Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist.
A/N: Warm, sunny, 18°C weather…and I am thrilled we've finally left winter behind. As always, a sincere thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous oneshot! I'm not entirely sure where this next one came from, but I promise I'll try to go back to the fluffier side soon :p Also, this hasn't been proofread, so all mistakes are mine.
For Yana (yaba), because today is her birthday - happy birthdaaaay, dear! – but most of all because she simply continues to encourage me. And for a dozen other reasons, really. ^_^
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04. Self-defence
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He's nursing his second scotch of the night, the amber liquid slowly infusing a sense of warmth in him that he's been longing for all week. The cosy, well-lit bar is absolutely packed tonight, though he sits alone, trying hard to drown out everyone around him.
Unavoidably, heads turn in his presence wherever he goes, but no longer in the way he used to thrive on. He was always fond of the limelight before, yet now, he would rather make it all disappear; the curious glances and stares subtly aimed straight at him, whispers following close behind.
He foolishly believed it would be easier somehow - bearable - now that the focus of his obsession is finally where he wanted him all along; some small, unknown cemetery where no one will be visiting him any time soon.
The truth is, he was wrong.
It doesn't make any difference whatsoever.
The soft, jazzy music floating through the room is normally enough to appease his troubled mind, but not tonight.
Tonight, his attention is elsewhere.
Across the road, at the small restaurant where Lisbon is presently having dinner with a tall, dark-haired man, to be precise.
He hadn't meant to spy on her, really, nor had he meant to spend his entire night here, wallowing in self-pity. It's a mere coincidence that he caught sight of them approaching through the large front windows which provide him with an excellent view of the street. They'd been smiling and talking excitedly, the unknown man gently guiding Lisbon inside while his hand lingered on the small of her back.
Fortunately – or unfortunately, given his current state of mind – they'd been given a table by the window, and Jane has been throwing surreptitious glances in their direction ever since. He's barely able to make out both of their silhouettes, a soft glow reflecting off of Lisbon's short curls. He doesn't know who the guy is, has never seen him before, but there doesn't appear to be an uncomfortable air about them as they sit enjoying their meal.
And Lisbon looks happier than he's seen her in a very long time.
His reverie is momentarily interrupted by an attractive blonde woman who comes to sit beside him, offering to buy him a drink with a flirty, almost knowing smirk on her face. Out of habit, he flashes his left hand at her accompanied by his usual, apologetic smile, only to realise at the last minute that there's nothing left there to hide behind.
He frowns at his own forgetfulness, but still politely declines the blonde's offer.
Because the only woman whose attention he welcomes, craves even, is currently enjoying another man's company.
The knowledge leaves an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, and when he instinctively looks up once more, he's just in time to see Lisbon shrugging into her jacket as they prepare to leave the restaurant.
Without pausing to think about what he plans on doing, he quickly downs the last of his drink and throws a couple of bills onto the bar.
The cool night air rushes past him as he crosses the street, a strong gust of wind lifting his hair, but not his spirits. He reaches the sidewalk when both of them walk out, the tall man gallantly holding the door open for Lisbon.
Jane comes to an abrupt stop halfway there, silently wondering if it's too late to turn around and casually walk away without either of them noticing. Up close, with the first decent look he's been able to give her date, everything seems to fall into place.
He mentally kicks himself when he catches sight of a very familiar dimple on the man's cheek, the resemblance is obvious even to the untrained eye.
When two pairs of green eyes suddenly turn towards him, Jane struggles to keep a neutral look on his face.
"Jane?" There's nothing but genuine surprise evident in her expression as she takes a few steps closer to him.
"Lisbon," he merely replies and gives her a small smile, concealing his emotional state of mind with difficulty. "No late night at the office this time?"
"Not tonight, no," she answers, and it isn't until the man next to her subtly clears his throat that she seems to remember introductions are most likely in order.
"Right. Chris, this is Patrick Jane. Jane, this is my brother Chris. He's in town on business."
The fact that she carefully tries to keep her voice toneless doesn't go unnoticed, as if exchanging these types of pleasantries is an everyday occurrence.
The two men shake hands, and Christopher Lisbon offers up a polite smile.
"So you're the infamous Patrick Jane," he says. "I've heard a lot of good things about you."
Jane's eyes briefly flicker to the brunette beside him, and he can't help but raise a single eyebrow, signalling his amusement at learning she's been talking about him. But to her credit, Lisbon simply stares back defiantly, her expression giving nothing away, though Jane is sure he's not imagining the faint pink colour that lightly graces her cheeks.
"Well, that's a bit odd," he remarks lightly, turning back to the younger Lisbon sibling. "Because most people would tell you I'm an arrogant bastard." He immediately detects Lisbon's frown out of the corner of his eye while she continues to watch him closely.
"Yes, well, I've heard my fair share of those stories too," Chris replies, and his smile falters ever-so-slightly. "I've seen you on the news a lot lately, of course, what with the trial coming to an end. You must be relieved that it's finally all over, and that you managed to kill the son of a bitch."
"Christopher," Lisbon's stern voice cuts in, and Jane catches a glimpse of her teenager self reaching the surface as she scowls at her little brother. "It was self-defence," she adds almost automatically, as if she's been repeating this same sentence to anyone who'll listen for months now. "I told you."
There's no doubt in Jane's mind that her brother, much like the rest of the state of California, has his suspicions about what truly happened. Despite the other man's pleasant tone of voice, the observant consultant is able to tell purely by the look in his eyes that there's a hidden warning to Chris' words, conveying that if he had been on that jury, Jane probably wouldn't have walked away without a conviction.
