Chapter 4 - Everybody Hurts
"Teresa! Wait up!"
Lisbon's black block heel boots skidded to a stop on the white tiles of the third floor of the Sacramento FBI Offices, the swift click-clack over its shiny surface silenced as she raced towards the elevator. After her meeting with Dennis Abbott, she wanted nothing more than to get out of the building. Images of her running fast and free in gym gear or taking an hour for herself at the gun range filled her head, tempting her.
To expel her anger any way she could.
To take back some control of her life any way she could.
She turned, irises shining with unconcealed annoyance as she sought the person who'd stopped her. She spotted them easily, his tall frame swerving through a crowd of fellow FBI agents as it rushed towards her. She rolled her eyes as he caught up to her. "Mancini," she sighed.
He drew a long breath. "You trying out for the 100 metres in the next Olympics?" he said, still panting.
Her lips curled into a scowl. "What do you want, Gabe?"
Mancini frowned, "You okay, Teresa?"
As her eyes quickly veered towards another long roll he added, "Damn, I'm sorry. Of course, you're not. I-I heard about your Agent. God, I'm sorry about Van Pelt."
She softened. "Thank you, Gabe. Sorry. Bad day," she shrugged.
He nodded. "Yeah, I get that. Been a lot of those lately, huh? How you holding up?"
She shrugged, changed the subject. "Sorry I haven't been to a game in a while. I have literally no idea when I'll get the time to play poker again. Not enough hours in the day." She gestured towards the elevator. "Anyway, thanks for your condolences, good to see you. Gotta get back."
He placed a hand on her elbow as she moved away. "Ah, actually...I-I was hoping we could catch up. You know – properly."
"What? Why? Sounds urgent."
He ran a hand through his dark hair, looked around. Quietly, "I-I could use some advice."
She crinkled her brow. "Really?"
His eyes shone with sincerity. "Yes."
"From me? Why? What's this all about, Mancini?"
A further furtive shake of his head made her frown deepen as he replied, tone lowered, "Not here. But it has to be you, I-I think. I need to talk to someone I know I can trust."
She almost laughed. "You trust me? Why? We hardly know each other. I mean - not really. Outside of a few poker games and some cases where we've both been involved we've barely talked in the past."
He bit his lip. "Yeah. I-I guess that's true. But this is... Look, I know you have a lot on your plate right now but it's important. I wouldn't ask otherwise." He looked her straight in the eye. "Please, Teresa."
Caught off guard by the earnestness in his expression she took a step back from the eagerness in his gaze. "O-okay. If it's that important. I guess. You wanna grab a coffee?"
"I have meetings this afternoon. Late for one now, actually. This evening? We could grab a drink."
The sound of a bourbon right now sounded like heaven, even better than an hour at the Range did. But she hesitated. "Mancini, this isn't your way of asking me on a date, is it? Because we've been through that already."
His chuckled lightly. "No! Of course not. I should be so lucky, huh?"
She blushed slightly. "Sure, whatever. Okay, then. Say O'Malley's at eight?"
"No. Not there. I'll text you someplace else. Okay?"
Intrigued, "Sure. Okay."
She arrived back in the bullpen a short time later, witnessed the same scene she'd seen every time she'd entered it in the late afternoons of the past week. Dusk approaching, orange hues travelled through the office blinds, dust particles dancing where light still held on while the rest of the office darkened to muted Fall colours. Flashes of sienna and dark amber fell on the leather couch as it sat against the brickwork wall. And as the sun set, shadows of bars the colour of night travelled across the back of Rigsby's blue shirt as he sat at his desk. Hunched over a case file he wrote notes feverishly. A sandwich sat beside him, untouched.
He didn't look up to greet her. A slight tense of his shoulders told her he'd heard her approach, though.
Cho acknowledged her presence with a nod and she cast him a worried glance, eyes darting to the top of Rigsby's head. Cho shrugged, went back to his own scribbling.
She cleared her throat. "Hey, guys. Cho, a word in my office."
He got up from his desk and followed her inside.
"Close the door," she said quietly while putting her bag down then sitting behind the desk.
He obliged and sat in the chair opposite. Without preamble, "How'd it go with Abbott?"
