Disclaimer: Still don't own, still not making any profit. If Lisbon were mine I'd give her better taste in music. Spice Girls? Really, Lisbon?
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Hardly Loquacious, for taking the time to talk endlessly about the ins-and-outs of Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon, and for helping me deal with the theory of "jealous Jane" without slipping into cliche. At least, I hope I didn't go there. Let me know!
Set between "Black Gold, Red Blood" 2.06 and "Red Bulls" 2.07
The Green Dragon
(Envy)
"Jealousy is the dragon in paradise; the hell of heaven; and the most bitter of the emotions because it is associated with the sweetest. ~A.R. Orage
To look at him, one would think Patrick Jane would be the object of many a man's envy. And to be quite honest, he is. And he knows it. Some may call it arrogant (but he's been called far worse) and some may think it narcissistic (and what's wrong with having a bit of pride in one's appearance, anyway?), but Jane's always known where his talents lie. And he's known exactly how to make the best use of them.
Now that he thinks about it, those talents and abilities served him very well. His recent run-in with a baseball – Jane absently rubs his temple as he lays sprawled on his much-abused couch – brought back all the memories of his youth he'd had preferred stayed buried. His father had noticed his innate ability to read people, see through the body language and the expressions to the core of their beings, and lost no time in exploiting it. And the young Jane was more than willing to play the part – the bud of showmanship well watered and fed with fascinated, clamoring crowds in every city, town and single stop-light hamlet they visited.
"You see through people like glass, m'boy," his father had said. And young Jane's heart and grin swelled with the pride he thought he was hearing in his old man's voice. Yes, his talents had served them well through his youth.
Until reality slapped him in the face. One dying girl and her desperate grandmother; the look of naked hope and wonder in her sunken eyes. Her wheezing breath, trembling hands – Jane was nearly physically ill with the guilt that roiled in his gut. For the first time, he couldn't use his gifts to score on a mark.
It was a short lived weakness. Jane took to the notion "you either fleece the suckers or you become one", and as he sits here, it suddenly disturbs him that he can't think of another time (before Red John) when he didn't adhere to that rule. Followed it so well that his fame and fortune increased exponentially through his late twenties through his thirties.
Oh yes. He was that good. Allows a small grin to himself at that.
Jane takes a moment from his reflection to angle his head and look out over the bullpen. Cho sitting at his desk, downloading pictures from his camera from the latest crime scene for his files. Rigsby and Van Pelt emerging from the break room, him leaning down near her ear to whisper something, and she tries to conceal the girlish giggle at whatever he said. Poor things. So very very obvious. Jane figures Lisbon is doing them a favor by not stepping in with one of her rules because she doesn't want her team split up.
Lisbon. Jane's eyes seek out the object of his thoughts and find her in her office, flitting back and forth between her desk and the cabinet, hands full of files. Ever the busy little bee, he thinks. She really should stop and take a break. Perhaps some lunch…or some doughnuts from that little café she adores. Her eyes light up with something young and lovely when he brings her favorite food. Jane's become quite fond of eliciting such reactions out of Lisbon, going out of his way to do so sometimes. Just to get that mischievous twinkle – something warm unfurls in his chest at the thought…
He frowns at that feeling. Probably just the sun coming in from the window behind him, and he scoots – nothing obvious, mind you – out of the beam he'd been sunning himself in. It also occurs to him that he's probably been sitting there with a stupid grin and a far away look, because the mousy secretary for the Organized Crime unit is across the hall, staring. Came to use the copier, he supposes, and flashes her a stunner smile.
Mary? Mitzy? Martha – yes, that's her name – turns about three shades of pink and drops a few of the sheets of paper she was holding, trying to recover her dignity. Jane shakes his head. It amuses him how shallow some women are – so willing to take the pretty face, the brilliant, self-assured smile at face value and let themselves be blinded by it. He's well aware of his influence on the fairer sex, and has no qualms about using it to his advantage. What kind of con-man would he be if he didn't use all of the weapons in his arsenal to the fullest extent?
Been. Past tense, he thinks, reminding himself that he's not a con-man anymore. Well, most of the time.
The high-wattage smile, the charm, the confidence, the looks – just an array of arrows in his metaphorical quiver. They're also the caulking that binds his mask together, sealing in the cracks. Keeping the 'true Jane' from leaking out. Can't have the masses knowing too much about the real deal under the glossy exterior.
Because it isn't nearly as pretty.
