I know a lot of us are worried about Jane's relationship with Lorelei and how it impacts on his relationship ( what ever that is ;-) with Lisbon, so I thought I have a go at putting down what I hope he feels. Probably way off the mark... but we shall see...
Obviously all the usual disclaimers apply!
Patrick Jane had time on his hands. Time when the world slept and he didn't. It was both a curse and a blessing. A time when he did some of his best thinking and thought some of his worst thoughts.
Time is an enigma, he mused as he stood motionless and alone, hands stuffed firmly into the pockets of his jacket.
Time… infinite, stretching on into the forever, yet gone, with a snap of the fingers, in the blink of an eye.
He had been there, alone yet not lonely, gazing out over the silent and familiar rooftops, wide sleepless eyes watching as each tiny pinprick of starlight was eclipsed, gone, in the blink of an eye, dissolved into the watery light of tomorrow's pale rosy dawn.
He counted each star as it disappeared,
one hundred and ninety,
one hundred and ninety one,
one hundred and ninety two…one following the other, as inevitable as his own sorry destiny.
Twinkles of hopefulness, every on of them individually extinguished by the beginning of another long day of frustrating hopelessness.
That's what she had seen in him…'childish hopefulness…adorable'…
One hundred and ninety three…
His mind drifted to his immediate problem.
Who was he kidding, it never left his mind …Lorelei.
The thing that was really screwing with his insides was his reaction to Lorelei and the emotions his 'relationship' with her had stirred up.
God, how his heart ached. How he ached to share those feelings. To be honest for once.
Of course you could say he had been honest about those feelings where Red John had been concerned, all too painfully so, and with the one person he wanted to be fully honest with., but what he felt about Red John went without saying, they'd addressed the matter ad nauseam. But he should have been able to be honest about everything that was in his heart.
At least with her.
The butterfly that was his mind settled back down not on Lorelei but on Lisbon.
Of course he had expected to have to deal with flack from her, knew that she'd feel betrayed by his disappearance and angered by whatever she surmised ( and what she now knew) had been his conduct with RJ's woman. He did realise that she held a deep affection for him, that they were more than just team members or even boss and ….but that she would miss him so much….how had he been so blind?
The veil had been lifted though, when she had subjected him to that passionate tirade in the church. It had been so much more than mere professional indignation. A fleeting glimmer of amusement graced his worn features as it dawned on him that the all seeing, all knowing Patrick Jane had known but hadn't seen at all…..dismissing texts and voicemails in his blinkered devotion to his mission. He had known bt had not seen, he had refused to see. But that night he had been made to face what he had done to her. She had moved him to say sorry. Twice. And to mean it. Theresa Lisbon had missed him more that his blinkered vision would allow him to acknowledge.
He recalled how thrilled he had been at the sight of his little ball of fire as he popped up from between the pews and the same smile that he had worn in that moment spread across his face. He had missed her but had conned himself that it was the annoying, always on his back, by the book agent he had missed ….until that night when he saw what he meant to her and felt what she meant to him. It had scared him that he hadn't been aware of the depths of despair his absence had plunged her into, it had thrown his senses into a spin and that frightening realisation that he had been suppressing the truth had spun dizzily around his brain just waiting for precisely the wrong moment for his subconscious to allow it to come bubbling to the surface.
It had forced him into revealing, in that one stressful moment, what he had kept so well hidden from her and moreover …..from himself….the one truth that should have remained secret….
Love you Theresa.
Twinkle, twinkle…..
One hundred and ninety five….
One hundred and ninety six…
Lorelei. His problem was Lorelei, yet he'd ended up obsessing about Lisbon.
Lorelei.
The thought brought sickening sensations of sheer panic and a thunderous pounding in his chest. His hands struggled to free themselves from the reassuring confines of his pockets as nausea forced him to steady himself, gripping the grubby sill and leaning against the cold glass of the window.
How could he forgive himself for his physical responses to her. It was only natural. He was after all mere flesh and blood. Like any other mortal man. Unforgivable all the same.
But surely six months in Vegas would do that to you. Months of waiting and brooding in another cheap hotel room, his only contacts marks, losers and barmaids. Swallowing back another drink he didn't really want and certainly didn't need. Smiling another smile he didn't feel. All the while missing the only friends he had. Missing Lisbon and praying… yes, praying, that they'd forgive him, that she'd forgive him….
It had been no wonder that his body and soul craved human contact and a caring touch and bitterly he regretted that Red John had seized this God given opportunity to punish his adversary by using the frailty of desire to move the game forward. Why did his messenger have to be this woman.
Of course he'd expected something like this from such a twisted mind. He'd spotted her as the likely key to open up negotiations, but it wasn't until his fondly held (but irrational) hope that Theresa would be the one to bail him out from his superbly engineered spell in a jail cell had been dashed, that he had been certain. He had steeled himself with a swig of dutch courage and waited, sure that he would be able to close down his emotions and just get the job done. And sure enough she had arrived at his door with soup and a smile.
He remembered the softness of her warm flesh, her gentle caress and how hard it had been to separate himself from what had to be done, to play the game, and how he had felt so guilty waking refreshed from sleep induced by the exertion of doing something he hadn't done for so long.
He remembered forcing himself not to cry out the names of the faces he saw as he lay in the arms of his enemy's woman, his body enjoying the blessed release from his denial, willing himself to give a convincing performance. He was strong. He could do it. But those faces had haunted him. Angela, beautiful Angela. Of course. But even stronger, glowing and pricking his conscience in the dark, Lisbon. He had been very, very strong.
He remembered her soothing voice, her caring ministrations, just having a body lying next to his own. Watching TV, soup, cups of tea and eggs in the morning.
He remembered accepting it all, playing his part until he had got what he wanted. Confirmation.
Then he had let his mask fall, had thrown her out.
He remembered his final victory as he slammed the door behind her. At last. The game was on.
It had all been worthwhile
But most of all he remembered the pain of the guilt of his physical reaction to her soft, smooth flesh and her tender kisses.
It made him feel sick.
And he knew he would do similar again. If he had to.
Nearly morning…so few sparks of hopefulness left…
So what next?
He had vowed to do anything to break her and she had called his bluff.
Why had he asked her 'is there anything you want?'
Because he had to
And he had kissed her…
Because he had to
So he had kissed her and if she asked him to do it again he would acquiesce, he would give her what she wanted. Kissing time. Ad infinitum,if necessary.
Until he got what he wanted.
For in his quest to rid his world of Red John time was truly infinite ….he would go on forever.
He would give Lorelei her kissing time.
Until it was done.
And NO…he would NOT kiss Theresa .
Until it was done.
But how long could Saint Theresa be expected to wait?
As Patrick raised his eyes to gain hope from the fading starlight, he felt the first hint of warmth from the fast rising sun and the overwhelming desire for a good cup of tea. Another night of not much sleep and even fewer answers, but at least he knew that the end game was no longer solely Red John, but his treasured, more than just a friend, Lisbon.
Bolstered by the need to make her waiting shorter, he slipped on his mask, donned his best all purpose smile and skipped downstairs to face another day.
So, let me know what you think.
I'd like to write more but plot and dialogue is not my forte, so anyone who has a plot they'd like me to tackle please feel free.