She pursed her lips, eyes trained on Rigbsy outside. A moment passed. "How's he doing?" she asked her second in charge softly.
"Same."
She leaned forward, allowed a long breath to escape as she finally directed her attention to Cho. Evenly, "Abbott's sending us someone to assist in Grace's investigation that apparently has valuable IT skills."
"Abbott? They're FBI, you mean?"
"Yep."
"Since when does the FBI send agents to work here?"
"Since they feel like it, it seems." She used air quotes. "Inter-Agency cross collaboration and co-operation."
"Bull. What's Abbott's real angle?"
"Exactly? Undetermined. But, whatever it is, these are the cards we've been dealt so we've no option but to make it work."
For a second, she looked around her office. Finally, with fresher eyes, she noticed the environment she'd been working in lately. Really saw it for the first time in days. Files sat on the floor in front of her cream couch, heaped in makeshift piles ready to fall over. Half empty coffee mugs and plates littered surfaces. A trash can sat in a far corner, brimming with takeout boxes. She'd been working so many hours she'd missed the Cleaning Staff pick up twice.
As much as she hated to admit it, Abbott had a point in saying her team was floundering. That she was floundering. Cases were piling up alongside Grace's murder investigation and there weren't enough bodies or hours of the day to work them quickly never mind effectively. Collective shock followed by their loss setting in over the past week had fractured work efficiency. Were they even still capable of doing their jobs at all? Each team member was dealing with a new host of feelings and responsibilities as they came to terms with Grace's death. Rigsby was poised like a cobra ready to attack anyone who dared approach and venture an opinion he didn't like. Cho had taken it upon himself to ensure he kept his friend's threat level contained as best he could, fearful Rigsby would end his career with misplaced anger as they directed interviews together. It was a delicate balance and Cho was more worried about his partner than he'd ever say. And then there was herself - Lisbon. The gruesome discovery of Grace's body was on perpetual replay in her head along with the guilt that hammered at her heart every day since.
"You think we're being selfish here?" she suddenly asked Cho. "I mean - do you think we should pass Grace's case to another team or to the FBI? A team less...invested? Maybe-maybe that's the right thing to do here, Cho. Hubris isn't going to help us get justice for her."
He came back at her quickly. Assured, "No. Besides, who else would we trust to get it right these days and not whitewash or allow the bastard to walk. We'll manage."
She turned her tone professional, assuaged by his confidence. Maybe he was right. And maybe working the case was what he needed to work through his grief. "Okay. Good. Then we're on the same page. So, we play nice with this FBI agent they're sending us. Okay?"
Cho looked through Lisbon's office blinds towards his partner. "All right. You want me to tell him?"
She shook her head. "No. I'll do it tomorrow. It's my job-"
"Boss, how he is right now. Especially with you-"
"I'll do it, Cho. I'll be fine."
"Sure?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"No, that's it. Thanks."
He got up to leave.
"Hey," she added, "how are you doing, Kimball? I-I don't think I've asked since... She was your friend and colleague too."
He stopped, hand on the door handle. "I'm good." He turned to face her again. "Talking of hubris, have you spoken to Jane yet?"
She sighed with a small smile. "Tracked him down yesterday, actually."
He moved back towards her desk. A flicker of surprise slid through his stoic facade.
"He hadn't heard about Grace," she continued. "He's kinda been living off the Grid, I suppose you'd call it."
"Is he coming back?"
She peered into the bullpen, her gaze falling to the brown leather couch again. "No. I don't think he is."
She faced him, reinforced her tone. "But that doesn't mean we're not capable of catching this bastard ourselves. Right?"
Lisbon could only hope Cho would believe her words a little more than she did herself.
Mancini's frame stretched to wave at her from a booth at the far end of a bar near Sacramento University. Lisbon nodded back, trudged through a wave of students downing shots as they cheered at something on a TV screen behind the bar. She flung herself into the booth opposite him. "What the hell kind of place is this to meet? You going through a mid-life crisis, Mancini?"
He peacocked, "Hey, I'm still in my prime, Teresa."
She looked at a female blonde student walking past their table wearing a tight T-shirt and short white shorts. She raised her eyebrows. "Uh-huh."
He pushed a bottle of beer towards her with a small chuckle. "Here, you look like you need this."
