FIC: Red Fleece (1/1); The Mentalist
Title: Red Fleece
Author: sirenofodysseus
Rating: T
Characters: Patrick Jane, Teresa Lisbon, Red John, Team. RJ/TL.
Summary: It was just something else that went without saying.
Spoilers: All of season four, really.
i.
Patrick Jane trusted Teresa Lisbon; it was something that went without saying. Lisbon had always been an honest person with honest eyes, and when he had suggested to her that they lay yet another trap to catch Red John, Jane immediately understood that while Lisbon agreed with apprehension, she was basically just agreeing to keep him alive. They, of course, had been friends for five years and Lisbon continued to take it upon herself to try and protect him-to keep him from spiraling down the road of pure insanity-which he found both amusing and concerning.
He knew the murder of Timothy Carter had changed him; he had become a much darker person, and yes, he was slowly spiraling into the realms of insanity, but throughout the trial, the subsequent “not guilty” ruling, and the almost-loss of her job, Lisbon had never doubted him-had never left his side, and in turn, he began to toss and turn at night.
The same thought haunted his mind: What would happen if Red John put his hands on her? And it made him want to push her away, just until he was absolutely positive that she wouldn’t become a fatal casualty in the game between himself and Red John, but he knew he couldn’t. While he did sometimes trust the team, he knew they didn’t trust him and it was one of the various reasons that he had kept them (up until his plan to ensnare Red John) in the dark.
Of course, when they had eventually told the team that Red John hadn’t been killed, things slowly fell apart; Rigsby walked out on them both (“It’s not surprising though,” Jane had told Lisbon, “Rigsby believes in the law.”), Van Pelt sat quietly in shock, and Cho said nothing to either of them, though Jane had a feeling that the agent was angry with them both. Lisbon tried to reason with both of the agents (and she had even tried to reason with Rigsby later on), but none of them seemed to understand that Red John had people everywhere.
So, while the team buried their hands in the sand. Lisbon pressed forward with him.
He never questioned her blind loyalty; it was something else that just went without saying.
ii.
Patrick Jane hated Red John; it was something that went without saying. Red John had killed his wife and child, had killed Samuel Bosco, and upon seeing them alone, had commanded that his acolytes bound both himself and Lisbon to a pair of chairs. He had been chasing after the serial killer for over eight years and now that the man was before him, a knife pressed against Lisbon’s soft flesh, Jane couldn’t help but wonder how everything had gone so wrong.
From the archaic chair, Jane heard Lisbon sharply gasp and he began to struggle against his bounds. If Red John killed Lisbon, it would have completely been his fault-for, he should never put her into this position in the first place; they should have called for backup, should have ordered the team to be around, he should have had more weapons than a simple gun and a kitchen knife.
“I’m not going to kill her, Patrick.” Red John soothed. “What good would she be to me then?”
He felt his stomach churn and he heard something heavy drop to the hardwood floor.
Jane twisted his head around, blue-green eyes wide and fearful.
He half expected to find Lisbon in a lifeless heap on the floor; crimson blood running freely, and her facial expression etched into one permanent fear, but what he expected wasn’t what he got.
Because if he had gotten what he expected; killing Red John would have been a million times easier.
“Lisbon?”
In a pile on the floor remained her flaxen ropes, and pressed against Red John remained Lisbon.
He said nothing, as the serial killer pressed his lips against her lips and she returned the gentle kiss.
“You can’t be too surprised, Jane.” Lisbon addressed him from within Red John’s loose hold. Red John said nothing, and ran his fingers over the gentle cut he had given his-whatever the hell she was-when they had first walked in. “You knew somebody was working for Red John. I’ve just always been surprised that you never put the pieces together.”
He tried to imagine the pieces; some type of clue that would have pointed her out to him or the team, but he came up blank. Lisbon couldn’t have done any of this willingly. Red John probably knew hypnotism, and it wouldn’t have been too difficult to get the Senior Agent alone.
“Lisbon,” Jane started, lowly. “You’re not yourself. You’ve been…”
“I don’t hypnotize individuals, Mr. Jane.” Red John interrupted and Jane doubted him. “I don’t resort to petty parlor tricks, and I wouldn’t ask Teresa to do something she was very much against.” Lisbon threw a slight smile toward Red John, who still had his arms around her waist.
“I’m here of my own accord, Jane.” Lisbon returned.
Jane wouldn’t believe it.
He couldn’t believe it.
Red John was the monster, Lisbon was the saint.
Red John was the serial killer, Lisbon was the heroine.
Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to anybody; Lisbon, his Lisbon, who he had very much trusted with his life, had betrayed them all.
Patrick Jane hated himself for not seeing this possible scenario; it was just something else that went without saying.