Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist or any of its characters.
It almost didn't feel like a home anymore. It was just a building, with walls, and windows, and fancy floors, and doors. He would have forgotten it used to be a home some eight years ago if it wasn't for all the memories that would crowd under his eyelashes every time he closed his eyes. He could still absent mindedly stare at the rooms and see how his little daughter used to jump around this house, with her tiny feet making tiny thumping noises on the floor, and the sound of her giggles making everything come alive. Sometimes he could see his wife standing in the kitchen cooking some exotic dish, while talking on the phone with her girlfriend about some juicy gossip. And then it would all fade away and be replaced by a vast deserted building filled with lonely emptiness. It almost didn't feel like a home anymore.
When the doorbell rang late in the evening, he almost thought it was a mistake; nobody came to see him, especially at this hour. He peeked through the peep hole, and was surprised to see Lisbon standing outside. Honestly, he wasn't expecting her to actually show up at his door when she threatened to do so. "Hi Lisbon", he greeted her by opening the door only slightly, and giving her a small smile. "I'm not having a barbeque here." He joked.
She rolled her eyes, and gave him a tiny glare. "Why don't you ever let any of us into your house? You've been to my place so many times."
"You know why", he answered softly, his eyes clouding with emotions for just a few seconds before he snapped himself back to normal. "Well, I'll see you at work on Monday then."
He attempted to close the door, but she pushed it back with her hands and stopped him. "Can I come in and talk?"
"Can we go out and talk?" he countered swiftly.
She thought about it for a moment. If he wasn't comfortable with having people over at his house, then maybe she should respect that and give him his space. After all, Jane always knew what he was doing.
Then again, if he was going to lock himself in that house for a whole week with just an application to Hightower and without even telling her about it, and not answer her calls or texts, she had every damn right to even knock down the door and dash in without permission.
"No", she answered stubbornly, crossing his arms over her chest.
Of course he was more stubborn than her. She could try, but he would always be two steps ahead. "Ok, then", he leaned against the wall, making himself comfortable, "tell me what's on your mind? How can I help you?"
She just stared at him for a minute. Maybe she could win a staring contest with him, knock down his defenses for once, and make him show his vulnerable side? She wanted to say so many things, starting from "you're being a dick" to "why are you here?" to "why didn't you tell me?", but instead, she only accused, "Why didn't you answer my calls?"
"I'm cutting myself from the world for a week, that's the idea, Lisbon." He reminded her.
"Bullshit." She hissed, her eyes burning with something that even he couldn't read. And then she controlled herself, took a deep breath, calmed herself down- the same technique that she had been applying ever since the day she met him and a latent urge to punch him was born inside her. "I could really use your help on a case this week."
He gave her a teasing grin. "So you're finally admitting that you're no good without me?"
She gave him another glare. And no words. That should have an effect on him.
He waited for her to give in to his attempts to be playful and avoid any deep conversations, but that never happened. He sighed. "Look, I took this break because I need to focus."
"You are focused." She argued, pointing out how good he was at solving the cases. "And I don't get how locking yourself up in here can help you focus!"
He didn't answer. He thought for a moment, his eyes fixed on some spot behind her shoulder. Locking himself up was the perfect way to focus. All he could focus on was what he had and what he lost and what he had to do to make it all… right. He would have said to make it better, but he knew that wasn't possible.
She wished she could get a read on his face. It looked like he was frozen, lost in some other world. For a moment, she regretted saying it. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to bring it up.
And then he stepped aside from the door, and swung it wide open, a move that stunned her so much that she took two steps back. She stared at him with wide eyes. Did Jane just invite her into his house? This had to be one of his twisted mind games.
"Come on in", he smiled softly, reassuring her that he was sure what he was doing.
She took in a deep breath to brace herself. She had been here before when the investigation first started, when she first met Jane, but that was years back, when she didn't… care about Jane, and now it was… different. She knew what she would be facing, but that didn't make the chilling effect any less.
Three steps inside his house, and her heart jumped to her throat. There on the wall was that dreadful face drawn in blood. And right below that wall was Jane's mattress on the floor. While she knew he still kept it as a constant reminder that would haunt him forever, something in her flickered with rage. She turned around to face him straight. "How is torturing yourself like this helping you focus?"
