She arrives early, well earlier than normal and it's just by a few minutes; but none the less early.
So she isn't surprised when she walks by the bullpen and finds it completely empty.
She turns on her computer, which hums softly as it comes to life and heads for the break room; makes a cup coffee and as she walks back to her office. The soft ding of the elevator sliding to a stop echoes down the hall and too her. She doesn't bother to look over her shoulder as she hears the doors slide open with a metallic groan; and maybe with another groan that isn't so metallic in its source.
She walks into her office and the door slides shut behind her, placing the cup of coffee to cool on her desk and slides into her chair. All that's left to do is some last minute paper work from a rather easy case and then she's got plans to run across the street to get a box of donuts for her team to celebrate.
Maybe even some new tea for Jane too; she thinks of how he'd react to that, and it puts a small smile on her face.
Pulling out the papers in question she goes to work; fifteen minutes later she's interrupted, doesn't even glance up when she hears the door open with a hiss and shut with a small snapping noise. "What is it, Jane?" She asks.
"Lisbon," And all it takes is for him to speak, his tone raspy; his voice, as he says her name, is close to how a man might beg for his life when he's held at gun point.
Her head snaps up and she can feel the blood drain from her face and run cold in her veins as she looks at the man before her; blood trickles down the side of his face; locks of now uncurled blond hair plastered against his forehead due to the blood, fresh yellow bruises marking their territory down his neck and across his right eye; which she can tell will soon be swollen shut.
And that's not even the worse, she notices. His left hand is plastered against his right shoulder; knuckles white and from where she sits she can see the blood spreading through his suit and dripping down the edges of his finger tips.
Her mouth drops open, just a little and he clears his throat.
"Sorry about the mess," He wavers on his feet and that's enough to break her out of the spell she'd been under, she leaps out from behind her desk and rushes to him, grabbing her phone in the same movement. She dials 911 and demands an ambulance, gives off their location and what has happened. She's attempting to direct Jane to sit, but he won't as she speaks frantically into the phone.
He's staring at her, she realizes when she glances up at him. His eyes are glazed over, "You're going into shock." She states and he shakes his head, his words are slightly slurred when he speaks again.
"They're probably still after me, sorry to put you in this position Lisbon but you may want to get your gun."
Just as the last word leaves his lips several gun shots smash against the glass wall, the blinds get torn to pieces and without hesitation she shoves him to the floor, ignoring the grunt he gives when he hits it and she follows him, kneeling behind her desk at his side, gun drawn and she unlocks the safety without hesitation.
"Just send Patrick Jane out and no one has to get hurt." Demands a voice, it's male.
"Sorry, can't do that." She growls in response, not bothering to look at the man in question as he shifts, attempting to get off his shoulder and hold himself up.
"Lisbon –" He hisses and she glares at him, he shuts up, but she can see the pleading look his eyes; what goes unsaid, he holds her gaze.
"No." She hisses back and he opens his mouth to speak, his eyebrows curving towards his hair line; he's got that look on his face that he uses whenever he's bargaining with her about what they should have for lunch; but the shooter speaks first.
"Send him out, Teresa Lisbon, or I'll come in there and shoot you both."
"Think about what you're doing." She snaps, "You're in the CBI for crying out loud, just think about it –"
"I'm not joking around." The shooter snaps, cutting her off, "I don't want to shoot you, I'm just here for him."
"You know, I might come out there myself if you just tell me what I need to be killed over." Jane chimes in, and Lisbon glares at him, pinning him to the floor with the daggers in her eyes, he stares back looking incredibly impassive despite the situation at hand.
"You got my brother sent to jail for a murder he didn't commit!" The shooter snarls, emotion bleeding into his tone.
Jane remains silent for several seconds, and then begins to nod to himself. "Colby, is that you?" He asks. "I didn't get a good look at you earlier, when you were trying to kill me."
Lisbon stands and ignores the blood covered hand that grabs for her, ignores Jane's protests and yelps as she walks from the room and into the hall to face him, gun still drawn and held before her.
She stops before him. 'Lisbon!' Jane hollers from within the room, 'Don't be stupid! Get your ass back in here!' She ignores it all, ignores everything except Colby Bate.
"You've got your whole life before you; think about what you're doing. You're in the middle of the CBI, this place is filled to the brim with cops, you kill us and you won't make it out alive." She says with an edge in her tone.
