Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. Believe me, I've checked.

Author's Note: I'm still holding to "Words" as my definitive take on how things should go, but I thought I'd try something different here. It got a little out of hand, though. I wanted a nice little neat tag but my muse was suffering from ADHD or something.

Fancy

Cloth napkins and everything.

Lisbon's bar for fancy is set low. This is not new information, but it's something I haven't given much thought to in a long time. Mr. Art Squad might be at home in the finer dining establishments of Austin but I wonder how he'd do in L.A. Or Monte Carlo. How I'd love to escort Lisbon around the stately old casino there, mingling with the rich and beautiful, and retire to a yacht in the harbor as the sun came up.

She would hate every minute of it, though. And that's the thing: Lisbon doesn't care for fancy. She got all dressed up for Pike because it was something he wanted, not something she did. Or maybe just because they both thought it was the thing to do. He probably thought he needed to do it to demonstrate the seriousness of his pursuit, and she thought she needed to let him to show she was giving him a chance. Even though she would much rather be eating barbecue in a dive somewhere or ordering a pizza at home where she could kick her shoes off.

I'd have no problem with that. Even though I'd love to have her put on a formal gown and parade her in front of envious opera-goers, my enjoyment would be greatly diminished because I'd know she was uncomfortable. Pike probably won't even notice she hates French food, is insecure about her silverware choices if there are too many options, and is distracted in high heels because she's afraid she's going to turn an ankle and get stuck with desk duty.

Work comes first in the Lisbon taxonomy of priorities. It always has. That's partly why she never used to change into date clothes in the office back at CBI: she was focused on projecting leadership and toughness. Femininity was the last thing she wanted to convey to her coworkers. Her tomboy upbringing fed into that, of course, but it's not like she didn't know how to knock a man's socks off if she wanted to. She just never wanted to, at least within the confines of the CBI.

That started to change our last two years there, though. Her makeup got more refined, she took more pains with her hair, and she started wearing blouses that offered a peek at her cleavage if one was inclined to make the effort. Which, I admit, I was. More than occasionally. I've always loved a beautiful view.

This change mystified me at first, and I looked for the lucky guy who'd distracted her while I was in Vegas. It took me longer than it should have to realize there wasn't one, because I was too busy obsessing over how to use Lorelei to get to Red John. Apparently Lisbon was obsessing a little, too, even though I told her repeatedly that Lorelei meant nothing to me on a personal level. Maybe I felt a kinship with her, but no more than I felt with Feinberg or any of the other victims we've encountered over the years who've lost the person who meant the most to them.

Lisbon's jealousy of Lorelei—well, maybe jealousy is a strong word, but she certainly wanted to protect me from her—should have made me sit up and take notice. Maybe I should have tried harder to discourage her from thinking of me as someone she could have. Someone she could save. But I enjoyed it too much. It had been much too long since my ego had been flattered that way. Lisbon wasn't interested in my looks or my charm—she was (and is) the person who knows me best, and she still wanted me. I used to turn that thought over and over in my mind, marveling at it. I still do sometimes.

Though it's far from clear that she still wants me. She's accepted Pike's attentions readily enough, after all.

I have no right to feel like I've been sucker punched. I've never so much as hinted to her that I wanted her as anything but my coworker. I can't blame her for taking me at face value.

The hell of it is, I can't change that now. She'll think I'm just being a dog in the manger. I have to sit back and let this thing with Pike play itself out. I can outlast him; I've outlasted every other man in Lisbon's life, except Cho. And unless I miss my guess, he's more interested in Fischer.

But maybe I can lay some groundwork. And I have to consider the possibility that she won't get tired of Pike and kick him to the curb; things seem to have progressed beyond the usual level of Lisbon's dates. He's a nice guy who's pursuing her in a dedicated and serious fashion, and she's been alone a long time. She might decide to take what she can get. We're both at that point in our lives where we take stock and evaluate what we need to be doing differently to get what we want, right?

Except, of course, that I don't seem to be doing anything differently. I'm still wearing my ring, still treating her like a colleague and friend, still lying here on this damn couch instead of out there trying to get a life.

I am an idiot.

