One thing myself and Patrick Jane have in common is that we are both textbook insomniacs. I wrote this when I was experiencing the familiar bout of insomnia so hence the theme and the title (it also probably isn't my best work because of this).
I don't know exactly when it would be set but I guess around S5 time. Please check out the trigger warnings before proceeding.
TW – brief mentions of abuse, child abuse, rape.
He continues to stare at his board. His mind working increasingly faster while his eyes dart left and right in hope to acquire new thoughts on the information at hand that he has already reviewed hundreds of times. It is enough to send anyone loopy, this obsessive thinking, but it is just part of his life.
The moment he opened his bedroom door to find his wife and child butchered, he lost his right to live a sane existence.
Hearing his phone chime from on top of the mattress that has quickly become his bed makes Jane's brow furrow. He turns around to look out of the window to check if it is still dark, it is. He may often lose grasp of time when focussing so hard on the Red John case, but it definitely doesn't feel like he has worked through the night. Not yet anyway.
After taking another glance at the board, he gets up from his stool to find the device tangled in a blanket. His confusion deepens when he sees Lisbon's name on the screen, he frowns. What is she doing texting him at gone three in the morning? If it were about a case, then she would ring.
I will set it up in the morning.
Her message reads, a reply to something he sent earlier. He has been instructed to apologise to some senator who was a casualty in a scheme he ran a couple of cases ago. She tried to sort things out on her consultant's behalf, but the senator wouldn't let it go and threated to have her job. He reluctantly agreed to a meet to make peace after a couple of hours of stewing.
Jane may not like the fat cats or even believe he owes the man an apology, but he doesn't want his partner's job to be in jeopardy. He will swallow his pride. That doesn't explain why she is awake at this time though, he is the insomniac of the unit, they do not need another one.
Okay. Are you alright?
He replies quickly, his attention having quickly shifted from the notorious serial killer to the wellbeing of his friend. Turning his back on the noticeboard littered with crime scene photos is all too easy.
I'm fine.
Even without seeing her face and being miles away from her apartment, he knows that this is fiction.
Lisbon left the CBI offices just gone seven o'clock having just finished filing the paperwork for their latest case. He watched her leave from his couch and gave her a quick wave before she strode to the elevator. This case that they've just closed was a heavy one involving an abusive father who raped and murdered his daughter. It was an emotionally difficult one to solve which made them all uncomfortable but especially her.
That's why she can't sleep. It all makes sense now.
Without another thought, the mentalist calls the senior agent, not caring that it is an antisocial hour to phone. Whilst listening intently to the ringing tone and imagining his friend staring at her cell, trying to decide whether to pick up or not, Jane leaves his attic space and the dozens of pictures of blood-drawn smiley faces; making sure to lock the door on the way out.
Briefly, he thinks that perhaps she won't pick up or maybe she has got to sleep after all but then the repetitive sound cuts out and is replaced by an unsure, "Hey."
"Hey." He repeats back to her as he mentally scrambles to find what to say next. "I – uh…" He stutters and what he doesn't see is her smiling on the other end, it is unusual for him to be lost for words. "Are you sure that you're alright?"
"I said I'm fine." She tries to sound exasperated at his badgering but there is something else in her tone. Relief? Maybe.
It is like deep down Lisbon is glad that he rang to check up on her. She needed to hear someone's voice. "Did you get any sleep?" Patrick asks while making his way downstairs and towards the familiar sight of the breakroom, ready for another cup of tea.
"A little, but it wasn't pleasant so now I'm awake." A nightmare, he suddenly realises. "How about you?"
"No, nothing. I've been looking through the Red John files." Of course, he has been. She shakes her head because she doesn't know how he does it. How he runs on so little sleep when she knows that tomorrow, she is going to struggle to make it through the day. Hopefully they don't get a big new case. "You should get back to sleep."
His statement is met with a frustrated sigh that makes him pause in getting a teabag from the cupboard. "I don't want to." She reveals and he can hear a slight tremor in her voice. Whatever she dreamt about, has really affected her and what Jane wants to do more than anything is to make her feel okay again.
"How about I come round?"
"Don't be silly."
"Why is that silly?"
The poise of his question silences her instantly. Why is it silly? What she wants to know is, how is it not silly? "It is three in the morning." Definitely not the time for social calls and especially not from him. Why? She doesn't really know why.
"And?" Before she can answer he adds. "Lisbon, I can't sleep, you can't sleep… we may as well keep each other company."
