Red Lipstick and Wise Women: Every once in a while, Lisbon lets a little bit of her defences slip, shows a chink in her armour, and Jane is, once again, there to see it.
Note: This fic was inspired by the death of Amy Winehouse today. May she rest in peace, and may her music live on.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist, or anything to do with Marilyn Monroe (except a T-shirt).
Jane ran a hand through his tousled blonde curls as he meticulously inspected every inch of the young woman's body. She wore a platinum blonde wig, and her porcelain skin was draped in a cream satin dress, her lips coated in bright crimson lipstick. He noted the way she laid on the bed, almost like a perfect picture in her Marilyn Monroe costume. She hates herself, he thought, that's why she wanted to die like someone else. The bottle of pills sat neatly on the bedside table; there were no signs of a struggle. Jane sniffed the victim, inhaling her sweet heady perfume, and noticing the lack of any other scent. No other person had been near her recently. She was lonely.
He wrinkled his brow at her smooth, unscarred arms, and peered underneath her dress to find the place he knew existed, where she had inflicted pain on herself. Sure enough, there it was, a criss-crossing patchwork of scars, ranging from faint and white to prominent and inflamed, scattered across her hips. Finally he raised his head to meet the expectant gazes of the team.
"Well," demanded Lisbon, her expression fierce, her emerald eyes full of spark and determination to solve the case. Jane looked around solemnly. "Suicide," he announced, and watched as the young rookie, Van Pelt cringed at the word. She knows it well, he thought with a pang of sympathy. Van Pelt didn't talk about her past, but Jane's razor-sharp mind had picked up on her discomfort at suicide scenes, and knew that someone, a sibling or close friend maybe, had killed themselves when she was younger.
He watched as Rigsby, besotted fool that he was, put an arm out to try and comfort the beautiful redhead he so desperately loved, but his efforts were in vain as she flinched away from his touch, crossing her arms protectively over her heart and tucking her chin into her collarbone. First love, Jane concluded, knowing that if she didn't feel romantically guilty, she would have responded to Rigsby's outstretched hand much more positively. He looked away, showing the young agent some discretion as she rapidly blinked back the tears that Jane knew were threatening to consume her.
His eyes flicked over to Cho, who remained as silent and stoic as ever, and his bright blue gaze finally came to rest on his boss, Lisbon. She sighed mournfully, shaking her head at the travesty that lay before them. A young woman, with a full life ahead of her, fallen victim to drugs and depression. Lisbon licked her lips and crossed her hands in front of her, bowing her head respectfully before saying in a sombre voice, "A wise woman kisses but doesn't love, leaves before she is left, and," she paused, sadly shaking her head as she looked at the body, "forgets before she is forgotten." She nodded bitterly towards the girl on the bed.
Cho raised his eyebrows at his boss's unusually touching, eloquent statement, and its aptness at that moment. "Marilyn Monroe." He stated softly, and Lisbon nodded, amused at her best agent's surprise that she knew the quote.
They all stood in respectful silence, lost in their own thoughts for a moment before Lisbon snapped back to reality, announcing that she had to go and inform the District Attorney of the case report. Abruptly, she turned on her heel and left, her heavy work boots clicking loudly, shattering the silence as she walked away.
Jane looked after her, biting his lip. There was something so raw about the way she'd said that quote. Like she really believed it. He didn't know why, but that thought irked him, and a split second later he found himself jogging out of the room after her, calling "Lisbon!" in an effort to get her to stop, as the rest of the team looked on in vague bemusement.
About ten feet down the corridor he caught up with her, panting despite his fit exterior. She stood smirking, waiting for him to get his breath back. When he finally regained himself, she raised her eyebrows at him. When he didn't react, she pressed him further. "Whaddya want Jane, I'm busy?" she asked irritably, looking bored already.
He hesitated, not really sure what he wanted to say now that he'd caught up with her. "Well?" she demanded, searching his expression, vainly trying to pinpoint the reason for the hold-up. He decided, as always, to just come right out with it. "Do you really think that?" he asked curiously.
Lisbon screwed up her face at him. "Think what?" she replied, her mind already on other things. "Come on, use your words."
"That wise women should kiss and not love, leave before they're left and forget before they're forgotten." Jane continued softly, looking genuinely concerned. Lisbon's green eyes widened, and she looked at the floor, swallowing sheepishly. "For God's sakes Jane, it's just a quote, must you read into everything?" she spat, but her heart wasn't in it and her voice faltered, giving her away.
"Liar." He replied, piercing her gaze with his. "It meant something to you." He watched as she subconsciously fingered the base of the third finger of her left hand, where, he now noticed, there lay a hint of a tan line. Suddenly everything fell into place in his mind and the enigma that was Teresa Lisbon became as readable to him as an open book.
"You were engaged." It wasn't a question. "He broke your heart, just like everyone else in your life. So now you don't allow yourself to love, to get too close to anyone. That way, you don't get hurt." he said incredulously. It was textbook psychology, and he'd always known she was guarded, but it had never fully made sense why.
She stared intently at the floor as he continued, all the puzzle pieces finally fitting together, "Yes, of course. That's why you wouldn't go out with Mashburn, or start an affair with Bosco. You were afraid of getting your heart broken, even though you could have any man you wanted…" he muttered on and on, more to himself than to her, and all the while she stood biting back the angry words that filled her mouth, scarlet steadily creeping into her cheeks. Finally, she looked up at him, and for a moment, all pretence was gone, and he saw in her shining emerald eyes the hurt, scared girl inside her who had seen too much, and hardened her heart to it. He saw the pain she concealed, and the effort she used to hide it, and the fear when she realised he was reading every emotion that played across her delicate features.
Calmly, she opened her mouth and, her voice level, she said firmly, "Jane. Stay out of my mind. I have no problem getting close-not that it's any of your business if I did." she added threateningly. As if to prove her point, she reached up on her tiptoes and brushed her soft lips against his cheek, smirking smugly.
As quickly as her lips had touched him, they were gone again, leaving a smudge of red lipstick in their wake, and she was turning on her heel and walking away, kissing but not loving, leaving before she was left and forgetting before she was forgotten. He stood watching her as she retreated, her features rearranged into the cold, strong mask she wore every day, and he wished he could help the broken woman whose silhouette was growing smaller and smaller before his eyes. But all the while he knew he couldn't – because he was broken too.