AN-OK, so this is kind of old, and was written after I spent ten hours in a piddly departure lounge last summer, so excuse the cheesy flashback XD Inspired by the Regina Spektor song "Laughing With", definitely worth a listen if you get the chance. Anyway, hope you enjoy this!
Not here again. Everything was moving slowly; nothing was happening quickly enough. It felt like days since she'd last seen his smile when, in reality, it was probably only an hour or two.
Why had he done it?, she wondered to herself as she replayed the day's events in her mind.
It had been raining in Sacramento, CA, and the CBI had been called to a stand-off downtown; the local drug gang had apparently taken a member of a rival gang hostage as revenge for the newcomers stealing their business. Despite instructions otherwise, Lisbon had invited Jane to come with the team; something about his character (or his eyes, depending on the gender being faced by them) provided reassurance to the most desperate of souls.
Hightower wouldn't be happy when she found out, but Lisbon reasoned that the new boss would be hard-pressed to argue with a successful result.
As they had neared the scene, the "hostage situation" revealed itself to be a crazy Canadian wandering up and down a cordoned off street, brandishing an alarmingly large rifle.
Lisbon muttered a few choice swear words under her breath before heading towards the small group of police stood around nervously.
"What've we got here, then?" she had asked.
The men paused a moment before replying: "To be totally honest, ma'am, we aren't completely sure. All we know is that someone's gotta calm that psycho down, and fast."
He gestured towards the residents huddled quietly at the end of the street.
"Do we know his name?" she had then asked , only to be answered be a shake of the head.
"Nuh-uh, ma'am. We've got a couple agents back at the station trying to get a match but so far we got nada."
Lisbon then remembered sighing before walking over to Jane, who had been stood casually eating a chocolate bar, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do when facing a lunatic with a gun.
For Jane, she had thought, it probably was.
They had passed a few moments in terse conversation until they were silenced by a shot that rang through the sky. Lisbon swore again.
Several silent seconds passed. The man continued to pace up and down the street and, to Lisbon's everlasting horror, Jane strode out to meet him.
"Aw, come on," she muttered under her breath, hoping that an unspecified deity would hear her silent prayers.
"Hello, sir," said Patrick Jane calmly. "I've noticed you seem to be having some kind of problem. Can we help?" He had waved his arm in the general direction of the police.
The gunman had begun to say no until his eyes landed upon Lisbon, stood just far away enough from the crowd to stand out.
"Yes," he said, "I would like to speak with her."
Jane's well practiced guard fell for less than a second, showing the other man an expression of pure fear, before returning to his usual cheery mask.
"Oh, I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir," he replied. "Is there anything else we-"
"No, you are mistaken. I will speak with her or I will blast her from this Earth," the man continued, flicking the safety switch on his gun, a murderous twinkle in his eye.
In the instant that it had taken the Canadian to lift his gun and loosely aim, Jane sprinted towards her and Lisbon suddenly remembered why she was here. In the hospital.
Patrick Jane had taken a bullet for her.
Patrick Jane had saved her life.
