Trip Down Memory Lane (1/?)
Title: Trip Down Memory Lane
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Jane/Lisbon
Summary: It was inevitable that Red John would find out about them sooner or later.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoilers: Season Four
Notes: Written for the Paint It Red April 2013 Monthly Challenge. Prompt: Save Me by Bo Bruce.
Part One
12th January, 2013
There was an incessant knocking at her front door. Teresa Lisbon grumbled under her breath and instinctively turned over to block out the noise. However, the knocking grew increasingly louder and she got the hint: her visitor wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer. She glared at her alarm clock when she realized it was only seven twenty-three a.m. It was a Saturday and she wasn't even on call. There was no logical explanation for this disturbance and that was what troubled her the most.
With a sigh, she hauled herself out of bed and pulled on the bathrobe. Vaguely, she wondered it actually was Jane at her door, but she knew that was unlikely. He'd only left the night before and she doubted he would be back until Sunday. When she'd asked what he was doing, he'd claimed it was 'family stuff' and she didn't pry into what he specifically. However, she did have her suspicions. Regardless of what he was actually doing, it didn't matter. It bore no reflection on how they felt about one another and she always instinctively knew when he needed the space.
"I'm coming," she muttered when the visitor knocked once more.
Lisbon peered through the peephole of her door suspiciously, considering whether or not she would need one of her off-duty weapons. When she saw a man in a green uniform, complete with name badge and a hat to match, she disregarded the thought. Instead, she cautiously opened the door to take a proper look at him. In the distance, she could see a van bearing the title 'Lily's Flower Bucket', complete with a picture of a bouquet. At the man's feet was a parcel and it didn't take much for her to piece together everything she needed.
"I have a delivery for a T. Lisbon?" he inquired politely.
"That's me," she answered back swiftly.
"Sign here."
The man practically thrust the electronic device into her hands and tentatively, Lisbon picked up the stylus and obeyed instructions. All the while, her thoughts were running at ten to the dozen. Who would have brought her these flowers and why? What was the catch? Theoretically, she should have thought of Jane first. Since they had fallen into a relationship, he had taken to regularly surprising her with simple and elaborate gifts, however much she told him it was unnecessary. However, this didn't feel like him. She wasn't even sure why.
Dubiously, she carried the box inside and opened it up. There was a small note attached to them, but she didn't dare open it. Not yet, anyway. Her first concern was to see if there was any other catch. When she had decided that it was a perfectly normal bunch of flowers, she scooped up her cell phone, hit speed dial and waited impatiently for an answer.
"Good morning, Teresa. I'm surprised you're up so early-" Jane started, but she interrupted him quickly.
"Did you mail order me some flowers?"
"Pardon?"
"Did you send me some flowers because you're away this weekend?" she repeated, a little slower this time around.
"No, I brought you those peonies a couple of days ago," he said slowly, as if he, too, was mulling over this dilemma. "Aren't they doing okay?"
"They're fine. They're beautiful," she insisted, keen to make it clear she did appreciate the gift. "They are just opening up a bit now. It's just…"
"You've received some flowers?"
"Yes. Roses," she informed him, before adding almost as an afterthought, "red."
"Is there a card with them?"
His tone indicated that he had his suspicions as to who her mystery flower buyer was and she shuddered ever so slightly at the thought. She didn't dare vocalize who she thought might be responsible for it. Lisbon didn't even want to think about the repercussions. Deep down, she just wanted Jane to have bought them, despite the fact he had already given her some by hand a mere two days previously. Anybody else sending them had huge ramifications. That was especially the case if the person who bought them was who they were both thinking of at this moment in time.
"Yes," she eventually confirmed.
"Open it, and then call me back."
"Yes, Patrick," she answered back and rolled her eyes.
"I mean it," he asserted, surprisingly authoritarian. "And stop rolling your eyes."
Once upon a time, she might have asked just how he'd known that she was doing that. However, she had known him more than long enough to know that he'd work it out somehow. And besides, even if she did dare to ask him for the details, he'd never have given her a straight answer anyway. There were some things he had managed to teach her over the course of their working relationship - and in her personal life too - however, the vast majority of his tricks were beyond her. That wasn't to say she didn't appreciate the results or the cleverness of it though.
Lisbon bid him a quick farewell and plucked the note from the bunch of red roses. She allowed her fingers to run across the thick paper before she placed it down beside them. Instead of opening it straight away, she headed into her kitchen and started up her coffee machine. Part of her suspected that she might have wanted - or even needed - something a little bit stronger, but it was far too early for anything alcoholic. Ever since she had nearly followed in her father's footsteps, she had been meticulously careful about her alcohol intake. It was more for her sake than anybody else's though.
