madimpossibledreamer: Jotaro thinking 'yare yare daze' (jotaro)
[personal profile] madimpossibledreamer
I like some of the writing and think it's in character, but it's still a super dark au.  there's still a little bit of a jane/lisbon shipping thing here, but there's no happy endings.

Main Points:
Mentalist AU
Chapter Summary:
Lisbon has trouble dealing with the aftermath of the nightmare.
Word Count: 2348
Rating: Teen
Warning: Actual suicide. Or murder.  Unclear & I never made up my mind which.  Either way, Red John was involved.  I think.  (I'm thinking I intended to wait to finish the story until Red John was dealt with in the actual show, but fell out of the fandom before I got there, which.  From what I heard, was not a bad thing.)

 

          Lisbon sat up in bed, screaming.  It took her a few moments to realize that it had only been a dream, that it wasn’t real, that neither of them were dead.  She lay there far beyond her alarm’s screech, unable to move, unable to breathe lest the dream sweep down and take her again.  So beautiful...and yet, so horrible.

          “You can’t tell her that.”  Rigsby couldn’t decide whether to be amused or aghast.
          “Who says?  I haven’t seen it written anywhere.  Have you, Van Pelt?”  Jane spoke from his sofa, leaving his eyes closed, knowing where each of them was without the need for sight.  Just showing off.
          “I’m refusing to get involved in this,” she warned, sitting down at her computer.  She began copying paperwork, sipping from her coffee.
          “Oh, come on, you’ve got the equivalent of a computer in that mind of yours.  You know almost every document processed by the CBI.  Do any of them forbid me telling Lisbon?”  Jane cajoled.
          She shook her head, refusing even to respond.
          “Oh, hi, Lisbon.  I have something to tell you,” he called.  Maybe the closing of the door told him of her presence, or maybe it was her perfume, or her particular step.
          Whatever the case, she didn’t stop, instead hurrying into her office and closing the door.
          Jane’s eyes flew open, and he sat up, puzzled, staring at Rigsby.
          He shrugged.  “She didn’t hear you.”
          “I doubt it, unless she’s somehow become deaf.  Aren’t you the least curious?”
          “Nope,” the cop stated firmly, getting to his own desk and setting his jacket down on the top as a finality.
          “Maybe she’s mad at you,” Van Pelt commented, not looking up from her computer.
          “I can’t imagine why,” Jane muttered, trying to project a carefree attitude even though inwardly the beginnings of worry began to gnaw at him.  He swung his legs off the couch, pausing briefly to grab his jacket before making his way toward Lisbon’s office.
          He knocked softly, calling Lisbon’s name, but no answer was forthcoming.  Carefully, he tried the door, opening it so as not to disturb her.
          It took a moment for him to realize that the light was off, before a switch was flicked and he was blinded by the sudden brightness.
          “What do you want, Jane?”  His hunch was right-something was wrong about her voice.  It sounded annoyed, true, and that was common enough, but the tone was slightly off.
          He smiled disarmingly.  “I just want to help.  Have I offended you in some way?”
          She snorted at that.  “You don’t always want to help, and you nearly always are trying to offend someone or other.”
          He held up his hands in surrender.  “All right...you might be right about that.  But I never set out to make your life miserable in particular.”
          She went so far as to laugh.  “Maybe not, but it always seems that way.”
          “Okay, maybe.  Perception is a large part of our daily lives.  Tell me what I’ve done wrong, and I’ll try to fix it.”  All the time he was studying her, trying to read her, figure out what was wrong.
          She looked up with a look of absolute shock or horror in her eyes, which she quickly covered.  “If you don’t know what you’ve done...re-examine your life, Jane.  When you’ve actually discovered what you’ve done wrong, then we’ll talk about it.”
          He opened his mouth to say something else, but she fixed him with a look that said she wasn’t kidding.  Instead, he bowed his head in assent and went to the door.  “Good morning, Lisbon,” he murmured softly, leaving her office.
          He walked slowly away, partly thinking, and partly waiting to see if he’d hear anything else, any more clues to her strange behavior.  He caught a very, very soft sound-like that of a light switch going out.
          He sat back down on the couch, letting his head rest on one arm, the other still loosely holding the jacket.  He barely heard the questions the others put to him, letting his tea grow cold as his mind turned, as the world outside him faded, grew to a blur he was barely perceiving, as he tried to puzzle out the question of Agent Lisbon.
          When he finally came to himself, Cho was watching him from his own desk.  “I can heat up your tea again, if you like.”
          Jane waved his hand.  “It tastes funny after a microwave.  It’s okay.”
          “Lisbon left a message for you.  She’s forgiven you-for now, anyway.  She wants us all at a stakeout-some state politician’s life was threatened.  If you didn’t show any signs of life in another five minutes, I was authorized to move you bodily.”
          He smiled at this.  Cho all over.

