Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist.
Note: I have intended this as a one-shot, but I may continue if it gets a good response. Or if I happen to get really, hopelessly bored.
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It was just after three in the morning when the screen of Teresa Lisbon's cell phone lit up her bedroom, ringing shrilly. She licked her lips, dry from sleep, and pressed her warm palm to her forehead, feeling the sheen of cold sweat left over from a nightmare. The fingers of her free hand fumbled in the dark for her bedside table, finding the phone and flipping it open.
"Lisbon," her gravelly voice answered.
"Boss, we've got a case," Cho said smoothly, and Lisbon could hear many voices in the background, and an awful noise that she supposed was meant to be music.
"'Mmkay. What's the location? Local PD on the scene?" She sat up slowly, stretched, and twisted her torso to dangle her legs from the side of her bed.
"Fifteen thousand forty-two Toddley Road. There are several units here, trying to keep the crowd back. There's been quite a turnout."
"Alright." Must be a particularly grisly, public murder scene, to have garnered so many rubber-neckers. "I'm on my way."
Of the members of her team, Lisbon lived the farthest from the crime scene, so she arrived after Van Pelt and Cho, and minutes before Rigsby. Jane was nowhere to be seen. Once the four of them were together, Cho filled the rest of them in on what he'd learned from police. It was difficult to hear over the sizable crowd of people that had gathered; the local PD had established a perimeter, but that did nothing for the noise. Some of it was coming from businesses around the crime scene, which Lisbon noticed, with distaste, was a rundown strip club.
"So far, we know the victim is twenty-two year old Amanda Hayes, multiple stab wounds. She worked at the club here. Manager saw her clock out around eleven p.m., and around one this morning, he locked up, and his was the only car in the parking lot. No sign of Amanda. She was found by a coworker shortly afterward behind the dumpster that the club and another business share. General speculation is, she may have been meeting someone back there, because there're no signs of a struggle elsewhere on the premises."
"Meeting someone. For any number of harmless reasons, I'm sure," Van Pelt muttered. Rigsby glanced at her with a worried expression. He'd done that a lot lately.
"Well, let's go check out the body, then."
Amanda Hayes was slumped against the far side of a grimy green dumpster. Shining a flashlight on the young woman's face, Lisbon could tell she had been very pretty in life. Her hair needed washing and her makeup was far too heavy; her flashy clothes had definitely seen better days, but she would have been one to turn heads. And judging by her choice of job, she'd known it. Lisbon always pitied the ones who had endured so much in life, and still met a violent end. But something about the woman's face demanded that Lisbon not dismiss her. She eyed the bloody places on the woman's torso and her throat tightened. There was truly no justice for some.
"Woah! Why all the long faces? Did someone die?" Jane said, appearing out of some dark, black hole, entirely inappropriate. He looked down at Hayes' still form. "Oh, well...I do have incredible intuition. Perhaps I am psychic after all!"
"Jane," Lisbon hissed, "please, if you aren't going to offer any usefulinformation, just leave!"
"Just hold your horses, Lisbon! I'm missing perfectly blissful beauty sleep to boost your morale. The least you could do is pretend I'm succeeding."
Rigsby sucked his lips into his mouth as though trying to hide a smile.
"Oh, my God. This is so inappropriate. Jane, please. Clues? Now?" Lisbon felt heat flaring in her collar, and she crossed her arms tightly against herself to keep out Jane and the invading chill of death in the morning.
"Okay, Super Sleuth. Let's see here..." Jane knelt down beside the body and kept his eyes on the girl's face as he gestured toward Lisbon.
"What? What is it?"
"Shine your lovin' light on me, oh lovely Lisbon," Jane said in monotone. Lisbon rolled her eyes and handed her flashlight down to him, trying to ignore Rigsby's and Van Pelt's muffled chuckles. Cho was impassive as ever.
Jane tilted his head this way and that, moving the beam over the girl's still cooling body, his mouth slightly open in thought. Lisbon thought for a moment that he reminded her of a very attractive dentist. She blushed in the darkness.
