yet, but you could be the first, she thinks, because that’s when she notices the brown paper bags he brought with him.
Jane catches her reaction immediately (as if she could ever hide it from him) and explains simply, “Decorations. I thought some of yours might be a little out of date.”
There is undeniable truth to his words, so when he settles down on her arm chair, starts unpacking strands of garland and boxes of ornaments, and says, “Shall we?”, she doesn’t even roll her eyes before she agrees.
---
With Jane acting as decorating director, it takes just over an hour to turn Lisbon’s tree into one that actually looks respectable. (Well, Jane would say better than respectable, but if he can get Lisbon to admit this much, then he’ll take it.)
Her spirits have risen considerably by the time they finish, so much so that she disappears into the kitchen to make hot chocolate while Jane rearranges several of the ornaments to better suit his finely-tuned sense of aesthetics.
“What, no coffee?” he asks when she returns with two steaming hot mugs. He seems to be genuinely surprised at her choice of beverage.
Feeling pleased with herself for surprising him with this of all things, she shakes her head and offers him a mug. She expects him to refuse in favor of raiding her cabinets for the tea he stashed there only a few weeks previously, but he surprises her as well by accepting the drink.
Lisbon dims the lights; not so much that the room is completely dark, but enough that the colored lights cast a pleasant glow that radiates out from the tree. Taking a seat at the far end the sofa, she tucks her legs underneath her and shakes her head at his question. “Not for this.”
Jane surveys the sight before him, from Lisbon seated comfortably on the sofa with her hot chocolate in hand, to the newly-decorated tree in the corner. There is only one thing missing.
Returning to the bags he brought with him, he retrieves the final package that he has been holding back and places it under the tree. The glossy red wrapping paper reflects the tree’s colored lights and completes what is now a fully festive holiday scene. With a satisfied smile, he notes the way she leans forward in her seat to inspect the gift, her innate curiosity getting the better of her.
His mission accomplished, he joins her on the couch. “You can open it now if you’d like, or would you rather wait for Christmas morning?”
She considers for a few seconds, just long enough to tempt him into second guessing himself (not something he’s used to, but in this case, he cannot help it).
“Now is good,” she decides with an affirmative nod.
“A wise decision.” Jane retrieves the gift and places it on the coffee table in front of her, right beside the coaster where her mug rests. “Something else to distract you from worrying about your brothers. They’re going to be fine.”
“Sure they are,” she scoffs lightly. “If they don’t kill each other first.” But despite her voiced skepticism at her brothers’ holiday fate, she picks up the perfectly-wrapped gift, testing the weight of it in her hands. It’s not heavy, but not light either; she cannot decide if its perfect box shape is meant to disguise what’s inside. She never does know with Jane.
“Go ahead, shake it,” he urges. “I bet you’ll never guess what it is.”
Quirking an eyebrow at this, she ignores his bait. His ego still shows signs of bruising because when he opened his gift from her (a blanket and pillow for when he naps on the couch in her office, as he has been doing more and more often recently), he hadn’t been able to guess what it was. She supposes that he could have been acting for her benefit, but his reaction had been too unguarded to be completely fake.
She had teased him mercilessly and had no intention of ever letting him forget about it.
“I know you better than to try to guess,” she says, fingers sliding along the edge of the wrapping paper.
Jane feigns hurt at this. “Fine, then. Have it your way.”
Lisbon pays no attention to him, focused on the package she holds in her lap. She tears the paper neatly, carefully, aware of Jane’s impatient eyes boring into her as she does so. The role reversal is not lost on her, and her curiosity is piqued by his reaction.
When the paper finally falls away and the gift lies revealed, it does not immediately register. She blinks slowly before the writing on the side of the box comes into focus: Anne of Green Gables, The Complete Collection. He didn’t give her just one book; he gave her the entire box set.
“Jane?” Lisbon asks, her voice a low whisper as she fingers the side of the box. “When did you...? How did you...?”
“How did I know?” he finishes for her. “I guessed. That case last month in Davis. We stopped at that bookstore on the way back so that Rigsby could use the bathroom, and you were lingering in front of one of the children’s classics displays. So I took a closer look when you went with Van Pelt to get coffee. Truthfully, I was a bit surprised at first. I would have taken you for a Nancy Drew girl, myself.”
