Author's Note: Thanks for reviewing! :)
THE SOUND OF SILENCE
Volume Six
Silence is a text easy to misread. - A.A. Attanasio
Lisbon is used to living in denial. She spent years denying her father's alcoholism and abuse, Tommy's drug addiction, James' concern for her overworked life. She spent years denying Bosco's love for her, denying Jane's intentions to kill Red John, denying her own loneliness.
But there are some that things that just can't be denied, and sooner or later they will come out into the open.
The realization that she loves Jane comes very fast, extraordinarily easy. Because... of course she loves him.
Of course she does.
The love must have grown gradually, so incrementally slow that she was left unaware until suddenly, one day, Jane was just as important as her brothers, just as important as any of her friends.
A different kind of love, maybe, but no less powerful.
Lisbon has loved before. She loved her parents, loves her brothers, loves her college roommate and best friend back in San Francisco. She has even been in love once.
This is not the same. This is something... more. Something closer. Something undefinable, without a name. She has never felt this way about anybody.
Loving him is as natural as breathing, something innate and intrinsic, in her very cells, her very atoms, a core element of her being. Like she wouldn't be herself, if she didn't love him. This love is a part of her now, and she can't imagine, or remember, what it was like to be without it.
And it hurts.
Because she feels what he feels. When he breaths, she breathes; when he cries, she cries; when he hurts, she hurts. They are linked, connected in some unconceivable way, and his grief radiates through their connection until it touches her heart as well. He doesn't have a place near her heart, he is her heart, and when he is broken her heart is broken. She can feel his pain, inside of herself.
She has empathized with the families of victims before. She has known what they felt, that loss and longing, because she had felt it herself when she was younger.
But she has never felt it alongside them, not like she does with Jane.
His grief is killing her, and she would do anything to make it disappear.
She would go through hell and back again to return his wife and daughter to him, stare down the very devil and offer herself up as an exchange. Jane is infinitely more important than herself, and she would do it in a heartbeat.
But she can't.
All she can do is stand by him with her silent support, and hope he'll continue to stand by her.
The first few months are terribly hard, and Lisbon fears her heart will be permanently filled with pity and empathy, sad for both Jane and herself, unable to continue like this but also incapable of moving on.
Over time, however, her heart beats a little stronger, her breaths come a little easier, the weight on her shoulders becomes a little lighter.
In the rare instances when she catches him without a mask, Jane seems to be genuinely healing.
When he smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkle up and his irises sparkle.
He sometimes touches his wedding band as if it's an afterthought, each time looking a little startled that it's still there.
He hides Rigsby's snacks just for the amusement to be derived from watching Rigsby search for them with confusion.
He folds over the wrong corners in Cho's book to make him lose his page. Lisbon can't decide whether to scowl and berate him, or just simply laugh.
He's gentler with Van Pelt than the others, a help rather than a hindrance. He makes her coffee with extra sugar, even though Lisbon knows he hates just the smell, and takes her out for lunch every time something reminds her of O'Laughlin. Lisbon tries to imagine their lunch dates - Van Pelt spilling her heart out while Jane remains silent - then remembers that Jane is extraordinarily communicative even without words. She's sure Van Pelt has no trouble deriving the sympathy and support from his gestures.
Jane takes up permanent residence on Lisbon's new couch in her office. His stubborn streak returns; he makes her endless cups of tea, even as she repeats over and over that she only drinks coffee. He lets the steaming cup sit untouched on her desk for about half an hour before giving in and drinking it himself, already planning when he'll try again.
He snoops around suspects' houses, fiddling with their belongings and sniffing their artifacts, placing a warm hand on the small of Lisbon's back as he walks her out.
He drives her around, lets her sleep in the car, wakes her up with a gentle caress of her arm, grinning as she blinks sleepily.
He returns from Dr. Hoffstader's office with barely a scowl, so thoughtful and distracted that he misses Lisbon watching him through her blinds with a hint of a smile.
The smallest shred of hope starts to curl in her heart and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, things are beginning to look up.
Until she gets the call.
It's a Wednesday morning, and she has already left two messages on Jane's phone asking where he is and berating him for lateness.
"If you deign to check your messages in the near future," she snarks, "don't bother coming in to the office. Go meet Cho at Denver's mansion, we think he may be covering for his brother. I want you guys to check it out."
