AN: Warnings for language.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Jane watches as Rigsby fidgets, turning the bottle of beer on the bar with anxious fingers. Though usually calm under pressure, Rigsby has obvious tells – and after years of working with the former homicide detective, Jane is familiar with all of them. Jane breathes in sharply and tenses, knowing whatever Rigsby has to say will change the game somehow.
"You know," says Rigsby, his attention seemingly captivated by the almost-empty beer bottle. "Grace and I, we, uh – we always thought that you and Lisbon would, you know, get together." His eyes flash to Jane as he speaks, clearly worried about how his words will be received.
The words float around Jane, refusing to be processed. Controlling the microexpressions flashing across his face – shock and fear, predominantly – proves futile. He opens his mouth to lightly refute the assertion, but all that comes out is a shrill "Hmmm."
High voice, he hears himself tell Lisbon, the words echoing like a ghost or phantom.
Fuck off, he thinks in response.
Cho's cell phone rings, and he excuses himself from the bar, putting the phone up to one ear and covering the other ear with his free hand to drown out the bustling sounds of the bar around them.
Jane looks up from his glass, intending to steer the conversation elsewhere, but one glance at Rigsby tells him the former detective has latched onto the topic and won't be dissuaded.
"Two years on the island, and you've developed tells of your own, Jane," points out Rigsby, as though he's been listening to the entirety of Jane's internal dialogue.
Jane shrugs. "Always had tells. I was just better at masking them when the stakes were higher."
"Huh," says Rigsby. "I'd argue the stakes are higher now than they were two years ago, actually."
Jane drums his fingers against the bar, his beer long-forgotten. "How so?"
Rigsby takes a swig of his drink. "It's all about what you stand to lose," he explains. "Before, it was nothing. Now, it's everything."
Jane fills in the blanks. "She's not mine to lose," he protests immediately, still trying to convince Rigsby to drop it. "We were never –"
"I know," says Rigsby, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I know. Your tunnel vision didn't allow for that kind of a relationship. At the time. But in case you haven't noticed, Jane, Red John has been dead for two years. Isn't it about time to see the world without him in it?"
He holds Jane's gaze, and Jane is immediately struck by how little he'd really known Rigsby before.
Rigsby picks up his drink again, downing the last few drops, and sets it down on the bar rather harder than necessary.
"Lisbon's in love with you, Jane – it's just that you've got your head too far up your ass to see it." He winces apologetically. "Grace's words, not mine."
Jane can't help but gape at him, trying to put together a coherent thought but failing to even form words. Finally, he manages it. "Lisbon…she's – she's never said anything."
Rigsby rolls his eyes. "Of course not, man. How could she? You've been mourning your wife for the past decade. It's not Lisbon's place to ask if you're in any condition to start something. Apparently this is one of those unwritten rules that every female is familiar with. According to Grace."
Jane straightens up. His vision twists in front of him, and he wonders how much he's had to drink before it occurs to him that he hasn't even finished his first beer. Is the knowledge that Lisbon has feelings for him enough to get him drunk?
Apparently so, he thinks as he has to reach out to the edge of the bar to steady himself.
"She deserves better," he finds himself saying, the words almost slurred.
"Maybe," hedges Rigsby. "But she wants you." He hesitates. "You really didn't know?"
Cho picks that moment to return to the bar. "Know what?" he asks.
"Nothing," Jane and Rigsby say at the same time.
Cho's disbelieving look is less stoic than usual. But Jane is grateful when his colleague decides not to pursue the subject further. "Whatever," Cho says, grabbing his beer and downing the rest of it. "You guys game for getting something to eat?"
"I think I saw a drive-through on the way over – they had chimichangas."
"Same old Rigsby," says Cho.
They put bills on the bar to settle their tabs and look over at Jane. "You coming?" asks Cho.
Jane reaches into his jacket for some cash but shakes his head. "You go on without me. I'll see you guys tomorrow."
Cho shrugs; Rigsby nods approvingly. "See you tomorrow," he says, his tone knowing.
They part outside the tavern at the corner of the street, and Jane steals into the darkness.
Breathing in shakily, he debates his plan of action for exactly seventeen seconds before hailing a cab.
She opens the door right after he knocks, and he wonders how long she's been waiting for him to appear on her doorstep.
Too long, he decides as he takes a deep breath.
She hadn't been expecting visitors, judging by her tank top, baggy sweatpants, messy ponytail, and curious expression. He doesn't let her speak before he dives in, knowing he'll find a way to avoid confronting this if he doesn't get the words out now.
"I'm sorry."
Lisbon just stares at him, her hand on the open door.
Jane blinks against the harsh porch light.
"I'm sorry," he continues. "For leaving you. For betraying you. For never letting you close enough. For leaving, leaving, leaving, and then leaving again. I'm sorry, Lisbon – I'm so sorry."
She doesn't say anything, so he makes to turn around – to leave one more time – but her sure, strong fingers wrap around his and pull him back.
"Are you drunk?" she asks, concerned.
"Not remotely," says Jane.
"Why are you here?"
He feels her grip tighten. Jane stares into her eyes, watching her pupils dilate.
"Because you are the most incredible, tenacious, brave, resistant, and resilient woman I have ever met. Because your heart is pure. Because I knew I loved you the moment I first shook your hand. Because I fell in love with you so gradually, so naturally, so perfectly that I didn't even realize it was happening until I was already in too deep. Because you've saved me a thousand times over, and someday – if you'll let me – I want to do the same for you. Because even though I don't deserve you, you deserve to know that I'm in love with you."
