AN: Ten? Really? Already?
If this story had a soundtrack, it would be Dark Paradise by Lana Del Ray. Don't even ask me why, but I've listened to it on repeat the entire time I wrote the last two chapters.
Dedicated to the Tumblr fandom. You people are amazing and wonderful and encouraging.
Rebuilding the Sun
Chapter Ten
It turned out to be more difficult than she expected to track down Will and Olivia Ruskin. For one, they hadn't had a permanent address in…well, ever far as she could tell.
Jane was trying to make contact with people he had gone out of his way to avoid for fifteen years or so, and he had found that many bridges had been burned, their ashes still smoking.
Those he did manage to get a hold of were sympathetic about Angela and Charlotte, offering condolences a decade late. They felt bad for him, but in their minds, he was now an outsider, a mark, and it went against their code of ethics to give the Ruskins up.
After every dead end, she would watch Jane closely, waiting for a sign that the inevitable breakdown was looming. There was only so much that one person could take, and Jane was no exception.
He had dealt with almost nothing but guilt and loss for a decade, and then, when the opportunity emerged for him to step back into the light, he had found himself cruelly unable to do so. Before he could recoup from that obstacle, his dying father showed up, they found themselves dealing with one or more copycat killers, there was a potential threat towards her, and he learned his brother-in-law probably had some connection to Red John.
She was more than willing to pick up the pieces, if he was ever willing to let himself shatter. But he would hold on, she knew, until he couldn't hide the cracks any longer.
Despairingly, she wondered if he would be able to keep it in forever. Knowing Jane, it was quite possible.
In the back of her mind, she was incredibly concerned about his reaction when his father died. Quietly, she had contacted the hospital, using her badge to smooth the way. Alex Jane was indeed dying, she learned, of late-stage pancreatic cancer.
However, it wasn't her place to tell Jane of her findings. He knew the truth, even if he wanted to deny it. Any words from her would just make him combative and even more stubborn than he already was. She could only pray that he would come around before it was too late.
Although she wasn't entirely certain about the reason for their rift, she imagined it had something to do with Jane's decision to marry Angela and leave their community of travelling entertainers. Perhaps there was something more, too, something involving Jane's childhood.
But that was all speculation. Jane never talked about his past to that extent. In fact, she was still surprised that the last time they had dealt with Danny, he'd brought her along, introduced her to people. It was almost as if he was scared to show her what his life used to be. And, of course, he was always painfully reluctant to mention his wife.
They were sitting in her living room three evening after Jane had come to the conclusion that he needed to find Angela's parents. She was grateful he was there – the past two nights he had stayed at the office, focused now on the connection he thought was between Danny and Red John.
Although she never liked it very much when she knew he would be wandering the halls of the CBI at all hours of the night, she could admit to herself she especially disliked it this time because she had been somewhat hopeful that Jane would find his way into her bed again.
That was also something they needed to talk about, but it would have to wait. For now, she supposed she could just go with the explanation that they both needed some comfort, and there was no harm or lasting effects from a few nights of shared body heat.
Her heart knew that her mind was lying, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Regardless, when he'd knocked on her door earlier, bag in hand, she'd had to rein in her smile.
Jane had also come armed with more Red John files.
The pile of not-deceased names was looking ominously small. She could see her own folder on top, looking well-thumbed through, and she sincerely hoped it was because Jane had gone through it several times.
On a whim, she searched through the stacks of folders until she found Jane's. The man himself followed her movements.
She met his eyes. "Have you ever looked at this?" she asked, waving the file for emphasis.
He shook his head. "No." His voice was quiet. There was a reason behind his reluctance, she knew, and she thought she could make a guess. He had no desire to be reminded of the choices he'd made that brought his wife and daughter into Red John's focus.
"Do you mind if I do?"
There was a moment where he looked unsure. Then he waved a hand dismissively. "Do whatever you want."
Jane's file looked similar to those she had already seen. Brief background, general information. The notes started getting detailed when Jane started working with the Sac PD as a consultant on the Red John case.
