Running Through Red Lights
Disclaimer: Don't own anything…Lyrics by the Wallflowers.
Rating: T
Spoiler: Red Badge, Black Gold and Red Blood.
A/N: Thank you for reviewing everyone! I hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it.
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Part X: A Moment in the Quiet
"I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else
Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same…"
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Jane used to have terrible nightmares. They were vivid, disturbing, and turned him into an insomniac. Though the images themselves were always different, the motif was still the same. Having not witnessed his family's murder, his mind played evil tricks on him, manipulating the scene in every which way possible.
Sometimes it was a string of pictures like photographs, still frames of his wife and child sprawled on the bed, a faceless man with a knife standing over them, blood everywhere.
Other times, it was just his wife's smiling face turned broken, crying, sad, as she begged for mercy, asking the masked man not to harm her baby. His daughter in her mother's arms at first grinning, blue eyes twinkling and then lifeless, vacant irises, her body motionless as the man carefully concocted a familiar crimson mural on the wall behind them.
And sometimes, the worst dream of all, the one that left him shaking and alert for hours was the one where he found himself with the knife, blood on his hands, blood staining his expensive suit, with his wife and child butchered like animals, limbs strewn across the floor.
That dream always ended with him staring at his reflection, he saw someone he could not recognize, an evil grin, dark, scheming eyes, a pleased expression as if he wanted it that way, as if he meant to hurt and murder the only people in his world that meant something to him.
He would not sleep long after those dreams. Those latent manifestations of his guilt and shame were too much to bear at times; they seemed relentless, unceasing, as if he would permanently have to bear the cross not only in wakefulness but also in sleep. He didn't mind it, knew he deserved to be punished for what he did, but eventually, the nightmares stopped, or more like transformed into something else.
They were replaced by his new subconscious purpose.
Now, instead of picturing what Red John did to his family, Jane found himself picturing what he would do to Red John when (not if ) he caught him. There was never much detail to these dreams, but they always, always, always involved him butchering Red John like he butchered his family.
And despite his continued struggle with insomnia, even after the nightmares became just faded memories in which he sought occasional, twisted solace, Jane still envisions what it would be like to finally get his revenge, except now, just beyond the actual act, he wonders what will happen after.
He never has, but as of late, things that have happened to him, a transformation that has caught him off guard, is forcing him to see into the future, manipulating his one track mind into questioning everything he's ever lived for since the murder of his family.
It's quite annoying, he thinks, how his own mind can play tricks on him and he's no more immune to it than the suspects he coerces into confessions or the colleagues he manages to piss off.
Needless to say, Jane doesn't sleep well for an entirely different reason now and he knows a lot of it has to do with the woman whose bed he shares.
She's not supposed to make him think about the possibility of an existence beyond the execution of his revenge. She is not supposed to force pleasant images into his head about what it would be like to gather her into his arms, whisk her away somewhere remote, and not leave the comfort of her warmth for an undefined amount of time.
But she has.
She's done all those things and more, without even realizing it.
Jane is well aware that there are some topics that Lisbon knows are off limits and the main one is his family.
She never questions him about it, never asks, doesn't even touch on his reluctance to part with his wedding band even though he's no more a married man than she is a married woman.
He doesn't know whether to be thankful for her prudence or to be irritated by it.
Sometimes he's both.
He knows if she ever broached the subject in a non-work related manner, he will mostly likely snap at her, become defensive and cold, but he's also quite irked by her complete compliance with him and his less than honest thoughts.
He sometimes wants her to confront him, force him to own up to things that he has trouble letting go, but he knows she never will.
Despite what she may think of herself, the raven haired woman is an incredibly patient, durable soul who's spent most of her life guiding other people into realizing their potential, and he thinks he will be no exception.
But another thing he's learned over the time he's spent getting to know Teresa Lisbon outside work is that she's not as resilient in her own pain as she is in her actions towards others.
Jane thinks about how his own nightmares transformed into something else, something far more sinister: a blinding thirst for vengeance, retribution that quickly clouded all his thoughts and feelings, those of grief, anger, and pain.
For Lisbon, her nightmares have never and will never turn into something as wicked, so he is terrified that the painful images that plague her subconscious periodically will never subside, will never set her free.
The first time it happens, he pretends to be asleep.
He isn't sure why the guise is necessary, but with the way her eyes immediately shift to make sure he hasn't woken up, Jane realizes she's still not ready to let him see that part of her, whatever is hurting her is too private, the memory too raw and painful, and if there's anything he can relate to, it's that.
It's the shame and fear that he won't be understood, that his psyche is too damaged and his soul too frayed to be accepted by someone. As much as his heart aches from suspicion that Lisbon might feel a fraction of what he does, he gives her the space she needs, the privacy that might give her some measure of power, promising to intervene only when he feels it natural to do so.
Thankfully, the episodes are few and far in between and for the most part, he spends his nights in and out of sleep, always comforted though by the presence of the petite woman in his arms, who has somehow begun to lessen the weight on his heart.
He doesn't want to admit it, is unable to cope with the ramifications of the realization, but every night that he holds her or has the privilege of cooking her dinner and listening as she berates him for using way too much wine in his sauces, Jane finds himself closer and closer to admitting that he really is falling in love again.