With her coffee in hand, she headed back to the table where she had left the flowers and note. Once again, she picked it up, as if her name written on the front of a folded up card would help identify the sender. She knew that the handwriting wasn't necessarily going to be that of the sender; usually it was a member of staff writing it down in beautiful cursive writing on behalf of the customer. After taking a sip of her coffee, she steeled herself, opened up the card and read what was inside.
'I saw these and thought of you. I know, roses are a little trite, but I couldn't resist. :) '
25th January 1988
Angela was out, working. She'd left him to clean the apartment alone as he had very little to do with himself. Besides, it provided him with a welcome respite from thinking about his latest failure at finding Teresa. It had been eighteen months and he still hadn't seen a whisker of her. The few articles that had been printed about her mother's death had supplied him with insubstantial information, but at least confirmed that she and her family were most likely still in the city. Even so, he should have known that it would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack when he'd first considered stopping in Chicago to find her. However, he had always been good at these puzzles and mind games. His tricks were what his dear old father had used to fleece money out of unsuspecting marks. Without it, he would have been little more than a nuisance to Alex Jane. Ultimately, it was what had stopped him from beating Patrick on a regular basis. They had to protect his pretty face; nobody wanted to see a boy psychic with a black eye.
Still, it troubled him that he was having some kind of mental block on this specific one. There was something which he swore he was missing out on, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was.
It also troubled him to think about where his relationship with Angela was going. Throughout his time with the carnival, she had been his only comrade, the only person there who had appeared to be talking any sense. When she'd suggested that they make their escape together at some point, Patrick had practically jumped at the opportunity. Who better to run away from his personal hell with than his best friend and confidant?
But, since they had started living in close quarters with one another, he could tell that Angela's perception of him had changed a little. There was something about the look in her eyes, the way she smiled at him when she got home from her waitressing job and her mannerisms that had clued him in on it. She had begun to fall in love with him, whereas, until two nights previously, he had never seen her as anything but the little girl he'd grown up with on the carnival. Patrick had always thought of her as being his sister in everything but name.
But then, they'd shared that kiss. And several more quickly followed after that one, too.
Now, his mind was a mess. He still wanted to find Teresa, if only to seek some semblance of closure with her. He even wouldn't have objected to waiting until she was of an appropriate age before they decided what to do. Comparatively speaking, he had spent very little time with her, but he had felt a connection, a spark with her. He knew that she was something special despite the age gap. And then, there was Angela. Patrick was aware that she had grown into a beautiful young woman; he'd have been a fool to deny it. He was also aware of just how close he had been to her for so many years now. In these past two days, he'd wondered just how much of the kissing had been led by her and her feelings, and how many of his he'd been compartmentalizing.
Or was he just hoping that he felt something because he didn't want to let her down?
Suddenly, Chicago was beginning to feel a little too small for him. He was so used to living on the open road, having the whole of the USA at his fingertips. It felt like he'd been able to go anywhere and everywhere as he pleased. Even though his father had been a nightmare, had taken all of his money, at least he still had had his freedom for the most part. Or more likely, it was being stuck in one small corner of the city, with so few resources to his name. Patrick was beginning to feel constricted and guilty. While he had done a couple of psychic readings since they had left the circuit, it had barely been enough to put food on their table. Everything he needed, he relied upon Angela to get it for him. He owed her more than he could possibly imagine and she never asked him for anything in return.
Except for the kissing, of course. Patrick knew there was a reason behind everything, and that meant there had to be an explanation behind the shift in their relationship. However, he also knew he couldn't go anywhere with that without talking to her. It wasn't something he could figure out on his own. For a man who was so good with words, this was one area of expertise that he clearly lacked in. He could make sense of other people's relationships from just a single glance. But his own with other people? That was a whole other board game. He knew he felt deeply for Angela, otherwise he wouldn't have continually accepted her affection over the past couple of days. Even so, he knew he had to tidy up his memory palace, compartmentalize certain things before he could even think about dealing with it properly.
With a sigh, he started to straighten out the cushions on the couch and that was when he found the business card that Angela had given to him two days ago. He'd practically forgotten about it, what with his current dilemma and she hadn't pushed him to call the number either. Sitting down, Patrick scrutinized it, though it didn't say much. Joshua Redding, business manager. Entrepreneur. It could mean anything, really.
However, it also meant that he was going to be dragged back into the sordid game he'd been trying to avoid. Pretending to be a psychic had been his livelihood as a child, but he'd hated it. But Angela was right; what else in the world was he truly good at? And in truth, if he took enough control over his career, then he could make the right decisions. Help the right people instead of anybody who flung themselves in his path. Help the needy, the innocent, and the ones that truly needed his help. He didn't have to fleece people for every cent. He could just give them the hope they needed to set their lives back on track.
Without even thinking about it, he scooped up the phone and dialed the number. It was worth a shot. Wasn't it?
