I had a nightmare the other night about Red John killing my best friend. I'm pretty sure it was punishment from the tv gods for getting re-addicted to The Mentalist. Or, punishment for ever getting un-addicted. Either way, this is a one-shot attempt to appease them for my behavior. Hope it appeases you to.
This whole damn thing reeked of Jane. She had no idea why, but where there was any way Patrick Jane could be involved, Lisbon had learned to trust her gut. And her gut said it was him.
The new boss had called her in, exchanged pleasantries, then told her the Red John case was being transferred to the local branch of the FBI. Then ... well, then there had been yelling. Lisbon had meant to use the stubborn and forceful tone that worked so well for her, but then the yelling happened and she wasn't sure how. (If she had paused for a moment she would have noticed her abrupt disdain for authority was another thing that stank of Jane.) She wasn't sure what she said, but she knew it was something about four agents dying because Red John wanted Jane on this case. How many agents did the FBI want to lose to Red John's obsession?
Then, the new boss had said something that made her instincts stop and stare. The FBI didn't need to worry about that because Jane was transferring with the file. But, the FBI didn't like consultants, especially consultants like Jane. They detested them for the press they drew, and Jane did nothing but draw press. And yet, for some reason someone had pulled major strings to get Jane. But somehow she knew that those strings had been pulled because Jane asked them to be.
Details she'd barely been noticing over the last few weeks began sticking out in her mind. She'd walked in on a conversation between her agents a few days ago where Rigsby had been ranting about how, "Jane was acting, almost ... human."
"Rigsby!" Van Pelt stopped Rigsby to scold him for being so crass about it.
"What? It's true! He closed his eyes and bowed his head the last time you prayed over dinner. Cho, he didn't say what it meant about you that you're dating a blonde. And the other day he told a story about his mom and his grandma. I mean, he called his grandma Buggy! He was being like a regular guy. Well, as regular as Jane gets."
"It *was* sort of odd how that he shared a story about himself. I mean, that he shared it just with us and not to make a victim fell comfortable." Rigsby nodded at Van Pelt, happy that it wasn't just him seeing it.
"Exactly! And now he's completely stopped talking. He doesn't even pull tricks anymore. He's completely professional, and it's weird."
A call had come in then, sending the unit out and interrupting the group effort to figure out what had made Jane switch personalities so many times in a few weeks. They were right though; he'd gone from Regular Jane who made them feel like puppets, to Obsessed Jane (right up until Cho had almost gotten shot when Jane had been too busy thinking about Red John to notice the violent tendencies of their suspect), but then he'd come around to the Open Jane that they'd only seen glimpses of before.
It had all been going perfectly, until three days ago. Jane started coming in on time, filing out his paperwork in a professional and predictable way, and leaving when he had no work left to do. He didn't play games, he didn't bring donuts, he didn't tease Lisbon. He sat at his desk, and strangest of all, he didn't get that feral spark to his eyes when he looked at the Red John files.
Jane had come back from his coffee run yesterday and put everyone's coffee gently down on their desks without interrupting their work with speeches about why he'd gotten Van Pelt steamed milk instead of Black with cream and two sugars because he could tell she was trying to cut back on her caffeine, or that Rigsby got a shot of caramel because Jane knew Van Pelt preferred that aftertaste to straight Black, or that Cho had two shots because his date had gone well the night before and he'd been out late.
The little things that were still so terribly Jane were why she had thought he hadn't checked out completely, that he was just going through a funk. Until this.
And now she was bursting out of her new boss's office, trying to figure out how to un-blackmail whatever official Jane had blackmailed to get this done. And what colossal lapse in judgment had made him do it.
"JANE!" Lisbon stormed out of the office and went straight for the blonde consultant who was pretending not to be waiting for her to yell at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Jane?"
"Just today, or in general?"
"You got the Red John case transferred to the FBI! And I don't even want to know what sort of blackmail you had on a federal official to get this transferred, but use your damn blackmail and get it transferred back!"
"What makes you think that I..."
"JANE! Get. It. Transferred. Back."
"But Boss, why would Jane want the file transferred? He likes it here, and there's no way the Feebs could do a better job than us." Despite his years on the job, Rigsby's shock at the sudden burst of yelling made him seem terribly young, and under normal circumstances Lisbon would've fought a smile at his stalwart belief in Jane being more attached to them then he let on.
