AN: A little and late tag to 6x19 Brown Eyed Girls. Dedicating this one to all the Twitter Mentalista Queens, a lovely bunch! If you like this fic, you might like to check out an old one of mine, 'Wondering' in which I use the same trope. It's Jane/Lisbon from Cho's perspective and Cho has to count for something in coolness stakes! Enough about that one though, and I'll hope you enjoy this one! Please review :)
Jane
The image of them leaving, leaving together, leaving him alone, haunts him; and haunts him not for the first time either.
He'd watched them leaving together, couldn't tear away his gaze: his hand at the small of her back, where his own used to go. Where on a good day, he'd feel her press back into his touch, just a fraction, and he'd let his hand linger there, just a smidge too long. Not long enough.
The image is burned onto the back of his mind when he closes his eyes. It's what has been lost to him.
His mind lingers on her last look around before she'd disappeared from sight. He couldn't read her expression. Fear? Regret? Worst of all, pity?
He wonders what that means to him, for him. He wonders on this as if he is detached from the situation altogether, as if he is disconnected wholly from her, as if it is already too late. He wonders is it. He wonders.
Abbott
The image of his newest agent behind the elevator's closing doors is what he's thinking about, instead of focusing on the forms in front of him. She'd looked so lost, almost childlike. Torn might be a good word for the emotions crossing her face, he thinks, on reflection. He'd heard the rumour and had seen no reason not to address it with her. He was forthright like that; upfront. He never saw a reason not to be. And Lisbon was the one involved here.
Except it wasn't just her who was involved. Despite the fact Abbot was delighted to have her on his team, there was no escaping the fact that her way in here had been Jane. On his terms, both literally and figuratively. But the power lay with her now.
There was no denying what consequences might lie in the balance of her hands. If she stayed, nothing would change. If she left – Abbot wonders just how long Jane would stick around to play his game of deals and terms without his Queen on this chessboard they called the FBI. He wonders how long. He wonders.
Cho
The image is stuck in his head, a caricature of itself. Three agents, two women and a man, draped over the water cooler gossiping about how that new Agent Lisbon, yes, her, the one who came with him, yes, him, Patrick Jane, will more than likely leaving for Washington, and soon.
He'd given them a look, just long enough for them to notice, just long enough to make them uncomfortable, before he'd returned to his desk. It's not the first he'd heard of the rumour, but he was beginning to consider the possibility that there might be some truth behind it.
It doesn't surprise him that she hasn't mentioned it to him yet. He's not offended. He's sure she will. She trusts his opinion, will be sure to ask his opinion on this eventually, but he's not surprised. She's an intensely private person, always has been, all the years he's known her. And he's known her a long, long time. Longer than anyone. Longer than Jane. Jane. What about Jane? Cho wonders what he will say when she quietly asks for that word in private, asks him to share his thoughts with her. He wonders what he should say. He wonders.
Lisbon
The image of his fallen face is what she recalls that night. His realisation of the implications of what she was telling him and the alarm growing in his eyes. A deer caught in panic in the pool of headlights, knowing it's too late.
But it's not too late. She hasn't given Marcus an answer yet. If Jane wanted her, she would be his by tomorrow. But at worst, he doesn't want her, and at best, doesn't know if he wants her; and she knows that's not a good enough reason to slam on the brakes. The impact is coming, and she can't avoid it. No matter what she does, hearts will be shattered, everything will be up in the air, and everything will fall mercilessly to the ground.
Or she could swerve. For, despite appearances, she still has a choice, she reminds herself, and so has he. The obstacle still lies ahead of her, not behind. She wonders what he will do. She wonders what she will do. She wonders.