Chapter 17: Dead End

Movement usually carried a sense of purpose, of destination. The journey back to Los Angeles had neither and still felt onerous. All directions had lead to a stalemate, all clues to blank space. They were going up blind alleys, chancing their arms but never finding success.

Abbott called a few minutes after they left Volker's residence. He had skipped right to the point.

"It's a dead end on our side."

His words were final, irrevocable. Yet it was hard to simply surrender hope.

"What about the list?" Lisbon pressed.

"All the suspects are monitored. None of them could have done it."

Lisbon sighed, closing her fists around the wheel.

"Same with Tommy Volker," she muttered.

"In any case, Jane says all these people are petty criminals with neither the wits nor the resources to pull off such a grand murder plan," Abbott added.

Lisbon shrugged. "Red John didn't look particularly intelligent when we first met him," she commented.

"What about Rigsby and Van Pelt? Did they talk to the veteran?" Cho intervened.

"Yes. It appears he doesn't want any federals messing with his collection. He said his security systems have endured for years, there is no reason he should not trust them now."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "That's what they always say."

"Well send patrollers anyway. We can't risk the killer gaining access," Cho insisted. It almost sounded like he was commanding Abbott. Lisbon threw him a cautious look, then waited for their boss' response.

Two seconds passed.

"Don't worry, Agent Cho, San Diego PD is currently on the task," Abbott said in a strict tone. "But we're going to need the veteran's co-operation anyway if we're going to use his collection to catch the killer..." His voice trailed off. "Lisbon, do you think you and Jane could have a try with him?" he asked hesitantly.

Lisbon stared through the windscreen, watching the ribbon of the road unfold on the horizon.

"Yes, Boss, we will visit him first thing in the morning."

They were shooting bottles with a rifle. And they were running out of bottles.

It was midnight by the time they landed. Van Pelt and Rigsby met them at the airport. The four sat at a 7/11 convenience store, shoulders hunched, eyes tired.

Nobody talked for a while. The silence was a comfort. So was the company. Van Pelt bought a soda, Rigsby an energy drink, and Lisbon settled with a coke. She needed the sparkles and the sugar to lift her spirit. The air filled with sounds of lids opening and drinks hissing. Only Cho sat with an empty space in front of him.

"It feels wrong to wait and do nothing," he said.

Rigsby patted his shoulder. "You need to rest, man. You'll need your strength tomorrow."

"What if he makes his move tonight?" Cho countered.

"SDPD has got it covered for the moment," Rigsby soothed him.

They started chatting—or rather, Rigsby chatted and Cho filled in the necessary nods and one-word answers.

"How's Jane?" Van Pelt asked. Her voice was close, personal.

Lisbon took a sip with her straw. "He's coping," she answered simply.

Van Pelt nodded, then drew her brows in concern and tilted her head to catch Lisbon's gaze. "Are you okay, boss?"

Her genuine worry almost shattered Lisbon's armor. She was so not used to having others care about her. She had forgotten Grace's easy sharing nature. The thought of breaking seemed less terrifying with a friend ready to gather her pieces. But she didn't trust herself to break. Not now. Not yet.

"I'm just tired. Thanks, Grace."

Grace didn't look convinced, but she didn't press the matter. "Of course."

She could use some light, girl conversation, though. And she had missed Grace.

"How's Maddie and Ben?" she asked.

A smile brightened the red-head's face. Her eyes shined with memories.

"They're… amazing. I'm getting more used to, you know, being a mother. It feels like a blessing." Her smile faltered, her eyebrows curled up. "I already miss them."

Lisbon read the fluctuations in her expression. She always felt alienated around women talking about babies and mothers stuff. Watching Grace talk about her kids though caused a different reaction inside her. She wondered how it felt. And if she wanted to be honest, some envy was also present. Her mood grew melancholic.

"I'm sorry, Grace. I really hope you'll see them soon," she wished to her friend.

Grace smiled. "Thanks."

After a while, they all got up and drove to their motel to spend the night.

Wylie half-opened his eyes and met a dimly lit room. It took a while for his eyes to adjust and for shapes to acquire a logical meaning. Hospital machinery hummed around him. A steady beat drummed somewhere near his ears. It reminded him of his old classic electronic games, where a single sound would pop each time the character jumped.

Jump, run, jump, run, jump…

It didn't hold the memories back for long. He wished obstacles were that easy to overcome. He thought of her. Where was she now? Did he treat her well? Was she alive? His pulse accelerated. He looked around searching for a clock, then glanced at the door.

Would they notice a patient casually walking out of the hospital?

"You would probably get caught," came a voice from beside his bed.

Wylie took a sharp breath, his head whirling.

Jane sat on a grey armchair next to him, hands spread across the armrests. His expression was calm, untroubled. Wylie frowned.

"Jane… What are you doing here?" His voice sounded throaty.

"Came to see you. How are you feeling?" Jane asked.