          “I’ve figured out the clues, but I don’t know what they mean,” Jane told Cho, knowing that, of all the unit, he would be the one to talk to.
          “Mm-hmm,” the agent commented, not taking his eyes off the road.
          “She’s depressed about something.  I’m not sure what, though.  When I first came in the office, she was sitting in a chair with the light off, perfectly content to stay in the dark.  It wasn’t even her desk.  When she heard me coming, she had to move quickly to turn on the light or it might look a little strange.”
          “Maybe she’d only just then gotten to turning on the light.  She did just go in the room.”  Agent Cho was paying very little attention, or so it seemed.  He didn’t buy the story-yet.
          “She’d had enough time to cross the room and flick a light switch.  It doesn’t take that long-I checked.  Besides, she looked slightly startled.”
          “Okay.  Maybe she had a migraine.”  These CBI people were so difficult to impress anymore.  Jane blamed their long acquaintance with him.
          “She would’ve gone straight to the bathroom for a glass of water to take a pill for the pain.  Besides, she doesn’t get migraines.  Headaches very rarely, as well.  Mostly from me,” the ‘psychic’ admitted modestly.
          “...I’m guessing there’s more to the story.”  He’d finally got his audience on a hook.
          Jane’s hands began moving, the gestures speaking as well as his mouth.  “Her reactions to me?  Not coincidence.  She did hear me, after all.  She sped up after she heard me call-just slightly.  She didn’t look at Rigsby or Van Pelt, or remind them sharply that they had some paperwork that they hadn’t filed yet.  She acted awkwardly, like she didn’t know how to deal with me.”
          His listener snorted.  “None of us know how to deal with you.”
          “More than usual,” he glossed over that fact.  “She honestly had something to hide, and she didn’t want me to know.  She didn’t act like she was lying, which is good, because she didn’t actually lie, as far as I could tell, about anything.  But she was misdirecting like crazy.  She couldn’t look in my eyes, and on the whole seemed shifty.”
          Cho shook his head.  “You’re paranoid.”
          “Probably.  But just keep listening.  I noticed something off about her voice, and I finally just worked out what I’d heard.  She was very slightly hoarse, as if she’d been crying.  And once I’d figured that out, the rest was fairly easy.  Her makeup, especially around the eyes, was fairly thick today.  She had to apply it several times, because her tears had messed it up.  She’d tried to clean it up, and did a fairly good job.  But the traces were still there.”
          Cho took his eyes off the road long enough for a searching gaze into the showman’s eyes.  “I can’t imagine Lisbon crying.”
          “Neither can I.  Which is why I’m still worried, because I don’t know the very simple question of why.  It has something to do with me.  Has there been anything in work that could explain...?”
          The agent shook his head.  “Nothing.  It’s all been fairly routine.”  He hesitated slightly, then continued, “...Why are you telling me this?”
          Jane shook his head.  “Honestly, I don’t know.  Because you’re more of an insider, I guess, and if I approach her about it she won’t tell me anything.”
          Agent Cho’s face moved toward a smile for a moment.  “I’m not spying for you.”
          “No, I’m not asking you to.” Jane sounded affronted, but that was just a front, and the CBI agent next to him knew it.  “I’m just, you know, thinking that as a concerned colleague, you might put in a question or two...”
          “Ask her yourself.”  They drove for five minutes, neither speaking.  The silence felt almost oppressive.  “All right.  Just one.”
          Jane smiled.  “This isn’t for me.  This is for Lisbon’s health of mind.”
          Cho rolled his eyes.  “Of course, this isn’t about your ego or your curiosity.”

they talk on the roof (lisbon & jane)

