A/N: Much love to the last reviewers. And just a bit more love for reviewer: Ms. HellFire 4590. Enjoy the next instalment!
Chapter 8
'He was toying with us,' Van Pelt finally came to the right conclusion, 'It was all just a game...a power play.'
'Well...at least we know what he looks like,' Rigsby tried to raise the atmosphere, chewing a chip thoughtfully from the bowl beside him.
'How can you eat at a time like this?' Van Pelt asked, completely bewildered by Rigsby's unhindered obsession with food.
'I'm hungry!' Rigsby complained.
Van Pelt shook her head softly.
'Guys. Back to the case here,' Cho came in, 'You really think that was Red John's true appearance? He isn't stupid enough to walk in here straight out.'
'Maybe not stupid enough...but he's dangerous enough to.'
'Walking in here and basically giving himself to us just for a game gets him nowhere.' Cho muttered.
'Why did he do it anyway? It's not his style to risk being caught out.' Rigsby said through a mouthful of chip.
'Maybe he's just trying to reinforce how clever he is...' Van Pelt replied quietly.
'Well. I don't buy it. I think that was a disguise,' Cho continued.
'And that leaves us nowhere...' Van Pelt glanced over at interrogation one, a horribly sick feeling drowning her stomach.
'And anyway...why didn't Bosco suss anything by the fact that Red John was said to have had the same name. John. There's an extremely low chance that the actual Red John is called John. That was just a name given to him...' Rigsby pointed out.
'It was a huge crack in the case...or at least it appeared to be...maybe he just...ignored it.' Van Pelt said, twirling a pen on her desk absentmindedly.
'Bosco isn't that stupid,' Cho defended, hitting the enter button on the keyboard and leaning back into his swivel chair.
Van Pelt huffed. They weren't getting anywhere. Nothing was showing up on the databases. Nothing was appearing to explain anything about John Hyder and Terry Yeoker. She had thought that maybe those two names meant something...but nothing came up. The whole high school story proved to be a fake. Anthony Gibbs and Timothy Sander were registered as deceased, at the ages of 91 and 74 respectively.
Van Pelt was beginning to wonder whether they would ever find the serial killer. Whether they would just be stuck in this sick game until the end... No. There had to be something. There had to be. Everyone makes mistakes. Even Red John. The young agent began tapping on her keyboard again. They would break him. They would.
Patrick sat completely content...relaxed...a soft smile reaching his lips as his head lay back against the sofa. Lisbon lay across his lap...asleep again. She had a knack of falling asleep in Patrick's embrace. So here she was again, sleeping peacefully, happily full of strawberries. It was a wonderful sight when Lisbon slept, Patrick had decided. She was completely harmless and gentle, at peace. He loved watching her soft features. The way the bridge of her nose crinkled when she turned her head. The way the gentle breaths fell from her lips. The way strands of hair tumbled over her face when she shifted slightly. Patrick brushed them away, careful not to wake her.
But suddenly, crashing through the serenity of the moment, three words appeared in his brain. He almost physically choked at the shock. He looked around, as if thinking that something else had caused the sound. The three words he hadn't heard himself say in a long time. He wondered where they had come from. When. He swallowed. Could it be real? Three words.
Bosco felt completely useless as he laid in the hospital bed, staring at the door, the security guard stood close by. He could only imagine walking out of there. Getting back to work. He needed to be back in action. After such commotion at the headquarters, he couldn't possibly be stuck here, hooked up to IV fluids and blood bags...it was ridiculous.
He'd had enough time to think about the whole process of events which led up to the explosion, and Bosco felt like hitting himself when he realised that Red John couldn't really be called John in real life. It would be a coincidence too big to be reality. He felt like an idiot for not asking further questions about it. For the first time in his career, he had been inefficient, and he couldn't figure out why. He had acted like a child with a brand new toy, and the normal procedure had been completely screwed up.
He hated how this new twist in the Red John tale was proving the CBI to more and more of a blunt force against the serial killer. How the man had managed to get inside CBI without anyone noticing. And had managed to kill a security guard.
The whole case was like searching a pitch black room without a torch. Nothing could be found. And they kept tripping over. It felt like there was really no hope as Bosco continued to run everything through, again and again in his mind.
