FIC: Limited (1/1)
Title: Limited
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Jane/Lisbon
Summary: She’s his anchor, his life raft. She keeps him floating when he would otherwise drown.
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: 3x03 The Blood On His Hands
Notes: Written for muse_on_drugs in the mentalistprompt fic meme. Prompt: “You can’t protect me from your own death.”
Limited
She wraps an arm around his waist, attempts to pull him away.
He remains stock-still.
Inflexible.
Stubborn.
Unyielding.
She huffs and sighs, rants and rages, but it has little to no effect. The only thing that Patrick Jane is aware of is the dead body in front of him.
And the smiley face, dripping with fresh red blood on the wall.
Red John has been here.
He’s struck again. Taken a second woman that Jane has dared to care about.
It’s a reminder. Reminding Jane that he’s his own worst enemy. That he hasn’t got the privilege, no, the right to be happy.
That all he deserves is living hell.
It’s not as if there’s another side waiting for him, anyway.
Kristina Frye stares impassively upwards. Her eyes, glassy and unseeing. She looks as if she could stare right through you. That’s an impossibility now; she can’t see a damn thing.
It would have been better for her if she hadn’t made that breakthrough. Hadn’t begun to recover.
Then, she’d still be alive, even if she didn’t believe it.
The moment she showed even the tiniest hint of recovery and Red John had decided enough is enough. That he couldn’t risk her actually getting better and telling Jane more than he needed to know.
When Jane had received the telephone call, stating that Kristina was on the mend, he had instantly told Lisbon that she needed more protection.
That she was now at serious risk of being killed.
Lisbon had taken him seriously. Hightower had not. She had stated that redeploying agents was a waste of manpower. That the mental institution where Kristina had been held had more than adequate protection - both for the safety of the patients and those on the outside.
She had explicitly stated that it would be virtually impossible for Red John to infiltrate the building and kill her.
Jane was right. Hightower was wrong.
He kneels and presses her eyelids shut.
Seeing her like this makes it feel like a hollow victory.
xxx
She allows her fingertips to brush gently across his shoulder.
He’s sleeping on the couch, hasn’t even got the energy to move up to his attic bedroom.
Lisbon is working late; the whole team has been. The rest have disappeared now. She needs them fresh, awake in the morning.
It is a Red John case, after all.
Red John is high priority. Always has been, always will be. Or, at least until he’s caught.
Or dies.
Whichever comes first.
Jane mumbles under his breath, unwilling to be pulled from sleep.
He’s exhausted and the only reason he’s actually sleeping is because he desperately needs it.
If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t bother. Staying awake means more time to think, more time to work. More time to focus on catching Red John.
To hell with his general health and well-being.
He knows it hurts those around him. Knows they wish he looks after himself better. But what’s the point? What has he got to live for?
Everything he cares about goes in the end. One way or another.
He can’t let himself get attached. He just can’t. There’s only so many times you can be hurt and recover from it.
Only so many times something can be repaired.
If he’s not careful, the next time his heart’s broken, it could quite easily be the last.
He used to be careless, fickle with his love. Adored anyone and anything, gave his heart all too easily. It’s what drove the wedge between himself and his father; caring about the marks that little bit too much.
Only after he left the carnival circuit did he learn to be cagier; learn to trust just one person: Angela. And by default, Charlotte, once she was born.
Losing them nearly destroyed him.
Kristina could have done the same, if he hadn’t considered himself forewarned of her imminent demise.
But still, he hadn’t really loved the supposed psychic. He was intrigued by her, found her interesting, sure. She made an interesting adversary. Someone fun to play against. He enjoyed her company.
But love?
No.
Maybe, given time. But that was cut crudely short.
Lisbon is still peering down at him.
Lisbon, on the other hand…
xxx
She drives him to her townhouse.
Promises of a couch even more comfortable than the one in the bullpen are enough to tear him away.
