All Roads Lead to Nowhere (2/10)
Previous Parts: Part One
Part Two
“I bought you these.”
“Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
She laid the bunch of flowers on the bedside table and offered a weak smile.
Van Pelt had spent much of yesterday evening in the hospital. She hadn’t particularly wanted to watch Cho question Jane and was more than relieved that he and Rigsby had actively encouraged her to wait for news on Lisbon’s prognosis. The surgery had taken longer than she had expected and when she had eventually left - gone midnight - Lisbon was drugged up to the eyeballs, though mercifully conscious. Despite that, her superior had been treating the injury as if it were merely routine, something to be expected.
Then again, if she had been in the job for as long as Lisbon had, maybe she would have reacted in the same way. It wasn’t as if she’d never been injured in the call of duty.
Except, her injuries had never been potentially life-threatening. She’d been protected, or just mildly inconvenienced at most. If O’Laughlin had been luckier with his shot, he wouldn’t have been the only one in the state morgue. Instead…
Quickly, Van Pelt shook her head. She couldn’t let herself think like that. Not again. What ifs never got her anywhere. Recently, she had spent a lot of her free time wondering about how life could have been if things had happened differently. If her mother had survived the accident, if her sister hadn’t pointed a gun at her own head.
“I wanted to,” she eventually answered and sat down. “How are you doing?”
“Fine. Really,” Lisbon responded, “and there’s no need to look at me like that.”
“Sorry.”
Tearing her gaze away from Lisbon, Van Pelt stared determinedly at the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was make her boss feel even more uncomfortable. She knew that Lisbon was lying; it was something she did time and time again in order to protect herself. Van Pelt could sympathize with her sentiment entirely, but in situations such as this, there was little point. It was obvious that she was still in a considerable amount of pain. She didn’t need to be a doctor to know that.
“Don’t be, you saved my life.”
“No I didn’t. If I’d been quicker, then you wouldn’t have been injured at all.”
“You really think that he would have stopped there? If you hadn’t been there and if Hightower hadn’t been armed…”
“I was the one who brought him there. If I didn’t…”
“Then he may well have killed you on your own,” Lisbon continued and Van Pelt frowned. “Grace, you did a good job.”
“I was only doing what you’ve trained me to do.”
“Nonsense, you learned that at the Academy and back home.”
Van Pelt arched an eyebrow. It was so typical of Lisbon to not be able to take a compliment, even in a situation such as this, when she would have been justified for doing so. Then again, she had just been as bad as the other woman. Lisbon was right; she had helped to rectify the situation, even if she had been partially to blame for causing it in the first place. However, Van Pelt couldn’t remember a moment since she had joined the SCU when Lisbon hadn’t been there for them. The sacrifices she’d made, risking her own life and own career, time and time again, just for the health and happiness of her unit were outstanding. Van Pelt knew she had done good, back in the hideout, but at the same time, the situation would never have arisen if she had been aware of who O’Laughlin really was.
“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked, swiftly changing the subject.
“You don’t have to…”
“No, really, I insist,” Van Pelt persisted. Thinking about other people meant that she didn’t have to address her own personal woes.
“A coffee, then.”
“I’ll just go get you one from down the hall and...”
“No,” Lisbon interrupted, immediately silencing Van Pelt. “A real coffee. Not the industrial crap that makes the CBI’s offerings look good.”
She couldn’t help it; she had to laugh. Then again, Lisbon did have a point. The coffee in hospitals was always dire.
“It’s good to see you smile,” Lisbon muttered.
“How do you do it?”
“What?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.
Van Pelt shrugged. “Never mind. I was just thinking out loud.”
“Van Pelt…”
“I’d better go,” she said hurriedly, keen to end the conversation. “I’ll come back soon, okay? With that coffee. And don’t rush back to work. We’ll be fine without you, I promise.”
“But what about you? How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Before Lisbon even had a chance to challenge her, Van Pelt swept out of the room. She couldn’t talk about it, not yet. They had been dancing dangerously close to the precipice and if she even let herself think about it again, she was scared that she would crumble. That was something she couldn’t risk, not in front of the boss. She had to remain professional, even if it was just a social call to the hospital. If she showed any chinks in her armor, then Lisbon would have told tell Cho and then, she would have been forced to take time off work.
And work was a distraction. Something she desperately needed right now.
xxx
“I thought you weren’t coming back ‘til tomorrow.”
