A/N: I have no idea where this came from, it's an introspective Lisbon piece.
Spoiler: Tiny bits of quotes from 1x18 Russet Potatoes and 2x19 Blood Money.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would probably have been a sci-fi show, because seeing the way my fics are going lately I would have killed the main characters a few times already, so it'd be necessary to revive them so I could kill them all over again. Anyway long story short, The Mentalist is not a sci-fi show, hence I don't own it. Not that I own any sci-fi shows either.
She didn't know how much further her legs could carry her. Her breaths had started to get erratic about a mile back, right now she was heaving for air. But she couldn't stop. She had to keep going. Run, run, running, as far and as fast as possible, there were no stopping, absolutely not.
She buckled, but only for a second. Then she straightened up and kept at it. Her legs moved, and her body inevitably followed, but her mind was somewhere else. What was she running from? With every stride her ponytail swung rhythmically from side to side. Beating against the skin of her neck. If she continued like this for much longer it would start to leave a mark. But having run for so long she had become oblivious to that fact, she'd lost all feeling. Had gone completely numb.
She breathed in, and out. In and out. Concentrating. Trying to control the intake of oxygen. By now each breath felt like fire, the oxygen going down scorched her throat and burned her lungs. And breathing out felt like a thousand needles poking at her insides turning them into pulp.
Abruptly she stopped, not because she wanted to, but because there was no more pavements. She found herself literally at the end of the road. She was standing on top of a hillside overlooking the city. It was a beautiful sight. From her vantage point all the small houses lined up in neat orders, the streets, the parks, the cars moving in between them. It was pretty, but she didn't see it. It was getting late, and lights had started to flicker on in some of the small windows. In the receding light it looked like a myriad of tiny twinkling stars. But she didn't see that either. She opened her mouth. She wanted to scream. To yell out her frustration - his name - to the world. But she couldn't. No sounds found their way to her lips. Her voice was hoarse and she was still heaving to get enough air into her system with every painful breath she took.
She closed her mouth. Looked briefly out at the city beneath her. Then turned on her feet and took up running again, back the way from which she came. The dimness had by now turned into pitch black darkness. And the weather had turned about 5 degrees colder. It wasn't much, but it was noticeable to any person being outside at this hour, except for her. Even though she was only wearing a set of - too thin for the season - workout clothes, she didn't feel the cold. Nor did she feel any heat. Though she looked hot. Sweat was streaming down her face and body making her t-shirt almost soaking wet and her sweatpants had also begun to cling to her legs. Errand strands of her hair had annoyingly started sticking to her face as well. She brusquely tucked them behind her ears, wiping the sweat off her hands on the lining of her pants afterwards.
The only place she wasn't flat out "leaking" from was her eyes. They had however started to burn with her unshed tears. It was like her eyes went more and more dry with each time she blinked. And not blinking was impossible. Now, she had never been one easily moved to tears, hadn't felt a need for the release that accompanied it. But right now all she did was wish for her eyes to turn blurry and unfocused, so she could slow down and let go. But her eyes remained dry, no tears came, and without them her release was deferred for later.
The feelings that against her better nature wanted her to break down and cry and at the same time denied her the pleasure, pooled together, adding new layers with each passing minute, and assembled to form a tight knot in her chest. Just above her ribs it had placed itself, and like a heavy fog it crushed down on her already strained body.
When she finally listened to her body's need and succumbed to the exhaustion, almost collapsing on the sidewalk, she realized that she had somehow, without knowing where she was going, found her way back home and was actually only one block away from her apartment. So she pulled herself together and used her last strength to reach her building, using the wall for support until she found her door. She took the keys from her pocket, however putting them into the lock proved difficult. First off, her arm felt so heavy and her little bundle of keys only helped to increase the weight, secondly her hand had started to shake so much that putting the small round key in to the actual lock was quite a challenge. She finally succeeded, clinging to the door as it opened inwardly, her body following the movement. Her legs finally buckled and she landed on her knees and shins. She pushed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes she rested the back of her head against the cold wood.
She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually her breaths had evened out and she started feeling cold and drowsy - running half a marathon unplanned like that, would do that to you. Rationally she knew she couldn't sit there all night, and sleeping on the floor wasn't the best of ideas either. So she had to move. She shifted a bit, the position she was in was not the most comfortable, but still she didn't get up. She hadn't even turned on the lights, when she had stumbled in, yet the apartment lay bathed in a low and soft glow. In her state it took her some time until she realized it was coming from the streetlights that were shining in through the windows. Eventually she hauled herself up, her muscles aching with each twist of her body. With every step she took she could have sworn it felt like daggers piercing the skin on her legs, drilling right into the bones. She felt broken and dirty. She needed to get out of these clothes, to rest.
xXx
She had to be at work in the morning which seemed unbearable at this moment. How could she go to work and pretend that everything was normal? Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe. Her chest tightened and her heart was racing a mile a minute. She recognized the symptoms, she was having a panic attack. She needed to calm herself, to get control. But for some reason all her brain could think of for her to do was to find the bathroom. It might have had something to do with the fact that as a child she and her brothers had often been compelled to use the bathroom as a hideout, it had been the safest room in the house, the one with the best lock anyway. And right now her mind was practically screaming the word 'bathroom, bathroom, bathr...' in her head over and over again, it was on a continuous loop, making her feel dizzy and lightheaded on top of everything else. She heeded her mind though, following her instincts, as they'd steered her in the right directions before.
