Lisbon had just gotten out of surgery when Jane arrived. She was pretty out of it, but she was reasonably certain that meant he'd done the two hour drive in an hour and a half.
He barreled in without so much as a hello to Grace, who was hovering awkwardly in the corner, looking miserable.
"Are you okay?" he said anxiously, crossing the room and taking Lisbon's hand.
Lisbon, despite the drugs in her system, still had enough of her wits about her to know she and Jane didn't hold hands in front of the team—or in front of anyone, for that matter—and in fact, only did so in very occasional moments of extremity, when no one could possibly see. She very determinedly did not meet Grace's eye.
She squeezed his hand and released it. "I'm fine."
"She lost a lot of blood," Van Pelt piped up from the corner, sounding like she had a head cold. "The doctors said she'll be recovering for the next few months, and she has to go on medical leave for six weeks."
"I'm fine," Lisbon repeated, shooting a glare at Van Pelt. She returned her attention to Jane. "What about you? What happened at the mall?"
"Nothing," Jane said. "I realized Bertram wasn't our man and called you. You were shot and I came here."
"Jane, I'm so sorry," Van Pelt said miserably. "I was the one who brought Craig—"
"It wasn't your fault, Grace," Lisbon said, hoping if she repeated it often enough, Van Pelt would eventually believe her.
"Lisbon's right," Jane said. "It was my fault. I should have realized sooner."
"It wasn't the fault of either of you," Lisbon said, exasperated. "And anyway, I'm fine. I'm going to have to do a lot of physical therapy, but the doctors say I'll make a full recovery."
Jane exhaled slowly. "That's good." His fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for her again, but he only said again, "That's very good." He looked at Van Pelt. "Where's Hightower?"
"Gone," Van Pelt said. "She took the kids and left before local PD showed up to—" she faltered. "In response to the 911 call, I mean," she finished uncomfortably.
"I'm glad they got away safely," Jane said, looking terribly relieved. Lisbon knew he was thinking about Hightower's kids, about what would have happened if they hadn't succeeded in stopping O'Laughlin in the end. She knew no matter what she said, he would still blame himself for putting them in danger.
"Where are Cho and Rigsby?" Van Pelt asked Jane.
Jane looked at her blankly. "I have no idea."
Van Pelt's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Weren't they with you at the mall?"
"Yes," Jane said. "I don't suppose they're still there, though."
"Cho called me," Lisbon said. "He's on his way. He's about half an hour behind you."
"What about Wayne?" Van Pelt, her tone a strained mix of longing and dread.
"Cho said Rigsby wanted to stay and check something out. He'll be up later," Lisbon told her. She caught Van Pelt's eye. "Grace. It's gonna be all right, okay? I promise."
Van Pelt jerked her head in acknowledgment, but her chin wobbled dangerously. "Yeah, boss. Would you—would you excuse me for a minute?"
She left the room without waiting for a reply, her face turned away from them blindly so they wouldn't see her expression.
Lisbon watched her go unhappily.
Jane drew up a chair beside her. "You're really all right?" he said anxiously.
"I'm going to be fine, Jane," she said. "It hurts like a son of a bitch, I'm not gonna lie. But I'll be all right."
He cupped her cheek in his hand. "When I heard the gunfire…"
"Yeah. It was pretty bad," Lisbon said soberly. "God. Poor Grace."
Jane let out a shuddering breath and pulled away. "I'm so glad you're alive. If he'd—if he'd—" He stopped, unable to even give voice to the thought. He found her hand again and gripped it tightly. "I'm really glad you're alive."
"Me, too," Lisbon said with feeling. She watched him closely, then raised their joined hands. "Aren't you afraid Van Pelt might see this? I mean—technically, she already saw. You're really falling down on the job when it comes to being a paranoid lunatic, you know."
"As previously discussed," Jane said, meeting her gaze. "Sometimes I can't help myself."
Lisbon wanted nothing more in that moment than to pull Jane into the horrible tiny hospital bed with her, let him wrap his arms around her, and shut out the rest of the world.
She was certain he could read it in her face, but for once, she didn't care. She'd have done it in a heartbeat if she'd thought she'd had a hope in hell of getting away with it without answering any awkward questions. She could just imagine the look on Cho's face if he walked in here to find her snuggled up with Jane. Judging by his expression, Jane was thinking along the same lines himself.
They were both becoming reckless, she realized. Because even the thought of Cho's expression wasn't enough to entirely quash the temptation.
"What do you think he's going to do next?" she said, her voice low.
Her words visibly had the effect of throwing cold water over Jane. He dropped her hand. "I don't know."
Off her skeptical look, he shook his head. "Really. I have no idea."
"Do you think Hightower and the kids will be okay?"