Jane's eyes slide away from the flustered secretary and back to the team. It's easier for them. They don't have to deal with keeping the mask on, polished and flaw-free 24-7. Sure, each of them has their secrets: Van Pelt with her carefully guarded tragedy (Jane thinks something happened to her in her youth, but hasn't decided if it was a death or she was abused in some way). Rigsby, the normally gentle giant with a soft spot for the lady in distress and a healthy hatred of abusive father figures that ride motorcycles. The enigmatic Cho, harboring the weight of disappointed parents along with the deeds from his gang affiliation.
Jane wonders what rebellious young Cho was like, but then, he knows that some of the most shocking emotional turbulence can lay hidden under a smooth, unflappable surface. Maybe it's best he doesn't pry too much into that one.
Part of him longs to set aside the 'show' and just be real with them. Let them get to know the Patrick Jane that wanted so desperately to help that little dying girl in that carnival so long ago. The one that wishes he'd joined the CBI so many years earlier – before he caused his own ruin – because he's making a difference, and he likes it. The job is worth something. Something more than just a route to finding Red John. But admitting all that is admitting a weakness, a vulnerability, and Patrick Jane doesn't like showing his hand.
Jane knows what their reaction would be if he actually did try to be more open with them, anyway. Disbelief. He chuckles to himself; Rigsby and Van Pelt are always in awe of his capabilities, but they often fail to see the fly in the pudding. There is such a thing as being "too good."
Case in point: Teresa Lisbon. If only she didn't know how good he was with the lie. If only she didn't know what he was capable of (and in some ways, she really doesn't know the true extent – Jane plans on keeping it that way). His kingdom of card tricks for an ounce of real Lisbon trust. He discovered, after that ridiculous trust-fall, that her trust was something he very much wanted. Needed, actually. And Jane is astonished how greedy this need for her belief in him has become.
"You guys finish your D-5s for that car jacking murder last week? 'Cause I need them to finish my report to the DA."
Jane's musings grind to a clattering halt as the voice he's gleefully come to despise enters the room. Samuel Bosco – bourgeois-hardass extraordinaire.
Cho doesn't even look up from his computer. "The Boss has them."
"Good." Bosco stands at the door to the bullpen, as though he knows he's not totally welcome in the inner sanctum of Team Lisbon. The team has gotten past his thinking that Lisbon was guilty for the McTeer murder, but the tension is still there. Jane takes a moment to study Bosco's body language as Rigsby looks up from his coffee.
"It's not so bad, is it?" He's trying to sound non-confrontational, but Jane can see the subtle movement in his shoulders, squaring them toward Bosco. Rigsby is always unconsciously making use of his impressive build when he feels threatened. "You actually trusting us to help you with a case?"
Bosco is making a face, like he just bit into a lemon, when Jane chimes in. "Well, it's not like he had much of a choice. After all, the car jacking was one of several spanning the state – making it within our purview. Unfortunately, Agent Bosco's team failed to find the link between each of the crimes that profiled the killer." Makes a tsking noise, shaking his head ruefully, "Which is kinda sad, since the name of your unit is Serial Crimes. Oh well, can't win'em all, right Bosco?"
Jane does nothing to hide the smug gleam in his eye as Bosco works his jaw around the real reply he'd like to give. It probably isn't rated PG either. Instead, Bosco turns back to Rigsby (who's grinning like a teenager about to watch a fight break out).
"Oh yeah," Bosco says, dryly. "It's been a blast. A real slice. We should do it all the time, y'know? Maybe get team tee-shirts made up to wear while we collaborate on cases and such."
Jane can't resist. "I've been saying that for months now." His voice is mild, but Bosco doesn't miss the meaning behind it, or the razor edge to Jane's smile. He fixes his gaze on the older man; the look that usually breaks the most stalwart of suspects.
Bosco's never been intimidated by Jane, however, and simply chuffs under his breath, shaking his head. Red John's case file isn't going anywhere and to hell with any collaboration. "Not a chance, Jane." He starts toward Lisbon's office, throwing over his shoulder, "But by all means, keep bailing out the other units, 'cause obviously no one around here knew what to do before you showed up."
Jane feels the smile melt off his face, replaced by thinly veiled disgust. "Obviously," he mutters.
"The guy's an ass," Rigsby says, turning back to his coffee.
"A higher ranking ass," Cho remarks, humorlessly. "Besides, the Boss trusts him."
Rigsby 'hmms' to himself, then brightens. "Hey, you think–"
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
Cho clicks away at his keyboard. "You show up with Serious Crimes team tee-shirts and I'm transferring."
