fic: (Mentalist) Angels Never Fly Alone (1/2)
It's Christmas Eve/Dec. 24th here already, so I can as well post it now. :)
_________________________________________
Angels Never Fly Alone
Author: CK
Rating: K / P6
Contents: When you've lost your dearest ones, Christmas, the season of love, happiness and family come-together, is the hardest time of the year.
Disclaimer: Nothing mine. Bruno Heller and his team definitely deserve to be the rightful owners, as they had made so many great things with this show 'til now.
A/N: There is a German song, "Engel fliegen einsam" (translated word-by-word = "Angels fly lonely") by Christina Stürmer, an Austrian musician, that gave me the idea for the title and the little story you'll find in the fic :)
He never turned on the lights.
Sometimes a single lamp, yes, but not more. His house always stood dark and seemingly empty, deserted and lonely. Only that it wasn't; in fact, someone was living in this dreary, empty and joyless home that had once been filled with laughter and happiness.
And especially now, when Christmas was knocking on his door, he felt the coldness of this empty and dark house even more. But he just couldn't bring himself to change anything. He didn't deserve it. It was his fault, everything that had happened, and now he had to live with it, in it. He had to live this life he had created, he had caused. It was his bounden duty and he would not run away.
Not even on Christmas.
When Patrick Jane came home this evening, on the 24th of December, on what was Christmas Eve to the majority out there and just the end of another day to him, he expected this for so many people most beautiful, happy and joyful time of the year to be for him not different from the last years. When he sat alone at home, lost in self pity and self-flagellation, deep in thought, thinking over and over again what he could have done to prevent those terrible events seven years ago from happening.
For him, Christmas was the worst time of the year. It was when he missed his family most; missed the shining eyes of his daughter when she saw the Christmas tree, missed sitting in front of the fireplace with his wife, exchanging those little gifts that were so secret and special that they never were part of the gifts under the tree, but were only exchanged when their daughter had gone to bed.
Tears dwelled in his eyes every time he thought about those special moments, moments that had assured him that he was the happiest man in the world, and the luckiest, having a wife and a child like these two. It hurt remembering them, and their wonderful moments, and yet he allowed himself from time to time to fall back in time and relive these moments.
Until the picture changed and all he saw was his family covered in blood.
Only the tiny bit of self respect he still had somewhere inside of him held him back from drinking himself into oblivion; he always told himself that he needed a clear head, in case suddenly Red John showed up and got arrested. This probably would be his only chance for revenge; and he wanted to know what he was doing when he confronted the man who had made a living hell of his life.
So, he would again just sit in the dark, stare outside and watch the ocean turn into a dark, restless fluid when night fell, came and went, the black waves like a mirror of his soul.
When he, without thinking much about it, decided for his Christmas to be no different from the last years, one thing he hadn't taken into account - the sudden ringing of his door bell. He didn't expect anyone. He never expected anyone coming to his home. It was a dead place for a lonely soul. Not one that was prepared for visitors; it hadn't seen any in years.
And certainly not on Christmas.
At first, Patrick ignored it. He wasn't in the mood to see anyone, and if it was only some employee of a fundraising organization. Yet, whoever waited at his door was obviously very stubborn, ringing the door bell again and again. Frowning, he gave in and walked to his door, checking if he could see anything through the glass wall next to the door. But no one was to be seen.
The person coming into view when he opened the door was definitely the last one he would have expected. But then, as already said - he never expected anyone ever. At all.
"Lisbon?" he asked confused when he recognized his boss in the dim light. "What are you..." He was interrupted when she walked past him with the words "May I, it's not exactly warm out here." and straight into his kitchen - not that he would wonder how she knew where said room was - and followed her, even more puzzled. What was all this about?
She didn't look up when Jane entered the kitchen moments later, but only unpacked the bags she had brought with her. After a few seconds of silence, she finally allowed him an explanation.
"I assumed since we're both alone on Christmas, we could very well spend it together. Cho is with his family in Wyoming, Rigsby and Van Pelt spend the holidays together - not officially, but you can bet on it -, and we also shouldn't be alone. We would both only drown in our musings and self pity, so either we do it together - in that case I have sleeping pills - or we try and have a nice Christmas with a good dinner and good wine. And some movies," she put some DVDs on the counter, "and don't worry, I've brought my notebook, in case you don't have a TV and DVD player."