She shrugs casually. “I did read a few, but I wasn’t really much of a reader. It was too much sitting still.” Jane chuckles at her; this information is no surprise to him. Casting a side glance in his direction, she adds, “But these... these were favorites of my mother’s. We used to read them together. I hadn’t thought about them in years until I saw them on that display.”
“I suspected that might be the case,” he says. “I thought you might like to read them again.”
His voice is leading, so Lisbon suspects there’s something else he wants to tell her; she just has to figure out exactly how he wants her to ask. She doesn’t mind, not when the games he’s playing are games like this.
“I do have my own copies, you know,” she teases. It’s only a guess, but from the slight, satisfied curve of his lip, it seems to be the right one. With her free hand, she waves at the unpacked boxes that she swears she’s going to get to one of these days, “I might have to dig them out, but I could get them. You didn’t have to get me new books.”
“Ahhh, but these are reading books, Lisbon,” he explains casually, as though this particular fact is the most obvious thing in the world. Which to him, it probably is. “When was the last time you read the copies you already own?”
“Well... I actually don’t remember.” Lisbon worries her lower lip between her teeth, thinking it over. When the answer comes to her, her expression sobers and she doesn’t try to hide it from him -- a fact that doesn’t escape his notice. “I must have been in high school,” she finishes quietly.
Jane’s understanding is evident, but he doesn’t press any further and offers an encouraging smile.
“Those books were your mother’s, and you didn’t want to risk anything happening to them so you tucked them away and forgot about them. Now you don’t have to worry. You have these.” He pauses for emphasis, then adds, “And I promise I won’t mind if anything happens to them.”
“How very sweet of you.” Lisbon tries to keep a straight face and sarcastic tone, but in spite of herself, the beginnings of a grin tug at the corners of her lips and her voice loses its bite. “I’m touched.”
As gifts go, however, she truly is touched. In the past, Jane’s gifts have almost always been grand, over the top gestures: a pony, an emerald necklace, a fancy dinner in Napa. Each of them designed for amusement, but impractical and fleeting. Temporary. In comparison, these books are small and inexpensive, and yet they mean that much more. This is a thoughtful, personal gift; in all likelihood, the first one Jane has bought for anyone in nearly ten years.
If it were anyone else, she would feel uncomfortable expressing her gratitude. Fortunately with Jane, she finds she doesn’t have to say anything because he already knows.
They sit together for a few minutes in comfortable silence, with Lisbon’s focus turning over the brightly colored book spines in her memory -- not so much recalling each individual story (it has been far too long for that) but awash with the memories of lazy Saturdays mornings or cold winter evenings that ended far too soon.
Jane, whose attention has been focused entirely on every minutia of her reactions, senses that she needs to be alone; suddenly realizing the late hour and not wanting to overstay his welcome, he stands up from the sofa and excuses himself, making his way to the door. Lisbon follows his lead, only a few steps behind him by the time he reaches the entryway.
“Thank you...” she begins, her voice trailing off uncertainly. “For coming by, I mean. And for your help with the tree.”
Jane grins broadly. “It was my pleasure. And besides,” he adds with a wink, “we couldn’t have your tree looking like that when Annie gets here.”
Just like she didn’t ask when Jane knew about her flight being canceled, she doesn’t ask how he knows about Annie’s change of plans.
“You better watch your wallet,” he says. “I hear she’s been practicing.”
Lisbon sputters indignantly in protest. “I’m not Rigsby!”
“You just keep telling yourself that.”
Her eyes roll, but she laughs anyway. “Shouldn’t you be going now?”
“I suppose I should,” he replies, still joking with her until without warning, his entire demeanor grows serious. At first, when Jane steps closer and leans forward, she thinks he’s going to hug her, but he keeps his arms back, instead hovering mere inches away from her cheek, until she can feel his breath against her face. “Merry Christmas, Lisbon,” he whispers.
Feeling more uncomfortable now than she had the moment she opened her gift, and suddenly slightly unsteady on her feet, she manages to answer, “Merry Christmas, Jane,” before he disappears out the door and into the night.
Unsure of what to do with herself, she locks the front door and returns to the sofa, flicking a few of the switches along the way to add light to the room. Tucking her legs comfortably underneath her, she takes her slightly cooled, now only half full mug of hot chocolate in one hand and reaches for her new books with the other. She selects the first book and begins to read, the words coming back to her faster than she thought possible.
“Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place...”
---
She falls asleep sometime after 2:00 am; her hot chocolate long since abandoned but her books still in her lap. She is still sleeping on the sofa when Jane calls her the next morning.
The Mentalist | Jane/Lisbon | 2,614 words
Happy Holidays, watchyouwalk!
Notes:
(i) watchyouwalk's original prompt was for Anne/Gilbert from Anne of Green Gables, but I didn't quite have that in me this month (although I'll try writing them in the future) so when she gave me a second prompt that was a Lisbon prompt, I kind of combined them in my head and ended up with, well, you'll see when you read. Once I latched onto this idea, I had no choice. It was happening. I was tempted to title this story, Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon is Surprised, for the sheer entertainment value of doing so.
(ii) Standard timeline disclaimers: imagine this story is set about a year from now, in a magical world where Red John is actually no longer an issue, etc, etc.
Teresa Lisbon studies the scene in her living room with a critical eye. Her Christmas tree looks out of place, standing in the corner of the room with the lights only half on. The tree stands about six feet tall but its branches are somewhat sparse, giving it the appearance of a tree that is much shorter. It had been one of the only ones left at the tree lot.
It isn’t much to look at, but it’s better than nothing.
She isn’t even supposed to be in Sacramento for the holidays. The next morning, she is supposed to be boarding a flight to Chicago to meet her brothers, who are already there. The key word being supposed to be. But a snowstorm hit the city early that morning, shutting down all airports and major roadways, and leaving travelers stranded. No one can get out of the city.
No one can get into it, either.
And therein lies Teresa Lisbon’s problem.
She is supposed to join them tomorrow morning, and Annie is supposed to fly in from Florida late two days later on Christmas Eve, after spending the first week of her winter vacation with her mother. This sudden change in plans and Annie are the only reasons Lisbon is bothering to decorate in the first place. With both Lisbon women unable to rejoin the rest of the family, Annie has decided that she would rather come back to California to spend the holiday with her aunt than stay in Florida.
Lisbon is pleased about this decision in more ways than one; she is genuinely looking forward to her niece’s visit and the chance to spend time together, just the two of them. Still, she had been looking forward to seeing all of her brothers and all of her nieces and nephews this Christmas. Lisbon’s disappointment is palpable.
A knock at her front door interrupts her thoughts. Inwardly, she groans; there’s only one person that could be.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to see him -- in fact, under the circumstances he’s the only person she’d want to see -- but she’d really rather have a little time to wallow on her own first. (And possibly attempt to make her apartment appear a little more festive.)
The knocking grows more insistent. Damn him; he’ll just pick the lock if she doesn’t answer it soon.
Lisbon swings the door open with Scrooge-like enthusiasm, revealing the darkened evening sky and cool December air. “What do you want, Jane?” she grumbles.
The man in question grins, that infuriating, self-satisfied grin that says he sees right through her gruff, pouting demeanor. “Merry Christmas to you too, Lisbon. May I come in?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer and slips by her. She rolls her eyes before closing the door.
“Make yourself at home,” she gripes under her breath, only half hoping he’ll hear her.
If he does hear her (and she suspects that he does), he chooses to ignore it. Instead, from other side of the room he calls out, “Did you get your tree this afternoon?”
She crosses her arms over her chest as she walks up behind him, giving him a questioning look. “Nice guesswork there,” she deadpans. “You should take that show on the road.”
Jane ambles over to the tree, studying it more closely -- and sniffing it, almost like he would a body at a crime scene. “This is a good tree. With a little help, no one will ever know that you bought it a mere three days before Christmas.”
“This tree needs more than just a little help.”
“Alright then,” Jane grins in concession, “more than a little help. Doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Don’t be so defeatist, Lisbon. A little holiday spirit never killed anyone.”
Not yet, but you could be the first, she thinks, because that’s when she notices the brown paper bags he brought with him.
Jane catches her reaction immediately (as if she could ever hide it from him) and explains simply, “Decorations. I thought some of yours might be a little out of date.”
There is undeniable truth to his words, so when he settles down on her arm chair, starts unpacking strands of garland and boxes of ornaments, and says, “Shall we?”, she doesn’t even roll her eyes before she agrees.
