This fic is set after Red John's death. No theories about RJ's identity here though, just a very Jisbon-centric piece, that I hope you'll enjoy.
Rated T
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
"Inmate 94211! You have a visitor!"
The gruff voice of the guard was almost drowned out by the ringing sound of a baton on steel bars. The occupants of the cell exchanged unenthusiastic looks.
"That's you, man." Chester Hudson, convicted of multiple counts of theft and Internet fraud, inclined his head to his cellmate, who shrugged, and returned to his book.
Again, the guard rapped on the cell door, the sound echoing down the corridor.
"94211!" he shouted again. "Get your worthless ass over here."
Jane folded down the corner of the page he was on and closed the book with a sigh. Stowing it next to his pillow, he got to his feet and ambled over to the door in no great hurry.
"Can't you just take a message?" he asked, through a yawn of boredom. He found he was getting tired a lot easier these days. Days upon days in a prison cell didn't suit him at all. He'd even noticed in recent weeks that his once-agile mind seemed to be getting slower. Although, even at half capacity, he still managed to outwit at least 99.9% of the rest of the prison population, which included not only the other inmates, but the guards and the warden as well.
The guard, a stocky, short-tempered man known to the inmates only as 'Fisher,' snorted with disgust. He was very much a man of the traditional school of prison guards; once a con, always a con. There could be no rehabilitation. He also seemed to give very little credence to the fact that Jane had once worked with the police, and been responsible for putting many of his charges into jail in the first place.
"I don't run errands for murderers, inmate."
"The name is 'Jane,'" he patiently corrected him. "You know it, so how about you start using it?"
"And how about you learn to shut that big mouth of yours before I break your jaw?" snapped Fisher.
Jane refrained from rolling his eyes. Being constantly surrounded by all this insecure 'tough-guy' posturing was becoming very irksome. In fact, the last time he recalled hearing a word of sense from anybody was in a brief conversation with Josh the cleaner last week. A far cleverer man than his pay grade reflected, he'd found they'd been able connect on a level he hadn't experienced in a long while. It had been a pleasant change.
"Open on 12!" shouted Fisher to an unseen colleague, and with the usual deafening buzz, the cell door slid open, and Jane stepped out.
"Who's the visitor?" he asked Fisher, as his hands were cuffed, and he was escorted along the corridor towards the visiting area.
"Do I look like a secretary to you?" came the reply.
She drummed her fingers on the table, keeping one eye fixed on the door leading to the cell-block. He'd been in here two weeks, and this was the first time she'd ever come to see him. In fact, he'd made her promise that she wouldn't, on the day of his sentencing. He'd said that a clean break would be the best thing for all of them, and something else she hadn't quite caught, as he'd been in the process of being dragged away by the bailiffs at the time. She'd sat in the car for nearly twenty minutes after parking, working up the nerve to come inside, had debated whether or not to just phone him or send a letter, but she'd dragged herself in here in the end.
Besides, she couldn't bear to miss the chance to see for herself how he was faring. Jane was certainly no stranger to the prison system after all, but this term had turned out to be for quite a bit longer than his previous short stints. The judge had been extremely lenient, downgrading the charge from murder to manslaughter, and dismissing all of Jane's previous court records, but still, he'd sentenced him to five years imprisonment, with a three-year non-parole period. That was apparently the thanks they'd gotten for ridding California of one of it's most sadistic serial killers.
She'd done what she could for him. She'd spoken quite emphatically on his behalf at the trial, highlighting every atrocity Red John had committed over his killing career, and telling them of all the cases he'd helped them solve, and gave a glowing character reference. She'd finished by pleading with the jury to find him not guilty and to finally let him be, but to no avail. The defence lawyer had told her beforehand that to remain detached and professional would give Jane his best chance, but as she'd taken the stand, she'd made the fatal mistake of catching her consultant's eyes, and it opened up all those feelings for him she'd been desperately trying to keep a lid on.
She didn't like to think about how she must have appeared to that courtroom, like a person so blinkered by emotions that she'd have said or done anything to have him go free.
That lawyer had been useless, in the end. Jane would have done better to represent himself again, but she had begged him to seek professional counsel, and for once, he'd listened to her.
If only she'd known he had a gun. If only she hadn't let him disappear on his own. If she'd only got to him in time…but there was no point going over it again and again in her mind. It was done, and they all just had to deal with the consequences.
A buzzer sounded, the door opened, and Jane shuffled in, accompanied by a sour-looking guard. She felt her breath catch as she studied him; same golden curls, the same perfect posture, even though she could see he'd lost a little weight since he'd been in here. His grey-blue eyes scanned the room, looking for a familiar face, and immediately landed on her.
