The team waited. And waited. They had no way of knowing anything, no one to ask, nowhere to go.
After a few minutes had passed in tense silence, Rigsby said, "Hey, shouldn't we call Bertram? He'll want to know what's going on."
"No!"
Lisbon, Rigsby, and Cho turned to Van Pelt, surprised by her exclamation. Her eyes were wide.
"No," she repeated, more calmly this time, "we shouldn't tell him Jane's alive."
"Why not?" Rigsby asked.
"He…just…" Van Pelt bit her lip, hesitant to tell the others what she had heard, what she suspected. "He was…on that list," she said at last. "You know, the one Craig was on, that Red John said there was more than one person on it who was a friend of his? I just…think we shouldn't take any chances."
"I agree with Van Pelt," Lisbon declared. "No risks. This has come close enough as it is."
Cho and Rigsby conceded. Rigsby gave Van Pelt an odd look, but didn't question her further.
Why wasn't she telling them? She wasn't sure. Maybe she already suspected that someday, the knowledge would be of even greater use…
Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps walking down the hall, from the direction of the interior of the hospital. Everyone turned to see a doctor approaching them.
"Doctor!" Lisbon had no idea if this man had anything to do with Jane, but she was so impatient for news that she met him halfway. "What news?"
He hesitated. "And you are?" he asked.
"Agent Lisbon, this is Agents Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt." She introduced the others for good measure as they ran up to join her. "We're the Red Team."
"Ah," he said. "Yes, I have news."
"Is Jane okay?" Lisbon asked anxiously.
The doctor hesitated.
"…We're not sure," he said at last.
"Wh…What do you mean?" Lisbon asked, confused.
The doctor sighed. "The bullet didn't penetrate his heart," he told them; "luckily, most of its momentum was absorbed by his shoulderblade, which shattered into fragments. Did one of you give him CPR?"
"Uh, yes, I did," Lisbon said, worried now.
The doctor nodded. "His heart and lungs got some cuts from the bone fragments being pounded into them," he told her.
She put her hands over her mouth. Was this doctor going to tell her that she had killed Jane instead of saving him?
"We repaired the damage as best we could, and…there shouldn't be any lasting complications from that," the doctor went on; "as far as his injury goes, his body should heal with significant scarring but nothing more severe."
Lisbon let out her breath, only just realizing as she did so that she had been holding it.
"So what's the problem?" asked Van Pelt.
"Well, the problem is…he hasn't woken up," the doctor said.
"Take him off the anesthesia, maybe?" Rigsby suggested.
The doctor shook his head. "We never administered any. We had an anesthesiologist on standby in case he started to regain consciousness, but…he didn't." He hesitated, then added, "I understand he was officially dead for several minutes…it's likely that he suffered from severe brain damage. He may never wake up, and if he does, he probably won't be the same."
"No," Lisbon breathed. Changed was no better than dead, at least when it came to Patrick Jane.
"I'm aware of his significant mental abilities," the doctor said sadly, nodding; "I must confess that, in my professional opinion, it's extremely unlikely that he will retain them. Perhaps it's for the best that he has so much to lose - maybe he'll wake up normal."
But Lisbon shook her head. "Patrick Jane cannot be normal," she told the doctor; "he wouldn't be…well, he wouldn't be Patrick Jane!"
"I understand," the doctor sighed, nodding again. "Well, that's all I have to tell you. He's being monitored carefully-"
"Is he safe?" Lisbon asked abruptly, only just remembering the other side of the picture.
The doctor nodded. "We have our best nurse and our…ah…most enthusiastic nurse looking after him," he told her.
She smiled in spite of herself. "Most enthusiastic?" she repeated. "You mean his biggest fan?"
The doctor nodded. "The one least likely to have any ties to Red John," he said. "I understand that that's the current theory?"
"It's been confirmed," Lisbon told him; "one of Red John's friends shot him, we know that for a fact."
"Well, I'm glad you thought to warn us to take precautions, Miss Lisbon," the doctor said. "It would be a shame if we saved his life only for him to die."
"…a shame if he saved your life only for you to be unable to resume it…"
Brett Stiles's words from one of Red John's parties echoed in Lisbon's mind. Everyone thought it was impossible for me to recover from a traumatizing ordeal, but I made it, she remembered. If anyone can do the same now, it's Patrick Jane.
It was almost ironic how painfully accurate that thought was…
~o~
"Such a shame," sighed the nurse. "He was such a great man."
"He is a great man," her companion said.
"Not anymore," the first told her more naive associate. "He'll be normal at best, if he ever wakes up at all."