"I... haven't."
"Just like I thought, that's why I've pa-"
"Lisbon!" It didn't occur often that Patrick Jane was irritated and confused - well, it occurred pretty much never - but now he looked almost annoyed. His mind refused to understand what was just happening. "What is this about? No offence, but I'd rather be alone..." He trailed off when she looked up again and he caught the expression in her eyes before she turned them away.
Broken. Lonely. Crying out for help.
"Please. I don't want to be alone. Last year's Christmas was almost killing me," she begged whispering, her eyes still avoiding his.
"I'm so sorry, Teresa. But I don't know if I'm the right person."
"We both shouldn't be alone now. And we know each other well enough, know the other's past. Let's just forget for a short while which demons are chasing us and have at least a bit fun. All I want is some happiness. And peace."
He walked around the isle counter, coming to stand beside her. Lying his hands on her shoulders, Jane turned the dark-haired woman towards him and then gently lifted her chin, making her look at him. She looked so vulnerable, so sad and lost, that it almost shocked him. He knew that inside of this tough little agent was a deeply hurt soul, but never before had she shown it so openly. Until now. He could see her desperate need for a bit company, someone to lean on. He didn't know if he was the right person for this, but when she obviously thought that he was the best choice, he would have faith in her. He could never send her away or deny her a wish like this. He had once told her he would always be there for her, and he had promised Bosco he would take care of her - and now that she needed him, he would not turn her down.
Finally, he nodded and kissed her on the forehead.
"Alright. What do we have for dinner?"
---
Jane wouldn't have believed it if anyone had told him he would enjoy a Christmas dinner again after the death of his family. But here he was, eating with Lisbon, both of them sitting at his kitchen counter isle since the dining room lacked of furniture - as most parts of his house -, talking and laughing. He hadn't felt that happy and light in a long time and he could tell it was the same for Lisbon.
Teresa.
Using each others first names had been no question, and they both had to admit that saying - and hearing - it felt good. And right.
"And Rigsby and Van Pelt really think we don't know? We've been working together for over a year; they should know better..." Lisbon chuckled. Among all the things they were talking about they had also come to speak about the two love birds of their team. Those two who obviously believed their relationship was still a big secret.
"They should, but I think they're so afraid of being caught and transferred that they simply hope no one has noticed yet. Especially not now, after Minelli's departure and while we don't know who will follow him. I'm sure it would have been less of a problem with Minelli, but now, without good old Virgil's patron-like protection... I would be afraid, too."
"Yeah, you're probably right." A trifle bemused, she noticed the frown on his forehead. "What?"
"Promise me one thing, Teresa?" Now it was her turn to frown, and raise an eyebrow at the same time. "Whatever happens, don't punish them. Not for being in love." Jane's expression had become serious. He liked seeing people happy, as he was missing some happiness of his own so much, and she understood this longing all too well.
"You, Mister, should know by now that I certainly won't resent them their relationship as long as they don't mix up private business and job." She pointed at him with her fork that held a piece of potato. Playfully, he quickly moved forwards and stole the piece of the vegetable from her. "Hey!" she protested, but couldn't suppress a grin.
"I know. Only wanted to be sure," he answered while munching the potato. Lisbon only shook her head at him, a bit irritated, but more so amused by his somehow unusual behavior from the man with normally pretty good manners.
"Maybe we should tell them that we know it," Lisbon thought aloud, and nibbled at a piece of carrot.
"Nah. Just think about it. It's too dangerous. They wouldn't have to be so careful in our presence - and so they wouldn't be. That's okay, as far as I'm concerned, and you and Cho, too, I guess. But when someone suddenly walks in on them, other agents for example..." He had a point, Lisbon noticed; the risk of being caught was too great for them. Young love was often too carefree; she knew it from her own experience. At that thought, she cringed a bit inwardly, and although she was sure that she had her expression well schooled and that it didn't tell anything of the pang of pain she had felt for a moment, she was nevertheless met by Jane watching her with concern in his eyes. "You're alright?" he asked, cocking his head and trying to read her mind, obviously.
"Yeah, fine, just lost in thoughts for a moment. Sorry," she dismissed his concern. Or at least she tried.
"Teresa..."
