Author's Note: I'm back! God, writer's block sucks. I'm seriously trying to write a complete story, but I keep skipping around and starting new ones. Really, I have about 4 half-finished stories right now. Anyway, I hope you like this… It's set in a Red John-free universe (as in, he's been dead about 2, maybe 3 weeks now), so Jane is trying to deal with it all.
Lisbon's POV. Enjoy!
Paint
Usually, when someone was knocking on her door this early, it was Patrick Jane. This time was no exception. Groaning, she unlocked the door to let him in.
"What do you want, Jane?" Lisbon asked sleepily. Her vision was blurry and she felt a little light headed. After all, she had been asleep, finally asleep, for the first time in weeks.
"Lisbon, ah, sorry…" Jane shifted his weight, "Didn't know you were asleep. Sorry to bother you. I'll just…" He turned to leave. "Sorry."
"Jane." She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Come in?" He turned around and smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. Something was wrong. He followed her into the apartment and sat on her couch, staring blankly at the floor.
"I'll make you some tea," Lisbon walked quickly to her kitchen. He visited her often, so she always seemed to have his favorite brand of tea in her pantry. It was second nature to her now; she barely had to think about it. This gave her time to wonder idly about the reason Jane was sitting on her couch at three o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday. They had work tomorrow, for crying out loud!
Later, not tomorrow, she corrected herself mentally, dropping a dripping tea bag into her trash. She carried the warm mug into the living room, sitting next to him.
"Thank you," he murmured when she handed it to him. He didn't drink it, though. He just stared at it.
"Jane…" Lisbon trailed off. "Why are you here?"
"Because you invited me in," he replied, no sarcasm in his tone. The teasing wasn't the same these days. It was empty. He didn't bother arguing with her anymore, either.
It scared her.
"Patrick." He looked up at the use of his first name. "You know what I mean." He sighed and set his tea down on the small table next to the couch.
"He's gone, Lisbon," his voice was hoarse. "We got him. He can't hurt anyone else. He's gone."
"I know," Lisbon was confused now. "I was there." He nodded, his breathing becoming uneven. That night flashed through her mind before she could stop it.
…
There was a knife against her throat, the man holding it was whispering threats into her ear. There was a gag over her mouth, muffling her pleas and screams. She couldn't see.
"Oh, my dear Teresa…" his voice made her stomach churn. It was like nails on a chalk board to her. "You don't know how long I've waited for this moment. When Patrick gets here, he will be just in time to see you die. I'll slice your throat and make him watch as you bleed. Then, as he tries to save you, I'll shoot him. Not a fatal shot, but enough to render him immobile while I cut his fingers of, one by one…"
Lisbon was trying to ignore his words, but he was pulling her hair and speaking directly into her ear, switching sides every now and then. It gave the illusion that he was everywhere. She tried to scream again, and Red John pressed the knife harder against her throat, drawing blood. She began to feel nauseous.
There was a bang above her head, and she wondered idly if they were in a basement. How cliché. She had been knocked unconscious in her home, and when she woke up she was here. Wherever here was.
"LISBON!" Jane's voice was loud, but sounded far away. She fought hard to stay awake, but it seemed to be getting darker. Something warm was trickling down her chest, but she no longer felt pain. There was a series of what sounded like steps, and she felt herself slipping away against her will.
Suddenly, there was light. She could see. Jane was at the bottom of a set of wooden stairs, completely pale, frozen in place. Her eyes automatically searched for her attacker, but she couldn't move. She could only stare at Jane and the area he was standing in.
"Ah, Mr. Jane," Red Johns voice came from behind her. Was he still holding the knife? "So nice of you to join us. I was just explaining to Teresa, here, what I was planning for you!" He pulled her hair again, and she whimpered.
Jane stood completely still, his expression a strange mixture of horror, realization, worry, and anger. He seemed to be trying to speak.
Red John laughed in her ear, and she fought the urge to vomit. She was losing a lot of blood, and the world was turning fuzzy. If she could move, she would elbow him in the stomach, turn around and tackle him to the floor, and knock him unconscious. If only she could move…
"Dear Teresa doesn't seem to have much time left!" Red John cackled gleefully.
"I- Let her- Please-" Jane found his voice, but couldn't seem to form words very well.
"Let her go? Oh, no, Patrick, where's the fun in that?" Lisbon felt more pressure on one of her wrists.
"Stop, please!" Jane shouted. "Don't- don't-" It looked like he was shaking now, but maybe it was just her.
Everything was getting darker. She fought to keep her eyes open, but her eyelids seemed to be getting heavier. Finally she gave in, her eyes closed. She felt her body go limp…
There was a loud noise and Lisbon fell to the floor, unable to support herself. Using all of her willpower, she opened her eyes a crack and saw none other than Grace Van Pelt, her gun still pointed at a spot above her head. She blinked slowly, and it was harder to open her eyes again. Jane was hugging Van Pelt and shaking. She felt a pang in her heart and let her eyes slip shut again.
…
"Lisbon?" Jane was staring at her. "Are you okay?" She cleared her throat and blinked, happy to realize she wasn't there anymore. She was home, alive, and with Jane.
"Y-yeah," her voice wavered. "I'm fine. Never better. But are you okay? I mean, you weren't the one who pulled the trigger…"
"I don't care about that," he said forcefully. "I care that he's gone. I care that you're alive. I don't care that it wasn't me who killed him, but he's dead. That's all that matters."
"Then why are you here?" Lisbon asked again, hoping for an actual answer this time.
"I don't know. I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd check on you," he said hesitantly, "but you seem to be doing fine."
She nodded.
"Yeah, I am." Jane picked up his tea. It had to be cold by now. "Sorry about zoning out…"
"No worries," Jane smiled. "Thank you for the tea. I, ah, I should get going."
"Oh," Lisbon's voice went up an octave. "Okay. Um, sure. Here, I'll take that." She took the mug from his hands and their fingers brushed against each other. She blushed.
"Lisbon?"
"Yeah."
"Thank you… For letting me interrupt your sleep." He grinned at her, this time it was genuine.
"No problem," she smiled back, walking to the kitchen to dump out the left over tea. She rinsed the mug and set it upside down in her otherwise empty sink.
He was still in her living room when she came back.
"Lisbon," he began, "will you help me with something?" Oh, no. This had better not be one of his stupid stunts that could cost me my job, she thought.
"That depends. What is it?" He took a deep breath before speaking.
"I… Will you help me paint a room?" He asked, looking down at the floor. Paint a room. Paint a room? What was he talki- oh.
"Patrick," Lisbon was about to try to talk him out of it, but… Her voice softened. "Of course. When?"
"Whenever, now, later," He seemed shocked that she'd agreed. "I already have the paint, I just… Can't do it alone." She smiled again. He'd chosen her to help him paint over the Smiley in the room where he'd found his wife and daughter dead. Killed by Red John, like she almost was.
"Let me change. I don't think I'll be sleeping much more tonight, anyway," Lisbon said before she rushed to her bedroom.
…
Author's Note: Well..? Should I continue it, or leave it a one-shot? I have an idea of what could happen if I continue, but I don't know if that would be overkill. Let me know? :)