To Part Two
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Jane/Lisbon
Summary: It was inevitable that Red John would find out about them sooner or later.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoilers: Season Four
Notes: Written for the Paint It Red April 2013 Monthly Challenge. Prompt: Save Me by Bo Bruce.
Part One
12th January, 2013
There was an incessant knocking at her front door. Teresa Lisbon grumbled under her breath and instinctively turned over to block out the noise. However, the knocking grew increasingly louder and she got the hint: her visitor wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer. She glared at her alarm clock when she realized it was only seven twenty-three a.m. It was a Saturday and she wasn't even on call. There was no logical explanation for this disturbance and that was what troubled her the most.
With a sigh, she hauled herself out of bed and pulled on the bathrobe. Vaguely, she wondered it actually was Jane at her door, but she knew that was unlikely. He'd only left the night before and she doubted he would be back until Sunday. When she'd asked what he was doing, he'd claimed it was 'family stuff' and she didn't pry into what he specifically. However, she did have her suspicions. Regardless of what he was actually doing, it didn't matter. It bore no reflection on how they felt about one another and she always instinctively knew when he needed the space.
"I'm coming," she muttered when the visitor knocked once more.
Lisbon peered through the peephole of her door suspiciously, considering whether or not she would need one of her off-duty weapons. When she saw a man in a green uniform, complete with name badge and a hat to match, she disregarded the thought. Instead, she cautiously opened the door to take a proper look at him. In the distance, she could see a van bearing the title 'Lily's Flower Bucket', complete with a picture of a bouquet. At the man's feet was a parcel and it didn't take much for her to piece together everything she needed.
"I have a delivery for a T. Lisbon?" he inquired politely.
"That's me," she answered back swiftly.
"Sign here."
The man practically thrust the electronic device into her hands and tentatively, Lisbon picked up the stylus and obeyed instructions. All the while, her thoughts were running at ten to the dozen. Who would have brought her these flowers and why? What was the catch? Theoretically, she should have thought of Jane first. Since they had fallen into a relationship, he had taken to regularly surprising her with simple and elaborate gifts, however much she told him it was unnecessary. However, this didn't feel like him. She wasn't even sure why.
Dubiously, she carried the box inside and opened it up. There was a small note attached to them, but she didn't dare open it. Not yet, anyway. Her first concern was to see if there was any other catch. When she had decided that it was a perfectly normal bunch of flowers, she scooped up her cell phone, hit speed dial and waited impatiently for an answer.
"Good morning, Teresa. I'm surprised you're up so early-" Jane started, but she interrupted him quickly.
"Did you mail order me some flowers?"
"Pardon?"
"Did you send me some flowers because you're away this weekend?" she repeated, a little slower this time around.
"No, I brought you those peonies a couple of days ago," he said slowly, as if he, too, was mulling over this dilemma. "Aren't they doing okay?"
"They're fine. They're beautiful," she insisted, keen to make it clear she did appreciate the gift. "They are just opening up a bit now. It's just…"
"You've received some flowers?"
"Yes. Roses," she informed him, before adding almost as an afterthought, "red."
"Is there a card with them?"
His tone indicated that he had his suspicions as to who her mystery flower buyer was and she shuddered ever so slightly at the thought. She didn't dare vocalize who she thought might be responsible for it. Lisbon didn't even want to think about the repercussions. Deep down, she just wanted Jane to have bought them, despite the fact he had already given her some by hand a mere two days previously. Anybody else sending them had huge ramifications. That was especially the case if the person who bought them was who they were both thinking of at this moment in time.
"Yes," she eventually confirmed.
"Open it, and then call me back."
"Yes, Patrick," she answered back and rolled her eyes.
"I mean it," he asserted, surprisingly authoritarian. "And stop rolling your eyes."
Once upon a time, she might have asked just how he'd known that she was doing that. However, she had known him more than long enough to know that he'd work it out somehow. And besides, even if she did dare to ask him for the details, he'd never have given her a straight answer anyway. There were some things he had managed to teach her over the course of their working relationship - and in her personal life too - however, the vast majority of his tricks were beyond her. That wasn't to say she didn't appreciate the results or the cleverness of it though.
Lisbon bid him a quick farewell and plucked the note from the bunch of red roses. She allowed her fingers to run across the thick paper before she placed it down beside them. Instead of opening it straight away, she headed into her kitchen and started up her coffee machine. Part of her suspected that she might have wanted - or even needed - something a little bit stronger, but it was far too early for anything alcoholic. Ever since she had nearly followed in her father's footsteps, she had been meticulously careful about her alcohol intake. It was more for her sake than anybody else's though.
