So, once again, I'm writing a tag to a tag, although unlike last year about this time I'm not doing it strictly for therapy. I've been a little in alt since the finale, both due to how good it was (and continues to be with each subsequent viewing) and how it colors each of the summer reruns, now knowing as I do where they're heading, for the 4th season at least. I just hope I never see Erica again, however futile that thought might be.
Anyway, unable to wait for more story, my mind has been making up its own. So, I've written this, a weekly series ONLY for the month of June, a snapshot of how things progress during that month in the wake of Jane's return to the fold. I'm planning on a chapter each Thursday plus one Friday in the middle. This is just a bit of imaginings (and admittedly a bit of therapy) to pass some of the time until the season 5 premiere in September [insert groan here] and is by no means where a guess as to where the writers will take the show. Just my own flight of fancy. We begin with Jane's point of view.
STRESS POINT
06.07.2012
He wasn't sure about anyone else, but he didn't know how much longer he could take this.
The thought surprised him, so completely out of context with recent events as it was, specifically that morning's interview with Lorelei—the most recent in what was becoming a lengthy series, and their first since she had been moved to the FBI's state-of-the-art holding facility a few miles outside Sacramento. He had been running over his mental notes of their conversation when the awareness that they were heading back to the CBI suddenly came to his mind's forefront and with it the startling notion that his work situation was causing him enough discomfort to pose a distraction to the ongoing tug-of-war for dominance and, so far, fruitless questioning of Red John's girl.
Jane had expected a certain amount of awkwardness at his return, if the CBI had even been willing to take him back. But the prickly discomfort between himself and his colleagues in the bullpen showed no sign of lessening even after three weeks. They worked with him well enough, like a dutifully-oiled machine. As for trust, none of them—not Grace, Rigsby or even Cho—had ever completely been able to circumvent their fear of the personal danger as well as professional liability they were certain he could cause them. Only Lisbon had progressed to the level of seeing the bigger picture he painted and knowing there was little he seemed to carelessly toss to the side that he could not fully recover, even if at the very last second.
Still, he knew they had at least become accustomed to him and the near-catastrophe-producing methods he employed, even thought of him as a friend and accorded him a satisfying level of loyalty. Now, they were guarded with him, their disapproval always simmering just below the surface, careful that he always knew that it wasn't for his own sake they had taken him back, any more than it was for their own sakes that they held him at a distance. Everything for them revolved around the woman in the car with him now, driving silently back to the city, her eyes trained on the hot and dusty highway that stretched before them, slender fingers gripping the wheel. As it happened, she was at the crux of a great deal for him as well.
He had known things would be awkward with her too, that under more normal circumstances she would simply eventually absorb his absence and his deception as well as the things she knew he had done to immerse himself totally in the role he had taken on to draw out Red John. But he had also known his interaction with Lorelei would be a greater complication than they had ever faced in their acquaintance, in their relationship over the years. He had had no small difficulty in processing it himself. It was one of the reasons he had remained in the shadowed background in that first interview. He had wanted Lisbon to be seen as his partner, taking the lead, sitting in the pilot's seat. But he had known Lorelei would bring up what had transpired between them, a jab to give her the upper hand. Lisbon wouldn't be able to hide her reaction, though he knew she would remain silent, not wanting to give Lorelei the satisfaction of provoking her to such an extent as well as not knowing what to say. Lisbon would never have suspected how far he had been willing to go, and he had been unwilling to disclose that information to her himself. The darker motive—and he dreaded the day Lisbon realized it—was that any advantage Lorelei imagined herself to have would make her fall that much more decimating, her shattering that much more complete, leaving her more vulnerable to his purpose.
And Lisbon had indeed seemed to absorb and move on, even working to get him reinstated and back on her team as soon as possible. He was certain the trust was still there, at least as far as their working relationship was concerned. But her acceptance and—he feared—her forgiveness had seemed to have found its limits, and while much was the same, it felt as if everything was different.
He believed most of the problem was a matter of proximity. Lorelei had been arraigned and ordered held without bond, and they had been able to keep her at the CBI, a female guard inside her cell at all times as complement to the two sturdy sentinels just outside the door. While Jane had intentionally made certain he was never alone with her, he had tried to minimize Lisbon's contact with her, conducting interviews with each of the other team members in attendance. But Lorelei had such an extreme effect on each of them—she tried outright to seduce a repulsed Rigsby, the animosity between her and Grace and resulting near cat-fight made subtle interrogation impossible, and for some reason her mere presence infuriated Cho—that in the end Lisbon had once again been forced to come to the rescue.