"I hope so," Jane said soberly. "She's managed to evade him this long, hasn't she? She's playing it smart. And this latest effort cost him. He won't try something like this again. Not right away, at least."
Lisbon blew out a breath. "Good." She looked at Jane. "What about you?"
"What about me?" Jane repeated. "I'm not the one who just got shot."
"No, I mean—what are you going to do next? What is the scale of crazy I'm going to have to deal with on your next plan?"
Jane stared out the window. "I don't know that, either."
xxx
Lisbon managed to persuade Jane there was no great need for her to remain in the hospital now that she was out of surgery. She wanted to be home, in her own space. Jane allowed himself to be persuaded most reluctantly, but in the end he sighed and applied himself to getting the doctors to release her.
They reached Sacramento a little after 10pm. To her great surprise, Rigsby was waiting for her on her front doorstep.
"Hey," he said tersely. "Grace and Cho are on their way here."
"We just left them at the hospital," Lisbon said, confused.
"Yeah, I know. I called them and told them to come here as soon as they got back into town."
"What is it?" Jane said, watching Rigsby. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, probably," Rigsby said, but the tension in his voice belied his words. He checked his phone. "The others will be here in less than ten minutes." He looked at Lisbon. "How's your arm, boss?"
"It's fine," Lisbon said, though in truth she was in quite a bit of pain and beyond exhausted. "Wayne, what is it? You're obviously worked up about something. Unless…" she trailed off. "Did you want to talk about what happened with O'Laughlin?" she asked doubtfully. She was sure he was grappling with concern over Grace's state of mind mixed with guilty relief that she wouldn't be marrying someone else after all, but even if he'd wanted to confide in her, surely it could wait until tomorrow and wouldn't require the presence of Grace herself.
Rigsby shook his head. "It's not about that. Just—can we go inside, please?"
The three of them went inside. Rigsby declined the offer of something to eat or drink—okay, now Lisbon knew there was really something wrong—and instead asked her if he could use her TV. Bemused, Lisbon replied in the affirmative and took the opportunity to take another painkiller.
By the time Cho and Van Pelt arrived, Rigsby had finished setting up her TV and DVD player to his liking. He greeted the other two curtly and beckoned the whole group over to the TV.
Grainy black and white footage appeared on the screen. At first, Lisbon had no idea what they were looking at, but then Jane appeared on the screen, accompanied by Bertram.
"Why are we looking at security footage from the shopping mall?" Cho asked Rigsby.
"Wait," Rigsby said. "You'll see in a minute."
The video had no sound, so the scene played out in silence. Lisbon watched Jane order tea and converse with an agitated Bertram. Jane looked distracted, glancing around on occasion and only barely paying any attention to Bertram at all. Bertram, annoyed, got to his feet and blustered at Jane. Jane, visibly struck with some new thought, waved him away as though Bertram were a nuisance he couldn't be bothered giving as much attention as he would to a pesky fly.
Bertram left. Jane's mouth tightened and he quickly dialed his phone. He mouthed something she couldn't make out, and then he was speaking urgently into the phone.
Belatedly, Lisbon realized she was witnessing the phone call Jane had made to warn her about O'Laughlin. She could see her own name on his lips. Lisbon. Lisbon! No sound, but she could hear his anxious calling of her name from memory. What she hadn't expected, though, was the look on his face. The fear and distress etched into every line of his face. The rising anxiety when she didn't answer right away to his repeated calls. She watched, transfixed, as his chest rose and fell like the pumping of bellows, breathing more heavily with every passing moment.
Then—relief. He closed his eyes and spoke again. Some of the tension left his shoulders, but his mouth was still a tight line. A pause. Then she saw his mouth form the words, 'I'm on my way.'
Jane blindly threw some money down on the table and left the shopping plaza at speed, disappearing from the camera's view in a few quick strides.
"There," Rigsby said, pointing at the screen. "See that?"
Lisbon had quite forgotten anyone else was in the room. Startled back to herself, she risked a quick look at Jane beside her, his expression impassive. Her cheeks heated. Why on earth had Rigsby called them here to watch Jane's obvious distress at the news she'd been shot?
The footage was still rolling. Van Pelt frowned at the screen. "Who's that guy?"
Lisbon followed her gaze to an unprepossessing man holding an open newspaper, seated several tables away from the one Jane had just abandoned.
Cho looked at Jane. "Do you know him?"
Lisbon, a beat behind, realized that Rigsby had not, in fact, called the team to bear witness to Jane's palpable fear and anxiety, but to discuss the man with the newspaper.
The man who, rather than reading his newspaper, was watching Jane's retreating figure with both surprise and interest. Lisbon's blood went cold.
"No," Jane said, his tone unreadable. "I've never seen him before."
