FIC: Addiction (2/?)
Title: Addiction (2/?)
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Jane/Lisbon Team
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It starts off painfully simply, it always does. Every single day, in fact. Jane/Lisbon Friendship
Spoilers: 2x03 Red Badge, 2x10 Throwing Fire
Notes: Written for hoshinekoyasha who asked for a fic based on Lisbon and drugs overdose/reliance.
Previous parts: Part One
Part Two
It’s another day and another dead body.
Another headache too.
With a frown knitted across her brow, Lisbon kneels down to see the damage done to yet another poor soul. Single gunshot wound, dead center of the forehead. A professional’s job, she muses. She bitterly ignores the throbbing pain across her temples - it’s worse than yesterday’s - as she hopes that the medication kicks in soon. It normally has done so by now and everyone is walking on eggshells because of it, not that she’s particularly noticed. Sighing, she puts on some latex gloves and carefully plucks a poker chip out of the vic’s hand. Gambling is a terrible addiction. That’s probably the reason why he was murdered, too.
Though, knowing Jane, he’ll probably come up with some crackpot theory linking to something entirely different. And annoyingly, he’ll probably be right, too.
She sends Cho and Rigsby to go and talk to the dead man’s boss. Jane was meant to go too, but typically, he insists upon shadowing Van Pelt and herself. Lisbon feels as though his eyes are boring into her as she rummages in various compartments in the car for a tub of painkillers that she knows she left in there last week. She tries not to look too delighted when her fingers come into contact with the cool plastic and tries not to give away the fact that she’s taking these an hour or so earlier than she should. But it’s okay, just so long as she doesn’t take more than the recommended six a day - it’ll be fine.
She will be fine. She has to be.
And it’s better that she does take them, really. Better that she can operate like something resembling a normal human being rather than dragging herself through the motions and doing a bad job because of something as mundane as a headache.
Jane is surprisingly well behaved as they speak to the relatives. He doesn’t say anything out of turn, doesn’t do anything embarrassing like fiddling with and consequently, breaking any family heirlooms or the like. Doesn’t even get into a fight with any of the sorry individuals sitting opposite her. Does, however, bring up the gambling problem and stares at her pointedly every single time he refers to it as an ‘addiction’ though. Something which doesn’t take long to exasperate Lisbon.
Because she absolutely does not have a problem. Not like the victim.
And not like her Dad, either.
She’s seen the depths of addiction and obsession and likes to think that she can notice the warning signs. It’s not as if she’s neglecting her duties or lashing out at those she cares about the most, generally speaking. Yes, she’s a little quieter and withdrawn at times, but that’s mainly because her head hurts, even with the painkillers, and she doesn’t want to exacerbate the condition. Who would?
The drive back to CBI headquarters is ominously silent. Lisbon just doesn’t feel up to bickering with Jane, so takes to ignoring his questions and Van Pelt simply doesn’t know what to say. It’s a relief when they pull up; the idea of being trapped in that small metal box with one another for much longer is almost unbearable.
“Is Lisbon alright?”
Despite the fact that the brunette has already stomped off to her office and slammed the door shut, Van Pelt still only whispers to Jane. She hates the fact that she’s essentially gossiping about the boss, but she cannot help but be concerned. Since moving over to Sacramento, she’s seen the team as being her second family. If she suspects that something is wrong with any of them, then she’s determined to try and help out.
“She’s just got a headache,” Jane assures her, with a pat on the shoulder.
“Oh, okay.”
It wasn’t a lie, he was just bending the truth.
And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. Frequently.
Still, as Jane settles onto his couch, sinking into the comfortable and familiar leather, he can’t help but feel a little disconcerted. If the rest of the team has noticed, then things are getting serious. But he’s floundering here; he’s tried the direct approach and unsurprisingly, she had scoffed at the mere notion of her having a problem. And knowing Lisbon, she’d probably grow more and more suspicious if he tries anything more subtle. Hiding the pills was out of the question; she’d probably kill him if he did that and he’s not sure whether or not that’s literally or only figuratively.
As his eyes slowly drift shut, so do Lisbon’s. She wakes up an hour later, horrified by the fact that she’s been sleeping on the job. It surprises her that nobody has disturbed her sooner, but she’s grateful. Either Cho and Rigsby haven’t got back yet, or they have had the common courtesy to leave her be. Instinctively, her hands dive into the draw to her right. She cracks the lid open yet again and stares at the pills, slightly horrified.
Just how many has she taken today?
To be fair, she’s lost count.
Regrettably, she puts them back in the tub, not wanting to overdose.
But then again, she can’t actually remember the last day when she didn’t actually take one tablet at all. Possibly, before the whole Carmen incident, certainly not after it. Intrigued, Lisbon looks at her desktop calendar and frowns. That was nearly nine months ago. That was even before… She shakes her head. She doesn’t really want to think about Bosco; it’s all too raw, even now. Still, how can she not remember having a headache-free day for three quarters of a year?
She glances tentatively at her closed door and finds herself walking towards it automatically. Lisbon ignores the glances from Van Pelt, who is studiously working as hard as ever, as she walks across to Jane. She looks down at him, serene and peaceful on the couch. Lisbon has known for a long while that this particular piece of furniture is his own personal nirvana but she doesn’t feel particularly guilty about breaking into his comfort zone.
This time, she feels nervous though.
Sucking in a deep breath, she gently nudges him in the side and waits patiently for his eyes to snap open. When he greets her with a bright, almost knowing, smile, she wants to run and hide. Why the hell is she telling him, anyway? It’s not as if it’s any of his business, after all. Just because he might, might, be correct, it doesn’t give him the automatic right to know exactly what she’s thinking about the whole situation.
