A/N: I'm so excited about this story! But first things first: I started to write this for the April challenge over at the "Paint It Red" forum, but - as it is with me - I startet waaaaay to late. So no challenge entry, but still a new story.
My biggest thanks go to Sue Shay, for she is an incredible beta, a wonderful critic and a fabulous person. Thank you so much! *hugs and kisses*
That's all, folks. Hope you like it, would love to hear what you think about. ENJOY!
*waves and jumps out*
Disclaimer: The Mentalist belongs to its creator Bruno Heller, and CBS. I'm neither of them. Therefore: Written just for fun.
BULLETPROOF
- You were never ready to save me –
Bo Bruce, "Save Me"
This first shot lingers in the air, even though several shots followed.
Still, that first one is there, clearly ringing in their ears. The sharp sinister smell fills their noses. The harsh light when the trigger is pulled and the bullet leaves the barrel of the gun – only visible for a split second – blinding their sight.
The blood dripping from the wound in her chest still on his hands.
oOo
The paramedics revive her twice: first, on the drive to the hospital when she flat-lines due to the blood loss, and the second time during surgery when they search for the bullet and find everything messed up.
It nearly happens again, but the doctors know what they are doing and have the chance to interfere before her heart stops for the third, and at this point most probably the last time.
While she fights to stay alive, he is there in the waiting area, his eyes staring at her blood covering his hands.
oOo
It takes her three weeks to wake up and the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is him, slumping in a plastic chair at her bedside and clutching her hand in both of his. She looks at him for a few moments, before using all of her remaining strength to withdraw her hand. She closes her eyes again and loses consciousness once more.
In the fifth week she's finally able to stay awake for longer than 30 minutes without exhaustion overpowering her. She never felt this weak before, not when her mother had died, not when she had to watch her father drink himself to death. Not even when trying to protect him from all the evil in the world in all those past years.
In week eight she is allowed to leave the hospital, feeling lost and alone. The bullet has done more damage to her heart than assumed – she wonders how this is even possible since he ripped it out long before the bullet came. She's no longer capable to do her job, made an invalid by the lead slug. The Bureau sends her into early retirement, honorably discharged for her outstanding dedication to bringing down the most notorious serial killer in the history of California.
Ever since that first day when she had opened her eyes after that last stand-off, she never looked, nor talked, or touched him again.
He keeps sitting by her side. Not talking. Not touching. Just looking and waiting.
oOo
The CBI shows its appreciation. Her retirement pay allows her to buy a small house at the beach in Rio del Mar, near Santa Cruz. Sacramento has always been the place she had worked, but she has never truly called it home.
But Rio del Mar feels like a place to build something – even if she only starts with it in her early forties.
Of course she keeps in contact with her old team. For a long time now they are her surrogate family, not only people she used to work with. Part of their success as a team always came from caring for each other. They may be not family by blood, but family nonetheless.
Cho is head of SCU now, with Van Pelt as his second in command. The stand-off with Red John has shown the Redhead that life is unpredictable, and for once she shot rules to the wind. She and Rigsby got married shortly afterwards, in all those years they never really fell out of love with each other. He got his own team within the CBI, specializing in arson related cases.
With Grace she talks the most. She was always the easiest to speak with. They hear from each other at least twice a week via phone or Skype. Occasionally they'd visit in person.
Today they talk on the phone. Graces voice sounds a little blurred, in the background she hears a football game on the television and Rigsby calling to his wife to send greetings.
"How are you, Teresa?"
The 'Boss' is gone, and it doesn't even hurt not being called that anymore. After all, this is her talking to family.
"It's going slowly. There's still this pain from time to time, and it feels like I'm suffocating and hyperventilating at the same time. The doctors don't know exactly where it comes from. Say everything should be fine. They call it phantom pain."
Grace doesn't say it, and Lisbon doesn't say it either, but both of them know that the phantom pain is bullshit. They both know the reason why she still suffers.
For a while the two women don't say a word. In the end it's Grace who breaks the silence.
"He asks about you all the time. I really think …"
"I don't wanna hear it, Grace," she interrupts. "He made his choice, so he has to live with it. Please don't mention him again."
And with this the topic is closed. She's sick of him being mentioned. He has dictated 10 years of her life. She was there for him, supported him, believed him, trusted him. She really thought it was the same the other way around.
In the end it was all in vain; once again he put his need for vengeance before his need for her.
She has to accept that they weren't meant to be.
oOo
It's a sunny spring-morning and she's outside in her front yard, weeding the flowerbed lining the path to her front door, when she hears the voice.