"No I don't." The twenty-two year old snaps at her, "My life died when my brother got the death sentence and I don't care if I make it out alive or not."
"Colby, your brother killed his wife." She says.
"No, he didn't!" Colby snaps and the gun bobbles in his grip as he shakes it, as if to prove a point. Lisbon's eyes flicker from the gun to Colby.
"We got a confession, Colby."
"He was lying then! I've seen the stuff that man can do –"He gestures with the gun to her office, to the man bleeding out on the floor inside. "He hypnotized him!"
'In my defense, I didn't. No way would a confession like that hold up in court.' Jane's voice bleeds into the air; she ignores how the words come out on a single breath; how rushed they sound.
"Jane, shut up!" She snaps at, not taking her eyes off Colby, who flushes with rage, his skin matching the color she'd seen earlier on the side of Jane's head.
But Jane continues.
'Your brother was a cold blooded murderer, Colby. You should consider yourself lucky that he didn't kill you too.'
"Jane, shut up now!"
"You're lying!"
'No, I'm not, and you know deep down at I'm not lying, you saw what your brother truly was, you knew deep down, you just don't want to accept it so you're trying to convince everyone else too that he wasn't, perfectly understandable. And killing me, the one who made the claim may somehow magically convince everyone of the truth.'
"I know it will." Colby growls; anger etching across his face and taking a permanent expression, his eyes flicker back to Lisbon and then to glass wall.
"Jane, I mean it, shut up!" Lisbon snaps.
'Come and prove it then, come shoot me. That is if you can do it, you big coward. That's all you are, you're a coward, Colby. You're a coward who couldn't save his own big brother from going to the grave.' He chirps, his tone mocking, as if he was taunting a child with a candy bar after popping their balloon.
A noise a animal would make on its death bed falls from Colby's lips and in its wake he storms forward, Lisbon fires her gun; a bullet hisses by his shoulder, but only because at the last second he moved, leaning to the right and as blood trickles down he ignores it. Before she can fire again he draws his hand back and slams the side of his gun into her head, once and then again.
She falls to the floor in a tangled mass of limbs; a fog settling over her head with vengeance within seconds of the blow, she attempts to move but her legs feel disconnected, her arms feel like someone's digging needles into every free patch of skin.
All she can do is listen to Jane's voice as he continues taunting the man; it's louder now, filled with an aggressive edge she's only heard when he talks about Red John.
"You are a coward Colby, and you know why? Because it was you who killed Patricia, not your brother, oh no, certainly not your brother, he's too good of a man and he loved her too much to ever think about hurting her, but he loved you more and you're a coward because you were willing to sacrifice the man who raised you for your own skin. And now you're having second thoughts, but you know it's too late to stop the death sentence, so you think that killing me will clear your consciences."
"You know, you're just like him." Colby spits, Lisbon's shocked by the pure rage, and pure hate she can hear. "Just like my old man. Too arrogant to know what's good for him, and you know what, Mr. Jane? I'm gonna confess to killing that damn bitch, but you know what, I'm gonna kill you first because we could have gotten out scot free if it wasn't for you –"
"Oh, Colby you know that's not true –"
"It would have been true, but you ruined it. So I'm gonna kill you for it."
"Colby, you were planning to flee to Mexico with your brother, days after his wife had been found dead, how would that have looked –"
"It would have worked!" Colby shouts, the windows that make up her office shake, just barely at the volume and intensity of the confession, and in the wake of it all a gunshot follows.
Panic floods her system, followed by fear and sadness so intense she hadn't felt it since her mother's funeral. She hears a strangled wail and realizes distantly that the noise came from her, her fingers twitch as she stretches for her gun. She listens as the door of her office opens and shuts, anger bleeding in as she reaches for her gun, her hands shaking, but her mind's foggy and her thoughts are jumbled and she can't – she can't, he can't be dead.
Brown loafers come into view, and as hope flickers in her chest the shoes morph to the ugliest reality she's ever seen. A brown pair of converse, beaten up along the soles, the edges of the laces ripped and ragged; they're so ugly to her because they aren't Jane's shoes.
He kicks the gun away from her reach, and she can't lift her head to look him in the eye, no, she can't move at all.
"Have a good day, Agent Lisbon." Is all he says, and then he's gone.
She thrives in the silence of those words; she blinks.
