A/N: Nothing quite like an update more than two years later! Hope you enjoy!
Jane sleeps a little, but it's hard to stay slumbering when the hospital routines continue around them and while her mind is so twisted with anxiety about Patterson's condition. Patterson stays asleep and doesn't stir much as the nurses check vitals and administer new medications and fluids. Around two in the morning one of the nurses, Kim, touches Jane's shoulder gently. "We want to put her on some oxygen," she says. "Her saturations aren't great."
Jane shifts in the bed, coming further awake, and looks over at Patterson's monitor. She doesn't understand most of it, but she trusts the medical professionals. "Okay."
The nurse hooks a thin oxygen tube to a nozzle mounted on the wall, and runs it to a cannula that slips under Patterson's nostrils and hooks over her ears. Patterson frowns, reaching up for the cannula, her lips pursing as though she's going to try to talk her way out of the breathing assistance; Jane readjusts Patterson against her and softly begins humming You Are My Sunshine under her breath.
Patterson relaxes, never coming fully to consciousness, and Jane drops back into a doze. When she wakes she's unsure of how much time has passed, but next to her Patterson is gasping for breath.
"Hey," Jane says softly, and turns to look up at the monitor. Something she's pretty sure was green earlier is now red, and the numbers are blinking, an alarm dinging.
She pulls Patterson into an upright position, trying to open up Patterson's airway. "Patterson, can you open your eyes and look at me?"
Patterson's head lolls forward and the breathing gets choppier, raspier. Jane leans over and hits the call button.
"Patterson, open your eyes," Jane repeats, and she taps Patterson's face with the palm of her hand.
"Jane," Patterson wheezes, and she opens her eyes groggily. "I can't… breathe."
"I know," Jane says. She reaches down and brings Patterson's head up, gently, trying to further open the struggling woman's airway. "We're going to get you some help. It's going to be okay. Just keep your eyes open."
"I figured… it out," Patterson gasps.
"Shh, just keep breathing," Jane says. "We can talk later."
"The numbers… are… keys... " Patterson struggles against Jane, thrashing, her hands clinging to Jane's arms as though she's trying to pull herself upright.
"Stay with me," Jane says firmly, keeping her eyes on Patterson's face. It's going gray-pale, Patterson's lips now a strange purplish color. "Keep breathing."
The room is suddenly full - two nurses at first, then a respiratory therapist, then another, a doctor… Jane loses count when a kind-faced orderly has her get off the bed and leads her over to the doorway, where a respiratory therapist says, "We're going to intubate her. She's working very hard to breathe and her saturations keep dropping."
Jane can only nod. "Whatever you have to do," she says.
"The doctor will be able to tell you more," the therapist goes on. "Give us a few minutes, okay?"
Jane can only nod.
"Keys," she hears Patterson rasp out, though she knows it's not possible, since Patterson is now being laid flat out on the bed and there's a doctor at her head and a bright light over her face, someone calling out for various drugs as the monitors are beeping and clanging. Jane closes her eyes and waits for it all to be over.
When the phone rings, Weller's asleep on the couch with Moira on his chest. He cautiously leans over and grabs the phone from the coffee table, hoping the baby won't wake. "Weller."
"What'd we bring back from the apartment that's got keys?"
"Jane?"
"Yeah." She sounds exhausted, cried out, angry. "What'd we get from that apartment that has keys?"
Weller tries to think about this, shifting the baby against him. "We got a set of keys."
"No."
"We got his computer and a typewriter, I think. That's all in the lab, though. What's going on?"
"That was… that was the last thing she said."
"What?" Weller bolts upright. Against him Moira lets out a whimper, one fat fist clenching his shirt. "What happened?"
"She… she stopped breathing, Kurt. They've got her on a ventilator," Jane says, and even though he's fairly sure he can't hear it, a rushing noise like the ocean reaches Weller's ears, in-out, pulling and releasing; he times his own breaths to it and feels Moira settle. "So if you could just…"
"Use the keys clue. Got it," Weller says. "We'll be back at the lab first thing in the morning."
"Okay," Jane says.
"Do you need anything?"
"I just… this is still my fault, Weller. If I hadn't shot her…"
"We can't go back," Weller says gently. "But we were able to figure out what was wrong, and now you're able to be there for her when she needs you. That's good."
