AN: Thanks for the amazing response to last chapter! Your reviews and feedback mean more to me than I can say. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.
He drops her off at her apartment after they land in Sacramento. She doesn't invite him inside, and he doesn't ask. Instead, she watches him pull away from the curb in his death-trap of a car, then she turns to open the door.
Lisbon knows he meant what he said last night about giving her time to figure things out. And she is grateful for this time—she finds her ability to think clearly is inversely proportional to the amount of distance between their two bodies. And after spending a week in close proximity to Jane—at times in very close proximity to Jane—she needs to clear her mind.
She swings the door shut behind her and locks it absentmindedly, dropping her bags on the floor. She debates heading to the kitchen to rifle through her drawers for a takeout menu but instead moves to the living room, giving into the temptation of crashing on her couch for a few minutes.
But she finds she is unable to do so because someone is already sitting on it.
Lisbon freezes with one foot into the living room.
"Erica," she says, her jaw tight. Her eyes flash down to the gun being trained on her before looking back up into Erica's dark eyes. "I should have expected a visit from you."
"It's good to see you, Teresa. How is your arm healing up?"
Her tone is light, conversational—as though she and Lisbon are out for coffee. It seems bizarre paired with the current situation.
Lisbon shrugs. "The doctor says all the extra stress in my life isn't doing the healing process any favors."
Erica smooths out a nonexistent wrinkle from her skintight mauve dress. "You should take better care of yourself. Your health is the most important thing."
Lisbon restrains herself from rolling her eyes. As if all this stress I'm experiencing isn't in some way related to you, she thinks.
"What do you want, Erica?" she asks instead. She begins to calculate, wondering if she can retreat a step or two to retrieve the gun hidden in the entry hall.
Erica stands up, her weapon still trained on Lisbon. It is clear from her expression that she knows exactly what Lisbon is thinking.
She tosses something at Lisbon, who realizes that Erica had been holding a pair of handcuffs throughout their exchange. "Put them on," says Erica, nodding at her. "Cuff yourself to the banister on the stairs," she adds.
Lisbon moves across the room slowly, taking steady steps as she walks to the stairs. Erica pivots, her gun following Lisbon's movements.
"Why the handcuffs?" asks Lisbon as she threads them around the banister and locks them around her wrists. She leans back against the wall of the stairwell. "You know Jane will find me here in a couple of hours and get me out of them."
Erica lowers the gun when the telltale sound of the cuffs locking echoes throughout the room.
"Oh, I have no doubt," she says, smiling. "In fact, I'll call him myself as I leave so that you're not uncomfortable for long."
Lisbon reads between the lines. "So what you're saying is that the only reason you wanted to use the cuffs is because you knew it would annoy me."
Erica smirks at her, and Lisbon fumes. "We both know 'annoyed' doesn't properly convey your sentiments toward me at the moment. What you're feeling right now is a deep hatred—a loathing, if you will—because you are not in control of the current situation."
Lisbon doesn't reply to this. Erica only smiles wider.
"To answer your earlier question," says Erica, setting the gun down on the couch and walking over to Lisbon. "I am here to give you some advice."
Lisbon raises an eyebrow. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not about to take advice from a wanted felon."
Erica moves closer so that she is standing merely inches from Lisbon. "You'll want to hear this, believe me," she says.
Lisbon wants to move forward, to invade Erica's personal space, to attempt to make her uncomfortable, but the handcuffs prevent her from moving. Instead, she glares at Erica with narrowed eyes as the taller woman studies her, clearly weighing her words.
"Patrick has obviously told you about his feelings for you," Erica says finally. "Despite everything else that's going on in your life, I sense you're feeling…satisfied."
"I don't see how Jane's feelings are any of your business."
Erica ignores this. "I also sense that you haven't given Patrick a definitive answer regarding your feelings for him," she says. "I'm here to advise you to tell him that you cannot be in a relationship with him."
"Are you threatening me?" asks Lisbon, feeling her earlier anger at the situation give way to fury.
"God, no," says Erica, and she gives a short, musical laugh. "I've merely used my instincts as a professional matchmaker to analyze your potential relationship, and I must warn you that every possible outcome of it is failure."
"You can't possibly know that."
"I can," argues Erica. "You see, a relationship between you and Patrick will not work because you want to be together for all the wrong reasons. You are attracted to his danger, his unpredictability, his transgressions."