Rigsby's caught between crestfallen and impressed. "Really?"
"Not even kidding."
And as the team goes back to their work, Jane feels Cho's remark sticking in his craw and turning his mood sour: "The Boss trusts him." He watches Bosco lean in Lisbon's doorway for a moment. Can't hear what they're saying, but he doesn't have to. He can read Lisbon's body language like a recipe for a highly coveted dish.
Her weight leaning against the file cabinet. Casual. Mirroring Bosco's stance. They aren't talking about the car jacking cases. Jane, deciding he needs some tea, gets up and makes his way to the break room, surreptitiously watching the two senior agents.
Bosco moves further into the room; Lisbon counters by moving to her desk. They circle around each other for a moment. God, it's like a dance, Jane thinks, and the tea is suddenly bitter in his mouth. Add a dash of smiling, a laugh here and there – Lisbon's relaxed, joking. Jane can't see Bosco's face, but he knows he's smiling. Has that look he gets around Lisbon, sometimes. That soft, gentle look.
Jane pours the tea down the sink drain. He's not thirsty anymore. Heads back to his never-used desk and pretends to be thumbing through one of the many books he keeps there, while carefully watching Lisbon's office.
Now Bosco has moved in and is sitting by Lisbon, perching on the edge of her desk, the file he was carrying opened between them. Leaning over into her space, presumably to point something out. And she lets him. No sign of tension in her shoulders, no stiffening of her presence. Not like she does when Jane moves in a bit too close, and he can feel her entire body tense as if she's ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
Her eyes, as Bosco talks, are calm, knowing – this is all familiar and safe and she trusts him. Jane has to look away for a moment. Doesn't want to be too obvious, you see. It has absolutely nothing to do with the reality that has just snuck up on him with the subtlety of a cougar dragging a trashcan behind him.
When it comes to the delicate morsels of Lisbon's trust, some people get the lion's share. And some are left to work very hard for table scraps.
Jane makes a noise deep in his throat, something between a growl and a whine. More of a growl – Jane certainly doesn't whine. Certainly doesn't let prosaic oafs like Bosco get under his skin, even if that oaf currently has possession of the case that means absolutely everything to Jane. He certainly doesn't care in the least that Bosco thinks that he's a bad influence on Lisbon's team, or that he doesn't belong at CBI.
Certainly doesn't care for the way Bosco's hovering over Lisbon's shoulder right now, his hand bracing on the desk behind her. Almost around her…
Oh please, Jane mentally sighs, can you be any more obvious? Well, he simply can't take this anymore. Standing and striding toward her office, Jane figures if anything, he needs to save Lisbon from the impropriety their body language implies. Her looking so cozy with Bosco… what would people think?
Jane reaches the door, sizing up the two of them with barley contained disapproval. "My my. Interesting case?" When the two of them look up like startled deer, Jane feels his malicious side beginning to take interest. A sly grin threatens to erupt on his face, but he manages to look innocent. He gestures between them, "You two, huddled together so cozy. Must be some good reading."
At his "cozy" reference, Bosco averts his eyes and slides ever-so-slightly away from Lisbon, while she slaps the file closed and leans away from him. Jane is fighting that grin even harder now. Oh, this is just sad.
"Did you need something, Jane?" Lisbon asks, trying to regain control.
"Who? Me? Oh no, not really. I was just curious as to what could be in that file about the car-jackings that's so intriguing." Jane slips his hands in his pockets and tilts his head, eyeing Bosco. "Your body language suggested something highly…intimate," he lets the word slide off his tongue like melted chocolate, suggestive and smooth, "…in those files." His choice of words has the desired effect, Bosco's neck is starting to color an interesting shade of pink and he's glaring daggers (though Jane is reconsidering using 'intimate' as it's double meaning is leaving a decidedly acidic tang in Jane's mouth).
Lisbon looks like she's been struck dumb momentarily, her mouth working to find the right words of indignation, but Jane decides that he likes his current position of power over the two of them and presses on. "Oh. Now, see? This body language right here," he waggles his finger between them, "this is guilt. Whatever would you two have to be guilty about?"
"Nothing," Bosco grinds out. He looks the same as when Jane interrupted them – purely by chance, of course – in her office the night they proved her innocent of the McTeer murder. Like he wants to run. Oh… Jane likes watching Bosco squirm.
"Bosco was just going over the killer's profile with me," Lisbon says, looking between the two men. "Just making sure all the 'i's were dotted before we send it to the DA."
"Yeah," Bosco agrees.
