Sorry for the delay – spent the day alone on a battlefield. The armies of mutant PHP and deadly Apache web-server configs combined with enemy style-sheets to cascade upon me. Plenty lines of code, bug corpses piled in heaps, not so many lines of story.
Thanks for the reviews. It's shameful how I live on the refresh button in my mail. Please let me know what you think, negative or not.
RJ has discombobulated Jane, again, and – oh boy:Is Lisbon okay?
".. — she's mine." The line went dead.
He coursed out of bed, tearing across to Lisbon's room.
"Lisbon!" his shoulder struck the door-frame, throwing him down. He pushed to his feet.
"Lisbon!" legs scrambling. Down a step, between the furniture. The loft now a dark wood, littered with tree-stumps. He tripped on something low, dashing his shin.
"She can't be!" he demanded reality.
Inside, Angela was running. She became a blur, a smear of legs and arms surrounding the ring. Fragments of speech dropped, incoherent, irrational.
"Time no find no. Super. Na. Tural. Possimble."
"LISBON!" he cried, forcing himself up and ahead. His hand knocked an ornament over, it split the night with a crash.
Getagripgetagrip a grip a grip! It was like being drowned, like water all around, like living under-ground, dull empty sound, we all fall down.
He fought to bottle panic, working on his pulse, staring into the night.
Swiftly, his eyes adjusted to the dark; he could see feint light from outside, the dim moon behind clouds, the many photons of the city.
He oriented himself; set-off on a fast walk, weaving between obstacles. Her room was framed ahead, the door closed.
"Lisbon?" he coughed, his voice had shrunk away, a parody of John's.
"Lis—" her light went on.
Jane didn't pause, he barrelled through her door.
She was there!
"Jane?" her voice pierced him, an arrow in his chest. He fell to his knees before the bed. She was aghast.
He burst into mad laughter. He laughed at the skylight and then down, bowing his head to the floor. He laughed for relief and shame.
She was at his side. Her touch banished the lunatic giggling, her arms found his shoulders and her face was at his ear.
"What happened?" she asked.
He took her in his arms, hugging her as if the moment was all that ever could be.
They remained on the carpet, under a wan moon, simply hugging. Time had stopped, they were travelling at light speed. Slowly, Teresa released her grip, pulling her head away. Time began.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly, catching his eyes.
She had rarely seen him so undone. Once, when he had saved her life with a shotgun, she'd peeked behind the curtain of his persona; had seen how vulnerable he was, how thin the veneer. This was similar — Something had shocked him so badly, he could not restart.
"I thought you were gone, taken," he spoke in a rush. She felt his tears against her cheek; his arms did not let go.
Teresa carefully disentangled herself. He finally loosed his grip until they both sat; still, close.
"I never— wanted you to see me," he wiped his face quickly, "like this."
Her eyes closed to slits and she touched his arm.
"Like what Jane?" she asked. "What do you think I see when I look at you?"
She brushed the side of his face, removing another track of tears.
"I know you," she said softly. "I know what's on the surface and under it."
He blinked at her, trying to restart.
"Just talk to me." she said, settling her hands into her lap.
He began. Stopped. Started again, "I thought you'd been – taken away."
"Why?" she asked.
He told her.
She suddenly felt exposed beneath the skylight. Her mind populating the roof with intruders. They wore masks and red shirts; they would break that glass; come falling-in.
Jane was silent, still looking down.
"What are you not telling me?" she pierced to the heart of it. He jerked, his eyes jumped up.
"How does she know? What do I say?"
The ghost replied, "Stop hiding it."
He looked into Teresa's eyes. God, was that — humiliation in his eyes? She felt her trunk kick as if Pandora wanted out. But the feelings in there would only interfere right now. She wanted to know why he felt shame and despair.
"I was—" he faltered.
"Go on."
"I was afraid," he pushed the words out. "I couldn't speak when I heard his voice."
He looked down again, "And it's not the first time."
"The Grady Ship case?"
He nodded, mute.
She didn't know what to say. It was not that she blamed him, but what words could heal this?
She reached for his hand, taking it in both of hers. A pained-smile crossed his face, she could see it in the way his brow moved..
He spoke to the floor, "How do you defeat your fear, Lisbon?"
She smirked as her head shook, "Bad memory?" she volunteered.
"Heh," he grinned. She squeezed his hand.
"I dunno Jane. I guess I take it one case at a time. There are things that scare me. Stuff scares me."
"Like what?" he looked up.
She thought, "Being cold! Being cold and the pain. That scares me."
"Have you ever— lost it? Lost your will in battle?"
"You know I have," she answered. "That shrink, the one who tried to frame me.."
"Ah yes," he said, "hypnotism, fingers in your head."
She nodded, "That's my Kryptonite."
He smiled, "Thanks Lisbon."
"Anytime." she let go his hand, watching him warily.
"Next time," he said, his voice stronger, "I'll be ready."
They spent the next few minutes checking the loft security. The double cage-doors were steady. There was nothing on the hall camera.
"I think we should assume this place is no longer safe," Jane was saying.
"We can't keep jumping," she replied. "The next place will be the same."
