The day after the Marquesa case, Ronnie pulled up to the CBI building early enough to grab two coffees from the cart by the street. She chatted pleasantly with the vendor and then took her drinks inside, turning back just in time to catch a glimpse of Van Pelt.
The younger woman looked very becoming in a fitted skirt suit, her long auburn hair curling elegantly around her shoulders and shining richly in the sunlight. Self-assured by her latest success in taking lead on the last case, Grace wore the most beautiful smile.
A man approached, taking her into his arms, and the slender redhead giggled delightedly.
Ronnie watched with raised eyebrows, amusement battling with disappointment on Rigsby's behalf. Perhaps it wasn't the glow of pride, but rather that of a brand new relationship.
What is it that men do that makes adult, armed women giggle?
Finished watching from the sidelines, Ronnie filed the new information away to percolate over later and ducked inside.
She marched to her desk, still reveling in the luxury of their country club excursion, determined to find ways in her own life to bring back that sensation of finery, and lowered the coffees to her desktop, letting her purse slide off her shoulder and land in her hand.
And, maybe one day, she'd be able to talk herself into moving out of her hotel room.
"We have to review all of our recent cases. The division is being audited again."
Glancing up to see Cho approaching, she dropped the bag to the floor and pushed it under her chair with her foot, along with her jacket.
He'd seen it, though, and raised one questioning eyebrow at her.
She'd done her hair, the long, blonde layers blown out to delicately frame her face and sweep down her back. Her eyebrows were shaped, her eyes lined, eyelashes bold and black, her lips a glossy pink.
He crossed his arms, looking unimpressed and vaguely suspicious.
It wasn't like she was still undercover.
Why was he looking at her like she'd forgotten the case had been closed?
Cheeks flushing pink under his gaze, Ronnie held out one of the coffees. "Good morning."
He blinked slowly twice and then accepted the paper cup, not even bothering to check the color. He'd come to trust that she knew how he took it.
Sipping from her own, the female body builder lifted one Marilyn Monroe eyebrow. "Why are you staring at me?"
She took the opportunity to stare back. He looked good, but he always looked good. She always thought his brown striped button down looked great on him, bringing out the definition in his arms and the breadth of his shoulders and chest.
Easy, Ronnie, rein it in. He's literally just existing.
"I like that shirt on you." She said happily, reaching out to wedge a nail under one of his shirt buttons. She let it go with a sassy flick of her wrist and tossed her hair back. "Looks real good on you."
He didn't visibly react, but then he never did. "Why do you still look like a trophy wife?"
She glanced down at herself, propping one still-manicured hand on her hip. "I do not. I'm wearing my Dickies work pants."
The teasing comment did nothing to sway him from his suspicion.
He took a long drink of his scalding coffee and shrugged. "I just don't see why you're wearing the makeup, that's all."
The smile fell from her face, replaced with a flat, irritated expression that mirrored his own.
"Or carrying a purse instead of your backpack." He added.
Her head tilted to the side, piercing blue eyes pinning him where he stood. Her backpack was in her locker, right where she'd stashed it.
"Or wearing heels."
She was wearing heeled work boots, not pumps. There was nothing wrong with wearing heeled boots to work.
Ronnie took one step closer, putting herself exactly six inches from him. She didn't let the fact that she was now at eye level with his chin deter her from holding onto her last scrap of confidence.
"Kimball Cho."
He looked utterly shocked that she hadn't just flipped him off and walked away.
The triumph of earning an actual reaction practically gave her a buzz.
"If at any point my makeup—or my purse—or my heels—distract you from doing your job, feel free to mind your own business."
Cho just blinked, startled, as she slapped her palm into his chest with a self-righteous grin and turned to see Jane entering.
The older man smiled at the two of them. "Cho," he greeted. His eyes flicked to Ronnie. "Mrs. Cho."
She rolled her eyes and turned back to her desk.
Van Pelt strutted in at that moment, coffee in hand, practically glowing. "Good morning everybody," she smiled sweetly at Rigsby as she passed him and completely ignored Cho's grumpy response of
"What's so good about it?"
