Title:Torn
Author:Little_firestar84
Rating: T (on the safe side)
Characters: Patrick Jane, Teresa Lisbon
Summary:"Too much love will you, if you can't make up your mind, torn between the lover and the love you leave behind" (Too much love will kill you- The Queen) - His heart was full of love, for a woamn who rested in the past, and one who could held in her hands his future. But could he really move on after what he had done in his life?
Disclaimer: Uhm. well, my father is called Bruno, but since it's Negro and not Heller, I'd say that I don't own the rights to the Mentalist.
Notes: Written for Lothiriel84 in the Paint It Red 2012 Gift Exchange; betaed by Agathanancy98 (on )
Red John is gone.
Jane sat on his couch staring at the so-called Elvis stain on his ceiling as he repeats the words again and again and again, like a silent mantra. He takes a big breath, controls his breathing and he does the same with his heartbeat. All around him, the office is filled with words, noises, and just life, but he doesn't hear them, or notice them. His mind is on something else.
Lisbon.
His eyes fall on her office, and through the glass-walls, he sees her, standing and smiling, not exactly at ease. She is busy talking with Bertram – who is, for once, complimenting her, instead of giving a lecture, or menacing to kick her out because of her consultant's behavior. The conversation is probably about their last closed case, the Red John case. She is smiling and blushing, and it's one of the most beautiful sights he has ever witnessed. He laughs between himself, running his hands through his unruly curls, but then, something snaps in him. He shouldn't be laughing, or seeing how beautiful Lisbon is. It doesn't matter that he is gone.
Years prior, he told Carter that he was going to find himself a woman to love. That he was going to get a family of his own once his nemesis was forgotten, but now he isn't so sure any longer. Can he really do that? Could he really choose between the lost love of Angela and Lisbon? Is he really worthy of being loved again, or worthy of having a happily ever after with everything he had done? He caused his family's death, and that is something that will always stay with him, no matter what.
His eyes focus on the wedding band around his finger. The same one he has never taken off. He plays with it, rolls it around his finger, and dares to wonder, dares to hope, until he shivers with goose-bumps all over his body. He shouldn't be doing this, no matter what. He deserves this self-inflict limbo all of his life. He deserves so much more of this hell… loving from afar, loving without having, loving and seeing her being held by someone else, getting married, having a family of her own without him, always with someone else.
Bertram leaves her office, but she remains by the door a lit bit longer, allowing her eyes to meet her consultant's. She blushes, and once she is back inside, he gulps, sweating. He can't have her, it's not right. Seeing her with someone else will be, one day, his ultimate punishment for his foolishness, greed, and haughtiness. She'll eventually forget about him, and get over that silly crush of hers. He never will get over her, even though Red John is gone.
No one gets away clean- and this will be his punishment.
"Don't you think that the boss seems happier lately?" Grace asks, one morning, while they are in the kitchenette drinking a fresh cup of dark coffee, and gossiping like a group of teenagers, instead of the fine agents they actually are.
"Nah, seems the same to me- I mean, of course she would be happier. It took us almost 10 years to close the Red John case…" Rigsby says.
"It's because of Jane" Cho deadpans. "She is happy because Red John is gone and Jane is still here." It's also because Jane didn't kill Red John in cold blood like he had planned for a long time, but there's no need to say so.
"Yep, that's the boss. Always there for her family…." Rigsby's words are graced by a small smile, full of truth and affection for the petite brunette.
"It's not that, Wayne" Grace interrupts him, blushing and breathing in and out like a dreaming child. "She loves him."
"Yeah, I know, the boss loves us all, I…"
"She means that she is in love with him. Has been for quite a while, actually." Cho comments again, yet again with a straight face.
Rigsby remains silent, eyes focused on his feet instead of his mug, the air suddenly heavy with tension. "Do you think he loves her back?"
"It's not a matter of if he is in love with her, is a matter if he'll allow himself to love her to the fullest."
Cho always has the right answers and as he speaks, all their eyes fall on the consultant's napping form, as the same thought crosses all their minds. It's not a matter of if he loves her, because that's quite clear. Everybody but those two could see it. It's a matter of if he'll allow himself to move forward, take this step.
The possibility that he couldn't is a scary thought.
It's a spring Friday early in the morning when Lisbon calls him in her office. While bringing his heavy frame there, he already knows what she wants to talk him about. Her tell-tale blush, and how she refuses to meet his eyes tells him everything he wouldn't want to know: his plan has failed, miserably; actually, the plan never worked from the start, (if there was a plan to begin with) if he considers that, instead of pushing her away, he has kept getting closer and closer to her in the last few weeks, from the hours spent napping on the couch in her office to late dinners in cozy restaurants reserved normally to lovers, from the late night conversations in front of a movie at her place to the shared cup of Sundae on their favorite spot in Sacramento.