She gives him the address and hangs up irritably, already on her way to the interrogation room to find out what Andreas seems to be hiding.
A little under two hours later her phone rings shrilly, startling her out of the mountain of paperwork she's buried herself under.
"Sheep dip," she mutters, scrambling in her purse to find the offending object so she can end the noise.
She picks up on the fourth ring, stabbing the little green button with no small amount of annoyance, and leans back in her chair, regarding the mass of papers that she's going to have to get through tonight.
"Lisbon," she sighs, already tired at just the thought of completing all those forms.
"Hey, boss."
Cho's voice comes through in her ear, and she remembers Jane's tardiness that morning. A whole new wave of irritation crashes over her, and she scowls through the receiver.
"Hey, Cho. Did Jane ever show up at Denver's place?"
"Actually, I'm in the hospital with him now. I don't think he'll be coming in today."
What?
Her annoyance disappears in a flash as her heart locks up in her chest, snapping straight.
"The hospital?" she repeats, and is ashamed to admit that her voice is higher than she had wanted. "Why?"
If Cho senses her concern, he doesn't show it. His voice is as monotone as ever when he replies calmly, "He's got some pretty deep cuts on his wrist, he lost a lot of blood -"
Lisbon can't listen anymore.
"Okay," she interrupts loudly. "I'll be right over. Which hospital are you at?"
"Mercy General," replies Cho. "But, boss, I don't think you -"
"I'll see you there," she cuts in, and hangs up before he can say another word.
Cho's voice echoes in her mind during the ride over, the words spinning around and around and around until she feels nauseated.
He's got some pretty deep cuts on his wrist, he lost a lot of blood -
The drive over feels surreal, like she is traveling through a dream. There seem to be flickers in the time/space continuum, making the world around her appear choppy, fragments of real life that don't quite fit together. One second she is staring at the CBI parking lot, then suddenly the buildings outside her window are moving slowly, almost as if they are warping by, then the traffic light burns red, red, red... sticking for an eternity, and she wonders if it is frozen like that, broken, red, red, red...
... like that damn smiley face, dripping blood... red, red, red...
Green.
She puts her foot flat against the gas and drives.
And all the while, racing through her mind - He's got some pretty deep cuts on his wrist, he lost a lot of blood -
He had tried it before, she remembers with a jolt. She remembers the look on his face, the burning intensity behind his eyes, as he told her about Sophie Miller, about why he needed to even see her. About what he had tried to do.
She feels sick.
And cold.
And very, very frightened.
Her demands to the nurses are so strong that she is ushered straight to his room within minutes of arriving. The nurse points to room 415 and disappears down the hall. Lisbon stalks closer, eyeing the closed door with a strange concoction of anger and fear boiling within her. Her fingers are already pressing down on the door handle before she hears Cho's voice.
"Boss?"
She pauses, and finally sees that he's sitting on a bench just outside the room, an open newspaper on his lap. She's running on so much adrenaline that she can't even spare a second to ask him where and how he found Jane.
"I'll talk to you in a minute," is all she says, before turning the handle and shoving the door open.
She shuts it behind her, the loud bang satisfying, and watches as Jane throws her a startled glance. He's lying on a hospital bed with his feet propped up, a TV remote in his right hand, arm outstretched as if he is about to change the channel. She can hear high pitched voices screeching from the speakers, some sort of cartoon for children, before her head starts to pound loudly, drowning out all other noises.
Jane is still wearing his three-piece suit, but the sleeve of his left arm is rolled up to accommodate the white bandage wrapped thickly around his wrist.
Lisbon catches sight of it and swallows painfully.
"Do you want to explain to me," she starts lowly, deceptively calm apart from the tremble of anger rolling through her words, "what the hell you were thinking?"
Jane doesn't reply, just looks at her with a blank, vaguely confused expression. He lowers his right arm, letting the TV remote rest against his bed sheets.
She grits her teeth, fighting the emotions warring inside of her. The sight of the empty IV drip next to his bed makes her heart clench, and suddenly she is furious. Within seconds her blood goes from freezing to boiling.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she yells, so loudly and sharply that he actually flinches in surprise.
He still doesn't reply, just sits there and watches her silently.
