Difference (1/1)
Title: Difference
Author: tromana
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Lisbon, Minelli
Summary: What is the difference between a serial killer and a cop? And the way it could end.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Written for diviniaserit as part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Also for mentalistprompt Table I.
Difference
It’s a contradiction.
Thou shalt not kill. That’s what it says in the bible, clear as day.
Thou shalt not kill.
And yet, she’s killed more people than the average (hah) serial killer. Of course, she hasn’t ever wanted to, and the majority of the time, it’s been a case of kill or be killed, but she’s still done it.
Pulled the trigger, ended lives.
Did it really matter that the people who had died at her hands had done so because they were evil-doers? That they were murderers in their own rights?
Did it change a thing because she was doing her job, upholding he law?
Not really, she suspects.
A life is still a life, regardless of what that person has done. And she has been thrust into the position where she has had to make the decision as to whether or not somebody should live or die. Essentially, she has been playing God.
She shakes her head to try and dispel the thoughts. Sips at the whiskey that has been placed in her hands. It burns the back of her throat, just as a good whiskey should. She doesn’t feel like downing it, not really. Lisbon isn’t in the mood for that.
Minelli, however, is smiling at her.
And why shouldn’t he? She, his protégé, is the one who finally managed to single-handedly bring down the serial killer commonly known as Red John. The student has finally bested the teacher in the classiest of ways. And it’s only been achieved within five years of his retirement, as well.
Like her, his fingers are clasped tightly around a shot glass. It’s his third. He’s relapsed since splitting with his latest partner, the one that had taken him to Alcoholics Anonymous. However, Lisbon doesn’t say a word. She knows she should, for she’s lived through this before, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like it’s her place to say.
She would if she could, but she can’t. The words stick to the back of her throat, somehow.
Besides, who is she to judge? They’re both doomed to Hell as it is.
Lisbon lets go of the glass and clasps hold of her cross. It provides just a little comfort, in times of self-doubt. It’s a connection to her mom as well as her God.
She could only hope that they’d both forgive her for all that she’s done.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
It’s only a half-truth and they both know it. Physically, she is fine. It’s the emotional scars that will last a lifetime that will prove problematic. Unfortunately, getting Lisbon to talk is a task too far for Virgil Minelli. She’s still relatively secretive by nature, keeps herself to herself. She isn’t about to change the habit of a lifetime.
All too clearly, they both remember their first introduction. When he head-hunted her from the San Francisco Police Department and placed her straight in his newly formed Serious Crimes Unit. The SCU has been home to her for years and slowly, but surely, she worked her way through the ranks within it. Back then, she had been naïve, full of hope for the future. She knew what she wanted from life and nothing was going to stop her. She was convinced that life had meaning.
Now, she isn’t so sure.
Though she’d like to think otherwise, her career is in tatters. Yes, she still has her position as head of the SCU, but where else can she go? Half the state thinks she physically cannot work without the CBI (or Jane. Or both.) propping her up. The other half is still stuck in the twentieth century, convinced she cannot do a thing because she’s a woman. Her career had been promising, once upon a time. She could have gone far.
Now, anything she does is too little, too late.
With a sigh, she sips at her drink again. Minelli pours himself a fourth and offers her a top up. She declines, politely, of course. He shrugs his shoulders, toasts to her good health before downing it.
“Red John,” he says, “the career-maker.”
Lisbon nods in agreement, though she’s yet to be convinced of that. It’s not as if there’s been a line of people trying to knock down her door to offer her lucrative positions elsewhere. It’s not as if she’s really heard from anyone at all.
This is the way the world ends, she thinks. T.S. Eliot had been a wise man. Not with a bang, but a whimper.
And why should it be anything more than that? Red John was but one man. He may have caused irreparable damage to a handful of lives - hers included, probably - but that didn’t mean there was necessarily going to be an outcry of relief. It didn’t make her a hero. Didn’t make her a better cop. Didn’t mean she deserves a better a job.
Nothing’s changed, except for the nagging sense of guilt in the back of her mind. Red John should have been tried in a court of law. She should have had the chance to let them make the decision with how to handle him. It should never have come down to her and her alone.
But it had done so.
“And Jane? How’s he coping?”
She’s surprised that Minelli is even concerned for Jane’s well-being at all. Though, like Lisbon, he had been the one responsible for Jane’s hiring, the two had often had an antagonistic relationship. Both men had been able to appreciate that the other was necessary, but it didn’t mean they’d had to like one another.
Still, his concern is touching, if a little misguided.
“He’s gone.”
“Gone as in?”
“Left, resigned, disappeared.”
It’s true. Lisbon doesn’t know when - or if - she’ll hear from Jane again. Part of her is relieved to be shot of him. At times, he was nothing but trouble. The other part misses him and terribly so. He’d become an innate part of her life; it had gotten to the stage where she could barely remember a time without him. But as quickly as he’d entered her life, he’d left it again. Gone with the wind.
Red John is dead. He has no more requirements for the CBI. It’s just as he had always said.
Minelli touches her forearm softly with two fingers. She smiles weakly at him and downs her drink.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“He’ll come back.”