Eventually, Agent Darcy had offered the use of the more secure hold, saying it was the least she could do. Lisbon had gratefully accepted the favor and graciously refrained from agreeing, in light of Darcy's epic bungling of their Red John op. Lorelei had been moved there four days previous, and at the request of the facility psychiatrist, Jane and Lisbon had given her the time to settle in before they had headed there this morning for another less than satisfying interview. Lorelei had continued to taunt them both, Jane with guarding her intimate knowledge of Red John and Lisbon with intimations of her knowledge of the consultant. On top of everything, any hopes Jane had entertained that Lisbon would be more at ease with Lorelei out of the building were dashed when her persistent aloofness had continued to prove to be the rule.
That morning, Lorelei had employed her usual methods. Jane still cringed inwardly when she invoked their brief encounter and referred to him, especially in front of Lisbon, as "Lover". What made it worse was that, in spite of her sweet demeanor, he knew it was her style to be visceral and—true to form—she had dimpled prettily before going for the throat, hinting at a few of the more intimate details. Lisbon had maintained composure admirably, but it had been apparent in their first interview that simply not knowing had been enough of a chink in her armor to show Red John's girl she had then and continued now to hit her mark.
Oddly, for Jane, that had only been one of the unsettling situations of the morning.
They had entered through security, Lisbon's badge and ID scrutinized, her gun secured in one of the small weapons lockers. She had lingered to exchange pleasantries with one of the guards who, it turned out, had been a seasoned beat cop when she worked in San Francisco. Jane had walked ahead, rounded the corner and encountered the facility's shrink, one Dr. Jonathan Mann. Mann was tall—Jane ascertained about six foot-two inches—and athletically slim, probably a runner. He was well proportioned, and his dark blue suit was impeccably tailored. Full brown-black hair that Jane suspected might curl if the man went more than two days off his strict barbering schedule swept back from a broad forehead, the crown to high, symmetrical cheekbones. Individual strands of silver teased at his temples, the perfect foil to his healthy, natural tan.
He recognized Jane immediately, introduced himself and offered his hand in a professional shake. Their eyes met, and the up-and-down movement of their grasp slowed and stalled as each took the measure of the other. Jane's first reaction was amusement, but when his eyes met the cool, assessing, almost cunning gaze of the psychiatrist, he knew underestimating this particular head doctor would be a mistake.
The moment was broken by Lisbon's laughter wafting toward them as she approached the corner behind him. He had turned at the sound, so rarely heard these days, to see her come into view, her head still turned to the side, still smilingly engaged with the security officer, her body relaxed, a hand raised to slide an errant chestnut strand behind one ear. Jane had suddenly felt like a man encountering a savory aroma, only then realizing how hungry he was.
He had been vaguely aware of Mann releasing his grip and stepping up to his side. Lisbon's head turned bringing her eyes to Jane's, traces of the smile lingering there. Then, her gaze swept to Mann. Jane turned to make the introductions and though the words came out smoothly enough, he mentally stalled as he watched the previously cold grey eyes warm to a more friendly depth, a soft smile of pleasant surprise quirk at the severe mouth. Mann reached for Lisbon's proffered hand with both of his and stepped closer to her.
"Agent Lisbon. So nice to finally be able to put a face with the voice. I find the telephone, while convenient, to be somewhat impersonal."
Lisbon smiled in what Jane recognized as an intentionally detached way but, he was irritated to see, made no move to extricate herself from Mann's clutch.
"Dr. Mann," she said quietly, "it's a pleasure to meet you." At that point she did finally pull her hand away then slid her fingers into her front trouser pockets. "I know it's only been four days, but have you been able to get anything useful on Lorelei yet?"
Mann took a small step forward and turned, sliding his hand under Lisbon's elbow to guide her down the hallway as he explained his findings so far, walking past Jane, leaving him to follow behind and effectively shutting him out of their conversation. Lisbon allowed him to lead her, listening intently as he explained what he had gleaned so far about his prisoner-patient's psychopathy. Their conversation, more a monologue interrupted periodically by Lisbon's apparently welcome and insightful questions, continued, Jane making note of what he felt were the few vital points as he carried on his own internal one-sided conversation.
