Fic: Surprise (The Mentalist)
Title: Surprise
Summary: Season Three AU. She fired the gun three times and each shot shook her to the core as it hit him in the centre of his chest.
Prompt: I see the sun rise from my window, It must have risen every day, But I couldn't see at all, The shadows were too tall, But I'm seeing it today - Nothing Stops Another Day, from Ghost the Musical (from Paint-it-Red.com's October Challenge)
Spoilers: Season Three because although it’s S3 AU, it does use elements of what actually happens
Rating: T
Warnings: Swearing.
Notes: I’m a Spoilerphobe who lives in and watches at UK pace, so please don’t leave any comments with season four spoilers in, thank you.
She fired the gun three times and each shot shook her to the core as it hit him in the centre of his chest. Craig O'Laughlin went down like a young basketball star might fall to the ground having suffered from some unknown heart condition. She dropped the gun carelessly, her hands shaking too much to hold it let alone keep it steady any longer. Then her knees buckled and she crawled over the gun towards her fiancés body.
'Craig?' she asked, words and tears catching each other up in her throat until tears won over and she sat sobbing against his broken body. She should have called an ambulance. But she couldn’t. There was little she could do; he'd lose too much blood before they arrived.
Time must have passed by despite the fact she’d only been sitting there for what appeared to be a few minutes. A knock on the door to the apartment was followed by shouting until the door had been smashed open. Van Pelt held her cheek against O’Laughlin’s chest, listening as his heartbeat slowly ebbed away.
'Van Pelt?'
She lifted her head to Lisbon, Rigsby and Cho who stood in the doorway to the apartment, their faces ashen with shock and devastation. She allowed Lisbon to peel her away from the body and then fell back onto the floor. She couldn't remember how to walk, or even how to move at all.
'What happened here Grace?' said Lisbon, kneeling before her and taking her hand. Rigsby and Cho moved around the room, retaining various items as evidence.
'I don't, I don't remember,' she said, struggling to breathe as she stared up into Lisbon's concerned face.
'Did you shoot Craig?'
'Y, y, yes,' she replied. That much she did remember. The bullets as they pierced his chest, the blood spilling out of the wounds and his body crumbling to the floor.
'But you don't remember anything else?'
'No.' She shook her head vehemently and tried to pull out of Lisbon's arms, what was she trying to say? What was she trying to get from her?
'I'm sorry to have to do this Grace,' said Lisbon, resting a hand under her arm and pulling her to her feet. 'I'm going to have to take you in.'
'Okay,' she said, nodding her head and listening to Lisbon read her Miranda rights. She heard it not as a criminal but as an agent stood on the side-lines watching her boss arrest someone else.
'Do you understand Grace?'
Grace. That was her. She was expected to reply. Of course she understood, she was paid to understand the rules and yet there she was being arrested for the murder of O'Laughlin.
'I understand.' Her voice spoke but her body was detached from it. They weren't really her words; they came from a distant person who had made a mistake.
'Rigsby, can you take Grace to the car?'
'Yes, Boss.'
They sat in the back seat in silence, what was there to say? Van Pelt couldn’t talk, her brain had shut down and all she could think about was the slowing heartbeat still lingering on the edge of her hearing. Even Cho and Lisbon stayed silent in the front. A hand covered her palm and fingers interlinked hers. That was when the tears began to fall.
‘It’s going to be okay Grace,’ Rigsby said, squeezing her hand tightly and rubbing her thigh. She rested her head against his shoulder and shook with tears pouring down her cheeks in quick succession.
What would become of her now? She’d killed a man, not in the line of duty, but held up her gun and shot him repeatedly until he’d died in her arms. The evidence would be surmountable. No matter how many times Rigsby told her that everything would be fine, she didn’t believe him.
They processed her like every other criminal. She was no longer a name, but a number, a case file to be closed. They left her in the interview room alone with nothing more than a glass of water, until Lisbon and Rigsby returned to conduct a formal interview.
‘Can you tell us what happened, Grace?’ said Lisbon.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘You told me on the scene that you shot Craig, is that correct?’ asked Lisbon.
‘Yes.’
‘You shot him three times in the centre of the chest?’
‘Yes.’
As the interview went on, Van Pelt’s face became stoic and her eyes vacant as she stared at a spot on the table. She had very little to say which made the questioning difficult too. She scratched her knuckles so hard that she pierced the skin.
‘Grace,’ said Rigsby, taking her hand and stopping her. ‘Why did you shoot Craig?’
‘I don’t remember,’ she shouted, pulling her hand away from him and holding on to the edges of her chair. How many times would she have to answer the same questions reworded? She didn’t know, she couldn’t remember what she’d done or why she’d done it.