His eyes turned into two hard cold balls of stone as he stared at it. "That blood is my little daughter's." His voice was filled with anger, at himself, at Red John, at life, but also with so much of pain for the irreparable loss and damage.
"Staring at it won't bring her back", she snapped softly, with her hand placed on his arm, so it had a firm yet soothing touch to it. "I don't have kids, I don't get kids, but I can understand how you're feeling. I know you really want to catch Red John, but sitting at home, hurting like this, is not the way to do that."
He sighed. He couldn't believe he was actually talking to someone about this, letting someone know what was going on in the secret chambers of his mind, but with Lisbon, he felt… safe. For years and years he had kept it all bottomed inside, and he hated how she was bringing it out, and how letting it out was making him feel… good. "I can never forget what happened to them. But sometimes, when I'm outside, I… I get distracted. I lose focus."
"That's good", she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "If your wife was here, I know she would have wanted that too. You're not supposed to keep clinging to that. I know you'll never get over this, but that's not the end of your life. You still have a life to live. You've lost enough, Jane, don't torture yourself like this. That won't help anything."
He breathed in deeply, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed the tearful lump rising in his throat. She stared at him, seeing the pain in his face, hating it, hoping she could do something about it. She watched as the expressions on his face kept changing. Maybe he was thinking over her words?
And then he shrugged, freeing his arm from her grasp, wiped those emotions off his face, as if with magic, and gave her a smug look. "Did you come here to try to talk me out of my exile?"
"Actually, no", she sighed, hating how he was changing the topic just when she thought she was getting to him. Truth be told, she was only here because she was worried about him. When Agent Hightower told her that morning, that Jane had applied for a leave for a week, she was shocked. She had no idea he would want a leave, and why? He didn't even mention this to her- or anyone- ever. She typed a text asking him if he was alright, stared at it for five minutes, erased it, and instead sent one asking him if he remembered that she was his boss and he should tell her when he considered taking a leave. He didn't reply, and it made her angry, and more worried. His phone straight went to voicemail, and she was so mad that the only thing she could say was "call me back". Of course he didn't. And that just made her easier. And more worried. He had never ignored her like this before, ever. It was then that she had decided to check on him after work. Of course she was not going to tell him about it, because she already had a suspicion that given how well Jane could read her mind, he knew exactly how she felt about him, he probably understood her complicated feelings better than she did, and she wasn't going to make it any more blatant. So she might as well make up a believable excuse. "I wanted to consult you about this case, but only if you don't brag about it."
He scoffed. "Do you want me to fake a promise and then brag, or just brag?"
She rolled her eyes. Jane would never change.
He ran a hand through his hair uneasily. "Um, I'd ask you to sit, but I don't really have any furniture."
"That's fine", she assured, glancing uneasily at the wall. "Can we just talk somewhere else?"
"I offered to go outside." He pointed out.
Before he could push, she made her way to the kitchen, and sat up on the kitchen counter. "This is better."
He shrugged. If she was comfortable, fine. For a brief moment his mind flashed back to his wife, sitting there, just like that, years back, and he shook his head to snap himself out of it immediately. "So?"
She shifted in her place uneasily. "A man in his mid-thirties was murdered. We still have no id."
"Hmmm", he leaned against the wall, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What do we know?"
She shrugged. "He's around 5 feet 5 inches, muscular, Caucasian, black curly hair but M.E. found traces of blonde locks, maybe the killer's? He had a pair of glasses in his pocket, even though he didn't need them, and was wearing a shirt and jeans with a tie, and sneakers. M.E. also found traces of glitter on the chest and alcohol in his system."
"Hmmm", he said again. "Our guy is a stripper."
Lisbon scoffed. "And how do you know what?"
He grinned. "Glitter, alcohol, dressed like a professor with fake glasses, and blonde locks from wigs. Come on, Lisbon, this one was easy."
"That still doesn't id him", she pointed out.
"He was at some gay graduation party when he was killed; you might want to start with that."
"How can you tell that?" she wondered out loud.
He only shrugged and gave her another grin. He would never tell her how his mind worked.