At first, he simply looked stunned, but after a moment, his face relaxed into that million-dollar smile, and it was like watching at least twenty years fall off him as he followed the guard to the table where she sat. Even as a prisoner of the state of California, he'd still somehow maintained that effortless gorgeousness she remembered, though with some of the stories she'd heard about jail, she couldn't be sure if that was a good or bad thing.
She scrutinized him even more closely as the guard removed Jane's handcuffs and retreated to the back wall. A few more lines on his forehead than she remembered, dark shadows under his eyes (clearly still an insomniac,) but with a certain peaceful air about him now that his revenge was finally done.
"Hey boss," he said.
Her body moved of it's own accord, and in an instant she was on her feet and throwing herself into his arms. Automatically he drew her in even closer and for a minute or two there was nothing but the sound of their breath intermingling as they held each other close.
Tempting though it was to just stay like this for the whole visit, she reluctantly released him and they took seats on opposite sides of the table.
"I thought I told you not to come here," he said, but still grinning like a Cheshire cat so she knew he was happy to see her.
"I'm here as a Californian citizen, to see my tax dollars hard at work." She gestured toward his curls. "I see they're keeping you well supplied with hair product."
"Hey!" he protested, running his hand through it. "I'll have you know that is 100% natural."
"Sure, in the same way that all Rigsby's favourite foods are 100% fat-free," she said, and he chuckled. She found she'd forgotten exactly how it sounded; it had always reminded her of warm honey. It was amazing how quickly the human mind could forget. Although, she could already feel her body responding to seeing him again. Her pulse was quickening, and that familiar heat slowly spreading through her. Apparently, some parts of her still had perfect recollection.
"How are you?" she asked, as he settled himself more comfortably in the chair, causing it to creak.
"I'm OK," he said. "But I was disappointed to find that life in prison isn't quite as much fun as it's made out to be in 'Jailhouse Rock.' Elvis Presley has a lot to answer for with that song."
She read between the lines of the easy smile and the offhandedness, and could have a guess at just how miserable he must be in here. A brilliant mind like his needed challenge, and constant stimulation. The monotony of the prison routine must be driving him mad. She suddenly wished she'd thought to bring him a newspaper, or a case file for him to look over, anything to help him keep the neurons firing. She knew he considered his mind his greatest asset, and that the idea of losing it must terrify him.
Jane was apparently thinking along similar lines. "I was expecting Cho," he said. "He told me he was going to drop by some more Sudoku puzzles this week. But this is a million times better. Seeing you again." He sat back a little, and let his eyes rove over her face, silently taking her in. "I've missed you so much."
His hand was just inches away from hers, and she longed to take it, and squeeze it, but found he couldn't bring herself to under the guard's watchful eye, as though he'd be intruding on a private moment. She knew it was stupid considering she'd had no problem hugging him in front of the guard not five minutes ago, but somehow, holding his hand felt like something more intimate, that nobody else should witness. Instead, she placed her hand in front of Jane's, their fingertips close enough together that they were almost touching, but not quite.
"I miss you too," she said, quietly. "It's not the same without you."
The CBI felt different now that he was gone. The bullpen was too quiet, the old brown couch too empty. Even the passenger seat of her car felt like something was missing.
"How is everything at the old Bureau?" he asked, and she seized on the subject gratefully, telling him about Rigsby and Van Pelt moving in together, Cho's recent commendation, and the office pool about whether or not the new Director, a man by the name of Brendan Sanderson, wore a toupee.
"We had a pool on us, you know," he said thoughtfully, after she'd relayed the incident when James Bedford from Cyber Crime, had 'accidentally' bumped into Sanderson in the elevator in an attempt to dislodge the alleged toupee, resulting in him spilling coffee all down the Director's shirt. "They've been placing bets for years on whether we were sleeping together or not." He gave a little smile. "I wonder who ended up winning that," he said. "Last I heard the pot was up to several thousand dollars."
"You're making that up," she accused him, but he shook his head.
"I'm not," he said. "Even Hightower had some money on us while she was there. Ask her yourself if you don't believe me." He smiled at her once more.
It was amazing that even in a room full of guards, prisoners, and their visitors, he could still make her feel like the world existed only for the two of them. The time she'd spent alone with him in her office after hours had always been the highlight of her day, but she supposed she would have to get used to a table bolted to the floor in a crowded room.
"So tell me, my dear, how are you doing?" he asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the couple in the middle of a domestic at the next table.