It mostly ran along the lines of thinking Mann was an ass, condemning him as a womanizer and debating the wisdom of his being Lorelei's in-house shrink if that was the case. Moving on once he realized the psychiatrist persistently referred to her as "the subject", he wondered at Lisbon allowing Mann's obvious and unimaginative overtures and scorned the shrink's mistaking her smile for encouragement. Walking behind her as he was, he couldn't help but notice her appearance and found himself wishing she had worn her black suit instead of the grey. The black was sleek and sophisticated, professional. She was more striking in the black, but the grey's lighter color made it more revealing, outlining her form rather than veiling it.
Finally, after several turns and passing through half a dozen bolted and electronically locked checkpoint gates, they stopped in front of a heavy metal door, secured by locks and hinges that looked like something straight out of a Middle Ages dungeon. At that point, Mann and Lisbon had turned to face one another.
"Remember, you don't want to upset her. While she exhibits a certain level of anti-social behavior, we're not sure if she's purely psychotic or if she simply suffers from a complicated neurosis that affects her choices. If it's the latter and you push too hard, she'll clam up. But the former? If she cracks you may never get anything out of her."
By that time, Mann had swiped his ident and the guards within had disengaged the electronic locking mechanisms. Jane stepped between them, closer to the psychiatrist causing him to instinctively step back and Lisbon to turn at Jane's side. His hand lifted to the small of her back and without a glance at the good doctor, he escorted her into the chamber, leaving Mann behind with a "Thanks, Doc. We'll take it from here."
When the door had swung shut behind them, they both stopped to take stock of the scene before them. Lorelei was living—or rather, encased—in a glass oval, roughly eight feet high, twenty feet at its longest and ten at its widest. A well-muscled guard sat at each end, armed with gun, baton and Tazer. Jane and Lisbon had shared a round-eyed look, each mirroring the other's arched eyebrow, before they had questioned the guards on security measures. The two-man watch was in place day and night for six four-hour shifts to alleviate inattentiveness and limit the need for breaks. If a guard had to leave during his shift for any reason, he did so only after another officer arrived to take his place, badges and ID's thoroughly checked and electronically monitored. The prisoner was in view at all times except when privacy was required at a small area at the back center of her cell that was partitioned off with darkly-patterned walls, open one foot down from the ceiling. The glass turned out to be a polymer-enhanced, sound- and shatter-proof, bullet-resistant acrylic, and all meals were delivered through a double blind intake, specifically designed to prohibit verbal communication between prisoner and guards. The cell shape was to allow both sentries to see along the entire exterior of the space from their respective posts. All furnishings, with the exclusion of the mattress and sparse bed and bath linens, were made of a different acrylic, charcoal colored, molded as whole pieces, no assembled parts and attached to the floor with industrial bolts that required a special tool to remove them. During her interview of the guards, Lisbon had ignored Lorelei, who had watched the proceedings with an expression of benign amusement.
After searching him and Lisbon and checking their CBI ID's, the officers had opened the glass door and let them in, and the interview had progressed much as each one previous.
After two hours, they had taken their leave, Lisbon's shoulders visibly sagging once they cleared the steel chamber door, straightening when Mann met them just outside the observation room. Jane's hand had been at her elbow and he saw no reason to remove it. The doctor had walked along Lisbon's other side, congratulating her on her control and professionalism, Jane subtly picking up the pace. Once outside and out of sight from anyone watching from the building, Lisbon had pulled away from him making her way to her side of the vehicle.
He surreptitiously watched her as they reached the outskirts of the city, posture so rigid her back barely touched the seat, eyes forward, her whole body tensed as if for flight. Their working relationship was much as it had been in recent years, but personally Lisbon was as distant, as stiff, as when they had first started working together. Then, it had been amusing, sometimes irritating and on rare occasions baffling. Now, with all they had been through together and all they had been to each other, it just hurt. And he was as good as certain that Lorelei—her part in everything as well as his not being the one to tell Lisbon, letting her go into that interview blind—was at the heart of the barrier that stood, thick and impenetrable, between them now.
"Lisbon," he began hesitantly. "About Lorelei—"
"Not now," tight and clipped.
He wondered if that translated into "Not ever". Obviously she didn't want an explanation, but he didn't think this was one of those things he could make right with mere actions.
God. He hated Vegas.