AN: So I promise I will get back to updating "Chaos Theory" soon, but I needed to take a short break from that multichapter. And that brings me to this oneshot, which may or may not become a multichapter of its own (for now it's complete though). Warnings for bad language.
Lyrics are from "Rainy Season" by Hunter Hayes.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Say that you love me, even if it's not true
And say that this storm is just passing through.
We're taking on water
And drop after drop we're destroying this house
And each other.
The heat rolls in, wave after wave. It is scorching even by Sacramento standards.
And as the mercury rises, so does the number of reported homicides. In a way, this smooths Jane's transition back from Vegas – the team cannot afford to harbor ill will toward him if they want to keep up with the unreasonable case load. But between five open cases and interrogating Lorelei on the side, Jane has had little time to process much of anything, and he assumes the same can be said for Lisbon.
His former partner is cordial to him now at best, hesitant and distrusting at worst. He supposes he deserves this and is thankful he has not received worse.
It's stupid of him, but he'd expected their relationship to remain intact despite his actions over the past several months. Or, at the very least, he hadn't expected to feel much of anything after returning to find the relationship shattered.
He certainly had not expected to feel tortured every time he and Lisbon are in the same room (and nearly as often when they aren't), like he's wading through a sea of glass shards that prick his skin with every movement.
He's surprised he hasn't bled out by now.
Every day for over six months, Lisbon had prayed for Jane to be returned to her. She asked for other things as well, namely that he would be safe, but mostly she simply wanted to see him again, to have him back with her.
She hates that she almost wishes her prayer had not been answered. At least, not in the way it actually was.
Every night as he lies in his dingy, derelict motel room, the windows open in hopes of catching a gust of nonexistent breeze, Jane attempts to piece together a speech for her, to begin to fix all that he has screwed up.
But the words never materialize, and eventually he realizes he's trying to fit together pieces that might as well have originated from different puzzles. He could force the pieces together, but they would never form a coherent picture.
He rolls over onto his stomach, punching his pillow and cursing every choice he's ever made.
Once some time has passed since the day everything fell apart, Lisbon becomes angry.
Not at the way Jane's plan played out. No, she'd known that plan was a disaster the moment he'd explained it to her.
Rather, she is angry at herself.
She is angry that she began to hope after hearing two little words from him. And she is angrier still at her reaction to hearing him take back those two words, feeling heartbreak like she is seventeen again.
But he had his chance to explain himself. He chose not to.
And Lisbon feels herself falling out of love with him with every passing day.
It's past midnight.
Rather than being pitch-dark outside, the air and sky almost glow a hazy yellow, and Jane wonders if this signals an approaching storm.
It looks like the end of the heat wave is near.
Unable to sleep, Jane closes the door to his motel room behind him as he leaves, not bothering to lock it. He drives across the city on deserted streets, wondering when Sacramento started to feel foreign to him.
Without thinking about it, without planning it, he ends up at the CBI, and he climbs the stairs to his attic slowly, feeling beads of sweat roll down his spine and pool on his lower back. He rolls back the door, slips in, and then moves the door back into place, turning around as he does so.
He freezes.
The attic is already occupied.
Lisbon leans against the doorframe leading from the attic to the roof, looking out across the city. She's been watching, captivated, for over an hour as the storm moves toward her through the haze.
Several small streaks of lightning dart across the sky, followed a few seconds later by a gentle rumble of thunder.
She hears the groan of the floorboards behind her and whips around, her hand automatically reaching for the space on her hip usually occupied by the weapon she'd left at her desk.
Jane is standing in front of her, sans suit coat, his gaze as stormy as the weather outside.
"Lisbon," he whispers. She nearly crumbles at his tone. It's been over seven months since he's said her name with such warmth. "What are you doing here?"
She has about a million answers to that question.
I missed you.
I didn't want to go home.
I hoped you'd be here.
But instead, she says, "I wanted to watch the storm."
"You haven't seen enough of that lately?"
She knows by the wince that accompanies these words that Jane immediately regrets them, but when he opens his mouth to apologize, she cuts him off.
