52It's been a long time since I posted a new chapter, let alone a new story. Many of you will know me as a serial non finisher of stories ... and I'm sorry for that.
This is the beginning of me trying to put that right. I started writing this little story in order to get myself back into writing having unsuccessfully attempted to restart my long piece Roll Like a Stuntman several times. I had promised myself that I wouldn't publish this one until it was complete, however lockdown has meant private time in which I feel comfortable writing TM stuff is almost nil, so I've been unable to make much progress lately. I've waited and waited, but I really feel I need to post now. There are about 5 out of maybe 8 or 9 chapters already written so I intend to put out about 1 per week while I write the remainer of the story.
I'm writing this piece primarily for myself because this world has ground me down and I need cheering up ... but I'm hoping that some of you will enjoy it.
Teresa Lisbon's phone simply refused to ring, so she steadfastly ignored it and took an unenthusiastic sip of her decaff.
She sighed.
The coffee didn't taste markedly different from her usual brew, but that wasn't the point; coffee without caffeine was physiologically and psychologically unsatisfying and she was addicted to the real black stuff.
As addictions went ... well let's just say her father's sad weakness, which it was clear she had inherited, had taught her to make her choices carefully.
Coffee was what kept her going and she had long adopted it as the socially acceptable solution to sustain her through the trials and tribulations of her other addiction ... work.
Some had alternatives, like tea and revenge.
She had strong coffee.
And right now she needed her fix and she wasn't allowed to have it.
So she grimaced disdainfully at the half full mug that had no power to calm her, put it back on the coaster and picked up the phone instead.
It was the phone's turn to receive the full force of her most menacing glare, even though, or perhaps because, her screensaver was her fabulous but absent husband.
Jane had been proving himself to be a great caffeine substitute during his wife's enforced abstinence and she really needed him to talk her down from the stress of another difficult case, but unfortunately he wasn't there; he was out of town, although she knew he'd be back soon. Fortunately it wasn't for work, so he shouldn't even be in any danger, but still his absence was making her antsy.
Lisbon scanned the office warily, hoping against hope that none of her colleagues had noticed her grouchiness, or that it was caused by the fact that she missed her new husband so unbearably just two days after he'd left.
Apparently they hadn't, but somehow that made her feel worse.
And inevitably she wondered what would she be like after a whole week.
The grouchy thoughts, and many others, continued to spin in her brain as she waited.
She thought back to the past when there'd been times when a brief spell sans Jane would have been absolute bliss.
Not any more.
It seemed she had changed more in these last few months than she had ever acknowledged.
Now two Janeless days was like breathing without air ... like walking through mud ... like flying without wings ... like ...
She suddenly drew a stuttering breath, held it a moment to gather herself before releasing it slowly.
Then the real Teresa Lisbon took control of all her self indulgent thoughts ... all those stupid cliches that usually made her skin crawl with embarrassment at the thought that someone might see them written on her face or in her body language.
It was so unlike her to be needy, but today that was how she felt.
Such uncharacteristic neediness was embarrassing and that merely exacerbated her frustration with herself.
She glanced around the bullpen again and thought some more.
Who was this miserable new woman who'd taken over her usually resilient, self reliant self?
With no obvious solution to cling onto she tried to put the blame on hormones, because that was what Cho had muttered with a wry shrug and a twitch at the corner of his mouth when she had confided in him in the breakroom less than an hour ago.
But her pregnancy just seemed like a feeble excuse, so she'd glowered at her loyal, and always wise colleague and decided to ignore him.
The truth was she just missed her husband.
xxx
Jane had phoned, just like he'd promised to, and had been about to update her on the latest leg of his "road trip" back to Sacramento via Malibu.
But the line had suddenly gone mysteriously dead.
He'd told her to "hang fire" for "two ticks", while he put her on speaker.
"Tricky bends Lisbon," he'd explained distractedly.
Driving then ... of course he would call her while he was driving.
She hated the way he drove anyway, but he wasn't going to change anytime soon, so she didn't berate him. And, somewhat exasperated by his careless attitude, she'd waited in impatient silence until eventually she was surprised by the sound of a grunt and a word she'd rarely known him utter, followed by a series of random thumps and noises which she assumed was the phone falling from his hand and tumbling out of reach.
Then silence.
Now twenty minutes had passed without contact, and there she was, still sitting at her desk staring at a phone that failed to ring.
Teresa was not a woman to sit idly twiddling her fingers, but she breathed in deeply again and forced herself to be patient.