"It's fine, Patrick, really, I am fine. Only a memory... the... good old days." She sighed. "It doesn't matter. We want to have a happy Christmas, don't we?" He wasn't all too convinced; he'd rather listened to her sorrows, knowing that talking about it helped. But then, she was probably right; they wanted to forget their sorrows at this year's Christmas, and sharing unpleasant memories wasn't something that would help with the forgetting. And so, he simply nodded and offered a cheering smile.
Dinner was finished in silence. Once the plates were empty, they filled the dishwasher and returned to their seats and wine glasses, letting the machine do its work.
Their conversation once again moved from work to hobbies and habits, likes and dislikes. Somehow they managed to avoid topics like family, simply everything that would hurt too much, and yet talked for hours, and a few times their laughter almost knocked them off their barstools.
It was fairly past midnight when Lisbon yawned, making Jane chuckle slightly.
"I didn't know I was so exhausting," Patrick commented with a flirtatious hint in his voice. She caught the suggestive meaning and grinned evilly.
"Oh, trust me, you're every day," Teresa gave back and they both laughed quietly. "Would it be okay if I returned tomorrow... no... today... well, this afternoon?"
"You wanna go home now?"
"Sure. What did you thought I would do?"
"You can't possibly drive, you had way to much wine."
"I can't stay here either, I don't think you've a guest bed. You don't even have a couch," Lisbon pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
"I... Maybe you're right," he admitted, but almost immediately changed his mind again. "No. You should... I... I'd like you to stay. I may not have a bed, but I've a mattress in the store room, and I've blankets and pillows. If that's okay for you. We... we could have breakfast together in the morning," he offered, the hopefulness of his suggestion, his question evident in his voice.
She looked at him for a few long moments. They were both really hopeless cases. But didn't that mean they had to stick together?
"Okay," she finally agreed, "I'll try it. But only if you let me... make my camp in front of the fireplace."
"Whatever the lady likes," Jane smiled and went to get the sleeping things for her. He stopped mid-step when he heard her calling after her.
"I've nothing to sleep in," she said. And Patrick couldn't help but peek around the edge grinning, making the senior agent growl and shoot him a playfully angry look.
---
Half an hour later, Lisbon's camp, as she had called it, was ready and looking very comfortable. She had no doubt that she would sleep well. Patrick had even brought her a shirt of his, and it was long enough to cover her almost to the knees. So she would show nothing he hadn't seen before when they had set a trap for her former psychologist.
"Need me to tug you in, little Teresa?" he asked with a boyish grin that made her heart jump for a second when she returned from the bathroom, already changed into her sleeping attire.
"I may be small, but I'm not a child, Patrick," she emphasized his name with a warning tone, though they both knew she was as amused as him. The mood remained light and easy, but only because Lisbon bit her lip before a comment about only little girls needing to be tugged in by their daddy could slip her.
"I simply wanted to make sure you're warm and comfortable and don't need anything else before I go to bed, but if you don't want..." He pouted a bit, playfully turning away, and she laughed lightly.
"Alright, alright. Tug me in, but I can assure you I am perfectly happy." Crawling onto the mattress, she slipped beneath the sheets and blankets and sank back into the pillows, sighing contentedly. Jane kneeled beside her, making sure that there was nothing left uncovered, and no wrinkle caused a hole where cold air could flow inside the cocoon the dark-haired woman was cuddled into. Despite the fire in the fireplace, it wasn't exactly warm in the house, probably because of the huge rooms and windows.
Busily, he leaned forwards, and he almost lay atop her, his face coming dangerously close to hers. She looked up at him, but didn't say anything. It took him a few moments to notice the position they were in, and his eyes met hers. Time froze between them then, and no one dared to move.
It hung in the air between them, the question whether they should take this step or not. Their gazes intensely on each other; their lips longing for a touch they were yet afraid to give. Too much was to lose, too much at stake. A passionate acting on feelings or attraction that wasn't worth the friendship it could destroy. Not that it made it easier to turn away and ignore the desire that was hidden deep inside their souls.
In the end, it was Patrick who broke the eye contact and then got up.
"Good night, Teresa." She looked at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes; though this time, the sadness had another reason.
"Good night, Patrick. Thank you."
"You're welcome. And I have to thank you, too." He shot her another, thoughtful look before he turned to the stairs.
