bloodlust
I apologize for the delay. I still own nothing.
xxxxxx
That first week, she hated him.
She hated him with every cell in her body. She hated him for all he was, all he wasn't, and for everything else in between.
For what it was worth, he hated himself too.
She oscillated between sleeping, crying, and screaming at Jane. She'd toss and turn as she tried to manage even a light sleep, awake on a bloodcurdling scream, and then cry out her misery to anyone or anything that would hear her.
Her heartbreaking routine anguished Jane as he laid upon her couch, staring up at the ceiling until he heard her quiet and he would try to catch a moment's rest.
He now knew better than to comfort her in the state she was in. The first time he heard her cries, he had tried to pull her into her arms, only to have her snap at him and blame him for and his "foolish, reckless, stupid" feud with Red John for all of the light and happiness leaving her life permanently without a forewarning. She blamed him for making her love him- a phrase that made Jane's stutter momentarily inside of his chest- and then having her family, the last of what she's got!, killed for nothing but a lost cause.
It was painful for her to see him, and it was too painful for him to see her hate him so vehemently.
They chose not to see each other at all that first week.
xxxxxx
She came out of her room for the first time sometime in the beginning of the second week, carrying an empty water glass that he had tried to keep full when she fell asleep. Her tank top hung loosely off of her skin-and-bones frame, her eyes were red rimmed and sunken in, and Jane's heart cracked at the sight of his firecracker Lisbon looking so damned broken.
She didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge his presence. Just refilled her glass and swept soundlessly back into her room without so much as a peep.
He never heard her sob again.
After that first outing, she came out of her room frequently. She took a shower, her first since the tragedy. She'd flip on the television and stare at it blankly, clearly not seeing or hearing a word, for hours on end from the couch kitty corner to the one that Jane almost never moved from. Every now and then, Jane would glance over at her only to see quite tears stream down her face constantly, rapidly, leading Jane to believe that she wasn't as numb to the grief as he had originally thought.
She still didn't speak to him for nearly a week after that, and when she finally did, it was nothing more than short, choppy sentences that came out of her mouth.
"What's for dinner?" "The team okay?"
They ate meals together in near silence across from each other on Lisbon's tiny dining room table, with her more or less pushing her food around with her fork rather than actually eating it.
He understood.
He remembered being in her shoes some ten or so years ago.
xxxxxx
The first time she really spoke to him after the murder, she apologized.
"I'm really sorry for what I've said to you these past few days. I don't really mean it."
Her bottom lip quivered helplessly and he couldn't help himself from pulling her into arms. She clung to him tightly, desperate as if he were her last tie to the physical world.
"No, no, you don't have to apologize, you have lost a niece and a nephew. You could curse the whole world and it would still be justified."
She squeezed his torso tightly.
"I lost a son, Jane."
His heart breaking, he pulled her down with him onto the bigger of the two couches.
"It's not your fault, its mine. Oh, Teresa, I'm so sorry. I am so incredibly sorry."
And then they were both crying.
They clung to each other desperately on the couch for hours. Jane whispered never-ending apologies into her ear and she forgave him more times than either of them could possibly count. After a while, they dozed off between sniffles.
Even on the cramped and tiny couch, it was the best sleep that either of them had had in the past few weeks.
xxxxxx
They were lying quietly on the couch together the next morning when she made the decision that started their hunt and altered the paths of their lives forever.
"Jane, I'm going to kill him."
He looked down at her blearily, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and trying desperately to not fall back into the heaviness of sleep.
"What?"
"I'm going to kill Red John."
Part of him was thrilled that she was finally seeing things his way. Another larger part of him was shocked and weary about how quickly all of her morals and everything she stood for had flown out the window so abruptly.
"We'll catch him Teresa, I promise. We'll catch him and he'll rot in a prison cell, just like he deserves."
"Honestly, I'd rather him rot in hell."
The sincerity in her eyes should have shocked him. It didn't.
"Alright."
"So you'll help me? This is what you've wanted from the beginning anyways…"
"If in a week, after you've thought over all of this, you still feel the same, I will help you. I just don't want you to do anything that you will ultimately regret."
"I won't regret this. You'll see."
That's when she started cleaning.
She hopped off of the couch and went to work on the kitchen.
xxxxxx
At first, he had honestly no clue as to what she was doing. The way she meticulously cleaned every surface of the house, even the most miniscule and obscure, meticulously had him legitimately puzzled, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. In the beginning, he had assumed that this deep cleaning was a sort of coping mechanism to deal with the grief of what had happened and the anxiety of what was to come. He assumed that the repetitive cleaning strokes and the intense focus helped to clear her mind and alleviate her pain. And with the way she had obsessively cleaned for three days straight, is conclusion truly wasn't impossible.
"Jane, forget a week. I can't wait any longer to kill that bastard. Let's start now, because the longer we wait, the longer he lives."
"Do you want to return to the CBI? Are you ready to head back to work?"
"Fuck the CBI, Jane. It's been over a decade, and they haven't managed to get any closer to him, and I want him gone. Now. Let's just make a clean break and take out the bastard on our own. We can move faster than the law ever could."
He still wasn't quite used to the way her views on law and justice had changed so drastically in her grief and anger. Never would he have ever thought he would see his Saint Teresa take the path of revenge, the same road he had been travelling for the past decade. In a way, he felt relieved to have someone to walk that lonely road with. However, he wasn't happy with the circumstances that brought someone to that path. Especially when that someone was the most loyal and just person he had ever met.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Cerulean eyes met tired, yet determined green ones.
"I am."
And that's how their story of revenge began.
xxxxxx
He now understood the true reason for her cleaning spree.
"I want out, I don't want to stay here anymore, I need a clean break"
She wanted to leave this place, even leave Sacramento and find this bastard. She had cleaned every speck of dust from before the murder, washing away the memories she had of before her life had ripped apart at the seams.
It was her way of accepting what had happened and moving on from it, and he had nothing but the purest form of respect for the woman that, even in the aftermath of a tragedy, was still so much stronger than he could ever hope to be.
After she had deemed the house spotless to her standards, she began to pack.
She tossed in nothing more than her bare necessities: undergarments, socks, a few pairs of jeans, a couple tee shirts, a light jacket, and a coat in case they weren't finished by winter. In an afterthought, she tossed in her favorite jersey to sleep in. Anything else she could possibly need could be picked up along their way. Of course, in their own bag, she brought all of the weapons she could possibly need and her badge in case she needed to pretend she was still with the law.
Jane had followed suit and packed up all of the clothes he had brought to her house.
It still befuddled his mind that they were about to embark on the journey that lead to the destination of either Red John's end, or their own. It still puzzled him even more that Lisbon was the one who was going to be right there beside him, helping him, as they finished the final chapter in the saga that was Red John.
He wondered what would happen in the final moments. Would she shoot Red John? Would he? Would Red John kill them both? If they did kill Red John, would they be arrested? Would the CBI be there?
All that he knew was that those questions would be answered soon enough, if Lisbon had her way.
It would all be over soon.
xxxxxx
A/N- God, I'm so sorry that this took so long. Being in college is hard, and I'm only a freshman… God help me with the rest of my math degree
-w