"I'm fine," she lied. She slept badly, ate irregularly and missed him every moment of the day, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. Her suffering must be as nothing compared to his.
"Liar," he said. "Cho told me last week that you're struggling, but even if he hadn't, I could tell just by looking at you." His gaze softened as he studied her pale complexion and slimmer frame.
"Well if you already knew the answer, why ask?" she snapped.
"I wanted to know if you still thought you could lie to me, even though you know it's pointless."
"Congratulations," she said, dryly. "You were right."
She waited for the triumphant grin, but it never came. He sighed instead, and she felt his eyes pinioning hers.
"You need to take better care of yourself," he scolded her, gently. "You're going to make yourself sick if you carry on this way."
She folded her arms defiantly, irritated at being lectured as though she were a child. It wasn't as easy as he was making it sound. It wasn't her fault that whenever she tried to eat, she could only manage a few bites at a time, and sleep was next to impossible with thoughts of him running through her mind the moment she got into bed. Did he think she liked being like this? Her life would be a lot easier if she could put him out of her mind for a little while, but the ten-year habit of worrying about him was proving hard to break. It was part of the reason she had come here today; she'd thought if she could see him doing OK, it might put her mind at ease. So far, the plan was backfiring. Here he was, utterly miserable, but putting on a fake smile for her benefit, and she was more concerned for him now then ever.
The guard who'd escorted Jane into the room suddenly loomed over them.
"Ten minutes to go, inmate," he grunted, and then to Lisbon, in a much pleasanter tone. "Ma'am."
Jane glared after him. "A truly enlightened man, Fisher," he said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "If you were getting beaten to death in the exercise yard, he's the one you'd want standing there watching."
Fear sliced through her at these words. They both knew that Jane had little physical strength, and coupled with his big mouth and penchant for pissing people off, that could potentially get him into a lot of trouble. She'd been counting on the guards to look out for him, but by the sound of it, that was hoping for far too much.
"I could arrange for you to have protective custody," she said, following the guard's lolloping gait with her eyes. "Maybe even get you into a cell on your own. I can make a few calls, call in a favour or two."
He could practically see her mind going into fix-it mode, and couldn't help but smile a tiny bit.
"There's no need. Save all that goodwill for something important."
A flash of anger in those emerald eyes. "You're important."
"That's debatable."
"You're important to me."
He grinned at the sudden appearance of Saint Teresa. He'd been wondering when she'd show up. "It's OK," he reassured her. "I've done my networking, a little hypnosis here and there, made sure I'm owed favours by the right people. I'll be fine." When she still looked distressed, he added, "Don't worry, I know better than to go around stirring the pot without you and your gun around to watch my back." He smiled at her, but she didn't return it.
"You'll forgive me if I have my doubts about that. And if you're not careful, you could end up with an even longer sentence…or worse." She blinked to rid her mind of the image of him lying on a cold stone floor surrounded by jeering inmates as he bled out, in what was becoming a recurring nightmare for her.
He shook his head. "I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my chances of getting early parole. Too much to lose on the outside."
"The CBI will find some way to take you back when you get out if you want to come back," she said. "You close cases like crazy, they won't want to give that up if they can help it."
"That wasn't what I meant."
He got the feeling that she was deliberately misunderstanding him; she knew as well as he did that he couldn't care less about his job at the CBI. The one and only reason he was in a hurry to get out of here was for the sake of the woman sitting opposite him. He reached for her hand and gently stroked the back of it with his thumb.
"Jane!" she protested, in a whisper, looking cautiously over her shoulder at Fisher.
He ignored her, instead bringing her hand up to his lips and laying a kiss on her palm. She closed her eyes briefly at the contact, remembering.
"Teresa," he said quietly. "There hasn't been a day in this place that's gone by without me thinking of you. And I'm sorry, so sorry, that we never really got our chance."
She took a sharp intake of breath and knew that they were both thinking about the same thing. One night, about a week before they'd taken down Red John, he'd come to her apartment with beer and Chinese food. One minute they'd been sitting innocently together on the couch, the next, he'd been carrying her to her bedroom, the food and beer forgotten. He'd kissed her with reckless abandon, as though all his self-restraint had disappeared, hands roaming all over her, touching, caressing, making her sigh as he kissed her neck, whispered things into her ear so his warm breath tickled her skin. Even though they were both still fully clothed, she'd never felt more vulnerable. He'd had her completely at his mercy.
But when she'd reached for his belt buckle in the hope of getting things moving a little faster, he'd gently brushed her aside, laid her back against the pillows and kissed her forehead, her neck, and then finally her lips again.
"Not yet," he'd breathed.
