A/N: This is a long author's note. If that's not your cup of tea, please feel free to skip to the story. Just want to give you fair warning.
A couple people reached out concerned because I hadn't posted last week. Thanks for checking in. The truth is that I've been feeling pretty emotional the past couple weeks about the news of George Floyd's death and the knowledge that what happened to him is only the latest, most visible example of what has been happening in my country for many, many years. And Rayshard Jones. And Breonna Taylor. And Ahmaud Arbery. And so many others. As a white person who has lived her whole life in a position of privilege, I know I can never truly understand what my black brothers and sisters have experienced their whole lives. I have been struggling trying to figure out how to be a good ally and I feel more confused than ever. It's easy to get emotionally overwhelmed and I have definitely felt the pull to retreat into the comforting land of fic just to get through the day. But I recognize that retreating is another privilege that not everyone has, and truthfully, it feels like a white comfort thing to do. Despite the fact that I finished this story a couple of months ago, it also feels strange at the moment to be sharing stories about heroic law enforcement officers. I don't believe all law enforcement officers are racist and I value those members of law enforcement who signed up to protect and serve. At the same time, even in the inconsequential land of fic, it feels wrong to venerate a system of justice that actively perpetuates violence against people of color and has been doing so since...forever. All this to say despite my love of the characters from this show, I have been questioning my own writing and what is appropriate to post publicly. For example, I have a scene about guns in this chapter that I don't think I would have written if I were writing this chapter today, despite the fact that in real life, I hate guns and would never want to live with one in the house.
I don't have the answers. I'm still struggling. For myself, for right now, here's where I've landed: first, mental health. Do what you need to do take care of yourself. Retreating a little from reality is ok if that's what you need to do, because how can we be effective anti-racists and social justice warriors if we're babbling to ourselves in the corner? But if your mental health isn't at risk, don't get too comfortable in that place of retreat. Make yourself uncomfortable. Listen. Examine your own role in perpetuating systemic racism. And find ways to fight against it.
Like I said, I don't have the answers. This is just the best I've come up with for myself to navigate a path forward after my own babbling to myself in a corner. Everyone has to figure out their own path for themselves. And for the love of God, if you do have the answers, please share with the class!
To any persons of color who may be reading - however clumsy and inept I may be, I stand with you. You matter to me.
xxxx
Lisbon went to work feeling much more optimistic the next morning. The situation with Lorelei was a setback, but she was confident that Jane would come up with some insane plan that he'd figure out how to rope the team into executing for him from afar. Who knew? Maybe Lorelei would get tired of being a punching bag and would give up Red John of her own volition. Lisbon wasn't gonna hold her breath on that point, but still. It was possible.
Jane, too, seemed much more cheerful that morning. He bustled around the kitchen, preparing an elaborate breakfast, and then packing each of them an equally elaborate lunch. In between, he couldn't stop touching her. A hand on her shoulder or at the small of her back as he reached past her to get something, a quick peck on the cheek or kiss to her temple as he brushed past her. He crowded her at the table, sitting so close she kept jostling him with her elbow as she ate. He rewarded each elbow to the ribs with a kiss to her hair or to her neck, and when he finished eating his own breakfast, he took possession of her hand and refused to give it up. Lisbon let him keep it and ate the rest of her breakfast left-handed.
When it was time to leave for work, Jane trapped her at the front door and kissed her thoroughly before reluctantly permitting her to leave.
Yes, things were definitely looking up.
Lisbon dreamily typed up an obituary for Mr. Nguesi, who'd died peacefully at the hospital at the age of ninety-eight, surrounded by friends and family. She didn't even lose her temper when Givens sent her out on another drudge assignment right before lunch. Instead, she decided to enjoy the opportunity to get out of the office on a beautiful day despite the tedious nature of the assignment.
She came back mid-afternoon, grabbed a cup of coffee, and headed back to her desk to type up her notes.
Heather stopped by her desk. "Here's the latest from the wires," she announced, setting down a printout on Lisbon's desk. She leaned on the corner of the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "So—the other day," Heather said expectantly. "How much of that was actually true?"
"I'll let you know when I figure it out," Lisbon muttered. She picked up the wire report and started to scan it absently. A political scandal in Washington. So what else was new?
"Seriously, that proposal—that sounded pretty real."
"It wasn't," Lisbon said, still scanning the wires. "I told you, we weren't even dating before we came out here."
Heather waved her hand dismissively. "I meant the words. That part sounded real."
