Authors note: So I seem to work on an opposite trend to Bruno Heller, he writes angst, I write happy, he gives us Jisbon, I try countering it. I may have issues...
This was inspired by Lisbon's uncomfortable face when Jane hugged her and how quickly she changed subject when Jane gave her an out...
Disclaimer: Again if I owned it Lisbon woulda owned Jane on his return and made him suffer and possibly punched him. I'd have kept the 'I love you' though, it made me squeal girlishly, I don't squeal... ever.
While I had already written most of this, I was listening to my mp3 player and this song came on and I thought hey that fits my story!
Everybody finished their honey tipped cigar
Our after dinner speaker tonight is God
A warm round of applause
And then silence
Tell us of love, we said
Tell us of love, now
Great one above
Won't ya tell us of love
And he said, well
I've never tasted your flavour before
So maybe love is your whore
Maybe just a figment of emotion
The crowd went wild
Man, woman and child
Fuelled by brandy and cherry wine
And the apple in the mouth of the head of John the Baptist
Tell us of hate, we said
Tell us of hate
Don't spare the bait
Won't ya tell us of hate
And he said, well
I've never tasted your flavour before
So maybe hate is your whore
But I remember when we were lovers
Hear my song
What if I'm
What if I'm wrong
Hear my song
I'm always right
But what if I'm wrong
BellX1 'The God Song'
Lisbon was bone weary; exhausted would be a holiday from what she was currently experiencing. It had been a long day, week, month, year... and she had felt it. It was like every second of time that had passed were grains of sand on a beach, scratching her skin, too small to be seen but she felt every one.
She entered her apartment and closed the door, a weak attempt at shutting out the world and a recent unwelcome revelation... of sorts. It had followed her all day, whispering in her ear, a little voice taunting her with words she hadn't wanted to hear.
Love you, Love you, loovvee yooou...
Teresa Lisbon did not believe in love, well not romantic love anyway. She had better things to do with herself than dedicate her time to the pursuit of what she believed to be a fictional attribution of emotion. Then he had said two words to her and brought confusion to her order. It was not the first time and she doubted it would be the last.
Screw love, it got you nowhere; she'd place her faith in lust any day. Monogamy and soul mates were idiotic concepts brought on by an institution, hell bent on indoctrination and control. Ironic considering she belonged to said church...
Lisbon kicked at her couch, trying to expel some of her annoyance. She had wanted a simple answer but he had dodged the question... typical. She had been going to let it lie, avoid it, but curiosity and a need to make sure they were on the same, in a friendly way page, had won out. He was a fortress, a man who never showed weakness, never lost control, so why did he say it then and there and more importantly why to her...
Lisbon was a lot of things, happily ever after material was not one of them. Unlike Van Pelt, the epitome of girlish exuberance and sweetness, she was jaded and disinterested. Lisbon's mind had pointed out that they were friends for ten years of course he loved her and that's what he meant, but then it had gotten her thinking were they though? Would she class Jane as a close friend? He had given her ample reason to doubt him.
Damn him he had her analysing when she would have rather just forget it, because below her calm facade she was still angry. Like a still lake with a riptide hiding below the surface, she was ready to hurt him but she was had been trying to forgive and forget, if he had just given her some time, but that wasn't Jane's way.
There are many kinds of love she knew that, so why was his words bothering her so much?
Lisbon moved toward her bookcase and the brick a brac it held there. Her mother had been a wise woman, not ostentatious in the slightest. Her greatest attributes were that she was simple, kind and loving. Everything Lisbon had once hoped and strived to be, before life had left its permanent mark on her heart.
Lisbon let her memories take her back through the years to an early spring afternoon, to the first time she had been perplexed by a male. Her mother had seen her daughter blossom early with those big green eyes, pale skin and striking dark hair. She knew she would be attractive but when her baby girl had come home covered in dirt with a fat lip, aged eleven, she had known she was in trouble. Lisbon remembered her muttering as much as she was cleaned up after her fist fight with a boy who was mercilessly teasing her.
Her mother had pushed loose strands behind her ear and smiled, joking about her experiencing schooldays crushes already. Lisbon had become angry at her mothers flippancy, crying out about the injustice of the boy's actions towards her.
