Thrilled to participate in this Super Duper Tag Project, and excited to read all the upcoming tags!
for fbiwoman223, because.
Episode Tag 1x04, Ladies in Red
"So, you fell for your own gag, huh?" Lisbon sat down next to Jane on his couch in the CBI bullpen. He smiled as the leather cushions dipped and she almost toppled into his side. She quickly pulled herself back and crossed her legs, putting a safe but companionable distance between them.
They'd closed the Jason Sands case the previous afternoon and had driven back to Sacramento through the night. All the while, Jane had pretended not to notice the careful and concerned looks Lisbon had given him in the rear-view mirror when she thought he was napping in the backseat. At times, he found her concern about his emotional state endearing. Other times, he tried to not think too hard about the implications. He was certain she was unaware of the depth of her concern, and he hoped it stayed that way.
Their friendship had grown out of a mutual need to catch criminals, murderers, and psychopaths—with a focus on one particular man who ticked all three of those boxes. Jane found it best to keep her at arm's length, and he'd been rather successful for the last four years. It was a daily struggle, however, because even after their initial case together, something had sparked to life in him. When she had effectively told him he was a mess and needed to pull himself together, he had done exactly that. He'd buttoned himself up in his old suits, the snug waistcoat offering both comfort and control. He'd filled the hidden pockets with coins and trinkets, meant to misdirect and mesmerize. He'd played the part of the foolhardy magician, the bounding court jester.
Through it all, he had kept Lisbon and the team at a safe distance, not wanting anyone to get too close, not wanting anyone to distract him from his murderous objective. Lisbon was, however, becoming more and more difficult to ignore. In fact, Teresa Lisbon was growing into a steady hum at the back of his mind. During the recent months, he found he would seek her out at a crime scene, and would readily crack a joke at the expense of others (more often than usual) just to watch her eyes light up as she struggled to keep from laughing. Or he would pull a quarter from behind her ear just to hear her call him juvenile. He was beginning to lose sight of his vengeance, of his reason for sticking around the CBI.
It was only when Lisbon elbowed him in his side that he realized he'd let too much silence lapse, lost in his own thoughts. Turning to look at her, he noted the soft hint of concern flickering through her eyes. He needed to retreat to higher ground, to find a place to hide within the CBI walls, some place out of sight of Teresa Lisbon's watchful gaze, where he could plot the best course of action for destroying his enemy. Jane made a mental note to scope out some of the unused space throughout the repurposed building.
"Hmm?" He attempted to appear nonchalant and arched an eyebrow as he brought his tea cup to his lips.
"Your trick. You set out to seduce the widow, and you nearly fell for her."
"Well, she's a very beautiful woman. Superficially so, of course. Once you look beyond the porcelain skin and watery-eyes, she's the classic femme fatale." His tea was lukewarm and unsatisfying.
"She did murder her husband, yes."
"Exactly," Jane agreed, smiling over the edge of his tea cup. Lisbon looked down at her hands and ran a thumb over her peeling nails. He could practically hear her thoughts as they whirled around in her head. Placing his cup on the saucer, he glanced at her. "Care to share with the class, Lisbon?"
"What?" She looked startled, flexing and furling her fingers in her lap.
"You're thinking too loud. There's something on your mind, so spill."
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and a small smirk played across her lips as she turned to fully regard him.
"You didn't really mean it, though, when you said you were falling for her. That was just to mess with us, right? I don't want to have to start turning down cases every time an attractive widow is involved. This is California, those'll really rack up."
The teasing tone of her voice contradicted what he saw reflected in her eyes. That something that he was too afraid to put a name to. Yes, he really needed to find a retreat within the CBI—perhaps he would head up to the attic. Once, when he had first joined the team, he had spent an afternoon wandering the top floors and had been impressed by the attic level. It had a thick door that sat on traction, but even his expert lock-picking skills were no match for the heavy, old padlock. Perhaps he could lift the keys from the over-night security crew, ply them with club sandwiches and chewy brownies from the café two blocks over…
"Sure, a bit. But that's her shtick. She wraps men around her lovely little finger." He crooked his little finger in the air and gave a shrug. "Why?"
"I've just never known you to…" She trailed off and he watched in amusement as her embarrassment climbed up from her chest and along her neck before settling over the slope of her cheeks. The words were caught in her throat and she was unable to finish her sentence, instead gesturing helplessly into the air. He decided to give her an easy out.
"To show interest in the fairer sex?" He teased and she rolled her eyes—exactly the reaction he wanted.
"Something like that."
"From time to time, I too, can fall victim to the wandering lust that drives even the most primal urges of man." The corners of his mouth twitched as he watched her skin flush an even deeper shade of red. But he was pleased when she held her ground.
"You're despicable." There was a touch of amusement in her tone, her shoulder-length tresses falling forward in soft air-dried waves as she shook her head.
"She was very beautiful, but I was skeptical of her from the start."
"Were you?" Lisbon turned, that same sarcastic expression on her face. She was getting better at hiding herself, but her eyes were far too expressive. They gave her away every time. If he were to look, really look, he was afraid of what he might find.
