A/N: I can't say this enough. The Mentalist fandom is the best. Hands down. I am so thankful that so many of you have come back to this world with me, despite the ridiculously long hiatus I had to take. And a big ol' hello to the readers who are finding this for the first time!
I am so grateful to those of you who took the time to review the last chapter. Your positivity and support means the world to me, and I to hope to find some time this weekend to respond personally to let you know how much I appreciate your kindness. And to all the guest reviewers who said the nicest things—you all made my day. Since I can't send you a personal message, I'll say it here. YOU ROCK!
Another thank you to those of you who expressed concern and well wishes regarding my health. I am truly touched. I am under the care of some very thorough specialists who have no qualms about running tests and helping me meet my insurance deductible. So, as of right now (and for the foreseeable future), things are nice and stable, which is exactly how we want them.
Oh, and this is going to run slightly longer than I had originally planned. I promise, I won't draw it out so that you lose interest. Hopefully. Okay, I'm done now. On with the story!
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
There was something so familiar about that noise, yet she was having trouble placing it. Where had she heard it before?
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
She laid there for a little while longer and tried hard to get her bearings. Her eyes remained closed, relying on her other senses to do the work to fill in the blanks in her mind. The steady beeping in the background, the smell of sterile, air-conditioned air, the slightly acidic taste in the back of her throat, something soft and unfamiliar resting against the back of her hand…
The sense of déjà vu was so strong that she was propelled to open her eyes. A blank, white ceiling greeted her. The lights were off, but gentle rays of morning sun filtered through the partially opened window blinds, masking the sterility of her surrounding in a soft glow. Throughout the course of her career, she'd been in her share of hospital rooms, from both sides of the bed. This one was as unremarkable as all of the others, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen it before.
She recognized most of the machines she was hooked up to. The cluster of machines on the cart in the corner looked a bit like a crash cart. She must be in the ICU. There was a door on the opposite wall which she assumed led to a bathroom. Despite everything she'd been through, she felt warm and fuzzy;, a deception brought on by what she assumed was the influence of some pretty heavy painkillers. If that wasn't it and this was another hallucination, she was most certainly about to die. Either way, she thought in relief, this is about to finally be over. An IV line was running from her right hand to a pole adorned with bags of varying fullness and color. Her left hand was resting against a bed of messy blond curls. He was sound asleep, his head resting on the makeshift pillow of his arms. A soft smile graced her features as she, without thinking, gently took one of the golden strands between her fingers. God, she had always wanted to do this.
Before she could fully take the time to appreciate his presence with her, a piece of artwork on the far wall of the room caught her eye. It was a photograph of brilliant red poppies situated on a bluff overlooking a sapphire blue lake. Where had she seen it before? She willed her possibly drug-addled mind to focus. Then it hit her. She had seen it before. In her last hallucination. But that didn't make any sense. There was no way she'd have the same hallucination twice. Unless—
This was real. Holy Mother of God, this was real! She was alive! She was in a real bed in a real hospital with a real Jane next to her. For a few, unadulterated moments, the jubilation that swept through her was more powerful than the drugs coursing through her veins.
Suddenly, her eyes widened in horror. If this was real, that meant her last "hallucination" was also real. That meant that she…
Oh. Oh, shit.
What had she done? She bit back a groan as those desperate words came back and echoed around her mind. Unfortunately, she didn't have the capability of pretending to forget like Jane did. He would see through her in a millisecond. Probably half a millisecond. How was she ever going to be able to look him in the eye again? Maybe she could get away with blaming the drugs. People always said stupid things when they were under the influence, right?
Stop it, the more rational part of her brain interjected. That is not the thing to focus on right now.
Especially since the subject of her internal panic attack was starting to wake up. Quickly, she removed her fingers from his hair, embarrassed at her moment of indulgence. She willed herself to calm down and tried to focus her gaze on the ceiling, but she couldn't. Regardless of the damage she had inadvertently done, regardless of what was going to happen between them now, she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.
He stood up and stretched, his arms going behind his head as an enormous yawn escaped his mouth. His shirt was decidedly wrinkled, making the palm trees that covered it look like they'd been ravaged by a heavy windstorm. His suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, making her wonder just exactly how long he'd been here with her.
