A/N This takes place after the end of Season 5, Episode 22. Right after Jane cracks up the CD with the recording from Lorelei. First time writing a Mentalist fic, though I've recently gotten into all five seasons. Oh, the wonders of Amazon and expedited shipping.
Standard disclaimers apply - I don't own this, Bruno Heller does. The disclaimer applies to this chapter and all future chapters of the work. I lean towards keeping this a one-shot, unless there's some interest in more chapters.
Jane sat down on the makeshift attic bed, patting the space beside him. The hopelessness swam clear in his eyes, and Lisbon did as he asked. All traces of her authority were gone. This wasn't between an agent and her consultant anymore. This wasn't even between Lisbon and Jane. Here in the attic, those work personas fell away. They were replaced by the real selves of their owners underneath.
This moment was between Patrick and Teresa. It was as simple as that.
As the quiet swallowed them up, Jane allowed himself a moment to remember.
Once before, he'd taken her hand without any pretense behind the action. They were in the desert then, after the magnificent failure that was their attempt to catch Red John. In a flash, Jane's six-month deception was rendered useless, the careful tapestry he wove, all unraveled by a stupid misunderstanding.
And now, as then, he took Lisbon's hand in his. This time, there was no slide down her arm, but the gesture didn't lose significance.
As their fingers locked, Teresa walked down her own memory lane.
Back in that sweltering desert, she had desperately wanted to pull him into her arms. She didn't, for fear of admitting her feelings, even if only to herself. But now she did what she never had the courage to do.
She pulled him close, one tender and thin hand on his cheek. Yes, damn anyone who thought she was doing wrong. Jane was hurting, that was reason enough, and the world could go to hell as far as Lisbon was concerned.
"We'll get him," she said. "I promise you we will."
"Will we?" he asked. "He's always been a step ahead. Everything we've done to catch him has failed."
His helplessness floored her.
"Jane, what are you saying?"
He just sighed, long and rough like sand, yet sharp like broken glass. The quality of it made Lisbon shudder.
"I don't know what I'm saying anymore, Teresa. I know barely anything now."
When that sentence ended, anger boiled deep within Lisbon. She hated Red John. Hated him violently for breaking the man she loved. Hated him for destroying Patrick, for reducing such a good man to little more than a shell.
And in her mind, there could be no doubt about his goodness. At his core, Jane loved so strongly that it sometimes scared her. But all the same, his love gave her hope. As long as he still loved, he could still be redeemed. Teresa would do it herself, whatever it took.
She sealed the unvoiced promise with a squeeze of his hand.
When she spoke, her voice was low, but much darker than it had ever been. Her earlier shock at Red John's power was gone by now. It had long been replaced by snakes of hatred coiled around her heart. Only the serial killer's death could kill the serpents. That, and Patrick's love. But then, Red John had to die first.
He had to be good and dead.
Not maybe dead, but dead as in three shots to the chest and one to his head, just to make sure. They couldn't take chances.
Finally she said, "You have no idea, Jane. I hate him so much. I want to kill him for what he's done to you."
Patrick pulled away from her, his blue eyes wide with curiosity. He aped her words. "What are you saying, Lisbon?"
"I'm saying I hate him, that's what. It might be you who gets him, but if I'm the one to find the bastard, I'll shoot him dead."
"Lisbon?" he repeated. His voice was openly uncertain now, even a bit frightened.
Seeing the fear lurk in his eyes, Teresa pulled him close again. The action seemed to settle whatever internal debate he had going on.
Honestly, she didn't know where her burst of hate came from. All she knew was, when she'd seen Patrick so broken by the CD, it had broken something inside her too. Seeing him so helpless aroused her instinct to protect. You could call it mothering if you wanted. But all definitions aside, she would obliterate the man who made Jane this way.
Even if she died in the attempt, she would.
She squeezed his hand again. "If it's the last thing we do, Jane, I'm telling you we'll get him."
In those first few moments after she went silent, he'd been too awestruck to reply. When he finally did, he didn't use words. Instead, he faced her on the hard attic bed, laying a soft kiss on her forehead. To seal their new understanding, he pulled her close for a hug as well. She offered no resistance, and they held each other tighter than they ever did before.
For his part, Patrick was acutely aware of everything. He was holding Teresa Lisbon, and she wasn't just his boss anymore.
She'd ceased in that singular role so very long ago.
Now, she was his boss, his love, and his future. She was his hope, his last tenuous link to everything good still left in the world.
At that thought, a small smile appeared on Jane's face. Damn Red John all to hell. He had Teresa to live for now, and Patrick wouldn't rest until their future together was assured. Red John had to die, and they would get him, exactly as Lisbon said.
He would put his faith in her, and back in himself too. They would need to believe, if they were to succeed.
He pulled away and broke their silence. "Red John knows I care about you, Lisbon. That's why he asked for your head."
Her face was unchanged. She even shrugged. "What's new, Jane? You've always cared, same as I have."
If she were allowed, she would have replaced "care" with another four-letter word. Care seemed so unable to describe everything she felt. She wasn't even sure that English had a word for the contents of her heart. But Teresa wasn't in a rush. She had time on her side.
In his own broken way, Patrick always showed that he loved her. And that was good enough for now.
Her and him would focus on their quarry first. Once that was done with, they could build their future without fear.
Jane cradled her face in his hands. "Let's make a deal, Lisbon. When we catch Red John, I'll tell you something important."
"Why not just tell me now?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I'll tell you after. So you have to live till that moment, okay?"
Red fire flared in Lisbon's heart. Could she hope? "And what if I don't live till then, Jane? Then what?"
His hands on her face tightened considerably. "I don't wanna hear that again. I won't have you saying such things."
"It was worth a shot," she said. "Let me make you my own deal. You need to trust me, Jane. Trust me fully. And you have to live till he's dead too. You're not the only one with something important to say. Messages work best when their receivers are alive. You understand what I'm saying?"
"I do, dearest. Want to shake on it?" He held out his hand, but she didn't take it. She kissed his forehead instead.
The contact lasted only three seconds, but the brief press of her lips had Jane shuddering to his core.
That was the plan, then. They would protect each other with their lives. They would form a unit so strong even Red John couldn't assail it. And at the end of everything, because they were the good guys, they would damn well triumph.
Of course, they weren't under the delusion that killing Red John would be easy. Both of them had failed often enough not to think that. But as Brett Stiles had said, any task could be accomplished when broken down into manageable pieces.
So that was what they'd do. Slowly but surely, they would chip away at their nemesis, before ending the evil that he was, for good.
As hard as it would be, Patrick and Teresa had incentive. They had the best incentive imaginable.
After all, the two of them had a future to fight for. It was one fight they didn't plan on losing.
A/N So? One-shot or multi-chapter? Tell me your thoughts. Either way I've got some early drafts prepped, so we're good to go. Also, to the readers of my other stories, I've pulled them to do some massive editing. I'll re-upload the completed ones once finished. Don't fret.