She merely shrugged at Rigsby’s statement as she slung her jacket on the back of her chair. Quickly, she glanced at the beaten leather couch, which was all the more conspicuous by Jane’s absence. Things were going to take a lot of getting used to, even here. The news of Jane’s arrest and subsequent charging had inevitably spread through the entirety of the CBI like wildfire. The same could be applied to Lisbon’s hospitalization and Hightower’s now apparent innocence. Van Pelt didn’t envy LaRoche, or Bertram, for that matter. Everything that had recently happened had seriously compromised the CBI’s status as the premier policing agency in California. Their reputation would certainly be dented, in several ways, and that would lead to more radical changes. Something which she didn’t particularly relish at this moment in time. What with all the sudden changes that had happened in the past twenty four hours, it would have been nice for something to remain constant.
Then again, since when did anything remain constant? Her past few years, with the Serious Crimes Unit had probably just lulled her into a false sense of security. It was almost unheard of for a core team to remain so stable for such a length of time. Sooner or later, someone got a promotion, retired or decided to retrain for whatever reason. And yet, since becoming the rookie member, all she had had to contend with was the odd change in management. Something which, for the most part, only affected her indirectly. It wasn’t as if she was in regular contact with them; that was Lisbon’s domain. So, it was hardly surprising if she had become complacent in that regard. And it was even less surprising that she had grown so fond of her work colleagues.
Her cell phone rang out, pulling her from her reverie. Van Pelt frowned. She wasn’t expecting any calls. Her dad usually rang at the weekends and it wasn’t as if O’Laughlin was going to ring anymore. Dubiously, she dug the device out of her pocket and stared at it as if it had committed a heinous crime.
Them. It just had to be, didn’t it? Whenever they called, it always spelled out more doom and gloom. As if she needed anymore of that at this particular moment in time. Still, Van Pelt answered the call swiftly as she made her way to the elevator. The last thing she wanted was Rigsby or Cho to overhear. That would only lead to more questions. Besides, she could always lie and say it was her dad, telling her that one of his dogs was sick or something equally inane. They wouldn’t suspect otherwise and even if they did, they were both genuinely too polite to question it.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Miss Van Pelt,” the woman on the other end said primly. “I’m sorry to say this, but-”
“Just give me a couple of minutes.”
She ignored the indistinct muffled complaints; quite frankly, she didn’t care. When she had given them her cell phone number, Van Pelt had made it entirely clear that they weren’t to use it during working hours. They had only had the number for two months and already, they were flagrantly disobeying her instructions. No wonder people had a problem with doctors, shrinks and the like, if that was how little regard they had for things like that. Besides, her patience was already running rather uncharacteristically short.
“Yes?” she snapped, once outside in the parking lot.
“She tried to commit suicide again.”
“Oh.”
That was all Van Pelt had to say on the matter. It wasn’t as if it was anything new to her. This was a regular occurrence, so it simply didn’t faze her as much as it should. The first time she had done it, she had stolen Van Pelt’s own gun and she’d been powerless but to watch. She remembered the harrowing trip to the ER, waiting, waiting for good news. Keeping her fingers and toes crossed that her sister hadn’t actually managed to kill herself. Praying that she would be alright, that she wouldn’t be joining their dearly departed mother. Wishing that she hadn’t actually resorted to this, for no apparent reason. Feeling that sense of relief wash over her when she heard that she would, indeed, be fine.
Then repeating the harrowing experience every six months, give or take, for the past seven years.
“We’ve taken her to hospital, but she should be fine.”
“Good.”
“Will you be wanting to visit?”
“Work is awfully busy…” she lied through her teeth.
The last thing she wanted to do right now was visit her sister. Melody Van Pelt was apparently still so desperate to die. She didn’t want to be saved, wouldn’t talk about her demons, wouldn’t give anyone a chance to help. Essentially, when Melody had fired that first fateful shot, Van Pelt had already lost her sister. It was just a matter of time when her sister would get ‘lucky’ and get her wish, while the doctors failed to work their magic on her.
“Grace, this is your sister we’re talking about,” the woman snapped, somewhat patronizingly. “If she doesn’t make it, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
“And you just said she’ll be fine,” Van Pelt retorted back. “I’ll see her when I can.”
She was shaking when she slammed the phone down angrily. Raising her right hand, she pinched the bridge of her nose to fend off the oncoming headache. Really, she shouldn’t have let herself grow so angry at the situation. Like so many other things, it was out of her control and there was nothing she could do about it.