His right hand took hers, and with his other, made a valiant attempt to smooth some of the creases out of his shirt. He still hadn't noticed she was awake, but he spoke to her nonetheless. "Morning, Lisbon. I'm headed down to the cafeteria for a bit. Feel free to wake up and save me from that horrid sludge they have the nerve to call tea." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she mustered as much strength as she could to make an attempt to squeeze back.
He made it three steps away from her when she saw him stop and look down at his right hand. Slowly, he turned towards her, his eyes wide and hopeful as they sought out and met hers. A luminescent smile spread across his face before he seemed to catch himself, toning it down to a happy, but hesitant, grin. He cautiously made his way back to her side, wary eyes searching hers, no doubt recalling the last time they had been in this situation.
She was torn between smiling back and praying the bed would swallow her whole. Given the likelihood of the latter scenario, she offered up a small, but genuine smile. He must have judged her to be somewhat lucid and the relief on his face caused a small pang to pierce through her heart. She had really, really messed up.
Still, his hand found hers again as he reclaimed the seat next to her. "Lisbon? Can you hear me okay?" At her slight nod, he continued, "You're in the ICU at Seton Medical. We found you five days ago in the basement of an abandoned house in a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of the city."
She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry that she immediately began coughing. Jane helped her into a sitting position and then went to the small sink in the bathroom, returning with a paper cup of water. She reached out to take it, but her hands were trembling so badly that the water sloshed over the rim of the cup. Jane took the cup back from her and held it to her lips. Her eyes lowered in mortification, but her biological need for water quickly outweighed her self-consciousness and she drank deeply, grimacing slightly. Jane chuckled lightly at her expression. "It's not Evian, I know, but it's the best I can do for the moment."
After she'd finished, he set the cup on the table beside her and waited patiently while she worked to regain her voice. Despite the water, her throat still felt scratchy and dry. She knew the IV had been keeping her hydrated, but she couldn't quite convince her body that it wasn't dying anymore. Hopefully, that feeling would abate soon.
When she felt confident she could speak without sounding like the dragon lady, she asked Jane about Officer Belding. He told her that Heather had been released the day after she had been found. She said a small prayer of thanks that they had both made it out of this mess alive.
Suddenly, Jane stood up. Off of her confused look, he explained, "Before we get too carried away in conversation, I really feel like I should let someone know you've woken up. While they're looking at you, I can call Abbott."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he had already gone. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he was running. Hell, maybe he was. And as much as she wanted to, she really couldn't blame him. Aside from light flirting and a handful of emotionally charged embraces, he'd never really given her any indication of wanting a more intimate relationship. At least, not with her.
But, she reasoned, maybe this was a good thing. If anything, she didn't have to hide anymore. The ball was in his court, so to speak. And if he never brought it up again, she would suck it up and do her best to go back to the way things used to be. It would be painful, but she refused to excise him from her life. She'd lived that for two years, and she'd been miserable the whole time. So, she would accept his presence in whatever role he chose to be to her.
She didn't have much more time to dwell on her thoughts because her room was quickly invaded by a flurry of activity. Thirty minutes and five thousand questions later, she was exhausted. On the bright side, her doctor informed her that he was going to transfer her out of the ICU. A couple of nurses had stayed behind to prepare her for the big move. She kept her eyes on the door, waiting for Jane to come back in so she could share the good news. After a couple of minutes, she asked one of the nurses if they'd seen him.
"That blond cutie? Yeah, after he told Bonnie that you were awake, he headed for the elevator." She seemed to sense Lisbon's agitation, because she was quick to add, "Don't worry, honey. I'm sure he'll be back soon. He's barely left this room all week. He probably just didn't want to be in the way, that's all." The other nurse nodded in agreement, smiling reassuringly. Lisbon did her best to return it, but she could tell it fell flat.
"C'mon, honey," Nurse Bonnie said as she tucked the last of the wires into the sides of the bed. "Time to go. You'll feel better once we get you into a room with a view."
Jane clicked off his phone as he emerged from the hospital. The sun was shining and he took in a deep lungful of the crisp morning air. He took a short walk around the hospital campus, eventually finding himself at a bench situated in a grassy area across from the parking lot.
Abbott had assured him that he would notify the other members of the team about Lisbon's improvement. Jane was confident that they would all make an appearance at the hospital within the hour. He had until then to get himself together.
