Okies, first Mentalist fanfic. Hope you all like it! xx
( do not own mentalist or any of it's characters....damnnn. XD )
1.
Patrick Jane hummed to himself as he stood alone in the rising elevator. Another day at the CBI. Another day which could bring him closer to catching Red John. Or not. But whichever path the day would take, he had a feeling it was going to be a good one. He rocked back and forth on his heels as the doors opened, granting access to his floor. Walking out with a small skip, he went straight to the kitchen to retrieve his milk-first-truely-boiled tea before heading into the bull pen, destination: couch. Patrick strolled in and greeted the team.
'Good morning, everyone!' he grinned cheerily.
'Hey Jane,' replied Van Pelt.
'Hey,' said Cho from behind his book.
Patrick paused in mid step when no sound resounded from Rigsby's direction.
'Rigsby?' he glanced over at the agent's desk to find Rigsby slumped over his work space.
'What's up with him?' Patrick asked, gesturing with his thumb as he removed his jacket and flung it over the armrest on the couch.
'He's got a bad cold,' Van Pelt supplied the information with sympathy in her voice. Like anyone would when they're in love with the person concerned.
'Ah,' Patrick nodded.
'He's a wuss,' added Cho nonchalantly, flicking the page.
Van Pelt returned to her work, ignoring Cho's comment. Patrick took a sip of tea before sitting down on the couch, swinging his legs up and shuffling about until he was comfortable. It seemed like today was going to be one of those quiet, paperwork days, or quiet couch days as far as Patrick was concerned. Paperwork was for agents, not consultants.
'So...where is our queen bee this morning?' Patrick took a deep breath, shutting his eyes.
'Hasn't shown up yet, hasn't called,' replied Cho, still reading his book.
'Hmm, strange,' Patrick wriggled further into the couch before opening one eye and checking his watch, 'Twenty minutes late, tut tut.'
No one made further comments, so silence fell.
Lisbon barely managed to keep the phone at the level of her ear. Her muscles felt suddenly so weak. The words from the other end of the receiver reverberated through her head, through her whole body. Chills ran up her spine, her throat was feeling tight, closing up. Her eyes burnt with acid-like tears. Every inch of her trembled. Her mouth opened and closed as the voice continued, but she hardly recognized the words. It was like they were talking a different language. Her vision was blurry and she felt sickeningly dizzy. She reached for something to hold to stop her from crumbling, but everything was squirming and shifting. Her hand missed the table and she fell to the floor. The thud echoed into the phone, the man on the other end calling her name, over and over. But there was no one to reply. Lisbon was out cold.
Patrick cast a glance at his watch again. They still hadn't received a visit from Lisbon. She was now an hour late. He would be lying if he said he wasn't worried. Lisbon was never this late; she didn't allow herself to be so late. Patrick shifted uncomfortably in the leather. It was impossible to turn down the itching feeling to investigate once it started. It was exciting, solving a mystery or a crime. So what if it pretty much always got him into trouble? But Lisbon would always be there for him, even if she wasn't always happy with it. What was life without mischief?
Patrick sprang from the couch and hooked his jacket, swinging it over his shoulder.
'Where are you going?' asked Van Pelt, distracted from her laptop.
'Oh, nowhere, just a wander,' Patrick smiled his best smile. Unfortunately that's what got Van Pelt suspicious. She cast glances over at Cho, and although he still was engrossed in the book, he seemed to know she was looking.
'Just let him go, what's the worst that could happen?' Cho paused, looking up at Patrick's sly smile, 'Don't answer that. Where you going?'
Patrick's face turned very serious, 'I'm going to raid Bosco's office.'
Cho's expression remained as straight as always, 'Your funeral.'
Despite Cho's coolness over the situation, Van Pelt panicked. "Jane, you can't, you'll get thrown in jail again, and you won't get out this time!'
'Meh. Lisbon will be my saving grace.'
'Please, Jane. Don't do it.'
Patrick smiled widely before setting off. He loved getting the team worked up. Well, saying the team, Van Pelt and Rigsby were really the only ones that got affected. Cho always seemed to have a deadpan expression, no matter what you said.
Van Pelt slacked and let out a huff off frustration. 'Will he ever learn?'
'No. But he's not going to Bosco's office," Cho replied.
'How do you know? Where's he going?'
'Bosco's always in his office around now, and I don't know where he's going.'
Patrick ducked into his little blue car after checking that Lisbon's vehicle was nowhere to be seen in the parking lot. The engine spluttered to life and Patrick began the drive to Lisbon's apartment. He hoped it was nothing serious. Just Lisbon having a day off or something....but actually, that did mean something was serious, she never took days off and considering she didn't even call with an excuse...
