This is my first Mentalist fic, but I've tried as best I can! Also, can I point out that I'm British, so if there's anything wrong with the wording, then please contact me and tell me so I can fix it? Thanks?
OK, enough of me; Enjoy!
"And so, another case successfully closed by the intrepid efforts of our daring heroes!" Jane announced joyously, skipping into the room carrying a large pizza box. "Now only one question remains; how will they work off the calories?" he smiled at the team, "Y'know, I hate to say "I told you so"- well actually, when I say hate, I really mean love – but I do recall saying that this whole things was a Red John case all along, that Mathews killed Burnham on Red John's orders!"
"C'mon, Jane, you know that was just a lucky hunch! You know it, I know it, we all know it." Lisbon said, walking into the bullpen and sitting on the edge of Cho's desk, folding her arms.
"That is so not true! I said from the beginning that this case was connected to Red John, and none of you believed me! And now we're one step close to catching him!" he said, indignantly, opening the pizza box and smelling it appreciatively, before offering it to each of his colleagues in turn.
Rigsby had taken his slice the second it was within reach, and it was gone just as quickly. Cho's face remained as if it had been carved out of stone and Lisbon nodded to him in thanks as they took their slices, but Van Pelt was still tapping away at her keyboard with vigour and didn't seem to notice Jane's presence. He held the box under her nose, moving it back and forth.
"Van Pelt?" Jane whispered in an annoying, small sing-song voice, raising the box to her eye-level. She jumped, gasping slightly, looking up into his face with an exasperated "Why?" expression.
"What?" she asked, annoyed.
Jane looked confused. "Closed-case pizza?" he mumbled, shaking the box again.
"I know what you're doing"
"Yeah..." Jane's brow furrowed. "I'm offering you pizza..."
"No, not that..." she tailed off, looking over at Cho.
"Stop bottling it all up, man." Cho agreed.
"What do you mean?" Jane asked the group, his slice of pizza hovering halfway to his mouth.
Rigsby stood up, a strange look on his face. It was half sympathetic, half annoyed. "We were all prepared this time. We were all ready for you to go manic like you normally do on a Red John case."
"C'mon! I don't know what you mean. I'm perfectly normal! I'm always normal, right?" he laughed. No-one answered. Cho stared at him unwaveringly, and Lisbon coughed. "I'm normal! I'm fine!" Still no reply. "I've taken all you advice to heart, Lisbon, and you, Cho, all of you, I really have. I've made a promise to myself, and now I make it to you all, too. I swear that I will no longer let Red John or my need for personal vengeance rule my life, head or work." He said solemnly, before taking as much of the pizza as he could into his mouth in one go and uncrossing his fingers.
Lisbon didn't look convinced, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Yeah, right!"
"I don't see why you don't believe me!" Jane said to her, mouth still full, so the feignied hurtful tone he tried to put on lost its impact.
Rigsby and Cho returned to their desks, Van Pelt went back to her typing, and Lisbon turned and walked out of the bullpen to her office, keeping her eyes on Jane all the while.
Jane sighed, slipping the pizza box on his desk and collapsing onto his beloved couch. He rested his hands behind his head, closed his eyes lightly, and waited for something exciting to happen.
Nothing did.
Jane considered this good, in a way. It gave him a chance to think about things. Nothing in particular. Just things. Things in general. Red things. Red. Red tomatoes. Red cherries. Red herrings. Red John. Red lights. Red John. Red hair. Red John. Red shoes. Red John. Red paper. Red John. Red tape. Red John. Red blood. Red John. Red John. Red John. Red John. Red John. Red -.
Red John.
He had been so close this time. Only, as ever, he arrived too late, greeted only by a mutilated corpse and a haunting smiley face. He was always too late. Red John was always ten steps ahead, always long gone. Jane clenched his fists against the soft leather in anger and frustration.
Would their game of cat and mouse ever end? Who was the cat and who was the mouse, and would he ever know? Who would be the rodent meeting its demise in the cats claws?
"Jane," Lisbon's voice cut though his musings and he jumped, opening his eyes quickly. He'd been so caught up in his own head that he hadn't heard her approach. He looked up at her, smiling and hoping she wouldn't notice that it didn't reach his eyes. "go home." She said it gently, but there was a distinct undertone of a command from someone senior in title.
"What if I don't want to?" he asked, cheerfully, hiding his mood behind a mask of childishness.
"Go. Home." She ordered, her eyes soft and sympathetic where her voice wasn't.
"I'm fine, Lisbon, really." He didn't want to go "Home". That building hadn't been home for a long time now. Not since... Red John.
"Jane, nothing's going to happen. We're all only doing the paperwork that you generate with your very existence, and don't have to fill in. You go home and relax. Or do whatever you do for fun. You're making the place look untidy and unprofessional. Do whatever it is you do when we've all left." she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she walked off.
