AN: Alrighty, let's see how many of you hate me for this. Happy reading!
In less than an hour, there's a knock at Jane's hotel room door.
Knowing full well who is there, Jane stands up from his place on the end of the bed, where he'd been sitting since he dialed Erica's number.
As he reaches out to grab the handle of the door, he wonders if Lisbon will ever be able to forgive him for this. Then he shakes himself. If there is ever anything he can be sure of, it's Lisbon's ability to forgive him for his transgressions.
Regardless, it's not as though he has a choice. He cannot bear to see Lisbon targeted any longer.
He opens the door, and the warm summer night envelops him before a large body steps into the light from the shadows.
Jane doesn't recognize the individual, but the gun he holds leaves no question as to his employer. His dark eyes take in Jane as he trains the firearm on Jane's chest, and Jane raises his hands.
"There's really no need for the gun," Jane says, feeling slightly jittery, and he makes an effort to ensure his hands don't shake. "I plan to fully cooperate."
"Red John knows this," says the man in a deep voice. He's as tall as Rigsby but shares none of the CBI agent's boyish charm. Rather, he is gruff, rough, and he looks like he could break all of Jane's bones with one hand. "The gun is for your benefit."
Ah, thinks Jane. That certainly explains it.
He will undoubtedly be missing for a while before he is thrown back by Red John, and Lisbon will, of course, notice his absence and begin searching for him. If she discovers that he left, that he abandoned her of his own free will, she will be far less likely to let him back into her life than if the evidence indicates that he has been forcibly kidnapped.
He suspects that security camera footage of his apparent abduction will make it into Lisbon's hands tomorrow.
"In that case," says Jane, "I'll make sure to thank Red John for his kindness."
"He expects that you will do so."
Jane is not sure how to respond to this, so he ignores the comment. "So, how do we do this?" he asks instead.
"You come with me," says the man.
"That's it?" Jane tries to hide his surprise. "You're not under orders to drug me or something so that I don't find out the location of wherever we're headed?"
The man gives him an eerie grin. "Red John said you'd ask that. He also said you'd be clever enough to figure out that giving away any information would immediately make your truce with him null and void."
Meaning that if Jane snitches, Lisbon is dead.
Jane nods. "I understand."
"Then let's go."
It's nearly midnight when they arrive in San Francisco, but the city is just coming alive, with neon lights that remind Jane of New Year's fireworks. However, they exit the interstate well before entering the heart of the city, heading down a twisting back road that takes them up steep hills overlooking the seaside.
They drive for another ten minutes before turning into a gated driveway. The gate swings inward for them automatically, and as they approach the house, Jane is reminded of his home in Malibu. Though the home in front of him is at least twice the size, it is similar in style: its walls are overwhelmingly made of windows that sparkle like lanterns from the lights inside, and in general the angles and siding are very modern in feel. He catches a glimpse of an enormous patio with a pool off to the side of the house, strings of lights hung over the water, and he is momentarily disgusted that he finds the property so beautiful.
The car comes to a stop, and Jane and his escort both step out. Jane takes in two other cars in the driveway, both the same high end make and model as the one in which he was transported. They walk up the walkway through the dark, and the man opens the ornate front door and gestures Jane inside.
He is overwhelmed by glistening white—the banistered stairs, the tiles on the floor, the gleaming walls. He looks up to find a shimmering chandelier, but then his attention is drawn to the top of the stairs when his name is called.
"Patrick."
Erica Flynn descends the staircase, wearing a champagne-colored silk robe and looking like a scene out of a movie. She steps in front of him, and he suspects that she deliberately only tied her robe loosely.
"It's good to see you again," she continues.
Jane doesn't respond.
She gives him a half-pout. "I understand your reluctance, but you'll soon see that this arrangement truly is in everyone's best interests. Your Teresa will be safe, and you will have gained a valuable ally."
Jane's insides twist. He feels bile rise in his throat and wonders if this ordeal will succeed in making him physically ill.
"Where is he?" Jane asks. "I'd like to speak with him."
"In time," says Erica. She reaches out to grab Jane's hand. "Red John is currently away on business, but he will be back the day after tomorrow." She checks her watch. "Or rather, since it's technically morning, he will be back tomorrow. I am supposed to get you acquainted with his home and his people in the meantime. They will, after all, essentially become your home and your people very soon."
Jane feels his hand become clammy in hers. "Lisbon will worry," he protests.
"You'll be back to her soon enough, Patrick. And I suspect she will be extremely glad to see you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Erica shrugs. "She turned you down, but she's already regretting it. Once she realizes you've gone missing, she will realize that she can't live without knowing what it was like to give you and her a chance. Life is short, Patrick. Teresa knows that better than anyone. Your abduction, besides cementing the truce between yourself and Red John, will have the added benefit of bringing you and Teresa together." Erica smirks at him. "I suspect you will be in her bed within days of your return."
"So you don't have a problem with Lisbon and me becoming a couple now that I've agreed to do what Red John wants? All those things you said to Lisbon—they were to get her to refuse me? And in turn make me realize how much I've hurt her?"