"Teresa …"
She's not looking up, doesn't have to, the voice still so familiar. It still makes her shiver, too, she realizes. Without muttering a word she takes her gardening tools and stands up.
"Teresa, please …" The voice is pleading, begging her to listen, but she had enough for a lifetime.
From the corner of her eye she sees him taking a step closer.
She ignores it. After banging the dirt off the tools, she tosses them into her bucket and enters her house without a glance, closing the door firmly behind her.
oOo
"I know you don't want to hear it," Grace tells her, the next time they're on the phone, "but you have to know this, Teresa: he quit. We have no idea where he is."
Lisbon sighs and answers, "But I do."
oOo
About a month after he first showed up in front of her house, she has enough.
Just this morning she went to the coffee shop on Esplanade only to discover his turquoise teacup. She knows it's his because there's a little chip just above the handle. When she asks Veronica – the daughter of the owner – since when the shop offers such unique porcelain, the girl grins and explains, "Oh, we don't. That's Mr. Jane's teacup. He's a regular – charming, but a little distinct – and one day he brought this cup with him. Told us it's from a special friend and the tea just tastes different when he drinks from it."
Bullshit, she thinks. The cup is from a junk-shop two streets away from HQ back in Sacramento which he bought one day on a whim, for the incredibly amount of $ 1.99.
And of course he charms the hell out of Veronica and places it in a freakin' coffee shop, no matter how untypical, and unusual, and abnormal, it is to leave your own flatware, just to show her that he can do whatever he wants.
It's not even the cup she's angry about, it's the fact that he's settling in with her new surroundings, learns the names of the coffee-shop owner's daughter and who knows who else, goes to her dry-cleaning, shows up at her cinema, knows Glinda – the owner of the resident diner – better than her.
She hates that Veronica called him a regular.
So when he shows up again this evening – she lost count of how often he did in the last weeks – she steps outside and for the first time in months takes a look at him.
He changed quite a bit, but at the same time not at all. He's still drop dead gorgeous, even though there are some additional lines at his eyes. The blond locks are tousled from the breeze and shining like gold from the setting sun. They also show the first streaks of gray at the temples. He exchanged his typical suit with jeans and a dress shirt, and for a brief moment she ponders if she ever saw him in something like that before. But the most obvious change is this look of hope and promise in his eyes that wasn't there when he was obsessing over Red John.
Both of them look similarly surprised that she actually addresses him. The surprise showing on his face changes from ecstatic over suspicious back to curious in less than a second.
Never before was reading him so easy.
"This needs to end. Now."
She's satisfied that she sounds calm and collected when really she feels totally overwhelmed. Her arms automatically cross in front of her and she gives him a dead glare. This is not what she planned when she moved to Rio del Mar. She wanted to be gone. For good.
She wanted to be away from him. Licking her wounds in private. Crying over the life she failed to live in the hope that he would finally come around and address this (nearly) unspoken love between them. What she had before Rio del Mar was a life of waiting, always full of hope for them to overcome his obsessions.
She waited in vain, so now is the time to move on.
"Not going to happen."
A smirk spreads over his face, and she nearly punches him in the nose. How dare he!
"You've got to be kidding me! Don't you get it that I –"
She's not able to say more, because suddenly his lips press down on hers and his arms wrap around her. For a second she is so shocked she can't react at all, before she realizes what's happening. Without hesitation she pushes him away and slaps him. Hard.
Nevertheless he seems unfazed, even though the smirk is gone.
"I love you," he states, simple, matter of fact, not allowing her to look away, their gazes interlocked, "I'm free to speak now, and you should finally hear it. I have loved you for so long now."
But Lisbon doesn't wanna hear it. He's talking about another time and another place.
"It's too late for that."
For the first time he shows something similar to anger and something inside her stirs. So she still has the ability to make him care. She's not sure why this makes her care, but she pushes the feeling aside.
Never again will she fall for his tricks, she swore to herself. For him all she ever had been was a mark, a means to an end. His personal information supply regarding Red John. She always refused to see it, but now she knows better,
There's only so much one can take.
"Why are you doing this, Teresa?"
The sigh escaping his lungs seems genuine, but she refuses to fall back into her old patterns of caring.
"Why are you shutting me out now? Why, after all those years? You always told me to let you in, to speak to you, and trust in you, and let you help. Why don't you allow me the same? Let me in, don't shut me out, speak with me, trust me, let me help!"
Lisbon welcomes the fury consuming her with his last words. It makes screaming at him so much easier.
"Go to hell, Jane! It is thanks to you not trusting me enough that we're in this predicament now."
