8. Not yet
This is an accompaniment to ch 3: "I miss you" so it will make most sense if you read that first. It's written from Lisbon's POV. I'm taking the prompts out of order as this felt like it wanted to be written. Some prompts are covered in this story and the rest will be covered in "50 prompts".
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Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Mentalist and make nothing from FF.
Lisbon parked the SUV by the cemetery gates, killing the air con and winding down the window. A hot day for the end of Spring. She'd known that Jane would be here a while so she'd had time to make a quick visit to the nearby deli. The picnic was packed and in the back, along with more bottles of chilled drinks and a thermos of hot water, ready to make tea and coffee. They could stop off once they exited the city and find a beauty spot at which to eat. It would take another hour to get to Malibu and it was quite a while since breakfast this morning in Sacramento.
Two large tins of matt magnolia paint and one smaller one of white gloss, some paintbrushes and rollers, sandpaper, scrubbing brush and bleach were in the trunk from her visit to the DIY store earlier, whilst Jane had waited in the car. He'd assured her that he already had masking tape and newspaper for the floor. They were going to get rid of the last of the evidence of Red John once and for all. Then he was talking about selling the place. Moving on. Letting a new family enjoy the seclusion, facilities and private slice of the Pacific shoreline, without the accompanying horrors.
She was going to help him get that bedroom sorted and then they were driving up the coast a little way to a small guesthouse with a downstairs twin bedded ensuite room. He wasn't going to be alone tonight and he wasn't staying in Malibu. For all that he was recovering, his injuries were still giving him jip and she knew that he became exhausted very easily. And he needed someone there in case he got into difficulties, especially since he should still be in the hospital.
At least once he started back at work, they could all keep an eye on him whilst he rested on the couch or fell asleep in the SUV. The bullpen without a recumbent Jane seemed hollow and everyone was looking forward to his return. In the team, at least. Perhaps less so in the DA's office.
Tomorrow Rigsby, Cho and van Pelt would be coming up, to help with the cleaning and sprucing of Jane's property and checking over the outside. She smiled, remembering how overwhelmed he'd been when everyone had said that they wanted to help out. It was the least they could do. The decade spent hunting Red John, and especially the pressure of the last few months, had brought them all close together. It wasn't just a unit of work colleagues. It was a family.
It was over a month now since the team brought down Red John after the maniac had grabbed her. Everyone had scrambled, but Jane found her first. Lisbon shivered to think of that terrible afternoon when everything changed. How she'd come round to find herself bound to a chair. The desperation in Jane's eyes. And the way he threw himself at Kirkland, putting his own body between her and her nemesis. The hand to hand battle that followed as both men grappled for the killer's knife. If Rigsby hadn't arrived when he did, distracting Red John long enough for him and the team to get a bead on him, Jane likely wouldn't have made it.
She shuddered, as the memories flashed back in vibrant detail. For a moment she'd thought that Jane was already dead, but they were lucky. Red John had struck to incapacitate rather than kill, no doubt wanting to make Jane watch as he killed her. A chilling reminder of just how confident in his superiority the serial murderer was, which proved to his detriment in the final act. Jane was still in a very bad way to start with, but he'd fought hard and she'd held onto his hand like the connection would tether him to the world of the living. Her prayers had been answered, and he was getting stronger with each new day.
And, even more than that, the mental wounds looked to be starting to mend. The last few weeks had been an emotional tornado for Jane. All his defences, his controls, had fallen away and the grief consumed him. But he was coming through it. Showing early signs of recovery like the first snowdrops appearing in the depth of winter. She knew that today, time spent talking with his wife and daughter at their graves, was what he needed. It might be harrowing for him but she would be there. Listen if he wanted. Just be company if not. Considering selling the house was a massive step, and a clear indicator that things were changing. She hoped that this was the first of many and that Jane would be able to turn to the future in time.
In her jacket pocket, Lisbon ran her fingers over the links of a heavy metal chain, noting its sturdiness. The day was coming, before too long if she wasn't mistaken, when Jane would remove his wedding ring. It was much a pledge of his vengeance as of his love. When he did, this chain was for him. So he could wear the ring safe around his neck, still close to his heart, just like she wore her mother's cross. Or alternatively, find a way to secure it in his top vest pocket, if he no longer wanted it next to his skin.
Picking the romance novel out of her bag, she began to read. Not her usual choice but the best that could be found in the supermarket rack. She would definitely have to hide it from Jane or he'd rib her without respite.
Forty minutes later, her phone rang with the summons. Jane was ready. As she walked towards him, she could see that he was already on his feet, leaning as a little unsteady, with his right fist resting on top of one of the grave stones. He'd clearly been crying but he looked better for it. Younger, almost. And the shy smile that split his face made her heart squeeze.
Not yet, but maybe.
