Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Warning: Death.
Spoilers: None.
Author: Spontaneouschocolaterabbits
A/N: I know that the show is American and I'm sorry for any English/British spellings or phrases.
Please enjoy.
Red John and Rigsby
She'll come around eventually, he knows this for sure. One day she'll come bounding up to him with her red hair bouncing and her cute smile and she'll say what he wants to hear, but until that day he's content to wait.
They've got a new case. Standard jealousy murder, takes Jane less than an hour to find the killer.
It's not the only thing he finds.
A small piece of white lined paper. Blank apart from a single red smiley face in the centre.
Red John's signature.
He's scared, but then so is everyone else. After all it's not everyday that a serial killer leaves you a note at a crime scene. Well it's only usually once every month anyway.
He's constantly on his guard, once Red John takes an interest in you then you're as good as dead. Although he's worried, it's not for himself, it's for her.
Everyone knows Red John likes females better.
They're at the office, trying to ignore the fact that they're marked for death, when Jane gets a phone call.
It's a plea for help, from a little girl.
They trace it, rush out immediately and find themselves outside an old, rundown house. A window opens slightly, and he spots a flash of silver, the sunlight reflecting off some kind of metal object.
A sniper.
He tries to warn his team, but it's too late.
There's a small pop, and he hopes and prays that it's not her, anyone but her.
He wonders why everyone has started looking at him. His legs buckle and he slips into darkness, he panics, as he remembers how he was so rushed.
How he forgot his bullet proof vest.
He wakes up in a clean white place that smells of disinfectant. His face wrinkles in disgust; a hospital.
The doctors tell him that he was shot, that the bullet just missed his heart and that he is lucky to be alive.
He doesn't feel lucky.
He hurts like hell, and breathing, such an everyday, natural reflex is now a strenuous task. If only the bullet had been a few inches higher, then the torment would stop, he would finally be at peace.
But he can't give in, for her sake. He sees that the pain in her eyes mirrors his, only hers is emotional.
He can't go until he knows for sure.
His breathing becomes laboured and heavy and the annoying beeping coming from a machine next to him speeds up. Spots appear in his eyesight as doctors and nurses rush frantically, trying to help, until they realise that he's to far gone, that there's nothing left that could help him now.
The team come in one by one, say a few words. The boss is close to hysterics, and even his usually emotionless best friend can't disguise his grief. Jane only nods, that one simple gesture filled with understanding and friendship.
Then she comes in, and he needs to do one last thing.
He leans over and quietly whispers three simple, beautiful words.
Tears fall down her face as she whispers the same words back.
He smiles, and stops struggling, because now he's heard those words he knows that he can die happy.
And he does.