But I'm an idiot who wants her to be happy, and it seems like Pike is a much better bet in that regard. I have a record of treating Lisbon poorly, sometimes despicably, and nobody knows that better than I do, except maybe for her. Sure, I could run after her now, or let myself into her apartment and sweep her off her feet after she gets home all grumpy and footsore after her fancy date, but sooner or later—probably sooner—I'd start taking her for granted, abusing her kindness and forbearance, and generally behaving like an ass. Nobody who loves her would want that for her. I don't.

Really. I don't.

Except, I don't want to be alone anymore, either. I'm tired of it. And I can't imagine letting anyone but Lisbon into my private life. She's the one I could trust with all of it; she already knows the worst I'm capable of. How would I ever date a nice, ordinary woman knowing I'd have to explain eventually how I killed a man with my bare hands, with malice aforethought? How could I bear to explain why certain days make me sad, that I remember so much and at the same time so little? That I can't recall exactly how Charlotte's laughter sounded and it makes me damn near suicidal when I realize that?

Some days, I think I had it right when I planned to not survive Red John. I'll never be normal again, after all. No amount of time can bring me that. And what's left of me is such a stinking mess that I can't bear to saddle the person I care about with it, but at the same time I can't stand to watch her walk away from me to another man. There's no way out of this dilemma. I'd like to think I'm a good enough person to let her go build a life with Pike and find whatever happiness she can, but I know eventually my innate selfishness will win out and I'll find myself on her doorstep begging her to give me a chance. And then I'll blow it.

But I lived because I couldn't bear to break her heart. And that's still a valid reason. It wouldn't be any less painful for her if I managed to get myself killed now. Though maybe, just maybe, she could come to terms with it if I just disappeared, maybe leaving her a note to let her know how grateful I am for what she meant to my life and that she shouldn't worry about me? I could wade into the sea somewhere and do some good by nourishing the marine life. She would think I got tired of the FBI and went off to be a beach bum again. When something reminded her of me, she'd smile, thinking of me off causing trouble somewhere. And on her wedding day she'd be grateful I wasn't there to piss Pike's family off or otherwise mar the day.

No. That's not Lisbon. She would never be glad I was gone, especially if she couldn't keep tabs on me. She'd worry that she didn't hear from me, and she'd do it for the rest of her life. And if I didn't do things right and my body was ever found….

I can't do it. Either way, alive or dead, I'm bad for her. But if I'm alive she can at least tell herself I'm okay. And I can fake it well enough to keep her believing it.

Of course, there is an alternative. And that's to man up, sweep Lisbon off her feet, and then treat her like a queen for the rest of my days. Horse's assery would not be an option.

I sigh. That would take a lot of work. Not sweeping her off her feet—I could do that in ten minutes. Or less. But the not being a horse's ass part would be new, uncharted territory for me. Even Angela used to say I had the temperament of a drunken mule, and she loved me. It's possible I'm too old for such a radical personality makeover.

"You're an idiot," Cho says from directly above my head. I shift my gaze over to see him standing beside my couch, arms folded.

"Is it Obvious Day and nobody told me?" I snark. "First Wiley's computer needlessly reminding us all of the passage of time, and now you're going around announcing people's personality flaws? Why don't you remind me I'm going to die while you're at it?"

"You're going to die," Cho says obligingly. "The only question is who'll be the one killing you. Mess this up for Lisbon and it'll be me."

Nice to know. Cho would do a thorough, straightforward job. No torture, no cutting off of fingers. Just a quick blow to whatever secret spot he knows and bam, I'm out of here. He could tell Lisbon I provoked him and she wouldn't question it for a moment.

But she'd never forgive him. And I can't leave her without any of her old friends to support her through her grief.

"You have that look," Cho continues. "Like you're going to do something crazy."

"I'm not going to do anything crazy," I reply, deciding not to get into the question of whether anything I ever do is crazy. I'm pretty sure we're going to have to agree to differ on that one. "Lisbon's off to be happy with Pike and I'm lying here on my couch being no trouble to anyone."

"And that's crazy," he says.

I blink at him, then decide to sit up. If Cho is going to have a conversation about feelings, I want to be fully present. This is better than a solar eclipse. "Oh?"

"You know what you should do. Tell me whatever bullshit reason is stopping you so I can rebut the hell out of it and we can all go on with our lives."

