A/N: So this is going to be like a future follow up to War Of The Roses, because frankly, seeing Lisbon so crazy-jealous was so much fun [funniest part IMO: Lisbon sliding into the car, with Jane in the middle of both uber jealous women]. I'm making Erica suspect zero to an extent, since she is as amazing of a manipulator as Jane. Also, I'm someone with mixed feelings about Morena Baccarin [Erica Flynn]-loved her in Firefly/Serenity, have detested her in all else she's done that followed [V, Homeland]. Even Mentalist. I think her hair bothers me most. NOT a fan of the pixie cut. But in general, something about her straight up bugs me. Sorry if you are a fan….
**This may also be updated a bit more sporadically than my other stories as I'm working more.
We're Painting The Roses Red
May not be true to see that you would return one day
But in your present state you may as well not be here at all
You wear a thin disguise, it's from yourself you hide
Just take a look at us, we are heading for a fall
It was just too…quiet. Not the good quiet, the soothing sort that felt comforting and left you with peace of mind. No, this was the kind where things were being kept from you, whispers behind your back and a sense of unease lingering like a dark aura.
Teresa hadn't felt like this since the pre-Red John Death days.
Something was going on. Her team could barely look her in the eye.
So she did what she did best: divide and conquer.
"Van Pelt, can I have word?" she asked authoritatively. The red head had grown tremendously, especially after she'd had to shoot her fiancé to save her boss. Her attitude had finally settled and her rage-like-tendencies had waned as well. But she'd be damned to say the junior agent still didn't look nervous every time she was beckoned.
Grace bit her lip and nodded. "Yes, boss."
She took her seat across from the stern face of her boss. Lisbon moved some papers around with agitation and unrest before turning her questioning gaze on Grace.
"So, Van Pelt, I know I may not seem myself since…I may not be myself but I'd like, very much, to be kept in the loop. We have an active case, do we not?"
Grace floundered for words, but recovered. "Yes," she began with a swallow. "Erica Flynn resurfaced yesterday. Someone placed her getting off a private jet on a secluded tarmac and notified local authorities. They didn't know anything about her case or involvement, but had enough know-how to take a picture with a camera phone."
Teresa had visibly paled, and then flushed with anger at the mention of the seductive, man-manipulating, husband-killing witch from two years prior. First Lorelei, now Erica. Jane's past flings just kept returning like a bad cold. And for Teresa, the hits just kept on coming.
"Does it say why she returned? Where was the flight itinerary originally from?" Teresa asked a bit harshly.
Grace sighed, hesitating with this evidence. "No. And she flew in under a false identity," she held her breath, not wanting to reveal the name.
"Well?" Her boss intoned rather impatiently.
"Angela Jane. She stole his dead wife's identity; boss, down to her social security number. She even changed her appearance," Grace slid the enlarged image over to Lisbon, carefully, watching her every move.
It was a grainy photo, a little blown out and overexposed, but it was definitely her. The woman certainly looked different; the short, dark pixie cut was gone, replaced by a light strawberry color that skimmed her chest. Lisbon was sure she was wearing contacts as well—vivid, midnight blue, in fact. But nothing could hide her distinctive face. Distinctive, thought Lisbon, and wicked.
Lisbon rolled her eyes internally; this woman could dye her hair platinum blonde, jump on one leg while singing country karaoke and still have men falling all over her.
If she hadn't trusted Lorelei Martins, then she downright despised this harpy.
The primary difference between the two dark temptresses was that Teresa pitied Lorelei; she'd been used, and in return, used others to survive. She was a leech, but a smart leech. She had to give her credit for that. But Erica? She was the condescending "it" girl that captured the male species with a perfectly executed smile and stole your boyfriend. Hers wasn't survival, it was just evil.
And in the wake of both women, Teresa Lisbon did not compare.
"Boss, may I be frank for a moment?" Van Pelt asked, watching the flickering emotions converge across her bosses face. Teresa looked up, startled. "Just call him. He deserves to know."
"I know, Grace, if a fugitive stole my dead—"
Van Pelt shook her head curtly, cutting Lisbon off at the punch. "That's not what I meant."
With that said, Grace left the office, leaving Teresa Lisbon more than stunned.