But the other shook her head. "He'll wake up, and he'll be fine," she said; "he's Patrick Jane!"
"He's only human, Connie," the first nurse said, a bit annoyed, "and he was dead for several minutes! There's no way his brain escaped damage."
"His brain is special!" Connie insisted.
"He's done amazing things, but he's just a man," the more realistic nurse sighed. "As I said, it's a shame, but all we can do is hope he wakes up at all."
The two of them were supposed to monitor Jane's vitals and make sure nothing else happened to him. Neither of them had any affiliation with Red John, so Connie, the fangirl nurse, was sort of unneeded, but precautions had to be taken all the same, just in case.
Connie shook her head again. "Patrick Jane can conquer death," she said, and she really sounded as though she believed it, much to her companion's exasperation. "He can do anything."
"He was dead," the more useful nurse repeated. "His brain was almost certainly damaged."
"Almost certainly." Connie leapt at this phrasing. "If anyone can overcome the odds, it's Patrick Jane."
"You're both wrong."
Connie and the other nurse both jumped; they had been looking at each other while they were arguing, so they hadn't noticed Jane open his eyes.
"Sorry," he said, "didn't mean to scare you. But, uh, you're both wrong. And I'm fine, by the way." He turned his eyes on the fangirl. "Connie, would you please go and get Teresa Lisbon? I'm sure she's waiting outside very anxiously." He looked at the other nurse. "You can do your, ah, routine stuff while she's gone," he told her.
The two women blinked, then both abruptly began to do exactly as he said. Connie practically bolted out of the room, and the other nurse began checking his eyes, his reflexes, everything vital and non-vital. Jane welcomed the few minutes of pointless medical stuff, because what was coming after would be a lot more painful than getting shot in the back…
~o~
"Doctor! Doctor!"
The doctor who had been speaking to Lisbon and her team turned at the eager calls.
"Connie," he said to the young woman who ran up to him, so excited she was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You're supposed to be monitoring-"
"He's awake!" she burst out, virtually jumping for joy. "He's awake! And he says he's okay!"
"I doubt that…" the doctor said hesitantly.
"How did he seem?" Lisbon asked.
Connie blinked. "Uh…very abrupt, very forward," she said. Then, "Are you Teresa Lisbon? He says he wants to see you."
"Uh, yes, I am…" She looked at the doctor.
"We'll all go," Van Pelt spoke up.
"We certainly will," the doctor said, almost suspiciously.
All six of them hurried down the hall, each for their own reasons. Connie led the way, Lisbon jogging right behind her. Could it really be that Jane was okay…?
~o~
"I'm fine," Jane told the nurse for the umpteenth time. "You're not going to find anything wrong with me, so stop trying." For she had been constantly retaking evaluations of every vital sign, convinced she was mistaken in finding that he was perfectly okay.
The sound of quickly approaching footsteps precluded the arrival of Connie, the doctor, and Lisbon and the team. Immediately, Jane's mood sobered. This wasn't going to be pretty…
And then everyone was there. It was all he could do to meet their eyes, especially Lisbon's. It almost broke him to see the fearful hope in her expression.
"Hey," he said to everyone. "I, uh, I'm sorry I scared you."
The doctor immediately walked over and took the other nurse's place.
"I'm trying my best, but I keep getting normal readings everywhere," she told him.
"That's because I'm fine," Jane repeated to her.
"You were dead for several minutes," the nurse retorted.
Jane took a breath to brace himself, then said, "No I wasn't."
"Jane."
He looked at Lisbon.
"You weren't breathing, your heart wasn't beating-"
"Yes, I know," Jane said, "and I know I scared you, and I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't realize you would be so scared." He met everyone's blank gazes, then confessed, "I was faking."
"Your vitals-"
"Were dead, yes, I know," Jane said, "but I was conscious, and I shut myself down intentionally." He looked at his team again. "I got the idea from Spencer."
"Who?" Van Pelt asked.
"Doctor Spencer Reid, from the BAU, remember him?" Jane replied. "Well, okay, I guess it was technically my idea, but he did confirm that it was possible-"
"Wait wait wait," Lisbon said.
Jane shut his mouth.
She looked at him. He hated watching the realization dawn in her eyes, but he forced himself to not look away.
"You…died on purpose?" she asked. "You were…prepared to die on purpose?"
"I wasn't dead," he told her; "my brain was still functioning normally." He sighed. "Here, I'll prove it." He might as well, after all.