Patrick began his happy humming to take his mind off the worst. Everything was fine. He tapped the steering wheel in time with his humming. The journey passed quickly. Patrick soon found himself pulling up to Lisbon's apartment block, looking up at the building through the windscreen. He had been there only once before, and only because he was trying to regain Lisbon's memory. The place was simple with creamy couches and pretty pictures. It was small but comfortable and the kind of place he would expect to find Lisbon living in.
Jumping out of the car, he twisted the key in the lock, setting of a satisfying click, before heading towards the front door of Lisbon's lair. Maybe he should put a label on the door to that effect. It sounded good. Bringing himself back to the task in hand, Patrick reached the creamy white front door and knocked. He pushed his hands into his jacket pockets and rocked on his heels. Beginning to whistle, he knocked again.
'Lisbon!' he called.
No answer.
He put his eye to the peep hole in the door and looked around the warped room inside. His eyes widened as they fell on the still, crumpled figure of Lisbon, lying on the carpet.
'LISBON!' he yelled, banging the door in an attempt to get her to wake, 'LISBON!'
He searched around the vicinity quickly in search of something to get the door open with.
'Ahhhhh,' he muttered. Nothing.
His heart was racing. And he couldn't get to his Lisbon. He rummaged in his pockets desperately. Something. Anything.
Suddenly he remembered the pile of paper in his car passenger seat. With a paper clip on them. He quickly ran for the car, grappling with the door handle after unlocking it again.
'Yoink,' he murmured, grabbing the paper clip.
Returning to the Lisbon's door, he bent the clip out and started pushing it around inside the lock. A few minutes later, he was greeted with a click of the lock and he was in business. Rushing through the door, he pulled his jacket off and threw it on a couch. He knelt beside Lisbon, his hands hovering over her form hesitantly.
'Lisbon,' he murmured in her ear, 'Wake up, Lisbon.'
He checked for a pulse, breathing out a sigh of relief as he felt it travelling wearily underneath his fingertips.
Patrick rolled her over carefully and, snatching a cushion from the couch, slipped it underneath her feet. He saw her phone resting in her loose grip. Bad phone call?
Recalling any and all of what he had learnt about fainting, he turned Lisbon's head to the side and moved to the kitchen, dampening a tea towel before returning and pressing it tenderly over her forehead. He slowly rose to his feet, not once removing his gaze from Lisbon. Tapping his thighs thoughtfully, he wasn't really sure what to do. Until Lisbon woke up, he was in limbo...a moment's pause, and the perfect idea came to him.
'Tea,' he thought, 'yes, tea...'
He nodded firmly.
Revisiting the kitchen, he flicked on the electric kettle and fished a mug out of the cupboard. Just closing the door to the cupboard again, he noticed a picture of what he presumed to be Lisbon's brothers. They really must mean a lot to her. There were pictures of them everywhere.
Patrick smiled sadly, the image of his own family coming to mind. How much he missed them. It was immeasurable. If he hadn't been such an arrogant, self-righteous...hmm...he had to admit he still was...at least a little bit. But it was too late to change anyways. Everything that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong. And it was his entire fault. He still felt the warmth of his daughter's hand in his own sometimes. It made him weak. It made him crumble. But that would never show. Not when he had his guard up. He had to be brave. Brave for them. He shivered suddenly, the shadow of the feeling he used to get when his wife kissed him lacing over his lips. He ran a finger over his bottom lip slowly. His eyes were prickling with tears.
Suddenly he was snapped back to reality with the loud click of the kettle finishing. Blinking away the tears, he eventually located the teabags in a small wooden box on the side. Patrick dropped it into the mug, hanging the tag over the side and pouring in milk from the fridge. Adding the water, he turned and leant back against the side, absentmindedly swishing the teabag round the mug with the tag.
Maybe Lisbon would wake up in a minute. It would take his mind away from what it usually pondered on...
Ah, but she wouldn't be too happy to find that Patrick had broken into her house.
'Meh,' he thought, he didn't break anything, just picked a lock.
A couple of minutes later, he chucked the teabag into the sink and sipped on the tea slowly, staring into space.
Lisbon shifted her head to the side, clenching her eyes tight against the aching in her skull. She groaned, trying to remember what had happened previously. When it did return to her, it hit hard, and she already felt tears gathering and dripping down her cheeks. She was suddenly aware of a cushion underneath her feet and a warm, damp feeling across her forehead.
'Huh?' she murmured, opening her eyes wide and looking around. She weakly pulled the towel off of her face and looked around for the person who put it there. The only clue was a crumpled jacket lying on the nearest couch.
'Jane! Where are you?' she called weakly, immediately realising who the suspect was, and who had broken in.
Patrick suddenly looked up from his tea, alerted by Lisbon's shaky voice. He left the mug on the side and quickly walked over to Lisbon.
'Heya,' he smiled, looking down at her from on high. He was about to launch a query about the tears trickling down her cheeks, but Lisbon already had other things on her mind.
'You broke into my apartment?' she asked as sternly as she could muster.