Lisbon didn't respond except to hand Van Pelt a file and inform her that there was another audit coming and everything needed to be properly accounted for, which Grace cheerfully accepted with an easy, "No problem!"
"No problem." Cho repeated derisively, turning to Rigsby. "What's with her?"
Ronnie perched herself on the corner of her own desk and looked down at the stack of case files that had been assigned to her for review before the upcoming audit.
"You mean why isn't she cynical and jaded like you?" Rigsby returned smartly.
Jane meandered by with a cup of tea and a knowing smile. "Notice her relaxed body language? The general sense of emotional satisfaction?"
The boys followed his eye line to Grace, who was busily pouring milk in her coffee, humming pleasantly to herself.
Ronnie's phone rang.
She picked it up, turning away from Cho's curious glance. She knew what he was thinking: who could be calling her? The team were her only friends.
"Masters speaking,"
"Veronica Masters, this is Jennifer Jareau with the FBI's behavioral analysis unit. I'm calling regarding your mother's open cases." The woman on the other end sounded prim and professional, softly toned to address the sensitive situation.
Ronnie's heart raced anxiously. "Yes, I was told you're coming to California to speak with me."
"Yes ma'am, my team and I will be arriving in Sacramento on Tuesday. I'm calling ahead to request that you have ready all the files concerning Carla Masters that you have access to. We'll also need a place to set up our equipment. Ethernet ports, database accessible computers, and a phone line if possible." Agent Jareau requested politely.
"Of course, that won't be a problem."
"I'll speak with your supervisor as well to make sure we're not interfering with your work. Thank you, Agent Masters, and I look forward to meeting with you in person."
"Yes ma'am. Thank you." Ronnie heard line close and lowered the phone from her ear.
As she did so, Jane and Rigsby were moving into the bullpen, Rigsby looking rather perturbed by whatever conversation he'd suddenly found himself in.
"...Well then I have to assume that the man who kissed her outside was making an embarrassing mistake." Jane said tartly.
Rigsby's eyes widened in horrified disbelief. "What? Who kissed her?"
Cho shuffled in behind them, sinking down into his desk chair and bending over one of his files.
"I didn't catch his name." Jane responded lightly.
"It was probably that knucklehead from payroll." Rigsby muttered, trying to catch a glimpse of Van Pelt again. "Been stalking her like a chicken."
"Like a chicken." Ronnie repeated, face scrunching in confusion.
Cho caught her eye with a little grin. "How do you stalk a chicken?"
"You know what I'm talking about." Rigsby returned sharply.
Jane was already laughing, sidetracked only by the beeping of Ronnie's phone.
She flipped it open to read the message.
"What did this man look like?" Rigsby continued, twisting back around to frown at Jane, who gave a helpless shrug.
"Cho." Ronnie's voice rang like a shot. Dread filled her like rocks in her stomach, heart beating loudly in her ears.
"What's wrong?" Jane questioned, placing his tea cup and saucer down with a terrible clatter.
Cho bolted up from his desk on reflex, scraping his chair back with a screech, hurrying to her side in two quick steps. "What is it?"
The last time he'd heard that much uncertainty in her voice, he'd been laying in the floor of her apartment, bleeding. Nothing rattled her like that. Nothing except her mother.
When she didn't respond, eyes locked on her phone screen, face gone white, he grabbed her wrist and pulled it closer to him so he could read the message. Her pulse pounded like a hammer under his fingertips.
He felt his other hand come to rest at the small of her back on pure instinct. Taut, tense muscle fiber thrummed like guitar strings under his palm.
Jane couldn't help but watch the two with amusement glinting in his gray eyes.
Nothing brought out the protector in Cho like Veronica Masters in distress.
He read the text out loud. "There's a very large bomb nearby. Are you smart enough to find it?"
All amusement evaporated. Jane bolted from the bullpen without a second thought, calling for Lisbon at the top of his lungs.
