Author's Notes: Finally, after copious amounts of pink lemonade and a good helping of Chik-Fil-A's waffle fries, chapter three is ready! We have reached the inevitable Jane-reminices-and-it-leads-to-thoughts-of-Lisbon chapter. And I fear I may have gone a bit OOC at the end and would appreciate any and all reviews pertaining to that (or anything else that strikes you, dear reader). Again, I don't have a beta so any and all mistakes are my own.
The gang will be reunited in the next chapter but it's going to take a bit of research on my part to figure out exactly how to make that happen. Chapter four should be ready sometime this weekend!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters. I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.
xxx
Letting Go (Chapter Three)
He's not sure how much time has passed. There is no window in his holding cell, no outside source of light to be seen anywhere. They've just brought in food and water but it's the same every time so it could be breakfast or dinner. He knows it hasn't been that long but he's lost track. He doesn't care.
Patrick Jane sits on a thin cot, elbows on his knees, eyes expressionless and staring straight ahead into nothing. His cell is solitary and the only people he sees are those who bring his food and those who take him for more questioning. He still wears his dark three-piece suit and is still at the SAC PD headquarters. He isn't sure why they haven't processed him into a regular prison yet. They told him he's being held without bail, but maybe his connection with the CBI is the source of their apprehension about what exactly to do with him.
Jane isn't acting like a typical murderer, which may be adding to their confusion as well. At the mall, he had politely raised both hands in the air, and then allowed himself to be handcuffed and walked out to a waiting squad car. So far he's answered all their questions calmly and rationally. But he only says enough to answer one question at a time. He does not volunteer information and anyone who tries to start a regular conversation with him is met with stony silence. A psychiatrist is brought in and Jane simply refuses to speak with him. When the man is brought to stand outside Jane's cell, he is met only with a brief glance and then silence.
With not much else to do, Jane spends his alone time thinking. Not that he could escape his thoughts even if he wanted to.
I killed a man. The thought doesn't bother him. He had killed a man before, Red John's friend, Dumar, to save Lisbon. He remembers that night very clearly. On pure blind impulse, he'd grabbed the rifle and fired, and later he realized it was luck the shot had found its mark. After he'd dropped the rifle and watched Dumar expel his last breath, he turned to find Lisbon right there with him, as always. His breath caught when he thought about how close he'd been to losing her. The disappointment at losing their only link to Red John was nothing compared to what he would've felt if she'd be shot.
And now she had been shot. A small part of his mind knows it's irrational to see it this way, but he feels responsible because he didn't put the pieces together about O'Laughlin earlier. When he spoke with her over the phone, it had been a relief to hear her voice, assuring him she was fine. But he hadn't overlooked the notes of genuine pain beneath her words and he wonders what happened to her. He had slipped the phone back into his vest without disconnecting their call and he hoped Lisbon had been able to stay on the line and hear his confrontation with Red John.
He certainly doesn't regret killing Red John. Just as he had saved Lisbon's life by killing Dumar, how many countless lives had he saved now by killing Red John? For all he knows, the serial killer could've been on his way to his next victim.
And beyond that larger picture, there is, of course, the personal. He finally avenged the vicious murders of his wife and daughter.
Revenge doesn't feel the way he thinks it should though. Instead of feeling full of peace, he feels empty and heavy. But how is that possible, to feel so empty and so heavy all at once? He's been aware in recent months of feeling like his family is getting farther away from him. Certainly not a day goes by when he doesn't think of them, doesn't remember the way his wife's hair shone so beautifully in sunlight, doesn't miss his daughter's infectious laughter. But his beliefs about the dead have always been uncertain; lately he thinks maybe there is a heaven, and if there is, that is definitely where they are. And if heaven is anything like it is in picture books, he wouldn't blame them for forgetting about him.
The more he thinks about it, the more he feels an urge to talk with someone. But the psychiatrist the police brought in makes him internally shy away from that feeling. And he again thinks of Lisbon.
Teresa. He'd really opened up to her in the past month or so, ever since she stuck her neck out for him in the Culpepper fiasco. He told her everything he'd been keeping from her over the past year.