If only she could remember that more often.
To Part Three
Part Two
“I bought you these.”
“Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
She laid the bunch of flowers on the bedside table and offered a weak smile.
Van Pelt had spent much of yesterday evening in the hospital. She hadn’t particularly wanted to watch Cho question Jane and was more than relieved that he and Rigsby had actively encouraged her to wait for news on Lisbon’s prognosis. The surgery had taken longer than she had expected and when she had eventually left - gone midnight - Lisbon was drugged up to the eyeballs, though mercifully conscious. Despite that, her superior had been treating the injury as if it were merely routine, something to be expected.
Then again, if she had been in the job for as long as Lisbon had, maybe she would have reacted in the same way. It wasn’t as if she’d never been injured in the call of duty.
Except, her injuries had never been potentially life-threatening. She’d been protected, or just mildly inconvenienced at most. If O’Laughlin had been luckier with his shot, he wouldn’t have been the only one in the state morgue. Instead…
Quickly, Van Pelt shook her head. She couldn’t let herself think like that. Not again. What ifs never got her anywhere. Recently, she had spent a lot of her free time wondering about how life could have been if things had happened differently. If her mother had survived the accident, if her sister hadn’t pointed a gun at her own head.
“I wanted to,” she eventually answered and sat down. “How are you doing?”
“Fine. Really,” Lisbon responded, “and there’s no need to look at me like that.”
“Sorry.”
Tearing her gaze away from Lisbon, Van Pelt stared determinedly at the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was make her boss feel even more uncomfortable. She knew that Lisbon was lying; it was something she did time and time again in order to protect herself. Van Pelt could sympathize with her sentiment entirely, but in situations such as this, there was little point. It was obvious that she was still in a considerable amount of pain. She didn’t need to be a doctor to know that.
“Don’t be, you saved my life.”
“No I didn’t. If I’d been quicker, then you wouldn’t have been injured at all.”
“You really think that he would have stopped there? If you hadn’t been there and if Hightower hadn’t been armed…”
“I was the one who brought him there. If I didn’t…”
“Then he may well have killed you on your own,” Lisbon continued and Van Pelt frowned. “Grace, you did a good job.”
“I was only doing what you’ve trained me to do.”
“Nonsense, you learned that at the Academy and back home.”
Van Pelt arched an eyebrow. It was so typical of Lisbon to not be able to take a compliment, even in a situation such as this, when she would have been justified for doing so. Then again, she had just been as bad as the other woman. Lisbon was right; she had helped to rectify the situation, even if she had been partially to blame for causing it in the first place. However, Van Pelt couldn’t remember a moment since she had joined the SCU when Lisbon hadn’t been there for them. The sacrifices she’d made, risking her own life and own career, time and time again, just for the health and happiness of her unit were outstanding. Van Pelt knew she had done good, back in the hideout, but at the same time, the situation would never have arisen if she had been aware of who O’Laughlin really was.
“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked, swiftly changing the subject.
“You don’t have to…”
“No, really, I insist,” Van Pelt persisted. Thinking about other people meant that she didn’t have to address her own personal woes.
“A coffee, then.”
“I’ll just go get you one from down the hall and...”
“No,” Lisbon interrupted, immediately silencing Van Pelt. “A real coffee. Not the industrial crap that makes the CBI’s offerings look good.”
She couldn’t help it; she had to laugh. Then again, Lisbon did have a point. The coffee in hospitals was always dire.
“It’s good to see you smile,” Lisbon muttered.
“How do you do it?”
“What?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.
Van Pelt shrugged. “Never mind. I was just thinking out loud.”
“Van Pelt…”
“I’d better go,” she said hurriedly, keen to end the conversation. “I’ll come back soon, okay? With that coffee. And don’t rush back to work. We’ll be fine without you, I promise.”
“But what about you? How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Before Lisbon even had a chance to challenge her, Van Pelt swept out of the room. She couldn’t talk about it, not yet. They had been dancing dangerously close to the precipice and if she even let herself think about it again, she was scared that she would crumble. That was something she couldn’t risk, not in front of the boss. She had to remain professional, even if it was just a social call to the hospital. If she showed any chinks in her armor, then Lisbon would have told tell Cho and then, she would have been forced to take time off work.
And work was a distraction. Something she desperately needed right now.
xxx
“I thought you weren’t coming back ‘til tomorrow.”