She resisted the urge to down it and took a small sip instead. These days, she couldn't be impaired by alcohol any day or night no matter how much she'd like to be. "So, what's this all about?"
"Straight to it, huh? Okay. Well, firstly I picked this place because it's not exactly a cop hangout joint, is it?"
She picked at the label on the bottle. She'd already guessed he wanted a meeting without prying cop eyes when he'd refused to go to O'Malley's. Wearily, "And secondly?"
He looked from side to side before he spoke. Quietly, "You know my partner Reede Smith, right?"
She thought for a second. "Um, not really. I mean – I know of him, of course. But I've only met him a few times. Why?"
He leaned in. "I saw you come out of Abbott's offices today. Are you on the inside of this Blake thing he's running?"
She laughed. If only he knew. "Well, if I was I'm hardly likely to tell you or anyone else about it, am I?"
"Okay. Fair point."
"Mancini, if all you asked me here for was the inside scoop then you're going to be disappointed-"
"It's not." He drank some beer. "Sorry. Look, I've been questioned by one of his agents. Fischer?"
"Yeah, I've met her. You're hardly the only one, Gabe. They've been questioning pretty much everyone since they got into town."
"Hm, yeah. But-but she's questioned me numerous times in the past few weeks."
Solemnly, "About Reede Smith specifically, you mean?"
He nodded, shrugged as he took another sip.
"And have you been honest with her, answered her questions without equivocation?"
Another shrug. "More or less."
She raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
"You know how it is sometimes." He paused, another shake of the head. "Sometimes-sometimes you cut corners. No big deal, right?"
"Depends on the corners you cut and why you cut them. But I'm guessing this is more than not completing some paperwork on time or you wouldn't be asking for my advice."
"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you because well, firstly, I thought you of all people would understand. You do what gets the job done, right?"
"Why would you say that? What does that even mean?"
"Oh, come on, Teresa. Patrick Jane wasn't exactly by the book, was he? He was pretty infamous for writing his own playbook. I never got to meet him personally but everyone's heard about him at the office. Always just on the right side of legal. Well, mostly. Until he buried that guy alive-"
"That killer, you mean."
"Yeah, whatever. And then whole undercover bit in Vegas happened. C'mon, we both know that operation was off book. But somehow he managed to get all the charges dropped for all the crap he pulled there-"
She bit back, "The crap he pulled there actually helped catch Red John you might recall."
He nodded. "Yes, true. Bravo for that. Really. But that's not the point I'm making. You stood by him, defended him when you had to, said what you had to say to make sure he didn't get in any real trouble. Hell, you were probably fighting for those charges to be dropped, right? Because he worked for you. He called you his partner some even said. He sure as hell didn't see you as his supervising agent, did he?"
As her cheeks continued to flame he added, "It's not a criticism. I get it. I do. Hell, some of his schemes were pretty ingenious or so I've heard. And he was a civilian, not a cop so partner was probably easier for his ego to handle. I heard he had one the size of Alaska."
"So I was nothing but Patrick Jane's stooge and hapless sidekick all these years? His cleaner? Babysitter? Is that what you're saying? Gee, thanks. Really glad I made the effort to come here tonight to listen to this crap."
He rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean to upset you-"
"Well, you did."
He placed a hand on his temple. Softly, "Christ, I'm sorry. Okay? This wasn't how this conversation was supposed to go. I only meant that you might understand my predicament, that's all. Partnerships, they're not easy sometimes. Ups and downs. But you have to have their backs, you know? There's trust between you that that's the case. Jeez, didn't know Patrick Jane was such a touchy subject for you. It's not like you even work together anymore, anyway."
Fire in her eyes, "He's not. My reputation, however, is. And frankly, I've had enough of my work and my team's work being undervalued lately."
He held his hands up. "Okay! Teresa, I'm really not looking for a fight."
She took a drag on her bottle, hand shaking as it clung tightly to its neck. Mancini regarded her as he mirrored her action like he'd hooked a fish only to discover it was a shark. She released the bottle, took an accompanying long breath as the amber liquid cooled her insides. She'd overreacted. Slightly. And Mancini had bore the brunt of it. But he'd touched a nerve, too, and she couldn't find it in her to apologise. "Fine."