An interesting offer. I decide to take him up on it, more out of curiosity than hope. "I think I've proven I can't make anybody happy. Maybe Pike can. I want her to have the chance." That was a lot harder to say than I anticipated.

Cho rolls his eyes at me. "You make people happy all the time. Not as many as you make unhappy, but you don't care about them."

"Have I ever made you happy?" Let's see him squirm. He deserves it for instigating this conversation.

"I'm happy every time we catch the bad guy. So yeah." He pauses, then says, "I was really happy you got Van Pelt back alive. Even though you almost got Rigsby killed."

"That's how it goes, isn't it?" I point out. "For every good thing I do, there's at least one bad thing."

"So you're like the rest of us. Get over it."

"Bullshit. You can't say that about Lisbon." Probably not him either, but I think I will leave Cho's inner landscape unexplored. There be dragons, as the old mapmakers used to say.

"I could say she's not doing Pike any favors dating him when she's hung up on you."

"That assumes she's hung up on me." What happened to the guy who scoffed when Rigsby floated the idea of Lisbon and myself as a couple?

Cho kicks me in the ankle. It hurts like hell. "Don't insult my intelligence."

I shift out of leg's reach, whimpering a little. Damn. Maybe Death by Cho isn't such a good option after all.

Cho has no sympathy. I have absolutely no doubt he would put me in Intensive Care if he thought it would convert me to his point of view. "I saw her on her way out," he says. "You made her unhappy."

"I told her she was beautiful and to have a good time," I protest. Come on. That was as nice as I know how to be.

"Which means 'I couldn't care less who you sleep with because I couldn't care less about you.'"

"No it doesn't!"

"I guarantee you that's what it means in that woman-to-English dictionary they all use," Cho says.

Okay. I have to give him that one. I was married, so I'm familiar with that particular fiendish dictionary. I decide to cut to the chase before he gets impatient and hurts me again. "I'm no good for her, Cho. You know that as well as I do."

"Yeah, I do. But I also know Lisbon likes to make up her own mind. You owe her that."

Another excellent point, damn it. I owe her so much more than I could ever hope to repay, but the thing about debt is that the debtor doesn't get to determine the currency of repayment.

Cho sighs at me like I'm a slow child, or maybe a disobedient dog. "Make her cry and I'll break your nose," he says, then leaves.

I sit for a minute longer and review my options. They now consist of:

1. Suicide. Still unacceptable due to emotional damage to Lisbon.

2. Running away. Low odds of success given that the entire FBI would search for me. And Cho wouldn't be looking to bring me in alive. Also, emotional damage to Lisbon, so unacceptable.

3. Continuing my hands-off approach to Lisbon and Pike's relationship. Low odds of success due to my selfish nature; high odds of physical damage to me from Cho.

4. Declaring myself to Lisbon. Low odds of success and high odds of physical damage from Lisbon, at least in the short term. High odds of success in the medium term. High probability of devastating failure in the long term.

When confronted with nothing but bad options, the best thing to do is play for time and hope conditions change. So I guess I'll go with number 4 and hope I can figure out how to avoid crashing and burning.

I get up from my couch and try putting weight on my ankle. It hurts but holds.

Guess there's no getting out of this tonight.

mmm

Letting myself into Lisbon's place is probably not going to endear me to her, but I can't guarantee she'll answer my calls tonight, and I have to get this over with before I chicken out. I make myself a cup of tea, fix some of her no-butter microwave popcorn (ugh), and settle in to see what's on cable these days. Not much. I guess that never changes.

Speaking of change. I twist my ring around my finger a couple of times, something I've been doing for years to comfort myself. That has to change. I pull it off and put it carefully in my inner jacket pocket.

As the hours pass it occurs to me she might not be coming home tonight. She might be spending the night at Pike's place. I'm not worried she's bringing him here; she didn't bother to tidy up before she left and she won't want him to see the mess. He probably doesn't know messy women make the best lovers.

I've picked a spot where I can see the street, so I notice when a cab pulls up and she gets out. Show time.

Lisbon staggers a little as she opens the door and sees me, but she doesn't looks surprised. Guess she noticed her lights were on. She kicks off her shoes, closes the door, and says, "Damn it, Jane."

