FIC: Acrimonious (18/21)
Title: Acrimonious
Author:
sirenofodysseus
Disclaimer: …it’s probably better that Bruno Heller owns The Mentalist, really.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After FBI Agent Susan Darcy is overheard telling Special-Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright that Patrick Jane may be working with Red John, Red John steals Jane’s body and begins to destroy the team’s lives one-by-one.
Spoilers: Brief spoiler for Crimson Hat (4x24), but the rest of this story is set after Something Rotten in Redmund (4x20).
Warnings: Violence, language, drug use, sex, non-con situations, mentions of child abuse/domestic abuse, negative character portrayals, major and minor character death.
Pairings: Red John/Teresa Lisbon, Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon, Wayne Rigsby/Sarah Harrigan, Kimball Cho/Summer Edgecombe.
18-
Patrick Jane awoke to a blinding light and a splitting headache, before he threw one of his arms over his eyes and tried to calm the queasiness building in his stomach with a few deep breaths through his mouth. He tried to remember the last time he had been ill with some type of stomach flu; Charlotte had been ill and he had caught it from her, much to the amusement of Angela. Tea had been one of the few things that had kept his threshold for illnesses high before Charlotte had been born, even though illnesses from children apparently crept through the cracks.
After a few moments of deep breathing and darkness provided by his resting arm, he realized that the headache and the nausea probably weren’t related to a stomach bug but more along the lines of a dreaded migraine. Not that he had ever experienced the pain of a migraine before, of course, he had just heard Lisbon complaining about them; and from what she had said (and had done to him during one of hers), they really hadn’t sounded like much fun.
Slowly, Jane removed his arm from across his eyes and took a light sniff of the air around him. He half-expected to be greeted by the overwhelming smell of antiseptic, but instead his nose caught a whiff of freshly drying paint and he opened his eyes. The room was still bright and with a few blinks to readjust himself to the brightness, he could see once again.
I’m obviously not in a hospital, Jane thought, as hospitals tended to reek of antiseptic, mothballs and old women. He also apparently wasn’t anywhere near a doctor, as he didn’t have that creepy crawly feeling that doctors usually gave him with the way they all enjoyed breathing down the necks of their patients.
And unless Lisbon had finally decided to paint over Elvis, which Jane highly doubted as Wainwright would have never given Lisbon the permission to deface public property, he realized that he probably wasn’t on his couch within the Serious Crimes Unit bullpen either.
This left him wondering where in the world he could be.
The last thing Jane remembered was being in the Child’s family home with Lisbon, watching as Amy Child’s pressed the gun against her chin and had pulled the trigger to end her life. He hadn’t thought (or felt anything to suggest otherwise) that he had been hurt, but why else would he be on the ground if something hadn’t happened to him or Lisbon.
Jane sat up, almost immediately at the thought of Lisbon being hurt. She had gone through enough in the past year or so-O’Laughlin shooting her, her almost losing her job, and Red John making her a target in his games also (even if Lisbon didn’t realize it just yet)-that he would mentally kick himself if anything else had happened to her, especially after he had promised that he would always be there to save her. Jane glanced around the area, hoping that he wouldn’t find her and to his relief, she was nowhere within the spacious room or small foyer.
The room did, however, look familiar; the ceiling was white and patterned with flowers, heavy yellow curtains covered the lone two windows in the room, and the carpet was a fiery red. The room, he sat inches from, had been the room where Amy had pulled the trigger of her gun to end her life.
Of course, none of it had looked as it had hours (or minutes, as he still wasn’t too sure of how long he had been just lying there on the floor) ago. Everything looked clean of the blood, tissue and brain matter that Amy had left behind with her single bullet.
“Lisbon?” Jane called out into the quiet house, just in case Lisbon was lingering nearby. He waited for a few seconds to see if anybody would show up, whether it was the Child’s family berating him for still being in their home or Lisbon coming to greet him with the shake of her head. But no one came and he attempted to call out again. “Hello? Anybody home?” Once again, he received no answer and with a low sigh, he pushed himself off the carpeted floor and forced himself to stand through the headache.