‘Do you remember anything?’ asked Lisbon.
‘No,’ said Van Pelt, rocking slowly in her seat.
‘It’s late. Rigsby’s going to take you to a cell; we’ll try again in the morning.’
Van Pelt lay on the uncomfortable bench in the cell choking back tears as she saw the world anew for the first time that night. How could she have been so naïve?
---
‘Grace,’ said O’Laughlin, entering his bedroom, his face pale and grey. She stood up from the dressing table and rested a hand against his cheek. He looked ill. She held him close and whispered in his ear.
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘I need your help,’ he said, pulling her hands away and taking a couple of steps across the room. ‘I don’t have much time.’
‘Much time for what?’ asked Van Pelt, standing behind him as he pulled clothes from the drawer. ‘What are you doing?’
‘We have to go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Anywhere, somewhere he can’t find us.’
‘Who?’
‘There’s no time, we have to go now.’ He pushed past her and threw a duffle bag from his wardrobe to the ground.
‘Craig, please stop for a minute.’ She stepped into the space between his arms and held his face steady, a couple of teardrops catching her lip as she stared into his sad eyes. ‘What’s happened?’
‘We don’t have time,’ he snapped, lifting his hands up aggressively to push Van Pelt away. ‘Get out of the fucking way.’
'Craig, please,' she said, wiping her eyes and heaving great gulps of air. ‘Just tell me what’s going on, then I’ll do anything you want me to.’
Where love existed, pain for the other person followed and Van Pelt knew full well how easily she felt his suffering. He allowed her to hold him still, her hands on his shoulders as his rested on her hips.
‘He’s going to kill me if I don't get out of this country tonight.' He stepped away, his face downturned as he continued to pull clothes from his drawers. He wiped his face and Van Pelt was sure she heard him sniffle. She wanted to sink into his arms and tell him that everything would be alright, but she couldn’t guarantee anything.
'Who wants to kill you?'
‘Go home, pack a bag and meet me at the airport in an hour.’ O’Laughlin stood up and carried a handful of clothes over to his bag. He zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder.
‘But why?’ She stood facing him again, shoulder to shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. She sunk into his embrace, not because she wanted his comfort, but because she didn’t know what else to do.
‘You said you’d do anything, well I’m asking you to pack a bag and leave with me tonight.’
He stood over her, his height suddenly becoming noticeable as he held himself up tall. She stepped back and he walked towards her. His eyes steadied as they locked on her features. She swallowed a lump resting in her throat.
‘I would, but I don’t understand.’
'Oh Grace,’ he smiled. ‘If only you could understand.'
'Tell me,' she said, walking backwards to the bed and sitting down on the corner. 'Help, help me understand.'
Whether she really wanted to or not didn't matter, as an Agent she had a responsibility to question a suspect. Not that he was a suspect, but the ability to question even when feeling afraid was something she'd learnt to live with.
'I love you Gracie, please remember that.'
'I know.' She smiled weakly as her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
'I didn't do what he asked quickly enough.'
'Didn’t do what who asked?' said Van Pelt frowning.
'Red John,' he screamed, turning back to the wardrobe and banging his fist against the wooden door. Van Pelt shrieked and moved uncomfortably in her position on the bed. 'You have no idea how hard it's been pretending to be some good little FBI agent just to be closer to Patrick Jane.'
His eyes burned with revenge and hatred, an emotion Van Pelt had never witnessed on his face before. She'd loved him unconditionally for some time and now she didn’t know what to think.
'Do you even love me?' she cleared her throat.
‘I do love you. I’m trying to save you, damn it.'
---
The moon shone through the tiny window barely lighting the room yet basking it in a stream so bright that Van Pelt could barely sleep. She closed her eyes in an attempt for the seventh or eighth time. But all she could hear was O’Laughlin’s voice stuck in her mind.
---
‘What are you gonna do? Shoot me?’ O’Laughlin asked with a tilt of the head and a smirk.
‘Do you think I won’t?’ Van Pelt said, holding her gun steady in front of her.
‘Of course not, you love me too much.’
‘You think I won’t do my job just because I love you?’
‘Frankly, no.’
‘You’re not the only one who can be surprising.’
O’Laughlin shook his head. She wanted nothing more than to wipe the filthy smirk off his face. He ignored the fact she was armed and walked towards the bathroom. She held the gun tighter, her hands shaking as the tension increased.
‘Don’t you fucking move or I’ll shoot you.’
‘Stop playing games Gracie, you won’t shoot me.’
She pressed her finger to the trigger and it fired three times, the bullets sailed through the air in quick succession, colliding with O’Laughlin’s chest until he went down. She dropped the gun. Her knees buckled and she crawled over the floor towards his body.