"Hello, Lisbon, how may I be of service today?" he grins, faking amusement, when amusement is the last thing he is feeling. Hands at his back, he randomly and absentmindedly plays with his wedding band to remember once again what he is supposed to say and to do. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be happy. This isn't his place to be, and she isn't his to own.
Lisbon, unaware of his predicament (how could she not? After all, he is the con-man, the pretender), gets closer and closer to him, until there's just a step of distance between their bodies. She is so close, he can feel the heat she irradiates, the flush of her cheeks, and her rapid heartbeat.
"Listen, Jane, there's something I've been wanting to talk about for a while…" She almost whispers. Her voice is low, her face red, embarrassed. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. She is simply adorable. Maybe, this is his punishment, his torture. Knowing what they could have, knowing the effect she has on him, but keeping her out of his reach forever and ever.
"Yes, dear?" he bits his tongue, not so figuratively, when the term of endearment escapes from his lips. It's not the first time he calls her in such a way, but he sees from the color that reaches the tip of her ears that this time is different. It's not something casual or just to unnerve her. It's real. Or at least, it's what she thinks.
She closes her eyes and gets on her tiptoes. She brushes his lips with her own. It lasts just a fraction of second, and she retreats without giving him the actual chance of answering. Not that he could. Not when every time he thinks of Lisbon's petite frame in his arms, a new image appears in front of his eyes. The one of butchered bodies, and of smeared blood and smiling faces on the wall.
"I just wanted to tell you that I remembered. That's all." She puts her hands in her pockets and doesn't move, clearly unimpressed with her own plan of action. Jane just nods once before leaving, without saying a single word, his body the caricature of a human being.
In the darkness of the bullpen, Cho shakes his head. It's a real pity that the man isn't allowing his soul to heal, because they could be good for each other- the real deal.
He didn't feel like being surrounded by cheeriness, or by anything or anyone, actually. That's why he has driven over 7 hours to reach his personal hell; an old mattress under a bloody smiley in his old bedroom.
He closes his eyes, thinking, reflecting. He keeps twisting the ring around his finger. When Lisbon touched his lips with her own, all he saw was the past and things that were (the day he got married, when Charlie was born, her first steps, and butchered bodies under a bloody smiley) and things that should have been, but never were and never will be because of him. For this reason alone, he deserves this hell.
But, there's a flaw. A flaw called Lisbon.
He should be miserable- of that much he is sure. But what about her? Lisbon, so good, his knight with shining armor, shouldn't. Not with everything she has gone through in her life, and in the last few years alone. Lisbon doesn't deserve unhappiness. He already knew it, but what if he is the only one who can give her what she wants? He said he wanted her happy, and she pretty much told him he is the one making her happy, by bringing back that old topic discussed in an abandoned warehouse in Vegas years ago. The one immediately pushed under the rug.
Lisbon remembers. Lisbon knows. She loves him as well. He robbed the world of Angela and Charlotte, so is he supposed to do the same with her by robbing Lisbon of her heart's desire? He doesn't know. His head is filled with so many thoughts and feelings he doesn't even know where to start to sort them out.
Lisbon is there with him, ready to love him and be at his side like she has always done, this time in so many more ways, though.
Angela, the love of his life, the woman who put a ring on his finger, the one who gave him his beautiful daughter, is gone.
Angela and Teresa - so similar, and yet so different. Two women who, despite their pasts, get to be in peace with themselves, through his help. And who decided to be with him and accepted him, despite knowing his demons. They have seen them all and lived with him, never abandoned him. He was the conman for Angela, and the cold-blood murderer for Teresa.
They both love him, and he is failing them both, has failed them both. He has brought Red John's wrath upon his beloved family, and he has shattered in millions of tiny little pieces Teresa's heart.
He sobs and sobs, until he cries himself to sleep.
Normal people probably don't know the difference, but Patrick Jane isn't a normal person, he has better control over his own body, his own mind, so he always knows when his conscious mind drifts to the land of Morpheus, blessing, or damning it with dreams and visions -this time, it's one of them.
He is sitting on an old quilt by the sea, the wind running through his unruly curls, fresh but not cold, definitely welcome like a recharging sensation, and if that vision wasn't peaceful enough, there's always the little boy in his arms, a newborn baby, looking at him with fascination while biting his own thumb – he doesn't know how, but he knows that the boys' name is Samuel, and that he is his own progeny, his and Lisbon's, so much is said by that peculiar shade of green of his orbs.
"He is really beautiful, Patrick. You two will do well. Under all aspects. He'll grow up to be a happy baby." Tears leave his eyes, and suddenly the baby stills, like feeling his father's discomfort and sufferance; Jane doesn't need to turn to know who spoke, he knows that voice like he knows his own, he has listened to it every day for the last… since he was barely a kid.
Angela.