Lisbon is stunned by the ring of truth to these words, and she cannot help but listen intently as Erica continues.
"He is, in fact, in love with you," says Erica. "However, he only feels this way because you remind him of his wife."
These words have the effect of knocking the wind out of Lisbon as though they were a physical rather than metaphorical blow. While she struggles to remember how to breathe, Erica keeps talking.
"Teresa, you have a fiery personality, an adventurous side, and you're the only person alive on this planet who can call Patrick on his bullshit and actually have him listen to you. Additionally, you share a physical resemblance to Angela Jane, who was also about five foot four in addition to being a brunette." She pauses, gesturing with her hands. "Shall I go on?"
"No," says Lisbon right away. "No, you've made your point."
Erica moves toward her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm very sorry," she says. "But I truly believe this potential relationship would be extremely unhealthy for you. And that's not even mentioning all the other hesitations you no doubt already have about Patrick's reliability."
Lisbon cannot stop the thoughts which flood over her.
Jane's secrets.
His inability to put down roots.
His tendency to place higher priority on getting his revenge than the team's safety.
His lies.
His never-ending, unforgiveable, goddamn lies.
Erica's fingers squeeze Lisbon's shoulder. "As a matchmaker, it pains me to see a relationship is doomed before it even begins. But believe me, you will be better off from learning this sooner rather than later. I know you see the logic behind my words."
For some reason, this sentence is the last degree of heat need to send water into a boil, and Lisbon's pent-up anger spills over.
She tugs at the handcuffs, feeling them bite into her sweaty skin. "Logic? How dare you speak to me about logic," she hisses. "This mess you're involved in—how the hell are you rationalizing your way through it? How can you justify working with Red John? With helping him get away with murder? I mean, I know you killed your husband. But Red John wants to kill innocent women whose only crime is looking like me. How can you live with yourself for helping him do that?"
"Red John has his faults," says Erica. "But then again, so does Patrick, and yet you overlook his."
Lisbon feels the muscles in her arms begin to strain because of her awkward positioning.
"You're saying you ignore the fact that Red John is a cold-blooded murderer because you're in love with him."
"Patrick has killed before, and yet you love him."
"Jane killed Hardy to save my life. That's completely different."
"Perhaps," admits Erica. "But years of matchmaking have told me that love is never logical or rational. It just is."
They stare at each other for a few seconds, and Lisbon wishes she were half a foot taller so that she could look directly into Erica's eyes. "Take your own damn advice," Lisbon says finally, her voice low.
Erica visibly recoils. Lisbon wonders vaguely how the woman could possibly reconcile such double standards, but Erica has already composed herself.
"Warning you about Patrick was not my only motive for seeing you," says Erica, dropping her hand from Lisbon's shoulder. "Red John is impressed that you noticed the missing photo album, and he wanted to give you a message as a reward."
Lisbon takes a deep breath through her nose, wondering how the hell Red John could know that she discovered the scrapbook had been taken. She narrows her eyes.
"Red John kept an eye on Patrick for quite some time after the death of his family. When he heard that Patrick was recovering—that he'd soon be released from the psych ward—Red John knew that Patrick would come crawling back to law enforcement, looking for new leads, hoping to finally take him down."
Lisbon freezes, trying to sort through these words.
"And Red John wanted to give him a fair chance—in fact, Red John was hopeful for a serious challenge. So he decided to let Patrick to tag along with the CBI. But Red John knew—as do you and I—that he couldn't entrust Patrick to just anyone. That's why, when he learned that Patrick was due to be released from the hospital, he gave the case to you." The corners of Erica's mouth twitch upward. "As I told you before, Patrick has a soft spot for fiery brunettes, and Red John knew you'd remind Patrick of his wife. Red John knew you'd be able to control him because of that."
Erica's smile grows wider. "His plan worked remarkably well—you and Patrick have turned out to be two of his best employees. Moreover, the plan worked so well that Patrick fell in love with you. Red John was thrilled to discover this lovely, unexpected side benefit."
"Get the hell out of my house."
Lisbon knows she's visibly shaking, but she cannot control herself any longer.
Erica grins, snatching Lisbon's cell phone from her back pocket and moving away.
Lisbon glares at her, watching as Erica hits the first number on the phone's speed dial and places the phone to her ear. "I changed my mind," Lisbon says. "Go to hell."
