The Thoughts of Inmate 1793
Post Strawberries and Cream. Jane's thoughts after he was arrested for the murder of Red John. SPOILERS if you haven't watched yet.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine
It was silent at night here; usually he liked silence, it was better for thinking, but here it seemed different. It was an invading silence. It surrounded you and overwhelmed you and was somehow loud. It echoed against the empty walls, through the pitch black and the stench of unthinkable numbers of men cooped up together in overcrowded cells, and emphasized every little noise – the grumbling snore of the hijacker across the way; the buzzing of a wayward fly; the odd car that zoomed past the prison on the highway.
It was one of the worst things for him. The absolute silence.
Another thing: here he wasn't Patrick Jane anymore.
He was Inmate 1793. Or at least that was the nicest of the things he was called.
Last time he was in prison he knew it was only temporary – as if Lisbon would've let him stay. He knew that eventually she'd decide the lesson he wouldn't learn in the first place wasn't worth it, and she'd cash in that endless supply of chips she had with Bosco and get him out. So, knowing this, he had fun with it. He charmed the criminals around him and established himself as a noteworthy presence – if not in physical stance or intimidation, then in mental capabilities – and he became a quick favourite.
This time there's a definite possibility of twenty-five to life.
And it was definitely not the fun little game it was before.
He couldn't charm the orange-clad masses with magic tricks anymore. In fact he didn't think he had enough left in him to lift his head and speak.
He wasn't Patrick Jane anymore.
He was an empty shell.
An empty shell called Inmate 1793.
How had he thought he'd feel after killing Red John? Fulfilled? Maybe. Though he's been told time after time by suspects that it doesn't happen that way.
And by Lisbon, of course.
She was always on a mission for his soul. It was a hopeless mission, and he questions her judgment for taking it on in the first place, but that was just her. Determined, sainted Teresa Lisbon.
How he missed her.
The team, badges displayed and with the words "CBI business" used much more loosely than probably appropriate, had come to visit him when he was first taken into custody. She was absent – she only sent an excuse saying she was feeling bad from her pain meds for her bullet wound in the shoulder, and a blueberry muffin in a bag.
Even now, lost in his thoughts, lying on the thin mattress of the bottom bunk in his icy cell, he almost smiles at the gesture.
After he received (and thoroughly enjoyed) the delicious blueberry muffin, he tried to call her. He told the guard it was his lawyer's assistant and he needed to arrange another meeting before the hearing.
But after several long rings, when he heard her voice, it was in the form of a recorded message. Voicemail.
He didn't hang up; he listened to her voice politely tell him to leave a message after the beep, and then hung up.
That seemed enough for the moment, hearing her voice, but by that night he realized it wasn't.
He missed her.
He missed a lot of things from the outside – he missed his couch, a decent cup of tea, he missed closed case pizza with the team – but most of all, he missed her.
Of course he knew all along that Lisbon meant more to him than the average boss. Or the average friend.
Only a few days before he was arrested, he had tried to tell her just that. When he was struggling to unlock the door to find Gupta and get that damned bomb off of her...
And when he saw her in that pink bridesmaid's dress in her office; that must've been one of the most revealing moments for him in their relationship. Sure, through the years there had been several moments where he had scolded himself and questioned how deeply his feelings for the green-eyed firecracker ran, but this one had been a particularly intense one. When he opened that door and saw her dressed so daintily and femininely his breath was stolen away from him. It was obvious that she felt very uncomfortable in the dress, but that made her look just that more endearing and adorable...
Of course, at the time, they'd been knee-deep in the great finale of his cat-and-mouse game with Red John. There'd been no time to fawn over her beauty, to make a decision on how to act on his ever-increasing feelings.
So he ignored the intensifying tugging at his heartstrings and threw himself into the mission of catching Red John. He faltered only once, briefly; when he heard, over the phone, how she got shot. His heart beat so hard he thought it might jump out of his throat; his blood went icy in his veins; his brain shut down so that the only things that were left were his heaving breaths and the faint voices over the static of the phone. He listened intently, silent, waiting for some sign that the seemingly-invincible Teresa Lisbon would survive a life-threating situation once again.
A portentous chill slipped over his spine even now, thinking of those terrible moments, hanging onto the phone praying to anyone and everyone he could think of that she'd just be okay.
In those moments the only thought that passed through his mind was: What would I do without her?
Of course soon, once he heard her voice over the phone again, alive and mostly okay, and the shock faded, his thoughts were redirected back to the Red John investigation and the fact that he was sitting only tables away from him.
Now look where he was: alone, cold, and in chains. And missing her more than he could ever admit out loud.
He might not ever see her again. Maybe he'd catch a glimpse of her big, sad, green eyes in the crowd of the courtroom at his hearing. If she comes.
How had he not have considered her stunningly green eyes in the equation?
How much he would miss her.
He wouldn't go as far as to say he wouldn't have killed Red John. He would've forever hated himself if he kept himself from killing Red John.
But this was just one of those situations where whatever he done, he would've lost.
Of course he didn't realize that losing her would be quite so devastating.
How terrible all the regrets would become in such a short time.
Not kissing her in one of those lovely, tension-filled moments where she was standing just a little bit closer than was appropriate in a working relationship.
Not telling her that he loved her when they were unlocking the door to Gupta, or any of the other million opportunities he had.
Not working harder to get himself to accept her mission of redeeming him.
Not letting himself acknowledge the fact that he was so deeply in love with Teresa Lisbon.
Hmm... So that didn't go at all the way I thought it would. But you know, these oneshots just write themselves. I know I should be working on Mrs Teresa Riley – I wanted to do one more chapter before I fly off to the great unknown, but hey. Life's unexpected.
Much love, Zanny