"Jane?" She croaks, her mouth feels numb when she speaks; her tongue too big and the word comes out slurred. Silence is all that follows, silence, and the hum of elevator; a noise that will forever mark the end of her world. She hears it ding softly as the doors slide open, she hears muffled voices and then the elevator dings again; it hum's once more as it begins its decent.
Silence and footsteps, then the sound of a Styrofoam cup hitting the office floor. "Boss!" It's Cho.
She thinks distantly, that's the most emotion she's ever heard in his voice. His shoes come into view, shiny and black and then they rush into movement so fast it makes her head spin, and the next thing she knows there's a hand on her shoulder. "Boss." He growls, but the sight of him morphs and blurs, and he sounds like he's so far away, she's miles underwater and he's above the surface, shouting her name.
She blinks, her mind seems slower than before, she feels the calm she often gets as she drifts off to sleep and panic floods system and rushes through her veins like icy water. "Jane." She blurts, emotions drench her tone, the horror she feels makes her cotton tongue move and form the words.
"In my office – is he dead –"
Cho looks hesitant as he blooms once more into focus, but he stands and she can hear the soft tick of her office door opening, she doesn't want to hear it anymore though so halfway through the noise she begins to speak. "It was Colby – he killed Patricia, not his brother –"She swallows around the metallic taste in her mouth; more obvious than before.
"Is he dead?" She asks again, "Cho? Is Jane dead?" She tries to move; but she can't. She's stuck lying on her back, and it feels like years are passing with every second.
"You son of a bitch." Is Cho's response after what could have been a decade, or a life time, enough time for her to have died and been born again; and even though she's fighting it, the words morph and blur together, forming rubbish to her ears as her vision dances in front of her and then like a curtain dropping at the end of a play, it's all gone.
He'll admit it later; that he didn't think anything off it when he saw Colby Bate walk into the elevator and give him a small smile and say good morning, didn't think of anything off it when the man told him to have a good day; he assumed that the man was there to thank Jane and Lisbon for catching his sister-in-law's killer.
Didn't think anything off it till he walked down the hall and saw Lisbon laying on front of her office; blood pouring from a wound to the head, hand out stretched for where her gun lay several feet away, the other arm curled underneath her side like a broken wing; her legs lay unmoving except for the occasional twitch of her foot.
Then it all clicks together, why Colby Bate was here; and for a split second, as he hears himself yell for his boss, for a split second he debates turning around and stopping the elevator or running for the nearest flight of stairs to catch the bastard but within that second's death he accepts that Lisbon is more important, and that Colby will undoubtedly turn himself in.
So he rushes forward, ignoring his coffee which he hadn't realized fell from his grip and too her side, rolling her over and imidetly looking at her eyes – she blinks, much to his relief, her green eyes are wide, a sharp contrast to her incredibly pale face; she's in shock.
"Boss." He says again and she stares up at him, blinking again.
"Jane." She responds, and for another moment he fears that she's lost it, lost it and is thinking that he's Jane, and after that he wonders where the hell Jane is; but knows the answer in the back of his mind, probably dead somewhere in the building or outside dumped in a trash can.
But she answers all the questions that had been building up like a barricade inside, "In my office – Is he dead?" He can see the fear in her eyes as she stares up at him, looking through him. He hesitates, his eyes flickering to the wound and bruises; slowly migrating across the left side of her face, looks at the locks of brown hair tainted black with dried blood, and then he goes.
He pushes open her office slowly; bracing himself for a sight he had long ago told himself was inedible.
Jane's body.
Whether it be beneath a red smiley face, or laying in a street, or laying on the floor with a bullet lodged in his head.
He knew it was inedible, but he never expected Jane's story to end by bleeding out on the floor of Teresa Lisbon's office.
But it happened anyway, he can hear Lisbon's voice; explaining what happened, even though he's already put the pieces together, he can hear the silence, and then her questions asking if the man she loves is dead.
"You son of a bitch," He says more to himself than the woman outside as he stares at Jane, who is laying at the side of her desk, his blue-green eyes fixed on the ceiling, blood trailing from the edges of his mouth; his chest is still, he remains unmoving.
He waits for a snarky remark.
Silence is all he gets; several seconds tick by, Lisbon doesn't speak, he doesn't speak.
He turns, about to go and face the end, when he's stopped by a sudden voice and sharp inhale. "Good morning to you too Cho," His voice is ragged and slurred, but very much alive. He coughs, "Sorry about this, biofeedback isn't meant to be used to play dead."