He doesn’t believe her; why should he? Has she ever slept on that couch? Fallen into the soft, forgiving leather and allowed herself to relax?
No. Of course not.
That’d be too unprofessional.
But then again, is taking a colleague, co-worker, friend home to your house exactly professional?
Well, it can be. Provided that there is absolutely no hint of romance between you.
Is there any hint of affection between them? Something that means they could potentially be more than friends?
He considers it as she watches the road with eagle eyes.
Possibly.
She’s protective of him; more so than of the others.
But she knows he’s damaged goods. Knows he needs looking after more than the rest of the team put together.
Actively spends time with him.
To get answers for cases, yes. Because the others can only tolerate him in smaller doses. In attempt to keep him on a tighter leash.
And because she genuinely seems to enjoy his company.
He actually makes her smile. Which is more than can be said, for most.
Then there’s moments when she just looks at him. When it isn’t filled with concern, pity, fear, there’s hope. Hope for what? The future? Happiness? A life together?
The way she touches him. With gentle affection, just like when she woke him up earlier.
A gentle caress that always lingers a little longer than it necessarily should.
Her trust.
It’s hard earned, he knows that. He hasn’t done much to earn it either, but inexplicably, she trusts him. With a woman like her, there has to be more behind it.
Other things too.
Too much to list.
But how does he feel about her?
Well, it’s probably about the same really.
She’s his anchor, his life raft. She keeps him floating when he would otherwise drown.
Just because he’d been unresponsive when they found Kristina’s body, it didn’t mean that he didn’t appreciate, didn’t need, her there.
Without her, he doesn’t know what he’d do.
Really, he should learn to be less reliant on her.
Learn to live for himself again.
He drags his gaze away from her and lets his eyes join hers on the road.
xxx
She hands him a cup of tea, her hand shaking slightly.
Drops spill over the edge, scalding her skin.
Jane watches. She doesn’t respond to the obvious burn. This is a woman who has been hardened to pain, especially physical.
Finds it easy to block it out now.
“I’m worried about you.”
Her voice breaks as she speaks; the pain palpable.
Obviously, she’s not quite as strong as he thinks she is.
She doesn’t want to lose him to Red John.
He doesn’t want to lose her either.
Jane stands. Grabs the lapels of her jacket. Pushes her against the wall.
Pauses.
She nods, ever so slightly.
Presses his lips against hers.
Lisbon doesn’t push him away. Doesn’t complain. Responds eagerly to his every touch.
This answers all of his questions that he had in her car. Yes, there is something between them. Yes, it was wrong of her to drag him back home. Yes, he does feel exactly the same about her as she does about him.
Yes.
It also confirms something else: it’s been all too long for both of them.
The cup of tea is long forgotten.
xxx
His fingers run through her dark, silky locks.
Hers tighten around his blond curls.
She falls to her bed.
He follows.
Tongues duel.
Teeth bite.
Hands migrate.
Clothes are discarded.
Mouth on mouth.
Skin on skin.
xxx
Jane leaves her in bed, alone.
Pours himself a glass of carbonated water.
He doesn’t actually like the flavor, but it’s routine more than anything else. Besides, it’s cold and wet. That’s the main thing. Brings him back down to reality. Reminds him of what’s real and what’s not.
He can’t, shouldn’t have, let this happened.
It’s too soon. Too soon since Angela (though in reality, it’s been years and people would say he should have moved on years ago.) Too soon since Kristina.
Just… too soon.
There’s another reason why he tried pushing her away. Tried pretending for years that there was nothing between them, that she was little more than a colleague.
That very reason struck again recently. It’s the same reason why Kristina Frye is now dead. Why he’s trapped in this living nightmare and has been ever since his family were slaughtered.
Why he came to work for the CBI and met Teresa Lisbon at all.
If he cares about her, which he does, it means she’ll be next in line.