He closed his eyes. It was easier this time, now that he'd done it once - he knew what he needed to make happen. His heart slowed, softened, and stopped. He flatlined for half a minute, then made his heart beat again. It started faintly, then got stronger, and the he opened his eyes and was fully normal again.
Everyone stared at him, some with awe, some with shock…and one with anger that was growing by the second.
"You knew this would happen," Lisbon said slowly.
"I didn't know," Jane told her; "I just wanted to be prepared in case it did."
"You told me there was nothing to worry about," she remembered out loud. "I said I'd hold you to that…"
"I didn't want you to worry," Jane told her.
"Worry?" Lisbon repeated, and he saw the rage rising past the shock, just as he had known it would. "Jane, I thought you were dead!"
He nodded. "I know," he said morosely.
She shook her head. Then, suddenly, she drew her gun.
"You son of a bitch!" she snarled, aiming between his eyes.
The doctor and nurses didn't have time to react before the rest of the team each had their gun aimed at one of them. They didn't want to fire, but whatever was going on, they realized it was between Lisbon and Jane, and that any interference would only make things worse.
Jane didn't flinch.
"Are you going to shoot me, Teresa?" he asked softly.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," she snapped. "Do you have any idea how scared I was?"
"Yes," Jane said. "I heard you scream - I was conscious, I heard you. I…I'm sorry, I…" He sighed. "I didn't know you would be that scared," he admitted.
"Does it really matter how scared I was?" she exclaimed. "I told you, I worry about you, I care about you, and you let this happen without telling me?!"
"I didn't know for sure that it would happen," Jane told her. "I didn't want you looking over your shoulder every five seconds waiting for me to drop when it might have never happened at all - and what I did was not easy, there was no guarantee I could pull it off! I might not have been able to shut down, I might not have been able to bring myself back, I may well have gotten shot in the head for all I knew! I didn't want you to worry."
He hated seeing how hurt she was; he had made a judgement call, and now he had to deal with the consequences - he had well known this might happen, too.
"You have no idea how much I worried," she said coldly. "You have no idea what you put me through tonight! I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea how much that hurt? I would rather spend three weeks with Red John again than go through what I did tonight!"
This was something Jane had not expected, and suddenly, he realized he had made a mistake.
"I didn't know you'd take it that hard," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "No," she said, fighting back angry tears. "No, you're not sorry." For a minute, Jane thought she was actually going to shoot him, and he wasn't so sure he didn't want her to. But she holstered her gun, and her team followed suit. Still she glared at him, her eyes skewering him more brutally than any bullet could.
Then she closed her eyes, and her face shut off.
"I'm done," she said in a scary tone that even Jane couldn't read.
"Boss?" Van Pelt asked.
Lisbon shook her head. "I'm done," she repeated, looking at Jane again, a cold emptiness in her eyes that hurt him more than any level of anger could. "I am done caring about you. I have been through hell more times than I can count because I've cared about you - I'm done! No more. You're on your own." And she turned and left.
The team stared after her for a minute, surprised, then decided to follow her. They didn't know how they felt about Jane faking and making them all worry; the level of offense varied among them. Cho hesitated before going out the door and looked at Jane.
"Not cool, man," he said.
And then he left, and it was just the doctor and the two nurses.
"You don't need to be here," Jane told them stonily, "any of you. Please leave me alone."
Connie gave him a sympathetic look, but other than that, he received no response other than obedience.
Only when he was completely alone did he allow himself to cry.
He hadn't meant to hurt her like this…He had thought he was protecting her, but…
"I would rather spend three weeks with Red John again than go through what I did tonight!"
That, plus the scream he had heard while conscious in death, told him just how badly he had messed up. He had hurt her far worse than even Red John ever could have.
He had only just gotten used to not hating himself. Now, he hated himself more than ever.
I know, I know, but there's a direction this BS will take things. I, uh, wrote this, too, but I'm concerned it might be too much…Is this too much? :\
Jane felt the bullet shatter his shoulderblade. His heart was still beating, and it didn't seem damaged, but…well, it had happened, and it was time to see if he could outsmart Red John's friends once and for all - one last victory, absolute and total, and they'd be forced to concede defeat, even the ones who didn't follow Red John's code of honor, surely.
He allowed himself to fall, slowly, to give the others time to register what was going on - even if he stopped the blood flow and didn't die from it, he needed an ambulance or he'd die no matter what. But Lisbon…
He heard her calling him. He forced himself to look up at her, reach out and take her hand, fighting the pain and the feeling of glass shards in his lungs to tell her…
"L…Lis…bon…I…I'm…s…s…sor…ry…"
And then he allowed himself to collapse. It was now or never.
