Author's Notes: Sorry for the long delay in updates. I like to let them sit :-P
Thanks for reading and especially to those of you who leave comments, I appreciate them all!
Chocolate fish (Cookie carcasses make me sad, if only they replenished themselves…), lisbon69 (Sorry in my delays story and message wise! I'm not a good message person. Glad you like it.), Frogster (I could use Cho's poker face as well and his awesome one liners.), Jisbon4ever (the wait is over finally, took me long enough to load this…)
Please leave a comment and enjoy! (Or enjoy then leave a comment?)
Chapter 3
The case progressed with starts and stops, enough stops to aggravate Lisbon, though she had experienced such cases many times before. She knew she couldn't expect all cases to run smoothly and didn't, but it was still a nice thought. The list Van Pelt had created had led to nowhere. They had found that the suspect, now in custody, was someone who had previously worked for a funeral home out of state, which explained the clothing, knowhow, and the initial dead end with local investigations.
Regardless of frustrations, they had gathered evidence, captured their suspect, forensics found the murder weapon, Cho and Jane extracted a confession, and another case was closed. Lisbon bought them their first round of drinks and hot wings at a bar some distance from the office, a well deserved closed case celebration after two weeks of investigation. The team had a table against a wall, the women sitting next to each other, Grace next to the wall with Cho across from her and Jane next to him, which left Rigsby at the end. There wasn't much talking between them, instead allowing the music from the speakers and conversations amid other patrons fill the silence in the worn bar.
Rigsby picked at the table's surface where an inappropriate word had been carved in, only one of hundreds of others that marred the many surfaces of this establishment, including endearments, typical hearts with initials and so forth. It added to the character of the place, along with the signed dollar bills, pictures, and articles of clothing stapled to the ceiling and support beams. He was a fan of their house pickles and hot wings.
It wasn't too long before conversations picked up, a song playing reminding one of something, Rigsby's excitement over the hot wings led to talk of other foods. Lisbon sat back and let herself relax, sipping her beer. It was nice to unwind a bit after the weeks they've had, months even. The weekend wasn't long enough, however, to ease her stresses, but it would have to do.
Hightower's placement as the director of CBI HQ had long unsettled Lisbon. A new person she had known nothing about, suddenly in a position of power over her had put her on edge. She had to tread very carefully, not knowing exactly what the new director was all about.
With Minelli the senior agent knew how far she could push things, of course it helped that he had a bit of a soft spot for her, even somewhat fatherly at times, as far as bosses went. He was pretty easy to read, didn't play games, and left the teams to their senior agents to discipline (unless the AG and/or DA were breathing down his neck more than usual after one of Jane's stunts…).
With Hightower it felt like she was always under intense scrutiny when within visual range, Hightower didn't seem to have any inclination to ask Lisbon her opinion or consulting her before giving orders to the team. She was difficult to read and had no compunction in playing mind games, though when she was playing them was also hard to know, but Lisbon had her suspicions. Regardless of her feelings, she had to follow orders. Lisbon looked up and caught Jane's glance in her direction, his sly smile seeming to hint on having read her mind. She pursed her lips to stop a scowl and instead raised an eyebrow (not quite successful in stopping her eyes from rolling) before casting her gaze on the others.
Van Pelt was taking part in the conversation none too reservedly as the talk of football came up. It put Lisbon at ease to see the strain disappear, at least in this setting. Rigsby and Van Pelt were professional at the office and in the field, though the tension between the two was apparent to anyone who bothered to look. It had been easing lately to allow for times like these where they seemed to forget themselves momentarily. Lisbon had been certain that things would work themselves out eventually without forcing the issue, not that Hightower would let it alone… not to say that Lisbon wasn't totally adverse to the idea of totally avoiding the issue, in fact she was very well practiced in avoidance. She furtively studied Jane a moment. Sometimes it was just better not to acknowledge some things.
Lisbon closed the door behind her, locking it, slipping off her blazer and threw it on the small dining table near the door as she found the cabinet in her dark apartment, lit only by the bars of dim orange light allowed through the blinded windows. She found the cabinet and opened it, reaching in and feeling the cool, rectangular and weighty glass, slight sloshing sounds disturbing the silence as she pulled it down, clinking against a tumbler which she brought down as well.
Lisbon had only the one beer at the bar, observing her team quietly. It was difficult, however, to completely let herself go from all the stresses of work in their presence. Besides, she had to drive home.
Now, alone, she took the bottle and glass to the couch, sitting in the dark for a moment before turning on the television, bringing the volume down, not much caring for what was on, and poured herself a drink, settling back into the cushions, willing herself to clear her mind of all but the burn of liquid down her throat and her stomach. She had only eaten a couple hot wings, a handful of peanuts, Rigsby helping quite a lot from disallowing her much food had she wanted much anyway.
Eyes weighed down into long blinks and she wasn't sure how much time passed between each period her eyes were open, only that when she was awake long enough she would pour herself another drink. Sam. The idiot followed her to Sacramento, his last words weren't of his wife as it should have been. Hightower. She was worth another. Another long blink, something on the flashy screen drew her attention. Nothing worth noting. Her head rolled slowly and froze. Jane.