'Ah, ah, I didn't break anything,' Patrick replied, 'I simply...picked the lock.'
'Seriously Jane!'
'What?!' he cried innocently, 'You were out cold on the floor! You could have been dead for all I knew. I wasn't gonna sit out there and pray you were ok.'
Lisbon stared up at Patrick for a while before offering him her arm.
'Help me up.'
Patrick gladly took her hand and gently pulled her up from the floor, catching her as she swayed and fell into his arms weakly.
'Whoa...are you okay?'
Lisbon chewed over the question, which only resulted in burning tears filling her eyes again. She shook her head roughly, a small whimpering noise emitting from her lips.
Patrick looked worriedly into Lisbon's eyes, 'What happened?'
Lisbon looked around, wide-eyed like a rabbit drowned in headlights. Patrick rubbed her arm gently, guiding her over to the couch and sitting her down.
It was hard to muster up the courage to say it, to admit it to herself that it had actually happened. Lisbon slowly worked over the words that would come to spill off her tongue. She moved away from Patrick and sat in the furthest corner of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chin and burying her face in her knees.
Patrick waited patiently. He wouldn't rush. He could tell this was something big. He wasn't about to go and ruin Lisbon's trust in him, however much there actually was. He wouldn't push in and try and read it off her body language, or come up with some extravagant reasoning. He would just wait.
Eventually, Lisbon began shaking her head softly, lifting her face from her knees.
'Can you just leave?' she asked quietly.
Patrick's brows knitted together worriedly. It wasn't often that he saw his Lisbon in this state. But he knew perfectly well that all she needed was personal space, so he submitted to her wish and pushed up off the couch, gathering his jacket.
'Please promise me you'll tell me...sometime?'
Lisbon nodded shakily, causing floods of tears to run down her cheeks again.
Patrick felt a pang of sympathy in his heart. He crouched on his haunches beside Lisbon, looking up into her eyes and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
'It's...gonna be alright, ok?' He wasn't sure how much truth that sentence held for her, because he didn't know what was wrong, but he hoped it gave her some ounce of comfort.
Lisbon didn't nod this time, but instead looked away, trying to stop the tears in her eyes from escaping.
Patrick looked down sadly, stood, and left, closing the door softly behind him. He wouldn't leave completely. He couldn't. He would wait in his car, just in case Lisbon decided she needed a shoulder to cry on.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Lisbon's body began to rack with sobs. She couldn't understand why she had just sent away Patrick. She was desperate for someone to hold her, to make her believe it was all going to be alright...and she'd told the closest person to leave. She contemplated finding her phone and telling him to come back. Yet, she didn't feel able to.
She lay down on the couch and curled into a ball, the racking sobs making her ache, mentally and physically.
It had happened. Just like her mom.
Patrick sat in his car, gazing up at Lisbon's apartment, wishing her voice to sound through his phone and tell him to come back. He would feel guilty if he left now, knowing what state she was in. He could tell she wanted someone there to comfort her, but she had sent him away because she was confused. Muddled up. Lost. It pained him. Slouching back in his seat with a sigh, he hesitantly turned the radio on to the sound of Eels. He breathed in deeply, fishing his phone from his jacket pocket and turning it over in his fingers.
'5, 4, 3, 2, 1...anddd call,' he murmured. Nothing.
'5, 4, 3, 2, 1...andddddd...call,' he repeated. Still nothing.
Throwing the phone into the passenger seat, giving up, the message tone suddenly flared into life.
Hurriedly snatching it up again, Patrick flicked it open, only to be greeted by disappointment. Van Pelt.
'Where r u? VP.'
Snapping the phone shut again, he murmured, 'Not now Grace.'
It was another thirty minutes before the phone rang again.
Patrick woke from his light slumber, and turned the screen to face him.
'I need you, Jane.' it read.
Patrick was surprised how vulnerable it sounded, in just four words. He closed the phone slowly, and climbed out of the car, pausing momentarily to look up at the apartment before making his way forward. Reaching the door once again, he tapped lightly. A few minutes older, Patrick was allowed into the apartment by a tearful Lisbon. Standing uncertain in the middle of the room, he waited for Lisbon to close the door and tell him what was wrong. She moved to the couch again and sat down, looking at Patrick, silently telling him to come over. Patrick walked to the couch and took his seat next to her.
'Urm...' Lisbon started, '...How'd you get here so fast?'
'I was waiting in the car.'
Lisbon nodded slowly, a trembling tear streaking her cheek.
'Jane...my...' she trailed off, tears coming back full force.
'What is it Lisbon?' Patrick pressed gently, desperately needing to know.
Seeing her struggling over her words, struggling over her everything, Patrick took her hand tenderly and squeezed it, hoping to comfort her, just a bit.
'Jane. My...brother was killed.'
What do you think? Good? Bad? Lemme know if you think I should continue. xx