Desolation (1/1)
Title: Desolation
Author: tromana
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jane/Lisbon, Lisbon/unspecified
Summary: With Lisbon missing and a Red John case landing on his lap, Jane needs to decide what his priorities are.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoilers: Season Four
Notes: Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: angst. Not going to lie, I was dreading doing angst. Mostly because it's my favourite genre usually, and it required a lot of thought. I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with this as an angst piece? But at least it's done.
Desolation
Lisbon hadn’t been around for three days now.
She hadn’t booked a vacation; Jane checked with Wainwright far more times than the Special Senior Agent would have liked. He knew she had one booked in December, to have that long-awaited and much needed catch up with her brother, James, but that, obviously wasn’t due for a good long while yet. In one respect, Jane was pleased that she had actually booked a vacation, especially one during the holiday season. It wasn’t healthy for someone to work just as hard as she did.
However, it also didn’t explain why she was absent right here and right now. Jane was fairly certain she wasn’t sick; Lisbon was rarely sick, excepting the odd headache or migraine, which she usually managed to work through anyway. Which meant, by default, that there was something else going on.
He was already beginning to lose count of just how many times he’d called her. Her landline had apparently been disconnected and her cell phone was out of action too. (Or so he’d been told, after the seventy-second attempt to contact her.)
Therefore, he had more than enough evidence to be convinced that something quite serious was remiss.
And to add insult to injury, that not only was Lisbon absent without leave, but they were stuck in the middle of a Red John case.
Somebody had decided to copy Red John in order to get away with murder, literally. Jane wondered if people would never learn that the serial killer loathed pale imitations of his work. Naturally, that had led to Red John responding in such a way as only he could: by killing in quite a spectacular fashion.
The team was working as hard as they could, but it was blindingly obvious that they were feeling the strain. It wasn’t just a case of them wanting Lisbon back from wherever she had decided to disappear off to; they needed her. And yet, she seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet. Worse, Wainwright didn’t think it a priority. Jane knew that the man was a touch on the young side for the job, but that didn’t excuse his complete and utter lack of judgment. There were times when he completely contradicted himself and his lack of concern for Lisbon was obviously one of those occasions.
Still, even if Lisbon had been around, Jane would have sworn that he felt better about this Red John case than he had done so in a long, long while. There was just something about it which made him believe that maybe, just maybe, this might be the one where he finally caught up with him.
Of course, she would have probably dragged him back down to Earth with a bump, reminding him not to get too far ahead of himself. That they would catch the serial killer together, and he could exact his revenge in the legal way, rather than resorting to blood and gore.
However, Jane had no intention of following legalities, still. He’d spent so long on his quest for revenge that it felt churlish to throw it out of the window now. However much he knew it hurt the team to see him like a cold-blooded killer, he refused to give it up for anyone. It was the only thing that drove him, the only thing that kept him (somewhat) sane.
And that was why, in the dead of the night, he snuck up to his attic hideout at the CBI headquarters and fetched out a very specific gun. He’d somehow gotten back hold of it, though he wouldn’t let on to how, even if Lisbon or somebody else asked. Since then, he’d kept it safely stashed away for whenever he felt like this again.
Realistically, he knew that he should have told somebody else where he was going. Cho, maybe, but deniability was their best friend. It was better that they didn’t know and therefore didn’t try to stop him, or even just stand back and watch. If Jane had his way, then Red John would be dead within five hours, three if he was (Jane, that was) lucky.
He was on edge during the trip. Guns made him uneasy, even ones in his own hands. There was something about objects that were specifically designed to kill that set him ever so slightly on edge, even when that was his own intention. He didn't care that it was slightly hypocritical; it didn't matter. What mattered now was getting to his destination as soon as feasibly possible.
When he slipped out of his Citroën at his destination, his legs were shaking. The thought that Red John could have kidnapped Lisbon had crossed his mind more than once. It was entirely plausible that she had chased up a lead, maybe an anonymous tip pertaining to the Red John case. Everything, the timing especially, measured up, after all.
He left the gun in his pocket, but held onto it tightly, in any case. With Red John, there was almost no such thing as predictability, except when it came to protecting his pride and reputation.
When Jane went to pick the lock, he was only mildly surprised to find that the door was already opened, almost as if he had been invited inside. So, he entered, though he knew that was not a good sign. It implied that his showing up tonight was expected.
“Good evening, Mr. Jane,” a light voice stated through the darkness.
That was just what he feared. Still, he took a few steps in so that he could see his nemesis' face. When Luther Wainwright smiled back at him, Jane wasn't surprised, just saddened. It explained why Wainwright oft favored him in the workplace. However, he had always suspected him of being a mole, not Red John. He was far too young for that.
