Hello fellow Mentalist enthusiasts,
I have never ventured into the realm of publishing a fanfic before, though I can say with certainty (and a good helping of shame) that I have read more than my fair share. So, here I am, late at night, "giving back to the community" the only way I know how- with a dark tale about the beloved Patrick Jane.
P.S Though I've never gotten one before, I've heard reviews are awesome, so feel free (obligated, compelled, required :) ) to submit one.
Update: This is a revised first chapter- it does not contain any new info, just a few tweaks. Feel free to skip if you read the first version.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the fingers with which I type.
"If you want me again, look for me under your bootsoles." – Walt Whitman
Lisbon turned on her heel, pivoting her body to better view the blond-haired, blue-eyed consultant who refused to leave her to her own devices. He truly was insufferable. Her face was just inches from his, despite their height difference. They stared at each other for a short time before she spoke.
"Jane, for the love of God," she huffed, "Please leave me alone. I have a small mountain of paperwork to sign and fill out, courtesy of you." She sighed audibly, crossing the short distance between the door-frame they were standing in and the disheveled desk in her office. She thought about sitting down and resuming her paperwork in an effort to ignore Jane, but he began speaking before she could put it into action.
Jane took a moment to put his thoughts in order before he started speaking. He could feel that he was on edge, and was worried that he wouldn't be able to handle it if Red John were to get away again. He had spent the better part of the last few years workign hard to catch him, and he was going to be damned if the CBI or Lisbon got in the way.
"Now Lisbon, let's be fair, none of this would have happened if you had trusted me when I told you he was right where I wanted him. I could have told you that he was going to run if he found out there was back-up." Jane allowed some of the tiredness he harbored so often to seep into his charismatic smile. He hoped that it would make Lisbon go easy on him. She had no right to be pissed at him. She had ruined his plan. If anyone should be pissed, it should be him. Not her. but he didn't feel like arguing about it with her- there was no way she could understand. No way for her to see it from his point of view.
Lisbon saw it all right. She could tell that his eyes didn't carry the smile that he was giving her, and she suddenly felt guilty about the whole ordeal. She studied his demeanor, hoping that he would reveal something other than the obvious. His rumpled suit was speckled with dirt, his eyes slightly blood shot. She gathered that his insomnia had flared up, most likely resulting in close to no restful sleep. Despite his consistent protests that he was well rested, his body betrayed his utterings. His hair helped to substantiate her supposition, and she noted that it was far more messy than the usual stylishly mussed look he went for.
"Look Jane, I'm sorry, I really am, I don't think anybody understands more than I do-" Lisbon had decided to let him off the hook. Even though she wanted to rip him a new one for causing such a problem with the investigation, she really did feel bad for him. However, if she was honest with herself, she would find that she wasn't even all that upset about the fact that he ruined the investigation. She was hurt that Jane felt the need to go behind the CBI's back- behind her back, in a desperate attempt to capture and kill Red John.
Jane felt his cheeks grow red with rage as her statement sunk in. He didn't see any way in which she could compare her situation to his. She didn't even have a situation. Oh, her mother died tragically and her father was a drunk- big whoop. Everyone's childhood sucks. He grew up with a gaggle of carnies who used him for his abilities, and milked them for all they were worth. It wasn't every day that a serial killer decides to murder a man's wife and child. That constituted a situation. That was something worth getting revenge about.
"Nobody understands how I am feeling. If you had just an inkling of the-" He stopped himself, aware of the remainder of the team, who had turned their heads at the loud interaction. He inhaled slowly; reminding himself that Lisbon would forever be Lisbon, always following the rules, and the damn protocol. If he let her inside his head, showed her even a glimpse of the things that went through his mind, she would have him off the case. And that could not happen, because he still had unfinished business.
"Look Jane, I know that you must not be feeling your best right now," she began, cautiously, "But I'm going to tell you, as your boss, to go home, get some rest, change your clothes and come back in tomorrow. The case will still be here then. " She gave him her most authoritative stare, knowing that he was likely to protest. She watched his eyes as they traveled from a smoldering, determined, and vengeful stare, to a resigned and pained one. She fought back the grimace of sympathy and pity that threatened to cross her face.
Instead of resisting her, Jane lowered his head a fraction, signifying defeat. Not willing to fight with Lisbon, he was, however, ambivalent about the thought of having to spend more time in his Malibu home. He knew that when he reached his former home a part of him would disappear, and that the rage within him -the disappointment of being so close- would flow out, would cause him to lash out, and then leave him, alone and hollow, to fester with his demons. He deserved it.
Lisbon sat down in her ergonomic desk chair, pretending to peruse the paperwork in from of her. In reality, she was allowing Jane to leave her office with a bit more grace than he exhibited while he was in there. Jane was never one to exhibit strong emotions, and his outbursts were concerning her, reminding her of the vulnerable state he was currently in- that this case was, in every sense of the word, the exception.