"And Patrick? Merry Christmas."
"To you, too."
_________________________________________
Angels Never Fly Alone
Author: CK
Rating: K / P6
Contents: When you've lost your dearest ones, Christmas, the season of love, happiness and family come-together, is the hardest time of the year.
Disclaimer: Nothing mine. Bruno Heller and his team definitely deserve to be the rightful owners, as they had made so many great things with this show 'til now.
A/N: There is a German song, "Engel fliegen einsam" (translated word-by-word = "Angels fly lonely") by Christina Stürmer, an Austrian musician, that gave me the idea for the title and the little story you'll find in the fic :)
He never turned on the lights.
Sometimes a single lamp, yes, but not more. His house always stood dark and seemingly empty, deserted and lonely. Only that it wasn't; in fact, someone was living in this dreary, empty and joyless home that had once been filled with laughter and happiness.
And especially now, when Christmas was knocking on his door, he felt the coldness of this empty and dark house even more. But he just couldn't bring himself to change anything. He didn't deserve it. It was his fault, everything that had happened, and now he had to live with it, in it. He had to live this life he had created, he had caused. It was his bounden duty and he would not run away.
Not even on Christmas.
When Patrick Jane came home this evening, on the 24th of December, on what was Christmas Eve to the majority out there and just the end of another day to him, he expected this for so many people most beautiful, happy and joyful time of the year to be for him not different from the last years. When he sat alone at home, lost in self pity and self-flagellation, deep in thought, thinking over and over again what he could have done to prevent those terrible events seven years ago from happening.
For him, Christmas was the worst time of the year. It was when he missed his family most; missed the shining eyes of his daughter when she saw the Christmas tree, missed sitting in front of the fireplace with his wife, exchanging those little gifts that were so secret and special that they never were part of the gifts under the tree, but were only exchanged when their daughter had gone to bed.
Tears dwelled in his eyes every time he thought about those special moments, moments that had assured him that he was the happiest man in the world, and the luckiest, having a wife and a child like these two. It hurt remembering them, and their wonderful moments, and yet he allowed himself from time to time to fall back in time and relive these moments.
Until the picture changed and all he saw was his family covered in blood.
Only the tiny bit of self respect he still had somewhere inside of him held him back from drinking himself into oblivion; he always told himself that he needed a clear head, in case suddenly Red John showed up and got arrested. This probably would be his only chance for revenge; and he wanted to know what he was doing when he confronted the man who had made a living hell of his life.
So, he would again just sit in the dark, stare outside and watch the ocean turn into a dark, restless fluid when night fell, came and went, the black waves like a mirror of his soul.
When he, without thinking much about it, decided for his Christmas to be no different from the last years, one thing he hadn't taken into account - the sudden ringing of his door bell. He didn't expect anyone. He never expected anyone coming to his home. It was a dead place for a lonely soul. Not one that was prepared for visitors; it hadn't seen any in years.
And certainly not on Christmas.
At first, Patrick ignored it. He wasn't in the mood to see anyone, and if it was only some employee of a fundraising organization. Yet, whoever waited at his door was obviously very stubborn, ringing the door bell again and again. Frowning, he gave in and walked to his door, checking if he could see anything through the glass wall next to the door. But no one was to be seen.
The person coming into view when he opened the door was definitely the last one he would have expected. But then, as already said - he never expected anyone ever. At all.
"Lisbon?" he asked confused when he recognized his boss in the dim light. "What are you..." He was interrupted when she walked past him with the words "May I, it's not exactly warm out here." and straight into his kitchen - not that he would wonder how she knew where said room was - and followed her, even more puzzled. What was all this about?
She didn't look up when Jane entered the kitchen moments later, but only unpacked the bags she had brought with her. After a few seconds of silence, she finally allowed him an explanation.
"I assumed since we're both alone on Christmas, we could very well spend it together. Cho is with his family in Wyoming, Rigsby and Van Pelt spend the holidays together - not officially, but you can bet on it -, and we also shouldn't be alone. We would both only drown in our musings and self pity, so either we do it together - in that case I have sleeping pills - or we try and have a nice Christmas with a good dinner and good wine. And some movies," she put some DVDs on the counter, "and don't worry, I've brought my notebook, in case you don't have a TV and DVD player."
