Chapter Three: Scarlet Letter
"A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent."
William Blake- Auguries of Innocence
Six Days Previous
The scent of freshly-made coffee, sterilized floors, and crisp paper welcomed Patrick to the CBI unit's station as the elevator doors glided apart for him to pass through. His pace was reluctant as he rounded the corner of the bullpen, the recent thoughts passing through his mind subconsciously adding a weight to his shoulders.
The team gave Jane little notice as he entered and rested himself on the sagging leather couch, Rigsby and Cho being caught up in some petty argument as Van Pelt sat clacking on her keyboard, ignoring them.
"I could easily take down ten at a time," said Rigsby, who was leaning back in his chair, his demeanor reeking of his masculine-confidence.
"Based on what I've seen of your marksmanship, that's very questionable," Cho grunted, who was glued to his computer, focused on his research rather than Wayne's frivolous commentary.
"Not with a gun," Rigsby said, unfazed by the insult, "with my own strength!"
Rigsby flexed his non-prominent muscles, tightening his arm and loosening it repetitively, a smirk dominating his features.
Cho took this moment to swivel around and give Rigsby a hardened glare, his jaw tightening at the absurdity of Wayne's words.
Van Pelt sighed, clicking off of a tab, being finished with one of her ever-piling duties.
"Morning, Jane," she greeted, tilting her head to see Patrick snuggled on the couch with his hands nestled between his legs, which were pulled to his chest in an almost fetal position. It was as if he were a scolded basset hound with it's tail tucked, his droopy eyes and dark bags adding to the canine image.
Patrick hummed an answer, adjusting into the nook of the couch.
Grace's brows drew together, and she frowned at his lack of response. Everyone was aware that Jane had sleeping problems; since the night of his family's murder, he had been besieged with restive sleep. "Tough night?" She questioned, using her hand to gently sweep her fiery hair to the side, then moving her seat in the direction of the drowsy consultant.
"You could say that," Patrick mumbled, eye-lids remaining shut.
He knew that sleep wasn't an option, but dozing could possibly be. His lashes blinked open, and he viewed the world in a haze; sight was altered, and noise was heightened. Jane listened to the intensified bickering of Rigsby and Cho, corded phones ringing in multiple directions, communication between agents, the scuffing of graphite on paper, the clicking of keyboards, and soon, it began to muffle, until clomping of heels stirred him from his dazed state.
Lisbon had arrived, clutching her routine morning-coffee, bangs parted and hair curled in thick ringlets. The dark suit and navy button-up blouse she wore extenuated her features, chiseling the bones on her cheeks and darkening the brown-copper shadow she had artfully brushed onto her lids hours earlier.
From the haste in her steps, the crew knew she was bringing news.
"We've got one," Teresa said, leaning partly on her right foot as she stood near Jane and his established couch.
"A stabbing on Kurtstone Avenue, middle aged John Doe, left in the dumpster of an apartment building. Rigsby and Cho, I'd like the two of you to bring in and question the owner of the apartment and the woman responsible for finding the man, Elizabeth Lane. Jane and I will inspect the body, see what we can determine. Van Pelt, stay here and wait for any information we might find on the body for you to ID him with," she ordered, motioning with her hands as she delineated tasks.
A unified "yes boss" was spoken, Van Pelt acting a little down hearted since she would not yet be in on any action as she turned once more to the screen.
Cho and Rigsby stood, shrugging into their tailored jackets, then left quickly, excited to begin investigating the new case.
Lisbon was about to follow suit when she noticed that Jane had yet to move.
"Jane, are you coming?" Teresa inquired with a heated tone in a higher-pitched voice, agitated that Patrick had no sense of urgency and that he would rather catch up on sleep than solve a murder. She did, however, see that there were monstrous bags under his eyes, which in fact had been brewing from lack of rest for some time.
Her expression softened, and she wondered to herself if his insomnia had become worse. "Jane?"
As if it took a great deal of effort, Patrick rose to a sitting position, propping himself with his arms. He appeared half-asleep, eyes sunken and barely opened, squinting against the harsh light of the sun filtering through the blinds and the expensive bulbs of the department building.
His hair was tousled, some locks parting in the wrong direction; Jane's lips pressed together in a vague frown.
"I think you and the team can handle this one."
Jane began to remove his jacket, eyes avoiding Lisbon's, who was the face of confusion.
"It'd be good practice for you, anyways."
Patrick laid back down, covering his torso with his make-shift blanket.
"Practice for what?" Teresa asked, brows raised and mouth opened faintly.
"Well, I close every case that comes to the CBI; I believe that the team should learn to function without me," Jane remarked, his arrogance flaring anger within Lisbon.
"Oh, so the CBI revolves around you?"
"Indeed it does."
Lisbon rolled her eyes, becoming frustrated with Jane's antics.
"It's your job to consult on these cases, Jane. You can't just pick and choose which ones you'd like to participate in."
Jane slowly released a breath of air, sealing his eyelids as he did so.
"Teresa, please. I can't right now."
Something in Jane's voice bled through, giving Lisbon an odd sense. Whatever it was, it made her feel - what was it - frightened?
Teresa paused, regaining her thoughts.
"Fine, Jane," she said exasperatedly. "This better not happen again."
With one last look at Patrick, Teresa turned and stalked off.
"It won't," Jane mumbled.