He's breathing heavily when he finishes. Lisbon is still silent, watching him with wide eyes.
He feels more than sees her begin to shake.
"You aren't lying." It's not a question, but her tone is disbelieving.
"No," Jane confirms.
It's physically painful, like a bitter wind whipping over his skin and giving him frostbite, as he teeters there on the edge, drawn toward her but trying not to fall. He watches her struggle to compose herself.
Finally, she steps toward him, her expression unreadable. "I –"
But at that moment, her phone rings, the tone telling him right away that it's work related. Lisbon hesitates, her brow furrowed, and reaches into her pocket. To Jane's surprise, she doesn't answer the call, choosing instead to silence it. She looks just as staggered at her actions as Jane does.
They lock eyes again just as Jane's phone lights up.
He swears.
She sighs.
"You better answer it," says Lisbon, resigned. "If they're trying you after not getting hold of me, it must be important."
Jane feels her draw away, and he reaches for his phone. He glances at the caller ID, knowing Lisbon is looking over his shoulder.
Cho.
He and Lisbon share a confused look as he accepts the call, putting it on speaker.
"Hey, Cho, what's up?"
Jane shatters as he processes Cho's words.
"Van Pelt is missing."
The next day
In another life, Lisbon would be mesmerized at the scenery below her – the looming mountains, the sprawling trees sugarcoated with snow, the wilderness that seems somehow endless. But in this life, in a standard-issue FBI helicopter hurtling towards a cabin in the woods, all Lisbon can think about are regrets.
One in particular.
There's a good chance she and the team will find three bodies when they arrive. There's a good chance Jane's will be one of them.
There's a good chance he will have taken his last breath before they could properly conclude the conversation they'd been trying to have on her doorstep the previous evening.
She doesn't even have time to prepare herself for this possibility when the helicopter shifts suddenly, and the cabin comes into view, smoke rising from the chimney. Lisbon quickly picks out two figures – easily discernible as Van Pelt and Rigsby by hair color and stature alone – clinging to each other but still standing. Her breath catches in her throat when her eyes land next on a figure sprawled on the ground.
Lisbon knows immediately it's Jane.
"Both Haibachs are down," says Cho, clearly struggling to maintain composure.
"Get me on the ground, now!" says Lisbon, racing to unbuckle her seat belt.
The landing is rough but quick, and Lisbon is out the door, ignoring the pilot's stern warnings. Cho is on her heels, and they fan out, guns drawn, making sure the scene is clear. Once they confirm that Haibach and his sister are no longer a concern, Cho moves to Rigsby and Van Pelt, and Lisbon sprints to Jane.
She trips at the last second, tumbling down to the snow. Pushing herself back up and untangling her limbs from his, she hears him moan.
"Jane?" she calls. "Jane?"
"Lisbon?"
He opens his eyes. When his vision finally focuses, he gives her a weak smile.
"Lisbon," he says again.
"Are you hurt?"
"'m fine," he mumbles, and she shifts him so that he is lying on her lap rather than the frigid snow. She runs her hands over his chest, checking for obvious bullet wounds, but he appears unharmed.
Her hand lands over his heart, and she swears she can feel it beating within his chest. His eyelids flutter.
"Jane!"
But he's passed out, and Lisbon waves Abbott over. "Sir!" she says. "I think he's in shock! A little help?"
Together, they hoist Jane up, swinging his arms over their shoulders, and he seems to slip in and out of consciousness. In the distance, Lisbon hears a siren pierce through the snow-covered canopy of trees, and just as they reach the helicopter, she sees a car of local law enforcement race up the drive.
"Fischer!" booms Abbott, his voice easily heard over the din of the helicopter's rotors.
"I've got it covered!" Fischer responds, heading over to coordinate efforts with the officers who emerge from the car.
Cho and Van Pelt are already inside the helicopter, leaning over Rigsby and applying pressure to his wounds. Abbott helps Lisbon lift Jane inside, and she straps him into an open seat, tossing her jacket over him to keep him warm. Abbott closes the door from the outside and backs away, signaling to the pilot to take off. Lisbon locks eyes with him as they ascend, mouthing her thanks.
She breathes deeply and turns to Rigsby. "Wayne, hold on for a few more minutes. We're heading to the nearest ER."
But Rigsby has eyes only for Van Pelt, and he doesn't notice or respond to Lisbon's words.
Satisfied that Cho and Van Pelt have stopped the bleeding as best as they can for now, Lisbon sits beside Jane, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. Jane's hand, still cold, comes to lay on her back.
"Impeccable timing," Jane says, his voice barely audible over the blaring noise around them, and Lisbon breaks.
Later, she finds him wandering down a deserted hallway away from the bustling ER, a blanket – presumably stolen from one of the hospital beds – wrapped around his shoulders. She hands him a coffee cup and smiles ruefully. "They didn't have tea," she says.
"Thank you," he says quietly, smiling hesitantly back.
She was so close to never seeing that smile again.
Lisbon finally meets his gaze, and suddenly there is no need for words. She steps forward, gripping the edges of the blanket wrapped around him in both hands, and pulls him toward her.
Their lips meet.
Jane's movements are paradoxically tentative yet sure. Lisbon pulls him closer, feeling phantom desperation from a few hours prior.
When they part, Jane sets the coffee cup on an empty chair beside them. He tugs the blanket gently from Lisbon's fingers, instead choosing to pull her into a bear hug, wrapping the blanket around them both.
Lisbon exhales.