Summary: Season Three AU. She fired the gun three times and each shot shook her to the core as it hit him in the centre of his chest.
Prompt: I see the sun rise from my window, It must have risen every day, But I couldn't see at all, The shadows were too tall, But I'm seeing it today - Nothing Stops Another Day, from Ghost the Musical (from Paint-it-Red.com's October Challenge)
Spoilers: Season Three because although it’s S3 AU, it does use elements of what actually happens
Rating: T
Warnings: Swearing.
Notes: I’m a Spoilerphobe who lives in and watches at UK pace, so please don’t leave any comments with season four spoilers in, thank you.
She fired the gun three times and each shot shook her to the core as it hit him in the centre of his chest. Craig O'Laughlin went down like a young basketball star might fall to the ground having suffered from some unknown heart condition. She dropped the gun carelessly, her hands shaking too much to hold it let alone keep it steady any longer. Then her knees buckled and she crawled over the gun towards her fiancés body.
'Craig?' she asked, words and tears catching each other up in her throat until tears won over and she sat sobbing against his broken body. She should have called an ambulance. But she couldn’t. There was little she could do; he'd lose too much blood before they arrived.
Time must have passed by despite the fact she’d only been sitting there for what appeared to be a few minutes. A knock on the door to the apartment was followed by shouting until the door had been smashed open. Van Pelt held her cheek against O’Laughlin’s chest, listening as his heartbeat slowly ebbed away.
'Van Pelt?'
She lifted her head to Lisbon, Rigsby and Cho who stood in the doorway to the apartment, their faces ashen with shock and devastation. She allowed Lisbon to peel her away from the body and then fell back onto the floor. She couldn't remember how to walk, or even how to move at all.
'What happened here Grace?' said Lisbon, kneeling before her and taking her hand. Rigsby and Cho moved around the room, retaining various items as evidence.
'I don't, I don't remember,' she said, struggling to breathe as she stared up into Lisbon's concerned face.
'Did you shoot Craig?'
'Y, y, yes,' she replied. That much she did remember. The bullets as they pierced his chest, the blood spilling out of the wounds and his body crumbling to the floor.
'But you don't remember anything else?'
'No.' She shook her head vehemently and tried to pull out of Lisbon's arms, what was she trying to say? What was she trying to get from her?
'I'm sorry to have to do this Grace,' said Lisbon, resting a hand under her arm and pulling her to her feet. 'I'm going to have to take you in.'
'Okay,' she said, nodding her head and listening to Lisbon read her Miranda rights. She heard it not as a criminal but as an agent stood on the side-lines watching her boss arrest someone else.
'Do you understand Grace?'
Grace. That was her. She was expected to reply. Of course she understood, she was paid to understand the rules and yet there she was being arrested for the murder of O'Laughlin.
'I understand.' Her voice spoke but her body was detached from it. They weren't really her words; they came from a distant person who had made a mistake.
'Rigsby, can you take Grace to the car?'
'Yes, Boss.'
They sat in the back seat in silence, what was there to say? Van Pelt couldn’t talk, her brain had shut down and all she could think about was the slowing heartbeat still lingering on the edge of her hearing. Even Cho and Lisbon stayed silent in the front. A hand covered her palm and fingers interlinked hers. That was when the tears began to fall.
‘It’s going to be okay Grace,’ Rigsby said, squeezing her hand tightly and rubbing her thigh. She rested her head against his shoulder and shook with tears pouring down her cheeks in quick succession.
What would become of her now? She’d killed a man, not in the line of duty, but held up her gun and shot him repeatedly until he’d died in her arms. The evidence would be surmountable. No matter how many times Rigsby told her that everything would be fine, she didn’t believe him.
They processed her like every other criminal. She was no longer a name, but a number, a case file to be closed. They left her in the interview room alone with nothing more than a glass of water, until Lisbon and Rigsby returned to conduct a formal interview.
‘Can you tell us what happened, Grace?’ said Lisbon.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘You told me on the scene that you shot Craig, is that correct?’ asked Lisbon.
‘Yes.’
‘You shot him three times in the centre of the chest?’
‘Yes.’
As the interview went on, Van Pelt’s face became stoic and her eyes vacant as she stared at a spot on the table. She had very little to say which made the questioning difficult too. She scratched her knuckles so hard that she pierced the skin.
‘Grace,’ said Rigsby, taking her hand and stopping her. ‘Why did you shoot Craig?’
‘I don’t remember,’ she shouted, pulling her hand away from him and holding on to the edges of her chair. How many times would she have to answer the same questions reworded? She didn’t know, she couldn’t remember what she’d done or why she’d done it.