"And whose fault is that?" she asks sharply, turning again and moving through the doorframe to head to the roof. She can tell by the way the wind grabs her hair that the storm is close, but somehow she feels safer out here than inside with him.
About a minute later, however, she feels Jane come to stand just behind her at her shoulder.
"Mine," he says simply, in answer to her question.
She nods.
Another minute passes before he speaks again.
"I fucked up," he admits, and she raises an eyebrow, startled. Even while working the Red John case, she's never heard Jane swear.
She nods again. "Yeah."
"I want to fix it."
She closes her eyes. "I want you to as well."
His voice drops in volume. "I don't know how."
"Me neither."
But she reaches behind her to touch her hand to his, and she feels him move toward her a fraction of a step.
He sighs, and she can feel his breath against her neck. "How about we make our way through your list of grievances one by one?"
Lisbon smirks. "Starting with the least or most severe?"
He almost chuckles. "Least. Let's work up to most."
"You let Lorelei blindside me."
"I should have told you about my relationship with her." His response is immediate, so she knows that he knows what she means without need for elaboration.
"Why didn't you?"
Lisbon hears his breath hitch, and it takes a while before he gives a response. "I knew it would cause you pain."
She can't help the slight tsk that escapes her lips at this. "It's none of my business who you sleep with, Jane. In fact, you are at perfect liberty to sleep with whomever you like."
"Maybe so," he says softly. "But it still hurt you, didn't it?"
She can't bring herself to answer out loud, so she gives an infinitesimally small nod.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," he says.
"You don't need to apologize for that," she says. "I understand why you did what you did. My feelings don't matter."
"Then I'm sorry I wasn't the one to tell you," Jane says unsteadily. "I'm sorry you had to find out from her. And for the record, your feelings do matter to me. They made that particular aspect of the con much more difficult."
Lisbon looks at him over her shoulder. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
Jane moves her hair away from the side of her neck and then brushes his knuckles against her skin. She feels him shake.
"Because I'm much more composed when I lie." He takes a breath. "Grievance number two?"
Another boom of thunder echoes around them, this one louder than the last, and Lisbon waits for it to fade before she speaks. "You didn't let me in on your plan – and I worried unnecessarily for six months."
"Would you believe me if I said it was for your own safety?"
"No."
Jane sighs. "Doesn't make it any less true."
"How many times have I told you that I can look out for myself?" Her tone is aggressive, angry.
"And how many times have I told you that I will always save you when I can? I'm not going to put you through unnecessary risk, Lisbon!"
She closes her eyes tightly, and she feels him reach out for her hand again. He doesn't speak; instead, he lets her work through this on her own. And after a few minutes, she turns around to face him, opening her eyes as she does so.
"I guess I can see where you're coming from," she says slowly. "If keeping my family out of the loop was the only way to protect them, I'd do the same. But I disagree with you regarding the premise that I needed protection in the first place."
"Oh, you did," says Jane. "In fact, you still do. Which brings us to grievance number three."
Her brow furrows. "I don't understand."
"What is your third grievance, Lisbon?"
She's not sure whether to look sad or angry, so she settles for a little of both. "You lied about forgetting that you said you loved me."
He nods. "I was trying to protect you, Lisbon."
She throws his hand off hers. "How the hell does that protect me? As far as I can tell, it does the opposite."
"I wasn't lying when I told you I was hyped up. I was…I wasn't thinking clearly. If I had been, I wouldn't have told you I loved you at all—because me loving you puts you in danger."
She's stunned.
"So," she begins, "you're not taking it back?"
"It would be safer for you if I did," he admits. "But I can't. I won't."
"'Safer,'" she repeats softly. "What are you worried about? What do you think is going to happen to me?"
"Teresa," Jane says. "Red John killed the last woman I was in love with."
She shivers, and the wind sings in the silence.
"Oh."
He almost smirks. "Yeah. 'Oh.'" His eyes become darker, and a flash of lightning is reflected in them. "So, please, do me a favor and forget we ever had this conversation, alright?"