Dead girl in front of you, Teresa. Be a professional. Do not ogle your consultant.
After another moment, Jane stood, clicked off the light and handed it to Cho, who was nearest. He was silent.
"Well?" Lisbon asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I think we can safely say that this young lady was, unfortunately, murdered." Jane answered, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other gesturing to no one in particular.
"Is that all?" Lisbon asked, trying to control her impulse to knock him out with the butt of her gun.
"Of course not. Obviously." He looked down at the body. "Although it would be very easy to assume the victim was simply a misguided woman with no respect for herself, a cursory glance tells me she wasn't. For instance, though her clothes indicate she was, in fact, a stripper, it was hardly her career of choice. Her nails are perfectly manicured, there are no visible tattoos, no obvious needle marks from drug use...etcetera. This woman took care of herself. Very proud of her body, in a modest, subtle way. Not likely to share herself with a ton of strangers for money."
"Just because she doesn't fit into some stereotype doesn't mean-" Van Pelt began, but Lisbon interrupted.
"He's right," she said, and she sighed. "I can see it in her face. She put on a ton of makeup to make her feel like it wasn't her that was the stripper. She was young, probably needed money. Had no where to go." And Lisbon felt that feeling in her gut, that horrible guilt that she had somehow been responsible. She might have seen the girl on the street and ignored her because of how she dressed, how much eyeshadow she caked on. In situations like this, it seemed that every person who had seen and done nothing had contributed to this girl's early death. Lisbon's mind flashed to the moment Jane had shot Timothy Carter, and she tried not to think of how often she failed people.
"Stop that, Lisbon." Jane said quietly. He was suddenly at her side, and she was momentarily knocked off balance at his nearness.
"Stop what?" she whispered.
"Blaming yourself. She was the victim of circumstance...also, stabbing, and strangulation, and probably poverty and loneliness and-"
"Did you say, 'strangulation?'" Lisbon asked suddenly, and Jane paused.
"Well, yes. There are tiny burns just under her ears. Could really be from anything, but I'll bet come tomorrow we'll find out that's what actually killed her."
"Hey, Boss? The chief wants a word." Lisbon nodded. She hadn't really noticed Cho had stepped away, because she'd been too busy listening to Jane's antics. She knew the coroner's report would declare Jane right, and the cause of death would be strangulation. But why, if Amanda Hayes was strangled to death, would her attacker then need to stab her so many times? And she had it.
Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.
So in the span of five minutes, Jane had determined what kind of girl the victim was. A modest person with self-respect and decency, who had fallen victim to the ways of the world, and then some angry, vicious killer. It was so wrong-place-with-wrong-people-at-the-wrong-time, and Lisbon couldn't keep her thoughts from going to her brothers, and the numerous times she'd had to bail them out of jail, the questionable company they'd kept, and the demons they had all wrestled with their whole lives. The difference between Amanda Hayes and the Lisbon boys was simple: for the Lisbons, someone had been there. For Hayes, no one had.
And no one had been there for Jane through the worst of his life, either. Lisbon shuddered.
"Boss, are you alright?" Van Pelt asked, and Lisbon blinked to rid herself of her dark thoughts.
"I'm fine, just taking mental notes. Next step is the motive. I'm going to go see what the chief wants. I know it's early, but let's get contact info for Hayes' coworkers, family, boyfriend, and whoever found the body. We'll interview them at a more reasonable hour. They may not even know she's gone yet."
With her orders given, Lisbon turned on her heel before anyone else could ask if she was okay. But she caught the look on Jane's face, and she knew he wouldn't be letting it go.
When the day was done and they'd accomplished all they could, Lisbon returned to her empty house and went straight to her room. She climbed into her unmade bed, shoes and all, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She didn't know how long she lay there, silently praying that the rotten images of her brothers, cold and lifeless, would leave her. How many nights had she lain awake in her youth, worrying that the next time the phone rang, it would be bad news? And every time they had a case like this, of an innocent soul who was killed because they had the misfortune to be caught up in a bad situation, all the nightmares came flooding back. She knew it was irrational; her brothers were adults now, and had long grown out of their rebellious stages. They had families and careers and security. And still, she was afraid.
