Second Impact

Story: A routine case becomes a disaster. With Lisbon in bad shape, Patrick Jane frantically seeks revenge on her attacker, determined not to let it go until he finds him, even if it kills him.

Type: Hurt/Comfort/Angst combined with a touch of humor. There is a lot of friendship going on, no Jisbon.

All major characters are present.

There are no spoilers; this is a standalone case and story. It is set before the resolution of the Red John-case, somewhere in the timelines between season 4 and 5 without special mention to any RJ-related characters with Gale Bertram leading the CBI.

This story is written from Jane's POV.

Feedback and reviews are very much appreciated!

Part one

I don't know what happened. To be honest, I was as shocked as anyone without my mental insights would have been. There was nothing to warn us, nothing to surprise us. All we had to do was go into that old abandoned shack off the main road where one of our three suspects had lived up until three weeks ago, check that out and then head out to the CBI office to concentrate on the real investigation. The check should have been routine since none of us really believed there would be evidence there. But because Lisbon and I were the closest in the area, she suggested to make a quick stop and check it out anyway.

As we got out of the car, I looked briefly at the old shed. It consisted out of a few rambling walls, an old creaking door and no windows. There was no way anyone could still live here. Lisbon saw the look on my face. "Jane, we have to cover every track, you know that. So that's what we are doing."

"Yes, ma'am," I said politely, which of course concerned her even more. She didn't like me acting up but she definitely also didn't like me being cheeky like this.

As we approached the shed, the door flung open in its hinges, pushed by a wind that seemed to come through the building. On the side, a small window was pushed open. On days like this, with a strong California breeze, it was enough to make the shabby shack look even more shambled.

Nonetheless, Lisbon took out her gun and held it before her. Me, unarmed as always, followed right behind her as I usually did. "Jane, stay behind me," Lisbon said. "Or better yet, stay in the car."

"Oh no," I replied. "I'm having too much fun roaming around in the dark behind you. But do warn me when the going gets tough so I can run. I am good at running."

As we entered the shack, I could hear her snort, then becoming serious again. "Hush, be quiet. There might be someone here. You're distracting me."

"Lisbon, you know as well as I do that there are no signs on doors pointing out towards killers, saying: Find me here. This is an empty trail and a waste of time. Our killer is not here nor has he ever been in the past three weeks. Which proves my point that he's probably not even our killer to begin with because he was in jail. I don't know why you would even bother –"

"Jane, shut up," she hissed, wavering at me while her eyes were fixed on the empty darkness before us. "I thought I'd heard something."

We both froze and stood still, barely seeing anything in the darkness of that shack.

Since I hated guns, I was ready to run out of there in a second. But all we heard was the dripping of an old pipe, just about the only thing still working in this frosty warehouse. I felt chills run down my spine because of the cold. But all we saw in that room was a shabby old bed, an old closet and some creaked chairs. There was nothing else.

"Okay, I'm done," I said, startling Lisbon as I had approached her from a very short distance, whose eyes roamed around, searching for something that wasn't there. "Must be your imagination, Lisbon. Come on, I'm hungry. There's a great hot dog place around the corner. I'll treat you."

She turned towards me, lowering her gun. "You're right. Let's go." As she came towards me, she kicked my shoulder hard.

"Hey!" I yelped, "what was that for?"

"For startling me. You can be so childish, Jane."

I smiled as I placed my hand on her shoulder and pulled her with me. "That's what you like about me. Come on, Lisbon. Let's go."

As we headed towards the door, I heard a loud bang, followed by another one; an all-too familiar sound only to be associated with guns. A millisecond later, we were both on the ground. I didn't even realize what was going on until something hard pushed me forward, throwing me off my feet and slamming my head against the concrete floor. I saw black as a sharp pain shot through my right temple. I lay down panting and confused, not know what was going on and seeing red. Only to realize then that it was Lisbon who had thrown me against the floor, falling on top of me. She was a lightweight but at that moment she could have weighed four hundred pounds.

I stayed down confused, face down, with her body on top of me as a pair of feet passed by us, stopped for a brief moment, seemed to hesitate and then hurried out of the shack. I stayed very still when he did that, hoping that he would think we were both dead. Otherwise, I was certain, we would not live to see another day.

"Lisbon," I whispered when it became quiet inside. "Lisbon, get off me. He's gone. It's alright, we're safe. Lisbon? Get off me!"

But she didn't move. Her black hair was tickling my neck and I tried to move her off me. "Lisbon." My hand grasped her arm, trying to get her off me. "Lisbon, can you hear me? Lisbon! Come on, stop fooling around."

But again, she didn't move.

Now I started to panic. Here I was, lying on the ground on my stomach, with Lisbon on top of me, unmoving. My head felt like it would burst as her weight smothered me. I felt disoriented in this situation as the pain in my head numbed me.

Only then did I realize that she wasn't mucking about. She was unconscious, leaning into me with her face against my shoulder and her hair spread wide over us.

I held her with my right arm as I started to shift my weight from underneath her, meanwhile supporting her body so it wouldn't touch the ground. I rolled gently away from her until she shifted aside of me, her side touching the ground. Groaning from the effort I managed to free myself from her weight, crawled upwards and looked at her lying on her side, her black long hair still covering her face. I swore she was dead, I had never seen her so still before. Gone was the fierce, small Special Agent that could mouth off to anyone and get away with it. It was this that frightened me the most.

