Fanfic: Further Into The Grey
Fandom: The Mentalist
Title: Further Into the Grey
Rating/Warnings: FRC? Aside from some angst, it's pretty tame. But there are spoilers for episode 4x24!
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon, in a vague, undefined way.
Summary: Coda to episode 4x24.
Author's Note: Thanks as always to lady_of_scarlet, who goes beyond a beta's call of duty, and teaches me all kinds of new things!
Thank you to tromana for the awesome fic cover! :D
"I haven't been with anyone since my wife, Lisbon. And what I did with Lorelei doesn't count, because it wasn't love, or even sex. Just a strategic move to get me one step closer to him."
"I know," she whispers with sadness and resignation, like it's just another deed added to the list of things he's done wrong, lately, always.
"It isn't what I did, but why, isn't it?"
Her arms fold across her chest and he hears her soft exhale. She continues to stare out her office window, the yellowish light from street lamps casting harsh shadows across her face.
He's already apologized for his deception (not that one apology covers them all), and that's the best he could offer now. He isn't sorry for what he had to do. He can't give her that.
He takes a few steps closer and finally she breaks the silence.
"We weren't even in the game before, Jane. Now we're playing his and yours, and I can't help but wonder what the cost will be. What other strategic moves you, or I, will have to make, and who we'll be at the end."
Her words seep in slowly until their truth settles beneath his skin, along with all the other things crawling just below the surface (Red John chose her death as his gift). He isn't alone in this. He should be (his nightmares remind him, when the head in the box isn't fake). She's still here though, and he knows she won't just walk away. He doesn't want her to. But he would never expect her to go to the same lengths as him.
"I would never ask you--"
"You didn't have to," falls from her mouth like a confession, only she isn't looking for forgiveness. "And while I haven't committed the acts, I've been an accomplice to them, or at the very least guilty of looking the other way."
She isn't looking the other way now, but right at him.
"I know you're hopeful,” she continues, “ and I get it, because we are closer. But what you did with Lorelei, losing Wainwright--it's a double-edged sword, Jane. We can't win without losing too."
There isn't a hint of accusation in her eyes, and a bit of guilt gets stuck in his throat, because she's in this and she's right and she doesn't blame him (she should, she really should).
But he's not saying a word because he's a selfish bastard, not thank you, or better yet, don't follow me, Lisbon.
Instead he pushes down the things he cannot afford to dwell on and steps closer to her, and lightly presses his fingertips beneath her elbow, pulling until her arms unfold. She isn't looking at him, but at his hand, as it traces a familiar path to hers. He can only hope it gives her comfort as it had him. He can only hope it gives her something to hold onto, because he hasn't got anything else to give.
When she looks at him, he knows it isn't nearly enough. Her eyes are still filled with shadows of a future spent playing games with a madman (two, if you really want to put his mental stability to the test), but she squeezes his hand nonetheless, wordlessly conveying, I know, I'm in.