Which is why one night it becomes unbearable to feign sleep when her small body spasms besides his and she wakes up with a jolt, chest heaving as she takes deep breaths to steady her heart.
He doesn't even realize he's touching her until she turns around and even in the darkness of her bedroom he can see the look of shock and shame cross her features.
He doesn't want to be accusatory, doesn't want to show her he's hurt by her desire to keep this from him, so he gently coaxes her back into his arms.
Lisbon lies down wordlessly, too exhausted to fight him as Jane wraps his arms around her, pulling the covers over them both.
They lie in silence for a long time, his hand tracing over the pulse point on her wrist, until the frantic beat subsides and her body relaxes against him, no longer frigid and cold.
"Tell me about them," he finally whispers against her neck, his warm breath soothing her.
"I don't want to," Lisbon mumbles with a hint of defiance in her tone, burying her head in the pillow.
Jane smiles, he can't help it.
She always tells him how stubborn he is, but in truth, he's malleable to her words, far more so than she is to his.
"Why not?"
Lisbon lets out a sigh and twists in his arms, lying on her back and staring at him.
He's lying on his side, propped on an elbow, the comforter falls to his waist and he has the most concentrated look in his eye.
She gets sidetracked without trying and ponders once again how this even happened.
How he went from being the annoying, slightly damaged consultant that threatened her team's credibility to the man who shared her bed, cooked her dinner, and watched reruns of Seinfeld with her.
Her hand instinctively reaches out to caress his cheek and he responds to her touch like a kitten, rubbing his stubble against her palm, smiling softly at her as he leans down to brush his lips over her forehead.
"I'll make you a deal,"
Jane decides, sliding down until he's eye level to her, "If you tell me, I'll tell you everything that you can't find in my case file."
Her eyes grow wide; she's surprised, taken aback by his suggestion.
"Patrick, you don't have-…"
"I know I don't have to." He presses his fingers to her lips, "but I want to. I've been wanting to for a while. You've told me a lot about your family, your past and I haven't been as divulging. I want you to know."
There's conviction in his voice, sincerity, and Lisbon knows it takes a lot out of him.
Jane isn't just a private person; he's also not quite over what happened. She knows little about his upbringing, but is convinced that he believes his rearing shaped him to be prone to arrogance and made him thirst for fame, which ultimately rendered terrible consequences and she knows that still hangs over his chest until this very day.
So for him to let her in, to finally be ready to tell her everything, it means something, maybe it means absolutely everything and she threads her fingers through his curls, pushes his body on top of hers, and fuses their mouths together in a slow, languid kiss.
"You think you can distract me, woman?" Jane nuzzles her neck after he pulls away, biting slightly on her earlobe, and earning a squeal from the brunette.
"Not at all," Lisbon says innocently, but her foot rubs his calf underneath the covers, contradicting the purity in her expression.
They look at each other for a moment, playful smiles and dazed looks, but when he reaches out to swipe the bangs from her face and feels the cold moisture on her forehead, Jane remembers why they woke up and frowns, his eyes somber as he traces a finger across her collarbone, hooking it into the strap of her camisole.
"I'm serious, Teresa."
"I know."
Her voice is quiet, subdued, there's a hint of insecurity in it that he's frankly not used to, has only heard it once before when she told him to leave after he hypnotized her.
It seems like so many moons ago that it happened and he almost forgot how damaging the whole ordeal was.
It sends an unpleasant feeling of guilt to his chest and he moves her until her head is resting on his shoulder.
Lisbon buries her nose in his chest, letting his scent and heat and everything about him calm her mind for a moment. She's not afraid of telling him everything, she knows there's always been trust between them, but right now all she wants is his presence besides her, wants his quite strength and confidence in her to reaffirm her belief that despite any ghosts that she battles alone in her dreams, she won't have to fight them by herself when she's awake.
"I want to tell you everything, just not tonight okay?" she looks up, her green eyes still as bright and shining even when she's pleading with him, "just hold me."
"Okay," He nods.
Their bodies find each other instinctively, limbs intertwining naturally, as if they're meant to lie like this, be connected in this intimate way.
Jane feels her breathing even out and thinks Lisbon has fallen asleep, so he runs his fingers through her hair, trails his hand up and down her spine, indulging in the softness of her skin and the gentle rise of her chest.
Ironically, though he has not been plagued by nightmares in quite some time, Jane knows he won't get much sleep tonight.
His heart may be at peace, but his mind is in turmoil.
He's used to being the closed off one, the one who carries an air of mystery around him, the one who needs the coaxing, not the one who pushes, but perhaps it's a good lesson for him.
Perhaps, it's good that she humbles him, building his patience, motivating him to open up to her first.
And just as he closes his eyes, almost okay with Lisbon's reluctance to talk, her sleepy voice breaks through the silence,
"Thank you," she whispers, "thank you for wanting to open up to me; I know it must be hard."
He realizes that although he may never again be a completely mystery to the woman in his arms, he's willing to sacrifice that if she promises not to shut him out.
So, he places a soft kiss on her cheek and somehow slowly the bounds of insomnia lessen just enough for him to fall asleep, holding Lisbon closely, subconsciously hoping to chase away both her demons and his...
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