Not Like She Pictured
Title: Not Like She Pictured
Category: Jane/Lisbon
Rating: K+
Note: Written for chizuru-chibi at the Mentalist Fic Meme at mentalistprompt
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
They’ve been working together for almost six years.
The Red John case has been closed for two, but despite office gossip and her team’s betting pool, they’re still just friends (if that) on the morning that she gets the call.
She tries to contain her distress; the unexpected jolt of sadness sparks inside her and then dissolves, threatening to spill along with her unshed tears. She keeps it together long enough to request time off over the phone and email Hightower some vague explanation.
It’s still early enough that she can slip out without anyone knowing, but of course she’s not that lucky.
The moment he sees her, he knows something is wrong and she knows that there’s no way of getting around this. Suddenly, she doesn’t even care and brazenly tells him the situation.
The faint signs of shock on his face fill her with some sadistic pleasure, which then makes her feel even worse and she looks away, unable to meet his eye again. Instead, she flees, leaving him stranded in her office, attempting to process what has just occurred.
He’s surprised to learn that Lisbon isn’t the only cop in her family, or wasn’t before this morning. It takes him exactly thirty minutes to drive to his apartment, pack a bag, and show up at her doorstep just as she’s walking out, duffel bag in tow.
“Don’t try to argue, I’m coming with you.” He says as soon as she opens her mouth.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But she still lets him sweet talk the airline rep into getting him a last minute seat on the flight.
----
The service is beautiful and it makes her almost angry.
She doesn’t recognize a single soul surrounding her brother’s coffin except his wife and Tommy, who dutifully stands besides his sister in law, holding her arm in support as she stifles her sobs, while Lisbon doesn’t get even a glance in her direction.
Her other brother is halfway across the world somewhere, an archeological dig in Cairo and he can’t be reached. Her heart aches just thinking about what his reaction will be, how deeply the guilt is bound to consume him.
They may not see each other all that often, but the all the surviving Lisbons have inherited the Catholic guilt. One look at Tommy and she sees through his carefully constructed façade.
He’s hurting and she wants to reach out to him, but pride holds her in a vice, and she stands motionless long after the cemetery clears.
A cold breeze passes through, reminding her that years spent in California weather, regardless of how temperamental it is, have left her unprepared for autumn in Pennsylvania.
However, the chill doesn’t quite seep into her bones as she feels something warm wrap around her shoulders. To her right, she’s greeted with a pair of soft cerulean eyes and a rueful smile.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But somehow, when he reaches for her hand, she lets him.
His touch protects her from the cold more than his blazer does.
----
On the way to their rooms, they pass the hotel bar and something inside her makes her stop and ask him if he’d like to get a drink.
He merely presses his lips together before following her into the lounge.
They each order just one drink, silently agreeing to that being their limit.
But predictably (or expectedly) one drink turns into two, then into three, and suddenly they’re in the elevator and his tongue is doing warm and sinful things to her mouth, hands skimming the stocking covered skin of her thigh.
Maybe if she weren’t exploding with both desire and grief, she would think about how cliché this all is. Instead she pulls her keycard out of her purse as soon as the elevator doors open, dragging him by the lapel of his jacket to her room.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But when he pulls away from her as soon as her hotel door closes, she lets him hold her while she cries, mourning her dead baby brother.
----
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
He whispers into her hair after hours of silence.
They’re lying (still in their shoes) on top of her bed covers, one hand secure around her shoulders, the other stroking the leg draped over his waist.
She doesn’t know what to say; how to articulate her grief over losing another family member, (most of all sweet little Nicky); how to tell him that she’s both mortified and still turned on by their heated kisses; how to tell him that despite her deepest misgivings she wants to let him be there for her, but is too afraid.
But then, she leans up to look at him and knows she doesn’t have to say a word. He understands everything and more, just from her silence.
It’s only much later as dusk gives way to night and night gives way to dawn that she dares to look at him again. His suit jacket is crumpled and his face is showing day old stubble as his sleepy eyes try to refocus on her.
She smiles for the first time in two days, runs her finger over his jaw, and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.
I know.
She doesn’t really expect him to be there, not really.
But she still lets him take her out for a cheesesteak (his first) later that day and ends up telling him why she and Tommy haven’t spoken for eight years.
----
The first time they actually make love is much later.
They’ve been working together for exactly six years and four months.
The Red John case has been closed for two and a half years.
Her brother has been dead for five months and they’ve been dating for three.
It happens unexpectedly, unplanned, and later on as he holds her close, brushing the damp hair from her forehead, she feels as though the pieces of her heart, after years of being broken, are finally being glued together.
She doesn’t say anything to him, almost embarrassed by how deeply she has fallen in love with him, and how thoughtless she is for not allowing herself to fall earlier, but when he pulls her up to look at her, she sees that he identifies it too, the same regret and foolishness.
Still, she can’t help smiling widely, recognizing that it’s truly wonderful to be with someone with whom you can have a conversation without ever saying a word.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But when he asks her to move in and she says yes, she realizes she doesn’t expect him to be there for her, because he’s always been.
And she’s just never known otherwise.