"Not again." Ronnie pulled away from Cho's grip, the memory of her mother bringing down a warehouse around her flashing before her eyes like a nightmare. It had led her to her team, but it had severed the last fragment of bond between herself and Carla.
"Who is this from?" Cho demanded, eyes lifting to his petrified partner.
She was gone.
Maybe petrified wasn't the most accurate description.
Sprinting down the hallway in those heeled boots that were no match for her determination, skipping the elevator for the sake of the stairs, tumbling out into broad daylight in a sweaty panic, Ronnie swung in a frantic circle.
It had all the signs of Carla's handiwork, but the woman was in jail. She was in jail, on her way to prison forever, so could it actually be her?
Who else would send Ronnie a bomb threat?
Who else would pick her out of everybody and potentially blow something up because of her?
"Masters," Cho came through the door after her just as the building alarms started shrieking at a fever pitch. He followed, tie flapping over his shoulder as she scanned the parking lot and jogged briskly up and down the rows of parked cars. "Hey, wait, you can't go running towards a bomb just because someone taunts you to."
She didn't answer.
As she passed the front of the building, she caught sight of agents spilling out the lobby doors, Lisbon and Minelli in the lead.
"Lisbon called the bomb squad. You need to get back with the others and wait for EOD." Cho called, barely keeping up as she zig zagged, dropping to her stomach at the bumper of every vehicle to check the undercarriages.
"Ronnie," Jane appeared at her side, hoisting her to her feet by her waist and completely ignoring her indignant protests. "The text said a very large bomb. A large bomb can only be transported in a large car," he guided her away from his tiny vintage vehicle.
Cho followed. "Masters, we need to stay with Lisbon." When he caught her, he took her by the arms. "Hey, this is crazy."
Tugging away but keeping a grip on one of his hands, the scared agent just continued to follow the mentalist.
"They didn't say inside CBI, they said nearby." Jane checked the window of a dark mini van and then kept moving. "Of course, there might not even be a bomb. Maybe it's a hoax to get us all out of the building. Anybody who knows we do bomb drills knows our protocol for this."
Cho pulled at Ronnie's hand, stopping her from silently staying on Jane's heels. "Masters, we need to go."
She shook him off, checking the back window of a Tahoe. "Then go, Cho. I want to find it."
He threw his hands up. "Why do you want to find it?"
She threw her phone at him and he caught it against his chest. "Because someone texted my personal number and taunted me with a bomb. Who wouldn't want to find it?"
"Ronnie!" Jane called, standing at the front window of a big white van.
"Masters, don't." Cho warned.
She was already running towards Jane, who had circled the vehicle and was staring through the back window. "Ronnie! Found it!"
Ronnie reached the window as Jane bolted around the van, trying all the doors. Shock flooded her system, followed very quickly by nausea. She heard Cho on his cell, calling Lisbon, but all she could see was the man inside the van.
Officer Kyle.
The man who murdered that girl in the redwood forest and nearly killed her friend.
The man who seduced her and abducted her on her mother's orders.
Officer Kyle was on his knees in the back of the van, his mouth duct taped and his hands shackled above his head.
When he saw her face at the window, his eyes filled with hope. He'd been crying. She heard him screaming behind the tape, begging for his life, but all she saw was the cruelty in his eyes as he'd watched her fall prey to the drugs he'd laced her coffee with.
Words written in marker were smudged across his forehead.
When he wrenched himself around to beg her to help him, she could read them plainly.
'UR NEXT'
The doors were locked. Jane was still trying, but nothing was opening. "Ronnie, I see a timer," he shouted. "Nineteen seconds!"
"Masters, get away from there!" Cho snapped, and she felt him grab her arm.
"Jane, get back!" Lisbon's voice howled. "Cho, get her back!" She was at Jane's side, screaming at him, tugging at his clothes, begging him to get away from the vehicle.
Cho's voice brought her racing mind to a halt when his lips brushed her ear. "Ronnie, let's go."