          Jane stopped walking.  “Something’s wrong.”
          “Lisbon ordered you to help with the suspect.”  Rigsby was looking at him as if he was crazy, and he hoped he was.  The thought that occurred to him wasn’t very pleasant, and he only hoped that he was crazy, rather than right, for once.
          “Well, I never listen, so she can’t blame you.  It’s just Jane,” he replied hurriedly, beginning to go back up the stairs.
          “Jane!  Jane, get back here!”  Soon the officer’s outraged voice faded into nothingness.  Rigsby was thinking that he’d just left him, a kind of betrayal, but he couldn’t just sit still, not with the thought that had just popped into his head.
          The urgency just kept growing in him, until he was taking the stairs two at a time, running up them.  Visions of a door in a hallway at the top of the stairs with a note on it kept popping into his head, but for once he was able to shake them aside, galvanized by his need to make sure things were going to be all right.  For once, the present held a greater place in his life than the past had.

          He burst into the room, expecting the worst, but unlike his worst imaginings nothing could be seen.  He almost turned away, breathing a sigh of relief, when he noticed the closet door-shut.
          It had been open, when they’d been up here last.  Someone must have closed it.
          “Lisbon?” he began calling, his instincts on full alert.  He tried the door, but it was locked-from the inside.  His ears, suddenly turned to emergency levels, heard the slightest sounds from inside.
          “Lisbon!”  It was a bellow now.  He started charging the door, trying to force it to open, to save her.
          Eventually, when he was almost frantic from worry, the door splintered, showering the occupant with shards of wood.  The bottom half of the door was still shut, but at least he could reach inside now.  “Lisbon...”
          He caught the slightest glint of her eyes, as she stared at him, scared.  A woman without hope.  “I’m so sorry, Patrick,” she whispered, before her arms moved and she did...something...that terrified him.
          The door could no longer stand against him, and gave in with a groan.
          He rushed to her body, which was already starting to shake, her eyes curling up into her head.  An empty syringe hung from a vein in her right arm.
          “Lisbon...no....”
          “Too late, Jane...” he made out from her lips, among the rest of the garbage and miscellaneous animal whimpering that accompanied the seizure.  But he refused to give in.
          He bent down to pick her up, gently, in a fireman’s carry, and navigated her out of the fragmented closet, refusing to give up.  His steps swiftly took him to the elevator, where he and his precious burden rode to the bottom of the building.
          He exited the elevator and saw Cho’s face, normally so expressionless, become shocked.  “Jane, what...”
          He shook his head, cutting his old friend off before the question could form.  “She needs an ambulance.  She needs help...”  A chill swept over him.
          Rigsby and the suspect, panting and sweaty, entered the lobby.  “Jane!  Is that...”  The agent turned a very interesting color.  Ordinarily, Jane would have teased him about it, but he couldn’t now, couldn’t even think about it.
          “911.  Call it.”  He’d set down his burden carefully and now pointed a shaky at the frozen man at the counter, about to collapse on his feet himself.
          Cho countered his order.  “Don’t bother.”  He had crossed the room and was now kneeling by Lisbon’s body, feeling for a pulse.
          “What are you playing at?  She needs medical attention, immediately!  Why...?”  Blind anger clouded Jane’s voice, as he refused to see the real world for what it was.
          “It’s too late, Jane.  I’m sorry,” the agent spoke gently, but it still felt like a punch in the guts.
          “No.”  Tears began clouding Jane’s vision as much as his stubborn refusal to see the truth.  “No, that’s not possible.  That...this isn’t happening.  They can save her.  CPR.  This isn’t...”
          Agent Cho tried CPR, while Jane grew tired about the man’s dithering and fumblingly dialed the number himself.  He nearly broke down crying on the phone, and could barely get his message through.  They told him they would send someone, and he hung up, feeling suddenly cold and hollow.
          “It’s too late.  I’m sorry.”  His friend was a bit disheveled, and looked up from a kneeling position with a look of absolute sorrow in his eyes.
          “No!” Jane shouted.  It had happened all over again, and he should have realized...should have said something while there was still a chance...  He tried to force himself to Lisbon’s body, to cradle that lifeless form, but strong hands held him back.
          “Just take a deep breath or two.  And if you have to cry and ruin my jacket, I’ll understand...”
          He struggled for a long time, until he was utterly exhausted.  He finally fell to his knees, allowing the first open display of emotion in a long time, letting the others see the depth of his grief and pain.  He was beyond caring.

 

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