Teresa Lisbon lay back in the cool summer green grass, her eyelids gently fluttering. Soft, fluffy white clouds drifted above her, cruising, without a care in the world. Her hair lay in perfect ringlets amidst the fresh grass, framing her face, and a beautiful white summer dress adorned her slender frame, glowing faintly in the sunlight. The soft breeze blew delicate petals over her, brushing her cheeks as they fell. And in her hand, lay the hand of another, the comfortable warmth running up her arm and flooding through her.
She turned her head with a gentle smile lifting the corners of her mouth. All she could feel was simply peace, love and calm. Nothing else. No fear. No hate. No sorrow.
She found Patrick Jane's gaze, her eyes meeting his penetrating emerald ones. Not a word fell from either of their lips as Teresa rolled onto her side, looking full into his eyes. He did the same, never breaking eye contact, a beautiful smile replying to hers. Teresa's gaze flitted to his soft lips, only for a second, as she shifted her head forward towards him across the daisy-littered grass. To close the gap seemed to take centuries, as she felt the longing build inside her. When their lips finally brushed, the air seemed to be knocked clear of her lungs and she pulled away, ever so slightly, pushing her forehead against Patrick's for just a moment before touching back again.
Her hand travelled lightly over the loose, pure white shirt covering Patrick's torso, pushing her index and middle finger through the gap between the buttons and revelling in the soft warmth under her fingertips.
But suddenly, amidst the peace of the bubble the two seemed to be in, a loud, abrupt bang rang through the air and Teresa panicked, sitting up, searching round for the source. She turned her wide-eyed gaze back to Patrick, and in horror, watched a scarlet patch grew rapidly over his pure white shirt. Her hands shook as they hovered over the hole in his chest. They pressed down. She felt the warmth pouring from his body. Sticky blood crept through the gaps between her fingers. She ran her hand across his cheek, but his green eyes were already blank. Already staring. Seeing nothing. And she was sat...covered in his blood...pretty green grass marred by blood...daisies dripping with sticky scarlet...
Lisbon screamed awake, shooting up, her long black hair falling over her face. Her breath fell heavy from her parched lips. She flinched, her heart almost stopping as she felt a hand on her shoulder.
'Lisbon?'
The sound of his voice brought tears tumbling down her cheeks and she froze, only for a second, before turning round and launching into his arms.
'Whoa, whoa...Lisbon...what's wrong?'
Lisbon simply shook her head, unwilling to explain. She felt dizzy and unstable, burying her face in Patrick's shoulder. She couldn't figure out why she would see something like that. She could still feel the blood on her hands...even though it wasn't there...
'B-b-blood...on my hands...' she stuttered.
'Oh god,' Patrick thought. Nightmares.
He rubbed soothing circles into her back, using the other hand to smooth out her hair gently.
'I'm sorry, Lisbon,' he murmured, '...I know he's gone...but be strong for me Lisbon.'
'But...I thought I'd lost you,' Lisbon choked.
Patrick's brow crumpled. Him? Him?
'Lisbon. What happened?'
'...S-shot...' she managed.
Patrick felt Lisbon shudder horribly. 'Heyyy. Come on. It's ok. I'm here. I'm fine.'
Lisbon felt like she couldn't move. She couldn't possibly let go. She pressed a kiss to Patrick's shoulder, where the shirt opened enough to expose skin.
'Shh...shh...shhhh...' Patrick continued to rub her back gently. He felt the brief contact of Lisbon's lips on his shoulder blade, and he almost thought it wasn't real. Lisbon. Kissing him. Like that would ever happen. Yet...that strange sensation on his skin, that sent tingles through his nerves.
Suddenly, his train of thought was derailed by a second kiss, just at the base of his neck.
'Lisbon?' Patrick gently pulled her off him and held her in front of him.
She stared down, wide-eyed.
'Lisbon, it was just a bad dream. Don't worry.'
Lisbon slowly brought her gaze to her hands. She could see the blood. She could see it sticking on her fingers, under her nails.
'I...' she quickly gathered herself up off the sofa and sped into the kitchen, running the tap hot over her hands, scrubbing ruthlessly. Scrubbing ruthlessly at nothing.