Cho turns once more; and for a second he wants to punch Jane in the face, but he can't, so instead he removes his shirt and ignores Jane's raised eyebrow, walks over and presses the balled up cloth to the most inflicting wound. Jane flinches and grinds his teeth, hissing out a profanity and then several more. "Lisbon called an ambulance earlier," He chokes out, "Is she –"He looks up at Cho and Cho glances and him, surprised to see the raw emotions on the other man's face; fear in the way his eyebrows pinch tighter, unstoppable rage lingering beneath the surface by the way his jaw is clenched and the darkness in his eyes despite the well lit room; and the over powering love in his voice.
"She's fine." He answers, "She was asking about you." He pauses, pressing harder against the wound, "Can you get up?" He asks.
Jane attempts, squirming on the floor, he inhales sharply and sinks once more to the floor. "No." He exhales, "But Lisbon –"
"She's fine. How many times were you shot?"
"Three." He answers, the first two were obvious; his shoulder, beneath his shoulder a few inches in his chest. "He grazed me," And with a free hand he gestures to his head; Cho's eyes go wide and Jane gives a chuckle, hissing seconds after the sound escapes. "Now Teresa,"
"Is fine."
Jane glares at him, full on glares, the glare normally reserved for the woman in question, but this time there is no humor in his eyes, no affection; only a harsh light in his eyes that's normally reserved for disgusting suspects. "Kimball,"
"Jane, using first names isn't going to get me to give you info. Now don't die." He stands and walks from the room and ignores Jane's protests.
"Cho! Cho you can't just leave me here! Cho! Cho, I'll die!"
"Use some biofeedback to stay alive then." He replies and walks over to Lisbon, checks for a pulse; which he finds hammering away on the skin of her neck, incredibly steady. He hesitates for a second and then bends to pick up his boss, finding the task incredibly easy and heads down the hall.
The elevator door dings after nearly a minute to reveal Van Pelt and Rigsby. "There's an ambulance out front what do you think happened?" Rigsby's asking, and as the doors slide open to reveal Cho, who's still shirtless, holding Lisbon.
He gets his answer.
He steps into the elevator, "Colby Bate. Now Jane is alive, in Lisbon's office, keep him talking Van Pelt. Rigsby go with her. I've got this." His team mates stare at him; he ignores the way Van Pelt's eyes begin to gloss over. "Go!" He snaps and the two dash from the elevator, making a run for Lisbon's office.
Rigsby collides with the door as he flings it open, the first thing he see's is the familiar pair of brown loafers and black suit pants. What he sees next is something he never could have prepared for.
He takes a few steps into the room, slowly, he takes in the sight of the blood pooling on the floor; and the man who's the cause of it, his face incredibly pale, his hair plastered to the side of his head, which is lifted slightly off the floor despite the obvious strain to keep it that way. His right hand presses against a section on his chest, almost limp, the shoulder of his suit a dark, obviously wet, red mess.
His chest rises slowly as he stares at his team mates, a grin sliding across his face, next to Rigsby, Van Pelt inhales sharply, a gasp snaking past her lips and something close to a possible sob following.
"Good morning." He says.
This is followed by Rigsby ripping off his blazer and striding over, balling it up and pressing it against Jane's shoulder; he groans at the contact and his head falls back against the floor, his chest sinks with what could only be relief. "Damn." He exhales, "Grace," He continues and the woman in question is shaking where she stands. "Grace." He repeats and the woman goes rigid and strides forward, walking around the desk and kneeling at the side Jane's head, his eyes following her as she moves. Her hands flutter in her lap and she swallows and the gloss in her gaze melts and her finger tips dance across the side of his head, he hisses and attempts to turn away. She grabs his good shoulder and holds him in his place. "I need to see the damage." She snaps at him.
"It's just a graze," Jane argues.
"Or you could just be running off adrenalin and have a bullet lodged in your brain." Grace replies.
Jane shakes his head with a small smile on his lips and she takes the opportunity to get a better look, gently probing some of the sticky curls, stopping before any fresh blood can escape the wound. She then reaches and moves Jane's hand from where it's resting over Cho's shirt and presses down with it, ignoring Jane's startled yelp and the words that follow.
However it's rather hard to ignore the whimper and the inhale, the sigh that follows, how it sounds like defeat; and is so often found on the lips of dying men.
