Summary: Sometimes you just need to give in. Post episode 2x08.
Characters: Jane, Van Pelt
She opened the door without checking the peephole this time, still pleasantly warm from the tequila. Too late she realized she should be more careful, what with CBI agents linked to the Red John case being killed and all. It was a sobering thought, as was the sight of Patrick Jane on her doorstep.
His expression held no mirth, his shoulders were slumped. Her stomach knotted in response. She didn’t feel the alcohol’s warmth anymore.
“Is he here?” Jane asked without preamble.
He looked at her more sharply, and she realized there was no game playing. His expression was unreadable – she was used to that. But she didn’t think she’d ever get used to the raw need in his eyes. It scared and thrilled her at the same time.
Van Pelt snorted softly, her own covering tactic. “Cho had to practically carry him out of the office. He drove him home and put him to bed.”
“Where did you disappear to?” The attempted lightness in her voice was poor at best.
She didn’t push him. Didn’t ask about the Red John case. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to acknowledge the only reason he was at her door.
“Are you okay?” she asked, feebly this time.
He nodded again, saying nothing, doing nothing. Then he took a couple of steps forward, slowly, until he was invading her personal space. Van Pelt’s breath caught in her throat. She was incapable of a coherent thought, let alone speech. If she’d been able to find her voice, she told herself later, she would have asked him what the hell he was doing, and if he thought he could just toy with her emotions like that. She would have accused him of using her, of being an insensitive bastard who only sought her out when he needed comfort, ignoring Rigsby’s feelings and betraying her own.
But she said none of those things.
“What do you want, Jane?”
He paused again, meeting her eyes only briefly before dropping his gaze.
“I want to smell like lilac,” he murmured, his breath warming her cheek.
He waited when she didn’t respond immediately, neither losing his close proximity nor making physical contact.
He did not smile when her hand slipped into his, and said nothing when she drew him inside.