This was Jane ... if she tried to call him back immediately he would laugh and tease her about those pesky hormones she was denying, and she would be forced to accuse him of being a "typical male" when he'd always been anything but. In fact, these days he was being almost impossibly sweet and supportive in that very 'Jane' way of his ... very atypical of the average male.
Some women might have found his behaviour almost smothering.
In the past that woman would have been her ... now not so much.
She loved the attention ... as long as it was coming from the man she loved.
She sat and tried to ignore her phone, and waited, and hoped he'd be thoughtful enough to call back and let her know what the heck was going on. She also prayed he'd have the sense to pull over before he did so.
The minutes passed.
And she thought some more about Jane.
There had been a time (a time that spanned over a decade) when an unscheduled loss of contact from her erstwhile consultant would have triggered a confusion of emotions.
Mostly his absences had provoked a negative reaction, anything from irritation, resignation, right up to anger that threatened to turn the air blue, and everything in between.
Sometimes though, there was a pleasant feeling of relief that he was out from under her feet which, perversly and much to her chagrin, made her feel guilty ... so even that was a negative.
But more often than not, a lack of regular contact from him had caused unaturally deep anxiety.
She had to admit, in retrospect, and although it had taken years to acknowledge, she had always been inordinately scared of losing him.
That had sometimes bothered her, but Patrick had been a special case from the moment he wandered out of that lift wearing his vulnerable hobo look and carrying his tragic back story on those pitifully hunched shoulders.
She'd been sucked in right from the beginning, and even though she would have denied it, the protectiveness her consultant had always engendered in her wasn't the natural concern she had for the other members of her team, he'd never been simply one of the team, even discounting the fact that he wasn't officially law enforcement.
He was different.
Their relationship was different.
And now it had shifted again to something new.
So although familiar, this new worry in every moment of his absence that she couldn't control was something much, much deeper, much more distressing, and it had been building since he had finally proved his commitment to her. Since he had bought their little cabin. Since he had run into that hostage situation so she wouldn't have to. Since she had dragged him out of Lazarus's burning house.
This pain she felt now when she didn't have tabs on him was something she'd never, not even with her family, experienced before. It ate deep into her, made her fidgety, unable to work, angry with him and defensive about him. She felt no one could understand the depth of her hurt or the depth of her love for this enigmatic man whose tragic life she'd entered into almost by accident.
She was pretty sure she'd become a different woman without even noticing.
And certainly, in the wake of all those events, but more markedly since their eventful but joyous wedding and her revelation afterwards, Jane was a changed man.
That no one could fail to notice.
Of course, Jane had been different after returning from his two year exile but, as close as they had always been, it had been difficult to find each other again and work out exactly what they were to each other. He had seemed lighter, but he had still been tangled up inside, still plagued by lingering guilt, fear and uncertainty and she had been wary of his need to be in control and resentful of his inability to expose himself and to express himself honestly.
So they hadn't been able to communicate and things had become worse instead of better until Jane (or perhaps by default poor Pike) had eventually broken the bonds of his imprisoned emotions.
Even then the road had been rocky; mostly the result of his deeply entrenched fear of history repeating itself and of her understandable fear of abandonment.
It seemed at one point that these two facets of their personalities were ultimately incompatible.
But they'd made it.
They'd learned to trust each other completely and fully understand their respective weaknesses.
And after weathering all the pain they'd put each other through to get to the place they both knew in their hearts was predestined, Jane had found a stillness that she had never observed before.
Yes, he still teased, challenged and provoked. But there was an underlying calmness, a measured thoughtfulness about consequences, regarding all aspects of their life, but particularly around those close to him.
He even seemed to care about himself in a new unselfish way …. he allowed himself to be content in a way only she, and those who knew him very well, observed.
The tension in his resting body had gone …. no hands formally clasped across his heart, no instant leap to alertness.
When he slept he really slept.
His hands had stopped their once ceaseless fidgeting.
He could stand on his two feet without rocking back and forth with nervous energy and impatience.
His expressions, whether smiling or not, had softened.
He laughed, and when he laughed, he laughed sincerely and joyously.
And he smiled when no one (or so he thought) was watching. And those smiles were real.
His eyes sparkled.
And these days he almost always remembered to call in when he was out and about, and rarely failed to pick up.
All these changes had been a process, but they had been cemented by their exchanging of vows, and by her news that they were to have a child.