And though the fear was familiar, it wasn't for her brothers.
Her mind flashed back to the nightmare she'd been having that very morning, just before her phone had rang to notify her of someone else's death.
She was young again, maybe seventeen, still living in her drunken father's house. The sun was setting. She had just finished drying the dishes, and had put her father to bed early, when the phone rang. It was her youngest brother Tommy, asking if she was alright. There was a knock at her door before she could ask what he meant.
Outside her door were two police officers. Their grim faces told her all she needed to know. He was dead, gone. Even though the dream made no sense, grief gripped her and shredded her like paper. Wrenched her heart from her chest, rendering it useless for the rest of forever.
In that blurry haze of a dream, the scene suddenly changed, and she stood before a large, shiny, black casket. She swallowed, leaned forward, and her younger self gently pressed her lips against Patrick Jane's lifeless brow.
In the present, she shuddered. Since Jane had killed the man he'd thought was Red John, the nightmares had come more frequently, more vividly. Her worry for him consumed her, controlled her thoughts. She was in a cardboard box, and if she cried enough, she could burst through the damp walls. But no tears would come. If she could scream loud enough, someone would cut the tape and open the top, but her voice was withered away. But if she did nothing, she was in serious danger of being written off as useless, left in that box with musty books and broken things, and shelved.
Shelved.
"Lisbon, I really wish you'd stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's just not your shade of blue."
Lisbon started, straining her neck to see over the covers still hiked to her chin. There was Jane, leaning against the frame of her bedroom door, looking for all the world like he belonged there.
"How did you get in my house?" she asked tiredly. Probably he had picked the lock, but she didn't want to seem okay with it.
"That you even have to ask that question is insulting," he said, rolling his eyes as he came to stand beside her bed. Once he looked into her eyes, though, his expression softened. "Lisbon...Teresa, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she answered, turning away. "We'll catch him. Or her. Whoever did it. Like we always do." That made her smile a little.
"Yes, we will, but that's not what I meant," Jane persisted, crossing his arms. Lisbon raised an eyebrow. Begrudgingly, she sat up, and Jane immediately sank down beside her on the bed, keeping his posture perfect and still maintaining that careless, relaxed manner that made him Jane. Lisbon said nothing, waiting for him to speak.
"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong, so I can make it better. Your attitude really takes the pleasure out of coming to work every day." His attempt at humor is lost on Lisbon, who just stares ahead. Ahead at nothing but the blank wall of her bedroom, devoid of photographs of her family or even replicated artwork by some long dead famed artist. She was so utterly, completely afraid of that. Enjoying something familiar, lest it be taken away.
Jane seemed to realize this at the same time that she did, because his voice lost all teasing, and he simply said, "Oh, Teresa."
Slowly, painfully, his arm snaked around her tiny shoulders. His hand curved around her upper arm, and he gently pulled her toward him, until their sides were flush against each other. He looked down at her hands, resting unnaturally still on her knees. He placed his free hand on top of hers.
The entire action seemed to take ten years. Neither of them said anything, until at last, Lisbon felt that Jane deserved to be acknowledged.
"I worry for you, Jane."
"I know. You worry for everyone." They were looking straight ahead, at the same place on the wall, not at each other.
"No, not everyone. Not anymore." Quietly, in whispers. She almost hopes he doesn't hear.
"Well, I-"
"Does that make me a bad person? A selfish person? Shouldn't I be more concerned, when I've seen first hand what people can do to each other?" Her voice cracks, and she hates herself for it. Hates herself for being so harsh toward Jane since his trial and acquittal. Why had she done it? To push him away? She blinked.
"You could never be a bad person, Teresa. You were worried for Amanda Hayes today," he offered, almost as an afterthought. "I saw how you looked at her. You look at all of them that way. You do not take the loss of life lightly, and everyone knows that."