---
With Jane acting as decorating director, it takes just over an hour to turn Lisbon’s tree into one that actually looks respectable. (Well, Jane would say better than respectable, but if he can get Lisbon to admit this much, then he’ll take it.)
Her spirits have risen considerably by the time they finish, so much so that she disappears into the kitchen to make hot chocolate while Jane rearranges several of the ornaments to better suit his finely-tuned sense of aesthetics.
“What, no coffee?” he asks when she returns with two steaming hot mugs. He seems to be genuinely surprised at her choice of beverage.
Feeling pleased with herself for surprising him with this of all things, she shakes her head and offers him a mug. She expects him to refuse in favor of raiding her cabinets for the tea he stashed there only a few weeks previously, but he surprises her as well by accepting the drink.
Lisbon dims the lights; not so much that the room is completely dark, but enough that the colored lights cast a pleasant glow that radiates out from the tree. Taking a seat at the far end the sofa, she tucks her legs underneath her and shakes her head at his question. “Not for this.”
Jane surveys the sight before him, from Lisbon seated comfortably on the sofa with her hot chocolate in hand, to the newly-decorated tree in the corner. There is only one thing missing.
Returning to the bags he brought with him, he retrieves the final package that he has been holding back and places it under the tree. The glossy red wrapping paper reflects the tree’s colored lights and completes what is now a fully festive holiday scene. With a satisfied smile, he notes the way she leans forward in her seat to inspect the gift, her innate curiosity getting the better of her.
His mission accomplished, he joins her on the couch. “You can open it now if you’d like, or would you rather wait for Christmas morning?”
She considers for a few seconds, just long enough to tempt him into second guessing himself (not something he’s used to, but in this case, he cannot help it).
“Now is good,” she decides with an affirmative nod.
“A wise decision.” Jane retrieves the gift and places it on the coffee table in front of her, right beside the coaster where her mug rests. “Something else to distract you from worrying about your brothers. They’re going to be fine.”
“Sure they are,” she scoffs lightly. “If they don’t kill each other first.” But despite her voiced skepticism at her brothers’ holiday fate, she picks up the perfectly-wrapped gift, testing the weight of it in her hands. It’s not heavy, but not light either; she cannot decide if its perfect box shape is meant to disguise what’s inside. She never does know with Jane.
“Go ahead, shake it,” he urges. “I bet you’ll never guess what it is.”
Quirking an eyebrow at this, she ignores his bait. His ego still shows signs of bruising because when he opened his gift from her (a blanket and pillow for when he naps on the couch in her office, as he has been doing more and more often recently), he hadn’t been able to guess what it was. She supposes that he could have been acting for her benefit, but his reaction had been too unguarded to be completely fake.
She had teased him mercilessly and had no intention of ever letting him forget about it.
“I know you better than to try to guess,” she says, fingers sliding along the edge of the wrapping paper.
Jane feigns hurt at this. “Fine, then. Have it your way.”
Lisbon pays no attention to him, focused on the package she holds in her lap. She tears the paper neatly, carefully, aware of Jane’s impatient eyes boring into her as she does so. The role reversal is not lost on her, and her curiosity is piqued by his reaction.
When the paper finally falls away and the gift lies revealed, it does not immediately register. She blinks slowly before the writing on the side of the box comes into focus: Anne of Green Gables, The Complete Collection. He didn’t give her just one book; he gave her the entire box set.
“Jane?” Lisbon asks, her voice a low whisper as she fingers the side of the box. “When did you...? How did you...?”
“How did I know?” he finishes for her. “I guessed. That case last month in Davis. We stopped at that bookstore on the way back so that Rigsby could use the bathroom, and you were lingering in front of one of the children’s classics displays. So I took a closer look when you went with Van Pelt to get coffee. Truthfully, I was a bit surprised at first. I would have taken you for a Nancy Drew girl, myself.”
She shrugs casually. “I did read a few, but I wasn’t really much of a reader. It was too much sitting still.” Jane chuckles at her; this information is no surprise to him. Casting a side glance in his direction, she adds, “But these... these were favorites of my mother’s. We used to read them together. I hadn’t thought about them in years until I saw them on that display.”