I want you to be sure of me. The words came to Lisbon unbidden. She bit her lip, thinking again of all Jane had said and done for her since this whole nightmare had begun. Since she'd met him, really. "Oh, well—we've known each other a long time." Flustered, she attempted to redirect her attention back to the wire report.
"Uh-huh," Heather said, unimpressed. "And what was with that whole 'proposing after six weeks,' then?"
"No idea," Lisbon said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible and doing everything she could to focus on the wires. June eighth, 2007. No, the wires…an environmental conference in South Africa. A record breaking merger between two tech companies in Japan. A murder in California—
"All right, I won't ask about the daydreaming about children with dark hair and green eyes bit, then," Heather said, smirking. "That part pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it?"
A murder in California. The blood drained from Lisbon's face. "Oh, God."
"Teresa?" Heather said, straightening in alarm. "What's wrong?"
Lisbon snapped back to attention. "I have to go," she said abruptly. She stood up, folded up the printout, and stuck it in her pocket. Then she grabbed her things and headed straight for the front door.
Heather followed. "What's the matter?" she repeated, struggling to keep up with her as Lisbon walked briskly to the door.
"I need to talk to Patrick," Lisbon answered grimly. "If Givens asks where I've gone, can you tell him I had a family emergency?"
"Sure, but—" Heather stopped, trying to catch her breath. But Lisbon was already gone.
Xxx
When Lisbon got to Jane's school, it was the tail end of the afternoon rush for parents to pick up the kids from school.
She found Jane before she got to the classroom—he had been supervising the afternoon pick up with a couple of the other teachers. She saw him pull a coin from a boy's ear as he buckled him into the back seat. Her heart clenched at the sight. A confusing onslaught of feeling assaulted her—affection and admiration for how wonderful Jane was with children of all ages mingled with a sudden longing to see him buckle a child with Jane's hair and her nose into a car seat, all mixed up with the anxiety and dread she felt over what she had to tell him.
Jane got the last child safely packed off with his mother and stood talking to a few of the other teachers as she approached.
He looked so happy, Lisbon thought with a pang. Smiling, his hands in his pockets as he told some story that had the other teachers in stitches. She slowed, reluctant to ruin his cheerful mood with the news she'd brought.
Jane spotted her then, and there was no more putting it off. "Teresa," he said, his face lighting up at the sight of her. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
He didn't give her a chance to respond, but pulled her into a bear hug and gave her a sweet, heartfelt kiss in greeting.
Lisbon didn't pull back the way she usually would have done in front of an audience, but melted into him, prolonging the kiss a few seconds longer.
The other teachers—all female—looked on with expressions torn between 'aw' and envy.
When they broke apart, Jane frowned at her. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" blurted out the youngest of the teachers, a young woman around Van Pelt's age. "How could anything be wrong after a hello like that?"
"Hear, hear," muttered one of the older teachers.
"Teresa doesn't usually tolerate public displays of affection," Jane told them, his arm still around Lisbon. Lisbon's mind involuntarily strayed to the time she'd practically molested him in the botanical gardens of Albuquerque. She supposed 'usually' was the operative word.
"The fact that she let me get away with a greeting like that must mean she's preparing me for bad news," Jane continued.
"If my husband kissed me like that, I'd never give him bad news again," said the third teacher sourly.
"She's also a workaholic, so her presence here in the middle of a workday should have alerted me to some sort of ominous occurrence or another," Jane informed them. He looked at Lisbon affectionately. "I was just so pleased to see her that I didn't immediately recognize the signs."
The youngest teacher sighed at the romantic scene before her. Lisbon restrained the urge to roll her eyes.
Still tucked into Jane's side, she fiddled with a button on his shirt. "Can I speak to you privately for a moment?" she muttered to Jane.
"Bad news it is," Jane sighed. "Will you excuse us for a minute, ladies?"
They chorused their assurances and Jane and Lisbon went to his classroom, hand in hand.
"What is it?" Jane said the minute the classroom door closed behind them. "Did something happen with Lorelei?"
"No," Lisbon said soberly. "Red John. He killed someone last night."
Jane tensed. "Who?"
Lisbon shrugged helplessly. "A woman named Trisha Lindsay. That's all I know. Do you know her?"
"No." Jane exhaled. "Does she have dark hair?"
Lisbon let go of his hand and frowned at him. "I have no idea. What does that matter?"
"She has your initials," Jane said grimly. "Let's just say it wouldn't surprise me if she turned out to have dark hair and green eyes. His way of telling me he's not pleased I haven't taken the bait he's laid out for me by having Lorelei send me those notes." He took a deep breath. "I think we need to prepare ourselves for the likelihood that he'll continue to escalate if he doesn't get the reaction he's looking for after this latest killing."