"You are the smartest man I've ever met," says Erica, and she begins to pull him up the stairs. "But despite your cleverness, you've never been smart enough to protect that woman without hurting her."
"I won't hurt her this time," Jane says. "I'm through with causing her pain. That's why I'm here."
The words sounds like a lie from the moment they leave his lips, and from the look on Erica's face, she realizes this as well. But her next look toward him is sympathetic, and they climb the stairs together. She leads him down a hall lined with artwork that looks more expensive than Jane's yearly paycheck.
Eventually, she pulls him through a doorway and gestures around. "These will be your quarters. Whenever you have business with Red John to attend to, you will stay here."
He looks around, taking in the off-white four-poster bed with a canopy, the sliding doors to the balcony outside, and the adjoining bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi-sized bathtub. It's a near-replica of one of the bedrooms of his Malibu home, and he wonders if the resemblance is deliberate.
He's not sure if he would be more or less disturbed if it weren't.
"Breakfast is served at half-past seven," says Erica. "I look forward to catching up with you, Patrick." She leans in to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Jane forces himself to hold still. "Sweet dreams."
As soon as she leaves, he jumps in the shower, hoping to scrub away the feeling of slime that covers his skin.
But he discovers his disgust at himself is more than skin-deep; it has sunk into his bones, and no amount of cleansing can erase it.
Despite the most comfortable bed he's seen in ages, Jane doesn't sleep.
The next morning, Jane discovers there are clothes in his size hanging in the closet near his bed. He immediately feels uncomfortable upon putting them on—they are more similar to the designer suits he wore in his days as a fake psychic than to his current wardrobe—but he goes downstairs anyway to play his role, to hold up his end of the deal.
The clothes actually help him with this: though he wants nothing more than to confine himself to his quarters and mope, he knows he must act somewhat confident. He cannot allow Red John to see how much this truce has affected him.
So Jane lets his old psychic mask fall into place.
Come midmorning, Jane is already tired of making small talk with Erica. They are sitting out on the patio; she reclines in a pool chair wearing what he thinks hardly counts as a swimsuit while he sits on the next chair over. It's a rather cool morning by San Francisco standards, but he is still well aware of the occasional bead of sweat rolling down the curve of his back.
He wonders vaguely if he's lost his touch—clearly his act does not come quite so easily anymore.
Erica changes the subject suddenly.
"I lied to Teresa when I said you only loved her because she reminded you of Angela," she says.
Jane stares blankly ahead, willing himself not to react.
"I know you're doubting yourself right now, doubting the legitimacy of your feelings for Teresa," she continues. "It's what any sane man in your position would do. But you have to stop, and I'll tell you why." She sits up, shifting toward him. "I think you would have fallen in love with Teresa even if you'd met her before you'd met Angela. You have a type, Patrick. You like strong, confident women. That's all the resemblance is. Nothing more."
For some reason, these words come as a relief to Jane. He takes a deep breath. "So it's obvious that I love her? I mean—it's obvious that I love her for her?"
"Blatantly," confirms Erica.
Jane ponders this for a minute, wondering how much he can rely on getting the truth from a murderer. He looks over at her with narrowed eyes, reading her just as he had months ago when she'd first walked into the CBI. He sees none of the same signs of her deception that he had noticed the first time they'd met.
He nods.
"You're the matchmaker," he says finally. "In your honest, professional opinion, do you think Lisbon and I can make a relationship work?"
Erica tilts her head in his direction, considering. "It shouldn't work," she admits. "Whatever the two of you have, it shouldn't work. Two people who carry such baggage—two people who are so inherently solitary—should not be able to function together. And yet, you do."
"You think we'll last?"
Erica nods. "I suspect that, many years down the line, you will die of old age in her arms. She will die a few years after you of a broken heart." She gives him what he thinks is the first genuine smile he's seen from her. "It's every romantic's dream."
Jane swallows. "We'll make it? Even though I'm not good for her?"
"She wants you. She's in love with you. Sometimes that's not enough, but when it comes to the two of you, it will be." She shrugs. "I'm not saying it won't take a lot of work," she qualifies. "But it will work."
The elation Jane feels upon hearing this statement is tempered by the anxiety that makes it difficult to breathe.
"If I don't keep up my end of the bargain—if I give Lisbon's team even a hint of Red John's identity, if I tell them where this home is located—he will kill her."
Erica's look of sadness also appears genuine. "I hope it does not come to that." The look disappears, replaced by her usual bravado. "Red John does not seem to think it will be necessary—you would not sacrifice your Teresa for anything."
"He's right." Jane looks down at his clasped hands. Finally, he says, "What guarantee do I have that he will hold up his end?"
Erica stands up and grabs a scarlet cover-up from the back of her chair, shrugging into it. The gauzy material dances slightly in the breeze as she tugs it around her. Then Erica gives him a sultry smile. She extends a hand to him, and he allows her to pull him to his feet. "Follow me," she says.