Lisbon was still pleading desperately for Jane to get away from the van, fervent terror bleeding from her voice.
"No, Cho, he's gonna die." Ronnie went for her weapon, seconds away from shooting out the glass and reaching in to unlock the door, when strong arms banded around her waist.
"He almost killed you once," The surly agent growled in her ear. "I'm not giving him a second chance."
She gasped and kicked against the sensation of being lifted off her feet, but Cho had her in a grip of steel, hauling her away from the van faster than she could recover. The heat of his chest against her back was like ice compared to what came next.
The explosion struck them both like a tidal wave, throwing them like dolls and knocking them to the ground. Ronnie struck the side of a sedan before hitting the pavement, her ears ringing and her lungs filling with smoke.
"Ronnie!" Cho coughed, hands grasping for her. Soot darkened his clothes and mud from the asphalt had sloshed across his arms, but he looked otherwise unharmed.
"I'm calling an ambulance." Lisbon's voice sounded from the other side of the van.
Jane was moaning, groaning in pain. "No, I don't need an ambulance, I've just got something in my eyes."
Ronnie heaved, her throat burning. Her face pulsed with pain, hands scuffed from her fall. She rolled onto her back, feeling shattered glass beneath her, and blinked up at the cloudy sky.
Cho's shadow fell over her, his knees pressing into her side. "Are you alright?"
She'd had the wind knocked out of her. Answering him would take a few seconds; he'd just have to wait.
Cho's hand cupped her face, and his other rested on her arm. "Ronnie, talk to me." His fingers curled around the nape of her neck and crawled inch by inch up the back of her skull, feeling tentatively for injury.
When his fingers came away dripping with crimson, he let out a ragged breath. The look on his face said it all with a clarity that his blank features never expressed.
Worry, fear, rage.
His partner lay beneath him, clothes scorched by the explosion, bleeding. The way she gasped up at him through gaping lips shot miserable fear into his heart like adrenaline. "An ambulance is coming. It'll be here soon."
Yards away, staggering in a blind panic, the consulting mentalist leaned into Lisbon's arms. His haggard expression became horror stricken. "I can't see," Jane's voice cried. "I can't see."
the MENTALIST
I shot him.
That wretched, cruel, soulless bitch told me to shoot him and I shot my own partner.
Cho got shot, a bullet to the abdomen, and I'm the one who did it.
The ceiling of the hospital room where she lay hooked up to a monitor had water stains. Great big brown splotches had seeped from somewhere above to ruin the perfect white ceiling tiles.
At the foot of the bed, soft voices conversed over her medical chart, speaking too low to carry to her ears.
It didn't matter.
After all those years of recovery and therapy, integrating into society and creating healthy relationships that weren't tools for profit, when it came down to the wire, Ronnie still had that gut instinct to obey her mother's voice.
Tears pooled in her eyes.
She'd testified in those courtrooms like her involvement was so far removed that she had become hazy on the details, but Carla's presence was still a very compelling influence, wasn't it?
I shot him.
The explosion of the bullet still rang in her ears like it hadn't yet faded. The moment she'd realized that the shot was from her gun, fired by her own hand, and that Cho was falling to the ground because of it, Ronnie had lost her legs.
It was just a thought, wasn't it? An intrusive thought, a trick of the imagination—she'd wondered what would happen if she obeyed, but she hadn't actually shot him, right?
But no, Cho was still crumpled in the corner of her room, and Carla was still cackling like a madwoman.
"Hello, Agent Masters, welcome back." A gentle, placid voice broke her from her memories. Standing over her like a shadow stood a man in a white lab coat, a stethoscope around his neck. He leaned in close with a comforting smile and checked her pupils with his penlight.
"I'm still seeing a delayed reactivity here, so I'm gonna warn you that your concussion is still in full swing. You may feel nauseas or irritable until it mends." His hand rested on her shoulder as he lifted his head to watch the monitor readings. "We've given you some painkillers for the headache and the shrapnel we had to remove from your shoulder."
She didn't have a headache.