Jane sighs softly.
"Try to get some rest. I'll make sure the rest of the team gets the clue in the morning," Weller says.
"How's Mo?" Jane asks.
Weller looks down at the baby. "Sleeping. She was pretty upset earlier - cried herself out, I guess. I'm taking good care of her, though. You can tell Patterson that."
"I will," Jane says. "Tell her that her momma loves her. And Jane too."
"I'll make sure she knows."
Weller hangs up and Jane looks over at Patterson. She crosses the room and slumps down into the chair at Patterson's bedside. Taking Patterson's hand in hers, trying to be mindful of the IV lines and monitoring cables crisscrossing the space, Jane entwines her fingers with Patterson's.
"I'm so sorry about all this," she whispers, leaning close. "This is all my fault."
The ventilator breathes like the ocean and Jane bows her head.
The morning brings the healthy lab staff back - Patterson's regular all-stars Afreen and Stuart, and newbie Chava. Weller's there to greet them, an offering of coffees on the table in front of them, each neatly labeled with a name. "I have an update from Patterson," he says. "'Keys.'"
"Keys?" Afreen asks as she picks up her hazelnut latte. "Anything more specific?"
Weller shakes his head. "No. But Zapata and Reade were trying to figure out this series of numbers and letters yesterday."
He points to the code from Erik Tidemore's bulletin board, now written on the dry-erase board at the side of the lab: Z1B486TL0.
"Maybe they're connected," Weller offers.
"We'll give it our best," Stuart says. "Is Agent Patterson coming in today?"
"No," Weller says. "If you have any updates, please get in touch with myself or Director Mayfair."
"You've got it, Agent Weller," Afreen says.
"According to the evidence log, we've got a computer and a typewriter," Stuart says as Weller leaves. "Guess we could try the series on both of those, since they've got keys."
Afreen sets her coffee back on the table and pulls on a pair of nitrile gloves. Carefully she retrieves the typewriter from its evidence box and takes off the plastic bag covering it. "You know anything about typewriters, Stuart?"
"Nope. You?"
"I must admit I'm a bit ignorant in that field." Afreen sets the typewriter on the table.
"That's a 1935 Underwood Universal," Chava says from behind them. "A solid machine. Not as rare as, say, one from before 1920, but still a neat antique for a collector."
Stuart and Afreen turn around.
Under their gaze Chava goes bright red. "I just… I like typewriters. Everyone's got a hobby, right?"
"Can you tell us anything else about this typewriter?" Stuart asks.
"That one in particular? No. I didn't even look at it when it came in. I was working on the video footage from the apartment."
"Well, let's give this alphanumerical series a shot," Afreen says. Looking up at the dry-erase board, she carefully presses the corresponding keys on the typewriter. Crisp clicks resound through the lab, one by one, until Afreen hits the last key - the zero.
The three forensic scientists stare at the typewriter as though it was meant to provide the answers to all of their questions. Nothing happens.
Afreen leans in and presses the return key. Ding! The carriage slams back to the left and, as it does so, a tray pops out of the bottom of the typewriter, exposing a credit card and a folded piece of paper.
"Would you look at that," Afreen marvels. "Let's see what our not-dead murder victim's hidden credit card can tell us."
"We were very lucky to catch the infection before it went septic. We were able to switch her antibiotic to one that's better at targeting the specific bug she's got, and I'm hopeful we'll be able to get her off the ventilator later today."
Jane forces herself to look the doctor in the face. He's a nice man and she wishes she could remember his name; she's positive he introduced himself, but she hasn't slept in a long time and her brain's a bit fuzzy on specifics. "Why did she… why did she stop breathing?"
"We're still running some tests," the doctor says, "so I can't give you a conclusive answer as to why she started having trouble breathing. I do know that right before she was intubated she had a bronchial spasm, which closed off her airway. It may have been medication-related - an allergic reaction, possibly."
He looks over at Patterson, whose brow is furrowed even in medicated unconsciousness. "We'll give her some more time to rest and we can talk about extubation this afternoon, if things continue to go well."
"Thank you," Jane says.
He nods. "I'll check back in with you later. Let any of the nurses know if you need anything."
