I do not own the Mentalist, and I intend no copyright infringement. This is just for fun.
Author's Notes: First, thanks so much to those who have left comments. It's gratifying knowing someone out there is reading my little story. I thought this would be a three chapter wrap up, but it keeps wanting to go a little farther, so I'm letting it have its head. Thank you for your patience. I'm only predicting one more chapter, but who knows? There's still a bit of a twist yet to come, so I hope you hang on for the conclusion.
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Lisbon woke early – she'd never been one to sleep in, even on weekends, and she had a lot on her mind. She showered and donned a T shirt and jeans to head down to the kitchen, but she paused at the top of her stairs. She hated to disturb Jane, yet she desperately needed her coffee. Down in her living room, Jane appeared to be lying peacefully on her couch. He looked much like he did every day at work except he lay wrapped in her own fluffy blue robe.
She tiptoed down the stairs and had nearly sneaked past without waking him when she saw it. His bottle of pain pills was lying on its side on the coffee table, and it was empty. She grabbed it to make sure, looking under the table, but there were no pills anywhere to be seen.
"God, no!" she shrieked. Oh why had she left him here all night by himself? Was he breathing? Her hand was inches away from his neck when Jane's eyes snapped open, startled. She froze in disbelief.
"What…?" he blinked with drowsy eyes, trying to adjust to the light, and lifted himself slightly onto one elbow. "Lisbon, what's wrong?" His brow furrowed with concern. "Are you all right?"
"I…you're…" she sputtered, now thoroughly confused.
Jane was fully awake now, and he looked at her intently. The wheels in his head were turning just like they did when he was sussing out the details of a case and she watched his expression evolve. Soon his eyes focused on the empty pill bottle she held in her hand, and an unmistakable look of hurt clouded his face. Then he raised his eyebrows and moved his head back slightly, as if he were taking in a bigger picture, but the hurt in his eyes only intensified.
He fell back flat onto the couch and stared straight up at the ceiling. "I got up in the middle of the night." His voice was cold and factual as he explained. "I was…uncomfortable…so I took the pills with me to the bathroom. I took two - just two," he emphasized, "but I'd misplaced the cap somewhere. On the way back to the couch, my hand hit the door frame and the bottle turned upside down. It was pitch dark. I decided not to pick up the pills. Wasn't sure I could get back up, to tell the truth. "
"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "Jane, I'm sorry."
"Is that why you agreed to let me stay here?" he accused. Anger had seeped into his tone.
"No!" She wanted more than anything to be able to take back her hasty assumption.
"I didn't just leave the hospital, you know." He was in full defensive mode now. " I got all my follow up appointments and medicines and instructions. You're a better detective than that, Lisbon." Jane was angry, and he gave her no time to protest.
"Do you actually think I would do that? Here? On your couch, Teresa?" Turning toward her quickly, he attempted to roll onto his side, but the robe stayed stuck under him and caught his left shoulder tightly, pulling against it with considerable force. "Son of a bitch!" he hissed and closed his eyes.
She instantly saw the problem and reached toward him. "Lift your hips up off the couch," Lisbon commanded. He did as she asked and she pulled the robe free, releasing the pressure on his shoulder.
"Thanks," he gasped, wincing, and he cradled his left forearm with his right while he breathed through the receding pain.
Something about his arm looked wrong, and she did a double take. Her jaw dropped when she realized what was different. There was no longer a wedding ring on Patrick Jane's left hand. She tried to look away quickly, but he had already picked up on her observation.
"They were afraid my hand would swell with the surgery," he explained.
Of course, she thought, but then he jutted out his jaw in defiance and added, "I Ieft it off."
"Oh," Lisbon said, stunned. "Look, I'm so sorry. I saw the empty bottle - I panicked. They said you should stay in the hospital,"she pleaded her case. "Jane, I just want you to get well."
His anger had faded now and his voice was even. "Then let me stay here, with you. I want to exist for a couple of days and get my feet back under me without all that poking and prodding. Look, I'm not physically capable of getting into any trouble. I feel safe here, Teresa."
She gulped. This was big.
"I want...I need to be someplace where I feel safe," he repeated. "With someone I trust."
"You trust me?"
"Of course. I was hoping you'd trust me…" his voice trailed off.
Now it was her turn to put everything together. Jane had spared Red John. He'd taken off his wedding ring. He was making an effort to take care of himself, albeit not in the hospital. He was obviously trying to move forward, and he thought he had earned her trust. And, she admitted begrudgingly, maybe he had a point.
"You know what? " she said. "Let's just start this morning over. How are you feeling this morning? Did you get any sleep?"
His expression softened. "To be perfectly honest I could use a couple more of those pills I dropped on the floor last night over there." He motioned toward the bathroom.