"What?" she nearly shrieks. "Jane, that's not for you to decide!"
His voice is unrelenting. "I will do everything possible in my power to keep you safe. If that means pushing you away despite the feelings I actually have for you, so be it."
Without warning, the sky breaks open above them. Jane reaches for Lisbon immediately, shielding her from the worst of the downpour, and they hurry inside to the attic, where they struggle to hear each other over the sound of the rain hitting the roof.
They look at each other for a good thirty seconds. Lisbon takes in his unruly curls, made even more so by the rain, and calculates her best option.
"So you won't allow us to acknowledge...whatever this is...until after Red John is dead?"
He nods tightly
"And nothing I can do will convince you otherwise, will it?" she asks.
The look he gives her is heartbreaking. "No."
She feels her entire body shake, from both the chill of the rain and the situation. "What if one of us dies before that time comes?"
He visibly blanches but recovers quickly. "I accept that possibility. But even if that were to happen, you or I – whomever remains – would know that we did all we could to keep the other safe."
"But wouldn't it be better to have some time together – to be genuinely happy – even if that happiness is cut short?"
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Lisbon."
Lisbon opens her mouth to respond, then promptly shuts it again without saying a word.
Jane has just admitted that he loves her, that he won't take it back this time. And in the next breath, he's told her they cannot be together. At least in the foreseeable future. The irony is exquisitely agonizing, and she's having difficult wrapping her mind around the myriad of developments which have occurred over the last twenty minutes.
She feels like she has to fight for the future which never will be.
"Can't we compromise on this?" she asks weakly.
"It's kind of an all or nothing deal, Lisbon," Jane says, his voice gentle yet firm.
She nods, agreeing with him. Then she decides to switch tactics. "When he's dead…"
"As soon as he's dead, I will head straight to you and beg you to give us a shot."
Lisbon has to smile at this. "Definitely not the words I expected to hear when I imagined a man declaring himself to me."
"We're hardly a conventional couple," Jane agrees.
She blinks. "Is that what we are?"
He backtracks. "No," he says. "I misspoke. We are…we are partners. Aren't we?"
The last two words sound so small, especially over the pounding of the rain over their heads, that Lisbon steps forward and wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his chest.
"I haven't been so sure these past several months. But I'd like to be your partner again."
His arms come up to rest lightly on her shoulders and upper back, and she immortalizes this feeling, storing it in her own memory palace.
She's not sure he'll ever be able to hold her like this again.
"Me, too," he whispers.
His arms tighten around her then loosen, and he presses his lips to her forehead.
He steps back, and she immediately feels an overwhelming sense of bereavement.
"I need you to forget this ever happened," Jane says.
She wants to cry but won't allow herself to. "Not likely."
Jane sighs. "There's no negotiating with you, is there?"
"Funny. I could say the same about you."
"Touché," he admits. "Well, if you're not going to forget this, then do me a favor and remember it every time I have to push you away in the future. At least you'll understand now why I have to do it."
"I don't think that will make it any less painful."
"I'm sorry." For the first time since she's known him, it sounds like he means it.
"I know."
The sound of the rain suddenly amplifies, and Jane motions for Lisbon to step away from the glass windows. She does so, letting him guide her with a hand on her lower back, and they move to the sliding door together to head back downstairs.
Lisbon hesitates, her fingers reaching for the handle. "I feel like I'm saying goodbye to you," she murmurs. These parts of us may never meet again.
"I'll be right beside you, Lisbon. I'm not leaving."
She hates how timid her voice sounds when she responds. "Promise?"
Jane's eyes cloud over, and she knows he's seriously considering something.
"We don't talk about this conversation," he says eventually, his voice less than a whisper, and Lisbon cannot even be sure what he's saying over the sounds of the rain. "We don't acknowledge it ever happened. Except…except here. In this room. When we need to seek refuge, we come here."
And her heart lifts.
Because Jane is giving her a safe house, a shelter.
A place where, together, they will wait out the storm.