Rouge
Author: G. Waldo
Rating: Case-fic’. Light angst. Light humour. Pairing: Jane/Cho (Chane?), Jane/Lisbon friendship-fury
Characters: Jane/Lisbon friendship; Jane/Cho - light (According to CBI office protocol).
Summary: Jane, tea and little old ladies. Jane solves a murder that no one thinks is a murder. This will be an episodic, shorter fic’ than you are used to seeing from me.
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.
CBI
“Why do you want to go?” Lisbon asked Patrick Jane, her blonde and most persistently evasive employee. “This is my grandmother’s second husband who’s died. A hunting fishing man you wouldn’t give a passing glance. And you don’t even know my grandmother, you only know me.”
Jane said, looking insulted. “Well, it’s no ulterior motive if that’s what you’re thinking. Can’t I show my respects, you know, give a friend support in a time of need?”
Lisbon narrowed her eyes. “Thanks, Jane, but I think it would be a little awkward. My grandmother doesn’t like strangers.”
Jane’s shrewd aqua-coloured eyes searched her face. He could sniff out a lie from a hundred miles away. “I find that hard to believe, Lisbon, because if she’s anything like you and I think she must have passed some of your most tenacious qualities down to you through your mother, she’s fine with strangers. You talk to strangers every day, brow-beat them even - occasionally shoot them.”
Lisbon tried a different tack. “You’re playing me, Jane, there’s some reason you want to attend my grandfather’s funeral beyond friendship and, by the way, give me a break.” It came to her and she saw through him, glad that after four years working with the uncanny mentalist, she could sometimes do that. “Did you overhear me talking to Tommy?” At his silence Lisbon knew she’s stumbled onto the truth. “You did, didn’t you?”
Jane shrugged in his best physical representation of an apology. “It was an accident.”
“Well, Tommy may look like a grown-up but inside he’s still a child. He sees conspiracy everywhere – he watches film noir for god’s sake, and what’s more - he’s wrong. My grandfather was eighty-nine years old.”
“Was he sick?”
The question was a little impertinent, though not unexpected from Jane. “No-o, but he was old and his health has been failing for a while.”
“How long, failing?”
Lisbon shook her head, stacking papers on her desk, clearing it away for the long weekend. From experience Lisbon could see where this was going. “Jane, we’re not doing this. I’m sorry if the business of murder has been slow for you lately, I for one love that no one’s been shot or stabbed this week, but my grandfather was not shot or stabbed or poisoned, I don’t care what ridiculous ideas Tommy comes up with or that you, unfortunately, overheard.” Lisbon gathered up her coat and keys. “Now I am leaving for my grandfather’s funeral –alone. You are staying here. Have a nice weekend.”
The picture of calm, Jane watched her go. He waited four minutes and slipped down the side stairs to the parking lot, almost bowling over two people ascending. “Sorry, sorry.” He called over his shoulder.