After reciting the poem Red John whispered in his ear, he loaned her his copy of William Blake's "Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience," which she read cover to cover. This prompted many long, late night conversations between the two of them and while they didn't make any progress determining the significance of the poem to the serial killer, he found her insight refreshing. When he'd been alone with his thoughts, it was all too easy to fall into a loop that was much too difficult to get out of. But Lisbon was like a cool breeze coming through his mind, clearing away all the useless bits of fluff, stirring him towards ideas he'd not considered before.
His revelation about Hightower came, of course, as a shock to her. At first she was angry, and understandably so, but he'd remained calm and patiently explained to her his reasons for keeping quiet. She never did come around to his side on that one, but she had eventually decided to let it go.
The gun was another shock to her but one that she handled much better. It was something she could actually help with in a meaningful and important way. It was no secret that Jane really didn't know what to do with the weapon and who better than Lisbon to teach him. She helped him get the necessary paperwork for registration taken care of. And whenever the team didn't have a case and time allowed it, he would drive them an hour out of Sacramento down toward the San Joaquin Valley to a shooting range in Linden. It was a nice drive and gave them more time to talk, even about things not relating to Red John. She told him about her brothers and he was pleased to see this lighter side of her, to see how happy she was that Tommy had been able to reconcile his differences with the other two. More often than not, they saw a roadside fruit stand and he would stop on the way back to Sacramento and buy her strawberries.
She was a very good teacher. Patient and understanding, she taught him to recognize his fear of firearms and translate it into healthy respect for them. As long as a weapon is well taken care of and handled with a calm, steady hand, it's nothing to be afraid of. He learned to clean the weapon, to load and unload, to aim, disengage the safety, and then fire.
Even with all that, knowing that she was always right there beside him added more to his sense of security than anything else.
Through all his revelations, she listened carefully, studied him with her dark green eyes. He saw the trust he thought they had built between them slowly fade from those eyes and he wished he could get it back through something as simple as a trust fall. "Lisbon, I want you to know that you can trust me. No matter what happens, I will be there for you. I will." He needed her to know that. He remembers catching her, palms firm across her shoulder blades, fingers curling under her arms, lowering her almost to the dusty ground before pushing her upright again. It was one of those moments where he felt lighter. It was one of many between them that made him wish they could go back to they way they were before he encountered Red John last year. They'd moved closer to that in recent weeks but now he knew he would likely never regain her trust.
He'd finally gotten his revenge, but at what cost? What was it Red John said? "Your life is precious, Patrick. Get on with your precious life. Find a woman to love, start a family." And he'd replied that he would, once Red John was dead.
Jane sits back and slips his hands into his jacket pockets. The fingers of his right hand find the bullet hole and trace it, peaking out and then sneaking back in. In this cold cell, not sure whether it's morning or night, he is suddenly overcome with the urge to see Lisbon. Something in his mind clicks and he purses his lips tightly, deciding all at once he will not speak again unless it's to her.
A doctor comes, nurse in tow, and as much as she hates it, Lisbon lets them run their tests, take samples, order scans. As a state agent, she does have some pull, and the late night/early morning medical staff doesn't seem as concerned as their afternoon counterparts. They didn't see her outburst that ripped her stitches, and Cho's assurance that he will stay with her and make sure she doesn't overexert herself is all they need to forget that part of her chart and speed their tests along.
A detective comes too. Lisbon answers the woman's questions patiently but when she asks questions of her own, she is met only with cold indifference.
Cho never once leaves the room and she is grateful for his presence. Everyone on her team is an exemplary agent, but in this situation, she only wants Cho. His strength is a different kind than the others; he is silent and calm radiates from him and infuses her enough to override her general annoyance at going through the motions to be discharged. Rigsby would've only sat staring at her with his worried puppy dog eyes. And Grace would've been much more vocal about her concern, probably to the point that Lisbon would've asked her to leave. She smiles to think of them all, and she knows the only way through this mess is together.
She tries not to think of Jane too much, but he is part of the team too and right now he's a missing link.
Just part of the team? He'd drawn closer to her over the past several weeks, ever since the Culpepper incident, and she has to admit that she enjoys his company outside of work, whether it's serious or light conversation, or driving to an out of the way firing range where no one knew who they were. Deep down, she can't stand the thought of losing him - not as part of the team or as her friend.
