Chapter 1 : Give me your loss and your sorrow

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Her office door is closed. Jane considers this an invitation and opens it without preamble.

Lisbon doesn't look up.

"His name's Forrest," she says.

Jane feels deflated. He had a probing set of questions prepared for this very moment and now he'll have no chance to use them.

"Forrest?" he says lamely. "Nice name. Arboreal."

"Forrest Jackson." Lisbon looks up. "He's a good guy."

This is all alarmingly uncomplicated. Jane meets Lisbon's eyes for a moment. Underneath all her usual pragmatism and chit-chat, Lisbon is smiling.

"I'm certain he is. When can I meet him?" Jane asks, anticipating a hasty refusal.

"Soon."

Jane raises his eyebrows, surprised.

Lisbon continues. "Not now. Last night was only our third date and, Jane, I know you. I'll leave it a while before I let your peculiar brand of chaos and catastrophe anywhere near him."

She seems so confident in this stranger and Jane feels a sliver of happiness for her; and, if he's honest, a sliver of fear for himself. It doesn't stop him from pestering her.

"Fourth," he says. Off her look he adds. "I can count, Lisbon. That was your fourth date. Now, you're not the kind of woman to sleep with a man on the first or second date. Maybe not even the third date. But fourth date..." He considers her for a moment. She picks up a stapler and looks at him with intent. He makes a swift retreat to the bullpen.

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Generally speaking, Jane trusts Lisbon's judgement. Despite being exasperatingly straightforward and somewhat focussed on the tangible, she's one of the most discerning individuals he's met. Still, he considers he has a responsibility to look into this guy.

"He's a doctor," says Van Pelt approvingly while Jane hovers over her desk.

Jane supposes that a doctor is an appropriately banal choice for law enforcement. He is, however, a little put out that Van Pelt has more information on this than he does.

"He's clean," says Cho before Jane even asks him.

Jane sighs. He hates being predictable.

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A week later, Jane is strolling past Lisbon's office with Rigsby, who is enlightening Jane on the finer points of Benjamin's sleeping habits.

"Nice flowers," says Rigsby to Lisbon.

Jane looks over. Lisbon has flowers on her desk - seven red roses, to be precise. They have clearly just arrived. Lisbon looks up from reading the card. She looks discomfited but not necessarily unpleased.

Jane veers from his course toward the elevator and heads into Lisbon's office. He leans in the doorway. Rigsby sensibly moves on.

"Seven is an unusual number of roses," Jane says. "Let's see- One for every week... no you're only at five. One for every date? One for every-"

"Hush," says Lisbon lightly.

Jane steps into her personal space, angling for a look at the card. Unfortunately Lisbon shoos him away. He doesn't see her leave with the roses, but they have conveniently vanished before he has a chance to study this doctor fellow's writing style.

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The next week Lisbon has that light in her eyes again. They've closed a case, which ordinarily makes her happy but endearingly off balance, as though she doesn't know what to do next. This time he hears her laughing into the phone.

"See you there," she says warmly.

She's leaving before anyone, which is unheard of. Worse she's practically glowing as she says goodnight to the team.

"Could you be any more transparent, my dear?" asks Jane. He's aiming for amused but is aware that he might have missed amused and been stuck at mean. The truth is he's pleased to see her happy, but it sticks in his throat a little.

"Where's Forrest taking you?" asks Van Pelt.

"I'm taking him to dinner," says Lisbon. "We're trying Firehouse."

"Hey I've been there," offers Rigsby.

"Different place, man," says Cho. "The scallops are very good," he says to Lisbon.

Jane waves a disinterested farewell to Lisbon. It's all so infuriatingly above board. If Lisbon doesn't prevaricate, Jane can't exercise his prodigious talents in finding out all her secrets. After the elevator doors close he lies back on his couch and contemplates the ceiling. An hour or so later he takes a cup of tea and heads up to the attic.

There's a note taped to the door. Jane reaches for it mindlessly.

I've done something for you, Mister Jane. Now you are tied to her by more than the job. You can send me flowers - not roses, too trite.

There's a frozen second. Then the cup and saucer drop to the floor and Jane bolts back down the stairs.