Category: Jane/Lisbon
Rating: K+
Note: Written for chizuru-chibi at the Mentalist Fic Meme at mentalistprompt
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
They’ve been working together for almost six years.
The Red John case has been closed for two, but despite office gossip and her team’s betting pool, they’re still just friends (if that) on the morning that she gets the call.
She tries to contain her distress; the unexpected jolt of sadness sparks inside her and then dissolves, threatening to spill along with her unshed tears. She keeps it together long enough to request time off over the phone and email Hightower some vague explanation.
It’s still early enough that she can slip out without anyone knowing, but of course she’s not that lucky.
The moment he sees her, he knows something is wrong and she knows that there’s no way of getting around this. Suddenly, she doesn’t even care and brazenly tells him the situation.
The faint signs of shock on his face fill her with some sadistic pleasure, which then makes her feel even worse and she looks away, unable to meet his eye again. Instead, she flees, leaving him stranded in her office, attempting to process what has just occurred.
He’s surprised to learn that Lisbon isn’t the only cop in her family, or wasn’t before this morning. It takes him exactly thirty minutes to drive to his apartment, pack a bag, and show up at her doorstep just as she’s walking out, duffel bag in tow.
“Don’t try to argue, I’m coming with you.” He says as soon as she opens her mouth.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But she still lets him sweet talk the airline rep into getting him a last minute seat on the flight.
----
The service is beautiful and it makes her almost angry.
She doesn’t recognize a single soul surrounding her brother’s coffin except his wife and Tommy, who dutifully stands besides his sister in law, holding her arm in support as she stifles her sobs, while Lisbon doesn’t get even a glance in her direction.
Her other brother is halfway across the world somewhere, an archeological dig in Cairo and he can’t be reached. Her heart aches just thinking about what his reaction will be, how deeply the guilt is bound to consume him.
They may not see each other all that often, but the all the surviving Lisbons have inherited the Catholic guilt. One look at Tommy and she sees through his carefully constructed façade.
He’s hurting and she wants to reach out to him, but pride holds her in a vice, and she stands motionless long after the cemetery clears.
A cold breeze passes through, reminding her that years spent in California weather, regardless of how temperamental it is, have left her unprepared for autumn in Pennsylvania.
However, the chill doesn’t quite seep into her bones as she feels something warm wrap around her shoulders. To her right, she’s greeted with a pair of soft cerulean eyes and a rueful smile.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But somehow, when he reaches for her hand, she lets him.
His touch protects her from the cold more than his blazer does.
----
On the way to their rooms, they pass the hotel bar and something inside her makes her stop and ask him if he’d like to get a drink.
He merely presses his lips together before following her into the lounge.
They each order just one drink, silently agreeing to that being their limit.
But predictably (or expectedly) one drink turns into two, then into three, and suddenly they’re in the elevator and his tongue is doing warm and sinful things to her mouth, hands skimming the stocking covered skin of her thigh.
Maybe if she weren’t exploding with both desire and grief, she would think about how cliché this all is. Instead she pulls her keycard out of her purse as soon as the elevator doors open, dragging him by the lapel of his jacket to her room.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But when he pulls away from her as soon as her hotel door closes, she lets him hold her while she cries, mourning her dead baby brother.
----
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
He whispers into her hair after hours of silence.
They’re lying (still in their shoes) on top of her bed covers, one hand secure around her shoulders, the other stroking the leg draped over his waist.
She doesn’t know what to say; how to articulate her grief over losing another family member, (most of all sweet little Nicky); how to tell him that she’s both mortified and still turned on by their heated kisses; how to tell him that despite her deepest misgivings she wants to let him be there for her, but is too afraid.
But then, she leans up to look at him and knows she doesn’t have to say a word. He understands everything and more, just from her silence.
It’s only much later as dusk gives way to night and night gives way to dawn that she dares to look at him again. His suit jacket is crumpled and his face is showing day old stubble as his sleepy eyes try to refocus on her.
She smiles for the first time in two days, runs her finger over his jaw, and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.
I know.
She doesn’t really expect him to be there, not really.
But she still lets him take her out for a cheesesteak (his first) later that day and ends up telling him why she and Tommy haven’t spoken for eight years.
----
The first time they actually make love is much later.
They’ve been working together for exactly six years and four months.
The Red John case has been closed for two and a half years.
Her brother has been dead for five months and they’ve been dating for three.
It happens unexpectedly, unplanned, and later on as he holds her close, brushing the damp hair from her forehead, she feels as though the pieces of her heart, after years of being broken, are finally being glued together.
She doesn’t say anything to him, almost embarrassed by how deeply she has fallen in love with him, and how thoughtless she is for not allowing herself to fall earlier, but when he pulls her up to look at her, she sees that he identifies it too, the same regret and foolishness.
Still, she can’t help smiling widely, recognizing that it’s truly wonderful to be with someone with whom you can have a conversation without ever saying a word.
She doesn’t expect him to be there for her, not really.
But when he asks her to move in and she says yes, she realizes she doesn’t expect him to be there for her, because he’s always been.
And she’s just never known otherwise.