"The ambulance is here, so don't think like that." Rigsby says and Jane snorts.
"Think like what?" He asks, rolling his eyes, which are the only source of color in his features other than the small red veins in the whites of his eyes.
"Like you're gonna die Jane, I don't want some sort of death bed confession from you now especially when I don't have anything to record it with."
Jane snorts, "I wouldn't give you a death bed confession, Rigsby. You've got nothing to worry about."
"So who would you give one too?" Grace asks and both pairs of eyes move to her.
"You already know the answer to that." Jane answers softly.
Grace snorts and gives a soft chuckle, "Oh please, that's just office gossip." She looks at him with a soft smile. "Now, if I wear to get some info from a reliable source, it wouldn't be."
Jane blinks at her, "Okay, it may not be office gossip to anyone on our team, but to the rest of the CBI it is." He tries.
She stares at him for several seconds.
"That's pathetic Jane, even for you." She's slowly applying more pressure to the wound; the blood is slowly draining to a halt.
"Well, excuse me dear," He says sarcastically "but you're not the woman any death bed confession from me is for." She raises an eyebrow at him and he pouts, "Sorry. It's a bit hard to think at the moment." He adds, puckering his lips slightly.
"Your past two sentences have made little to no sense Jane, that's a record for you." Rigsby says with a smile and Jane rolls his eyes, glaring at the other agent.
"So who would you give one too?" Grace asks again, watching him intently, his blue-green eyes flick to her and she holds his gaze. His expression crumbles; humor vanishing with hesitation and resentment taking its place, "Well common, you can tell us."
"You already know."
"Say it out loud."
He snorts.
"Lisbon."
Grace looks over at Rigsby, "You owe Cho ten bucks when this is all over."
"Now, I didn't say anything along the lines of that Grace." Jane comments, looking over at Rigsby, "You're betting for a declaration of love?" He asks.
Rigsby looks rather sheepish but nods, "Something along the lines of that, or some sort of action. I said no way it would happen, Cho disagrees."
Jane nods and looks at Grace. "You?" He asks.
She simply smiles.
"Well," He chimes, his gaze moving from the both of them back to the ceiling and he says it on an exhale. "I love Teresa Lisbon."
Silence is all that follows.
He breaks it.
"So, you owe Cho ten bucks," He looks at Rigsby who's looking nothing less than pleased and a little sad.
Jane looks over at Grace and remains silent, she nods and smiles at him; something unspoken passes between them.
"I will." She says and he smiles back, the smile slowly morphing into a grin. "But you'll get the chance to say it first." The grin falls to a look of terror and Rigsby snorts.
"You big coward." He chuckles, the elevator dings further down the hall.
"You wanna talk about coward's Rigsby?" Jane chimes, pulling the man back into the conversation when he begins to rise to see who's excited from the elevator. "How long did it take for you to tell Van Pelt? Hmm? How long did it take for you to kiss her, and by the way, what makes you think I haven't already told Lisbon?"
"You interrupted our first kiss." Grace confesses with humor in her gaze, and Jane shrugs; groaning at the pain the movement brings.
"Because you're too much of a coward to tell her." Rigsby answers.
The sound of rushed footsteps is heard and paramedic's appear at the door; within seconds Jane is on the gurney, an oxygen mask on his mouth, Rigsby and Van Pelt still with him; apply pressure to the wounds as the paramedic's dash down the hall once more.
Jane stares at Van Pelt till she lifts the mask and sets it on his chin.
"I told her." He says softly, and then his gaze moves to the ceiling as it whizzes by "Then later acted like I'd forgotten." He states and with a soft chuckle continues, "I told her I was a little hyped up at the moment and asked her what I had said." Rigsby snorts.
"Coward." He says.
Grace just smiles.
AN'S:
I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M DOING ANYMORE.
IS THIS COMPLETE?
WHERE IS THIS GOING?
I DON'T KNOW ANYMORE.
I JUST LIKE WRITING PEOPLE GETTING SHOT, AND I DO IT BADLY.
I APOLOGIZE FOR THOSE WHO ARE READING POSTHUMOUSLY, I'VE HAD TO RESTART THAT CHAPTER THREE TIMES BECAUSE I KEEP THINKING OF BETTER WAYS TO WRITE IT.
GOD I CAN'T WRITE.
I love all of you.
Please review, let me know what you thought/think of this, if the characters were in character and such.