"Do you have any idea - I can't believe you - You stupid, pea-brained -"
She is so worked up she can't even get a coherent sentence out. She stands by the closed door, trembling with anger and fear, her pulse pounding in her ears, loud and sharp and piercing. The smell of disinfectant in the air is making her sick, and the pale green walls glare brightly, intimidating, closing in on her.
Jane sits up a little straighter, frowning at her, as Lisbon struggles to keep her composure.
"Don't you dare do that again, do you hear me? Do you have any idea how that made me feel -?"
Her voice trembles and breaks, catches on a shard of fear and rips right out of her throat, fraying into silence. Jane swings his legs over the side of the bed, facing her, concern displayed nakedly across his face. Lisbon is horrified to realize her vision is going blurry. She is finding it hard to breathe.
"That was stupid and selfish and I want you to promise me you won't ever do it again, do you hear me?"
Silence.
"Don't you realize by now that there are people who care about you, who need you? I... I need you."
The admission slips out before she can stop it, but her upset is so great that this mortification is barely a drop in the ocean. Her vision is swimming, and the only reason she can even see Jane is because he is now standing right in front of her. She concentrates on the grey of his vest, on the stitches and threads of fabric weaving in and out of each other, and attempts to stop her eyes from spilling over. Despite her best efforts a tear escapes, sliding so quickly down her face that it is gone before she has even realized it was there at all.
Jane brushes his thumb against her cheek to wipe away the wetness.
Lisbon slaps him.
Not a punch, not a kick, not a blow. A slap. Like an emotional little girl. She brings her palm up to his cheek and strikes it, burning her skin and causing a sharp crack to echo through the room, louder than those stupid cartoon characters.
"Don't touch me!" she snarls, snatching his hand from her wet cheek and flinging it away.
Jane is obviously startled, but he takes a step closer. He still looks concerned, but his confusion seems to be overriding all other emotions, written clearly across his features.
"I - I can't even look at you right now," she mutters. "I've had it - with - with your silence, and what happened today - that's it. Hoffstader's clearly not doing enough, you're going back to see Sophie Miller, whether you like it or not, and she is going to goddamn help you if it's the last thing she does."
Sophie Miller.
As soon as he hears the name a lightbulb seems to shine above his head.
(She wonders if those cartoons are getting to her sanity.)
He shakes his head frantically, holding his hands up in what she assumes is meant to be innocence. Lisbon feels her blood boiling over, and she is so frustrated and so goddamn tired that she fears she will snap in half and then splinter into a million pieces.
"No, I don't care whether you want to or not, you're going to do it!" A hesitant pause. "Please, Jane. You have no idea how that made me - feel... to find out you tried to kill yourself..."
A fervent shake of his head makes Lisbon pause, and in that split second of silence Jane crosses the gap between them to place his hands on her shoulders. He shakes her gently, staring into her eyes, trying to get something across. Lisbon gazes back, wilting as her anger disappears. Not even the warmth of Jane's hands can cure the cold devastation that has settled in her bones.
There's a knock at the door, and Cho pokes his head through. If he looks surprised by how close they are standing, Jane's hands still lingering on her shoulders, he doesn't show it.
"Uh, Boss?" he starts. "Didn't mean to overhear, but it wasn't a suicide attempt."
Jane's eyes burn into her. She blinks at Cho.
"What?"
"It wasn't a suicide attempt," he repeats. "Denver pushed him through a broken window at the house. The glass cut him up pretty bad."
What?
Well.
Now she feels stupid.
"... oh."
Lisbon's voice is small as she looks at the ground. Her mind refreshes their entire conversation, and she wants to shrink with mortification. She is embarrassed now at how much of herself she has revealed, at how many emotions she has displayed.
I need you.
Oh, God, had she really said that?
She wants to melt into a puddle on the floor, fade away, disappear. She awkwardly shrugs out of Jane's grasp, twisting halfway to avoid looking at his face. She takes a step back and feels his hands slide off her shoulders.
Still avoiding his gaze, she mutters an awkward and stilted, "Oh, well - that's... that's good. Okay. I'm gonna go now."
Then she slinks out of the room before Jane can stop her.
It's good.
It is.
Apart from the fact that Jane knows things about her that will make it hard to face him tomorrow.
I need you.
Oh, God.
Lisbon has never needed anyone.
But some truths are just undeniable.