Jane nods, understandingly. "Yeah. Oh, right. Dotting the 'i's. Sure." Tries to affect a non-committal, 'oh yes I believe you' air, but he never could hide his sarcasm from Lisbon.
She narrows her eyes at him. "You sure you don't have something better to do?" She's caught on to the game, but Jane's having far too much fun to care.
He waltzes into her office, airily confident, and as he suspects, Bosco retreats. Just like that night he brought her doughnuts. Something in Jane, the competitor in him perhaps, smiles in malicious glee. He's gaining ground on Bosco. Now he'll prove just how much he belongs here. How this really is his team…
"Not especially," Jane replies, and takes Bosco's vacated spot next to Lisbon on the edge of her desk. Smiles amiably at the two bewildered agents. "I can help you by checking over the profile, if you want." He's turned to Lisbon, looking down into her eyes, which are still narrowed suspiciously at him. Oh come now, he thinks. He hates that he receives this look from her all too often. Gives her a subtle charm-grin.
Bosco steps forward, physically insinuating himself back into the picture. "We don't need your help, Jane. The profile is correct and I'm sending it to the DA as is."
Jane slides his gaze to the older agent. "You needed my help in finding the guy, Bosco. Stands to reason you might need me to check over the profile. In case, y'know, there's something else you missed." There it is. Bosco just tipped his hand and Jane is more than willing to take advantage.
Bosco's eyes have gone cold and he steps into Jane's space. But even though he knows Bosco has him beat, hands-down, in a fight, Jane isn't backing down. He only feels something course through his veins, the same high he gets when he discovers the chink in a suspect's armor, and he's ready to run his blade right through the hole. The more he feels the hate rolling off Bosco, the more vicious Jane's smile becomes.
"You think I missed something, smart guy?"
Smart guy? Really? "Your case, your blunder, Agent Bosco. Didn't they teach you responsibility in CBI training school?"
Bosco smiles. It's deadly serious. "You wanna talk responsibility? You? Of all people?"
Jane feels something cold weigh in his stomach, his fist clenches unconsciously. "Oh, I supposed you're going to start singing that same old tune again? 'I don't belong here, I'm a bad influence'…blah blah. You really need to get some new material."
"Whats'a matter, Jane? I think the truth has a pretty good ring to it." He's looming over Jane now, and the consultant has the irrational urge to head butt the great buffoon. Just to knock him back.
Not that he would, of course. He's seen Rigsby do it and it looks like it hurts like hell. Probably seriously damage his face too. Can't have that. But still.
Jane laughs a little, condescending and acerbic. "Oh, it's the truth you want? Well, let me tell you-"
But a small hand has appeared on Bosco's chest, the corresponding one pressing against Jane's with surprising force. Apparently, he'd forgotten about the one he'd originally came in to spare of Bosco's company. Lisbon shoves them both, and Bosco yields a few steps backward.
"Knock it off, you two. God, give me a little warning next time and I'll have the measuring sticks out and ready for you." Lisbon stands between them, aggravated.
Measuring sticks? Jane's shark-smile melts into one of amusement. Somehow, Lisbon wanting to take Jane's measurements sparks a few intriguing, though highly inappropriate thoughts before he can stop himself.
"Why do you insist on keeping him around, Teresa? Is he really worth all this shit for a high solve rate?" Bosco is weary now, his anger ebbed to frustration.
But it's the use of her first name that catches Jane off guard. No one on the team calls her Teresa. Hell, he thinks he's heard Minelli call her that once or twice, but it's usually with a fatherly connotation. This is different. This is Bosco calling her that, in that damned 'knowing' tone that speaks of experiences and trust that Jane will probably never know with her. Something brittle gives way inside Jane…
…And his mouth starts working before he can think clearly. "Is that what she told you, Bosco? That I'm indispensable because I solve cases?" Lisbon's looking at him now, her eyes wide, fearing the razors that can come spewing forth from his mouth. Well, it's too late now… Jane can feel the anger bubbling up from within as he stands, coiling for his attack.
"Oh that's right. The little blackmailing episode to get me out of jail. Really, Bosco, letting your feelings get in the way like that? Bet you didn't think Lisbon was capable of that kind of betrayal. Not to you. Not with all your… history together." Jane feels it flowing off him, the need to push even further, when he is pulling out the details of a person's being as though he's reeling in a catch. When he's in the zone, it's hard to stop, despite the horror on Lisbon's face.