“I suspected that might be the case,” he says. “I thought you might like to read them again.”
His voice is leading, so Lisbon suspects there’s something else he wants to tell her; she just has to figure out exactly how he wants her to ask. She doesn’t mind, not when the games he’s playing are games like this.
“I do have my own copies, you know,” she teases. It’s only a guess, but from the slight, satisfied curve of his lip, it seems to be the right one. With her free hand, she waves at the unpacked boxes that she swears she’s going to get to one of these days, “I might have to dig them out, but I could get them. You didn’t have to get me new books.”
“Ahhh, but these are reading books, Lisbon,” he explains casually, as though this particular fact is the most obvious thing in the world. Which to him, it probably is. “When was the last time you read the copies you already own?”
“Well... I actually don’t remember.” Lisbon worries her lower lip between her teeth, thinking it over. When the answer comes to her, her expression sobers and she doesn’t try to hide it from him -- a fact that doesn’t escape his notice. “I must have been in high school,” she finishes quietly.
Jane’s understanding is evident, but he doesn’t press any further and offers an encouraging smile.
“Those books were your mother’s, and you didn’t want to risk anything happening to them so you tucked them away and forgot about them. Now you don’t have to worry. You have these.” He pauses for emphasis, then adds, “And I promise I won’t mind if anything happens to them.”
“How very sweet of you.” Lisbon tries to keep a straight face and sarcastic tone, but in spite of herself, the beginnings of a grin tug at the corners of her lips and her voice loses its bite. “I’m touched.”
As gifts go, however, she truly is touched. In the past, Jane’s gifts have almost always been grand, over the top gestures: a pony, an emerald necklace, a fancy dinner in Napa. Each of them designed for amusement, but impractical and fleeting. Temporary. In comparison, these books are small and inexpensive, and yet they mean that much more. This is a thoughtful, personal gift; in all likelihood, the first one Jane has bought for anyone in nearly ten years.
If it were anyone else, she would feel uncomfortable expressing her gratitude. Fortunately with Jane, she finds she doesn’t have to say anything because he already knows.
They sit together for a few minutes in comfortable silence, with Lisbon’s focus turning over the brightly colored book spines in her memory -- not so much recalling each individual story (it has been far too long for that) but awash with the memories of lazy Saturdays mornings or cold winter evenings that ended far too soon.
Jane, whose attention has been focused entirely on every minutia of her reactions, senses that she needs to be alone; suddenly realizing the late hour and not wanting to overstay his welcome, he stands up from the sofa and excuses himself, making his way to the door. Lisbon follows his lead, only a few steps behind him by the time he reaches the entryway.
“Thank you...” she begins, her voice trailing off uncertainly. “For coming by, I mean. And for your help with the tree.”
Jane grins broadly. “It was my pleasure. And besides,” he adds with a wink, “we couldn’t have your tree looking like that when Annie gets here.”
Just like she didn’t ask when Jane knew about her flight being canceled, she doesn’t ask how he knows about Annie’s change of plans.
“You better watch your wallet,” he says. “I hear she’s been practicing.”
Lisbon sputters indignantly in protest. “I’m not Rigsby!”
“You just keep telling yourself that.”
Her eyes roll, but she laughs anyway. “Shouldn’t you be going now?”
“I suppose I should,” he replies, still joking with her until without warning, his entire demeanor grows serious. At first, when Jane steps closer and leans forward, she thinks he’s going to hug her, but he keeps his arms back, instead hovering mere inches away from her cheek, until she can feel his breath against her face. “Merry Christmas, Lisbon,” he whispers.
Feeling more uncomfortable now than she had the moment she opened her gift, and suddenly slightly unsteady on her feet, she manages to answer, “Merry Christmas, Jane,” before he disappears out the door and into the night.
Unsure of what to do with herself, she locks the front door and returns to the sofa, flicking a few of the switches along the way to add light to the room. Tucking her legs comfortably underneath her, she takes her slightly cooled, now only half full mug of hot chocolate in one hand and reaches for her new books with the other. She selects the first book and begins to read, the words coming back to her faster than she thought possible.
“Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place...”
---
She falls asleep sometime after 2:00 am; her hot chocolate long since abandoned but her books still in her lap. She is still sleeping on the sofa when Jane calls her the next morning.