Though he doesn’t know how he knows, Red John always finds out these things. And because he was weak, because he sought solace in the one place he shouldn’t, he’s painted a whacking great target on Lisbon’s back.
She already had one there anyway, being a cop.
But he’s made it worse.
The water bubbles ferociously. Air escaping out into the atmosphere. Free once more, after goodness knows how long.
How he wishes to be free. To no longer be tied down to such real agony. To be innocent, care-free, full of life.
Like his daughter was, once.
Not that it did her much good.
That was his failure too. He should have known, should have protected her, instead of making things worse.
You’re meant to learn from your mistakes. Jane realizes that he isn’t. He’s limited; close-minded. Falls into the same traps time and time again. Running around in circles and only being aware it when he sees the starting point once again.
Red John knows this all too well.
It makes it all the easier for him.
First, his Mom.
Then Angela and Charlotte.
Soon followed by Kristina.
Is Lisbon next?
Possibly.
Probably.
Yes.
Unless he does something about it.
He stays up until the bubbles go flat.
Then, opens the door; leaves.
Shuts it firmly.
Locks it. Slips the key back through the post box. Not the safest place to put it, but a damn sight better than putting underneath a plant pot, at any rate.
Heads to his car. Opens the door, sits in the drivers’ seat. Hands resting on the wheel. He places his head on top of his hands and stays still for half a second.
Usually he’d head back to work. The CBI headquarters. The couch or his attic room.
Not today.
Not going back there again. Not now, not ever.
Earlier, he was thinking that he needed to learn to live independently again. There’s not time like the present.
Besides, if Lisbon has half a chance of survival, he needs to leave. Cut all ties. Never return. Let Red John seek him out, provide the serial killer with the cat and mouse game he so obviously craves.
Hope it’s enough of a distraction to stop him from going after Lisbon.
He can only hope it isn’t too late.
That he won’t just kill her anyway.
If it works, if she continues to live, to breathe, to work, to love, then his living without her is a small sacrifice to make.
Jane places his key in the ignition. Turns it.
Drives.
The end.
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Jane/Lisbon
Summary: She’s his anchor, his life raft. She keeps him floating when he would otherwise drown.
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: 3x03 The Blood On His Hands
Notes: Written for muse_on_drugs in the mentalistprompt fic meme. Prompt: “You can’t protect me from your own death.”
Limited
She wraps an arm around his waist, attempts to pull him away.
He remains stock-still.
Inflexible.
Stubborn.
Unyielding.
She huffs and sighs, rants and rages, but it has little to no effect. The only thing that Patrick Jane is aware of is the dead body in front of him.
And the smiley face, dripping with fresh red blood on the wall.
Red John has been here.
He’s struck again. Taken a second woman that Jane has dared to care about.
It’s a reminder. Reminding Jane that he’s his own worst enemy. That he hasn’t got the privilege, no, the right to be happy.
That all he deserves is living hell.
It’s not as if there’s another side waiting for him, anyway.
Kristina Frye stares impassively upwards. Her eyes, glassy and unseeing. She looks as if she could stare right through you. That’s an impossibility now; she can’t see a damn thing.
It would have been better for her if she hadn’t made that breakthrough. Hadn’t begun to recover.
Then, she’d still be alive, even if she didn’t believe it.
The moment she showed even the tiniest hint of recovery and Red John had decided enough is enough. That he couldn’t risk her actually getting better and telling Jane more than he needed to know.
When Jane had received the telephone call, stating that Kristina was on the mend, he had instantly told Lisbon that she needed more protection.
That she was now at serious risk of being killed.
Lisbon had taken him seriously. Hightower had not. She had stated that redeploying agents was a waste of manpower. That the mental institution where Kristina had been held had more than adequate protection - both for the safety of the patients and those on the outside.
She had explicitly stated that it would be virtually impossible for Red John to infiltrate the building and kill her.
Jane was right. Hightower was wrong.
He kneels and presses her eyelids shut.