She couldn't feel her shoulder.
Her heart felt like a pillow stuffed into her chest.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, and the doctor saw it. He leaned in again, frowning kindly. "Is something wrong, Agent? Tell me if something's uncomfortable."
Shaking her head miserably, squeezing her eyes shut against the bright light, Ronnie felt more tears escape. "I'm fine." She rasped dryly. "Thank you, doctor."
The older man offered a sympathetic smile and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You hit your head very hard, Agent. It's not uncommon to experience powerful emotions following traumatic brain injury. Now—take it easy and you'll be just fine. And don't be too hard on yourself, alright? Very few people would have tried what you did."
What I did.
The van. The explosion.
Jane.
Ronnie's eyes snapped open and she caught the doctor's hand as he began to move away. "My colleague, Agent Jane, is he alright?"
The doctor patted her hand comfortingly. "I'll let your team fill you in, but not to worry. He's going to be perfectly fine." He escaped from her grasp and stopped next to a tall man in a dark shirt, murmuring in low tones.
Ronnie heard him mention her emotional upheaval and rolled her eyes back to the ceiling, sniffling mournfully.
Her shoulder did hurt.
Someone sank into the chair next to her bed, and Cho's familiar cologne washed over her.
Her eyes watered all over again, the pillow in her chest seemingly growing larger. She pinched her eyes shut.
"How are you feeling?" Her partner's gruff voice questioned.
Her partner, whom she'd shot while he was coming to her defense. A man had defended her from her own mother and she'd shot him for it. Ronnie turned her head away, guilt choking her.
Cho's warm hand covered her own and she flinched at the way he continued to comfort her after she'd only proven to be unhinged and unstable to a dangerous degree.
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
Her fracturing voice did nothing to convince him, nor did the trembling in her muscles or her refusal to look at him. Leaning forward in the chair, Cho tried to catch a glimpse of her face. "Ronnie, hey, if you need more painkillers, I'll call the nurse back in here."
"Really, Cho, I'm fine."
He heard the emotion then. "Are you crying?" Stoic temperament deeming him incapable of dealing with strong emotions, he fell absolutely still, unsure of what to do. The last time she'd cried that he could remember had been the night she'd been abducted by Kyle.
So, maybe it was about Kyle.
"He was killed instantly, Masters. He wouldn't have felt anything."
Ronnie's eyes squeezed shut.
Officer Kyle.
She'd forgotten about Officer Kyle.
Shoes shuffled against the floor and the plastic chair creaked as Cho got up to lean over her and see her face for himself. "Masters," He took in the pallor of her skin, unhappy with the steady stream of tears disappearing into her pillow. "If you need painkillers, you gotta tell me."
She forced in a breath, her frame trembling with the effort of controlling her sobs. "I'm so sorry, Cho."
Awkwardly, the man sat back and watched her with uncertainty. She was sorry? For what? For not listening to him when he told her not to go looking for a bomb? It's not like he ever expected her to listen. Or was she twisting the narrative in her head and blaming herself for how close he was to the explosion?
In any case, he'd already let the situation roll off his back. "No need to be sorry, Masters. You wouldn't be you without a reckless brush with death."
She looked at him then, her blue eyes swimming in a bereft ocean of tears, her chin quivering pitifully. "I'm so sorry I shot you, Cho."
Surprised at the words, Cho's eyes snapped to the doorway, but no one had overheard. He leaned in, the skin between his brows creasing in confusion. "That was weeks ago. You remember that, right?"
She couldn't help a scoff amidst her own turmoil. He thought she'd hit her head hard enough to lose her memory.
The shock in his face would have been comical if she could see anything past the guilt clenching around her heart.
"Cho." She couldn't think of the words. How do you make up for something like that? "I'm so sorry."
How could he have rolled with it?
He'd practically had a cover story before he even hit the ground.
He reached out and took her hand in his again, careful not to mess with the heart rate monitor on her finger. "Ronnie. We've talked about this. Why bring it up now?"