It is a rubbish excuse and they both know it, but truthfully, she is rattled by the demons that clouded her nightmares and even if he can't help with that – mainly because she will struggle to open up – he could be a good distraction. "Okay." She finds herself murmuring, it is so quiet that he barely hears it but thankfully he does, because she wasn't going to repeat herself.
"I will be there in twenty." He tells her before hanging up and switching off the kettle he had just bought to boil. Tea can wait.
Jane is at Lisbon's in almost exactly twenty minutes like he said he would be, and when she hears the knock on her front door, she is astounded. She has done the journey from CBI to her home countless times, and she is fairly sure that he must have broken several speed limits to get here. Even with no traffic on the roads.
Maybe she should be touched, that he would come here at this hour just because she cannot sleep. She knows that she would unlikely return the favour. That's what she is telling herself anyway.
When the door is opened, he is met with the sight of a tired-looking Teresa. "Hey." He greets before welcoming himself into the apartment before she can utter a syllable. Her casual sleepwear steeply juxtaposes the smartness of his usual three-piece suit.
She is dressed in an oversized Chicago Bears jersey that falls halfway down her thighs. Due to its larger sizing, it has slipped over one of her shoulders revealing a black tank top underneath. He is a little surprised that she is wearing nothing, other than underwear (he assumes), on her bottom half which is an indication to him that she isn't thinking straight. Her mind is occupied with other things. "You didn't have to come over here. I am a big girl."
"I know." He sends her a warm smile and watches the nervous action of her tucking a loose brunette lock behind her ear. It is now that he notices how her hair is slightly messy on one side, the side he supposes that was rested against her pillow. "Is it okay if I make myself some tea?"
"It is no wonder that you barely sleep." She practically scoffs with a somewhat conceited grin making its way on her face. "Knock yourself out."
The blonde follows her into the kitchen where there is an unexpected amount of mess on the side, nothing too crazy but for the senior agent it is an unusual amount. It is obvious from the faint aroma of passata and garlic, accompanied by the splatters on the hob that she made herself some kind of pasta dish for dinner. However, she went to bed without having washed up the pan, which has been left on the counter, along with a bowl, cutlery and a drained wine glass.
The tinge of red in the glass and the empty bottle of Pinot Noir on the side quickly answers his rapidly forming questions. He considers what it must be like to be able to walk into a room and not involuntarily notice things. "Alcohol can affect your sleeping." He tells her whilst setting the kettle to boil.
"I only had a glass." She reveals from the doorway, "I have been nursing that bottle all week."
This revelation causes him to still briefly as he contemplates what to say next. She observes him regain his composure to drop a teabag in an empty cup while musing how he seems to be able to navigate every kitchen she has seen him in so elegantly. It is almost like each action is second nature. "Do you want to talk about it?"
His question is very sobering. Lisbon can no longer focus on his nimble movements but instead her bare feet on the cold tiles. "There is nothing to talk about. I've had a tricky week. We all have them, it is no big deal." Her green eyes flick back up, but his back is still to her, she hears the sound of the boiling water being poured into the mug. "Any new thoughts on the Red John investigation?"
Jane mentally notes her obvious attempt at changing the subject but goes along with it, for now. He quickly realises that she isn't going to easily open up to him, unless, perhaps, he opens up a little to her. "Nothing noteworthy." He murmurs, turning to face her with a clear look of concern etched on his features.
The mug he holds is a CBI branded one that she "borrowed" from the office. It is from when she moved to a new place and a box of her crockery smashed in the removal van, so she stole it out of the desperate need to be able to have her daily morning coffee. Needs must. "Do you just stare at your board all night?"
"Some nights, yes." He admits and she feels a pang of sadness hit her, and she gathers that this must show on her face because his lips form a thin line in trepidation. "Shall we go and sit?"
They silently agree to go back through to the living room instead of going to sit at the kitchen table. It is more comfortable that way and being nearly four in the morning comfort is paramount. He follows her to the couch, his eyes sweeping over the surroundings as he does so. Her coffee table is unpredictably cluttered with takeout menus, yesterday's newspaper which has feature involving Director Bertram on the frontpage and a couple of CBI case files.
Momentarily he wonders what cases she has been perusing from home, it isn't like she has a personal vendetta to avenge like he does, and to his knowledge taking the files home is technically against the rules. Not like he is going to say anything. "Are you ever not nosey?" Her accusing drawl forces him to look away from her belongs and towards the woman sat on the opposite end of the sofa. She is nestled into the corner, her legs firmly pressed together to protect her modesty and her arms cradle a red cushion.