"Well, it was easy to fall for her act, of course. That glossy hair, those pale wide eyes, those full and pouty lips." He took a steadying breath, his gaze falling over Lisbon's features as he spoke. What was happening? This wasn't like him. Perhaps his encounter with the alluring Jennifer Sands had thrown him off his game more than he originally thought. He lifted his tea cup to his lips and hoped Lisbon didn't notice the slight tremble in his hand, or the way his tea cup clamored faintly against the saucer. "Dynamite act. She had it down to an art."
She tucked her head down and studied her hands again.
"You know," she began, "since you joined the team, that was the first case we almost didn't close…"
"Aside from Red John, of course." He hadn't needed to say it, hadn't needed to utter the name of the man who killed his wife and child… but he wanted to. It was as much a reminder for her as it was for him. It was what had brought them to this moment, sitting in the CBI bullpen. It was also a remainder as to why he needed to keep a safe distance from her, from the others on the team.
"That's ongoing, Jane." She sighed. "Besides, it's been five years. Red John's been quiet. He might even be dead."
It had been five years since Red John had murdered his wife and child. No new victims had been discovered yet, which meant one of three things: he hadn't killed since, he hadn't decided to make his victims public, or, and he hoped this wasn't the case, the next one was already out there, waiting for its gruesome reveal. Either way, Jane recognized it for what it was—an act of arrogance. He believed his disappearance would drive Jane mad, that his inability to catch the man who had taken his family would break him. And it might have done just that had he not sought out the agent in charge of hunting down the serial killer.
A clammy rush of panic flooded his body as Lisbon's words finally sank in. The thought that Red John might dead had never crossed his mind. Of course, there was no such thing as psychics, but Patrick Jane knew, without a doubt, Red John was still alive. He refused to believe he would lose the opportunity to be the one to rid the earth of the monster. Red John did not deserve to die quietly, to die in his sleep. Even a fiery car collision was too peaceful for him.
The only acceptable end for the man was by the same carpet knife he had used when he killed Jane's family. No, he was still alive. He was simply biding his time—perhaps he'd relocated, or embraced a new lifestyle. Maybe he had married and was growing soft and comfortable, deluding his blushing bride with the finely woven lies of a man with no conscience or remorse. Either way, something would bring him out of hibernation. He enjoyed the thrill and power too much to ignore the excitement of killing, the pleasure of punishing those he believed beneath his level of intelligence.
"He's not dead, Lisbon. I'd feel it." Jane's tone was so flat and final it startled Lisbon. Turning her head, she studied him with narrow eyes. He was as familiar with this look of sharp determination as he was with her look of gentle concern. Any moment now, she would frown and her brow would crease. She would tell him that it was her duty to stop him from breaking the law, regardless of his desire for personal vengeance.
Instead, she gave another small nod and pulled herself to her feet. He noted the slight grimace as she stretched, no doubt feeling the aftershocks of the raid on Michael Bennett's house in addition to the long drive back to the CBI. She stood in front of him, holding her head high and her back straight.
"Just promise me, Jane," she said, her voice full of sharp edges. "No matter what happens—whether with Red John, or any future murderous widows we encounter—promise me you'll use that brain of yours and keep yourself out of danger."
He looked up at her, his head tilted to the side. She was fiercely loyal to her team and dedicated to her job. He had figured her out within their first car ride together, but every now and then she surprised him. Like now.
His grin didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Why, Teresa Lisbon, are you saying you're worried about me? Do I have you wrapped around my little finger?" His tone was teasing as he tried to guide them back to steadying shores. What had begun as a friendly conversation after a difficult case had quickly grown far too serious. She put her hands on her hips and he watched her rein in her uneasiness, masking it with annoyance.
"Don't be ridiculous." She stepped back as he stood.
"Oh, I'm not being ridiculous—you are worried." His forced a wider smile, hoped it finally reached his eyes. "I'm touched, Lisbon, truly."
"I'll say," she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Ah, clever." He winked and moved to place his tea cup in the kitchenette sink, Lisbon trailing behind him. "You shouldn't worry about me, Lisbon. I promise to not let another black widow ensnare me in her sticky web of deceit—how's that sound?"
"Sounds as good a promise as I'm gonna get." She sighed, exasperated, before dropping her arms from her chest. "I'm heading out, you need anything?"
"I have tea. I have books. What more could I possibly need at this time of night?"
She gave another nod and wished him good night, but she didn't turn away.
"Jane?" He glanced at her and the sincerity in her eyes made his breath hitch. "Don't stay too late, OK?" Her soft green eyes were pleading.
"Of course, Lisbon." His tone was soft and while they both knew his words were placating, she seemed satisfied. He watched her move to her office to gather her belongings and power down her computer. Stretching out on the lumpy couch, he closed his eyes and kept them closed until he could no longer hear her footsteps.
After waiting a moment longer than necessary, he cracked his eyes open and studied the water marked ceiling tiles, focusing on what looked like the faint outline of Elvis just above his head.
Tomorrow morning, he would investigate the building and look for a space on the upper floors that was relatively untouched by the current remodeling. If his attempt to find a retreat failed, if the upper level was still too heavily under construction, he at least needed to keep Lisbon at a safe distance. He couldn't afford the distraction any longer.
Feeling the faint promise of sleep, he curled his body into the back of the sofa and clasped his hands between his knees. He focused on the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning system and tried to push all thoughts of glossy hair and trembling lips from his mind. It really was a dynamite act and if he wasn't careful, he just might get caught up in the detonation.