A thousand thanks to everyone for your lovely reviews! This show has long been near and dear to me, so it means a lot to know that people are enjoying these fics.
On a side note, I am posting these oneshots in either one of two fics, divided by CBI vs FBI era – "redshift" and "blueshift", for reasons of (a) organisation, (b) my utter inability to title fics, and (c) my equal failure at not being a science nerd ever.
Both fics are marked complete since they're essentially collections of standalone works, but feel free to subscribe to one or both fics for more fic if and when it happens! (I make no promises though, grad school and all.)
(in the meantime, more earlyish/mid-s6 fic, preceding the previous chapter)
"I'm good, thanks," she answers, but her gaze automatically flicks up to Jane's face anyway; the great big dictionary of Jane expressions contains a substantial section on tea, indexed between the many trips they'd made for cases and the boxes of teabags that appeared mysteriously in the CBI pantry whenever a certain consultant was around. "Though if you'd asked me to name somewhere likely to have tea meeting your standards, the FBI breakroom certainly wouldn't have been high on the list."
Lisbon recognises the briefest rise of Cho's shoulders which means that he's hiding a laugh, even though he's by all appearances hard at work typing up some report at the desk in front of hers. "Well, you'd be right," he says when she turns to look at him, without elaborating.
She glances consideringly at Jane again, the clear lack of any possessions beyond his clothes, the contentment practically curling steam from his cup. Surely he hadn't brought–?
"Nah," Jane says, presumably in response to the question she hadn't even asked. "This is just from Agent Cho's personal stash, which everyone else is too afraid to touch for fear of being challenged to a death match on the spot."
"No comment," Cho replies, and "Violence against co-workers is against FBI guidelines."
"Hm. Arm-wrestling match?" Jane offers instead, teacup clinking against the saucer – and really, who even stocks teacups with saucers in an office pantry? (Lisbon isn't even sure that the blue teacup existed within CBI's walls before Jane happened, now that she thinks on it.)
"Against Abbott?" Cho frowns, hits backspace a couple times. "Sure, be my guest."
Jane tilts his head, an acknowledgement of the point; Lisbon says, a little wonderingly, "I didn't even know you liked tea."
"Don't need to like it to drink it," comes the answer, but this time Cho actually stops typing and turns around to meet both their looks with a raised eyebrow. "What? Can't just have coffee all the time, I'm not risking a caffeine overdose."
"Huh. Funny, that's not what you used to say," Lisbon tells him with a careful lack of amusement, because she's now also remembering that hers hadn't been the only desk in the CBI that Jane had hovered over like a recalcitrant cat bearing gifts: mugs, murderers, and far too many headaches to count.
Jane shrugs in an elaborate manner Lisbon chooses to interpret as dismay at them having uncovered his dastardly scheme to slowly convert all of law enforcement into tea-lovers, before he floats off, tea still in hand, in search of something – someone new to heckle, possibly, or maybe just a couch.
Not her problem, anyway, or at least not her responsibility to account for. Even if he arm-wrestles someone over upholstery.
It's a blissful feeling not being in charge for once, she decides, even as she rolls her chair closer to Cho's desk. "Anything I can help with?"