‘Do you remember anything?’ asked Lisbon.
‘No,’ said Van Pelt, rocking slowly in her seat.
‘It’s late. Rigsby’s going to take you to a cell; we’ll try again in the morning.’
Van Pelt lay on the uncomfortable bench in the cell choking back tears as she saw the world anew for the first time that night. How could she have been so naïve?
---
‘Grace,’ said O’Laughlin, entering his bedroom, his face pale and grey. She stood up from the dressing table and rested a hand against his cheek. He looked ill. She held him close and whispered in his ear.
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘I need your help,’ he said, pulling her hands away and taking a couple of steps across the room. ‘I don’t have much time.’
‘Much time for what?’ asked Van Pelt, standing behind him as he pulled clothes from the drawer. ‘What are you doing?’
‘We have to go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Anywhere, somewhere he can’t find us.’
‘Who?’
‘There’s no time, we have to go now.’ He pushed past her and threw a duffle bag from his wardrobe to the ground.
‘Craig, please stop for a minute.’ She stepped into the space between his arms and held his face steady, a couple of teardrops catching her lip as she stared into his sad eyes. ‘What’s happened?’
‘We don’t have time,’ he snapped, lifting his hands up aggressively to push Van Pelt away. ‘Get out of the fucking way.’
'Craig, please,' she said, wiping her eyes and heaving great gulps of air. ‘Just tell me what’s going on, then I’ll do anything you want me to.’
Where love existed, pain for the other person followed and Van Pelt knew full well how easily she felt his suffering. He allowed her to hold him still, her hands on his shoulders as his rested on her hips.
‘He’s going to kill me if I don't get out of this country tonight.' He stepped away, his face downturned as he continued to pull clothes from his drawers. He wiped his face and Van Pelt was sure she heard him sniffle. She wanted to sink into his arms and tell him that everything would be alright, but she couldn’t guarantee anything.
'Who wants to kill you?'
‘Go home, pack a bag and meet me at the airport in an hour.’ O’Laughlin stood up and carried a handful of clothes over to his bag. He zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder.
‘But why?’ She stood facing him again, shoulder to shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. She sunk into his embrace, not because she wanted his comfort, but because she didn’t know what else to do.
‘You said you’d do anything, well I’m asking you to pack a bag and leave with me tonight.’
He stood over her, his height suddenly becoming noticeable as he held himself up tall. She stepped back and he walked towards her. His eyes steadied as they locked on her features. She swallowed a lump resting in her throat.
‘I would, but I don’t understand.’
'Oh Grace,’ he smiled. ‘If only you could understand.'
'Tell me,' she said, walking backwards to the bed and sitting down on the corner. 'Help, help me understand.'
Whether she really wanted to or not didn't matter, as an Agent she had a responsibility to question a suspect. Not that he was a suspect, but the ability to question even when feeling afraid was something she'd learnt to live with.
'I love you Gracie, please remember that.'
'I know.' She smiled weakly as her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
'I didn't do what he asked quickly enough.'
'Didn’t do what who asked?' said Van Pelt frowning.
'Red John,' he screamed, turning back to the wardrobe and banging his fist against the wooden door. Van Pelt shrieked and moved uncomfortably in her position on the bed. 'You have no idea how hard it's been pretending to be some good little FBI agent just to be closer to Patrick Jane.'
His eyes burned with revenge and hatred, an emotion Van Pelt had never witnessed on his face before. She'd loved him unconditionally for some time and now she didn’t know what to think.
'Do you even love me?' she cleared her throat.
‘I do love you. I’m trying to save you, damn it.'
---
The moon shone through the tiny window barely lighting the room yet basking it in a stream so bright that Van Pelt could barely sleep. She closed her eyes in an attempt for the seventh or eighth time. But all she could hear was O’Laughlin’s voice stuck in her mind.
---
‘What are you gonna do? Shoot me?’ O’Laughlin asked with a tilt of the head and a smirk.
‘Do you think I won’t?’ Van Pelt said, holding her gun steady in front of her.
‘Of course not, you love me too much.’
‘You think I won’t do my job just because I love you?’
‘Frankly, no.’
‘You’re not the only one who can be surprising.’
O’Laughlin shook his head. She wanted nothing more than to wipe the filthy smirk off his face. He ignored the fact she was armed and walked towards the bathroom. She held the gun tighter, her hands shaking as the tension increased.
‘Don’t you fucking move or I’ll shoot you.’
‘Stop playing games Gracie, you won’t shoot me.’
She pressed her finger to the trigger and it fired three times, the bullets sailed through the air in quick succession, colliding with O’Laughlin’s chest until he went down. She dropped the gun. Her knees buckled and she crawled over the floor towards his body.