On his feet, Jane’s legs wobbled dangerously beneath him and he latched onto the wooden banister of the staircase next to him to keep himself from falling until he could move without feeling as if the entire world was slanted. Eventually, after his headache had faded slightly and he could move, he let go of the wooden banister and climbed the red carpet stairs in an attempt to find somebody within the home.
He called out again. “Hello?” He was met was silence and with a shrug, he continued up the steps. The quietness within the home was eerie, as was the collection of dust and cobwebs hanging on the white walls surrounding him while he continued to take the steps one at a time. Before long, Jane found himself facing an empty hallway and several doors; the long hallway had probably once seen better days, but he avoided the dark area in favor of stepping into the first room he opened with his hand.
Beyond the door, Jane could tell that he was looking into someone’s well lit bedroom; the four-post bed with its dark pink sheets, the fading posters of pink-lipped boy bands plastered to the baby blue walls, two front-facing windows covered by thin white lace curtains with an oak desk underneath. The elder Child’s would have never tolerated the light blue paint on their walls or the frilly curtains in their bedroom as the two, from Jane’s first and last impression of them both and from the items within their home, only appreciated items that showed how well off they were to the world.
But, of course, they weren’t well off at all.
The Child’s family had been hit hard in the recession and the dysfunctional family, whether the daughters had known it or not, had been about to lose their childhood home. Van Pelt had been the one to discover the possible financial motive in Alice’s death, as the young college student had paid for a one-hundred-thousand dollar insurance policy two weeks prior to her death; that much money would have allowed for the parents of the family to go back to their drinking, gambling and smoking lifestyles.
And as Amy Child didn’t have a room to paint, the bedroom had to belong to the late Alice Child.
Jane frowned. By leaving him there, was Lisbon hoping that he would find something in the girl’s belongings that would point them all toward her killer? He almost laughed at the silly thought. Lisbon should have realized that Alice’s bedroom held nothing but the bare clues of a young spoiled woman turned college student, who had held more dreams than her fellow peers probably had.
He wondered further into the bedroom and stopped to stare at the white bookshelf on the left. Had Lisbon left him out of anger? She often did that just to teach him some lesson in respect and after his treatment toward Darcy and Wainwright, leaving him behind, to her, seemed like an excellent punishment.
I wonder if she realizes that the lesson isn’t nearly as effective, Jane thought with a chuckle, if I have no idea what she’s trying to teach.
Jane shook his head, before he focused on the bookshelf. He’d worry about Lisbon later, as he had a case that needed to be solved first.
The white, three-shelf bookcase held various items of importance. On the middle shelf remained book after book of first edition plays from Shakespeare’s “King Lear” to Arthur Miller’s “The Crucible”. Alice’s parents had apparently put much of their money into their daughter’s future career by purchasing high-edition plays with the money that would have helped them keep their home and that would have helped their eldest daughter out of her pile of debt that she had into.
Alice would have made into stardom, even without the high-price singing lessons and the fitness classes to make her more “desirable”, as the young woman had been extremely talented and gifted. Jane only knew that though, because the family had forwarded videos of the budding actress to the CBI from her first college play: “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” by Edward Albee, where she had played Honey.
The bottom shelf of the bookcase held one-eyed stuffed animals and he smiled briefly, before he glanced at the top shelf; almost every child had a collection of beloved toys from childhood, after all. The top shelf held a single, overturned photo frame surrounded by a collection of various dolls. Forensics be damned, he grabbed at the frame out of curiosity and brought it off the dusty shelf.
Someone had cracked the silver frame, engraved with the phrase: Tremens factus sum ego, et tímeo, at the bottom. Jane knew it was written in Latin, but he couldn’t read the phrase aside from the few words he had picked up from reading Shakespeare. That same person had also decided to shatter the glass within the frame and whatever picture had been inside was missing.
Jane put the frame back on the shelf, before he searched his pockets for his cell phone to call Lisbon about the possible robbery of the Child’s home, when he realized that calling her wasn’t the best idea. If she was mad at him, what were the chances of her answering the call? He shook his head again, as he felt one of his car keys. Lisbon could be ridiculous without even trying, some days.