"Teresa …"
"NO!" Her pulse is racing and her nails dig into the flesh of her palms, "You wanted me to talk, so now listen! You could have told me! You could have told me, and I would have helped you. I would have tried everything in my might to end this together with you. But you didn't. And when I finally caught onto your plan, every fiber – every cell – within my body screamed to hurry to you. Save you, keep you alive, not losing you. Never losing you. And I did hurry. And I did reach you. And I saved you, and kept you alive. But I lost you at the same time. Because you could have told me … and I would have worn a bulletproof west."
She takes a deep breath before she continues calmly, her voice nearly breaking and her eyes filling with unshed tears. "And when I threw myself between you and Red John's bullet, it would have hurt, but in the end I still would have had my job, and my apartment, and my team – my family – around. I would have had you, with me. Forever. … But that's fairytale now."
"But you have me!" Jane tries to grab her shoulders, but she takes a step back, "With everything in me. Every fiber, ever cell. Whole and forever."
A single tear escapes. She wipes it away hastily, once again glaring at him. The next words make her feel bitter, but they are needed to be spoken and also needed to be heard.
"No, Jane. What I have is a heart missing a part which cannot be brought back, and a scar on my chest showing me every day for the rest of my life, that you didn't trust me enough. That I wasn't enough for you."
She closes the door in his face.
oOo
She knew it wasn't over. As long as he felt the need to speak his mind as well, he wouldn't leave it alone. Anticipating it all the next day, she rubs lightly at her breastbone and paces her living room, willing the phantom pain to go away. Not that it ever worked. And fighting the sensation seemed to make her more tired than ever.
It is no surprise when there is a light knock at the door just as she's placing her dinner plate in the sink, her sandwich still on it, half-eaten. And as far as the knock, there's no point in not answering. He's not going away any time soon.
As she opens the door, the first thing she sees is a black shoebox in his hands which he holds out to her. In her confusion she stretches out her arms and takes it.
"Take a look. And when you're ready, let's talk."
She's tired of fighting, but still tries – with a resigned sigh – to give him back the box.
"We are done, Jane," she whispers softly.
Just like the day before he steps closer, but this time carefully presses a kiss to her cheek, lingering only a fraction too long. It takes everything in her to stop herself from closing the eyes at the touch of his lips on her skin.
"See, my dear?" He smiles and steps away. "That's where you got it all wrong. We are only just beginning now, Teresa."
oOo
Four days, sixteen hours, and approximately 50 minutes later she can't help it anymore and takes the box from the top of the shelves in her closet. The first few minutes she just stares at it. Eventually she sits down on her bed and reaches for the lid.
Her inner voice chides her. Calls her a fool. A weak, desperate, hopeless fool. It tries to convince her to throw away the unopened box and from now on to simply ignore blond men. Or men in general.
But in four days, sixteen hours, and approximately 57 minutes now it's also the first time she somehow feels like the old Teresa. The one who trusts her instincts, unable to resist a mystery.
The phantom pain is gone for the first time in almost five months, too.
In the end curiosity wins.
oOo
He slams shut the book in his hands and tosses it aside, before he collapses against the back of the sofa. There's no point in continuing, he doesn't even know what the last twenty pages were about.
Almost five days ago he gave her the box, but still no reaction from her side. He hoped this would help. Hoped, this would let her see that she had always been on his mind, had always been enough, ever since. That she never was a mark. That he only functions with her.
That he doesn't see himself with anyone else but her.
For years now she's the person dearest to him, the person he has in mind when love is mentioned. People always think he's talking about Angela when really everything is about Teresa. Angela is his past, and part of him will always be hers. She was his wife, the mother of his child, but Teresa is his now.
He won't give up. He'll try everything to win her back.
The loud bang on the door pulls him out of his thoughts, and for the first time in nearly five days he smiles.
She came.
She still cares.
She's still in love with him. She wouldn't have come – even if she's angry – if she didn't.
When he opens the door the box he gave her almost five days ago is thrown in his face. Only in the last second he's able to catch it before it hits him in the face. While he struggles to hold onto the box, she shoves him to the side and storms into the room, where she starts to pace. Quickly. And full of anger.
"You son of bitch!" she hisses, when she finally stops pacing and glares at him. And his beautiful, angry little princess stands once again in front of him. "You think you can buy me with emeralds?!"
He has to stop himself from beaming. She's adorable.
"Of course not! I never gave those jewels away in the first place, because they remind me of you."
It seems she's not happy with the answer, so she switches to the next object.
"And what about this god-awful paper frog?"