"Boy, that really must gall you still, doesn't it? That she did all that for me, and that I'm here, continuing to be a bad influence. And she keeps sticking up for me, doesn't she? Because that's who she is, isn't it? Our dear Mother Teresa."
Bosco's turning pale now, stealing glances, despite himself, at the woman beside him. Oh, guess he'd forgotten he should still be pissed at Lisbon, eh?
Jane doesn't look at Lisbon. Can't look at her. Not while he's working on eviscerating Bosco with this. Because to do that, he has to use Lisbon as the carving knife, and will ultimately end up grinding her against the sharpening stone in the process.
"Jane," he hears her whisper.
"It must still burn that the woman you loved would use the one thing…" Keeps plowing ahead.
"Jane. Stop it." A plea tints the demand.
Jane steps forward, pointing at Bosco's chest, "…the one thing you thought she'd never use against you. For a pain in the ass like me. Wow. I find that very intriguing."
Now, he looks at Lisbon with his final words, and all the righteous, arrogant fury in him drains so fast he's nearly nauseous. She's pale, drawn and shaking with anger and disbelief. He looks down and away immediately, as something that feels a lot like shame drips into his being. Realization sinking in that while he wanted to burn Bosco a bit, maybe he didn't mean to rake her over the coals so succinctly.
Or maybe, part of him did. His brain and heart are at odds about that thought when Bosco breaks the silence.
The older agent releases a breath – a shaky breath, Jane muses, but it could be wishful thinking – and turns to Lisbon. "He's going to get you killed, y'know. 'S all I'm saying. Just don't think he's worth it," he mutters as he passes behind her and makes his exit.
For an interminable moment, they stand silently in Lisbon's office, the clock on the wall ticking away, unfazed by the vacuum that seems to have enveloped the room. Jane slumps back against the desk, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. What to do now?
Swallows the acid in his throat and chances a look at her. Those cat-green eyes are burning holes right through his chest. He thinks if he had much of a soul, it would have a two-foot crater in it from the heat of her glare by now. So he tries to shrug off the stinging and the guilt, as always. It's not like he knows where all that vitriol came from anyway, and that scares the hell out of him.
"So…uh. I guess I shouldn't expect a Christmas card from the Bosco family this year, eh?"
He watches as the anger in her gaze gives way to such utter disappointment he thinks he might strangle on it. He hates when she looks at him like this, after he's done something irreparable and then dealt with it in the way she never approves of. The "how could you do this" look.
He expects her to call him a bastard. He is one, after all. No secret there. Jane's contemplating having a nametag made: "Hello, I'm A. Bastard!"
Expects the ranting to begin any moment. He's used to it. Feels his jaw clench waiting and watching those hated emotions swim in green orbs. He wants to yell at her, shake her, crush her to him and never let go…a thousand other things that are incredibly better than just standing here waiting for the boom to be lowered.
Her voice is hoarse. "Can't do it, can you?"
"What?" When she does something that throws him off track it worries him. He can usually read the signs and tell which road she'll take.
"Say you're sorry. You never do." Lisbon shakes her head, smiles a tragic half-smile. "Maybe you can't."
"Lisbon, I–" He's said he was sorry before, he's sure of it! What does she mean: he can't? Can't she see that he's sorry? He's got 'sorry' written all over him…has since they day they met! He's 'sorry-walking' for Christ's sake.
Lisbon's reaching gingerly around him to grab a folder off her desk, as if the conversation is over. But it's not – not as far as Jane's concerned. She doesn't get to leave after a statement like that. Considers grabbing her by the arm, but she's wearing her Glock, so he thinks better of it.
Jane watches her movements, slow and deliberate, distancing herself from him. It pokes something still unhealed inside.
"Wasn't like anything I said was untrue," he says. Oh, that is horrendous, and he knows it. This along with a myriad of other things he's said and done in the past few minutes are beyond taking back, though.
Lisbon pauses, looks at him over her shoulder. Something ignites in her eyes for only a moment, and Jane thinks she'll round on him now. She's rather beautiful wearing her cloak of sublime fury, he realizes. But it dies out, leaving resignation behind.
"What Bosco said is probably true, too."
Jane feels his ire ramping up again at her taking Bosco's side. "What – that I'm not worth the trouble, or that I'll supposedly get you hurt?" Really, why everyone thought him such a diabolical liability was beyond him…
Lisbon shrugs one shoulder. "Both." Simple. To the point. Finding that chink in his armor so easily, slicing through it like butter as only she can.
She leaves Jane sitting in her office, worrying that maybe she's right.
TBC with "Gluttony"…
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