He forced his heartbeat to slow, his blood pressure to lessen, his lungs to come to rest. The trick was to shut down the heart without shutting down his brain as well - the lungs would follow, and his other organs would follow that.
But he couldn't quite make himself shut down completely. He tried to tell his heart to stop beating, but it fought him, naturally.
Then he felt himself being turned over, jostling him, sticking bone fragments into his chest cavity and the organs there. That was what it took; he shut down.
He could still hear, but as though he was underwater…Sounds echoed strangely in his head, and it took him a second to realize that this was because blood was no longer pumping through his ears - it was a silence that simply wasn't supposed to be.
He could feel every organ in his body shutting down one by one, and was also curiously able to sense a means of starting them up again, as though he was in conscious control of every neuron in his body.
He had done it. It was improbable to the utmost, but he had done it.
Of course, the brain can't go without oxygen for long, and he hadn't considered that. Without respiration, his consciousness became increasingly muddled.
Then an external force was acting on his organs, filling his lungs with air and pounding on his heart to make it beat. Someone was giving him CPR - probably Lisbon. He allowed his heart to beat with each thrust to his chest, his lungs to accept the air they were given and let it out again under pressure. His mind cleared. He was almost fully conscious - sounds were clearer, more distinct, and he could feel the forces acting on his body. In fact, it was all he could do to keep his heart from taking over and beating on its own again. But he had to restrain it…
And then there was a change. There was a pause in the CPR, then a new pressure on his chest. As though far in the distance, he heard the voices:
"Charging."
"Clear."
He barely managed to brace himself for the shock that went through his body. It was extremely painful, rather like having his chest stomped on, and hard. He didn't fight the electric current that forced his heart to beat once, but he stopped it after that.
The second shock was about to come; he was more ready, but this one was more powerful, and his heart almost leapt out of control. He forced it down.
And then the third time…So painful, he almost lost his focus, but he clung to it, knowing that, ironically, his life depended on it.
And then stillness.
Then a sound ripped through him - a cry of such incredible anguish, it took him a minute to realize it was Lisbon…Lisbon, who had just been told he was dead and gone. He managed to pray that he'd made the right choice in not telling her…
And then someone was giving him CPR again - again, Lisbon, he could hear her shouting over him, insisting that he couldn't die. He had counted on this, more than he had realized - if she hadn't kept giving him CPR, he would have had to force himself back to life too soon or pass away into the void for real. But she kept him alive. Just like she always did.
I love you…
Words he couldn't say, not now, but maybe, just maybe, he would be able to someday, if this plan worked…
Of course, they had to stop giving him CPR to load him into the ambulance. He tried to hold on, ready to restart his heart as soon as it was safe…but the sounds started growing distant, his thinking became increasingly muddled…The feeling of Lisbon clinging to his hand faded, he lost awareness of his body…
he was drifting…
down…
slowly…
why was he fighting it?…
just relax…
fall…
fall…
Lisbon.
He was at the bottom of an ocean, weighed down and sinking still, but the word floated just above him, and he kicked out, trying to force his way back up, if only to chase that one word…What was it about that word? What did it mean?! He struggled to remember…
Teresa Lisbon.
It was a name. Was it his name? No, no, it wasn't…What was his name?
He fought, struggling to swim to the surface, cold and crushed under tons and tons of water…What was his name?…
Patrick Jane.
Yes, that was right. More…More, as he fought his way higher and higher, the faintest of light able to reach him now - consciousness, awareness, life…
Life. Live. Alive.
Breath. Heartbeat. Air. Blood. Oxygen. Thought.
LIFE!
And he broke through to the surface, and his heart was beating again. He regained his awareness of his surroundings, of pain…
"Whoa!"
Pain! Something very wrong - bone shards asunder, vessels shredded, blood leaking, pouring out-
Slow down! he told his heart. Beat, but slower! SLOWER!
He slowed it as much as he dared, then held it steady. It would still be a very near thing. He couldn't risk doing anything else, couldn't risk stirring - he didn't have the blood or the oxygen to spare.
He kept careful monitor of himself as he received a transfusion, got carted into the hospital…He felt them taking out bone fragments, sewing up the cuts, and putting his shoulderblade back together all through surgery - the brain isn't meant to handle that sort of pain, but he survived it. Then he was stitched up, bandaged up, carted away…
He waited until he was sure it was done. He listened to two women argue over him for a moment; their conversation told him it was time.
And he opened his eyes.