He heard the sound of his car keys jingling together first, not that they were of much help though as he had left his vehicle at work in favor of letting Lisbon drive, before he felt the smooth plastic of his phone. Jane sighed in relief, as he pulled his phone out.
“At least Lisbon didn’t take my phone.” Jane muttered. He knew he had to tell Lisbon about the possible robbery and the only way he could do that (without getting a lecture or an earful), was to show up at the CBI without letting Lisbon or anybody else on the unit know. He glanced down at his phone again and dialed 411.
Hopefully, I can find or get a taxi out here, Jane thought as he waited for the operator to answer his call, otherwise, I’m going to be walking an hour and thirty or so to get back to the CBI.
Jane tipped the taxi driver graciously, even though the driver with a horrible comb over didn’t exactly deserve it, as he exited the taxi cab almost a block away from the CBI in the dead of night. If the crabby driver had thought dropping him off near an alleyway was odd, the man never said a word as he drove away with a crisp $100 bill in his grubby hands.
The bright streetlights above guided him from the vacant alleyway, past the old donut shop displaying a help wanted sign in the window, to the back alleyway behind the CBI, where he knew he could slip into the building without any problems. The cool night air against his face kept him alert as he pushed himself into the CBI, through a side door with a muffled groan. He hated using the back door to enter into the CBI, because it led straight to the boiler room, which maintenance kept constantly at a sweltering hot temperature. But it was the only way he could get into the building, without going through the front door and possibly alerting Lisbon to his presence.
Jane moved through the large room with relative ease, until he met the door leading from the boiler room to the first floor of the CBI. It was a little harder to open, but eventually, he managed to shove the door open with his shoulder; nobody was lingering around, much to his surprise. Even at the oddest hours of the morning, one of the guards was always patrolling the first floor, especially as the first floor was where the main entrance was.
In silence, he found the door to the steps and hurried to the third floor. Jane briefly wondered if Lisbon or any of the team was still around, as he approached the bullpen and Lisbon’s office from the back. If they weren’t around, he’d just lie on the couch and wait for any of them to show up so he could tell them about his theory for Alice’s death; after all, Lisbon did like coming into work early.
His eyes caught the bullpen and Lisbon’s office; both of them were lit just enough and he smiled. Lisbon was apparently burning the midnight oil, and so was Grace apparently! He could make out her red hair from a distance and the familiar sight calmed his nerves. Rigsby or Cho wouldn’t have known anything about Lisbon’s mood (or if they had known, Cho wouldn’t answer and Rigsby would make some invalid excuse to get out of answering the highly personal question), but Grace had always somehow known when Lisbon was angry or upset with him.
With his mind made up, Jane decided to talk to Grace first; if Lisbon was beyond angry with him for whatever he had done, he wouldn’t pester the woman anymore until after he had brought her a cup of coffee. But, if Lisbon was just irritated with him, he could step into her office and probably keep all of his fingers and toes by the end of the meeting with her. Quietly, he entered into the bullpen as he didn’t want to startle Grace, who probably thought she was alone, or make Lisbon leave her office.
“Grace.” Jane greeted, brightly, as he put his hand to her shoulder and he continued to smile. He felt her tense and if Lisbon’s anger had everybody on edge. “Do you know if Lisbon is…” Jane trailed off at the sight of an extremely pregnant Grace Van Pelt in a long-sleeved blue turtleneck sweater and her gun pointed directly at him. “Whoa, Grace! I’m happy to see myself too, but I didn’t think we were supposed to bring guns to the party.”
“Agent Darcy!” Van Pelt called at the top of her lungs. The young agent sounded frightened and he wondered what had her so spooked. Jane hadn’t brought anybody into the CBI with him and unless a ghost stood behind them both (though, there were no such things as ghosts), Grace was calling both agents into the room about him. “Agent Wainwright!” Her brown eyes were open wide and by the way she held her gun, Jane could just see how exhausted she truly was.