She broke down in a loud rush of sobs. "I'm so sorry." The words kept repeating, like they were all that made sense. "She told me to, and I did. I didn't—" gasping for breath, not seeing the horrified look on his face, digging her head into the stiff pillow, the woman fell apart. "I didn't mean to."
Cho was mortified.
His even-tempered, unflappable, non-emoting partner whose only drama came with the prefix 'melo-' was weeping, and he was the only one near enough to do anything about it.
What was he supposed to do about it?
They didn't hug. Their only embraces had been a result of adrenaline after near death.
They didn't croon over each other and "there, there" the hard times away.
What was he supposed to do?
A sum total of zero words came to mind to comfort her and a strangled noise choked out of his throat, completely speechless.
Kicked into some twisted form of survival mode, his brain switched into working gear. What did he know? What were the facts?
Ronnie Masters had been abused and manipulated since her early development years and had learned to cope by taking on blame.
Carla Masters had conditioned her daughter to follow orders or face inhumane consequences.
Ronnie Masters had not fully processed her psychological lapse that had led to a blue-on-blue incident in which her own partner had taken the hit.
Ronnie Masters had just experienced traumatic brain injury in an explosion where her last conscious image had been of a man whom her mother had hired to seduce and abduct her.
Ronnie Masters was sobbing before him like a child, overwhelmed with guilt over an incident from weeks past.
The pieces clicked into place quickly.
Cho scooted his chair closer and gripped her hand harder. "Masters, listen to me."
She gave no indication of having heard.
"She took advantage of you." He wasn't sure what to say, but that sounded right.
"It's been years since I was under her control. I shouldn't have just fallen back into it." Ronnie cried, practically crucifying herself before his eyes.
Cho was incredulous. "This is completely natural, Masters. An alcoholic might be sober for five years, but if he doesn't have any access to alcohol during that time, then he hasn't finished recovering. You have to be exposed to the influence and be able to remove yourself from it."
She'd quieted enough to listen, and then her face crumpled all over again. "So I'm not better?"
Better than she was when he'd found her, better than she was when she'd entered society under her own autonomy, better than she was when she was still under Carla's thumb.
Her partner struggled to find the words. "You are. And you're even better now, with exposure to her. She caught you off guard because you hadn't had to look her in the face and deny her yet. She won't be able to catch you off guard again. You're better now."
It made sense, didn't it?
Was he making sense?
Cho kicked himself. Where was Van Pelt? She could probably comfort Ronnie better.
Begrudgingly, he acknowledged that even Jane would be able to comfort her better than he could.
"But it was you that I shot. I'm so sorry, Cho."
He cupped her chin before he knew what he was doing, and forced her to look at him. "You need to let that go, Ronnie. I never blamed you."
She was shaking in his hand.
Her pupils were an awkward medium size, and he was reminded that she was concussed and injured by a bombing. It wasn't the time to solve anything, it was the time for her to recover.
He was lucky all he'd experienced was a few light burns, like he'd fallen asleep sunbathing.
Cho swept a thumb over her warm, wet check before withdrawing his hand and standing upright. "Don't think about it right now, Ronnie. You hit your head, that's why you're emotional. It'll be better when you've healed."
His tale as old as time straight shooting bedside manner made her tears stop for a moment and he saw her blink unappreciatively at him.
"Gee, thanks, Cho."
Lips tightening into a thin smile that he tried to hide, he privately congratulated himself for bringing a little bit of her back to himself. "I'm gonna go check on Jane. I'll be back."
Poorly concealed disappointment flashed across her face. "You're leaving me alone in this place?" Her hands gestured to her impersonal hospital bed.
A situation from weeks ago, when she'd come to his apartment in the middle of the night, flashed back to his mind and he knew what would ground her. Her own words to him fell off his tongue with a smug smirk. "Are you inviting me into your bed, Masters?"
The sorrowful expression fell off of Ronnie's face and was replaced with a very good mirroring of his typical flat, unimpressed, resting face. "Get out, Cho."