He put the beer bottle down, clasped his hands in front of him. "Friends again?"
"We weren't friends in the first place," she replied evenly.
He chuckled slightly. "Okay-"
"You said firstly before you started to assassinate my former team member and then my character by association-"
"I wasn't-"
"What's secondly?"
He held his hands up and sighed. "I give up, you win. Okay, secondly..." He turned quiet again, "secondly, you're someone I know I can talk to that I trust."
"You said that earlier. And I still don't get it. Why would you trust me above people you've presumably worked with for years?"
His lips formed a tight line and he slowly shook his head. "Because I think my partner's dirty. I think he's part of this thing Abbott's investigating." He breathed out, took a drink. "Damn, that's the first time I've actually said that out loud."
Her expression smoothed from irritation to understanding. "Smith? And you trust me because McAllister was part of it too. And if I were part of it then-"
"Then he would never have been caught, would he? He'd have been tipped off beforehand, never been in that limo," he shrugged.
"Well, I guess that's one point in my favour, huh?"
"Touché." He continued, "I really do respect you as a cop, Teresa, no matter how I might have just come across."
"Don't worry about it. So, Smith? You want my advice?"
"That's why I'm here."
"You already know what it's gonna be. You tell Fischer the truth. All of it. Whatever he's done that you've witnessed to lead you to that conclusion. No more half-truths. That's it."
He looked into his bottle. "Hm."
"Are you implicated?"
He looked sideways, his face contorted into an anguished smile. "Seemed like nothing at the time but...but yeah, yeah, I guess I could be if he decides to play it like that and retaliate." He faced her again. "I'm screwed, aren't I?"
"I'm not gonna lie. Yeah, probably. But if you've only exercised poor judgement and you're truly not part of Blake-"
"I'm not."
"Then you might only lose your career and not your freedom."
He gnawed on his bottom lip. "I'm a damn fine agent, Teresa. It was a-a lapse in judgement-"
"I believe you. But it's not me you have to convince. And maybe you'll be able to work out a deal depending on how much they want Smith. But the longer you don't tell Abbott or Fischer the truth then the more you're going to look dirty too when they discover you haven't owned up to something you know earlier. Get ahead of it before they do, Gabe. Because they will find out about it whatever it is. Abbott is a bloodhound, believe me. Wouldn't be surprised if he already knows whatever this is and is just waiting to see if you actually tell him." She added, "And, for the record, I don't want to know whatever the hell it is. Unless it involved the CBI or my team-"
"It didn't."
"Thank god. I have enough on my plate."
He drained his bottle with a nod towards the bar. "Another?"
"Have to get back, sorry."
"At this hour? Jeez, do you ever take a night off?"
"Not lately. So? You going to take my advice?"
He nodded. "What other choice do I have, huh?"
"Plus it's the right thing to do."
"Yeah. So I rat out my partner tomorrow then go back to working with him like nothing happened. Can't wait."
"One last piece of advice. Make sure you're convincing. If he is Blake then...just be careful, okay?"
He smiled, "See? I knew you cared about me, really."
Her expression became taut as she spoke gently. "I already have a funeral to go to in the next week. Don't make me have to attend another one. Okay?"
The elevator opened, doors rattling as he arrived at his floor. He flashbacked as he exited to his very first visit to the CBI Senior Crimes Unit. So many years ago but he remembered it like it was yesterday - the sweaty palms, hesitancy as he fought to find speech that wasn't served in a whisper. Grief and desperation dripped off him, covering him like thick black tar. He took a breath, thankful of the cloak of night to put on his well-worn disguise of the man most people in this building had met - Patrick Jane, cocky and exuberant (former) CBI consultant. He took a step toward the bullpen.
He'd vowed to never return. But somehow he also knew he would. He knew it wasn't over. All those months he knew.
A frisson of exhilaration coursed through him as he walked on, anticipation of the hunt firing off neurons in his brain like fireworks. As much as he'd attempted to enjoy the simple pleasures in his sabbatical, he'd missed detective work. Almost as much as he'd missed...
Ah! My couch!