The elder Lisbon woman had tried to explain away his behaviour, telling Teresa that he liked her, but her stubborn daughter had argued with her the whole time. No doubt it was rare to have an theoretical debate with one so young about love but when Lisbon had pointed out that daddy loved mummy and didn't treat her that way, so how could it be love, her mother realised she had a very valid point. The next day she went out and bought her daughter a small, light book which she hoped was an answer to her questions.
The book contained a passage on the Greeks definitions of love, so pulling open the seldom used book, she did what she always did when mystified, she researched and sought out clear answers, determined to solve her Jane paradox.
This dog eared page was a connection to her mother, perhaps that's why Lisbon had cherished and consulted it during the many confusing encounters that had arisen over her formative years. Its simple notions on love had answered any doubts she had regarding her standing during several romantic rendezvous.
It had been a long time since she had looked upon its decorative script and most certainly had not needed it for a long time. She could say categorically, at least not since she met Jane as he had so kindlyclarified and pointed out every aspect of her life and read anyone who impacted it since his arrival, whether she had asked or not.
Agápe, Éros, Philia and Storge...
The four simple sides of real love or so the Greeks and the Bible had decided. It was not that black and white, but then life never was but its notions were true in many ways.
Love is a complicated word, one that results in as many negative results as positive. It really was a sick bastardisation of a group of emotions and some physical reactions, Lisbon mused.
Realistically is was depraved how it controlled the masses, we are supposed to seek it out, told how it completes you, when in general people just give up and settle, faking their happiness so as not to be left out.
She looked at the headings again her fingers tracing the letters, her mind trying to find the answer to just what Jane meant if only he was man enough to tell her.
She released a sigh, filling the empty room with sound.
The first paragraph began with Storage, a love better known as fondness. She ruminated on her and Jane's relationship for a second, seeing in her minds eye, their playfulness and banter. Affection was a given in their relationship and her and Jane certainly would fit into that category.
But this partiality was borne through familiarity; the words 'between family members or people who have otherwise found themselves together by chance' stared up at her, haunting her. She knew he planned to use them, still was, he cared for them because that's how humans worked, but he was always crystal clear, he was there for Red John, no more.
Working together for years had created their bond, but the connection is weak and fragile, it was not chosen, it just happened. So delicate it could vanish as quickly as it appeared, like a drop of food colouring in water, spreading itself so much it eventually diffuses so much so, its no longer visible.
She had felt love for her team in San Francisco, but despite the relatively short distance she would have to go to see them, the only time she had, was when he needed something. She didn't think of them often, but when she was working there, she would have taken a bullet for anyone of them.
Jane had left them, her, and his absence had no doubt thinned his affection. Lisbon decided to move on irritated by how easily his recent actions revealed the vulnerabilities of their ties.
Moving on in the book she looked up the next type, Philia; a love based on companionship or people who share a common interest or activity. She hoped that his 'love you' was a simple declaration of the love between friends, it would be nice to think that this was true, a pleasant, easy answer. It included loyalty a trait she often demonstrated, but Jane? He was solely loyal to himself. Virtue and equality were also components, Lisbon snorted at this, far too often Jane eroded her trust, lied and deceived her, they did not have an equal relationship.
Also it's not like they had similar interests, really just how much did they have in common; their only joint activity was work. Their sole shared interest was that they hunt a killer together, only sharing meals and ideas on cases. Can you base a lifelong friendship on preventing the slaughter of innocent people and really were there any similarities between them.
Neither was willing to admit that they in fact care nor did they seek each other out during their free time. This was not working out as she had planned; she doubted her friendship now.
Lisbon thought about the friends she freely admitted to, her jogging buddy Kyle, Grace and their yoga, Jasmine her childhood cohort. They all had one thing in common they had a similar interest and they met up in their free time. Willingly and without cause.
She finished the paragraph, it ideas taunting her with words about it being a profound choice that goes against natural order. Love present without the necessity of reproduction, but they didn't choose to be together, the state did. Lisbon wanted justice, Jane wanted vigilantism, she wanted to save him, he wanted to use her, he took, and she gave not really bff's now was it. Companions and acquaintances, they were but by obvious definitions, they were not friends as such.