"Tell you what. I'll get them for you, and then I'll fix you a cup of tea."
"I'd love a cup of tea," he smiled.
"Could you eat some eggs?" she asked. That widened his grin substantially.
"I'm famished." Jane knew she was trying to make it up to him and he was going to let her.
He hadn't been lying about his hunger. He managed to sit at her kitchen table, wrapped up in her robe, and he fairly wolfed down the eggs and toast she fixed for him. Soon afterward though, he started to sag, and she helped him back to the couch.
As he settled in for another pill-induced nap, Jane made a request. "Lisbon, would you please pick up a couple of extra large flannel shirts and some track pants somewhere for me? Something with a loose waist band that won't put pressure on all these sore spots?"
He must have forgiven her, she smiled to herself, because he was giving her jobs again. She was happy to comply.
Of course, they still hadn't addressed the issue of what Red John and Partridge had done to Jane, but she found herself getting a strange feeling of optimism about all this. She was sure it would pass.
Over the next two days, Jane improved rapidly. She stayed home with him, despite his insistence that he could manage. By the time she took him to his follow up appointment on Tuesday afternoon he was off the strong pain meds, and he could walk to the car without moving like an invalid.
The doctor was pleased with his progress and Jane insisted it was due to the superior care he had received from her. It was way over the top as only Jane could do, but she appreciated it just the same. On the way back to her place, however, there was tense silence in the car.
"So," he finally said, " I should get my things and check into the hotel I guess. I can get Cho to bring me my car."
"You know, you shouldn't be driving yet. I have to go in tomorrow, but you're welcome to stay until you're steadier. I really don't want you out there endangering the lives of the people of Sacramento." Jane wanted to stay, she knew. Okay, she wanted Jane to stay, too. They still hadn't had the conversation he'd promised her about the CD, after all. She had a perfectly justifiable reason to want to keep him there.
"Are you sure? " he asked. "I don't want to be a bother. I'm up and about."
"You've been a bother since the moment I met you. Why stop now?" she teased.
"I'll fix dinner and I'll pick up some old movies to watch, if you'd like. And some ice cream."
"I get to choose the movie," she insisted.
"Absolutely. The lady's choice." He bowed his head slightly in deference.
"Done."
Her eyes remained on the road, but she knew that Cheshire cat grin was plastered all over his face.
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Wednesday back at work was a long day for Lisbon, but a good one. The team was golden with the higher ups, Brenda was preening like a peacock, and the rank and file treated them like rock stars. They had bagged a big one this time. She was quite late getting home though, and Jane's "cooking" consisted of his ordering take out Chinese. Still, it was great to have it all ready and waiting for her. Jane was asleep on the couch before ten and she turned in soon afterward.
Thursday was a less punishing day and she was home by six. Jane had been to the grocery (she would have to scold Cho for bringing over his car) and he had a simple meal of baked salmon, rice, and vegetables cooked. They talked about everything except work as they ate their meal, and she marveled at what good company he was when he wasn't driving her crazy.
On Friday morning he saw her off to work. Those blue green eyes twinkled when he promised something special for Friday evening's dinner. Her workday turned out to be relatively quiet, and between stacks of paperwork she found herself looking forward to whatever crazy plan Jane had in store for her.
The traffic was gnarled on the way home due to an accident and Lisbon amused herself by channel surfing the radio. Every weatherman and woman in Sacramento was worked into a lather about a big storm approaching the area. The drive seemed to take forever, but when she finally opened her apartment door, the smell of Italian food flooded her senses.
"Lis - bonnnn?!" Jane called from the kitchen. He appeared around the corner in his oversized blue and green flannel shirt, blue track pants and tennis shoes. His hair was tousled and his eyes were full of mischievous excitement. He looked so different from the contained, vested showman she had worked with for the past several years. Was this a glimpse of the Patrick Jane who lived underneath all of those layers of guilt – the man behind the mask? She took a rare moment to appreciate just how attractive he was. Maybe she shouldn't be thinking these thoughts…or should she?
"Teresa, there you are!" he said, delighted. "Go put on your Friday clothes, my dear."
"So I gather it's Italian night?" she observed.
"Brilliant deduction. You really should consider police work. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Now upstairs with you, woman!" he shooed her toward the stairs.
The mingling smells of garlic, onions and basil were making her mouth water and she wasted no time heading up to do exactly as she was told. She did steal a glance in the mirror to make sure her hair was in order before she reappeared downstairs.
Jane had outdone himself. Her little kitchen table was covered with a white tablecloth and in the center was a small vase of fresh flowers. There were two places set, and salads were served. A bottle of red wine sat already opened, and her nose informed her that the basket of bread on the table was full of warm garlic bread.