"Rigsby's right, Boss, it doesn't make any sense."
"No, it makes perfect sense. You're not guilty about anything, and you don't think they'll have any better luck catching him. And you don't want to go. You may never have meant to get so attached to this job, but you did. And you got attached to us. We're the closest thing to family you've got left, so you're not doing this because it's what you want."
Jane jolted up from his chair like he'd been woken out of a dream, and threw on his jacket as he made for the door. Lisbon grabbed his arm and wrenched him around, "No, Jane. Before you take off I want to know what the hell has you so scared!"
He didn't tell her she was wrong. He was more than willing to mislead her, and to piss her off, but to out and out lie to Lisbon was something Jane didn't have the stomach for.
"Hand it over, Jane."
"Lisbon ..."
"Patrick." Van Pelt stifled a gasp at the unprecedented use of a first name. "Whatever he's got on you, I want to see it. If you want us to just shut up about it and let you hide like the pansy you are, then I wanna know why."
Jane just sighed. He had showed a card he didn't mean to when he shot Sheriff Hardy to save Lisbon. She meant more to him than his hate. None of them knew what that would really turn out to mean, but they knew how this dance was going to end. Jane tucked his hand under his vest and pulled a battered piece of paper out of his breast pocket.
The team could tell from the worn edges of the paper that Jane had folded and unfolded this sheet more times in the last three days then he would ever admit to. "I took it to the new girl in forensics, and she didn't find anything."
"Why didn't she report it?"
"Because I'm charming."
"No you're not. You just think you are."
"Same thing."
Lisbon unwrapped the paper with little regard for how much she could see Jane wished he'd burned the stupid thing before Lisbon found out about it. The team snuck around Lisbon's shoulders to read while she did.
Dear Mister Jane,
After all this time I thought I had made you into a man instead of a pathetic worm. All that pain was supposed to make you better, but now I can see it's only made you worse. You've been so crass as to replace the family I took. I'm disappointed in you Patrick. This is something I shall have to fix.
Jane tugged the note out of Lisbon's hands and tucked it back into his pocket while the team just stared. "He wants this fight to be just him and me. I can make it him and me, or he can."
"Well Jane, we have a problem then. Cause I'm not gonna let you kill yourself to catch him, and that's the only way you running off to the FBI to stick your head in the sand is only going to end. So you're going to call your source and you are going to get this undone."
"I can't do that Lisbon!"
"I'm saying please here, Jane."
"He WILL kill you, Lisbon! He will make it ugly, and he will make it slow. "
Lisbon let that hang in the air for a pregnant pause, making Jane and his rage wait until she had his complete attention. "Everybody dies, Jane. I'd rather I die old and in my bed, but dying for your family isn't such a bad way to go. Get it transferred back, and stop being such a baby about it."
Jane just stood there as Lisbon walked away to the kitchen to get coffee. Like her life just hadn't been marked by a serial killer. Van Pelt smiled at Jane for a moment before kissing him on the cheek and whispering to him, "Sorry, but you're stuck with us," and followed after Lisbon.
Cho and Rigsby stood there shoulder to shoulder for an extra moment before Rigsby just shrugged and smacked Jane on the shoulder in a brotherly way. "Eh, you wouldn't have caught him with the FBI anyway. Don't worry about it." Rigsby followed Van Pelt to the kitchen.
The stern line to Cho's forehead was extra firm at this moment, which was the only way Jane knew Cho was worried. "He's really after the Boss, not us. We're just tools to get her. And she's a tool to get you."
He gave Jane a moment to not bring himself to respond, and then Cho nodded. "Red John is a bastard, but he's smart. Whether you go or not, he'll still hunt her. He knows how you feel about her, better than you do. Might as well stay and protect her rather than leave her for him."
"Jane! Make the call, then come and get your tea. We've got places to be." Lisbon's shout came from the kitchen while Rigsby and Van Pelt loitered near the door, trying not to look like they were nervous about what Jane would do.
Cho reached to the desk behind Jane and handed him the phone. "Make the call, Jane. Only way you're going to stop him." Cho held the phone out to Jane, and met his eyes for a long and heavy moment, communicating as best he could that this couldn't be about Jane's hate anymore. He had to stay, not to avenge death, but to protect life. That's what mattered now -- life.
Jane dialed.