“No, I am not Red John,” Wainwright said, still smiling. “Or at least, not the Red John who killed your family. He's already dead.”
“Carter?” Jane asked.
“Yes,” his supposed boss answered politely. “My uncle Tim. I merely inherited his legacy. And...”
Not wanting to hear another word, Jane attempted to fire his gun, the one barely concealed in his pocket. Wainwright merely tilted his head back and laughed as the faint pop of air being pushed through the barrel echoed in the mostly unfurnished lounge.
“What?” Jane asked with a frown.
“You really expected it to work?” Wainwright asked, amused. “I’ve known it was missing from the archives almost as soon as you’d taken it back. My uncle has taught me well; I understand the importance of having friends everywhere.”
“Like?”
“You're a clever man, Mr. Jane, I'm sure I don't have to spell it out to you.”
Jane didn’t like the fact he called him ‘Mr. Jane’ each and every time he referred to him. It made him feel on edge, uneasy. Then again, that was most likely entirely the point. This wasn’t the Luther Wainwright that Jane was familiar with; this was, he suspected, the man without his proverbial façade on. He wanted Jane to see him for who he truly was. And that meant he didn’t expect Jane to leave this place alive, or at least, with the capabilities of coherent speech.
“Lisbon? No,” Jane said incredulously. “She would never...”
“I would never what?” Lisbon said from behind him before turning her attention onto Wainwright. “I told you we should have left...”
“And had him straight on our trail, my dear?” Wainwright answered lightly before placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “I think not. I’m still surprised he chose to chase me - us - instead of you alone.“
At that moment, Jane saw red and went to grab hold of Lisbon’s gun. This was going from bad to worse. He had always feared that the CBI was corrupt, but for both Lisbon and Wainwright to be involved in the cult of Red John shattered him. He needed to end this, and fast. Even the knowledge that he had indeed ended the life of the bastard who had slaughtered his wife and child wasn't enough. The name lived on because of them.
Lisbon, naturally, was quicker and before Jane had a chance to reassess the situation, she had him in an arm lock. Sometimes, Jane had vaguely fantasized about being allowed to get this close to her, to be able to feel her breath on his neck, but he had never imagined that it would have been like this.
“So, what shall we do with him?” she queried and Jane's heart sank.
He didn't want to know what they had planned now.
Author: tromana
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jane/Lisbon, Lisbon/unspecified
Summary: With Lisbon missing and a Red John case landing on his lap, Jane needs to decide what his priorities are.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoilers: Season Four
Notes: Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: angst. Not going to lie, I was dreading doing angst. Mostly because it's my favourite genre usually, and it required a lot of thought. I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with this as an angst piece? But at least it's done.
Desolation
Lisbon hadn’t been around for three days now.
She hadn’t booked a vacation; Jane checked with Wainwright far more times than the Special Senior Agent would have liked. He knew she had one booked in December, to have that long-awaited and much needed catch up with her brother, James, but that, obviously wasn’t due for a good long while yet. In one respect, Jane was pleased that she had actually booked a vacation, especially one during the holiday season. It wasn’t healthy for someone to work just as hard as she did.
However, it also didn’t explain why she was absent right here and right now. Jane was fairly certain she wasn’t sick; Lisbon was rarely sick, excepting the odd headache or migraine, which she usually managed to work through anyway. Which meant, by default, that there was something else going on.
He was already beginning to lose count of just how many times he’d called her. Her landline had apparently been disconnected and her cell phone was out of action too. (Or so he’d been told, after the seventy-second attempt to contact her.)
Therefore, he had more than enough evidence to be convinced that something quite serious was remiss.
And to add insult to injury, that not only was Lisbon absent without leave, but they were stuck in the middle of a Red John case.
Somebody had decided to copy Red John in order to get away with murder, literally. Jane wondered if people would never learn that the serial killer loathed pale imitations of his work. Naturally, that had led to Red John responding in such a way as only he could: by killing in quite a spectacular fashion.
The team was working as hard as they could, but it was blindingly obvious that they were feeling the strain. It wasn’t just a case of them wanting Lisbon back from wherever she had decided to disappear off to; they needed her. And yet, she seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet. Worse, Wainwright didn’t think it a priority. Jane knew that the man was a touch on the young side for the job, but that didn’t excuse his complete and utter lack of judgment. There were times when he completely contradicted himself and his lack of concern for Lisbon was obviously one of those occasions.
Still, even if Lisbon had been around, Jane would have sworn that he felt better about this Red John case than he had done so in a long, long while. There was just something about it which made him believe that maybe, just maybe, this might be the one where he finally caught up with him.