"When?" She recalled the note of desperation in her voice, as it finally dawned her that this was to become yet another non-event. She hated him a little bit for that; for laying her bare, and still not giving her what she wanted the most. She'd already given over all of herself to him, was it too much to ask for a little reciprocation?
"Soon." He kissed her forehead again, and left.
A week later, she was watching him be loaded into the back of a squad car, tears swimming in her eyes. 'Soon' never came.
"I know you're sorry. Believe me, I am too."
Sometimes, she was sorry she'd ever met him. Her life had been chugging along just fine before he came and turned her world upside down, and made her love him more than she'd ever thought she could love anyone. She'd always thought the feelings she'd had for Greg were the ultimate indicators of love, until Jane had come along and blown that theory out of the water. Maybe she'd been better off not knowing.
"I wish things were different," he said, fervently. "And I know I've got absolutely no right to ask you this, but I'm going to do it anyway." He placed his fingertips under her chin, and gently tilted her head up until she met his eyes. "You are the reason I stayed in Sacramento when I always planned on running and never looking back, and the only one I could ever want to build a future with. Will you wait for me?"
The question surprised her, for never had he made such a direct comment about the two of them being in a relationship. He was all about teasing and hints and seemingly ambiguous comments that she spent days at a time trying to puzzle out. This was a definite sign that he wanted to be with her. She should have been thrilled. But…
"I've been waiting for you for ten years Patrick," she said. "Waiting for Red John to be out of the way, and for you to make peace with your past. And now you've finally done that, you expect me to wait again?" She sighed. "Fifteen years is a long time to be in romantic limbo."
"It might not be that long," he pointed out. "I could be paroled in three years."
"I always thought I'd be married by now," she said sadly. "Maybe with a house of my own and a kid or two. Not in a prison visitor's room."
"I know we can't be together while I'm in here," he said. "But we could have a life together, Teresa. A really good one."
She'd thought about it too sometimes. She'd always pictured them living in a little place in the suburbs, somewhere quiet, where they could live out their lives without fear. Watching old movies together on the couch. Making love in the morning before they went off to work. Maybe one day he might even dig out the old photo albums he'd kept at the Malibu house and show her his wife and daughter and the life they'd once had.
"I know," she agreed. "And I want that more than anything. But in all these years the timing has just never been right for us. Maybe someone's trying to tell us something." She glanced heavenwards, and prayed for a sign. Her head was pulling her one way; her heart another, and she still didn't have any idea which would be the winner. "Maybe you were right at your sentencing hearing. Maybe a clean break would be the best thing."
"I love you," he said sincerely. "If that helps at all."
It was good to hear him say it and not take it back, and she allowed herself a moment to bask in the glow of being loved by Patrick Jane. It was a very exclusive club to be in, with only one other person granted a place.
"I love you," she replied. "Which is kind of the problem. I've been so focused on what you want all these years, I don't know if it's right for me."
He did an excellent job of hiding his disappointment at her less-than-enthusiastic reply, but she saw pain flicker through his eyes when she looked hard enough.
"I understand," he said. "You're right. I never should have asked. You deserve to have a full life, and everything you want, and to not be tied down to a man in prison." But then he smiled at her again. "Go and get your career back on track, and break some men's hearts. But just know that the day I get out of here, the first thing I'll do is come to you, get down on my knees and beg if I have to."
She smiled back. "I'll look forward to that."
"You'll still come visit me sometimes, right?" he asked.
"What else are best friends for?"
In truth, she knew she'd probably spend the next few years counting down the days until he was back in her life, and that once she finally had him, she'd never be able to let him go. But it would be her decision; something she had chosen to do, and not just out of obligation because she'd made a promise. And that made all the difference to her.
Once again, Fisher the guard, appeared, this time brandishing the handcuffs.
"Time's up," he said, gruffly.
"I love you," Jane told her again, ignoring Fisher. "And I swear to you that one day I'll show you just how much."
Instead of answering in kind, she leaned across the table, and brought her lips to his in a sweet kiss.
"I'll see you soon," she said.
Reluctantly, he got up from the chair, and allowed Fisher to cuff his hands once more. The cuffs were rather tighter than he thought was right, but he kept his mouth shut. There were more important things to consider.
He glanced over his shoulder as they left the room; her eyes were fixed on him, watching him go. He would have blown her a kiss but the cuffs made it impossible. He winked at her instead, and she smiled back.
No more missed opportunities. Their time was coming. And he couldn't wait.
Please forgive me if the prison stuff isn't accurate. I'm going to ahead and claim poetic licence with that, but I do apologize if it's wrong.