She wishes she could share her mentor’s optimism.
end
Author: tromana
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Lisbon, Minelli
Summary: What is the difference between a serial killer and a cop? And the way it could end.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Written for diviniaserit as part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Also for mentalistprompt Table I.
Difference
It’s a contradiction.
Thou shalt not kill. That’s what it says in the bible, clear as day.
Thou shalt not kill.
And yet, she’s killed more people than the average (hah) serial killer. Of course, she hasn’t ever wanted to, and the majority of the time, it’s been a case of kill or be killed, but she’s still done it.
Pulled the trigger, ended lives.
Did it really matter that the people who had died at her hands had done so because they were evil-doers? That they were murderers in their own rights?
Did it change a thing because she was doing her job, upholding he law?
Not really, she suspects.
A life is still a life, regardless of what that person has done. And she has been thrust into the position where she has had to make the decision as to whether or not somebody should live or die. Essentially, she has been playing God.
She shakes her head to try and dispel the thoughts. Sips at the whiskey that has been placed in her hands. It burns the back of her throat, just as a good whiskey should. She doesn’t feel like downing it, not really. Lisbon isn’t in the mood for that.
Minelli, however, is smiling at her.
And why shouldn’t he? She, his protégé, is the one who finally managed to single-handedly bring down the serial killer commonly known as Red John. The student has finally bested the teacher in the classiest of ways. And it’s only been achieved within five years of his retirement, as well.
Like her, his fingers are clasped tightly around a shot glass. It’s his third. He’s relapsed since splitting with his latest partner, the one that had taken him to Alcoholics Anonymous. However, Lisbon doesn’t say a word. She knows she should, for she’s lived through this before, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like it’s her place to say.
She would if she could, but she can’t. The words stick to the back of her throat, somehow.
Besides, who is she to judge? They’re both doomed to Hell as it is.
Lisbon lets go of the glass and clasps hold of her cross. It provides just a little comfort, in times of self-doubt. It’s a connection to her mom as well as her God.
She could only hope that they’d both forgive her for all that she’s done.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
It’s only a half-truth and they both know it. Physically, she is fine. It’s the emotional scars that will last a lifetime that will prove problematic. Unfortunately, getting Lisbon to talk is a task too far for Virgil Minelli. She’s still relatively secretive by nature, keeps herself to herself. She isn’t about to change the habit of a lifetime.
All too clearly, they both remember their first introduction. When he head-hunted her from the San Francisco Police Department and placed her straight in his newly formed Serious Crimes Unit. The SCU has been home to her for years and slowly, but surely, she worked her way through the ranks within it. Back then, she had been naïve, full of hope for the future. She knew what she wanted from life and nothing was going to stop her. She was convinced that life had meaning.
Now, she isn’t so sure.
Though she’d like to think otherwise, her career is in tatters. Yes, she still has her position as head of the SCU, but where else can she go? Half the state thinks she physically cannot work without the CBI (or Jane. Or both.) propping her up. The other half is still stuck in the twentieth century, convinced she cannot do a thing because she’s a woman. Her career had been promising, once upon a time. She could have gone far.
Now, anything she does is too little, too late.
With a sigh, she sips at her drink again. Minelli pours himself a fourth and offers her a top up. She declines, politely, of course. He shrugs his shoulders, toasts to her good health before downing it.
“Red John,” he says, “the career-maker.”
Lisbon nods in agreement, though she’s yet to be convinced of that. It’s not as if there’s been a line of people trying to knock down her door to offer her lucrative positions elsewhere. It’s not as if she’s really heard from anyone at all.
This is the way the world ends, she thinks. T.S. Eliot had been a wise man. Not with a bang, but a whimper.
And why should it be anything more than that? Red John was but one man. He may have caused irreparable damage to a handful of lives - hers included, probably - but that didn’t mean there was necessarily going to be an outcry of relief. It didn’t make her a hero. Didn’t make her a better cop. Didn’t mean she deserves a better a job.
Nothing’s changed, except for the nagging sense of guilt in the back of her mind. Red John should have been tried in a court of law. She should have had the chance to let them make the decision with how to handle him. It should never have come down to her and her alone.
But it had done so.
“And Jane? How’s he coping?”
She’s surprised that Minelli is even concerned for Jane’s well-being at all. Though, like Lisbon, he had been the one responsible for Jane’s hiring, the two had often had an antagonistic relationship. Both men had been able to appreciate that the other was necessary, but it didn’t mean they’d had to like one another.
Still, his concern is touching, if a little misguided.
“He’s gone.”
“Gone as in?”
“Left, resigned, disappeared.”
It’s true. Lisbon doesn’t know when - or if - she’ll hear from Jane again. Part of her is relieved to be shot of him. At times, he was nothing but trouble. The other part misses him and terribly so. He’d become an innate part of her life; it had gotten to the stage where she could barely remember a time without him. But as quickly as he’d entered her life, he’d left it again. Gone with the wind.
Red John is dead. He has no more requirements for the CBI. It’s just as he had always said.
Minelli touches her forearm softly with two fingers. She smiles weakly at him and downs her drink.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“He’ll come back.”
She wishes she could share her mentor’s optimism.
end