"I... haven't."
"Just like I thought, that's why I've pa-"
"Lisbon!" It didn't occur often that Patrick Jane was irritated and confused - well, it occurred pretty much never - but now he looked almost annoyed. His mind refused to understand what was just happening. "What is this about? No offence, but I'd rather be alone..." He trailed off when she looked up again and he caught the expression in her eyes before she turned them away.
Broken. Lonely. Crying out for help.
"Please. I don't want to be alone. Last year's Christmas was almost killing me," she begged whispering, her eyes still avoiding his.
"I'm so sorry, Teresa. But I don't know if I'm the right person."
"We both shouldn't be alone now. And we know each other well enough, know the other's past. Let's just forget for a short while which demons are chasing us and have at least a bit fun. All I want is some happiness. And peace."
He walked around the isle counter, coming to stand beside her. Lying his hands on her shoulders, Jane turned the dark-haired woman towards him and then gently lifted her chin, making her look at him. She looked so vulnerable, so sad and lost, that it almost shocked him. He knew that inside of this tough little agent was a deeply hurt soul, but never before had she shown it so openly. Until now. He could see her desperate need for a bit company, someone to lean on. He didn't know if he was the right person for this, but when she obviously thought that he was the best choice, he would have faith in her. He could never send her away or deny her a wish like this. He had once told her he would always be there for her, and he had promised Bosco he would take care of her - and now that she needed him, he would not turn her down.
Finally, he nodded and kissed her on the forehead.
"Alright. What do we have for dinner?"
---
Jane wouldn't have believed it if anyone had told him he would enjoy a Christmas dinner again after the death of his family. But here he was, eating with Lisbon, both of them sitting at his kitchen counter isle since the dining room lacked of furniture - as most parts of his house -, talking and laughing. He hadn't felt that happy and light in a long time and he could tell it was the same for Lisbon.
Teresa.
Using each others first names had been no question, and they both had to admit that saying - and hearing - it felt good. And right.
"And Rigsby and Van Pelt really think we don't know? We've been working together for over a year; they should know better..." Lisbon chuckled. Among all the things they were talking about they had also come to speak about the two love birds of their team. Those two who obviously believed their relationship was still a big secret.
"They should, but I think they're so afraid of being caught and transferred that they simply hope no one has noticed yet. Especially not now, after Minelli's departure and while we don't know who will follow him. I'm sure it would have been less of a problem with Minelli, but now, without good old Virgil's patron-like protection... I would be afraid, too."
"Yeah, you're probably right." A trifle bemused, she noticed the frown on his forehead. "What?"
"Promise me one thing, Teresa?" Now it was her turn to frown, and raise an eyebrow at the same time. "Whatever happens, don't punish them. Not for being in love." Jane's expression had become serious. He liked seeing people happy, as he was missing some happiness of his own so much, and she understood this longing all too well.
"You, Mister, should know by now that I certainly won't resent them their relationship as long as they don't mix up private business and job." She pointed at him with her fork that held a piece of potato. Playfully, he quickly moved forwards and stole the piece of the vegetable from her. "Hey!" she protested, but couldn't suppress a grin.
"I know. Only wanted to be sure," he answered while munching the potato. Lisbon only shook her head at him, a bit irritated, but more so amused by his somehow unusual behavior from the man with normally pretty good manners.
"Maybe we should tell them that we know it," Lisbon thought aloud, and nibbled at a piece of carrot.
"Nah. Just think about it. It's too dangerous. They wouldn't have to be so careful in our presence - and so they wouldn't be. That's okay, as far as I'm concerned, and you and Cho, too, I guess. But when someone suddenly walks in on them, other agents for example..." He had a point, Lisbon noticed; the risk of being caught was too great for them. Young love was often too carefree; she knew it from her own experience. At that thought, she cringed a bit inwardly, and although she was sure that she had her expression well schooled and that it didn't tell anything of the pang of pain she had felt for a moment, she was nevertheless met by Jane watching her with concern in his eyes. "You're alright?" he asked, cocking his head and trying to read her mind, obviously.
"Yeah, fine, just lost in thoughts for a moment. Sorry," she dismissed his concern. Or at least she tried.
"Teresa..."