It had been harder than he'd expected to not give in to his baser instincts in that hospital room. Every time she'd looked at him, he could see the fear and confusion in her eyes. She'd been looking to him for a clue as to how to move forward, but he hadn't been able to give it to her. He'd used every biofeedback trick he could think of to not grab her in a crushing hug, kiss her senseless and beg her not to ever put him in this position again.
And if that didn't work, drag her caveman-style to his Airstream where he could chain her to his bed and growl at anyone who came too close.
She wasn't ready for that side of him yet. And honestly, neither was he. So much had happened to the both of them in the last week. On the outside, they were the same old Jane and Lisbon, crime fighters extraordinaire. On the inside, everything had changed. Well, he mused wryly, nothing had really changed.
His feelings for her hadn't changed. Not one bit. They'd just switched locations, migrating from the innermost parts of his heart to plant roots in every corner of his being. He felt freer than he had in years, in love with a woman who absolutely loved him back. There were no serial killers, vast law enforcement conspiracies or lengthy prison sentences standing in their way.
Yet, here he was, sitting outside alone on a bench.
If this were a movie, he'd glide into her room with perfectly coiffed hair, a dozen roses and a beautiful speech and sweep her off of her feet. Her perfectly made up face would show no signs of a nearly week long coma and she would melt into his embrace as they kissed passionately while the credits rolled. He snorted aloud at the thought. None of those princes had ever been indentured servants clad in wrinkled dress shirts and five day stubble.
As enticing as the potential romance was, they still had a little bit to go before they got there. She needed to get well, they needed to put this case behind them and the absolutely needed to have an honest conversation before they went anywhere.
With Angela, it had been easy. They had both been young and easily infatuated, relying more on chemistry and adaptability than anything. By the time Charlotte had come along, they'd been able to afford the life they'd always dreamed of. It was amazing the kinds of problems money could fix. He'd never really had to work hard for her because there had never been the danger of failing.
Lisbon was another story. There was so much room for misinterpretation and fear. He'd known Teresa nearly as long as he'd known Angela and for all the joy he'd experienced with Angela, he'd gone through three times the sorrow with Teresa. He owed it to her to put as much of that to rest as he could. She might love him, but deep down, she had to have reservations about starting a relationship with him. Hell, he had reservations about her starting a relationship with him.
A beep from his phone startled him from his thoughts. He had a message from Fischer. Jane, did you get abducted by aliens? Where the hell are you?
Surprised, he looked at his watch, then promptly cringed. Damn. It had been nearly an hour and a half since he'd called Abbott. He was definitely in trouble. Hurriedly, he made his way back to the hospital, bypassing the elevator for the stairs. By the time he'd made it to Lisbon's room, he was winded and slightly dizzy. Boy, was he out of shape. He crossed the threshold of her room, an apology already forming on his lips.
Only she wasn't there to hear it. No one was. He looked around in confusion at the neatly made bed, devoid of an occupant. They must have deemed her well enough to move her out of the ICU and transferred her to a new room while he'd been outside. Double damn. Now he had absolutely no idea where she was and he was not going to text Fischer and ask her what room he needed to be in. There had to be a nurse around here somewhere.
He exited the room and headed to the nurse's station near the entrance to the ICU. The woman behind the counter smiled and shook her head at his approach. "You missed the party, cutie. We moved her a while ago. Fourth floor. Room 417."
Shooting her his most charming smile, he headed for the elevator. "Thank you…Bonnie, right?" She nodded in response.
"Mr. Jane?" He turned back to her as she walked over and stood next to him. "Look, I know it's not my business, but I'm going to butt in anyway. I've been watching you all week. I never bought that story about you being her guard." He opened his mouth to argue, but she was quick to cut him off. "Not to say that she wasn't in danger, but it's not been my experience to see security detail so involved with their charge. I've seen a lot of patients come and go in my time here, Mr. Jane. If half of them had someone as dedicated to them as you were to Ms. Lisbon, I'd bet my career to say we'd have a lot more of them leave here on the right side of life. You spent a lot of time urgin' her to pull through. Don't give her a reason to regret listenin' to ya."
He nodded in acquiescence and impulsively, leaned in and gave the woman a quick hug. "Thank you, Bonnie." The elevator dinged and he stepped in, selecting Lisbon's floor. As the doors slid closed, he heard her murmur.
"Anytime, cutie. Anytime."
He reached the fourth floor, finding room 417 with little trouble. His eyes immediately went to Lisbon, who wouldn't look at him. Everyone else, however, was looking at him like he'd rolled in a big pile of cow manure before he walked in.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "I lost track of time."