By now I don't need the slurring to realize she's had too much to drink. Very un-Lisbon-like. "Have a nice time?" Oops, that was not at all the non-horse's-assery thing I meant to say.

"God damn French wine. God damn cognac," she mutters, stomping over to the couch and collapsing onto it beside me, nearly making me spill my popcorn. She reaches over and grabs a handful, stuffing it into her mouth like she's starving. "God damn snooty portions that couldn't feed a snail. Which I hate, by the way. No matter how much garlic butter you put on it."

Yep, that's my Lisbon. Not the fancy type. Pike was so busy trying to impress her that it didn't occur to him she wasn't likely to find escargot to her taste. "Can I make you a sandwich or something?"

"God, yes. I'm starving." She's tipsy enough that she tries a famished, wide-eyed waif look on me. She's really good at it. I drop a kiss on her forehead as I get to my feet and hand her the popcorn bowl.

There's more of a selection of food in her kitchen than I was expecting, and I whip up a grilled cheese sandwich and heat up a can of tomato soup for her. Comfort food.

She's half asleep on the couch when I carry the food out, but she perks up at the smell and grabs the sandwich, wolfing it down like a starving…well, wolf. There's something lupine about Lisbon, all forest green eyes and shadowy grace, beautiful and deadly all at once.

She pauses after half the sandwich is gone to demand, "Why'd you kiss me?"

Oh, so many reasons. I try to figure out the one least likely to get me punched. I need to wait for her blood sugar to stabilize before delving into anything emotional. I finally settle for, "Why not?"

She frowns at me. "You've never kissed me before. Only other people."

"Well, you're the only one here," I joke.

Oops. Her face falls, and she sniffs a little as she gulps down some soup.

"Plus," I add, trying to retrieve the situation, "you're awfully pretty in that dress." I hand her a napkin, because I don't want her to spatter it with soup. Ideally, I'd like to see her in it again, but this time sitting across a table from me. Somewhere they don't serve escargot. "And I think we need some new traditions."

Lisbon looks at me like I've grown another head. "So you're gonna start kissing me now?"

"I'd like to, yes. But only if it won't get me punched in the nose."

She shrugs. "I won't. Marcus might." She finishes the soup and looks at me skeptically. "Is this you getting jealous, Jane?"

"Not getting, no. I've been there for some time. Ever since that first night, in fact."

"You have a damn funny way of showing it."

"I wasn't sure I should. I want you to be happy. But Cho threatened me."

"Huh. So you're here under dress? Dur-ess?" she corrects herself, frowning.

"I guess you could say that. I'm a terrible coward, you know."

"I know." She rolls her eyes at me like a teenager. She's really cute when she's drunk on French wine. I'll have to figure out how to make this happen more often.

"If I weren't a coward," I say as she takes a normal-sized bite of the other half of the sandwich, "I'd tell you how sexy you are in that dress. But you're sexier when you're packing heat."

"Who says I'm not?" she challenges me. I run my eyes over the dress, trying to figure out where, which elicits a triumphant grin from her. "What else would you tell me, you coward?"

"That you're the best person I know. That I wouldn't even be alive right now if it weren't for you. That I love you, and I have for years."

She sighs. "I know, Jane. You love me like a sister."

"Um, no. I'd have to be really perverted to think about a sister like I think about you."

Lisbon finds this extremely funny for some reason. She snorts a little as she laughs, and I get up to get her a glass of water in case she chokes.

"You're really just a guy, aren't you?" she asks as I sit back down.

"I take exception to the 'just,' but yes, I am a guy." I'm trying to take this seriously, but she's making it difficult to keep a straight face.

"You ignore me for years," she says, exaggerating the last word for comic effect, "and I put on a dress and then bam! You have this sudden realization I have a vagina. You're such a pig."

Where to start untangling that? Maybe I should just skip ahead. I open my mouth, but Lisbon is still talking, so I shut it.

"Or maybe it's that somebody else wants me? Huh? You don't want anybody else to play with your toys, do you? Well, you coulda played with me years ago, Jane, and you didn't, so it's somebody else's turn. You had your chance and you didn't want it." She glares at me and takes another bite of her sandwich.

"I did want it," I tell her. "I just wasn't ready to play yet."

