Authors Note: Sorry this is late, in my defense, I've got the most adorable nephew in the whole world. Warnings for drinking in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't even think I could get them to come play with me at this point.
Jane sighed rubbing his eyes and turning slightly on the couch. He hadn't been sleeping, but not because he was dreaming his regular dreams. What he wouldn't give for a dream of his wife and child drenched in their own blood, painted with their own blood, decorated in blood. No, instead he was dreaming of soft hands and warm kisses, gentle whispers and nips.
He sat bolt upright; this wasn't helping. He'd never been one for exercise, but he knew that it occasionally helped others relaxed enough to sleep. He had tried the pills; the dreams of her still got in. Even Red John couldn't penetrate a drug induced state, and yet Lisbon still got in.
He had a pair of jogging shoes; he kept them for show mostly. He slipped them on now, hoping that in his less than athletic shape he could run himself to death; but knowing that wasn't going to happen unless he had a heart attack, and he didn't think that was going to happen either.
The streets of Sacramento were quiet and dark; that came with running at night. He felt odd in his rumpled suit running through the streets. He ran until he was out of breath and could not catch it, ending up outside a small dive bar just a few blocks from the CBI office. It was still open as it was only just past midnight, so he went in.
He had still had the images in his mind while running; and sure; he was winded, but hardly exhausted enough to fall into a dreamless sleep. Drinking wasn't something he normally did; in truth, he couldn't remember the last time he had a drink, well, maybe. He thought about it, and realized it was when his wife had died, and before he ended up in the hospital; so five, almost six years ago. He'd sworn off the alcohol, not liking the effects; usually he'd wind up blacking out. Somehow that seemed fitting now, to black out and not remember, just as her father had done.
"What'll you have?" The slightly overweight gruff bartender asked when Jane sat down at the bar.
"I don't know." Jane looked around the small dark room. Bars like this always made him think that there should be a cloud of smoke around the ceiling, but with the no smoking laws there was only a faint ring where years ago the smoke used to sit. "Something to forget."
The bartender smirked, handing him an evil looking brown liquid in a small glass. Grimacing Jane picked it up and swallowed in one gulp, feeling it burn and coughing after he'd swallowed. He couldn't speak for a minute, and when he did he addressed the bartender. "What the hell was that?"
"Something to forget." He poured another, sliding the glass to Jane. "What's her name?"
One gulp and a cough. "Who's name?"
"The woman, I see your ring, but you're out at midnight, makes me think it's woman problems, and that it's not your wife." The bartender poured a third but Jane didn't gulp it down, he just held it in his hands.
"No, it's not my wife." Jane paused; he could feel the alcohol churning in his stomach, already dulling his nerves and wits. He wondered if he should tell this man about his problems, how to describe what was going on without sounding like a complete ass. It wasn't going to be possible.
He downed the shot, less burn this time, his throat raw from the previous two. "The woman, she's someone at work. It was just a onetime deal, but…" He let the sentence hang in the air, waved off the the offer of another shot.
"Tough break," was all the bartender said. Not helpful. Jane looked at him, swimming in front of him as the alcohol finally started to have the desired effect. He pulled his wallet out, then realized he never had any cash with him, and only expired credit cards.
"Shit." His voice was slightly slurred. He pulled out his cell phone, only one person to call this late at night, she wouldn't mind. His finger hovered over number one, his first speed dial. What would she think if he called this late at night from a bar, obviously drunk? Would she think it was because of her he was drinking? Even if it was, he didn't want her to know that she had affected him that much.
He pressed the button. "Jane, what the hell do you want?" Not Lisbon.
"Rigsby, I need a ride and the $50 you owe me." He could hear the soft sound of a woman's voice in the background. Van Pelt; Jane's timing really did suck.
"Are you drunk?"
"Well, yeah, why else would I be calling you?" More muffled talking, Van Pelt wanted him to go to Jane, but Rigsby didn't want to leave his lovers warm arms; the thought of it almost made Jane want to cry. His lovers' arms were cold and empty tonight, and it was his fault.
"Let me talk to the bartender." Jane shrugged handed the phone over to the man behind the counter.
"It's for you." Jane half listened to the conversation, the bartender answering questions about where the bar was, how much was his tab, uncommented grunts, a nod of the head.
"Alright bud," the bartender handed back the phone, "I'm putting you in a cab and your friend is going to cover your tab in the morning. You work for the CBI; man sleeping with cops, it's a good way to get shot." The bartender just shook his head at Jane, though at this point it looked like he had two heads. "I'm putting you in a cab and adding it to your tab, how far you going?"
Jane thought; he really hadn't gotten that far with his running plan. "Just a few blocks, back to work, I'll sleep it off there."
He didn't see the sad shake of the bartenders head or notice when he picked up the phone, he just stared off into space until the bartender told him the cab was there. The ride back to work was quick, and Jane stumbled up the stairs and to the elevator, never more glad that the night guard knew him and wouldn't ask questions. He fell onto the couch, not thinking, and passed out; praying that the drink would numb his dreams as well as it had the rest of his body.