"The tests all look fine," the doctor begins, flipping through her chart. Lisbon sits on the edge of the bed, wearing her jeans from the day she was shot and an oversized t-shirt from the hospital gift shop. He's an attractive doctor, tall, probably in his mid-forties, with soft looking chestnut curls in disarray on his head. If Lisbon squints, he could be Jane's darker counterpart. She shakes her head to focus again. That sedative has definitely worn off, she thinks wryly.
"You have all the information on changing the bandage, when to take your medication?" The doctor looks from Lisbon to Cho and they both silently nod. Their faces are mirrors of expectation.
"Okay, then." The doctor sighs, makes one more note, flips to another page and signs. "You're free to go."
The sun is just peaking over the horizon, infusing the eastern sky with a creamy orange glow, as they pull into the parking lot at her apartment. Lisbon hops out of the car before Cho can even kill the engine and heads toward her front door, dialing Rigsby's cell phone on the way. Cho catches up and follows her inside, standing awkwardly in the entryway after pulling the door closed behind him.
Rigsby answers as Lisbon is climbing the stairs to retrieve a change of clothes.
"Hello?" His voice is groggy with sleep and she almost feels bad for waking him. She knows he's probably been busy with Grace most of the night; very likely he's still at her place now.
"Rigsby, sorry to wake you but Cho and I are going to need your help."
"Boss?" He's quickly more alert. "I didn't know you'd be released from the hospital so soon. How are you?"
"I'm fine but we'll talk about that later. How's Grace?"
Five minutes later Rigsby snaps his phone shut and unfolds himself from Grace's couch. When the FBI had finally released them late in the evening, he'd quietly taken her home. She insisted he come in and asked that he stay at least until she fell asleep. He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and they talked about whatever meaningless things they could think of; office and celebrity gossip, TV shows, movies. Finally she'd drifted into sleep, her eyes still red and tired from crying, and he'd retreated to her living room and curled up on her couch.
Now he wipes the sleep from his eyes, stretches, and pads quietly down the hall to her bedroom again. She's sitting up in bed, staring at her hands, and looks up at him in surprise.
"You stayed all night?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "I slept on the couch. I hope that's okay. I just…didn't want you to wake up alone."
She smiles and extends a hand to him. He moves to take it and again sits on the edge of the bed.
"Thank you, Wayne. It means a lot to me, having you here. I know I can count on you and I really appreciate that."
He nods and smiles in return. "Of course you can count on me, Grace. Anything for you."
They lapse into a brief silence, which Rigsby breaks by relaying his phone call from Lisbon. Grace gives him a spare toothbrush and fifteen minutes later, they are both refreshed and out the door, getting into Rigsby's SUV and driving to Lisbon's apartment.
When Lisbon comes back downstairs, freshly showered and wearing clean, better fitting clothes, she finds Cho still standing in the entryway.
"Kimball, won't you come in?" she asks, teasingly.
"Ma'am." Cho nods and gives her a small smile. "Sorry, I just…"
"Don't apologize," Lisbon says. "Now's not the time to be shy. Wayne and Grace are on their way here," she continues, walking into the kitchen and pulling four coffee cups from a cabinet. "And we're all going to sit down and figure out what to do about Jane. About Patrick," she corrects herself and pauses.
Cho steps into the kitchen. "Like a family."
She turns to look at him and sees her own determination mirrored on his face. "Yes. Like a family."
When the other two arrive, Lisbon has just finished frying up a package of bacon and Cho has a bowl of eggs ready to be scrambled. Rigsby and Grace can't hide their surprise but Lisbon explains to them exactly how she explained to Cho and they both quickly relax. Coffee cups and plates are filled and the four of them move to the living room and arrange themselves around the coffee table.
Lisbon begins to catch them up on her and Jane's activities over the past month. They all listen intently and when she is finished, they begin to work out a plan. Two hours later, their plates long empty and the last of the coffee gulped down, the team has worked out an idea to help Jane and are ready to leave for the SAC PD headquarters.
