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~*~
Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness?
Or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?
Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin
I make the right moves but I'm lost within
I put on my daily façade but then
I just end up getting hurt again
By myself
--"By Myself", Linkin Park
~*~
As Lisbon's door softly clicked shut, Patrick Jane turned to frown pensively at it. It didn't sit well with him, leaving just like that. She'd asked it of him, true, but since when had he ever simply obeyed unless it suited him? Even if it was Teresa Lisbon. Perhaps he obliged her more than anyone else of their mutual acquaintance, but that was by choice, not due to some strange influence she had over him. In spite of his sincere efforts, Lisbon had lodged herself firmly beneath his shell. If he were honest with himself, they all had – Van Pelt, Rigsby, even Cho. But it was Lisbon who took center stage. He stubbornly refused to consider the rationale behind that. (And there came his despised father's voice - Boy, sell whatever lie you please to a mark, but never, ever lie to yourself. That's opening a whole other can of worms.)
Honestly, he should just leave her be. It was unfortunate for his health that he had never been skilled at doing what he should.
Jane leaned slightly into the door, placing his ear against it firmly. Inside, he could just make out the muffled sound of sobs. Against his will, he felt his resolve falter. Not tears. Not from her. He sighed, all at once frustrated as well as worried. He didn't want to care. He shouldn't care. Years ago, he'd determined that this job would merely be a means to an end. Yet just now, he'd consoled Lisbon. Reassured. And he'd been serious about it! Not that false hope he'd pedaled to oh, so many people, but a real pledge of his commitment to helping her. Remembering how he'd pitched his voice in a soft, affectionate tone he hadn't used since...well, for a while, he felt disgusted with himself. Like he'd trodden on sacred ground.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he steeled himself to walk away. Meh, I should just go. She won't be best pleased with me for offering anymore comfort than I already dared. Getting his keys from his pocket, he began to walk toward the stairs.
That's when the jarring sound of something fragile shattering into fragments came from within Lisbon's apartment. Jane immediately whirled and went back to her door, knocking insistently.
"Lisbon? Are you hurt?"
A pause.
"Jane? I told you to go. I'm fine, just...go! Please. Now. I accidentally dropped something."
He snorted softly and was glad she couldn't see the amusement on his face, for she would surely punch him. Even with opaque walls between them, she was still a terrible liar. Did she have any idea how her pitch and breathing increased when she tried to deceive someone? That was even discounting the visual tells!
"C'mon Lisbon," he cajoled. "No use lying to me, remember? Now do be a grown up and come open the door so we can have this conversation face to face, hm?"
The lost tone faded from her voice and was replaced by some measure of annoyance, which had been his intent. Sometimes it was so easy. "Excuse me? Screw you, Jane. This is my home. I don't have to let you in. Go. Away."
Jane's smile vanished, and he put more force in his voice. "Teresa. Let me in, or I will come in regardless. You know I can. It's up to you." Bull-headed she may be, but he could definitely match that and raise it if needed.
He could hear muttering coming through the door. Probably uncomplimentary things about his parentage, knowing her.
"F-fine," she said unsteadily. "But after you see for yourself that I'm absolutely fine, I want you to leave."
Jane grinned broadly. Oh, the loophole she'd just handed to him on a silver platter...! "Of course," he agreed smoothly. "After I see that you're fine."
He heard the locking mechanism being undone, and the door was pried open six inches. Haunted, red-rimmed green eyes peered at him suspiciously. Her jaw was quivering slightly and her right hand was clenched in a tight fist with the effort of restraining her emotions.
"See?" she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. "Fine." Almost absentmindedly, she rubbed her left hand over her stomach and shifted uncomfortably.
Jane's eyes narrowed on the movement. Hm...I suppose it has been nearly a month since she was extra cranky and eating chocolate like it was going out of style. What poor timing. With the extreme stress she was under, her body really couldn't afford the sacrifice of iron that came with a woman's monthlies.
As if to reinforce his thought process, she suddenly lost color in her face and put her hand to her head, looking rather disoriented.
Making a split-second decision, he took a large step into her space, forcing her to tilt her head up to look at him, and while she was startled, quickly bent down and scooped her into his arms. My, she certainly felt as tiny as she looked!
Lisbon blinked at him for a minute, stupefied. "Jane," she yelped, shoving ineffectively at his chest. "Let me go!"
"No," he said calmly, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. Ah, so that was the source of the shattering noise, he noted, taking stock of the broken picture frame laying on the floor.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" she snapped angrily, glaring at him.
He laid her on her sofa, placing his hands on her shoulders to hold her there when she attempted to rise again. Locking eyes with her, he said quietly and seriously, "Lisbon. You're hurting. You're afraid. You're starting your cycle, which is depleting what precious little energy you had left. You obstinately persist in inserting yourself into my personal affairs, even when I neither deserve it nor desire it. Let me be here for you now, all right?"
After a minute, she turned her face away from his and allowed her hair to fall over her face like a curtain. "You said you'd leave after you saw I was fine," she said sullenly, avoiding his question.
"And I will," he singsonged. "But as of now, you are not fine. You are the very definition of un-fine. When I think you're fine, I will absolutely show myself out."