He made a show of pulling out her chair for her and she decided to just go with it. After she was seated, he snapped open a paper napkin and placed it across her lap with flourish. She had to grin. The man had style. When he saw he had pleased her, a smile lit up his face. She was truthful when she told him it was the best marinara she had ever tasted, which of course delighted him to no end.
"Where did you learn to cook like this?" she asked, as a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
"Angela's grandmother was Italian."
Panic flickered inside her. He never referred to his wife by her name. She searched his eyes for that familiar haunted look but all she saw was an open calmness. "It's okay," his expression seemed to say.
"Here, let's finish up the wine," he insisted, and he poured a last half a glass for each of them.
Lisbon raised her glass for a toast. "Thank you for this," she said. "It was delicious."
He clinked her glass with his. "Just trying to earn my keep."
"Paid in full, then," she said with a smile.
A hint of sadness crossed his face and he replied gently, "Never." He let the word linger and hesitated before he took a sip from his glass. "To you, Teresa."
She felt a wave of warmth travel up through her body and she was positive she was blushing.
Jane noticed her discomfort but chose not to tease her. Instead, he rescued her promptly. "Let's clear the table." He flipped back into showman mode. "I have rented, for your viewing pleasure, some old movies. Shall we retire to the living room?"
Just then a loud rumble of thunder sounded outside. Lisbon pulled the kitchen curtains back only to see a brilliant flash of lightning, followed a few seconds later by another clap of thunder. "It's getting closer," she said. "This is supposed to be a big one."
"Meh, let it rain," he scoffed as he stacked dishes in the sink.
Soon they were seated on the couch. The storm was fast approaching and frequent thunder shook the windows. Jane was unperturbed, and produced a plastic bag full of DVD's. "I got several genres. I wasn't sure what you would want to watch – who knew what mood you would be in?"
Lisbon sat back and let him put on his show.
"Fawlty Towers for our comedy selection," he said, holding up the DVD for her perusal.
"I've never seen that," she admitted. "Isn't that the one with the Monty Python guy?"
"Yes, and you certainly need to see it at some point, if not tonight." Jane pulled out the next DVD. "Die Hard is the evening's action choice," he noted.
"Yipee ti yi yay!" she laughed.
"Shawshank Redemption covers inspirational drama. My Fair Lady for the musical option. Casablanca in the classics category." He was watching her face carefully and she knew her choice would have some great significance to him.
"My Fair Lady," she decided. She hadn't seen that for many years, and she loved Rex Harrison's curmudgeonly portrayal of Higgins.
"It's 'enry 'iggins, the 'orses' ass," he quipped, but she knew immediately that her choice had pleased him.
Jane loaded the disc and had just situated himself back on the couch beside her, when a bright flash was followed almost instantly by a startling crash of thunder. It made them both jump. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went off entirely. They had lost power.
Lisbon sprang into action. "I've got a candle." In no time she had it flickering on the coffee table in front of them. Not much light, but enough for her to see how disappointed he was that his grand plan had been thwarted.
"Hey, you know, I've got my laptop," she piped up. "We could just watch it on that until the power comes back on."
"Um….I'd rather…not," his voice trailed off.
Oh my God, she realized, how could she have been so stupid? What had she been thinking? "I'm sorry…" she started. For an instant, she wanted to kick herself. She looked at Jane's face in the dim light and suddenly it dawned on her - this was her opening – her opportunity. She took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and asked the question: "How much of it did you see?"
"Why none, Lisbon, Ms. Hepburn has not sung the first note."
She didn't allow his sidestep. "Patrick." She used his given name to get his attention. "You promised me."
She expected more clever excuses, but instead he acknowledged her request, gathered himself, and looked her squarely in the eye. "Some." The words came slowly. "After they tied me to the bed, he started the recording. I closed my eyes, but I could still hear." He cleared his throat. "Partridge kept kicking me, but I wouldn't watch. Finally he put the tape on my eyes but by then I was pretty much done in. I saw some of it and then I passed out." He dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.
Lisbon reached for his hand, and to her surprise, he welcomed her touch. "I can't imagine," she said quietly.
Jane lifted his head and looked at her again. "The truth is, Teresa, I'd already played that scene thousands of times in my head," he admitted. "There's a reason I don't sleep."
She knew about his insomnia, of course, and she'd assumed the cause. But somehow hearing him say it broke her heart all over again.
"I destroyed the CD," she told him. "I stomped it into little bits and threw them away."
His next question was delivered with great control. "You watched it though, didn't you?"
Lisbon's heart sank. He knew her too well. She couldn't deny this, and she nodded, "yes."
Jane's grip on her hand tightened just a little. "Was um…was Charlotte on it?" he asked, watching her intently.
She flinched at his question, but she didn't dare break his gaze. This was a pivotal moment and she couldn't falter now. She swallowed hard. "Yes."
