AN: Thanks for the great response to the last chapter! This chapter was one of my favorites to write, so I hope you all enjoy it as well. Next chapter should be up sometime this weekend!
"You don't want me to come in there, do you?" says Cho, gesturing with his head to the room which holds Erica Flynn.
He and Jane have just arrived at the prison where Erica has spent the past few months. A heavyset guard with a stern expression stands at the door, waiting for them.
Jane sighs. "I think I'll get more out of her if you stay here," he admits.
Cho nods, then he looks at the guard. "Let him in."
The door opens, and Jane walks through.
Erica Flynn is seated at the sole table in the room. She flashes him a devastating smile that he immediately dismisses.
"Orange suits you," says Jane as soon as the door shuts behind him. "As do handcuffs."
He takes her in and is frustrated to find that his words are actually true: he imagines it would be very difficult to dress Erica Flynn in a way which did not suit her.
Luckily for him, Erica is also psychopath-level crazy, which he finds strongly detracts from her overall attractiveness.
She smirks at him, brushing her hair out of her face. It's grown since they'd last met—it must be obnoxious to her to not have access to a stylist while in prison.
Jane walks over to the table, which is bolted to the floor. The rest of the gray brick room is empty, making Erica's jumpsuit appear even more gaudy by comparison.
Jane sits.
"And I'm afraid bitterness does not suit you, Patrick," Erica says. "However, I must admit you do look well." Her eyes rove over him, and he is suddenly aware that she is unabashedly checking him out.
He nods in response to her statement. "I am."
Her eyes narrow in half confusion, half surprise. "You mean that," she says. When he doesn't respond, she says, "Ah, I see. He was right."
Jane taps his fingers on the table lazily. "See what, Erica? And who was right?"
Erica leans forward, bringing her hands over to touch Jane's fingers. The cold metal of her handcuffs bites against his skin. She smiles. "I'm a matchmaker, Patrick. How can I not see what's written all over your face?" She shrugs. "It wasn't obvious a few months ago, but subtle signs were there. When we recorded your dating profile video—you weren't only thinking of your wife when answering those questions, were you?"
Jane tenses, and he feels Erica's fingers wrap around his own.
He thinks back to the answers he'd given.
Yes, he'd been thinking of his wife—at least consciously. But he realizes suddenly that every word he'd spoken when describing his ideal match fits Lisbon as well.
He looks up at Erica, floored.
"I thought so," she says knowingly. "I'm happy for you, Patrick."
Jane shakes himself, pulling his hands away from her. "What am I doing here?" he asks, monotone.
Erica leans back. "I'd like to make an exchange."
"I'm listening."
"I have information regarding Red John," Erica says. "Given your current…situation with Agent Lisbon, I thought you'd like to have it."
Jane's eyes narrow as he takes her in. Somehow, she knows about the latest cases that have been assigned to the unit—and she knows about their connection to Lisbon.
"What will this information cost me?" asks Jane, wary.
Erica doesn't pretend to be wounded by this. "You'll get me out of here for the day," she says softly. "I'll do the rest."
She's asking him to help break her out of prison, he realizes.
Jane laughs without humor. "Not a chance," he says. "You do realize I put you in here for a reason?"
"Red John needs me," says Erica, pouting slightly. "If you can get me out, he'll reward you."
Jane's derisive smile freezes on his face. "You're with Red John?"
Erica sends him a sultry grin. "Of course," she says. "Before I met him, I was merely a competent matchmaker. Now I am exceptional—because of what I've learned from him about observation. It's funny—you're a lot alike, Patrick. You and him. Oh," she adds as an afterthought. "I suppose I should clarify that the information I have is not on him but rather from him."
"Why can't he just break you out himself? He clearly has the connections in law enforcement to make that possible."
"Breaking me out himself would leave a trail. It's much more efficient to have you do it—that way, he can't be tracked through me."
Jane swallows. "Why should I even consider this? How do I know you're telling the truth? That this information you have is any good?"
"Red John wants to ensure you'll be satisfied with your reward if you help him. I promise, the information is worth it."
Jane frowns. "You'll have to forgive me for not being able to take you at your word, Erica."
