A/N: I wrote this to distract myself from something much longer I've been working on (which I'm not certain I'm going to get done). This particular story is a 6x09 AU. I know it isn't especially realistic for the FBI to send Lisbon to the island, but I've always wondered how things would've gone if they had sent her instead of Fischer.
I've written all of this and will post it in three installments over the next week or so, barring unforeseen circumstances. Standard disclaimer applies.
She's on page 143 of Law Enforcement and the Supreme Court when she hears them arrive—three pairs of footsteps crossing the lobby outside, heading towards the front desk and the entrance to her office beside it. She folds the corner of a page and shuts the book, switching it out for a stack of finished paperwork.
Muffled conversation and a voice she recognizes. The door to her office creaks open several inches, and she sees the face of the new intern—half-confused, half-excited.
"Chief Lisbon?" he starts. "The um, FBI is here to see you?"
"Yeah, you can let them in."
He disappears. Seven seconds later the door swings open completely and Abbott walks in, trailed by two suits with holstered weapons.
"What's this about?" she asks, though she knows what it's about (and is sure they know she knows).
Abbott sits in the chair in front of her desk without invitation, setting a silver briefcase on the floor. The other two men stand as sentries by the door, blank-faced and nearly motionless. She thinks about throwing a paper clip at one of them to catch their attention, but decides against it.
"Have you had any contact with Patrick Jane since we last spoke?" Abbott asks, though it barely sounds like a question.
"No, I haven't." (Give short answers and use contractions, she remembers Jane telling her once.)
"I see."
Abbott picks up the briefcase and sets it on her desk, sending a small glass figurine skittering across the surface. The lid blocks her view of the interior, but he removes a white envelope before shutting the case again. She spots her name and address in familiar script, and squeezes her hands into fists so she won't try to grab it from him.
"This is a letter written to you by Patrick Jane," Abbott says. "This is one of multiple letters you've received from him."
"If you intercepted that one, then I never got it," she corrects. (She's not sure how Jane manages to keep making clever comments when everything is going to hell. This is the first time they've come in with proof and it's all she can do to keep from hyperventilating.)
"We traced this letter through intermediaries to an island off the coast of Venezuela," Abbott continues. "We have every reason to believe that this is Patrick Jane's location."
Venezuela—it's what she expected, though her own search hit a dead end a year and a half ago. Somehow knowing where he is makes him feel farther away instead of closer.
"Why are you telling me?" she asks.
"Because you're going to be flying there this evening."
"What?" Her voice cracks. "Why?"
"You're going to persuade him to return to the United States to work for the FBI."
It takes her about ten seconds to process the sentence (and she's still having trouble with previous one). She thinks for a moment that he's joking, but she's not sure he's capable of that—not about this, at least. She entertains the idea that she's asleep, though it's been an otherwise uneventful day and not at all like her usual dreams (since no one's been killed yet).
She starts at the beginning. "You want him to work for you?"
"Patrick Jane has valuable skills that are of interest to us," Abbott says without inflection. "We would require him to work for us for a period of five years, after which we'd consider dropping the charges against him."
She'd laugh if she didn't feel so sick. "I don't know what you're imagining, but it's not going to be different from when he worked at the CBI. If anything, it'll be a lot worse."
"The FBI is not a corrupt state agency. If he creates trouble of any kind, he'll be tried and sentenced for first degree murder, among other things."
She can't take her eyes off that letter. "He's never going to agree to it."
"Which is exactly why you'll be coming with us to Venezuela," Abbott tells her. "You will be explaining this offer to him and convincing him to take it."
She almost wants to laugh again. "How the hell am I supposed to convince him?"
"However you typically convince him to do things."
She scowls. "We're not—"
"We will have him sign a contract with us, and then we will bring him to Texas and return you here to Washington," Abbott interrupts. "You can be back here a few days from now, if you're concerned about your work. Although I doubt there would be anything to miss if you were gone for months."
"I'm not doing this." She manages to keep her voice steady. "I'm not going to Venezuela. You can try to get him to work for you if you want, but he's not going to agree to it. And I'm not going to help you."
"Fair enough." Abbott opens the briefcase and removes a thin stack of papers before shutting it again. "These are the charges that will be filed against you for obstruction of justice as well as communication with a known fugitive. There are also several charges that we elected not to file following the disbandment of the California Bureau of Investigation, but which we would be happy to file now."
"You're threatening me?"
"If you persist in refusing to help us, we will also file this charge." Abbott pulls out a paper from the stack and holds it up. "Your niece, Annabeth Lisbon, was recently apprehended breaking into a residence, allegedly under direction from her father, Tommy Lisbon. We took over the case from the local police department and kept the charges on hold while we continued to investigate your involvement with the fugitive Patrick Jane."
"You can't." She needs to breathe, she needs to stay calm, she needs to keep herself from punching Abbott and grabbing that letter and running until she's miles away. "You can't do this."
"We are doing this." He passes her another sheet of paper. "This is the contract you will sign agreeing to travel to Venezuela with the FBI to speak with Patrick Jane. You will carry a tracking device with you at all times. If you make any attempt to leave the island or violate this contract, we will file all of the previously discussed charges. Keep in mind that we are capable of making things difficult for your brothers as well."
She's going to be sick. "He's never going to agree to this. It doesn't matter if you send me there. He's never going to agree to this."
"I would suggest that you sign the contract."
She swallows and looks down at the paper in front of her—small type and several paragraphs of legal-speak, the other signatures already in place. She reads the text three times but doesn't find any noticeable loopholes. She nearly tears the paper while signing her name.
"Agent Bradley will escort you to your house so that you can collect your passport and other things," Abbott says when she slides the contract back toward him. "He will also drive you to the airport in Seattle. There will be a flight to Caracas leaving at eight PM this evening."
She nods mutely. Abbott gathers the papers and letter and places them back inside the briefcase before standing.
"You might've made a good agent," he tells her. "It's unfortunate you let things turn out this way."
She gets put in an aisle seat near the back of the plane to Caracas, next to a little boy glued to a handheld video game and a man she assumes is the boy's father. She can't see Abbott from her seat (he's somewhere near the front), but Agent Bradley is a couple rows ahead of her. About an hour into the flight she's flipping through Skymall when she realizes he's standing in the aisle beside her.
"I've been asked to give this to you."
It's the letter. Her fingers almost shake as she takes it, though she tries to keep her face as blank as his.
"Thanks."
He gives her a slight nod and walks back to his seat.
She spends fifteen minutes turning the letter over and over in her hands before realizing she's not going to be able to open it. Not here, and not when she's about to see Jane in person. She has no real desire to start crying in the middle of an airplane full of strangers (which she's sure she'll do if she opens it), and when she sees him tomorrow she doesn't want his words echoing in her head. She has to focus. She has to fulfill this goddamn contract, and she won't be able to do it if she's walking around in an emotional daze.
She hides the letter in her carry-on bag. She'll open it when she's back in Canon River—when all of this is over.