A/N: Here's a variation on a theme I think I like … Jane whump. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I do NOT own THE MENTALIST
Whatever you do… Don't forget to READ AND REVIEW!
Teresa Lisbon found herself wondering why she even bothered trying to rein Patrick Jane in. He was the most irritating, arrogant, sneaky man she had ever known. They had a case and needed to hit the road but Jane was in the bathroom. He'd been in there forever, probably admiring himself and primping. God knows it must take work to make hair look that glorious. She was about to send Rigsby in after him, when he strolled out smiling. Lisbon was so miffed she couldn't speak.
"Shall we go?" he turned on his best toothy smile and casually walked past the waiting team.
They all got in the Suburban, Van Pelt was staying behind to handle the IT stuff so there was ample room. Jane, climbed in behind the driver's seat, and asked, "Where's the case?" sounding quite chipper.
His sunny tone was bugging the crap out of Lisbon. "Vallejo "she snarled.
"Vallejo, isn't that where the Zodiac killer is from?" Rigsby chirped excitedly.
"Yes Rigsby. Look we have a three hour drive ahead of us and it is still pretty early, why don't you guys take a nap."
Rigsby laughed, "Jane's already asleep!"
"Thank God for small favors." Maybe she could get through this hellatious morning traffic without Jane driving her insane.
Jane was not asleep; he was almost unconscious from the pain, in his head. He felt it coming, saw the aura… the whole nine yards. That was why he was in the bathroom for so long; he was working up to coming out, when the migraine struck him full force while washing his hands.
He had plenty of migraines before, but this one came on like a freight train, plowing a new railway through his skull. Usually his migraines were more of a slow tightening process, like a vice that builds and builds until you feel like you are going to puke. He spent a large portion of his time in the bathroom this morning doing just that, not fixing his hair, but retching, each spasm bringing new heights of pain in his head.
Now he found himself, sitting in the nearly blinding sun, sun that even the heavily tinted windows could not mitigate enough, to soften Jane's agony. He was trying desperately to hide his situation from the team, and stay working. This work was all he had; these people were the only people in his life.
Regardless of his splitting headache he couldn't face being alone in that house all day, the night time was hell enough. He was vaguely aware of a bead of sweat trickling down his brow onto his cheek, he had no desire to do anything about the tickling sensation for fear of what moving would bring, but he didn't want Rigsby to notice he was sweating .So he swiped his hand across his forehead. The movement brought with it an explosion of white-hot torment filling his brain. He stifled a groan, there was something wrong with this headache; it was too different, and too intense. Nevertheless, Jane wasn't coherent enough to do anything about it. He was beginning to regret his decision to keep his headache to himself.
An hour into the miserable drive, Jane was unconscious. No one noticed… no one saw how ghostly pale he had become, his lips faded to white. They didn't see there was a problem until Lisbon pulled into a service station forty-five minutes later, by then Patrick Jane was in serious trouble, his respirations were speeding up, his body was struggling, it was trying to get more oxygen. His heart was beginning to beat erratically, things were becoming desperate, but no one had noticed.
Lisbon, parked the Suburban next to the pump, she had to go in to pay, as the pumps seemed to be circa nineteen-seventy. Once the pump was on, Rigsby filled the tank. Cho got out to buy a bottle of water.
"Jane, you want a bottle of water?" Cho turned around and looked at Jane for the first time that day 'Crap' He sped around to the other side of the car yelling "Lisbon call 911!"