PSL for hadtobe_said

[bettercop]

Lisbon had reluctantly agreed to stay in the hospital for tonight; the wound could have been far, far worse, but it was still a gunshot wound, and the doctor insisted she allow herself to be monitored overnight. In the meantime, she'd heard about what had happened with Jane, and that Red John was now dead, no longer a threat to anyone, which meant

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[hadtobe_said]

Between the live music, the sports replays on the television and the story Bob was telling him, the bar was a very noisy place. If his phone hadn't been on vibrate he might not have known it was ringing. As he pulled it out of his pocket Bob rolled his eyes.

"When are you going to learn to leave that thing at home, Mike? Nothing's so important it can't wait a couple of hours while we're relaxing." Gino, to Bob's left, nodded his head in agreement.

"Sorry, boys. Next rounds on me to make up for the break in Bob's absolutely true fishing tale." He threw back the last of his drink before flipping open the cell and holding it to his ear. He couldn't tell them, of course, that years of habit as a cop and a need to be reached by the Marshals meant he always had a phone on him. So far as his friends knew he was a retired line cook from Chicago, moved to Key West for a change of scene after his wife died.

"Hola. Que pasa?" Bob's insistence that the story was true diverted half his attention, and he didn't hear his name.

[bettercop]

Her instinct was to ask, What the hell is going on? or Where are you?, but he wouldn't divulge any of that without the important knowledge of Red John's demise. So despite the bemused expression on her face--which he couldn't see anyway--she spoke more loudly, over the din of noise.

"Sam, it's me. Red John's dead."

[hadtobe_said]

Red John's dead. Word's he'd wanted to hear for a year and a half, God forgive him. The only thing he wanted more then knowing the man who killed so many people, and his team, was the safety of the woman on the other end of the phone call.

"Grazie Maria, Madre di Dio." He pushed his chair back, needing to get out of the crowded room. He had a thousand questions to ask, torn between 'was it Jane that got him?' and 'how have you been since I died?' "Don't go anywhere, Teresa. I'm just stepping outside."

"Mike, what about..."

"Later," he called out over his shoulder.

The night was clear and warm when he stepped out of the bar, and he headed for the almost deserted beach down the block. He took a deep breath. "Hey."

[bettercop]

Likewise, there were many, many things she wanted to say to him, ask him, but the words eluded her, and all she cared about was the sound of his breath on the other line. Her eyes shut briefly, against the sudden swell of emotion, and then she opened them again and drew in a shaky breath.

"Hey. Long time," she tried to imbue her voice with nonchalance, and happiness. She was happy, infinitely happy, to hear his voice, but there were so many other things to think about right now, and her fuzzy mind had trouble sifting through it all.

"I wasn't there when it happened, I don't know all the details yet. We had a mole in the CBI, I was protecting our boss while we tried to figure out who it was." She paused, drew in another deep breath. "Jane shot him."