With her coffee in hand, she headed back to the table where she had left the flowers and note. Once again, she picked it up, as if her name written on the front of a folded up card would help identify the sender. She knew that the handwriting wasn't necessarily going to be that of the sender; usually it was a member of staff writing it down in beautiful cursive writing on behalf of the customer. After taking a sip of her coffee, she steeled herself, opened up the card and read what was inside.
'I saw these and thought of you. I know, roses are a little trite, but I couldn't resist. :) '
25th January 1988
Angela was out, working. She'd left him to clean the apartment alone as he had very little to do with himself. Besides, it provided him with a welcome respite from thinking about his latest failure at finding Teresa. It had been eighteen months and he still hadn't seen a whisker of her. The few articles that had been printed about her mother's death had supplied him with insubstantial information, but at least confirmed that she and her family were most likely still in the city. Even so, he should have known that it would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack when he'd first considered stopping in Chicago to find her. However, he had always been good at these puzzles and mind games. His tricks were what his dear old father had used to fleece money out of unsuspecting marks. Without it, he would have been little more than a nuisance to Alex Jane. Ultimately, it was what had stopped him from beating Patrick on a regular basis. They had to protect his pretty face; nobody wanted to see a boy psychic with a black eye.
Still, it troubled him that he was having some kind of mental block on this specific one. There was something which he swore he was missing out on, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was.
It also troubled him to think about where his relationship with Angela was going. Throughout his time with the carnival, she had been his only comrade, the only person there who had appeared to be talking any sense. When she'd suggested that they make their escape together at some point, Patrick had practically jumped at the opportunity. Who better to run away from his personal hell with than his best friend and confidant?
But, since they had started living in close quarters with one another, he could tell that Angela's perception of him had changed a little. There was something about the look in her eyes, the way she smiled at him when she got home from her waitressing job and her mannerisms that had clued him in on it. She had begun to fall in love with him, whereas, until two nights previously, he had never seen her as anything but the little girl he'd grown up with on the carnival. Patrick had always thought of her as being his sister in everything but name.
But then, they'd shared that kiss. And several more quickly followed after that one, too.
Now, his mind was a mess. He still wanted to find Teresa, if only to seek some semblance of closure with her. He even wouldn't have objected to waiting until she was of an appropriate age before they decided what to do. Comparatively speaking, he had spent very little time with her, but he had felt a connection, a spark with her. He knew that she was something special despite the age gap. And then, there was Angela. Patrick was aware that she had grown into a beautiful young woman; he'd have been a fool to deny it. He was also aware of just how close he had been to her for so many years now. In these past two days, he'd wondered just how much of the kissing had been led by her and her feelings, and how many of his he'd been compartmentalizing.
Or was he just hoping that he felt something because he didn't want to let her down?
Suddenly, Chicago was beginning to feel a little too small for him. He was so used to living on the open road, having the whole of the USA at his fingertips. It felt like he'd been able to go anywhere and everywhere as he pleased. Even though his father had been a nightmare, had taken all of his money, at least he still had had his freedom for the most part. Or more likely, it was being stuck in one small corner of the city, with so few resources to his name. Patrick was beginning to feel constricted and guilty. While he had done a couple of psychic readings since they had left the circuit, it had barely been enough to put food on their table. Everything he needed, he relied upon Angela to get it for him. He owed her more than he could possibly imagine and she never asked him for anything in return.
Except for the kissing, of course. Patrick knew there was a reason behind everything, and that meant there had to be an explanation behind the shift in their relationship. However, he also knew he couldn't go anywhere with that without talking to her. It wasn't something he could figure out on his own. For a man who was so good with words, this was one area of expertise that he clearly lacked in. He could make sense of other people's relationships from just a single glance. But his own with other people? That was a whole other board game. He knew he felt deeply for Angela, otherwise he wouldn't have continually accepted her affection over the past couple of days. Even so, he knew he had to tidy up his memory palace, compartmentalize certain things before he could even think about dealing with it properly.
With a sigh, he started to straighten out the cushions on the couch and that was when he found the business card that Angela had given to him two days ago. He'd practically forgotten about it, what with his current dilemma and she hadn't pushed him to call the number either. Sitting down, Patrick scrutinized it, though it didn't say much. Joshua Redding, business manager. Entrepreneur. It could mean anything, really.
However, it also meant that he was going to be dragged back into the sordid game he'd been trying to avoid. Pretending to be a psychic had been his livelihood as a child, but he'd hated it. But Angela was right; what else in the world was he truly good at? And in truth, if he took enough control over his career, then he could make the right decisions. Help the right people instead of anybody who flung themselves in his path. Help the needy, the innocent, and the ones that truly needed his help. He didn't have to fleece people for every cent. He could just give them the hope they needed to set their lives back on track.
Without even thinking about it, he scooped up the phone and dialed the number. It was worth a shot. Wasn't it?
To Part Two