Jane was standing in front of the coffee table, lips pressed grimly together, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
"What the hell?" she forced out, trying to rouse herself out of her stupor and shock, staring up at him, "How did you-?"
"I've known," he finally said, words spoken quietly, deliberately; they sounded gravelly, "that you haven't been happy for a while now…" She noticed that the bottle she was certain had been near her edge of the coffee table was now placed at his end. He must have picked it up. "But this?"
The cold of dread bloomed in her chest and head, clearing her muddied senses slightly. She couldn't look at him. Lisbon knew he was no illusion, knew she was conscious, otherwise the stark dead of night wouldn't resound in her ears so clearly. Her heart wouldn't clench so painfully.
"Go away."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Jane said softly. Lisbon turned her head towards him, looking up at him from the corners of her tired eyes. She saw the flickering gleam in his. His shadowed face seemed unreadable, was that pity?
"I know he meant a lot to you, you looked up to him. This was a tradition after closing cases… but now," Jane had moved closer as he spoke, a step away from the couch that Lisbon sat on, paralyzed by shame and alcohol induced slowed reactions as every word seemed to be both muffled and amplified, "you're turning into something that isn't you. This isn't a harmless shot at the end of a case with friends. With your family history-"
"Don't you dare go there!" Lisbon shouted, jerking up onto her feet, finally summoning a response, "You don't have the right!"
She was suddenly larger than her petite body could account for, suddenly in the consultant's face as he took a step back, startled. He was too close to the situation and she too influenced for him to read her properly. It was a reaction he expected, but it still alarmed him to some degree. Lisbon advanced on Jane in a stumbling stagger.
"You don't have the right," she repeated in a hiss, stilling from a lurch, "Who are you to judge me? You're the man who's been swearing to take Red John, to kill him, you're going to force me to- to arrest you! Before your family died you cheated people out of their money! What kind of man are you to judge me? It took until your wife and daughter were killed before you stopped lyin' about being a psychic and even now you still lie and play your games. You just- you jus', lie all the time…"
Lisbon swayed and became rigid again as Jane put a hand out towards her in attempts to steady her. He didn't count on the fist.
Jane was on the floor and blinked, sparks danced across his vision in his daze, but was quickly ignored in favor of the pain at both back of his head and his face. He groaned and brought a hand up to tenderly explore his head. He had both heard and felt the popping crunch of his nose and could taste the metallic flavor of blood on the back of his tongue, as well as feel the sticky flow running across his face. There was a thump next to him.
"Shit."
Had he not felt her wrath just a moment ago he would have laughed at the plaintive way she had cursed after dropping a man with one knockout punch. As it was he was trying to ascertain the condition of his nose and trying to stop the room from spinning. Thankfully it was dark.
Jane felt a sudden weight on his chest and coughed, certain Lisbon had just plopped her head on him. He was sure his blood was staining the carpet he lay on as he finally had the presence of mind to dig out his handkerchief from a pocket and try to staunch the flow. He realized that his chest was damp and cautiously raised his head, wincing. At the movement Lisbon bolted back, crashing into the coffee table, cursing, the bottle falling off the edge and spilling what little there was left onto the floor. The light from the television screen caught the tear tracks on Lisbon's face.
Lisbon had the look of a spooked animal curled on the floor next to him, but it was momentary. Fury blazed across her face as she staggered to her feet, pulling him up by the lapels of his jacket. She dragged him to the door, he barely able to set one foot in front of the other, trying to bear his weight.
Lisbon swung him around to face her, their eyes locked, her face cold, "Don't ever break into my house again."
He was pushed out of the suddenly open door, which swiftly closed behind him. Leaving him out, alone. He decided to heed Lisbon's warning for the time being and also realized that despite his hate of doctors and hospitals it would not be a bad idea to have his nose checked out. He did not want a crooked nose as a constant reminder of his ill timed, misjudged break in and "talk" with Lisbon. She would also likely appreciate not having to see a daily reminder of her violence and shameful flaw.
Jane carefully walked down the short steps and made his way to his car by the sidewalk, hoping his eyes wouldn't swell and close up while he was driving when for the second time that night he felt an explosion and saw stars.
Lisbon slumped against the front door, having slid down it after pushing Jane outside, weeping bitterly and trying to stop. She was furious, not at Jane, but herself. She had become what she had sworn never to become- she had become just like her father. Jane just had to be there to not only witness it, but become her first victim. She was horrified that things had escalated as they had so shortly, she had quickly become a monster and hurt someone she cared about, someone who, despite his own flaws, had come in out of worry. She knew that's what it was. She had to protect him from herself, she didn't know what else she might do which is why she had dragged and thrown him out of the house. Better to throw him out while he only had a bloody nose.
The adrenaline rush and guilt had done their job in shaking and sobering her, she didn't think about facing Jane at this moment. Everything was a mess, but she knew one thing she could do. She opened the cabinet in the dark and fumbled, feeling the other bottles, removing the caps and upturning them, draining the contents into the kitchen sink. Never again.