His breathing quickened and even in the low light, she saw the flash of pain shoot through his eyes. "How bad?" He squeezed her hand, trying to hold himself together, and choked out, "How long?" Jane closed his eyes, bracing himself.
She was glad she no longer had to look him in the eye. "Not very long. She woke up and she knew something wasn't right, but she was still sleepy and not fully aware." God this was the most difficult thing she'd ever had to say. "He…the cut to her throat was fast and deep and she was gone quickly - in a few seconds."
His head lolled to the side and his whole body sagged. Then Lisbon did something she'd wanted to do so many times before – she reached out, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him tightly to her. He broke down in her arms.
Jane cried uncontrollably, shaking with gasping sobs, and he clung to her fiercely. She held him for a long time, rubbing his back in circles, trying to soothe him. She offered no words – there was nothing she could say. Lisbon sat quietly in the dark, listening to him cry as the thunder moved farther and farther away.
Later, when his sobs subsided, his arms remained tight around her. Only when he eased his grip did she do the same. He sat back on the couch and rubbed his eyes. He was clearly in need of a tissue.
"My head hurts," he said, sniffling.
"Be right back." She returned with a box of tissues, a couple of Advils, and a glass of water.
"Thanks," he said with gratitude. He swallowed the pills and made use of the tissues.
She sat down beside him on the couch, put a pillow in her lap and gently instructed him, "Here." She patted the pillow. "Come on. Lie down."
After a second of hesitation, he obediently lowered his head to the pillow and stretched out on the couch. She arranged the afghan over him and he closed his eyes. Soon his deep, even breathing told her he was asleep. She was glad. This would give her time to think.
The power was still off when his eyes blinked open again. Jane looked up at her and asked, "How long…" he cleared his throat again. "How long did I sleep?"
"Not long. Thirty, forty minutes. How's your head?"
"Much better." He rose and sat beside her in silence for a few moments. When he finally spoke, his words were significant. "That was years ago, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was." Again she waited patiently, sensing he had something else to say.
"You know, Teresa, you never asked how I found Red John, did you? You wanted to, but then you'd have to bring up…that" he waved his hand around, "…whole scene, and you were too concerned about my mental state."
She hated it when he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"Such a lack of faith, Lisbon," he said without malice, and then he dropped a bomb. "It was Lorelei."
Her mouth fell open.
"She called me and told me I was right about Red John. He was using her. She gave him to me, Lisbon. Name, workplace, residence – everything. She said she was moving to South Africa to start a new life, and that I shouldn't ever contact her. And then she thanked me, wished me luck, and hung up.
I know that business in Las Vegas hurt you, and I am truly sorry it hurt you. But without that," Jane lifted his finger for emphasis. "Red John would still be out there, Lisbon. And I wouldn't have the opportunity I have right now."
"What opportunity is that?" She held her breath.
"I want you to be able to stop worrying about my sanity." His eyes were clear and his tone earnest. "I want another chance for happiness. What I really want, is the chance to tell you that I …"
He never finished the thought, because suddenly all the lights blazed on, jolting both of them.
The intimacy of the moment was lost, and Jane recalibrated instantly. "What I really want…" he repeated,"…is the opportunity to watch this movie with you, my dear." He lifted the remote and motioned his head toward the DVD player, his expression a question mark. Maybe she had asked enough of him for one evening, she thought. She shrugged and nodded, and he hit play.
Without another word, they sat side by side on the couch and watched My Fair Lady.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, he slipped his arm around her shoulder. She didn't resist. In fact, she let herself snuggle into his side. It felt natural. It felt right. And when Rex Harrison sang, "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face," she didn't have to look up at Jane to know he was smiling.
As the credits rolled, she said, "He's such an asshole."
"Most definitely, " Jane agreed. "But she'd never be happy with that white bread Freddie, would she?"
"Maybe you're right," she gave him a teasing glance and he responded by flashing that megawatt grin of his. She was glad to see it again.
When Lisbon stood up, however, the exhaustion on his face was evident, and he didn't protest when she suggested he turn in for the evening. By the time she reached the landing at the top of her stairs, Jane was snoring softly on the couch.
She lay awake in her own bed for a long time, thinking. The evening had been intense, but she decided that in many ways, it had gone relatively well. She felt like she had done the right thing, that she had helped him somehow, and that made her feel good. Maybe Jane had actually turned the corner. Maybe he had found the closure he needed.
She also thought about how natural it felt when she had molded into his body while they watched the movie. She thought about that a lot.
What had he been about to say when the lights came on, she wondered. She had an idea, and it pleased her and frightened her all at the same time.
It was a long time before Teresa Lisbon was able to get to sleep.
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Preview: Will they or won't they?
(Constructive criticism is welcomed. I'm always trying to improve my writing.)