Judging by what she read, the serial killer hadn't taken his abilities seriously right from the start, and had instead, been rather amused by the famous psychic. It was as if he had started compiling research on Jane simply because it had entertained him.
She glanced at the first sheet she'd seen, the one containing Jane's basic personal information. This time around, she noticed that his wife's name was circled. She peered closer. Actually, just her maiden name.
"Jane," she said slowly, and she felt his eyes immediately land on her. "I think you should probably see this."
She handed him the paper, pointing out (probably unnecessarily) what she had noticed.
His brows furrowed as he took the sheet from her. "Anything else strange in there?" he asked finally.
Shrugging, she considered her words. "He didn't seem to be very interested in you in the beginning," she ventured. "He thought you were funny and a little ridiculous. Definitely not a threat, and definitely not someone that he would start playing games with."
The confusion on Jane's face was evident.
"I know what you're thinking," she told him. "Why did he make the effort to show you that he didn't like to be insulted if you didn't matter to him?"
There was another theory blossoming in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. She wasn't going down that road until she had some proof.
Her phone rang, causing them both to jump.
It was Van Pelt, with some important news indeed. Lisbon listened raptly for a few minutes, asked if the other agent was sure, and then hung up, meeting Jane's vivid gaze.
She decided to blurt out what she had done. "I had a hunch," she told him, "so I asked Van Pelt to see if we couldn't get Isaac Westcott's dental records."
Instantly, Jane knew where the conversation was headed, but the expression on his face told her that he needed to hear the words out loud.
"The records were a perfect match for Red John's."
XxXxXxXxXxX
His face felt like it was made of stone, but his thoughts were racing at speeds he had never dealt with.
Isaac Westcott had been Red John. Isaac Westcott, husband of Annemarie, who had been killed in a hit and run accident in which Danny had been a suspect.
What if.
What if.
What if Angela and Charlotte had been revenge, not for his clumsy words, but for Danny's actions?
Angela's maiden name had been highlighted in his file. Red John had done so much research into her past, and into Danny's as well.
But it was impossible.
He was well and truly responsible for the death of his family. It had been one of the foundations of his world for the past ten years.
Only an idiot would reject that kind of absolution, but he felt himself clinging to what he had known.
It was only when Lisbon's arms came around him that he realized he was shaking uncontrollably. One of her hands tangled in his hair, and he pressed his face into her neck, listening to the steady beat of her heart, the rhythm of her breathing.
He knew his own grip on her was tight, too tight, but he was utterly unable to pull himself away. When all the rest of the world was crumbling, Lisbon was his anchor. She always had been, and even more so now.
The scent of cinnamon was comforting, settling.
"It's alright," she whispered, over and over. "It's alright."
He wondered if he was having a breakdown. Possibly, he conceded, although he had definitely had ones on a much larger scale in the past.
Of course, he had described that particular time in his life to Lisbon as a rough patch. If she knew how rough it had actually been, she would be horrified.
His mind was rambling, and he counted Lisbon's heartbeats to calm himself. He made it to three hundred and twenty two before he felt he could function at a somewhat normal level.
When he pulled back, he was surprised to find that both his face and Lisbon's shoulder were wet. He hadn't even noticed.
"Do you know what this means?" he asked, voice scratchy.
She nodded. "It means, if it's true, that it wasn't your fault," she said quietly.
His jaw twitched. "Not entirely," he replied, a thought occurring to him. "If I had never been stupid enough to consult for the police in the first place, Red John would have never looked into me at all. He would have never found Angela's name." Strange, but the idea that he could hold onto his guilt felt almost good.
She took both of his hands. "Patrick Jane," she said, firmly this time. "You're being ridiculous. You saw the amount of research on Danny. It was only a matter of time before he discovered the man had a sister."
"If it's even true," he muttered, echoing her words from earlier.
Deep in his heart, he had a feeling, though, that it was true.
He sucked in a deep breath. "That doesn't solve all of our problems," he stated, voice stronger now. "We have the copycat murders to deal with. And the threat towards you."
"True," she admitted, "but this is certainly going to be a helpful step in the right direction."
