A/N: Yay, just got home from work. I had this ready this morning, but ran out of time to actually post because of a driving lesson, then work. Who'd have known that grown men would be so camera shy? Anyway...
Thanks go to: Divinia Serit, Jadestar1981, Lara, WildDaisies10, chikka-whaa, Frogster, yaba, lisbon69 and mtm for reviewing Part Three! Yay, I'm so glad and relieved that people like this.
x tromana
Part Four - Denial
It's dark when they pull up on his drive. The stars twinkle down cheekily and the moon casts shadows across the overgrown lawn.
Lisbon sits, gripping the steering wheel with such strength that the whites of her knuckles reflect in the window. Jane's fingers twitch constantly to the door handle, still not ready to bite the bullet and actually open it. In reality, they're simply playing games with one another, seeing who can be the one who dares exit the car and head towards the front door first, not that they realize it yet.
So instead, they wait.
Eventually, it's Lisbon's resolve which crumbles first.
That's unsurprising; it (almost) always is.
As Jane joins her, to finally cease the impatient tapping off her left foot, his legs feel like dead weights. If he didn't know otherwise, he'd swear they weren't part of his body.
When he is finally by her side, he allows her to place a small, chaste kiss on his lips. It's a gentle comfort, but more for her than him. It serves to remind her that he does care about her, regardless of what has happened in his past. In the here and now, he does love her. Or at the very least, she's the most important person in his life at the moment by far.
Her perfume still lingers as she pulls away.
He doesn't know if he finds it comforting or not.
The key seems to have a mind of its own until, eventually, he manages to slip it into the keyhole. The click, click positively echoes in Jane's mind and the door slips open, seemingly allowing clouds of dust to bloom as the house welcomes them in. He knows that there's a broad smile there to welcome them, too. It's in the master bedroom, as it has been for seven years or so.
Jane's in two minds about whether or not he lets her see that, though.
Then again, knowing Lisbon, she's unlikely to give him a choice.
A local newspaper, yellowing due to age, is sprawled on the couch. It's leaves decorate the furniture as cushions normally would in a more feminine, more highly furnished home. As she walks, following him though the house, two steps behind him, Lisbon briefly catches sight of one of the headlines: Famous Psychic's Wife and Child Brutally Murdered by Red John. She doesn't need to read the article to know what platitudes it states beneath it. Old news, but in reality, it's still happening. However, the general public no longer cared that Jane was still mourning.
Yesterday's news still has repercussions - it always does. She's always been aware of that; she has to be in her job. Revenge, abuse, even looking at somebody the wrong way can cause people to do terrible deeds. It's not something that can be brushed under the carpet, but people habitually do. Why think about death and destruction and how people will react to it daily when it is far, far easier to ignore it?
He gets more and more panicked as he sorts through the pile of letters, searching out for the familiar stamp of the hospital desperately. When he cannot place it, cannot grip hold of it with firm fingers, he wheels around and stares at Lisbon with wild eyes. She's rarely scared of him, but it's times like this, times when he looks like he's standing on a cliff's edge and ready to jump, that she is.
Question was, if he jumped, would he pull her down too, like a dead weight?
Or would she be able to pull him back from the brink just in time?
"It's not here, it's not here."
"Maybe…"
"Maybe it's not true, maybe they were lying?"
"You saw their copy of the letter, just before we went outside, remember?"
"I won't believe it, I can't. Not until I see my own copy."
"It's been a long time." Her voice is barely a murmur as she scratches at his surface, begging him to see reason. "Two years of mail, at least. It could be anywhere."
She sighs, an involuntary reaction, as he pushes past her. Lisbon can see that his eyes are filled to bursting with tears that are ready to fall, simply needing is one last push to break the dam. It's obvious that it's going to come soon; the tears are just waiting for the right moment. Tentatively, she follows in his footsteps, like a lion cub following its mother. Far enough back not to get into trouble, but close enough not to lose him. She's just relieved when he doesn't turn round, snarling and tells her to stay put.
There's a step that always creaks in the staircase. Jane shudders as his foot comes into contact with it. Not because he dislikes the sound of creaking floorboards, they don't bother him particularly. No, because his every action feels exactly the same as the last time he came home to a 'gift' from Red John.
Leaving the girlfriend at the front door.
(This time, she is following nervously behind.)
Rifling through the mail to see if there's anything interesting.
(Trying to find out if his daughter was actually his.)
Pushing that damn tricycle out of the way.
(Shoving poor Lisbon aside. She didn't deserve this kind of treatment.)
The ominous silence as he climbed upstairs.
(The same floorboard creaked, as usual.)
He wasn't a nice man, back then.
He still isn't now.
Jane almost isn't surprised when he sees an envelope stuck to the door of the master bedroom. Nervously, he pulls it off, not really wanting to see the contents. His name, this address, typed neatly in Times New Roman. The hospital stamp in the right hand corner. As Lisbon's slender fingers tighten around his shoulder, he flips it over, his breath hitching.
Neither of them are surprised to see that the envelope has already been opened once The paper has the slightly warped effect of something that has been held over the steam from a kettle, allowing it to be opened without any hassle or mess. With a shaking finger, he eases it open for a second time, finding it a blessed relief that Lisbon is by his side.
One side, the hospital letter, confirming the facts. There was a mix up at birth.
The other, three words.
Finishing the job.
And a red smile drawn with a sharpie.
TBC…