"He said you'd say that," says Erica. She stands up, leaning across the table, and her lips are suddenly at his ear. He feels her breath on his skin. "That night," she says, her tone more appropriate for the bedroom than the interrogation room, "your wife was very clean. She smelled like coal tar soap and lavender. Your daughter...she smelled like sweat and strawberries and cream."
Jane freezes.
Erica is so close he can feel her smile against his skin, and her lips brush his ear as she pulls away. She sits back down across from him, still wearing the ghost of her smile, and it takes everything in Jane to prevent himself from hyperventilating.
His vision tunnels.
He stands quickly and leaves without another word, stuffing his hands inside his suit pockets to hide the tell-tale trembling of his fingers.
He holds himself together until he arrives at Lisbon's house that night, and then he falls apart in her arms.
Startled and scared, she leads him over to her couch, where she sits him down and pulls him against her, making shushing noises. He can't control the tremors that make his entire body quake, and he vaguely registers that Lisbon has thrown the blanket from the back of the couch over them both.
He can't remember ever losing control quite so badly. Even just after the deaths of his family, he'd grieved in silence, the pain too raw to be felt for fear it'd tear him completely apart.
Eventually, though, his gasps become quieter. He pulls back from Lisbon slightly, his vision still blurry—but he can make out the dampness of her shirt from where his face had rested, his tears falling on her.
"Oh, god, Lisbon—I'm sorry," he says hurriedly.
She just pulls him against her again. "It's fine," she says. She runs one hand through his hair, and the other rubs soothing patterns on his back. He turns his face toward her neck and breathes her in.
She leans back against the pillows, pulling him with her, and he switches their positions so that his weight is not on top of her. Instead, he is sprawled out on the couch, her back pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around her waist tightly.
"I tried to find you after work today," she whispers, turning her head slightly to speak to him. "Cho called me. He said you visited Erica Flynn."
For a few seconds, the two of them are silent, and if he concentrates hard enough he swears he can hear her heartbeat.
"She messed with your head," adds Lisbon.
"I left work early," Jane confirms. No need to tell her he'd spent the last few hours driving numbly through downtown Sacramento.
"Are you okay?" Lisbon asks hesitantly.
He breathes in shakily, steeling himself to respond.
"Erica is working with Red John," he says, his tone devoid of emotion. "She told me what my wife and daughter smelled like the night he killed them in order to get me to believe her."
Lisbon grabs his hands, pulling his arms around her more completely. She leans into him. "My god." She pauses. "Why did she tell you that?"
"She wants me to help her escape. If I do so, she says Red John will reward me with information—possibly regarding his plans for you."
He feels her shiver, and he shifts closer so that his lips rest at the nape of her neck.
"So you're going to help her? Even if she wants to help Red John in turn?" Lisbon's voice is small but strong.
Jane doesn't hesitate in responding. "If her information can help you, it's worth any price."
Lisbon doesn't hesitate either. "No, it's not," she says. "Jane, we put her away! You can't honestly be considering this—she killed her husband!"
"It's not like I'm thrilled with the idea, Lisbon," says Jane irritably. "If it were up to me, she'd rot in jail."
"Then let her! There's no guarantee whatever information she has will be useful to you."
"Lisbon."
She shifts to face him in order to glare at him. "Patrick Jane, don't you dare. You will not, under any circumstances, help her return to Red John."
Jane doesn't make her any promises, but he concedes.
For now.
Lisbon moves suddenly, and he lets his arms fall from her as she stands up. But then she reaches out for him with one hand. He looks at her in confusion.
"Come on," she says not at all shyly, meeting his eye with determination, and she pulls him to his feet as well. "You're not sleeping at that dreadful motel or on this couch tonight."
She leads him up the stairs and into her bedroom, and he knows he still has a perplexed look on his face. "Shoes off," she says, and he does as she says as she divests him of his suit jacket and vest. "Get in," she says quietly, indicating to her bed, and she moves around him to grab an oversized t-shirt from the dresser. She heads to the adjoining bathroom to change, and he steps toward the bed as if in a trance.
He's under the covers by the time she returns, and she flips off the lights before joining him.
She reaches for him automatically.
As he lays there in her arms, the last of the tremors leave his body.