She picked up her phone. Hit the familiar speed dial. She would regret this later.
"We need to talk."
XOX
Patrick picked up the call on the first ring. He'd been anticipating her call since Cho came bearing the news.
"We need to talk." She stated in lieu of a greeting, voice neutral, flat, no inflection.
A sharp pang hit his heart at her all-business tone, but he gathered himself quickly. "It would seem so. Where did you want to meet?"
She wanted somewhere public; she didn't think she could be in a room with him, alone. Confined spaces with Patrick Jane were not conducive to her health. Or her heart.
She sighed heavily across the line. "How about Marie's?"
He agreed. It was her favorite bakery/lunch place. She would feel exceedingly comfortable there, he knew. And also free to flee at any moment.
It was his fault, and he knew it. "See you there in thirty," he answered and ended the call.
Red John was dead, and yet he still felt cruelly soldered to the dead man's mind. It was part of the reason he had not returned to the CBI. He spread darkness like a disease, and he'd infected enough good, pure, innocent souls with it. Especially her. Because hers he'd not just tainted, but dragged down to the deepest reaches of hell. His presence would only keep her there. So he set her free. He removed himself from the equation.
She'd returned from it. He had not. Both had lost bits of their souls along the way.
She was too good for him, in the end.
XOX
It was far more than thirty minutes later that Jane sat, waiting in their booth in the far corner, away from prying ears, and wondered for the third time in as many minutes if she'd bailed. While highly unlike his stubborn agent, he would not blame her for sending a minion of her own. If she did, he hoped for the still clueless Rigsby—he was the easiest mark to bring to his side because he genuinely liked Jane. Unless Cho and Grace had managed to corrupt that friendship.
His attention was diverted when the bell signaling a customer jingled. She craned her neck to seek him out, but he was too caught up to wave her over. She was radiant as ever; it seemed she'd gotten more sun lately, or maybe, his tortured mind played darkly, perhaps she'd entertained a lover, because she seemed to glow, her lovely dark hair even longer, curling prettily in the summer heat—he loved it long. But upon closer inspection, as glass bottle green eyes connected with his jarring blue, he saw how truly sad she was. Her image was a farce, created to prove to herself and others she was fine. It had worked on him in that moment, after all. But he knew her, as others did not.
And that, itself, was a problem. They'd both come to cold read each other in seconds. He was not sure when she learned how to do that.
Her countenance set itself into impartial, unbiased, blankness in the span of a blink. Ouch. He realized her image may have "lightened," but her wardrobe had not. While lately she'd taken to color, she'd reverted back to the blacks and grays, as if she was in mourning. Even now in the heavy humid fog of summer in California, she wore a loose fitting black blouse and the darkest-to-black wash jeans, that she caught some curious glances from the café patrons, wearing their pristine whites and Easter egg colors.
Maybe, he thought idly, she was in mourning. She'd lost two people the day Red John died; but could one mourn the living?
He focused when the chair was pulled with a metallic shriek out from under the table.
Jane cast her a small, rueful smile. "You look well, Teresa."
Her eyes remained passive. Jane nodded to Marie, who brought over a bagel and tea for him and a large coffee and bear claw for Lisbon. He figured she might as well be fed if they were going to fight.
Lisbon took a gulp of the beverage. "Erica Flynn is—"
"—back. I know."
She cocked an eyebrow, but assumed this. "Figured," she mocked with a snort. "Cho?"
He nodded. "He's kept me apprised of the going's on in the CBI. He told me yesterday."
"So you're having them do your bidding, from afar, and still leaving me out. That's wonderful. It's like I have three kids that favor their father no matter how many times he lies and cheats and steals their candy from them," she huffed. She was flushed and angry. "You left Jane, you left. Again. You have no right and no place to beg for information. Red John is dead. His followers have vanished. You got your wish. Your mission is done."
"Then why are you here, Lisbon?"
She glanced away, laughing lightly, but not with humor. "Because Erica Flynn arrived in California as Angela Jane." Lisbon pulled the photo out of the small messenger bag she'd brought, pushed it into his hands. Sure enough, the hair and eyes belonged to his wife. The face clearly did not; neither did the slight olive complexion. He clenched his jaw. "I thought you had the right to know."