Uncurling his fingers from Lisbon's, he scrubbed his hands down his face in a gesture of pure exhaustion and frustration.
It was too much, too fast. He had no time to process it. All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere and close his eyes for the next eight hours or so. Maybe the world would make sense then.
Lisbon was still watching him concernedly, and he amended his earlier thought – all he wanted to do was curl up next to Lisbon and close his eyes. Let her warmth soak into him, sink into the softness of her arms.
"Can we go to bed?" he asked, trying to convey with his eyes that all he wanted was rest.
She got the message. "Sure."
In a reversal from the other two nights he had been there, he lay with his head on her chest, her arms around his shoulders, fingers trailing down his back. If he stopped to consider the implications, he would be terrified at how much he needed her in this moment.
Although he didn't think it was possible, he drifted off soon after they went upstairs, thoughts swirling chaotically into nothingness.
The next morning, he woke to his phone ringing.
He felt like he had a hangover, body moving sluggishly, temples throbbing. His mind vehemently protested the loss of Lisbon's warmth as he dug in his jacket pocket for the shrilly ringing device.
"Hello?" he said absently into the microphone. Beside him, Lisbon curled closer, still mostly asleep, and he brushed a hand up and down her back.
"Patrick?" came a voice he hadn't heard in ten years.
The sudden tension in his body alerted Lisbon to the fact that there was a situation, and she sat up, fingers raking through her hair.
"Will," he replied. His words sounded funny to his own ears. He couldn't remember the last conversation he'd had with Angela's father. It was probably at the funerals, he supposed. There were definitely some things he hoped he never remembered.
"I heard a rumor you were looking for us," the other man said. Will's tone was odd, like he wasn't sure what to say in this situation. Of course, if his father was to be believed, Will and Olivia were the ones that wanted to talk to him in the first place.
"I have been," he admitted. "I think there are some things we need to talk about."
"You're right," Will told him. "Is there a time we can meet? Olivia and I are in Sacramento, actually."
They had been looking for him, then. He wondered what the hell they wanted to discuss. And he wondered if they knew anything about the mess Danny was embroiled in. Again.
As they hashed out the particulars, Lisbon's phone rang. He watched her posture straighten as soon as she started talking, and he knew she hadn't been given good news.
He had one guess as to what it was.
By the time his father-in-law had disconnected the call, Lisbon was already in the bathroom getting dressed.
He waited for her impatiently, re-buttoning his shirt, trying to smooth the wrinkles from his slacks. He definitely needed to change before he met Will and Olivia.
Lisbon reappeared in the doorway. Her face told him everything he needed to know.
"Another copycat victim, huh?"
She sighed. "In Oakland, this time. I don't have a name yet."
Her face contorted a little as she shrugged into her blazer. She wasn't being careful enough with her still healing ribs, though he was fairly certain she was at least taking her pain medication on a regular basis.
"We can be there in forty minutes," he noted, but she shook her head.
"You have to meet your in-laws," she said. "I'll go with Van Pelt. She's still in the parking lot."
Jesus. For a moment, he had forgotten all about the threat to Lisbon. He needed to screw his head on straight, needed to stop letting his emotions run wild.
"I can do both," he argued, though he would be cutting it very close indeed.
"Jane," she said softly, but with a note of steel in her tone. "You need to do this. We can handle the crime scene."
To his everlasting shame, he suddenly realized he was terrified to be in the presence of Will and Olivia again. As far as they knew, he was responsible for getting their daughter and granddaughter killed. And now he needed to ask them if instead, their son was to blame for what had happened.
But he needed to know.
He met Lisbon's eyes. They all needed to know.
Impulsively, he cupped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her forward until their foreheads were touching.
"Promise me you'll be careful," he whispered, searching her gaze.
"I will," she replied. Then, "Call me if you need me, alright?" The words were said shyly.
He nodded, smiling a little. "See you soon." He pressed his lips to her cheek before he left.
The sunlight outside her apartment was almost blinding. He let the warm rays play over his face before unlocking his car.
He could only hope the sun wasn't abruptly overshadowed by the darkness of the day to come.