Patrick quickly followed her and came to a halt behind her. 'Lisbon, what are you doing?' he asked quietly, reaching around her and taking her wrists gently in his hands, pulling them out of the scorching water.
'I'm washing the blood off...' she turned her head to face him, tearful green orbs staring up into his.
'There isn't any blood on your hands, Teresa. Look.'
Lisbon turned her gaze back to her slightly reddened hands. No blood. She stepped out of his arms and turned fully towards him. She placed her hand over his heart. Over the hole that had been there in the dream.
Patrick would be lying if he said this wasn't making him slightly nervous. He looked down at Lisbon's slender hand covering his heart.
'It's still beating...' he told her.
Lisbon stepped backwards and leant on the side.
'I'm...sorry...'
'Lisbon,' Patrick began, placing his hands gently on her shoulders, 'Don't worry. Everything's ok.'
'But why you? Why did it have to be you in my dream?'
'I don't know, Lisbon, but don't let it bother you, please. Because I'm here. The dream isn't real.'
'I know...I know...but it felt real. Your touch, your lips, the grass, the breeze, the gunshot, the blood...it was all so real.'
'But it wasn-' Patrick stopped in his tracks. 'Wait...my lips?'
Red John sat smugly behind the wheel of his car, almost back home. Or what he called home anyway. Images of that security guard's face when that knife had come slashing down filled his mind. The sight of blood. It made him feel content. Happy. So he left a smiley at every scene, just to show that...and more...but that was a long story.
He tried imagining Patrick Jane's face when he discovered what had happened in the CBI building, tried feeling what he would feel. It brought a smile to his face.
He was so lost in that world that he didn't notice a small fox crossing the road, unaware of the car belting towards it, until it had been and gone underneath the fat Dunlop tyres, black dusty tread marks left across its rough fur.
'Shit...' he swore under his breath, bringing the car back under control. He searched the rear view, trying to locate what he'd run over. Ugh, that was the second time he'd hit something today. He really should pay more attention to the road. Admittedly, he had got himself a bit drunk this morning. Yes, this morning. Don't ask why...and that was probably why he'd hit that guy's car. He didn't know whether he was alright or not, but to be honest he couldn't care less...but anyway.
He eventually settled himself down again, looking out the windscreen at the young sunset.
Lisbon mentally cursed herself. Her tongue could be a liability at times. Why did she have to let that slip, of all things? She couldn't think up anything to cover her tracks with. Her cheeks burnt bright pink, almost glowing.
Patrick didn't know what to say. Had Lisbon just admitted that she dreamt of kissing him? Surely, that couldn't be right...could it?
Awkward silence filled the next couple of minutes.
Patrick suddenly smirked. 'Was I good?'
Lisbon's jaw dropped. 'Jane!' She would have grabbed the nearest object and hit him over the head with it, but unfortunately, the nearest object was a frying pan, and therefore probably wouldn't go down too well.
'Apart from the fact that you got shot not thirty seconds later...that was uncalled for,' Lisbon told him sternly.
Patrick made a pathetic attempt at hiding his smirk. 'Just...trying to lift the mood, Lisbon.'
Lisbon narrowed her eyes. 'Yes...of course. And yes...'
Patrick had to take a moment to figure out what the 'and yes' meant.
He grinned cheekily.
Lisbon hit him over the back of the head.
She refused to let her mood drop again. And if that meant hitting Patrick, then so be it.
'Now you're taking control of how you feel, Lisbon. This is good,' Patrick smiled.
'Yeah, thanks Jane. Do I get a gold star?'
'Yup. Gold star for Lisbon.'
'I feel so happy,' Lisbon joked.
'Good.'
For a moment, all they did was smile at each other.
'Will you help me tell the others tomorrow?' Lisbon became a little more serious for a moment.
'What? That you dreamt of kissing me?'
'No!' Lisbon hit the back of his head again.
'No. Of course, Lisbon.'
'Thank you...'
Lisbon paused for a moment. 'You...can stay tonight if you want...'
Patrick considered. It wasn't as if he wanted to leave Lisbon. 'Is that alright?'
'Yeah. Sleeping on the couch.'
'Where else?' Patrick smirked.
A/N: Reviewsies? Who sussed what I meant by Red John's hit and run that morning? :O