The doctor leaves and Jane returns to her seat at Patterson's bedside. She takes Patterson's hand in hers and squeezes.
There's a pause, and Patterson's fingers tighten around Jane's.
Jane looks up to see Patterson's eyes open slightly. "Hey, gorgeous," she says softly. "You're intubated, but you're okay."
Wincing in the light, Patterson keeps one eye open, looking dazedly at Jane.
"They don't know what happened, but it might have to do with the infection in your shoulder," Jane goes on. "You were having a hard time breathing."
The hand in Jane's loosens and pulls back. Jane looks down to see Patterson's fingers forming shapes - letters in American Sign Language.
M-O
"She's okay. She's with Weller and I know he's taking really good care of her."
K-E-Y-S
"I told Weller and he said he'd pass the message onto the team."
M-E-L
That one gives Jane pause. "Who?"
Patterson's eyes droop and it's clear she's not going to stay awake much longer. She spells out M-E-L again and then slides back into sleep.
"How did this guy get so much credit?" Chava asks. "I mean, I have an impeccable credit score and I know I can't get anything close to this."
The three of them stand before the large monitors in the lab, drinking the rest of their coffee while staring up at the last few statements from Erik Tidemore's secret credit card. Plane tickets, expensive purchases from Ebay and several local jewelry stores, payments to a variety of different individuals, and a number of charges to a website called "Shot in the Dark" scroll in a list down the screen.
"Did we check on what this 'Shot in the Dark' site is?" Afreen takes the last sip of her latte.
"I did, and it's for a company that sells a lot of interesting things," Stuart says. "Mostly survivalist and prepper-type gear - you know, dried food in buckets, military-class first aid kits, a wide variety of knives, lots of stuff to live 'off the grid' - but they have an interesting selection of what I could charitably term 'spy gear.' A bunch of different types of small cameras, tiny microphones, night-vision goggles, voice-activated recorders… I wonder if the Bureau has an account with them."
"Mr. Tidemore's sister has a basic security system in the apartment," Afreen says. "The cameras are on at all times, they can see the majority of the apartment, and they send recordings in eight-hour batches to a site only she has access to. It's a pretty good system, but it doesn't involve anything like that technology."
"A lot of the purchases were made on a computer at Weston College," Chava reports. "That's where Trent Rosenzweig said he was communicating with the man he called 'Gruff,' who we think is the not-dead Erik Tidemore."
She looks over at Afreen and Stuart, pushing up her glasses. "Do we really think Erik Tidemore is still alive? And if we don't, who's assumed his identity and made a bunch of purchases in his name?"
"And why would they make them from Weston College?" Afreen muses. "It's not exactly a private location."
"I'll start tracing the IP addresses of the computers used to make the purchases," Stuart says. "After that, I'll see if any of them are near any security cameras. We might get a lead."
"I'll check the plane tickets, see if any of them were actually used, and if so, who showed up to take the flight," Afreen says. "Chava, will you call these jewelry stores and see if they can describe the person who purchased all that stuff?"
"On it," Chava says.
For a little while the lab is quiet, filled only with the sounds of hard-working FBI employees. After Chava gets through her third phone call to a jewelry store, she looks over at Stuart and Afreen. "Hey, you guys know about the video game Agent Patterson's in, right?"
Afreen looks over at Chava. "Yeah," she says slowly.
"Mm-hmm," Stuart says, his attention still on his monitor.
"Have you… ever… played it?"
Afreen and Stuart exchange glances. They both nod - Stuart, a bit sheepishly; Afreen with obvious joy.
"I thought I was the only one!" Chava exclaims. "Tell me - what's your theory on -"
"Hey, hey, no spoilers! I haven't gotten to the end yet," Stuart protests.
"Stuart," Afreen says. "Are you serious?"
"Yes!" Stuart says, a bit defensively.
"What else do you do with your time?"
"I got really into jazz last year," Stuart says. "Not all of us can play video games all the time, Afreen."
"Chava, you and I can talk about this more over lunch," Afreen says, grinning at the lab's newest tech. "We'll let Stuart catch up with the obvious prowess of our gaming skills later."
"Okay, okay, okay," Chava says, and she prepares to dial the next number. "But those bloaters though, right?"