"I hate you," came the response with no heat.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," he cheerfully quipped. He got up and made his way to her small kitchen. "Where do you keep your cups?"
"Why?" She eyed him as he rummaged around.
He gave her an innocent look. "I'm going to make you a nice cup of tea."
"Don't have tea," a smug smile flitted across Lisbon's lips.
"Meh, who said anything about needing tea? I have tea. I just don't make a habit of carrying cups everywhere."
She stared him incredulously. "But you carry tea with you? Jane, you're so weird." At his pointed look, she sighed. "Cups are in the top cupboard on the left of the sink."
"Thank you." After putting a pot of water on to boil, he turned to face her and crossed his arms. "Now how's about you tell me why you broke that lovely picture of your brothers?"
Lisbon scowled and instantly looked away. "We're not discussing that."
He shrugged. Fine by him. There were plenty of other things to discuss. "Okay. Then talk to me about why you're giving up so easily over this mess when you've been in worse situations with nary a flinch."
He saw her press her lips together and swallow reflexively, her fingers tracing lines in the sofa, seeking familiarity, stability. It still caught him by surprise sometimes, how much people gave away without ever realizing it.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to mention people's private biological functions?" Her gaze was fixed on the wall.
"Stop deflecting."
"I learned from the best," she shot back.
He abruptly walked over to her and crouched down to her eye level. "Lisbon. Teresa." When she finally looked at him, he took her hand, ceasing its aimless movement. "Don't shut down."
A brief flash of irritation trailed across her face, before it was replaced by that haunted, lost little girl look again. "Please, Jane. Please don't make me give up more of myself than I already have. Please...Patrick."
He hesitated, the instinct to strike at the sight of weakness, honed over years of abusing his little skills, were still strong. She'd stretched herself over so many fronts that none of them were solid anymore. And he was the ultimate predator in exploiting such weaknesses, after all. Those instincts warred briefly with the nearly foreign masculine urge to protect and comfort his woman before bowing in defeat. Jane's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Since when had he begun categorizing Lisbon as "his" in his mind? She most certainly wasn't his, in any capacity!
Liar, liar, pants on fire, he could hear his subconscious - that eerily sounded like his father - mocking.
Hastily filing that away as fodder for later contemplation, he gently nudged her up as he carefully situated himself behind her and leaned back, bringing her with him, securely wrapping his arms around her.
Lisbon instantly went ramrod stiff. "What exactly do you think you're doing, Jane?"
"It's all right, Teresa," he soothed, allowing a smidgen of the voice he used to put people in a trance to come out. "You're exhausted. We don't have to talk. Just relax. I'll be here. I won't leave you. Everything will be all right. Trust me." He slowly rocked from side to side. "You've had to be strong for everyone else, let someone else be strong for you now."
She remained stiff in his embrace, before wilting all of a sudden. She turned and buried her face into his neck. He felt the ice surrounding his heart crack just a bit as he felt hot tears trickle down his skin. She made no sound, but she lay there against him, shaking. He began to rub his hand in careful circles across her back. Slowly, her shaking subsided, and she merely laid limp against him. He could feel her heart pounding, hear her slightly shuddering breath, smell her citrus-scented shampoo. Despite the gravity of the situation, he felt so light, holding her like this.
They stayed like this until he heard the hissing and spitting of the pot of boiling water protesting its neglect. The mood broken, he got up and attended to the tea. As soon as he'd fixed it to her taste, he brought a cup with a cool compress back to the sofa. He offered them to her silently.
Wearily, she took the damp cloth and dabbed at her eyes. Then she reached for the cup, sipping it slowly, watching him solemnly as he sat next to her.
"What if I really did do it?" she asked softly, doubt clouding her eyes.
Instantly, he shook his head. "I know you. You didn't. There's a logical explanation for this, we just have to find it."
"And if there isn't one?"
He scoffed. "Of course there is. Lisbon, any fool with eyes should realize that you're too principled to act on your own desires above the law, even if you should. Whoever framed you for this should have picked someone else as a scapegoat. I'm not concerned with wondering whether or not you think you did it. I'm more interested to find out who had the opportunity to get close enough to you to drug you and steal your fingerprints."
Lisbon's eyes widened. "Drug me? Someone drugged me and that's why I can't remember Tuesday night? But how? Who?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Of course it was a drug. Nothing else could block your memory so selectively; hypnosis is no good in this case because you can't hypnotize someone to do something they absolutely do not want to do, especially locking away a portion of your memory. It was probably a benzodiazepine, most likely lorazepam or – Lisbon? What is it?"
She'd gone still, hands clenched by her sides. "Lorazepam. Doctor Carmen, the shrink they're making me see. He...he prescribed it for me before. I didn't like taking them, so I stopped. But I'm missing pills, pills I know I didn't use. Or don't remember using."
They shared a meaningful stare.
"Well," Jane said thoughtfully. "Lisbon, I believe it's time for us to bait a hook to reel in a killer."
She gave him a real smile then, and he knew she'd be all right.
He uselessly tried to pretend her well-being hadn't come to matter to him so much. But he was only lying to himself. Again.