Lisbon listens as Jane picks up on the first ring.
"Yes, hello, Patrick," says Erica smoothly. "I'm just calling to let you know that your Teresa is in a bit of a predicament at her apartment right now. Backup is not needed. She just needs you."
She hangs up and drops the phone on the couch, grabbing her gun instead.
"As always, Teresa," she says, "this was a pleasure. I'm sure we will be in contact again very soon."
"You better hope not," hisses Lisbon, but the threat is belied by the sound of the handcuffs sliding against the banister as she struggles.
Erica walks gracefully away, slamming the door behind her in her wake.
Jane doesn't breathe for seventeen minutes and fifty-one seconds.
This is how long it takes him to race to Lisbon's apartment, throw open the unlocked door, and catch a glimpse of Lisbon in her living room.
"I'm fine," she assures him hurriedly as he moves toward her, his head spinning. "Just get me out of these."
He looks around the room for something to use as a lock pick and immediately finds a stray bobby pin on the ground. The cuffs are off in a matter of seconds, and he can't stop himself from reaching for her.
But she maneuvers around him, moving out of his reach, and he tries to push down the hurt this elicits.
"What the hell happened?" he asks as she moves away from him, across the room.
Her words come out slightly hoarse. "I should have cleared the apartment before letting my guard down."
Jane follows Lisbon into the kitchen, taking care not to move too close. He should have expected that she would be slightly skittish after being handcuffed in her own apartment.
"Erica was here," Lisbon elaborates. "Sitting on my couch, pointing a gun at me as I walked in."
Jane swears loudly. For several minutes, the only words he can think of are four letters long and obscene.
"What did she want?" he asks finally, when he can trust himself to form sentences.
Lisbon hesitates, refusing to look at him. She leans against the counter, putting her weight forward on her hands.
"She told me that Red John assigned me to his case all those years ago," she whispers.
Jane immediately knows there must be more to the story, but he doesn't push, knowing she will tell him when she can.
"She essentially said Red John has been our boss from the very beginning—he must have been involved in the CBI before I was ever hired." She finally looks up to meet Jane's eyes. "Jane, what are we going to do?"
He immediately reads the existential crisis in her expression.
She became a cop to try to eliminate some of the evil in the world. How is she supposed to react when she finds out that the evil she's been fighting signs her paycheck?
His fingers automatically reach out to touch her, but he forces them back down to his side.
"This doesn't change much," Jane admits. "We already suspected Red John had connections within the CBI. All Erica did was confirm it." He takes a step forward, relieved when Lisbon doesn't move away. "Red John may not even be officially a part of the CBI. He may just have connections with someone who is."
"But what if he's more than involved?" Lisbon asks. "What if it's more than mere connections? Could he be one of the powers that be? Jane, do you know what this could mean?"
Jane watches her body tense, as though she's trying to stop herself from trembling. "Hey, Lisbon, it's alright," he says. "It's fine. I swear, it's all fine. Just listen to me."
"Jane, what if we're working for him? What if he's been ordering us around from the very beginning?"
He watches her hands clench on the counter.
"What if all the good we'd thought we were doing—what if it wasn't good after all?"
"Lisbon, stop," says Jane sharply. "You're a fantastic cop. You've helped put murderers away. Lots of them, I might add. You are a fearless leader, and your team has done more good for this city than any other unit has. Whether or not Red John has been involved in the CBI doesn't change any of that."
Lisbon's voice is rough. "If he's a part of the CBI, then I don't think I can be anymore."
Jane sighs. "We might not have a choice, Lisbon. We may ultimately need someone inside the CBI to help take him down."
It takes her a while to respond. "I know," she says quietly. "But it makes me feel physically sick to think that he may be giving our team orders from higher up."
He doesn't know what to say to this, so they stand in silence, the florescent light from her kitchen washing out their skin.
A few minutes later, Lisbon sighs.
"It's late," she says. "And we both need to be at work early tomorrow."
It's clearly a dismissal, and Jane nods, heading to her door. She opens it for him, and he turns around, knowing that everything about this night has gone horribly wrong but also that he has no idea what exactly is wrong.
"Lisbon, I—" he says, but she cuts him off.
"Me neither," she says, shutting the door.
He remains on her doorstep for five minutes, shell-shocked, before he finally returns to his car.