She sits at his side, dressed with one of her clear dresses, long and soft, the ones she loved so much, that made her feel like a real princess, or a real ballerina, instead of the carnie royalty or the circus performer she was in reality. She is just as he remembered her, only, for the first time in over 10 years, he isn't seeing her abdomen cut open, he isn't seeing the knives marks on her neck: she is just like he remembered she used to be in their best moments, when both of them were still happy in their little bubble, with the addiction of their princess.
"He is nothing" He says, and it feels like venom on his tongue, like blasphemy. "He'll never be. This is just a dream. You are just a dream." He grits his teeth and cries, like he had cried himself to sleep on his mattress, and yet again the baby feels him, starting to cry as well. In the same way he has played with his ring lately, Jane rocks the newborn until his green eyes are obscured to the world, his breath even as he falls in a peaceful sleep.
"Why do you want to rob the world of him? Of such a marvelous and happy child? Can't you see what he will come to be? He'll take from you both, just the best…. You feel like you robbed to world of us, and yet, here you are, ready to do the same with another child of yours…."
She smiles, playing with the blonde curls of the child, messing them just like she did with his own when they were younger and she just wanted to unnerve that poor lonely boy – and later man- who was just looking for perfection in his existence.
"It's not the same. You were here. He isn't." He shakes his head almost in tears, but right now he isn't so sure any longer, if he is crying for the baby he lost, or for this one who will never be.
"Oh, Patrick, of course he is here. He may not be born yet, but that's where he is, in here" she sadly smiles as she puts an hand on his heart, allowing their eyes to meet, the sufferance clear in the light blue-green orbs of the man she once called husband. "He is here, Patrick, like he has always been, from the moment you thought you could have lost her, when you understood that your life was worth nothing without her at your side."
"I can't do that, I don't…. it's not fair to you." More tears kiss his features, and it's then that she cups his cheeks, erasing them all with her thumbs.
"Pattie, honey, when you love someone…. You want for them to be happy. I know you'll never forget us, and that's not what I'm asking you. I'm asking you to cherish our memory, and love us all… me, Charlie, Teresa, and this beautiful child of yours. There's room for us all, Pattie… I know it, and she does as well. She'll never ask to forget us, because she knows you. And she just wants you to be happy."
She kisses him one last time, a meaningful kiss on his forehead, and when he wakes up, he knows. It has been just a dream, a way his subconscious orchestrated to make him understand that his plan has been wrong all along, that pushing her away, refusing her, wasn't the right solution, what he craved, still does.
Giving himself a new shot at life, at love, it's the best way to honor who's no more, because he has failed once, and he isn't getting to fail this time again.
Jane has vanished from a couple of days, and for two whole days, she has been curled up on her couch, dressed always with the same jersey, crying her heart out, damning herself for how stupid and childish she has been; she should have never told him that she remembered his whispered confession of love, should have never made him understand she held the same feelings deep in her heart.
Yet, she did, and she has ruined everything, she has lost everything. Not only the chance of loving someone like she hasn't in a long time, but also her friend is no more, the man she has learnt to care about, who was always there to save her when she needed it the most and wasn't able to say the words out loud.
She has lost Patrick. She has lost Jane. She has even lost her consultant. All for a stupid, childish fantasy, all because she couldn't keep her feelings at bay. All because she hasn't learnt to stop dreaming – and hoping - yet. Because that is what she still does: shehopes, hopes that he'll change his mind, run to her to profess once again his undying love, and they'll live happily ever after.
What a stupid child, it's exactly like that song says, she thinks feeling the bile rising in her throat, throwing an empty glass- water, she isn't going to fall so low because of a man, not even for Patrick Jane – against the wall. If happy ever after did exist, I would still be holding you like this…. Fairytales? Happy endings? They are not her things, they are for others, not for poor Teresa Lisbon; she is doomed to live through the others, always witness the happiness, but never being the main character, never under the spotlight.
And then, she hears it, under the heavy pouring rain, someone knocking at her door- and it's… it's like she knows it, she feels it, the desperation, the need, the longing of who's at the other side, and when she puts her hand against the cold wood, it's like she knows who's on the other side, can feel the chemistry, can feel the connection, the reflection of her own feelings… She opens the door with tears in her eyes, and here he is, standing at her door, hand still lifted, and despite the fact that he is drenched, she just knows he has cried, cried his heart out, just like she did, just like she is still doing.
He doesn't give her time to say a word, and he doesn't speak either; he takes her in his arms, captures her in an embrace so similar to the one he gave her that day in her office, when he professed his love to her; he kisses her like there's no tomorrow- probably because, right at this point, there's no tomorrow for him, of she'll not take him – but he isn't forceful; he has been stupid, and she is the one who's supposed to decide if he deserves her forgiveness.
She doesn't say a world, doesn't say that she forgives him once again, doesn't say that she'll take him back – back in her life, at work, at home, wherever and whenever she'll need and want him – and she wonders if he thinks she has to: looking after him, taking him back, forgiving him is kind her line of work. Besides, there's no need to talk at all, and a kiss can seal a promise for things to come better than too many words.