“You don’t need to call them, Grace.” Jane replied, as he took a step backwards. Even after shooting two people, he and guns still didn’t along very well and with the way Grace was aiming hers at him, he was afraid she was going to shoot. “I found my way back to the CBI, see?” He threw his arms out and her finger went to the trigger. “When was the last time you had any sleep, Grace? You’re clearly exhausted and the lack of sleep does silly things to the mind. Like, I don’t know, make you hold your gun to your friend.” Grace said nothing, but he watched her move closer with her gun.
What in the world is going on, Jane thought, as his ears filled with the sounds of loud footsteps against the wooden floor.
Jane continued to stare at Grace, who obviously wasn’t going to set her gun down. The last time he had seen her, she hadn’t even been pregnant or seeing anybody, yet the woman looked to be seven months along in her pregnancy? He tried to not look confused, but things just weren’t adding up inside his head; it could have been the exhaustion (or the minor headache) speaking to him, though he highly doubted it.
It wasn’t actually possible to go from zero to seven months pregnant in a matter of days, unless Grace had been hiding it extremely well. And even if she had been hiding it with large tops and only going to the bathroom when he wasn’t around, he would have figured it out within days; pregnancy changed the body in many ways, as he remembered from when Angela had been pregnant with Charlotte.
“Patrick Jane.” He heard Darcy’s voice somewhere beyond Grace and he peered over her shoulder to find Darcy and Wainwright, both of them had their guns leveled on him as well. Jane tried to ignore the gun-happy FBI and CBI agents with an uneasy smile as he caught sight of Lisbon, who stood behind them. She was the only person in the room, who didn’t have their gun trained on him.
At least she’s on my side, Jane sighed in mental relief, while he aimed his smile at her and she bowed her head.
“You know, Lisbon.” Jane said. “This really isn’t how you should greet people. The CBI might start getting a bad reputation for greeting their guests with firearms and bullets.”
Lisbon didn’t glance up at him. She didn’t even smile at his crack, which would have usually gotten the woman going on some tirade about how the CBI wasn’t all about firearms and bullets. Jane relied on gut instinct and his gut, right now, was telling him that there was something definitely wrong with this picture. But he ignored it; when it came to Lisbon, Jane had learned that his gut instinct could sometimes be wrong, especially when she was in one of her vengeful moods.
“Come on, Lisbon.” Jane continued with a playful smile. “You can’t be that mad at me. I know I’ve said and done some hurtful things, but…”
“You’re under arrest, Mr. Jane.” Wainwright interrupted and Jane stared at him in surprise. Was Wainwright being serious? The childlike Agent had never seemed to have a joking bone in his body, but he couldn’t be serious…could he? Jane saw Darcy move out of the corner of his vision, before he felt her hands on his lower arms. He almost laughed. Lisbon really was getting him back for something, wasn’t she? “You have the right to remain silent, Mr. Jane. Anything you say or can do will…”
“I’m under arrest?” Jane felt Darcy’s silver handcuffs against his wrists. “This isn’t some kind of a joke?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Jane.” Darcy replied.
“…be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…” Wainwright continued.
Jane struggled against Darcy’s strong hold. “For what?” If the charges weren’t something serious, Lisbon would have never allowed for Darcy to handcuff him, let alone Wainwright read the Miranda warnings to him. “I have a right to know!”
“…Do you understand these rights I have just read to you?” Wainwright finished and Jane looked at him. “Answer the question, Mr. Jane.”
“I’ve heard them over and over again, Agent.” Jane replied. “But you have yet to answer my question!” He glanced between Wainwright and Grace, who had yet to lower their weapons. “What did I do to have my so-called rights read to me?” He really was beyond confused. He hadn’t broken into the Child’s home (Lisbon had left him there) and he hadn’t shot Timothy Carter again. He had just stepped into the CBI!
“You’re being arrested for the murder of Wayne Rigsby, Summer Edgecomb, and countless others.” Darcy said from behind him. Jane threw his head over his shoulder to glance at her in question. He hadn’t killed Rigsby! He hadn’t killed anyone, except for Timothy Carter, and he had talked himself out of those charges almost a year ago! “You’re also being arrested for the attempted murder of Kimball Cho and the rape of Grace Van Pelt.”