She shrugged back, and climbed down from the kitchen counter. His place was… creepy. It wasn't creepy even when she had been here for the first time, even with the dead bodies lying around. Now, it felt like a haunted house, so empty, so quiet, yet screaming with something unspoken. She felt like she needed to get out of here, and she wished she could get him out too. She sighed. "Ok, I'll check it out and let you know. Are you sure you don't want to come along?"
"No, I'm good", he assured, leading her to the door. He grabbed his keys from the table, and she gave him a questioning look.
He shrugged, "It's late, let me lead you to your car."
She grinned. "What happened to your big exile?"
He grinned back. "I'm just going right outside my home, relax, Lisbon."
She only nodded, not complaining anymore. She smiled in her mind, this was the guy slamming the door in her face when she got there, and now he was being a gentleman. Jane could be so unpredictable. Sometimes she felt like she knew him too well, and sometimes he was so mysterious. She wished she could know him better, wished he would let her in, wished he would…
"Drive safe", he teased, repeating the words she would tell him whenever they were on a case and he was driving their car. She gave him a glare, unlocked her door, got inside, and nodded. "Next time, if you just answer my call, I wouldn't have to come down here."
His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Maybe I wanted you to come down here, maybe it was one of my mind games."
She only rolled her eyes. "Goodnight, Jane."
He watched as her car disappeared out of his sight, into the crowded streets. For a moment, he didn't want to go back inside. This breath of fresh air was making him feel good. He felt… almost happy. Her sudden presence had been… comforting? He didn't have the exact word to describe how he felt, or maybe he did, but he didn't want to go there. He remembered what she said, that he shouldn't torture himself like this. Maybe she was right, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea if he wandered aimlessly through the streets looking at all the happy families and trying to find some peace and hope and faith in humanity.
Wandering through the streets was also Red John, somewhere out there, destroying some family and their peace and hope and faith in humanity forever, Jane reminded himself. He couldn't be out there trying to live while Red John was out there trying to kill; he couldn't hang out in a bar with friends and sip red wine while his daughter's dried blood stains were on his wall, with her killer roaming free.
His feet felt heavy as he started walking towards back towards his house. On some level, he still blamed himself. If only he hadn't said those things in that interview! He was supposed to protect them, not endanger them, not shove them into the hands of a killer. Maybe he was just as responsible, maybe he was the killer too. Maybe that's why he couldn't care less what punishment he got in court for shooting Red John.
His fingers felt numb as he pushed the cold hard key inside the key-hole and slowly opened the door. It almost didn't feel like a home anymore. It was just a building, with walls, and windows, and fancy floors, and doors. He would have forgotten it used to be a home some eight years ago if it wasn't for all the memories that would crowd under his eyelashes every time he closed his eyes. He could still absent mindedly stare at the rooms and see how his little daughter used to jump around this house, with her tiny feet making tiny thumping noises on the floor, and the sound of her giggles making everything come alive. Sometimes he could see his wife standing in the kitchen cooking some exotic dish, while talking on the phone with her girlfriend about some juicy gossip. And then it would all fade away and be replaced by a vast deserted building filled with lonely emptiness. It almost didn't feel like a home anymore.
Right now, though, the house was filled with Lisbon's lingering perfume, some kind of vanilla scent, as he recognized. It almost felt like she was still there, and it was… comforting. Suddenly, he didn't feel so alone. Suddenly the place felt inhabited.
No, he told himself. He couldn't let himself feel this way. Not now, not while Red John was out there and he would be endangering anybody he got close to.
And honestly? Not ever. The scars in his heart were set way too deep to ever heal. They could try, but they would just crash and burn, and he would only hurt her. He wanted to live again, to feel again, to keep the memories close to his heart but make room for more, but he knew the memories would make his heart bleed, make anybody in his heart hurt. He had lost everything he had in one swift blow, and he was so afraid to have something to lose again. He was so guarded. He had lost a part of him, a part that he could never back, he would never be whole again. He knew he would never be able to set his heart on the line ever again.
Once beaten by life and fate and his own arrogance and stupidity, always shy to show love ever again.
A/N: it's been a LONG time since I wrote for The Mentalist, and I apologize for that. I'm getting back to it, starting with this one-shot. Hope you liked it, PLEASE review. Thank you :)