the veil that keeps me blind, prologue
Title: The Veil That Keeps Me Blind
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 36,128
Chapter: 0/15 (prologue)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/T
Spoilers: 3x04, small reference to canon details of Lisbon's family from 3x07
Beta: yaba324
Summary: With Jane’s plans for revenge destroyed, both he and Lisbon are forced to take stock of where they stand -- with Red John and with each other.
Author's Notes: Written for het_bigbang, Summer 2011 (originally archived here & complete). I will be posting a chapter every other day until I’ve posted the whole thing, which is a total of fifteen chapters divided into four separate books, plus prologue. When I’m done, I’ll be posting the ficmix for this story as well.
Set AU post-3x04. I’ve been planning it out for about a year now, and this big bang was the motivation I needed to actually get it all out. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed planning it and writing it :)
Prologue
xxxxx
In the many months that follow, he will reflect on that morning, going over every moment and every memory, first in a furious whirlwind of emotion and then slowing down gradually until he can break down each individual nuance. He remembers the early morning sunlight as it seeped in through the blinds, the inviting warmth of her bed as he reluctantly rose, the slight curve of her spine as she rolled over and furrowed deeper into her pillow, and then later, the soft lilt of her laughter as she teased him over breakfast. He will recall, sometimes with certainty and sometimes without, the look on her face as he walked out the door. He will consider innumerable reasons as to why he did not see any of it coming.
He will think back on this and wonder where it all went wrong.
xxx
Jane wakes first that morning, as he always does. The sun is only just rising, its muted yellow beams casting shadows against the pale carpet when he opens his eyes and sleepily casts a glance at the woman lying beside him. Lisbon is often a restless sleeper, and the night before was no different. Her dark hair falls like a curtain, knotted and tousled around her face, and the sheets gather in tangled at her waist.
He laughs inwardly, affectionately at the sight of her, usually so composed and in control in her waking hours; the odd duality of her sleeping habits striking him, not for the first time in the last four months. One hand lingers against her side as the other straightens the sheets. Lisbon shivers involuntarily as his hand traces the side of her rib cage, but Jane tears himself from the bed before he can allow himself to get carried away. He slept a little later than usual and doesn’t dare wake her before he has a chance to start her coffee.
He pads quietly downstairs on that very mission before returning to her bedroom, one last long look at dark hair against pale sheets before disappearing into the en suite bathroom. His things sit alongside hers, mixed in carelessly, as though they’ve been there for years.
The transition had been surprisingly easy; it happened so slowly that the lines blurred almost before he was even aware. Lisbon had been sly and crafty; first convincing him to come down from his self-enforced seclusion in the CBI attic, then eventually convincing him to abandon the office as well. If left to his own devices, Jane is certain he would still be sleeping on his makeshift bed in the attic; he had to admit that his current arrangements were infinitely more comfortable.
By the time Lisbon made that next step, he had barely put up a fight. She had thrown his own words in his face, reminding him that even if they couldn’t have -- as he phrased it -- a “normal life,” they could at least have something, and why not have that something be together.
He couldn’t argue with her logic. Honestly, he hadn’t really wanted to.
Admittedly, he had still been worried. Kristina Frye’s fate weighed heavily on his mind, when even several months in a psychiatric hospital had done nothing to alter the damage inflicted by Red John. Lisbon, however, had no qualms, no fear. She reminded him that she was well aware of what could happen, but that it made no difference to her; she could take care of herself. Let Red John try to come after me, she had said. He won’t know what hit him.
In spite of himself, Jane had laughed. Then he had agreed.
If it had been anyone else, he never would have given in, but this was Lisbon.
On the whole, things had not changed all that much. He had not abandoned the attic completely, nor had she abandoned her need for personal space. They both still had their secrets, and neither particularly wanted to reveal them all. He did eventually open up to her about the Blake poem (for which she was not as angry as he expected, she knew he had been hiding something from her about that day), but he still had Max Winter’s gun hidden away in the dark recesses of the attic. He certainly did not relish the thought of keeping it from her, but some things were still non-negotiable. It was for her own good, after all.