"But I have nightmares, Jane!" Lisbon shot back, and against their previous hushed tones, it almost seemed like a shout. She ripped herself away from him, flung herself from her bed. She leaned into the blank wall that she had kept her eyes fixed on. Pressed her forehead and palms against its cool, bare surface. Why was she falling apart now?
"What kind of nightmares, Lisbon?" Jane asked weakly. Like an aching, injured animal. And for some reason, that sent her over the edge.
"The bad kind, Jane," she mumbled, keeping her face pressed into the wall. She didn't dare look at him. "The kind I'm ashamed to have. Because they're never, ever about the poor people whose murders we solve for a living. They're never about Grace, who looks a little more damaged every day, or Rigsby, who suffers because he can't help her. Or even Cho, and he has so many things in his life, so much tragedy I could never wrap my mind around." She closed her eyes, exhaled, and felt her warm breath bounce off the wall and back into her face. It was too hot. She turned her face downward. Her breath fell to the floor.
The hardest part to admit to came next. She felt herself die a little when she spoke the words out loud.
"They're not even about my brothers. Or my mother. Or anyone who has a rational reason for being important to me." A tear slides down her face, and it shocks her enough for her to realize Jane has come to stand beside her, and he, too, is facing downward, his hands in his pockets. Neither spoke.
"What's so interesting down there, hmm?" he asked quietly. Lisbon didn't move. She felt him turn to face her. His arm extended, his fingers found her chin and gently turned her face so that she had no choice but to look at him.
His thumb applied gentle pressure to the tear that still clung to her skin. He didn't wipe it away. Rather, it seemed it was trying to help her absorb it, so that it would be like it never happened. Try as she might, she couldn't keep her bottom lip from quivering. She instantly regretted it, because Jane's eyes missed nothing, and the brokenness in his blue gaze seemed to dim his light. A sound tore from Lisbon's throat, the sound of defeat, and she tried to look away, to cast her gaze downward again, but Jane stopped her short.
His fingers pulled her chin up, more forcefully than before. She barely had time to notice his expression was set, determined, and his blue eyes were not the color of the ocean, but the hottest part of the flame.
His lips met hers, warm and soft. Not moist, but then she imagined hers were dry as a bone, too. She instantly knew something was wrong with her; her consultant was kissing her, something she dreamed about as often as she woke up screaming from nightmares about his death, and she was pondering mouth moisture levels.
His hand found the back of her neck, his fingertips slipping into her hair at the scalp, and then taking a strand between two fingers, following it down to the end.
Once her hair fell back to her neck, she realized the kiss was over. How long had it lasted? Had she responded? He was leaning against her, holding her. Exhausted.
Then, quietly, "I don't dream about my wife and child anymore."
Lisbon swallowed.
"Apparently, you're the only one my wreck of a heart will allow in my dreams. Now you tell me, am I a bad person? Am I selfish? Or am I lucky, that I've found someone I care enough about that they take precedence over everyone and everything else, even when I'm asleep?"
Lisbon said nothing. She couldn't. She absolutely could not think quickly or thoroughly enough about what her consultant, Patrick Jane, had very nearly admitted.
Hours seemed to pass, and he kissed her temple.
"I hope we'll both sleep well tonight, Teresa," he whispered, and he was gone.
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It was some time after he'd left that she managed to pry herself from the wall and walk the five feet to collapse into her bed. She tucked her knees into her stomach and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come swiftly.
She thought of Jane and his "perfectly blissful beauty sleep" and she realized he hadn't referred to sleep as "blissful" before. Ever. And she pondered his good mood when he'd arrived at the crime scene. How attentive he'd been, not to the case, but to her. At the time she'd written it off as Jane being sarcastic, Jane being annoying, Jane being inappropriate.
It now occurred to her that it was Jane, in love.
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Review, because A. It only takes 30 seconds and B...I'll figure that one out later. :)