Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, no money gained, and I'm way too poor to be confused with Bruno Heller anyway.
AN: Thank you so much for all your kind words on the last chapter! It's been a very long while since the last time I published a piece and I have to admit, I'm half-excited, half-terrified about the whole thing. In any case, I hope this next instalment won't disappoint.
Chapter 02 - Storm
Jane was driving the first time around, but now Lisbon stays firmly behind the wheel. It's a confidence trick – they don't have that much road left but she figures, if she can bring herself to drive him all the way back to his house, to the meeting place, she can bring herself to let him do what he has to do.
"Why did you pick me up?" asks Jane suddenly, and there's a storm brewing in his eyes.
She bites her lip.
"I was afraid," she answers – and there must be more half-truths in that single sentence than she ever spoke aloud in her entire life.
He's not fooled, of course.
"Are you going to let me do what I have to do, or do you still intend to stop me?
- I don't know," she whispers softly, and for a moment she wonders if she even said it out loud.
But she can see his fingers clenching on the roller in his hands, mimicking her own knuckles whitening on the wheel, and she knows he heard every word.
"Stop the car."
She frowns.
"Why would I do that? There's only about five minutes left before we reach your house.
- Lisbon. Stop the car. Please?"
There's urgency in his voice but something else too, something dark and frightened and childish all at the same time, as if he was trying to remember how to do an old pleading puppy act but couldn't quite recall how it worked. And of course, she cannot resist that lilt in his voice – she never could. She stops the car.
Somewhere, in the distance, there's a slow rumbling of thunder.
To her surprise, he doesn't get out yet – doesn't even move except to turn towards her, seizing her with solemn, haunted eyes.
"I know I ask a lot of you," he says, and there's still this strange dark, desperate childishness dripping from his words. "I always did. I'm selfish and I take advantage of – of everything you're willing to give me, and even when you say no, I trick you into changing your mind. But this, I – I can't do this to you."
His breath hitches – or maybe it's hers. She isn't sure.
"I can't ask you to compromise your morals. And if you follow me tonight –
- Jane, I know what I'm getting into, you don't have to –
- No, let me – let me say this."
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, steadies himself – and when he opens his eyes again, the deep lines on his cheeks smoothen themselves somehow. He isn't smiling, but she gets the feeling if she stares long enough, she'll see the corners of his mouth rising into a smirk.
And of course, she knows it's a façade.
This is his game face – the one he uses when he wants to pretend everything is fine, nobody got injured or insulted, and of course he isn't planning some sort of demented trap to catch a murderer or get a rise out of an important official. She knows better than to believe anything coming out of his mouth when he looks at her like that.
There's just one thing that seems out of place.
"If you follow me tonight, you become an accessory to murder. Even if you try to stop me – and you must know I won't let you – even if you try to stop me, they will charge you because I must have told you half a hundred times what I plan to do to Red John once I get him."
His hands are shaking.
"And Lisbon, you – you have no idea – you mean everything to me. So – so please, please stay in the car. Please don't follow me tonight. Please."
Letting him trick her could be so easy – she's been waiting to hear those words for so long. In other circumstances, in another setting, she could have let herself believe he genuinely cared about her, genuinely wanted to give her an out, save her from him, from herself.
But tonight, even as the shadows set on the smoothness of his features, for the first time she sees him clearly – for the first time, she can hear as many half-truths in his words than in those she gave him earlier.
He's afraid – and he doesn't want her to leave him alone at all.
For a split second she wonders if he could be playing reverse psychology on her again – then realises, no. This is real. He's barely keeping himself contained at the seams, too raw to play such an elaborate game on her. And that, more than anything else, is enough to cement her decision.
So she bites her lip again, then smiles.
Sadly.
"Your first mistake was telling me I mean everything to you," she says, and he flinches badly. "Obviously this isn't true, because if it was, you would've stopped chasing after Red John a long time ago."
He makes a move towards the door, and she's just quick enough to grab his wrist before he can run out of the car and away from her. Again.
"Stop running, Jane. We're partners, right? That means we're in this together.
- I don't want you to –
- Shut up! Just – shut up. No more excuses. I came here with you knowing all about your plans, and I may not agree with them but I'm still here, aren't I?"
His eyes are unreadable but his shaking hands betray him and, not for the first time, she wonders how such a consummate actor cannot seem to be able to keep his most deep and genuine emotions in check.
"So just – just do what you have to do, and I'll be – you know. Backup, or something. In case something go wrong. It always does with you."
He smiles then, a fragile sun peeking between stormy clouds, and those damn dimples of him – they always make her smile back. So she lets go of his wrist, and he gets out of the car, and soon they're walking the last miles to his house side by side.
And once again, just as they are about to turn into his entryway, he stops her – this time being the one to grab her wrist.
"I need you to stay behind," he says, and she groans.
"Aren't we past this already?!"
He chuckles softly.
"No, I mean – I need you to stay out of sight. They all know I'm not a team player. If Red John thinks I'm alone, he'll feel safer, maybe enough to let something slip. And if something does go wrong, you'll have surprise on your side."
And if you're not in the room with us, you won't have to see me kill him, are the unsaid words hanging heavily between them.
"Right," she says, swallowing.
Both their hands are shaking now, and she doesn't dare move a muscle when he brings one of his up, brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes, and avert his eyes before letting go of a shallow breath.
"Thank you, Lisbon," he says – nearly a whisper, but sounding loud and clear in the silence of the night.
"You can thank me later," she answers. "And Jane?
- Yeah?"
There's a heavy weight in her chest, something clenching and painful and ghastly, something that kept growing since the moment she decided to allow him to throw his life away for this, for his skewed notion of revenge.
"Whatever you do, if you ever cared at all about what I say to you, if you ever cared at all about me – please, please make it look like self-defence."
And the words hanging between them are now please don't make me arrest you.
His hands cup her face, tilt her chin upwards, and she closes her eyes, feels his lips brush against her forehead.
Then he's gone.
Tomorrow's prompt: Pleasure