She merely shrugged at Rigsby’s statement as she slung her jacket on the back of her chair. Quickly, she glanced at the beaten leather couch, which was all the more conspicuous by Jane’s absence. Things were going to take a lot of getting used to, even here. The news of Jane’s arrest and subsequent charging had inevitably spread through the entirety of the CBI like wildfire. The same could be applied to Lisbon’s hospitalization and Hightower’s now apparent innocence. Van Pelt didn’t envy LaRoche, or Bertram, for that matter. Everything that had recently happened had seriously compromised the CBI’s status as the premier policing agency in California. Their reputation would certainly be dented, in several ways, and that would lead to more radical changes. Something which she didn’t particularly relish at this moment in time. What with all the sudden changes that had happened in the past twenty four hours, it would have been nice for something to remain constant.
Then again, since when did anything remain constant? Her past few years, with the Serious Crimes Unit had probably just lulled her into a false sense of security. It was almost unheard of for a core team to remain so stable for such a length of time. Sooner or later, someone got a promotion, retired or decided to retrain for whatever reason. And yet, since becoming the rookie member, all she had had to contend with was the odd change in management. Something which, for the most part, only affected her indirectly. It wasn’t as if she was in regular contact with them; that was Lisbon’s domain. So, it was hardly surprising if she had become complacent in that regard. And it was even less surprising that she had grown so fond of her work colleagues.
Her cell phone rang out, pulling her from her reverie. Van Pelt frowned. She wasn’t expecting any calls. Her dad usually rang at the weekends and it wasn’t as if O’Laughlin was going to ring anymore. Dubiously, she dug the device out of her pocket and stared at it as if it had committed a heinous crime.
Them. It just had to be, didn’t it? Whenever they called, it always spelled out more doom and gloom. As if she needed anymore of that at this particular moment in time. Still, Van Pelt answered the call swiftly as she made her way to the elevator. The last thing she wanted was Rigsby or Cho to overhear. That would only lead to more questions. Besides, she could always lie and say it was her dad, telling her that one of his dogs was sick or something equally inane. They wouldn’t suspect otherwise and even if they did, they were both genuinely too polite to question it.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Miss Van Pelt,” the woman on the other end said primly. “I’m sorry to say this, but-”
“Just give me a couple of minutes.”
She ignored the indistinct muffled complaints; quite frankly, she didn’t care. When she had given them her cell phone number, Van Pelt had made it entirely clear that they weren’t to use it during working hours. They had only had the number for two months and already, they were flagrantly disobeying her instructions. No wonder people had a problem with doctors, shrinks and the like, if that was how little regard they had for things like that. Besides, her patience was already running rather uncharacteristically short.
“Yes?” she snapped, once outside in the parking lot.
“She tried to commit suicide again.”
“Oh.”
That was all Van Pelt had to say on the matter. It wasn’t as if it was anything new to her. This was a regular occurrence, so it simply didn’t faze her as much as it should. The first time she had done it, she had stolen Van Pelt’s own gun and she’d been powerless but to watch. She remembered the harrowing trip to the ER, waiting, waiting for good news. Keeping her fingers and toes crossed that her sister hadn’t actually managed to kill herself. Praying that she would be alright, that she wouldn’t be joining their dearly departed mother. Wishing that she hadn’t actually resorted to this, for no apparent reason. Feeling that sense of relief wash over her when she heard that she would, indeed, be fine.
Then repeating the harrowing experience every six months, give or take, for the past seven years.
“We’ve taken her to hospital, but she should be fine.”
“Good.”
“Will you be wanting to visit?”
“Work is awfully busy…” she lied through her teeth.
The last thing she wanted to do right now was visit her sister. Melody Van Pelt was apparently still so desperate to die. She didn’t want to be saved, wouldn’t talk about her demons, wouldn’t give anyone a chance to help. Essentially, when Melody had fired that first fateful shot, Van Pelt had already lost her sister. It was just a matter of time when her sister would get ‘lucky’ and get her wish, while the doctors failed to work their magic on her.
“Grace, this is your sister we’re talking about,” the woman snapped, somewhat patronizingly. “If she doesn’t make it, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
“And you just said she’ll be fine,” Van Pelt retorted back. “I’ll see her when I can.”
She was shaking when she slammed the phone down angrily. Raising her right hand, she pinched the bridge of her nose to fend off the oncoming headache. Really, she shouldn’t have let herself grow so angry at the situation. Like so many other things, it was out of her control and there was nothing she could do about it.
If only she could remember that more often.
To Part Three