"You're never gonna be ready," she shoots back. "You love your wife. Fair enough. Good for you. But stop stringing me along, dammit! I'm not gonna be your mistress. So just leave me alone, okay? Bastard." She punches me in the shoulder, hard. I'm going to have more than one bruise tomorrow.

I hold up my bare left hand. "I do still love my wife. I always will. That doesn't mean I don't love you too. And it doesn't mean I'm not ready." Except I'm probably not. But she's on the verge of tears and I have to stop it. If she cries I'll start babbling, and I can't afford to.

"Then why don't you ask me out?" she wails in frustration.

And it hits me. This is the perfect opening line. Thank you, Lisbon. "Because any idiot can ask you out. Any idiot can try to seduce you over a meal, which, by the way, I clearly recall telling you I wouldn't do." I point to the remnants of the sandwich. "I love you enough to ask you in."

Lisbon blinks at me, stunned, for a full minute before breaking out in a guffaw. "Let me get this straight. You think it would be idiotic to ask me out to dinner, so you break into my house, eat my popcorn, and fix me dinner with my food and tell me that's how you show real love?"

"I'm taking care of you as you are, without trying to change you. Without forcing you to dress up and go to a fancy restaurant you'll hate and pretend to be someone you're not." She stops laughing, so I press ahead. "I waited for you to finish your date and then I fixed you food you like. I'd like to rub your sore little feet if you'll let me. And then I'll help you to your room to get out of that dress and into bed and tuck you in with a kiss. I'll sleep on your couch so I can get up and fix you coffee and toast in the morning and bring you aspirin for your hangover. I'll hold your hair while you throw up if you need me to. Don't try to tell me that's not love."

Lisbon stares at me with those slightly wild eyes and then, slowly, lifts her feet to settle them in my lap. She doesn't say anything, but the challenge is clear.

I flex my fingers theatrically before taking one of her delicate feet into my hands, stroking and exploring at first before beginning to massage where I can tell she's hurting the most. Lisbon lets out a little moan and then slaps a hand over her mouth like she can take it back.

I've never enjoyed a foot massage so much in my life. Maybe that's because I've usually used them as foreplay, and that's not happening here. She's much too drunk, and we're not there yet. So I'm just savoring this for what it is without wanting to skip to the next part.

By the time I'm done, Lisbon has melted into a little puddle in her corner of the couch, eyes nearly closed, breathing slow and deep. I gently set her feet on the floor, smiling at the way she flexes her toes into the carpeting, and maneuver her into a sitting position so I can pull her to her feet. She leans against me heavily as we make our way to the bedroom but stands on her own as I unzip the dress, letting it fall to the floor. I unfasten her bra and push it down her arms, keeping my touching to a minimum, and then pull an oversized T-shirt out from under her pillow and help her into it. I'm biofeedbacking like mad at the little glimpses of her breasts in the moonlight, trying to keep sex out of this. But I'm memorizing them for later.

Pulling down the covers, I turn to help her sit, but she does a faceplant onto the bed instead, giggling a little. I chuckle in response as I move her to the proper angle and cover her up. She rolls over and looks at me with a pout, and I smile as I realize she's waiting for her kiss.

Her lips taste like expensive cognac, and I have to commend Pike on his choice. But then, I knew he had good taste because he chose Lisbon.

"Good night," I tell her softly. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything."

One little hand emerges from the covers and grasps my sleeve. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Teresa. I'll be here."

"Good." She yawns, and then she's out like a light. I hang the dress up in her closet and tiptoe back to the couch, turning off the TV and the lights and lying down to think.

She might not remember any of this in the morning. Or she might remember it but pretend not to. But I'm willing to explain it all to her again. Cho was right: she does need to make her own decision.

But I know what she's going to choose. Pike might have given her fancy, but I'll give her the kind of love that lasts when the restaurants close and there's food to be cooked and clothes to be hung up and hair to be held over the toilet. And when I inevitably behave like an ass, she'll kick mine until I stop.

Hopefully without leaving another bruise.

A/N: I feel like I should apologize to Cho for using him as the go-between every time. And I don't know what the hell this was, so if you're now appalled, sorry! Go read "Words" instead. It's way less rambling, I promise.