"Lisbon," I said, shaking her arm gently, praying and hoping that she would open her eyes, laugh at my distress and get up. "Lisbon, come on, wake up. This is not funny."

I pushed her hair from her face. Even in the darkness I could see her startling grey pallor. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted in a painful expression. I had never seen her like this before. She was, even unconscious, in pain.

My hands started roaming her, looking for wounds. Her dark suit prevented me from seeing anything. Why the hell was she always dressed in black jackets? I crawled upwards and pushed open the shack door but it kept on closing so I kicked against it until it dropped out of its hinges, allow strong sunlight to enter light into the room.

Then I sunk to my knees as I crawled back towards her, touching her face, her torso, her legs. And there it was, in her back. A hole in her jacket, blood on her white T-shirt. It was pouring out of the gunshot wound rapidly.

"Oh no," I whispered, quickly but gently removing her jacket so I could take a better look at the wound. Never before had I felt so helpless as I found myself sitting there besides her, watching her bleed.

Instinctively my mind told my body what to do, ordering my hands to push down on her back as I tried to stop the bleeding. Her blood seeped through my fingers, onto my wedding ring and onto the palms of my hands. I looked at all the blood, knowing I couldn't stand it. I let go and rubbed my hands against my clothes, only to push down again. Ignoring the excruciating pain in my head – almost welcoming it as it kept me alert – still pushing on her wound with my left hand, I reached for my phone with the right, unable to grab it from my coat jacket without letting go of her.

I realized all too soberly that we were completely alone in this shed and that Lisbon, my boss, friend and confidant, could die right in front of me, in my arms. She was still on her side and her eyes opened briefly. For a second I thought she was dying. She made fun noises and then that stopped too.

"Lisbon," I say, my voice trembling like never before. "Lisbon, don't do this to me, damnit."

Then she sighed deeply and her eyes closed. I realized she was still alive and that my voice somehow calmed her down. That was enough to get me going. I took deep, trembling breaths. Someone had to help us. But that someone would have to be me. There was no one else. The team didn't even know that we were in trouble. They wouldn't be able to guess. And if I let go now, Lisbon would die here and it would be on me.

Suddenly her eyes opened again and she stared right into my face. All color had drained from her skin. Her face was pale, making her eyes and lashes seem even darker. Her lips were bluish, her breathing short and shallow.

"Lisbon," I spoke, "Lisbon, hang on. Hang on, for god's sake." I stare at the crucifix on her necklace. Anti-God as I was, I found myself praying for strength.

Sharp pain shot through me, numbing my head, my body and my moves. I shrugged my jacket off me, trying to get to my phone without letting go of her. Nausea rose up in my throat. Clumsily I dropped the phone to the ground, letting go of Lisbon at long last as I turned my head and fought against the bile building up inside of me. I felt lightheaded and weak, forcing myself to stay put and focus on her. But I failed to succeed.

I moved away from me, crawling on hands and feet like some animal, until I found myself against the wall and left whatever was inside of me. My body heaved and I couldn't stop the vomiting. It was horrible. The foul taste of bile remained inside my mouth as my body continued to struggle until it was over. I knew I had a concussion, there was no doubt about that. But like hell I would give in.

I grabbed a handkerchief from my pocket, wiped my mouth and leaned heavily against the wall. She needs you, pounded through my head. Get up and make that call!

I crawled back towards her, grasped my phone again and dialed 911 with bloodstained fingers, using every effort inside of me that I could muster. Relief shot through me when the operator responded within the second. "911 Operator. What is your emergency?"

"This is – I'm Patrick Jane," I heard myself whisper. "I need help. My partner – Special Agent Lisbon, with the CBI, has been shot. We – I can't – We need help, right now."

"Sir? Sir, calm down," the female voice on the other side said. "Sir, where are you? Is the shooter still there? Are you alone?"

"I don't know," I said, not remembering the address. "I think he's gone. Can you – can you trace us? Call the CBI – Agent Van Pelt can trace us – I – Please hurry –"

I dropped the phone as Lisbon moaned, pushing both of my hands against her back once more. I heard voices coming from the other side of the line. My phone was lying there with open line, but I couldn't pick it up out of fear of losing her.

I had some memories of what to do when someone gets shot. "Pressure," I heard myself say. "Put pressure on the wound and hold on." I heard myself repeating it over and over again, like a mantra. "Pressure … pressure …"

Thousands of memories of Lisbon shot through my mind. We've worked together for so long that I could hardly remember a time before her. She was my best friend, the one person that knows me for who I really am. The one who took me with all my good but mostly bad behavior. If I lost her – if I lost her too – I wouldn't know how to move on. She saved me in so many ways and here I was, helpless and unable to return the favor. And to get killed in such a stupid way was not what she deserved.

I looked around for something to cover her with as she felt cold to the touch. All this time she hadn't said a single word and it frightened me beyond anything. Finally I grasped my own jacket and laid it over her, my hands underneath it as they held onto the wound.

She was starting to hurt. Her lips twitched, her eyelashes flickered. She wanted to wake up, I could tell, but I soothed her, speaking gentle words to her. "Lisbon … Teresa, stay calm. It is all okay. Think of a warm and gentle beach. Think of sunny days. Think of everything that you have always liked. Do not think of the pain. Let the pain escape your body. That's it, Teresa … Let yourself rest. You can do it, Lisbon. Just listen to my voice."

With that, her eyes focused on me briefly and closed. She was calm now. And so was I. I knew I could save her – and I would.