Seeing her like this makes it feel like a hollow victory.
xxx
She allows her fingertips to brush gently across his shoulder.
He’s sleeping on the couch, hasn’t even got the energy to move up to his attic bedroom.
Lisbon is working late; the whole team has been. The rest have disappeared now. She needs them fresh, awake in the morning.
It is a Red John case, after all.
Red John is high priority. Always has been, always will be. Or, at least until he’s caught.
Or dies.
Whichever comes first.
Jane mumbles under his breath, unwilling to be pulled from sleep.
He’s exhausted and the only reason he’s actually sleeping is because he desperately needs it.
If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t bother. Staying awake means more time to think, more time to work. More time to focus on catching Red John.
To hell with his general health and well-being.
He knows it hurts those around him. Knows they wish he looks after himself better. But what’s the point? What has he got to live for?
Everything he cares about goes in the end. One way or another.
He can’t let himself get attached. He just can’t. There’s only so many times you can be hurt and recover from it.
Only so many times something can be repaired.
If he’s not careful, the next time his heart’s broken, it could quite easily be the last.
He used to be careless, fickle with his love. Adored anyone and anything, gave his heart all too easily. It’s what drove the wedge between himself and his father; caring about the marks that little bit too much.
Only after he left the carnival circuit did he learn to be cagier; learn to trust just one person: Angela. And by default, Charlotte, once she was born.
Losing them nearly destroyed him.
Kristina could have done the same, if he hadn’t considered himself forewarned of her imminent demise.
But still, he hadn’t really loved the supposed psychic. He was intrigued by her, found her interesting, sure. She made an interesting adversary. Someone fun to play against. He enjoyed her company.
But love?
No.
Maybe, given time. But that was cut crudely short.
Lisbon is still peering down at him.
Lisbon, on the other hand…
xxx
She drives him to her townhouse.
Promises of a couch even more comfortable than the one in the bullpen are enough to tear him away.
He doesn’t believe her; why should he? Has she ever slept on that couch? Fallen into the soft, forgiving leather and allowed herself to relax?
No. Of course not.
That’d be too unprofessional.
But then again, is taking a colleague, co-worker, friend home to your house exactly professional?
Well, it can be. Provided that there is absolutely no hint of romance between you.
Is there any hint of affection between them? Something that means they could potentially be more than friends?
He considers it as she watches the road with eagle eyes.
Possibly.
She’s protective of him; more so than of the others.
But she knows he’s damaged goods. Knows he needs looking after more than the rest of the team put together.
Actively spends time with him.
To get answers for cases, yes. Because the others can only tolerate him in smaller doses. In attempt to keep him on a tighter leash.
And because she genuinely seems to enjoy his company.
He actually makes her smile. Which is more than can be said, for most.
Then there’s moments when she just looks at him. When it isn’t filled with concern, pity, fear, there’s hope. Hope for what? The future? Happiness? A life together?
The way she touches him. With gentle affection, just like when she woke him up earlier.
A gentle caress that always lingers a little longer than it necessarily should.
Her trust.
It’s hard earned, he knows that. He hasn’t done much to earn it either, but inexplicably, she trusts him. With a woman like her, there has to be more behind it.
Other things too.
Too much to list.
But how does he feel about her?
Well, it’s probably about the same really.
She’s his anchor, his life raft. She keeps him floating when he would otherwise drown.
Just because he’d been unresponsive when they found Kristina’s body, it didn’t mean that he didn’t appreciate, didn’t need, her there.
Without her, he doesn’t know what he’d do.
Really, he should learn to be less reliant on her.
Learn to live for himself again.
He drags his gaze away from her and lets his eyes join hers on the road.
xxx
She hands him a cup of tea, her hand shaking slightly.
Drops spill over the edge, scalding her skin.
Jane watches. She doesn’t respond to the obvious burn. This is a woman who has been hardened to pain, especially physical.
Finds it easy to block it out now.