The next type of love brought tears to her eyes; it was her favourite kind of love, her mothers too. She remembered sitting on the faded porch swing, as her mother read through these with her and how she had reacted when they got to this one Agapē or Charity, she had squeezed Teresa in recognition of their private joke.
Her mother had used to say that while she had called Teresa after a saint, she had been partially wrong, her namesake was more suited to charity as that's what her little girl was. A pint sized person, brimming to the top, full of love and caring, regardless of anyone's circumstances. If she could give it she would.
To this day she had kept her ability to give every aspect of herself to where it was needed. But what was her strength as a child, allowing her to love a father despite his abuse, to raise children regardless of being one herself, to sympathise with victims families or understand the layers to what leads to taking a life, was now her weakness, one Jane played upon daily.
He had known after six months that she would do. He said, 'but you will help me though' and it had not been a question.
She had her forgiven him without a second thought, she understood why they call it the sacrificial love in the bible because had he asked her too, she'd have probably taken the bullets then and there, willing to die for his soul and the souls of all those who died at the hand of a mad man and those that would.
She knew without a doubt Jane was incapable of this kind of love, he was if anything the polar opposite of Agape, perhaps that's why he fought so hard to keep her around, so few people would go to the lengths she would to save someone.
She was at the last paragraph now and read over it merely to complete the page as this was the one love she knew did not apply to her and him. Éros or rather the passionate love. Her and Jane had certainly never been overtaken with sensual desire and longing.
Lets face it, a mere six months in Vegas and he banged Lorelie's brains out while she has been by his side for ten years and the most she got was his hand at her back and his weird penchant for hugging her at awkward moments.
She had already figured Eros and all its sexual lust was out. He clearly had working parts just not for her, infatuation, yearning and longing towards her... nope, not even for a second.
The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifferent and despite his overtures in the recent days, he has been indifferent to her for the last 6 months. She was making herself sick with guilt and fear and worry. He was living it up and bedding a crazy woman, or was it women; it was not like he was going to tell her.
The one thing she could guarantee her embittered and shattered heart that was despite its choice to begin beating an off beat rhythm on the sight of him at the church, was that what they had was not love, not in any romantic sense.
She was choosing to attribute that sudden pain and sharp piercing to the scare the man gave her and her anger at him for so easily leaving. His childish antics, vocally mocking her faith, mocking her, were a straight up declaration that what they had was not the big love. How could it be, when she longs for a connection with him... and he longs to cut up the body of a murderer?
Then he appears and the first thing he does is to joke about her faith, the crutch she had lent on since he left, it was almost cruel. That's not love so what the hell was he doing further stirring the mess that was her life by saying he cared.
He had left, not her, he had lied, not her, he had pretended, controlled, manipulated and done much more despicable things, not her. She had been inundated with feelings and thoughts during their separation, while he had been fully able to instigate his plan with ease. She had missed him, her friend; he had come when he needed her and left again when he got it.
She slammed the book closed, it had answered her alright. Jane had probably said it for some ulterior motive.
She took a few sharp breaths to calm down aware that she was over reacting; the anger that had built over the past six months was clouding her judgement.
She did love Jane, he was her best friend for ten long years now, but he was the first to say he was damaged beyond repair, a broken shell of a man. She knew he saw her as a friend, just not how she had envisioned her closest friend to be, act or treat her. She guessed how they viewed friendship was so very different.
She supposed it was all either of them were capable of, sure it was not the classic friendship, but what they had was as close as either were going to get.
Neither she nor he could ever submit to each other or anyone else, two stubborn, broken people who cling on to their lonesome lives like a man clings does the edge of a precipice. To let go inevitably means death, no matter how beautiful the drop is, it will always end in pain. The both have suffered too much for that.
Her mother had told her daughter that one day she would find a man who would encompass all these types of love for her and that was true love. Lisbon knew this was never going to come to fruition, true love was a myth, at this stage she just settle for having just one of these categories filled fully. To have just a small piece of the love she gives, returned by someone who chooses to, rather than has to or needs to, but that possibility is probably as fictitious as true love is.