"It's fine, Patrick, really, I am fine. Only a memory... the... good old days." She sighed. "It doesn't matter. We want to have a happy Christmas, don't we?" He wasn't all too convinced; he'd rather listened to her sorrows, knowing that talking about it helped. But then, she was probably right; they wanted to forget their sorrows at this year's Christmas, and sharing unpleasant memories wasn't something that would help with the forgetting. And so, he simply nodded and offered a cheering smile.
Dinner was finished in silence. Once the plates were empty, they filled the dishwasher and returned to their seats and wine glasses, letting the machine do its work.
Their conversation once again moved from work to hobbies and habits, likes and dislikes. Somehow they managed to avoid topics like family, simply everything that would hurt too much, and yet talked for hours, and a few times their laughter almost knocked them off their barstools.
It was fairly past midnight when Lisbon yawned, making Jane chuckle slightly.
"I didn't know I was so exhausting," Patrick commented with a flirtatious hint in his voice. She caught the suggestive meaning and grinned evilly.
"Oh, trust me, you're every day," Teresa gave back and they both laughed quietly. "Would it be okay if I returned tomorrow... no... today... well, this afternoon?"
"You wanna go home now?"
"Sure. What did you thought I would do?"
"You can't possibly drive, you had way to much wine."
"I can't stay here either, I don't think you've a guest bed. You don't even have a couch," Lisbon pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
"I... Maybe you're right," he admitted, but almost immediately changed his mind again. "No. You should... I... I'd like you to stay. I may not have a bed, but I've a mattress in the store room, and I've blankets and pillows. If that's okay for you. We... we could have breakfast together in the morning," he offered, the hopefulness of his suggestion, his question evident in his voice.
She looked at him for a few long moments. They were both really hopeless cases. But didn't that mean they had to stick together?
"Okay," she finally agreed, "I'll try it. But only if you let me... make my camp in front of the fireplace."
"Whatever the lady likes," Jane smiled and went to get the sleeping things for her. He stopped mid-step when he heard her calling after her.
"I've nothing to sleep in," she said. And Patrick couldn't help but peek around the edge grinning, making the senior agent growl and shoot him a playfully angry look.
---
Half an hour later, Lisbon's camp, as she had called it, was ready and looking very comfortable. She had no doubt that she would sleep well. Patrick had even brought her a shirt of his, and it was long enough to cover her almost to the knees. So she would show nothing he hadn't seen before when they had set a trap for her former psychologist.
"Need me to tug you in, little Teresa?" he asked with a boyish grin that made her heart jump for a second when she returned from the bathroom, already changed into her sleeping attire.
"I may be small, but I'm not a child, Patrick," she emphasized his name with a warning tone, though they both knew she was as amused as him. The mood remained light and easy, but only because Lisbon bit her lip before a comment about only little girls needing to be tugged in by their daddy could slip her.
"I simply wanted to make sure you're warm and comfortable and don't need anything else before I go to bed, but if you don't want..." He pouted a bit, playfully turning away, and she laughed lightly.
"Alright, alright. Tug me in, but I can assure you I am perfectly happy." Crawling onto the mattress, she slipped beneath the sheets and blankets and sank back into the pillows, sighing contentedly. Jane kneeled beside her, making sure that there was nothing left uncovered, and no wrinkle caused a hole where cold air could flow inside the cocoon the dark-haired woman was cuddled into. Despite the fire in the fireplace, it wasn't exactly warm in the house, probably because of the huge rooms and windows.
Busily, he leaned forwards, and he almost lay atop her, his face coming dangerously close to hers. She looked up at him, but didn't say anything. It took him a few moments to notice the position they were in, and his eyes met hers. Time froze between them then, and no one dared to move.
It hung in the air between them, the question whether they should take this step or not. Their gazes intensely on each other; their lips longing for a touch they were yet afraid to give. Too much was to lose, too much at stake. A passionate acting on feelings or attraction that wasn't worth the friendship it could destroy. Not that it made it easier to turn away and ignore the desire that was hidden deep inside their souls.
In the end, it was Patrick who broke the eye contact and then got up.
"Good night, Teresa." She looked at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes; though this time, the sadness had another reason.
"Good night, Patrick. Thank you."
"You're welcome. And I have to thank you, too." He shot her another, thoughtful look before he turned to the stairs.
"And Patrick? Merry Christmas."
"To you, too."