"Do you think it's him?" Van Pelt asked in a hushed voice.
"It's gotta be," Cho said. He looked at Jane. "Right?"
Jane was still staring at the screen. "I can't be sure," he said finally.
"But you think it is, don't you?" Rigsby said eagerly. "I mean—it's got to be him. Why else would he be staring at you like that? That's why I got the mall cops to give me the footage in the first place. I mean—super creepy, right? Who else would be that interested in you drinking tea and leaving a shopping mall?"
"For the moment," Jane said slowly. "Yes. I think we have to assume the man with the newspaper is Red John."
xxx
Despite the late hour, the five of them headed straight back to the office. The team tried to convince Lisbon to stay home and rest, but despite her aching shoulder and the fact that the painkiller she'd taken was making her woozy, she insisted on going along. There was no way in hell she was going to let Red John slip away this time. There was also no way in hell she was letting Jane out of her sight.
Van Pelt immediately got to work with facial recognition software, while Cho and Rigsby pulled old Red John case files to see if the man in the newspaper might have been captured in photos of old crime scenes, hiding in plain sight among curious bystanders.
Jane and Lisbon reviewed the mall footage again in Lisbon's office, searching for additional clues.
The man with the newspaper had arrived well before Jane and Bertram and had sat reading his newspaper for forty-five minutes, completely at ease. He smiled at the waitress when she came to take his order and tipped her generously when she brought him a coffee. He paid in cash—there would be no credit card receipts to check. Lisbon asked Jane if the waitress could be an accomplice, but he only shook his head. The man with the newspaper spoke to no one else.
The pain in Lisbon's shoulder woke her a little after 3 am, without her being conscious of having fallen asleep.
Her eyes flew open and the fingers of her good hand tightened reflexively on soft wool.
"It's okay," Jane said soothingly. "I'm here."
Lisbon slumped back in relief. They were sitting on the couch in her office. The room was dark except for the dim glow of her desk lamp. Her head lolled on Jane's shoulder, feeling very heavy. Her fingers were wrapped around his arm in a death grip.
Lisbon blinked confusedly. "The others?"
"I sent them home to get some rest," Jane said. "Cho and Rigsby weren't making much progress on the case files, and Van Pelt said the facial recognition software would most likely be running until early tomorrow afternoon."
She tilted her head up to look at him without raising her head from his shoulder. "You stayed?"
He stroked her hair. "I tried to wake you to get you go to home, too, but the drugs must have knocked you out pretty good, because you just grumbled at me in your sleep but didn't wake. Funny thing, though. Every time I tried to get up, you wouldn't let me go. Even in your unconscious state, you were determined not to let me run off and get myself into trouble."
"Oh, good," Lisbon said in relief. "Then—you've just been sitting here? You didn't run off and get yourself into trouble while I wasn't looking?"
"No, my dear," he said. "Now, up you get. I'm taking you home, and you're going to sleep in a real bed for a few hours. You really should be in the hospital, you know." He helped her to her feet.
She didn't let go of his arm. "What about you?"
"I'll sleep, too," he promised.
She stopped short. "Really?"
"Well, I'll try, anyway," Jane said. "It's not like there will be much else for me to do, if you're sleeping and still won't let go of my arm."
"You're coming home with me?" Lisbon said uncertainly.
He gestured down at her fingers, still wrapped around his arm. "It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice."
Relief flooded her. "That's right," she said, more confidently now. She tightened her grip on his arm. "You don't have a choice."
Somewhat to her surprise, Jane didn't put up a fight. He drove her home, fetched her another painkiller, and climbed into bed with her.
She turned her head to look at him. "You're not going to run off?" she double-checked, her voice half-hope, half-pleading.
"Where would I run to?" Jane pointed out reasonably. "We don't know who he is or where to find him."
"But you could get an idea, or remember a clue—"
"At the moment, I very much want to get some rest," he said gently. "More importantly, I want you to get some rest."
"Do you think it's really him this time?" she whispered.
"It certainly looks that way," Jane said, looking at the ceiling.
"And how…how do you feel about that?"
Jane sighed. "Why ask the question when you don't want to hear the answer?"
"I do want to hear the answer," Lisbon insisted. "Talk to me, Jane. Tell me what you're thinking."
Jane kept his eyes on the ceiling. "I still want to kill him."
Tears pricked her eyes. "Well, I'm—I'm still going to stop you." The waver in her voice undermined the tone of firm resolve she was aiming for.
Jane turned his head to look at her. "But more than that," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "I want to make sure he doesn't kill you. So until I know for certain who he is and where to find him—" He laced his fingers through hers. "It seems most prudent to stay by your side."
Lisbon slept surprisingly well the rest of the night.