Jane sighed. There would be no arguing with her about this, not when she was in this mood. He groaned as he sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor and stretching. As he left, he waved and smiled at everyone he could see.
"See you all tomorrow!" he announced loudly. "Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone!" he ducked the pens that were thrown at him from various angles, and before long he was in his car and driving out of the parking lot.
It was always quiet whenever Jane wasn't around. Even if he was napping on his couch in the corner, making a cup of tea in the little kitchenette or annoying Lisbon in her office, it was always loud and bustling with an unidentifiable energy that got them through all the paperwork at the end of the day. But when Jane was gone, which wasn't very often, the building seemed less vibrant, less bust, missing that energy.
Van Pelt looked over at his corner again. Nope, definitely no Jane. She sighed, and resumed packing all her papers away, ready to head off for the night. Something caught her eye on Jane's couch, something shiny. She looked around. Maybe because he'd made it clear on many occasions that it was his couch, she, Cho and Rigsby always felt awkward going anywhere near it, some freaky psychological Jane trick, no doubt. But now she drifted over to the worn leather, reached down between the cushions and pulled out the offending shiny object. Objects, she corrected herself, as she pulled out a set of keys that jangled merrily as she lifted them.
Well, maybe a set of keys was stretching it a bit, more like a key ring with two keys dangling from it. Though she'd never seen them before, she instantly knew that they were house keys, specifically, Jane's.
"Jane's left his keys here."
"He can't have, he drove off a while ago." Rigsby said, without looking up.
"He keeps his house and car keys on separate rings," Cho explained "he once said that he thought everyone should; keep 'em alert and thinking if they have to remember where both of the rings are." He shrugged as Van Pelt dialled Jane's number and held the cell to her ear.
"Apparently it doesn't work." Rigsby gestured to the keys in Van Pelt's hand.
"Cut him some slack, will ya?" she said crossly.
Rigsby bowed his head slightly. Jane had come within minutes of catching Red John, and then missed. He supposed that the consultant was allowed to misplace his keys in such circumstances.
Van Pelt sighed and hung up her cell. "He's not answering," she glanced outside, making up her mind and donning her coat. "I'm gonna go drop them off to him."
"What, now?" Rigsby looked concerned. "It's getting dark!"
"Exactly. He didn't leave long ago, and I'm heading off anyway. I can drop them off to him on the way home before it gets too dark. That way he doesn't have to spend money on a hotel when he can't get in. If I hurry I can get to him before he leaves to come back for them or get a room elsewhere."
"Well, let me come with you." Rigsby jumped up, sending papers all over the floor in his haste.
"Don't you have your own home to get to, Agent Rigsby?" she raised one eyebrow at him. "Besides, it's only been about half an hour since he left, I can get to him easily." she flicked her hair over one shoulder, slipped her bag over her arm, pocketed Jane's keys and strode out of the bullpen.
"Dude, you need some serious help" Cho patted Rigsby's shoulder as he passed, almost smirking.
His phone was vibrating again. It was ringing and moving inside his suit pocket, distracting him from his dark thought on the drive "home". If they'd found another lead on Red John, then they'd keep calling back. But if not then he didn't need to hear the sympathetic "Are you alright?" that was guaranteed if he picked up the call. The cell stopped vibrating. Good. If they really wanted to talk to him, they'd call back.
He pulled over outside the house which was once a home, shutting off the engine and getting out. He stared at the exterior of the building in front of him; the place where he and his wife and daughter had lived happily until he'd made Red John angry.
Now the place was a shell, a shell with cracks breaking through its defences. The huge windows stared at him like the eyes of a great beast, but behind them was the dark and empty soul it tried so desperately to hide from the world.
Jane sighed, and started to make his way into the house, staring at his shoes the whole time. Shiny shoes. Polished. And the bottom of his tailored suit pants. Expensive. But only for appearances, rather than any particular liking of style himself. He pushed the front door open without conscious thought, walking inside, leaving the door wide open to get some fresh air inside the stuffy building. It had been quite a while since he'd been here, and in that time the air seemed to have turned stale.
He didn't bother turning the lights on; what would be the point? He knew where everything was, and there weren't going to be any toys or clothes on the floor. Plus he'd just be wasting electricity.
He paused. He was halfway through the motion of putting his keys on the table when he realised that, actually, he wasn't holding any keys. He frowned. Then how was he inside? He should be sitting dejectedly on the step outside, grumbling and brooding and maybe considering sneaking back to CBI.
Suddenly, the whole house seemed so much more sinister, the shadows seemed to close in from all sides, reaching out towards him. He could almost see the red face laughing at him from the wall upstairs, laughing at his stupidity.
"Hello, Mr. Jane..."
Speaking of the face...
Any good? Please let me know if I should continue or not?
I love reviews! (Hint hint! ;) )