"Oh, my God," Lisbon said, sick with dismay as she processed the implications of this. She seized his arm. "Patrick, you have to go back."
Jane recoiled. "What?"
"You said it yourself," Lisbon said. "He's escalating. He's going to keep killing people until you give him what he wants. You have to go back to California to neutralize the threat."
Jane frowned. "I'm not letting him separate us."
"If it's the only way to stop him from killing more people, we have to take the chance."
Jane shook his head. "It's a trap. He's trying to split us up. If I go back to California, I'd be playing right into his hands."
"It would only be until after the trial," Lisbon argued. "Then I'll be back in California, too, and we can find a way to stop him together."
"Isn't giving him what he wants the serial killer equivalent of negotiating with terrorists?" Jane said. "Me being in California never stopped him from killing before. He might slow down a bit, but he's never going to stop killing of his own volition."
"It would buy us time," Lisbon said. "Save who knows how many lives while we work on a plan to put an end to this for good."
"Unless he's trying to draw me back to California just to isolate you here so it's easier for him to come after you," Jane said stubbornly.
"Even if he is, I'm only one person," Lisbon insisted. "We have to think about all the innocent lives at stake here."
"Don't be absurd," Jane said sharply. "Of course you aren't only one person. Don't you understand that? If he takes you, there are only two possible outcomes. If he kills you, I'd be out of the picture. I'd be destroyed and he knows it. Without the two of us to stop him, he'd have free rein to kill as many people as he'd like."
Lisbon opened her mouth to protest, but Jane cut her off.
"That's not even the worst case scenario," he continued grimly. "He's already indicated he wants me to be one of his disciples. If he takes you, it's far more likely that he'd hold you as leverage. He could ask me to do clean up his dirty work, to kill for him. Anything. If he gets his hands on you, I'll be completely at his mercy."
Lisbon stared at him with dawning horror. "Patrick, if that ever happens—you know I would never want you to hurt an innocent person just to save my own life, don't you?"
Jane nodded. "I do know that."
Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I want you to promise me you'll never let someone else be hurt by him out of some misguided effort to protect me."
"No," Jane said simply. "I can't promise you that, Teresa. I'd do anything in my power to protect you. Anything." He looked at her unhappily. "So you see, you're not only one person, Teresa."
Lisbon swallowed hard, a sick feeling forming in her stomach at the thought of Jane's considerable intellect and unique skillset at Red John's disposal. "So what are we going to do?" she asked helplessly.
Jane sighed. "I need to think about this a bit more. And we should call Montrose and Soren. Talk through a strategy to keep your family and the team safe."
Lisbon glanced at him in surprise. "You trust them enough for this?"
Jane nodded. "Like it or not, our hands are tied while we're still in Salt Lake. We need their help to keep the others safe."
Lisbon nodded, so surprised by the idea of Jane being willing to cede even the smallest fraction of control to anyone else when it came to Red John that she couldn't immediately come up with any other response.
Jane pulled her into another hug, burying his face in her hair.
She closed her eyes and leaned against him, drawing inexpressible comfort from the sensation of his arms around her. "God," she murmured into his chest. "Is this ever going to end?"
"We're going to stop him," Jane said, kissing her hair. He rubbed her back comfortingly. "I have plans for you, you know. I'm not going to give Red John the opportunity to interfere with those plans if I can help it."
"Deal," Lisbon said, tightening her hold on him.
He kissed the top of her head again. "Come on. Let's go home."
Xxx
Soren and Montrose met them at the house.
After updating them on the latest Red John murder and its implications, the four of them spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening hashing out a strategy to increase the protection around Lisbon's family and the team. Jane contributed several outlandish but admittedly clever ideas to ensure none of Red John's followers would be able to penetrate their defenses, but he was distracted throughout, half his attention elsewhere. Lisbon was grateful for his support and greatly reassured that the people she cared about would stay safe thanks in large part to Jane's gift for strategizing. She knew that big brain of his was busy processing several angles at once, so she focused on coordinating the logistics with Montrose and Soren and let him stew over the matter in peace.
Jane grew more and more restless as the hours passed. When Montrose and Soren left, he turned to Lisbon. "I need to clear my head so I can think through this a bit more. I'm going to take a walk. Do you want to join me?"
Pleased that he'd asked, Lisbon nonetheless shook her head. "I need to call Cho on the burner. I want to get his take on the murder, see if the team learned anything that could be useful when they processed the scene."