His lips curled upwards and he found himself caressing its soft leather armrest with tender fingers. He glanced around, unsurprised to see Lisbon's office darkened at eleven pm and the bullpen bereft of occupants. A few desk lamps illuminated workstations, their paperwork left at their stations as they presumably attended crime scenes or interrogations. He eased himself onto its cushions, audibly sighed as he closed his eyes. He breathed in its rich, earthy musk through his nostrils. So, she hadn't banished it to some storage room as she might have. He considered why. Did she know he'd be back one day too? Or was it just because closing that door of possibility was too hard?
He opened his eyes, comforted by the feel of leather amidst his meandering thoughts. Van Pelt's desk sat in front of him and a wave of sadness washed over him like a soft tide. Anger soon followed, swelling up inside him like a breaker approaching. He dampened it down, broke its flow before it consumed him. It was an exercise he was more than familiar with, after all. Anger wouldn't help him in his pursuit - it would only help defeat him. And there was surely enough of it already around the CBI if his guesswork was correct in what he'd read off Lisbon's recent visit. He'd see if he was right by morning.
Anyway, first things first he muttered to himself as he got up, grabbing a brown paper bag he'd brought with him that contained his teal tea cup and saucer and a selection of teas.
He made his way to the break area to restock supplies and make a cup of green tea. His mental acuity could use a tune up at this hour if his plan to get better acquainted with the details of the investigation during the night was going to occur. He already had an idea of a lead to follow but it wouldn't hurt to be aware of what other irons were in the fire.
Then, he stopped suddenly in his tracks as he entered the kitchen area. A small slim figure clad in black leather jacket and blue jeans was opening a cupboard above her. He watched silently as she withdrew a small white box of headache pills before removing two. Teresa Lisbon went to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator but as she turned she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye as he stood there, observing her.
She gasped, the box of pills in one hand falling to the floor, its contents littering it. "God sake, Jane!"
He smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Lisbon." He pointed to the floor as she bent down to pick them up. "You missed some over there."
She looked up at him, astonished eyes and an inability to make a retort.
"You need some help?" he offered then, gaze penetrating hers, a dark resolve in place of amusement in his voice.
She got to her feet to stand opposite him, scattered pills forgotten. With an equally cool timbre, "You're back?"
He didn't respond. Instead, he brushed past her, placed his cup and saucer on the counter top and opened a cupboard. Methodically, he began restocking the paltry selection that resided.
"Jane," she tried again. "Are-are you sure about this?"
He turned, gave her a look she couldn't decipher and filled the kettle. As he placed it on the stove she was still watching him. He faced her, "Tea first. Then you can fill me in on where you're at since you're still here at this time of night."
"Jane, you don't have to do this, get involved in his crap again-"
There was a touch of annoyance in his tone. "No? Then tell me what other choice I have, Teresa."
"I can handle it. Let me."
He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, sighed as he looked to his toes. "You found her," he said quietly.
Taken aback by the significance he'd put on those three words she shrugged, shook her head. "So? It's not like she's the first Red John victim I've seen, Jane. Not even the first person I've known killed by someone who worked for him. I'm fine. I'm not about to crack up if that's what you think."
He looked up then but said nothing for a long moment. Then he licked his lips. Gently, "It's different with Grace, though, isn't it? Because you blame yourself for her death. But, for the record, no, I don't think you're about to crack up as you call it. But I am concerned your judgement might not be what it once was."
She looked away, cheeks flaming. "My judgement is fine. And I blame McAllister and whoever the son of a bitch is that's working for him."
"And yourself. There's plenty of blame to go around. But the guilt lies solely with you."
Irritated, "Jane-"
He took a step forward, crushed an errant pill with his foot. It sounded like a bone breaking. Softly, "Tell me I'm wrong."
Her eyes welled up and she looked to the floor to remove herself from his impenetrable scrutiny. She knelt and began to gather pills again. She cleared her throat, attempted a businesslike approach. "If you're sure you want to help then we'd be glad of it, of course. As long as Wainwright approves it, naturally. I'm sure that'll be fine. We're...understaffed as you'd guess."
She stood up again, addressed him more formally than she had in years. "I'll be here for a little while longer so we'll chat in my office when you're finished making your tea."
A/N: Sorry, this is a pretty underwhelming chapter (I had to set some plot stuff up) and very Jane lacking. Next one he will feature much more prominently, I promise!