“I’m worried about you.”
Her voice breaks as she speaks; the pain palpable.
Obviously, she’s not quite as strong as he thinks she is.
She doesn’t want to lose him to Red John.
He doesn’t want to lose her either.
Jane stands. Grabs the lapels of her jacket. Pushes her against the wall.
Pauses.
She nods, ever so slightly.
Presses his lips against hers.
Lisbon doesn’t push him away. Doesn’t complain. Responds eagerly to his every touch.
This answers all of his questions that he had in her car. Yes, there is something between them. Yes, it was wrong of her to drag him back home. Yes, he does feel exactly the same about her as she does about him.
Yes.
It also confirms something else: it’s been all too long for both of them.
The cup of tea is long forgotten.
xxx
His fingers run through her dark, silky locks.
Hers tighten around his blond curls.
She falls to her bed.
He follows.
Tongues duel.
Teeth bite.
Hands migrate.
Clothes are discarded.
Mouth on mouth.
Skin on skin.
xxx
Jane leaves her in bed, alone.
Pours himself a glass of carbonated water.
He doesn’t actually like the flavor, but it’s routine more than anything else. Besides, it’s cold and wet. That’s the main thing. Brings him back down to reality. Reminds him of what’s real and what’s not.
He can’t, shouldn’t have, let this happened.
It’s too soon. Too soon since Angela (though in reality, it’s been years and people would say he should have moved on years ago.) Too soon since Kristina.
Just… too soon.
There’s another reason why he tried pushing her away. Tried pretending for years that there was nothing between them, that she was little more than a colleague.
That very reason struck again recently. It’s the same reason why Kristina Frye is now dead. Why he’s trapped in this living nightmare and has been ever since his family were slaughtered.
Why he came to work for the CBI and met Teresa Lisbon at all.
If he cares about her, which he does, it means she’ll be next in line.
Though he doesn’t know how he knows, Red John always finds out these things. And because he was weak, because he sought solace in the one place he shouldn’t, he’s painted a whacking great target on Lisbon’s back.
She already had one there anyway, being a cop.
But he’s made it worse.
The water bubbles ferociously. Air escaping out into the atmosphere. Free once more, after goodness knows how long.
How he wishes to be free. To no longer be tied down to such real agony. To be innocent, care-free, full of life.
Like his daughter was, once.
Not that it did her much good.
That was his failure too. He should have known, should have protected her, instead of making things worse.
You’re meant to learn from your mistakes. Jane realizes that he isn’t. He’s limited; close-minded. Falls into the same traps time and time again. Running around in circles and only being aware it when he sees the starting point once again.
Red John knows this all too well.
It makes it all the easier for him.
First, his Mom.
Then Angela and Charlotte.
Soon followed by Kristina.
Is Lisbon next?
Possibly.
Probably.
Yes.
Unless he does something about it.
He stays up until the bubbles go flat.
Then, opens the door; leaves.
Shuts it firmly.
Locks it. Slips the key back through the post box. Not the safest place to put it, but a damn sight better than putting underneath a plant pot, at any rate.
Heads to his car. Opens the door, sits in the drivers’ seat. Hands resting on the wheel. He places his head on top of his hands and stays still for half a second.
Usually he’d head back to work. The CBI headquarters. The couch or his attic room.
Not today.
Not going back there again. Not now, not ever.
Earlier, he was thinking that he needed to learn to live independently again. There’s not time like the present.
Besides, if Lisbon has half a chance of survival, he needs to leave. Cut all ties. Never return. Let Red John seek him out, provide the serial killer with the cat and mouse game he so obviously craves.
Hope it’s enough of a distraction to stop him from going after Lisbon.
He can only hope it isn’t too late.
That he won’t just kill her anyway.
If it works, if she continues to live, to breathe, to work, to love, then his living without her is a small sacrifice to make.
Jane places his key in the ignition. Turns it.
Drives.
The end.