Jane nodded. "Okay. Let me know what he says." He kissed her. "I won't be later than ten. Lock the doors behind me, okay?"
"Will do," Lisbon said, amazed but relieved that he'd provided a specific time he expected to return. She kissed him back. "See you soon."
Lisbon spoke to Cho for an hour, discussing the particulars of the Trisha Lindsay case and passing along Jane's theories as well as her own. After getting off the phone, she spent another hour and a half reviewing the notes and photos from the case file Van Pelt had sent through the secure account at Cho's request.
She was busy writing notes to herself on the case when Jane returned a few minutes before ten.
"Hey," she greeted him absently, her nose still in her notebook. "Got an update from Cho. Van Pelt sent the case file, too, if you want to take a look. They're going to look for women that match my general physical description and put as many of them as they can find under protective surveillance."
"Sounds good," Jane responded, setting down a non-descript blue backpack down on the dining table next to her with a thunk. "Tell them to focus on professional women near the top of their fields. Especially social workers, lawyers, and anyone else who works in a field related to the criminal justice system."
"Okay," Lisbon said, making a note to herself. She glanced at the backpack curiously. "What's this?" He hadn't been carrying it when he left.
Jane unzipped the backpack and took out five guns, laying them out on the table in a neat line. "I decided it was time we finally replenished your arsenal." He pointed to the first three, a Sig Sauer P938, a Smith & Wesson M&P 9 Shield, and a Ruger LCP. "These three are registered to Teresa Meyers."
Lisbon lifted the Smith & Wesson admiringly. "I've always wanted one of these." She set it down and nodded to the other two, a Kel-Tec PMR-30 and a Glock 19. "What about the others?"
"This one's for me," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he indicated the Kel-Tec. He never had liked guns. He pointed at the Glock. "This one's yours."
She checked the barrels. "The serial numbers have been filed off," she observed.
"Unregistered and untraceable," he said. "Just in case."
Lisbon sighed, the law enforcement officer in her displeased at the notion of unregistered weapons in anyone's possession, let alone her and Jane's. She made no protest, however, resigned to the practical necessity of the situation. "I don't even want to know how you got hold of these on such short notice."
He shrugged. "It always pays to keep your ear to the ground." He gestured at the collection of guns on the table. "Where do you want to keep these?"
They discussed several options and settled on a few key locations after Lisbon, horrified by Jane's ignorance on the subject of gun safety, flatly overruled his last idea. She insisted she'd take him to the range the next day to make sure he knew how to operate the one he'd selected for himself without accidentally blowing his own foot off. He'd arranged a conceal carry permit for her, and they agreed she would keep that one on her person at all times.
"I'll put the others away," Lisbon said, reaching for the arsenal as she started to rise from the table.
"Just a minute," Jane said, laying two gentle fingers on her wrist to stop her. "There's something else I want to discuss with you."
Lisbon sat back down. "Is it about Lorelei?" she said, her voice low. "Cho said she turned up with a new injury today. A smiley face cut into her leg. He said the doctors told him whoever did it packed the cut with ash." She swallowed. "To make sure the cut will scar, no matter what the doctors do to treat it. Lorelei told Cho she expects to receive a new one for every day you refuse to come see her."
"I don't want to talk about Lorelei," Jane said firmly.
Lisbon studied him intently. "What do you want to talk about, then?"
He took a deep breath. "I'm not going back to California."
She looked at him oddly. "You said that before. But Patrick—are you sure? He's obviously not going to stop until you come out of hiding."
"I'm sure," Jane said. "I'm not going." He took her hand and fixed his gaze on her. "You're more important."
Lisbon swallowed. "Patrick—I appreciate what you're saying. But if you could stop him—"
Jane cut her off. "No." He squeezed her hand and repeated, "You're more important. Do you understand?"
"I—" She stared at him, the words failing to compute. "Patrick, that's—that's—"
He smiled ruefully. "Music to your ears?"
Impossible to believe, she thought to herself, but quashed the thought down. Jane had come here with her, after all. He'd effectively abandoned his revenge the moment he'd insisted on following her into WITSEC. In fact, she realized, he'd put her first in every way imaginable since the moment they'd left Sacramento. She thought about the rifle Jane had picked up to shoot Tanner. Of all the times he'd gone out of his way to help her, to cheer her up, during all the years she'd known him. To be there for her in every way he knew how. Since the very beginning.
She leaned forward and kissed him. She tried to put everything she felt into that kiss, because she didn't have the words to express what his words meant to her.
He kissed her back fervently, burying his hands in her hair and angling his head to deepen the kiss.
She pressed closer.