“I think you’re right.”
TBC…
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Jane/Lisbon Team
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It starts off painfully simply, it always does. Every single day, in fact. Jane/Lisbon Friendship
Spoilers: 2x03 Red Badge, 2x10 Throwing Fire
Notes: Written for hoshinekoyasha who asked for a fic based on Lisbon and drugs overdose/reliance.
Previous parts: Part One
Part Two
It’s another day and another dead body.
Another headache too.
With a frown knitted across her brow, Lisbon kneels down to see the damage done to yet another poor soul. Single gunshot wound, dead center of the forehead. A professional’s job, she muses. She bitterly ignores the throbbing pain across her temples - it’s worse than yesterday’s - as she hopes that the medication kicks in soon. It normally has done so by now and everyone is walking on eggshells because of it, not that she’s particularly noticed. Sighing, she puts on some latex gloves and carefully plucks a poker chip out of the vic’s hand. Gambling is a terrible addiction. That’s probably the reason why he was murdered, too.
Though, knowing Jane, he’ll probably come up with some crackpot theory linking to something entirely different. And annoyingly, he’ll probably be right, too.
She sends Cho and Rigsby to go and talk to the dead man’s boss. Jane was meant to go too, but typically, he insists upon shadowing Van Pelt and herself. Lisbon feels as though his eyes are boring into her as she rummages in various compartments in the car for a tub of painkillers that she knows she left in there last week. She tries not to look too delighted when her fingers come into contact with the cool plastic and tries not to give away the fact that she’s taking these an hour or so earlier than she should. But it’s okay, just so long as she doesn’t take more than the recommended six a day - it’ll be fine.
She will be fine. She has to be.
And it’s better that she does take them, really. Better that she can operate like something resembling a normal human being rather than dragging herself through the motions and doing a bad job because of something as mundane as a headache.
Jane is surprisingly well behaved as they speak to the relatives. He doesn’t say anything out of turn, doesn’t do anything embarrassing like fiddling with and consequently, breaking any family heirlooms or the like. Doesn’t even get into a fight with any of the sorry individuals sitting opposite her. Does, however, bring up the gambling problem and stares at her pointedly every single time he refers to it as an ‘addiction’ though. Something which doesn’t take long to exasperate Lisbon.
Because she absolutely does not have a problem. Not like the victim.
And not like her Dad, either.
She’s seen the depths of addiction and obsession and likes to think that she can notice the warning signs. It’s not as if she’s neglecting her duties or lashing out at those she cares about the most, generally speaking. Yes, she’s a little quieter and withdrawn at times, but that’s mainly because her head hurts, even with the painkillers, and she doesn’t want to exacerbate the condition. Who would?
The drive back to CBI headquarters is ominously silent. Lisbon just doesn’t feel up to bickering with Jane, so takes to ignoring his questions and Van Pelt simply doesn’t know what to say. It’s a relief when they pull up; the idea of being trapped in that small metal box with one another for much longer is almost unbearable.
“Is Lisbon alright?”
Despite the fact that the brunette has already stomped off to her office and slammed the door shut, Van Pelt still only whispers to Jane. She hates the fact that she’s essentially gossiping about the boss, but she cannot help but be concerned. Since moving over to Sacramento, she’s seen the team as being her second family. If she suspects that something is wrong with any of them, then she’s determined to try and help out.
“She’s just got a headache,” Jane assures her, with a pat on the shoulder.
“Oh, okay.”
It wasn’t a lie, he was just bending the truth.
And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. Frequently.
Still, as Jane settles onto his couch, sinking into the comfortable and familiar leather, he can’t help but feel a little disconcerted. If the rest of the team has noticed, then things are getting serious. But he’s floundering here; he’s tried the direct approach and unsurprisingly, she had scoffed at the mere notion of her having a problem. And knowing Lisbon, she’d probably grow more and more suspicious if he tries anything more subtle. Hiding the pills was out of the question; she’d probably kill him if he did that and he’s not sure whether or not that’s literally or only figuratively.
As his eyes slowly drift shut, so do Lisbon’s. She wakes up an hour later, horrified by the fact that she’s been sleeping on the job. It surprises her that nobody has disturbed her sooner, but she’s grateful. Either Cho and Rigsby haven’t got back yet, or they have had the common courtesy to leave her be. Instinctively, her hands dive into the draw to her right. She cracks the lid open yet again and stares at the pills, slightly horrified.
Just how many has she taken today?
To be fair, she’s lost count.
Regrettably, she puts them back in the tub, not wanting to overdose.
But then again, she can’t actually remember the last day when she didn’t actually take one tablet at all. Possibly, before the whole Carmen incident, certainly not after it. Intrigued, Lisbon looks at her desktop calendar and frowns. That was nearly nine months ago. That was even before… She shakes her head. She doesn’t really want to think about Bosco; it’s all too raw, even now. Still, how can she not remember having a headache-free day for three quarters of a year?
She glances tentatively at her closed door and finds herself walking towards it automatically. Lisbon ignores the glances from Van Pelt, who is studiously working as hard as ever, as she walks across to Jane. She looks down at him, serene and peaceful on the couch. Lisbon has known for a long while that this particular piece of furniture is his own personal nirvana but she doesn’t feel particularly guilty about breaking into his comfort zone.
This time, she feels nervous though.
Sucking in a deep breath, she gently nudges him in the side and waits patiently for his eyes to snap open. When he greets her with a bright, almost knowing, smile, she wants to run and hide. Why the hell is she telling him, anyway? It’s not as if it’s any of his business, after all. Just because he might, might, be correct, it doesn’t give him the automatic right to know exactly what she’s thinking about the whole situation.
“I think you’re right.”
TBC…