"Totally freaky." Afreen's eyes sparkle with mischief.
"Guys, I'm right here!"
Weller gathers Zapata, Reade, and Mayfair in the conference room for lunch. "This is what Patterson's people were able to get for us," he says, handing over Afreen's tablet.
Mayfair shifts Moira against her. The baby lets out a contented sigh. "Anything big?"
"Well, either Erik Tidemore isn't really dead, or a dead guy's racked up a lot of credit card debt lately," Weller says. He reaches for a sandwich.
"The spy equipment - could that have been what we saw in the video from Leslie?" Zapata asks. "You have to admit, that was a pretty sneaky break-in: coming in from underneath, knowing exactly where and how to enter, and getting access to those figurine cases."
"We should check out the apartment - see if we can get in from underneath," Reade suggests. "Or if our mysterious burglar left anything behind."
"Do you two want to head up that mission?" Weller asks. "I'm going to go down to Mahmoud's Jewels to pick up some of their surveillance tapes."
"They still use tapes?" Reade snorts.
"The owner told Chava he thinks it's the best type of system," Weller says. "She said he sounded like he was in his eighties. But he might have footage of whoever's using Erik Tidemore's secret credit card, so it'll be worth the trip."
"Any updates on Patterson?" Mayfair asks.
"I'll call Jane after we're done here," Weller says. "I got a text message a little while ago that said Patterson was awake briefly and spelled out M-E-L."
"Mel?" Zapata sets the tablet back on the table. "Like Melanie Laing, Erik's neighbor?"
"No clue," Weller says. "All Jane got was M-E-L."
When Patterson wakes up again, it's nearly evening. She blinks, taking in the scene before her: Jane, somewhat awkwardly propped up in the recliner next to the hospital bed, asleep.
She didn't leave.
Patterson has no idea how she got so lucky as to have Jane in her life, or if she even deserves it. Despite the most recent series of horrors, Jane is steady, dependable, kind. She adores Moira - although everyone loves Mo, Patterson thinks in the selfish way only a mother can - and genuinely seems to care about Patterson.
Her next breath in catches and Patterson tries to cough against the endo-tracheal tube down her throat. It doesn't work as well as she'd like and for a moment she panics, unable to breathe. One of the monitors clangs and Patterson clutches at the blanket pulled over her. Then the ventilator pushes another breath into her and her airway clears. The monitor lets out one more clang and then falls quiet.
The noises from the machinery wakes Jane, and she comes awake with a sudden startle, jerking out of the chair as though she's about to be under attack. Seeing only Patterson, Jane turns her aggressive face into a smile. "Hi," she says softly. "Are you okay?"
Patterson rolls her eyes, trying to indicate all of the machinery and the hospital surroundings.
"Yeah, dumb question," Jane says. "Are you doing as well as possible under these circumstances?"
Patterson tries to smile, feeling the tape around the endotracheal tube pull at her lips. She points at it.
"I think they're going to try to take it out soon," Jane says. "Do you feel like breathing on your own?"
Patterson gives her a thumbs-up.
"Weller sent some texts earlier," Jane tells her. "Your team figured out a lot of stuff for the case. And then, apparently, they set up some sort of… video game thing… in the lab."
Given that Trent Rosenzweig had spoiled one of Patterson's last remaining secrets and exposed everyone at SIOC to a brave new way of looking at their head forensic scientist, Patterson can only imagine what her team is now getting up to. She just hopes they're smart enough not to burn out her equipment.
"And Moira's getting spoiled by Mayfair," Jane goes on. "As usual."
Patterson tries to smile again. Her arms ache; she wants to hold her baby.
She wants things to make sense again.
Jane must see something in her face, because she gets up and carefully lifts Patterson to one side of the hospital bed before lying down next to her. Patterson leans into Jane, letting Jane run her fingers through her hair.
"I'm sorry about all this," Jane says. It's the first time she's said it out loud.
Patterson tries to let out a hmm against the ET tube.
"It's my fault. I should have… I should have done something else. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."
Patterson leans over and takes Jane's hand. Into it she spells just stay and I'm okay.
"Okay," Jane breathes. "If that's what you want."
She kisses the top of Patterson's head.
Patterson squeezes Jane's hand and closes her eyes.