Of course, she would have probably dragged him back down to Earth with a bump, reminding him not to get too far ahead of himself. That they would catch the serial killer together, and he could exact his revenge in the legal way, rather than resorting to blood and gore.
However, Jane had no intention of following legalities, still. He’d spent so long on his quest for revenge that it felt churlish to throw it out of the window now. However much he knew it hurt the team to see him like a cold-blooded killer, he refused to give it up for anyone. It was the only thing that drove him, the only thing that kept him (somewhat) sane.
And that was why, in the dead of the night, he snuck up to his attic hideout at the CBI headquarters and fetched out a very specific gun. He’d somehow gotten back hold of it, though he wouldn’t let on to how, even if Lisbon or somebody else asked. Since then, he’d kept it safely stashed away for whenever he felt like this again.
Realistically, he knew that he should have told somebody else where he was going. Cho, maybe, but deniability was their best friend. It was better that they didn’t know and therefore didn’t try to stop him, or even just stand back and watch. If Jane had his way, then Red John would be dead within five hours, three if he was (Jane, that was) lucky.
He was on edge during the trip. Guns made him uneasy, even ones in his own hands. There was something about objects that were specifically designed to kill that set him ever so slightly on edge, even when that was his own intention. He didn't care that it was slightly hypocritical; it didn't matter. What mattered now was getting to his destination as soon as feasibly possible.
When he slipped out of his Citroën at his destination, his legs were shaking. The thought that Red John could have kidnapped Lisbon had crossed his mind more than once. It was entirely plausible that she had chased up a lead, maybe an anonymous tip pertaining to the Red John case. Everything, the timing especially, measured up, after all.
He left the gun in his pocket, but held onto it tightly, in any case. With Red John, there was almost no such thing as predictability, except when it came to protecting his pride and reputation.
When Jane went to pick the lock, he was only mildly surprised to find that the door was already opened, almost as if he had been invited inside. So, he entered, though he knew that was not a good sign. It implied that his showing up tonight was expected.
“Good evening, Mr. Jane,” a light voice stated through the darkness.
That was just what he feared. Still, he took a few steps in so that he could see his nemesis' face. When Luther Wainwright smiled back at him, Jane wasn't surprised, just saddened. It explained why Wainwright oft favored him in the workplace. However, he had always suspected him of being a mole, not Red John. He was far too young for that.
“No, I am not Red John,” Wainwright said, still smiling. “Or at least, not the Red John who killed your family. He's already dead.”
“Carter?” Jane asked.
“Yes,” his supposed boss answered politely. “My uncle Tim. I merely inherited his legacy. And...”
Not wanting to hear another word, Jane attempted to fire his gun, the one barely concealed in his pocket. Wainwright merely tilted his head back and laughed as the faint pop of air being pushed through the barrel echoed in the mostly unfurnished lounge.
“What?” Jane asked with a frown.
“You really expected it to work?” Wainwright asked, amused. “I’ve known it was missing from the archives almost as soon as you’d taken it back. My uncle has taught me well; I understand the importance of having friends everywhere.”
“Like?”
“You're a clever man, Mr. Jane, I'm sure I don't have to spell it out to you.”
Jane didn’t like the fact he called him ‘Mr. Jane’ each and every time he referred to him. It made him feel on edge, uneasy. Then again, that was most likely entirely the point. This wasn’t the Luther Wainwright that Jane was familiar with; this was, he suspected, the man without his proverbial façade on. He wanted Jane to see him for who he truly was. And that meant he didn’t expect Jane to leave this place alive, or at least, with the capabilities of coherent speech.
“Lisbon? No,” Jane said incredulously. “She would never...”
“I would never what?” Lisbon said from behind him before turning her attention onto Wainwright. “I told you we should have left...”
“And had him straight on our trail, my dear?” Wainwright answered lightly before placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “I think not. I’m still surprised he chose to chase me - us - instead of you alone.“
At that moment, Jane saw red and went to grab hold of Lisbon’s gun. This was going from bad to worse. He had always feared that the CBI was corrupt, but for both Lisbon and Wainwright to be involved in the cult of Red John shattered him. He needed to end this, and fast. Even the knowledge that he had indeed ended the life of the bastard who had slaughtered his wife and child wasn't enough. The name lived on because of them.
Lisbon, naturally, was quicker and before Jane had a chance to reassess the situation, she had him in an arm lock. Sometimes, Jane had vaguely fantasized about being allowed to get this close to her, to be able to feel her breath on his neck, but he had never imagined that it would have been like this.
“So, what shall we do with him?” she queried and Jane's heart sank.
He didn't want to know what they had planned now.