"Sorry." He earnestly apologises and shiftily averts his gaze making her cock her head in disbelief. "Force of habit."
Lisbon muses about how noisy it must be inside his head. His mind is continually running at a hundred miles per hour about anything and everything all at once. It must be exhausting; she doesn't think she would cope. "I don't know how you run on no sleep." Her comment is stifled by a yawn, and he cannot help but appreciate how cute she looks when she does so.
He mentally chastises himself for thinking it. "Contrary to popular belief I do sleep."
"Yes, mainly during work hours when I need you on a case."
"Hey, I always pull through when you need me." He isn't wrong and her small smile confirms it.
This situation feels surprisingly normal, but it really shouldn't, that's what they both believe anyway. It is the middle of the night, edging into morning, and it won't be long before the sky lightens and the birds serenade them, welcoming them properly to Friday. They have work in about four hours and at this rate they will be running on two hours sleep between them – all on her end.
She hopes that they do not get a case tomorrow, and if they do then she prays that it is an easy one. "Tomorrow will be okay." It is like he read her mind. Jane may persistently declare that he doesn't have psychic powers, but she understands how he managed to pull the con for so long. "Adrenaline and caffeine will be your friend."
"How do you do it?" The brunette inquires. It is a question that she has wanted to know the answer to for some time, but she has always felt too awkward to ask. They spend their lives skirting around sensitive topics with each other and honestly, it isn't healthy.
The consultant senses that they are entering unchartered territory and nervously takes a sip of his steaming beverage, whilst considering what to say next.
Opening up is not something that comes easily to him, possibly stemming from societal expectations of men, but he also gets her and knows that she is probably more of a closed book than he is. "I tend to sleep in short bursts. Like naps or whatever which at first was difficult but now feels more normal." His shrug is an attempt to make the conversation seem more casual but they both know that it is far from the case.
"Why?" When he stops eyeing the contents of his cup and instead look towards her, he spots how her arms are clutching the cushion, most likely out of anxiousness. This talk is making her uncomfortable… but she isn't the only one.
"People do most of their dreaming during REM Sleep and my method of respite cuts as much of that out as possible." The blonde transiently hesitates as he contemplates if he is ready to push himself and if he weren't so concerned about his friend, then he definitely would not. "I-I'm not saying that all my dreams are nightmares involving what Red John did to my wife and daughter, but I like to prevent from seeing that again at all possible."
He somewhat stumbles over his words, but the sentence becomes free in open air and he senses her tense at his candidness. She really wasn't expecting it. Jane thought that getting it out there would make him feel partly eased but instead, the silence that follows feels so loud.
Lisbon has seen the crime scene photos and whenever she thinks of them or has to see them again a wave of nausea hits her. It is unimaginable how he lives with having the real-life event imprinted on his mind.
She detects the slight tremor in his hand as he goes to take another gulp of his tea. It is faint and almost imperceptible but because it is her and him, together, she sees it. This unbelievably complicated man has just revealed something so personal to him and now she wants to return the favour.
If she weren't so sleep-deprived and emotional, then she would realise that was his aim. "Generally, I don't mind dreams… even the more not-so-nice ones." Inadvertently, she begins to sink further into the couch. "It is the ones that seem tangible that I don't like. The ones when you think it could be a reality, when you can feel… stuff."
"Like tonight." He infers and although it is small, he perceives the slight nod of her head. "I know you don't like to talk about your past, but from what I know, I understand that the last case will have been tough for you."
The brunette audibly sucks in a breath, like she has been caught out. "If you want to talk about it, then I am here to listen." Bearing her soul is not something that comes effortlessly to her and he knows that, which is why he needs her to know that it is okay for her not go any further if she doesn't what to. "But I am also not going to make you."
Most occasions, she would say no way but tonight… things are different. She feels like she gets him more than she did twenty-four hours ago and for Jane that would have been a big step. It shows that he trusts her. "I don't know what to say." Lisbon discloses, and plays with the hem of her top distractedly.
"Anything. Nothing." He suggests, "I don't mind."
Dawn is readily approaching now, and it has abruptly occurred to the senior agent that even if her guest was to leave now then there is no chance of her getting anymore decent sleep. She is too wired.
Now that this awareness has hit her, she ponders that perhaps she should not waste this opportunity to vent. She isn't an idiot; she knows that recent events are affecting her and that's the last thing she wants. It isn't good for her career and it certainly isn't good for her home life.
