Wishes
By LSR_7
Edited by yaba/Yana
Jello Forever Fan Forum April 2010 Prompt: Wishes
Disclaimer: The Mentalist show and characters are the property of Bruno Heller, Primrose Hill Productions, Warner Bros. Television and I'm sure others. I am not profiting from this story.
Summary: Jane can't sleep and reflects. One-shot.
Rating: K
Genre: Angst
Author's Notes: I know, not an imaginative title, I couldn't think of one, but simple is good. This happens to be the first prompt/challenge I've taken since creative writing class in high school.
Please read and tell me what you think.
***
Jane sat in the darkened bullpen, tired of lying down. He didn't, however, abandon his couch, preferring to recline against the worn, overstuffed leather to sitting anywhere else in the darkened room. Faded orange light from street lamps trickled in from behind him, picking up the dull glint of his ring, a contrasting white shine overlaying it from the light coming down the hall, originating from Lisbon's office.
Early on in his CBI career, on a night like this he would have returned to the house, to refocus. He studied his ring and the microscopic scratches that were all picked out and glittered in the meager lighting. He rubbed his thumb over it. A year ago, on a night like this, he would have slept under the bloody smile, the red browning with age.
Jane couldn't help but feel that he was weakening: his resolve for revenge and the walls around the heart he thought he had lost. Lisbon was unknowingly undoing him bit by bit. She cared about him. He knew she cared because she yelled at him. If she didn't care, she wouldn't bother, but she did and she did it in hopes that he would change.
He did things not caring about the consequences as long as they led to the truth. Yes, he was arrogant and selfish; he didn't particularly care about the feelings of others. When you're a man with nothing to lose, little mattered. Of course his insensitive and seemingly impulsive ways had ramifications, ones he wasn't concerned about, but caused Lisbon to bear the brunt of them with angry phone calls and continuous paperwork.
Here they were two years later and not much had changed. He still generated angry phone calls and paperwork for Lisbon, but now, in a way, he was thankful for it. It wasn't that he liked causing Lisbon trouble (though it was entertaining at times), but her late nights at the office whether working on a case, cleaning up after his shenanigans, or completing closed cases, meant that he had some company for a while, even if they weren't in the same room.
A year ago, he would have believed he was betraying his family's memory and vow of vengeance. Thus, he would retreat back to his house, surrounding himself with the ghosts of everything he lost, if only to strengthen his resolve again, reinvigorate his desire for vengeance.
But now, here he was, fiddling with the symbol of fidelity, love, and a promise on his finger as he gazed at the light that came from Lisbon's office.
How he wished he had met her under different circumstances. There was a queasy guilt that gnawed at the inside of his chest when he first had an inkling of his growing affections for the agent. He would never have met her had the great tragedy not visited him. A tragedy he had instigated.
Now, he rarely visited his great, empty house, opting to attempt sleep at the office, motel, or driving on those nights when rest was simply unattainable.
Knowing that Lisbon was in her office, down the hall, brought some level of comfort to the growing loneliness. It was different from the complete and total anguish he felt right after the deaths, the big, black hole that threatened to consume him, the loss of his life.
He started enjoying little things again, especially Lisbon's smile. She had so many nuances to go with her many smiles. The sarcastic smile, the tired smile, the surprised smile, and then there were the delightedly surprised smiles that he loved the best.
She was a refreshing change from the people he had surrounded himself with earlier in his adult life. She was genuine and while guarded, which was understandable with the kind of past she had, but even so she wasn't nearly as jaded as the high society types who didn't even know true hardship. She took him to task and usually questioned his way of thinking rather than automatically believing him; almost making him forget that he used to trick people for a living for years. He enjoyed Lisbon challenging him at every turn. Perhaps it was (had he believed in it) karmic revenge late in coming with so few people having confronted him during his psychic career.
Gaining her trust wouldn't have bothered the old Patrick Jane, but his interest had been piqued and it became his mission for her to understand that he could be trusted. Had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared.
The abruptness of the light shutting off and the subsequent tapping of her feet roused Jane from his inner musings. He had been staring vacantly at the streak of light while twisting his ring around his finger. He looked at the shadowed face of his supervising agent, the woman who came as close to being a friend he had let near in years. She wasn't surprised to see him at the couch, but was slightly startled to see him sitting up, staring in her direction in the dark. His hair was a halo of gold and orange, backlit as it was. He could see her face soften.
One time, in the beginning of their working relationship, she had seen him staying after hours on the couch and had told him the CBI wasn't a hotel. Why didn't he go home? He saw the moment that understanding clicked into place as the puzzle came together. She didn't apologize, but she never asked again.
Tonight he could tell that upon seeing him there, she had come to a quick decision.
"Hey Jane, want to come over for dinner?" she offered, tilting her head slightly to the side as she held her shoulder bag by the straps in one hand.
He smiled at her gently, "Thanks, but I already ate."
She smiled back at him, trying to cover up the disappointment that he knew she was trying to convince herself she was not feeling as she replied, "Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Good night Jane."
His eyes followed her out of the room, his ears tracking her slightly echoing steps in the silence of the building, the faint sound of the elevator's chime and doors opening then sliding closed.
Jane let out a slow breath, his eyes resting on his palm and the glistening gold once more.
He wished.