"Hm," he said.
"What's the situation?" she asked, plonking down on a couch.
Not waiting, she described it, "John and possibly Darcy are coming to New York."
"I should think so," he said, taking to his couch.
"Stiles may get a name."
"And the eyeball will be where they come looking."
"So," she concluded, "we need to leave a trail from the eyeball to here."
..xx..
Before the sun rose, they were busy. Teresa called Walter.
"This building. Is there another apartment, one floor down, you can procure?"
"Do you know what time it is?" he complained.
"Fighting serial killers is hard, suck it up," she snipped. Jane beamed.
"Uh, let me look into it," Walter promised and they broke-off.
They busied themselves with mini cameras and laying thin white cables. Jane kept looking at the time, "Walter better call soon."
He walked along the hall, pacing out an unseen measure.
"He'll call." she said.
"I think I'll nip downstairs and have a look around."
While Jane was out, her phone rang.
"Teresa, okay — you're in luck. There's one; room 1012."
"Thanks Walter," she said. "You left no trail, back to you, I mean?"
"Clean, rented on a five-year lease for business. Yadda yadda," he explained.
"Good. I gotta go."
"Be safe."
"There's a room directly below that should do," Jane said, coming back, making a noise as he locked the gates.
"Walter got us number 1012," she told him.
"Pity," he said, "1009 is the one we need."
She glared at him.
"1012 works," he quickly amended. "It's only a bit more cable."
"How will we lead them up here?" she asked, as they packed tools into a carry-bag.
"You post something, mention the eyeball. I'll go down and see what suggests itself."
..xx..
When they were done, the afternoon was already late and lazy. Jane took the private elevator down. It was accessed from the front-door to the loft. A small lobby housed it and the emergency stairwell.
The street was busy, but not enough for him to miss the drones that were out.
"They've been told to look for us," he thought.
"So obvious," Angela disapproved.
"I don't have to do anything, it's already done." Just by emerging from their building's atrium he had revealed their location.
He took a fast walk around the block, his hair standing on-edge as he imagined Darcy or John flowing-up the elevator to Lisbon.
"Around the block, around the block," Angela sang. "Hurry, don't stop. Hurry don't stop."
"Quiet," he told her.
"I'm just as nervous as you," she griped.
Within ten minutes he was back. Pretending to have simply stretched his legs, he walked inside and pressed the elevator.
"Evenin' Guv," said a man waiting at the elevator.
Jane tipped an imaginary hat. The lift arrived with a ping.
Teresa let him in. She saw relief on his face and wondered whether she was just better at reading him, or he was more relaxed around her.
"I think we have a bite," he said.
It wasn't until well-after dark, that they heard the tell-tale sound of a door. It was the fire-door closing.
"Heads-up," she whispered.
They crowded around the little screen, the rest of the place in darkness.
"Ah ha! Darcy—" he gloated, pointing to the figure on the screen.
"Shhh," Teresa warned.
Darcy mooned-into view on the small camera that watched the entrance. She put her ear to the door; all they saw was the top of her head. Jane's leg jumped up and down like an engine. Teresa put her hand on his knee to still him.
Darcy looked into the camera. They watched her puzzling it out.
"She's found it," he breathed.
Darcy's arm raised and they knew she was tracing the little white cable. Soon she had moved to the left and they watched her follow it to where it led into the floor. She tugged it twice and stopped.
"Good thing we nailed it down," Jane whispered.
"Get ready," Teresa said low.
They saw Darcy glancing left and right, then down. She straightened, making a decision and jogged to the stairs.
"We wait two minutes," Teresa said, relieved.
..xx..
With her pistol extended and a vest in-place, Teresa led and Jane followed. They converged on 1012. The false cable protruded from the ceiling, pointing to the room. Listening at the partially opened door, they could hear Darcy moving the table they'd placed earlier against the wall inside.
Teresa looked over her shoulder and caught his eye. She nodded, raising her gun.
Three. Two. One.
She kicked the door wide and shouted, "Agent Darcy, stand still!"
Jane tried to follow her, but her wake was too turbulent. The door swung-back and bashed his arm. He forced it away. Two loud pops sounded. He lurched into the room, orienting himself.
Lisbon stood, her arm lowered. Beyond her Darcy was half-leaning against the wall, slumped to one side.
"I had to," Teresa was saying. She pointed at a pistol on the floor.
Jane's eyebrows lifted, "Unfortunate."
She holstered her weapon, not bothering to reply. She tested Darcy's neck for a pulse; shook her head.
Jane crossed to the window and opened the curtains. Harsh light from a garish sign illuminated the room. He fished-out his phone and flipped-it into camera mode.
The shot he took showed Darcy as well as the message they had painted onto the wall to delay her:
"What immortal hand or eye
did frame this fearful symmetry?
One down little John.
Come out and play.
PJ"
"We gotta move!" Teresa said urgently. She flipped her phone open.
"Walter, it's time," she hung up. "Come," she ordered.
They took the stairs to the roof. Mere minutes later the sound of a helicopter breached the solitude.
"Good old Walter," Jane laughed.