The curly-haired man remains patient as he drinks his tea, being careful not to stare at her too much knowing that it would probably make her lose faith. His relaxed attitude seems to rub off on her, to an extent, and she finds her grip on the cushion loosening which he immediately senses.
He hears her take a deep breath before she clumsily admits, "Whenever we get cases involving parents abusing and killing a kid, it makes me think that could have been me. Or Stan, or Jimmy or Tommy." As soon as it leaves her mouth, the familiarity of doubt sets in and she is hastily shaking her head. "It's dumb."
"No, it isn't." The mentalist is quick to interject, not really taking the time to fully take in what she has just revealed. When he does, his stomach starts to clench and his blood runs cold. No-one deserves that hurt, least of all his Teresa.
A difficult quietness follows but it isn't exactly without dialogue. Their facial expressions and communicative eye contact do the talking, with them both understanding that the last thing they want is for the other person to be upset. Even with the black bags lining them, her stunning green eyes are as beautiful as ever. Patrick forces himself to look away.
He leans to place his empty cup on her coffee table, in between a Chinese menu and a case file, the slight noise of the china coming into contact with the wooden furniture seems to fill the space. For a few moments it is the only sound in the room until he trusts himself to speak once more. "How do you deal with it?"
"Hm?" Her confusion is evident at his query.
"The nightmares." He clarifies but he notices that the look of bewilderment hasn't left her appearance. "If I hadn't come round, what would you have done to quell your fears?"
"Watch television? Read a book? I don't know." Lisbon sighs a sound of defeat. "The dreams, the thoughts, makes me want to ring them up and just talk to them."
"Why can't you?"
"Because I am the strong one." The used tone makes it all seem so black and white, so matter of fact, like it is obvious, but it isn't to him. Maybe, because he doesn't have siblings. "I am the big sister. I can't be scared."
"Were you scared?" If she hasn't felt floored enough tonight, she certainly does now. His question almost knocks the wind right out of her.
"Of him or the nightmares?"
"Either."
"Yes." She doesn't specify to which her answer is to, but he gets the feeling that it is to both and it makes him upset, as well as seriously angry.
Sometimes he is so wrapped up in his own history to remember that most people have pain and torment in their past. Cho was heavily involved in gang business, Rigsby was raised by a criminal father and Van Pelt… well Grace's past was alright up until she almost married a homicidal maniac who she ended up slaying.
Jane attempts to suppress his ire as he shuffles up closer to her so that he is able to take hold of one of her hands. It is an intimate action which cause her cheeks to flush faintly but the contact does relieve some of the remaining tension that she felt pent up inside. "He can't hurt you now." He speaks softly and she nods in agreement at this, now seeming a little calmer.
They stay like this quite comfortably as if it is the most ordinary thing in the world. She remembers when her phone started to ring earlier – and she saw his name light up the screen – her first thought was to ignore it, but she is so glad that she didn't.
Turns out he has his uses after all. Even if it is coming to her aid in the middle of the night. "What was your dad like?" She asks out of interest.
"He was a crook." Is his swift response. He releases his grip on her hand whilst thinking of the memories he shared with his father. "Always had a scheme. Driven by money… but made sure I was fed and clothed, so I guess he did his job."
Sometimes, he forgets the similarities he shares, or shared, with his old man. The ex-boy wonder may have run away from the carny life, but he fell into the rhythm of a more upmarket con. His life was money-led plots… until it wasn't. "Did his schemes ever work?"
"Rarely." He admits with a wry smile, but it turns into a more genuine one when he identifies the contentment in her demeanour. Talking has helped her let go. "I'm trying to remember if it was the unicorn horn gambit or the mythical rabbit foot ruse that got fourteen-year-old me kicked up the ass by a state senator."
Lisbon breaks out into light laughter at the image of her friend as a troublesome teen getting himself into all sorts of bother, but unlike the difficulties he gets into now, it wasn't all his own doing. Jane loves that sound. Her laughing. It is not like it never happens, but it is more of a rarity than he would like.
He wishes that he could elicit that sound every night.
Pushing that thought to one side, he begins to show his art of storytelling as he steers the conversation away from night terrors and bad memories and reminisces about happier times. Making sure to pick the more humorous of carny tales to guide them into the first light of morning.
At work, they are both going to be shattered and if they arrive together, both obviously exhausted, then he sure that eyebrows will raise, and idle gossip will be shared. He doesn't care though because it is all worth it. She is worth it.