"Fine… Where is everyone?"

"Working on the case. Though I don't think it's gonna get them anywhere," he muttered to himself.

Wylie scanned him, trying to understand whether he'd lost it. Did Jane ever lose it?

"Any progress in locating Vega?" he asked cautiously.

Jane shook his head. Wylie sighed, then raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping them?"

Jane laid out a finger, then straightened in his seat and started fumbling inside his jacket. Wylie observed him, his curiosity growing by the second. He pulled out a tablet of small size. Wylie's gaze switched between Jane and the gadget. The consultant bent forward and gripped his gaze.

"Jason, I know what Michelle means to you," he started. "I might have a plan to save her—it's not a clear path yet—but I'll need your help." Wylie reached out for the tablet, but Jane pulled it back and lifted his finger. "You'll have to promise me"-he held his eyes firmly-"you won't tell the rest of the team."

Jane laid out the tablet again. "Can I trust you?"

Wylie studied him for a moment, hesitant. There was equal insanity and determination in his eyes. But it was Jane. And if they had any hope of getting Vega back, it was him. He wrapped his fingers around the device.

"Tell me how we can save her."

She was bone-tired and weary. The day had seemed endless. She'd almost drowned under a pile of salty water, broken up with her boyfriend, met her nemesis. And all that had made no further change or progress than she had in the morning. She felt like she'd swam across the ocean and ended up on the same side. Stupid and pointless.

The motel room reminded her of her old apartment in Sacramento. Narrow, practical, fit for a lonely working woman. Jane had the room next door. They had opted for separate rooms to avoid raising suspicions. Now she was glad they had. She dropped the keys on the first table surface she came across—that was probably the dining table—and shrugged off her clothes.

Showers usually calmed her. Now she hurried through her night bathroom routine, barely letting the hot water sooth her muscles. All she wanted was to close her eyes and welcome a few hours of blankness.

Her phone twinkled when she entered the bedroom. She tied the towel firmly around her body and shambled toward the bed table.

I'm outside. I can't sleep. Can you please open the door?

- Jane

She stared at the message for what seemed like hours, all sleep evaporating from her eyes and bones. She was suddenly in another room… in a lodge, packing her suitcases… ordering him to go away, preparing to accept marriage to another man. Maybe she should have taken that plane then. She would be a married woman now. A soon-to-be-mother, even.

It was betrayal that had fuelled her actions then. Now it was the hopelessness of their relationship, the deep knowledge that nothing would change if she opened that door.

Then, she noticed he'd sent the message ten minutes ago. What if he had already left, interpreting her silence as rejection? And that single thought, the possibility that she'd lost the chance to see him, had her crossing the room in strides. She unlocked the door and threw it open.

Jane looked up; his eyes sparked, drank her in, and then darkened around their rims. He looked kind of forlorn, like he'd taken to the streets with no purpose and ended up here. His gaze swam a little, and she could smell the subtlety of alcohol on his clothes. He seemed to retain a degree of control though. He managed a smiling expression.

"Hi," his voice wavered.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Are you drunk?"

Jane waved his head. "A little."

A chill ran through her body. The night was cold, but also peaceful. God why did it feel so wonderful to see him? Why did he make everything so much brighter?

"Can I come in?" he asked.

She considered him for a minute, deciding. Finally, she opened the door a little wider and stepped aside.

He shuffled in hesitantly and sat on the edge of the bed. She grabbed her nightgown and spent a few moments in the bathroom putting it on. It was a cream color; the cotton was pure bliss on her skin; soft, dry.

Jane's eyes shined as they followed her out of the bathroom and toward him.

This was a mistake, warning bells chimed in her mind. What did she really expect to come out of this? He wouldn't just let go of his fears and she wouldn't let go of her job. Hadn't they already reached this conclusion? Was it necessary to go through all that heartbreak again?

She took the brush from her suitcase and combed her hair hard, avoiding eye contact. Jane tapped his foot on the floor, suddenly interested in the architecture of her room. She put the brush down and closed her eyes, exhaling. The tapping ceased and she knew she had his attention.

"Why are you here, Jane?" she asked.

Wrinkles of pain popped on his forehead and between his eyes.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to show up like that. You must be tired—" He made to get up.

"Jane," she stopped him. He looked at her. "I wasn't asking you to leave, I genuinely have no clue what's happening," she said in all honesty.

He nodded, then lowered his gaze on his hands. "I-I just… " His lips wavered with unspoken words, then the battle moved to his head, because she could only hear quiet. She moved to his side and sat down with him.

"You just what?" she asked.

He looked upwards. His eyes gripped hers, lost and vulnerable. He lifted his shoulders.

"I just needed to see you."

A/N: Sorry for cutting it here, it would turn out to be a massive chapter otherwise. I hope you liked the little Jisbon moment. I'd like to read your reactions to it. More coming soon! And Happy Thanksgiving!