Self-restraint never felt so hard, and he's not able to hold back at least a small smile.
"Once upon a time it made you laugh. I like when you laugh. You don't laugh enough."
"I laugh plenty, thank you very much. But that's not the point, Jane. What is this stuff? It makes no sense!" The sigh is heartbreaking, and it looks like all the fight drains out of her. Left is an exhausted, confused woman. "Why do you keep doing this?"
Jane wants to embrace her but knows it's too early. Patience is a virtue. A virtue he truly mastered. Therefore he just keeps standing in front of her, smiling softly.
"Can't you see, my dear?"
"Stop calling me 'dear'!" The anger flashes again in her eyes.
"This is all about you."
"Pardon me?"
"Look at it: Remember 'The fool'?" He throws the top from the box and shows her the white card with the joker's hat drawn on it. "Remember Kelly? She was afraid to never find true love. It was our first case together. Or this?" He picks up a rosary, old and often used, the different colors of the pearls nearly impossible to tell apart. She recognizes it immediately. "You accidently left it at the church that day you took me back after the Vegas fiasco. And this?" Now he holds a print-out in his hands. "This is a list of all places in and around Sacramento to shelter horses and ponies. I knew you couldn't keep it, but I also knew you wanted a good place for Cupcake."
She has no idea why he knows that she chose Cupcake as a name for the pony he gave her for her birthday all those years ago. A jolt of affection assails her, and she doesn't know if it's in remembrance of the cute brown pony, or for Jane.
Back at her house she only looked at the paper frog and the emeralds and got so angry that she forgot to look at the other stuff. She threw the two items back, grabbed her keys and drove over to the motel she knew he was staying at.
More warm feelings emerge now when her eyes travel over all those things in the box: the fool-card, the rosary, the list with horse-shelters, the paper frog, the green diamonds, 'More Than Words', the picture of a pink bridesmaid dress, the DVD of that interview he gave Erica Flynn.
But his betrayal still feels so fresh, like an open wound which won't close, no matter what she does. She swallows, again shaking her head, and wants to repeat that this has no meaning anymore. She opens her mouth when her eyes fall on a small black velvet box between the horse-list and halfway under the picture of the dress.
Her inner voice screams now. She demands that she turns around and finally leave.
All in vain, for she takes a step forward and grabs the jewel case.
"It's better not what I think it is!" she warns and opens it.
A gasp escapes her. She wasn't expecting this.
"I need you to keep it for me, Teresa." The golden, worn wedding ring sits in the middle of white silk, and she can't avert her eyes from it, while he can't avert his eyes from her. "Just like you kept me safe all those years. I know it was me telling you that I would always save you, but truth to be told, it was always the other way around. I wasn't ready to save you, then. But there is no one else I trust more. I'm sorry that I'm not strong enough to let go of it for good, but I hope it shows you, that – although it always seemed I clung to the past – my future lies with you. I adore you."
After this confession there is silence. For a long time. Even breathing appears to be too loud.
He has no idea what she's thinking. No idea what she'll do. It nearly kills him standing here and waiting for her reaction.
But finally, "Give me time."
She turns around without looking at him again; ignores the box with the items he brought her, and leaves his motel room.
Jane watches her leave, his eyes glued to the back of her head. Lisbon doesn't turn around, but that's not important.
Important is the velvet box tightly clutched in her hand.
oOo
Fall is fading into winter, and winter turns into spring, when Grace Van Pelt gets the post from the mailbox after her morning run and discovers an elegant, cream colored envelope in between prospects, bills and gift coupons. She steps through the front door, walks to the kitchen, where she kisses her husband and smiles at him for he prepared breakfast while she was outside, before she takes the pretty envelope into her hands again.
Surprise, but mostly joy, overflows her when she reads she and Wayne are invited to attend the celebration of Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane joining in the holy bond of matrimony.
oOo
The rain has stopped and it turns out to be a warm and sunny spring day when a handful of close friends gather in a small church somewhere in the middle of Napa Valley.
They follow the ceremony intently; some of them even shed some happy tears.
His vow to her is deeply heartfelt, earnest, reverent.
"You make me who I'm meant to be, my deepest and truest self. I fall in love with you each day anew. And my love for you is true. Deeply. Forever. I love being yours for you have the most beautiful mind. And tonight I'll fall asleep with you in my heart."
She smiles and tells him her love for him was always there – even in her darkest moments – and not another moment will pass without him in her heart. She knows now that this was meant to be. That they were meant to be.
And when they kiss, a sunray makes her necklace glisten, hanging from its links her mother's cross and a golden, worn wedding ring.
FIN