Jane was happy again … except that as of last Tuesday he had been unusually quiet. He had taken to withdrawing to sit alone and cogitate, just as he used to do.
And yesterday he had casually announced that he had "business" in California and that he would be taking the Airstream. That meant he needed thinking time. Alone time.
Of course she knew exactly why.
Tuesday had been the day their unborn child had physically announced it's presence by kicking her. She had taken Jane's hand and placed it on her bare belly. Jane had been speechless as he experienced, for the second time in his tumultuous life, that special first moment … the rippling of her flesh under his palm as his son or daughter moved.
He had simply gazed down for a few long moments, at his hand resting gently on her tummy, then smiled weakly at her with unshed tears in his eyes before turning and rushing from the room.
Minutes later he had returned with a cup of tea in his hand and had taken her in his arms and whispered.
"It's real Teresa. It's really real".
And that was pretty much all he said.
She understood his ambivalent reaction and while it unnerved her a little, she trusted him, so she had given him space.
And he had been withdrawn and pensive, but unbelievingly loving in the few days since.
She also understood the casual nature of his announcement that he was taking a trip.
He was scared, and as he had always done, when Patrick Jane was scared he would shut himself away to think or ... in extremis and thankfully something now a thing of the past ... he would run.
As he had said, it was real.
Reality had hit him, scared him and he was feeling guilty and confused about that, so he had tried to act as if all was fine.
As if going on the road without her right now was no big deal, when, in fact, it was.
Funny thing was it wasn't that she herself was concerned that Jane was going back to California, but his need to go back on his own was written all over him ... his faintly forrowed brow, his weakened smile, the sadness in his every movement ... all very subtle changes, but even before he had announced his departure she had noticed. And she did understand.
Later that evening over dinner he had told her he would be away only for as long as necessary, but needed to take the Airstream since he would be visiting both Sacramento and Malibu.
"I should be back in five or six days," he said. "Two days each way and hopefully a day or so to do what I need."
He'd grinned at her then, mischievously.
"And I'll phone."
That made her smile, but he still saw that tiny trace of disappointment.
He dipped low and pinned her with those soulful eyes.
"Promise," he'd whispered.
She'd offered to come with him, but he'd taken her hand and looked her in the eye again. "I'd love you to, you know I would. But this is something I have to do alone. It's the last time …. "
He'd paused then. Looked away and sighed deeply.
"We'll go back together when the baby's here, okay?"
She remembered those words quite clearly, and her reply ... the exact words, as she gripped his stubbly chin gently to guide his face back toward her and make him look her in the eyes one more time.
"It's okay," she'd told him slowly. "I understand. You know I do … … but promise me you'll take your time. Don't push that old bus too hard. I want you back in one piece."
He'd smiled a patient but loving smile.
But she'd left him in no doubt.
"WE want you back in one piece."
"Yes Ma'am," he'd said with mock gravity.
Then he'd gone upstairs to pack his bag.
And she'd waved him off the following morning with instructions to take frequent breaks and keep his phone charged.
He'd laughed at her and run back to kiss her again, holding her face firmly between his hands and kissing her intensely.
That was almost two days ago and he'd kept his promise. He'd called each time he stopped for gas and sent her pictures of his eggy meals, and snaps of various mugs and cups of tea at the diners he found worthy of his patronage.
But now Lisbon sat and stared anxiously at her phone wondering if all this new conscientiousness was really such a good thing.
Was it too big of a change?
Was he feeling pressurised to keep up the good work ... to break a ten year old pattern and keep it broken?
Could he maintain this new pattern, so long in the making or was he getting bored already, was he as healed as they had both thought he was?
Or was it their baby? Was the responsibility of being a father again too much for him?
Was he just plain scared?
Then she wondered, was this silence deliberate? If so it hurt that he could not, or would not talk to her.
So many confusing thoughts ... just like the dark old days.
She stared at the screen ... at the smiling picture of Jane.
And suddenly she too smiled ... and she knew.
She had married Patrick Jane, for better or worse.
And she loved him.
Patrick Jane who, if trouble was to be found, was sure to find it.
And he had found it ... or it had found him.
He hadn't just left her hanging.
She knew he wouldn't do that without good cause.
There was something wrong ... that loss of contact was so abrupt ... "tricky bends" he'd said ... mysterious ... then she'd heard those thuds and that cursing.
But there was nothing she could do.
So, for a few more minutes, she resisted the urge to press the call button. Intead she crossed her fingers and trusted him ... and trusted that he was ok ...
Then she got back to work.