She fumbled her way to the bathroom, flicking on the switch as she entered. A bright yellow hue illuminated the room, so sharp that she had to squeeze her eyes shot against it. She had only just passed the threshold before she felt bile rising in her throat and the urgent need to relieve herself of the contents of her stomach. She bended over the toilet, throwing up what little she'd had to eat all day. When she'd finished, she rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth to remove the sour taste left behind. Afterwards she held herself upright using the sink as leverage and looked at her reflection in the mirror. All she saw in there staring back at her was a tired "old" woman, with pale skin, slack, unkempt hair, dark circles underlining her green eyes and the first faint traces of wrinkles appearing at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Growing old had never really been an issue before, but now... something struck her, now she was faced with growing old alone. When had her skin started to betray this turmoil that she felt inside? She splashed herself with some cold water but couldn't stand to look at herself for even a second more.
She sat down on the tile floor again. The panic she'd felt just minutes before had evaporated, instead the cold from the water had taken habitat in her and reminded her body that it was drenched and already chilled beyond a comfortable level. She started shivering. All of a sudden she became acutely aware of the fact that she was indeed very, very cold. Bone chillingly so. Her hands were cold, her toes and feet were cold and the tip of her nose felt frozen. Those were the spots from which the shivers ran ransack, radiating throughout her whole body and making her as cold as an icicle. She tried rubbing her hands together, and blowing on them, but it didn't help one bit.
An idea sprang to mind, she crawled over to her tub - not having the strength to stand anymore - and turned on the faucet. She put her hand under it, feeling the stream of the water as it fell down and nestled on the bottom of the tub, slowly filling it with the heated liquid, making steam rise in return. It took a few seconds for the water to heat up, but when it did it felt too hot, like it was going to burn her skin off. So she removed her hand and instead huddled together at the side of the tub, pulling her knees up to her chest - trying to keep herself warm. Her one, now hot, hand helping to warm up the rest of her body - while waiting for the water to fill up.
She listened to the splashing of the water as it fell and interrupted the quiet of her otherwise silent apartment. Her mind wandered. Maybe she should get a pet? At least then she'd have something/someone to come home to. In actuality she wasn't really a tub person - getting things over and done with was her way - but she'd bought one nonetheless after finding out how relaxing they were. And after really rough days at work coming home and taking a long relaxing bath was wonderful.
When the water was almost overflowing the sides of the tub she turned off the faucet and slowly lowered herself into the hot water, not bothering to remove her clothes or anything. She leaned her head against the cold porcelain edge, stretching herself out the length of the it, closed her eyes and felt the warmth wash over her in small waves.
She didn't know how long she lay there, motionless, but eventually she'd absorbed all the heat and the water had gone cold. Yet she remained in her safe and liquid cocoon. After a while her heart rate and breathing were back to normal, and she could feel her energy level had gone up, but it was still well below standards. When her motions no longer caused the chilled water to make tiny ripples of warmth to roll over her she got up. Her clothes were clinging to her skin in an unceremonious manner, dripping tenaciously and making the floor all wet. She didn't care. After draining the tub she rid herself of her garments one by one until she was naked and her clothes were lying in a messy pile on the floor.
The steam lay heavy in the room, she wiped the fogged mirror with her right arm, and looked at her blurry reflection. Nothing had changed except for her being naked, more wet and maybe a little pruny. As if she'd been playing Marco Polo in the Atlantic. The memory made her smile despite herself, not like a full smile but rather a twitch of her lips in the upward direction. And next thing she knew the lump in her throat suddenly loosened considerately. She felt saliva rise and her eyes overflow, her lungs collapsing in on themselves as violent sobs started wrecking her body.
This was the release she'd been waiting for, for so long. But it didn't feel cathartic or therapeutic nor did it heal anything broken. It was draining what was left of her reserves and it left her feeling empty inside. The sobs continued to grow in intensity, until she was flat out crying. And once she'd started she couldn't stop. Couldn't get control of her traitorous body. And she hated not being in control. She collapsed once again on the floor, covering her red eyes with her small wet hands. Her nails digging into her flesh, wanting to claw her eyes out, to make what had occurred unseen, erase specific memories, to scratch out any and all unpleasant feelings burrowed beneath the epidermis.
When the sob had stilled to a mere flow of steady tears she got up and positioned herself underneath the shower. She had come to the conclusion that she couldn't stop the tears and now she didn't want to anymore. All she could do was try and wash away the sorrow, to rinse herself of the guilt she felt by being alive, by having survived. All she needed was to feel clean again.
As the water slowly cascaded over her naked form, she kept a fast grip on the shower rail fixture, remaining standing upright, relatively vertical, refusing to give into her jellying legs and buckling knees. He had been her best friend, the one person she was closest to, and now he was no more. He'd sacrificed himself for her sake. Given up on his revenge for one second and done something unselfish for once, and what had it done? It had gotten him killed. He could have easily killed Red John, but he had chosen to protect her instead. She should have been the one to die, then he'd have his revenge and most importantly, he'd still be alive. She had made sure his death weren't in vain though, hunting down and killing the bastard had been the best thing she'd done in ages. And now... Jane was gone, Red John was gone, and what remained? Petty criminals, borderline psychopaths, unscrupulous murderers and all her still unshed tears. Basically all she had left was catching more bad guys. Most days that was enough, but not today.