The Next Day
Jane studied the other people in the waiting room of the doctor's office as he sat, patiently listening for his name to be called. Patrick was often weary of these experiences because of a past in which he was drugged heavily on medical supplies during the year of his mental breakdown. He didn't much trust prescribed drugs, and neither did he trust doctors; Jane had come across many criminal ones in his line of work.
But, Jane was pushing that aside for this one day, so that he may receive the medical help he desperately needed. Or wanted?
Of course, he needed rest, and wanted it; it was obvious that the only quick solution to meeting the satisfaction of his needs was to get the pills that could end those troubles.
Another factor was at play, one that hid in the back of his mind: a simple thought, but a thought that was corrupting. It hadn't fully arose to his consciousness yet, although some of his actions were dictated by the thought. It disguised itself as rest for the weary, an evil masquerading as a mercy. Somewhere inside, Jane knew that he shouldn't follow this path.
But he couldn't help himself.
His jacket pocket began to vibrate. Jane reached in the jacket and retrieved his cell phone, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear without bothering to see who his caller was. He already knew.
"Hello Lisbon," Patrick said, scooting further back into the plush burgundy chairs of the cream-tiled office, the smell of disinfectant overwhelming his senses.
"Jane, when are you going to help on this case? We have literally no suspects; the man's name is Deacon Kilmer, a single construction worker who lives downtown, quite some distance from the crime scene. We've assumed the type of knife used as the murder weapon, and from what we can tell, it's not a crime of passion. We thought it might've been a mugging gone wrong, but there's a mysterious-"
"Slow down Teresa," said Jane, his brain rattling from the rambling of his co-worker. "I'm not going to work this case, and either way, I'm busy with an appointment right now."
"Really?" Lisbon asked, snarky-ness and skepticism evident in her voice, with hint of amusement thrown in, "What appointment?"
"At the doctor's," Jane replied, crossing his left leg over his right and resting the unoccupied hand on the wooden arm-rests of the chair.
On the other end of the phone, a light scoff was heard.
"You, at the clinic? That insomnia must be getting very bad for you to resort to this," Teresa joked, knowing good and well of Patrick's hatred for doctor visits.
"Clearly."
Jane's voice was slightly dead-panned; he coincidentally yawned the moment after.
"Look, Jane, I don't like to admit it, but we really need you here."
Patrick grimaced at her words, which cut through him in a strange manner, his heart warmed, but left with an aftertaste of guilt.
The door leading into the corridor filled with various rooms in which the doctors inspected their patients swung open, revealing a balding man in his early fifties who was dressed in the doctors' drab, a clipboard in hand.
"Patrick Jane?" The man inquired, eyes searching the sea of people in the rows of chairs before him.
"Uh, here," Jane called, signaling to the doctor with his hand.
"I gotta call you back, Lisbon," Jane stated into the lower half of the phone, having moved it away from his ear.
"Wait, Ja-"
Beep
Jane snapped the cell phone closed, returning it to it's designated pocket, then made his way over to Dr. Whittaker, as it was specified on the name tag.
Jane reminded himself once again to ask about the dangers of mis-dosage.
Current Day
They were flying down endless halls, a maze that Lisbon wished she could cheat through by backtracking her footsteps, but time was not a defined entity she could reverse, no matter how much she longed to.
Everything had morphed into a blur; her eyesight had locked onto Jane and it hadn't let go.
The paramedics slid the gurney into an unoccupied room, urgently transferring Patrick onto the supportive bed used in surgeries, or situations such as what was currently taking place.
His heartbeat hadn't stabilized; in fact, nothing about him was stable. The grim reaper was staring into Jane's soul, contemplating whether or not it should steal it as it's prize.
Lisbon was beyond the point of sense, and fought against the arms pressuring her out of the way.
Jane's body started to shake out of control, his back arching painfully, then pounding back onto the bed, arms flailing stiffly. The seizures had begun, a consequence of the mixed sleeping pills and alcohol in the body.
The doctors and paramedics swarmed around Patrick, which to Teresa looked to be a haze of color moving faster than her mind could process.
Her insides were screaming, but her agape mouth never made a sound; Lisbon's face was frozen in shock, her heart pumping so loudly that all other sound was blocked out.
Except for the beeping of the monitor.
Whereas minutes earlier it had been slow, it was now racing at an extreme rate, an effect of the convulsions; Lisbon wasn't sure what was worse.
Not long after it had first commenced, the convulsions halted, and Jane fell flat; the stress on the heart from switching between extremes was immense, and somewhere inside, Lisbon knew it would give out on him.
XxX
A/N:
My apologies for apologies for the time it took to update!
Hopefully you liked this chapter; I know that there wasn't much of the current in-mortal-peril-Jane, but at least there's some insight to the previous days. The next two chapters will have more interesting plots hopefully, and go into more depth, if it works right.
I might continue this story if you all would like me to, but in a sequel-type way; I believe that I could somehow elongate the plot ( without damaging it ), but I'd like your thoughts before I begin to plan anything.
Once again, is there anything you'd like to see different? I'd love to know!
Special Thank You!
Thank you again to all of those who reviewed the previous chapter and this one also; I tried to put down everyone's name, but the tabs crashed since I was logged onto two tabs on the site so I could see the names... So thank you!
Thank you also to peanutbuttercookie and damnblondecurls who were new reviewers this past chapter!
Lastly, thank you to those who have followed and favorited. All of this feedback and encouragement makes my day!
I absolutely love coming back on after I post and wake up in the morning to be greeted with so much response; I rarely get this much feedback, I really appreciate it you guys!
XxX Kay