"Has she made contact yet?" he asked, carefully, still staring at the picture.
"No. Nothing," Lisbon replied quietly, breaking off a small bite of the bear claw that she was no longer hungry for.
"She will. She'll ask for me. She may have heard about Red John, but she doesn't know I'm no longer a consultant." He looked to Lisbon at last. "Don't tell her. You don't want to tip your hand. She'll disappear again if she knows I'm gone."
"I know. I've solved cases without you before," she bit sharply. She'd never wanted to hurt him before, not emotionally. Now she wanted her words to sting.
His tea had gone cold in its cup, and the bagel left to harden. She had not made a dent in hers either. There was so much he wanted to tell her. Nothing but his own selfish fear was stopping him.
"I didn't leave because of you Teresa. Or Red John, for that matter. I just…need time."
His words only hurt her more. She wanted to shake him, or scream or hit him. She glared at him with watery pools of liquid green. "Then why, Jane? Why won't you even call me, acknowledge that I'm your friend! I've done nothing to deserve this! You already put me through this before, and look how well that turned out. God, Jane, I can't take it anymore. He is gone, I'm not in danger, and there is no bounty on my head. What are you so afraid of?"
That was the million dollar question, wasn't it?
"I know you're my friend Lisbon. I know I keep hurting you, and I'm sorry, I can't help it," he wearily picked at the bagel. She did not hear his quietly spoken "I left for you," as she pushed back, ready to flee as he had predicted.
"Get over yourself." She snapped, shaking her head angrily, hair tossing about her face. "You're such an idiot, Patrick Jane."
She stood, gathered her bag and coffee and left without another word or so much as a glance cast over her shoulder.
"I know." He said to nothing but empty space.
Their friendship was built on lies and deceit from the moment he exited the elevator on day one. They wore masks and false identities and danced around fire and death all day. It did not bode well for a healthy relationship. You could love something so ardently that you suffocated it in the end.
XOX
She did not return to work. Her mind was racing at light speed; her heart was racing faster. How could he continue to do this to her? She did not deserve to be treated this way, she knew, considering all they'd been through in the last decade. But like an abused girlfriend, she kept going back, asking for more because she felt like she deserved every blow. When had she become so masochistic?
Lisbon avoided her home as well. She couldn't even go to church—even that reeked of Jane. So she drove until she hit the coast. Not exactly a big feat in California, but not something she did often.
She locked the car, having removed the sticky black blouse, revealing a silk, lace edged lavender camisole. An impulse buy—because it brought out her green eyes nicely—and she'd thought of Jane when she purchased it initially.
She had not wanted nor searched for the compliment, so she'd pulled on the black shirt over it to hide. She'd become quite good at it—hiding.
She tossed her shoes into the car with the blouse, traversing the beach, lost in her own mind, well into the evening as the bright yellow sun faded to hot pink streaks which turned into dark, night blue undertones with little shots of stars peeking through.
XOX
He'd never admit to following her. But he'd been compelled to as she practically ran away from him. Jane remained a safe distance behind, he thought; or she was that distracted.
He thought she would turn into the church where he'd sprung from the pew like a restless child, claiming he was God. She'd slowed when it appeared in her line of sight, but quickly sped past. Jane knew then that she didn't stop because it was somewhere she'd been…with him. Of course, they'd been to the beach before as well, but always for a case, not for personal outings.
Jane parked his blue monstrosity of a death trap he called a car a solid block from where she was. It was curiosity that got the best of him.
As she divested herself of the clinging black top in favor of the stunning lavender silk beneath, he felt his breath catch. She really was hiding herself away from him, bit by little bit.
This was, what most aptly called, a crossroads. Do I stay or do I go?
He chose stay, and go. He moved to trek down the beach after her. He had much to atone for.
He did not get far.
"Long time, Patrick," came the smoky, smooth voice of Erica Flynn.
The woman masquerading in his dead wife's skin.
"Looks like you don't have to 'find me' after all. I came straight to you, darling."
His eyes narrowed darkly. "What are you playing at Erica?"
She tilted her head, a short laugh bubbling.
"Don't you mean Angela?"
XOX
You can't hide from the truth
Because the truth is all there is...
