I took a nap this Sunday and my brain did a thing. A horrible horrible mentalist thing. I literally woke up crying and in a panic. So I had to write it down.
I do not own the mentalist
A Dream of Happiness
Jane has never felt this happy in his life. Glee bounds in his every step as he takes in his freshly painted house, ready for guests. Every light is on chasing away the darkness of the night outside. He practically bounces as he peers out the window. Charlotte will probably be home first. She'd promised to come home from her dance class early tonight. Hanging out with her dad just wasn't cool anymore, but she'd never miss a chance to have dinner with his partners in crime fighting. Like any teenager she mocked them all, but Jane knew how much she looked up to Grace and Lisbon.
The sound of tires on gravel startles him out of his thoughts and, barely able to keep from bounding, he eagerly saunters out the door. Madeline, Grace and Charlotte are chatting as they walk up the drive. Cho trails behind them, unwilling to be dragged into the conversation. They all smile as he graces them with his presence.
Well, okay, maybe Cho isn't smiling visibly. Jane is sure Cho is beaming on the inside.
Charlotte bounces up and wraps her arms around Jane's neck like the little girl she hadn't been for a while giggling as he whirls her around. She grabs his hand as they head towards the front door. She hasn't done that for a while, but today is a special day and even aloof nature of a teenager can take a break for a celebration.
He hesitates as they are walking in the foyer, "Where's Lisbon?"
Only Cho answers. The others already moved ahead. Cho shrugs and nods towards the side of the entry way. There's a slightly burnt, dirty manila envelope sitting on the foyer table. (Lisbon's hands are shaking as she sets the envelope on the table and flees the empty house)
Jane can hear the girls giggling in the background as he turns the envelope over in his hands. The lighthearted sound is uncharacteristic for both Grace and Madeline, but Charlotte had a way of making even the most somber of hearts forget themselves. He is so lucky to have her in his life.
He shakes his head and rips open the envelope's seal. Pictures come spilling out onto the table top, all printed in black and white. The photo is of Bertram and himself. Bertram is in an undershirt and Jane is wearing his customary suit vest sans jacket. They are smiling at the camera, beers in hand. He frantically shuffles through the photos. Stiles, Haffner, Bertram, Smith, McAllister and himself all smiling in the sort of snapshots more befitting a group of college students at a party than middle aged career men. A few photos contain Rigsby, Cho, or Grace along with a few faces he doesn't know.
An odd dread creeps over Jane's back as he stares at the innocuous folder. He needs Lisbon now.
The photos drop to the floor as Jane rushes to find the others calling for Lisbon as he searches. The girls are no longer there. There is only Cho standing in the living room as expressionless as ever. Desperately, Jane grabs Cho's shoulders.
"Where is Lisbon? Where is Lisbon? God, Cho, where is she?"
There is sound at the entrance of the room, and he whirls around to find a pale Lisbon looking more tentative than he'd ever seen her.
The dread disappears as quickly as it came, and he feels a smile pull at his cheeks. Lisbon was finally here! Absentmindedly, he notes the sound of Charlotte chatting with Grace in the dining room. He knew his daughter would be eager to see Teresa, but she would surely forgive him for taking a moment of Teresa's time for himself, wouldn't she?
He doesn't notice Lisbon flinching, glassy eyed, as Jane strides towards her with his arms outstretched and a manic grin on his face.
He leads her on the grand tour proudly showing off the wood work and furniture in his new home. He'd had her in mind when he'd bought the place. He'd thought about her the whole time he'd been shopping for furniture, painting the walls, and picking out the cupboards. He knew she'd love the blue color scheme, the wide windows, and the shear curtains. She is quiet the whole time shuffling along expressionless, but he doesn't mind. Still, this is a time of celebration, and he wants her to be happy. He gives her his most charming smile, and nudges her with his elbow.
"Hey, cheer up, this is a party. Charlotte's going to tease you for being a grumpy face if she sees you like this. She and Grace have been looking forward to seeing you out of work for a while now, you know. They're conspiring in the dining room if you want to join them."
They've come to a pause in the foyer, and she's been staring at the photos strewn across the floor. As he speaks, she looks up and something in her face seems to break, raw pain replacing the blank expression she's been wearing the whole evening.
"Conspiring in the… God, Jane, how can you… Jane, it isn't real. None of this is real!"
He furrows is brows, starting to become concerned. Perhaps he hasn't been taking care of her enough. Had he teased her into eating a muffin with him this morning? Checked to make sure she had eaten lunch?
"They're dead, Jane! There is no party! Grace and Kimball aren't waiting in another room! It isn't real because they're dead, Jane! God, they're all dead."
Reality seems to waver. The beautiful marble foyer is replaced by the entry way of his Malibu house, white sheets covering the furniture. Charlotte is not in the dining room, excited to gossip with one of the women she admires on her father's team. The house is empty, and she is dead. Cut down and bled out as a little girl. His gaze settles on the pictures on the floor. The photos are real, but they are not scenes of celebration. They are crime scene photos. Gunshot wounds and blood. The Red John suspects, all dead. His team, dead as well, by his own hands. Jane had found them on their off hours, one by one. He had hunted them while they were alone and murdered them in a mindless haze.
Lisbon watches as the emotions flicker across Jane's face. Confusion, horror, and shock take their turns, followed by a blank mask. Her gun is in her holster at her belt. She knows Jane could flip again at any moment. He's killed her team and several innocent strangers. Residual affection won't save her, but her arms are like lead by her side. Her head feels fuzzy and she knows she won't be able to pull the gun on Jane, knows she won't be able to protect herself. Why is she even here? Why is she talking to him? Why is she just staring at the man she loved the monster that destroyed everything she held dear. Maybe she's not entirely sane anymore either. Everything seems to be a blur. She has to get out of here. It isn't safe. She has to go.
Jane's head shoots as she edges to the door, grin back in place.
"Teresa? Leaving the party so soon?"
God, why is he using her first name like that? She never thought she'd hate her own name.
She forces her own face into a grim parody of a smile. "You know me, the responsible one. We've got work tomorrow, I gotta get home."
God, he was right. She is a terrible liar.
Still he doesn't stop her as she rushes out the door. Once down the steps she falters, however. She stares at the driveway for a long moment. She doesn't see her car. She doesn't even remember the drive over here, it's all a haze. She can hear the door opening behind her. Jane is coming. God, where did she park her car?
She's practically running towards the street now. It has to be here somewhere. She can hear Jane cheerfully calling out behind her, but she's finally spotted her car. She fumbles with the keys, practically falling in when the door finally opens. Jane is approaching quickly. She tries to close and lock the door, but the door won't close completely. Her mind is in a panic and Jane is grinning at her through the glass, saying something about a GPS in her car and knowing she didn't really want to leave the party. She has to get the door closed now.
Finally she realizes the seatbelt has gotten caught in the door. With a click the door is locked and she drives off, tears streaming down her face.