6.30am.
Early morning light shafts through the east facing windows, filtered into reds and blues by the heavy stained glass. A somber peace, made holy by generations of bended knees and fervent prayers, fills St Agnes'. Its presence manifests in the smell of beeswax and the faint trace of dispersed incense, in the worn polish on the wooden benches and the dim red light burning over the tabernacle. A place of solitude. A haven outside of time.
The oak door creaks open, slamming shut again with the clatter of its ironwork, and a lone figure slips through. Teresa Lisbon. Wrapped in her long black coat, hands deep in the pockets, she looks small and vulnerable as she walks forward. Her heels click on the flagstones, loud against the silence.
About a third of the way down the aisle, Lisbon pauses, raising her head away from the internal maelstrom which engulfs her. She genuflects and traces out a hasty sign of the cross as she slips into the bench. Kneeling, elbows on the wooden pew in front of her, she clasps her hands and rests her forehead on them. The words of long instilled prayers rise through her mind. The "Our Father" and the "Hail Mary". And then the less familiar, fragmentary and disjointed, more in line with her needs. She mutters, "Thou in toil are't comfort sweet. Pleasant coolness in the heat. Solace in the midst of woe." This is what she is here for. Solace. Preservation. And relief. Help to re-gather her scattered values and beliefs and recover a sense of direction. Of who she is. Of what she can do.
Taking a deep breath, Lisbon sinks back on her heels, against the edge of her bench. She rubs the exhaustion from her eyes and tries to get a grip. She needs to lay out what is troubling her before God, trusting Him to listen. But where to begin… The threads in her head have knotted and tangled beyond restoration. Her heart weighs like a coffin filled with rocks. The insomnia, which took hold of her when Jane was in Vegas and has stayed around since his return, is eroding her ability to function. The thought drifts through her mind that maybe it's a narcotic.
So. Last night. Or rather the early hours of today.
Lorelei Martins.
Jane… letting her go.
Jane and Lorelei.
Jane and Lorelei, together. Alone.
Kissing? Loving? He has feelings…, feelings for her.
Lisbon clenches her fists, the nails gouging her palms. Her breath stutters. She battles the tears which glaze her vision.
Jane...
Of course he has feelings. He slept with her. In Vegas.
The memories swirl in her head.
"We were lovers, him and me."
"I need to be alone with her."
"I would ask her to MARRY me" – from the man who devoted all those years to the memory of his wife and daughter. Who had been faithfully married to a ghost…. Before…. Before that bitch in Vegas.
Tonsil-hockey in the interrogation room.
Risking his life to help her escape…
Closing off from the people who care for him. From the team. Worse than that… From her. His confidant and partner.
And then the biggest bombshell of all. Condoning vicious, unprovoked torture and cold blooded murder. "She must've had a reason!" What the hell?
Teresa shook her head, wondering when it all got so far out of control. She cared for Jane. Valued his friendship. Endured such heartache and distress when he vanished off the radar for so long. When she thought he might drown in his darkness. He could have succumbed to suicide or got himself beaten or killed. When she wasn't there.
She helps him. Has always helped him. Supported him through the rough patches and made sure he was eating. She thought he'd felt similarly for her. He'd shot Hardy, exonerated her name on numerous occasions and been there after Bosco's death. She believed it was a two way street. She opened up. Trusted him. Even, she cringed as she admitted it, loved him.
But what if it was all a con?
What else could she think?
And the bastard knew. She had no doubts about that. That her secret and her dignity had survived. Not after last night. Especially not now.
The only consolation – he wasn't going to care about her when Lorelei had his attention. Maybe, just maybe, his focus on his lover, and his indifference to Teresa's own feelings, would be enough to occupy that brilliant butterfly mind. To let her lock it down once more.
Taking stock, Teresa was forced to admit how much she had let Jane corrupt her as a cop. She remembered Bosco's warnings. But even Sam Bosco wouldn't have seen this…. Accessory in a jail break, lying on official forms and to the CBI, FBI and Homeland Security to save his ass, and now accessory to murder. Scrub that. Kidnapping, torture and premeditated murder.
What had she done?
As Teresa worked over the evidence in her mind, she came to a devastatingly simple conclusion. Jane had forced her to choose between the law and natural justice. And then distorted said justice until it was unrecognisable.
For her part, she knew that his brokenness brought out her primal need to care and protect. And she was loyal to her own. He was a member of her team. That made him family. And she had tended his wounds as best she could and protected him. Protected him from the consequences of his actions. And far too much. Maybe this wasn't a kindness. He should take responsibility for himself. But what was the alternative? Life behind bars; a short stay on death row? If he wasn't there already, he was heading there soon. Racing towards his own destruction in the name of revenge.
Her need to care and defend were valid reasons as to why he had dragged her so low, but it ran deeper. She remembered fragments of the nightmare which led to her walking the streets, heading for comforting familiarity. Jane laughing as Red John cut him open. Her father. Accusing her. Finding his lifeless body. The cases where she'd tried and failed. Bloated corpses and mouldering skeletons. And the mantra in her head. "Save me. Save me."
She couldn't save her father. That would always grieve her. Even now it made her bleed. But she couldn't. It was bigger than her.
And she couldn't save Jane. If he was hell bent on destroying himself, all she could do was force the ultimatum. Come back to the team, to the CBI and the law. Or leave where she could not and would not follow. He was a smart cookie. He would work it out. At least, that she meant it.
A picture flashed through her head – a wooden lifeboat adrift in a stormy sea – and words from a distant experiment. "You can save 10 children by throwing one 80 year old man out of the boat." As Sophie Miller said, the most basic human morality. We look after our own.
But this wasn't that. This was saving the lives of her agents from the one man who would sink the boat.
And that is what she must do. Explain the situation to Jane. Point out the consequences and then live with the fall-out.
For all their sakes.
Glancing at her watch, Lisbon figured she best hurry if she wanted to avoid the early Mass attendees, adjust her make up to hide the tears, and get to work by 8 o'clock.
It was time.