"Yes, you did tell me." Chris aims his scrutinising gaze at Lisbon, trying to discern whether or not she's telling the truth.
Jane realises the man has nothing but his older sister's best interests at heart. He's looking out for her, and the blonde can't blame him for his obvious distrust.
After all, he's never been deserving of any Lisbon's trust, he has proven that countless times now.
And suddenly, it's all too much to bear. He doesn't want to put her in an awkward position and drag out this conversation any longer, and it becomes increasingly more difficult to keep hiding his emotions behind one of his standard masks.
"Well, it's getting rather late, I should probably go. It was nice to meet you," he says to Chris, and he can see Lisbon's hand twitching with the urge to reach out, when she obviously senses his cool composure slipping. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lisbon."
"Yea, good night Jane, see you at the office."
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
And without a backwards glance, he walks off in the opposite direction, while Lisbon stands perfectly still, visibly torn between calling out or simply going after him. She recognised the sorrow in his eyes all too easily, knows that it hasn't been a good day. The realisation that her failing to mention her brother's visit hurt him makes her eager to explain, to grab him by the wrist and tell him it was nothing more than a last minute thing. Instead, he misinterpreted her actions, and it pains her to know that he probably assumed she's embarrassed by him.
When she turns back towards Chris, his gaze is fixed on the bar across the street, brows furrowed in an expression of mingled concern and disapproval.
They both smelled the alcohol on Jane's breath.
She wants to set the record straight, assure him that he jumped to the wrong conclusions, but the words die on her lips.
"Is there something going on between you two?" he bluntly asks.
"No," she replies without missing a beat, and though her voice doesn't betray any disguised emotions, she intuitively knows he's far from convinced.
He's always been the one who knows her best.
"Let's go," she softly adds.
The atmosphere in the car is distinctly different to the one they shared over dinner. Lisbon's forehead is creased in quiet contemplation and she can feel her brother's eyes slowly turn her way at every intersection.
The ride to his hotel is relatively short, and all too soon Lisbon pulls up in front of the entrance, shifting in her seat to face Chris with a rueful smile on her face.
"It's a shame you couldn't stay longer, you sure you don't want to hang around a couple of days more?" she asks with somewhat of a hopeful note.
"Trust me, I'd love to, but after this conference here tomorrow morning, I've got another meeting back in Chicago the day after," he releases a sigh while rubbing his eyes.
"Well, kiss Laura and the kids for me, okay?"
"I will. But you know, they'd really prefer to actually get them from you sometime in the near future," he smiles. "They're sick of me by now."
She laughs, "I know, I know. And I promise I'll make an effort to come visit you guys soon," she vows, the thought of seeing her nieces immediately lifting her spirits considerably.
He leans forward, giving her a kiss on the cheek before putting his arms around her, and Lisbon is surprised to feel a few tears well up at the simple familiarity of the gesture. She really misses having her brothers close sometimes.
When he pulls back, there's a hesitant look in his eyes.
"Teresa...look, I don't mean to meddle with your personal life," he begins, and Lisbon immediately rolls her eyes at this statement.
"That's what you always say before doing exactly that," she mocks.
"But, I'm not stupid," he ignores her objection. "If there's nothing going on between you and Jane, then there soon will be. Because I saw the way he looked at you, and I don't care how many times you insist he's annoyingly all-knowing, he probably hadn't realised who I was until you introduced me. And no matter how smoothly he covered it up, he was jealous." She opens her mouth to protest, but he swiftly carries on. "Take it from me, he thought I was a potential rival."
"You have nothing to worry about." Her lips curl up into one of her trademark, teasing half-smiles that's meant to reassure him, but her smile wavers under his intense gaze and she casts her eyes downwards.
"I just don't want to see you get hurt," he silently says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Chris," she sighs, knowing there's no way for her to explain the reasoning behind this. "It really was self-defence, you know," she eventually repeats, though she isn't quite sure what the truth is anymore, and she can tell he – once again – doesn't believe her.
"I know it's in your nature to want to help him and be there for him, Teresa. But with all that you've told me...," he trails off, looking at her worriedly. "Sometimes you have to accept that certain things just stay broken, no matter how much effort you put into fixing it."
She can't stop herself from letting out a quiet snort of laughter before looking at her little brother affectionately. "Wow, that was really poetic. You outdid yourself with that one," she smirks.
But his advice still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, because no matter how cheerful she acts, or how much she tries to deny the truth in his words, she has long ago realised that you can't fix everything and nothing ever goes according to plan. Yet, at the same time, it will never stop her from having faith that anyone can heal. Even if it's a slow and difficult process.
She doesn't voice her opinion, however; she'd hate for him to call her naïve.
Chris shakes his head at her, laughing for the first time since leaving the restaurant.
"Old habits die hard, I guess," he says before opening the passenger door. "I'll always be overprotective, it's my way of returning the favour," he grins. "But I honestly just want you to be happy."
"I know," she smiles and pulls him into another brief hug before he gets out and sends her off with a small wave.
He stands on the pavement in front of the hotel a moment longer, watching the taillights of her car with a look of concern still etched on his face.
And when her Mustang reaches the end of the road, he shakes his head and heaves a resigned sigh when she takes a left onto Freeport Boulevard, driving off in the complete opposite direction of her apartment.
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