In tandem, they all turned back to Lisbon, with Fischer rolling her eyes in disbelief.
"Is there anything else you can remember, Lisbon?" Abbott asked, placing his hands on the bed's foot board.
She shook her head gently, eyes still downcast. "No, nothing significant. I can get with a sketch artist if you want, but Ray pretty much looks the same. He has some disfiguration on the left side of his face, but it's mainly just a bunch of scars. They don't distort his identity. His hair is a silvery-white, though I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to change the color if he thought we were looking for him. You most likely have a bit of an advantage because he doesn't have any reason not to think I'm dead. I don't have the faintest idea what he's calling himself now."
"Okay, Lisbon. That's helpful. We'll get out of your hair so you can get some rest. Good to have you back, Agent." Off Lisbon's nod, he signaled to the rest of the team to head out. Before they could get too far, a man with an enormous bouquet of flowers appeared in the doorway.
"Is this Teresa Lisbon's room?" he asked, struggling to see their faces behind the extravagant blooms.
"Yes!" Fischer exclaimed, rushing forward to take the flowers before they crashed to the floor.
It was almost painful for Jane to watch Lisbon's face flash from hopeful, to disappointed, to confused as she realized they weren't from him. Cho picked up on the exchange and strode over to the counter, turning the vase as Fischer signed for the delivery.
"Here's the card. It's a typed message. 'Best Wishes on a Speedy Recovery'. No signature." He flipped the card over, eyes narrowing. "There's a note on the back. Handwritten. 'I don't like competition. Have Patrick give me a call. He has my number.' Signed 'K'." Cho immediately went over to the delivery man, nearly ripping the clipboard from his hands. "Who paid for these?"
"I-I don't know," the driver stammered. "I just drop 'em off. They don't really tell me anything else."
"Where do you work?" Cho demanded, pulling out his cell phone.
"Blackbird Floral, over in the Warehouse District."
"Of course," Fischer muttered.
"Got it," Wylie announced, his fingers flying over the surface of his tablet. Frowning, he shook his head. "Flowers were paid for with cash. No security system in the building, so no surveillance video."
"Hey," the driver interrupted. "How did you know how they were paid for? And why do you need to know about our security? Who are you people?"
"We're the FBI," Abbott answered matter-of-factly.
"The Feds? Oh, geez. I swear I don't know anything about anything. You're not gonna take me downtown and brainwash me or anything like that, are you?"
"Maybe," replied Cho. "But not today. We're done here."
The driver nodded vigorously, scooped up his clipboard and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to exit the room.
"Well," Abbott asked, turning to Jane. "What do you suppose that means? Do you really believe she's involved in this?"
"Maybe not in this," Jane replied, gesturing towards Lisbon, "but there's only one way to find out." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pressed a few numbers, and waited. His eyes returned to the woman resting on the bed. She still wouldn't meet his gaze, her attention focused outside on some distant object.
After three rings, he heard her voice on the line. "Hey there, handsome. We never did get that second date."
"Sorry. Something came up that needed my immediate and complete attention."
"Yes, I heard. How is Agent Lisbon?"
"Recovering. She says thank you for the flowers." At that, Lisbon finally did turn to look at him, gracing him with a scowl the likes of which he hadn't seen since he was on the other side of her desk at the CBI.
Krystal's soft laughter echoed in his ear. "Of course. You're lucky I'm not the jealous type, Patrick."
"Yes," he replied, his gaze locking with Lisbon's. "I'm a very lucky man, indeed."
"You could get luckier if you play your cards right. Meet me at San Pedro's tonight at seven. And Patrick?"
"Yes?"
"I don't mean to sound cliché, but I think it should be fairly obvious that the table's only going to be set for two. Don't worry, you'll be perfectly safe. I won't bite—unless you ask nicely."
He disconnected the call with a mirthless chuckle, then shrugged at the five expectant faces. "I guess I'm going on a date."
Lisbon shifted on the bed, wincing slightly as she grabbed the cup of water from the bedside table and took a drink. "This time," she said, expression unreadable, "maybe you should stick with the grey shirt."
Next up: a (short!) date, an arrest and a LONG overdue conversation. I hope you'll stick with me! Oh, and don't be too mad at Jane. He's messing up a little bit, but I have a feeling that soon he's going to get his act together and make things right.