“The rape of who?” Jane turned his head back to stare at Grace, who stared at the floor. He stared at her in surprise. Why would she even make up such a fabricated tale? “I haven’t done anything to anyone! Sure, I’ve annoyed Lisbon…but my annoyingness isn’t a crime, is it?” Nobody said anything and Jane continued on, his entire focus still on Grace. “Grace? Tell them I haven’t raped you.”
“Stop talking to her.” Wainwright ordered.
“I’ll stop talking to her when you stop talking to me, little boy.” Jane snapped back. Wainwright said nothing. “Grace. Please. I didn’t do this!” Grace said nothing again and Jane tried to break from Darcy’s grasp. “You have to believe me! I wouldn’t do this to you, we’re friends!”
“Shut up, Mr. Jane.” Darcy warned and Jane ignored her, as he turned his attention to Lisbon.
“What are you playing at, Lisbon?” Jane asked her, out of anger. “I’ve never killed Rigsby! I’ve never killed anyone except Timothy Carter and Dumar Hardy. You know this! Why are you trying to get me arrested for crimes I’ve never committed?” Lisbon kept quiet and Jane sneered. He had helped the woman, year after year and this was how she was going to repay him? By keeping false stories and telling things to others that slandered his good name? “Come on, Teresa!” Lisbon glanced up at him and Jane lost his sneer. He had finally gotten Lisbon’s attention! “You’ve known me for years! Tell Luther and Susan that they have the wrong man!”
Lisbon continued to stare.
Is she purposely being difficult, Jane wondered silently. Lisbon had defended him, time and time before, but why wasn’t she defending him this time? He needed her help and she was just standing there!
“Teresa!” Jane tried again. “I didn’t do anything! You have to believe me. I would never do anything to purposely endanger you or your unit.” Lisbon said nothing again and Jane grew frustrated with her. “You know, our family, if you remem…”
Before he could finish his sentence, he felt Lisbon’s fist crash into his nose.
“Restrain her!” Jane barely heard Darcy order Wainwright, as he watched the Special-Agent-in-Charge grab at Lisbon’s arms. He ignored the fact that he was probably bleeding, that Lisbon’s hard fist had probably broken his nose and the pain; only to stare at Lisbon in horror, who was fighting against Wainwright’s restraint. She had never lashed out to hurt him before. Sure, years ago, she had punched him for pretending that they all were going to die…but the punch hadn’t been hard enough to break anything then.
“You need to calm down, Ms. Lisbon.” Wainwright said and Jane blinked, as the brunette’s anger deflated before his eyes. Ms. Lisbon? Had Wainwright just directly insulted Lisbon by taking her official title of Senior Agent away? He waited for Lisbon’s explosion at Wainwright’s insult, but none came, as Lisbon had bowed her head again.
What in the hell? Jane couldn’t believe his eyes. Lisbon didn’t just roll over and take insults; she fought back and told others what they needed to hear. I have to be missing something here.
“You can either go home and let us deal with the rest or you can go into the interrogation room with Agent Darcy.” Wainwright continued. Jane watched him let go of Lisbon’s arms. “It’s against protocol, I know, but I would rather have a second person in the room…”
“I could go, sir.” Jane heard Van Pelt whisper and he watched Wainwright shake his head.
“You’re not going in there, Agent Van Pelt.” Wainwright answered, without glancing at her. “You’ve had more than enough issues lately.” Jane had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the pregnancy. “Either myself or Ms. Lisbon will go in there…”
“I’ll go, sir.” Lisbon answered, quietly. Jane felt Darcy maneuvering his arms and he twisted his body around to follow her directions, as she led him toward one of the many interrogation rooms.
Jane said nothing, as Darcy sat him down at the silver interrogation table and took a seat across from him. Lisbon followed after, a file folder in her hand.
Did the entire world turn upside down overnight? Jane wondered, as he waited for one of them to break the silence again.
--
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five 1/2 - Part Five 2/2 - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine 1/2 - Part Nine 2/2 - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen 1/2 - Part Sixteen 2/2 - Part Seventeen - Part Nineteen - Part Twenty 1/2 - Part Twenty 2/2 - Part Twenty-One