But even as things did not transform significantly, there were some changes. It was a natural consequence of being together on any level, aside from the obvious. He learned more of her quirks, her routines, and she in turn learned more of his. It became comfortable, familiar, welcome.
So much so that when he arrives downstairs that morning after his shower, dressed and ready for the day, he immediately notices that something is amiss.
“Well, this is different,” he says teasingly, announcing his presence as he lingers at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb as he takes in the scene.
Lisbon spins around to greet him with raised eyebrows. She’s put on yoga pants and a t-shirt, her hair clipped messily back so that it isn’t falling in her face, and she’s holding a spatula in one hand. She has both coffee and tea already going, and she turns around again as the pancakes she’s making need to be flipped. “If you’re going to be like that,” she warns over her shoulder, “You can make your own breakfast.”
“You’re not exactly June Cleaver, but you’ll do,” he says, but when she turns around to glare at him (as if to say, ‘June Cleaver, really?’), he recants. “Kidding, kidding!”
“Oh, bite me,” she retorts, but her lips twitch up as she fights back a laugh.
“It may not be in my best interest to point this out,” he smirks as he says this, ambling across the kitchen casually until he stands right next to her. He leans in close to her ear and murmurs, “But I’m pretty sure I already have.”
Quirking an eyebrow at this, Lisbon simply swats him in the shoulder and turns back to the task at hand. “Why don’t you make yourself useful,” she suggests as he feigns injury (she really does hit hard), but he stops to kiss her before he obliges.
By the time they sit down to breakfast, he’s managed to completely redeem himself for his good-natured teasing by locating the last of the strawberries he bought her earlier in the week. So often their mornings together are rushed, with one or the other looking at the clock to maintain their staggered arrivals at work, that the slightly slower pace is a welcome change. Above all things, he enjoys her company.
All too soon, they finish breakfast, and he finds himself preparing to leave and walk the few blocks to where he parked his car the night before.
“You have that budget meeting this morning,” he half-asks, half-states from the edge of the kitchen.
“Yeah, I do, but Hightower pushed it back to 10:30,” she answers, as she finishes rinsing the last of the breakfast dishes and wipes her hands on the dishtowel.
With one last look at the clock, he reluctantly turns and heads towards the front door. “I’ll see you at office, then.”
She nods. “I’ll see you at work, Jane.”
And with the smile on her face as reassurance, he disappears out her front door.
If he had known what would happen later, he would have turned around one last time to catch a glimpse of her as she climbs the stairs to shower and dress for work.
The problem is, of course, that this is the one thing he could not possibly foresee.
xxxxx
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 36,128
Chapter: 0/15 (prologue)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/T
Spoilers: 3x04, small reference to canon details of Lisbon's family from 3x07
Beta: yaba324
Summary: With Jane’s plans for revenge destroyed, both he and Lisbon are forced to take stock of where they stand -- with Red John and with each other.
Author's Notes: Written for het_bigbang, Summer 2011 (originally archived here & complete). I will be posting a chapter every other day until I’ve posted the whole thing, which is a total of fifteen chapters divided into four separate books, plus prologue. When I’m done, I’ll be posting the ficmix for this story as well.
Set AU post-3x04. I’ve been planning it out for about a year now, and this big bang was the motivation I needed to actually get it all out. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed planning it and writing it :)
Prologue
xxxxx
In the many months that follow, he will reflect on that morning, going over every moment and every memory, first in a furious whirlwind of emotion and then slowing down gradually until he can break down each individual nuance. He remembers the early morning sunlight as it seeped in through the blinds, the inviting warmth of her bed as he reluctantly rose, the slight curve of her spine as she rolled over and furrowed deeper into her pillow, and then later, the soft lilt of her laughter as she teased him over breakfast. He will recall, sometimes with certainty and sometimes without, the look on her face as he walked out the door. He will consider innumerable reasons as to why he did not see any of it coming.
He will think back on this and wonder where it all went wrong.
xxx
Jane wakes first that morning, as he always does. The sun is only just rising, its muted yellow beams casting shadows against the pale carpet when he opens his eyes and sleepily casts a glance at the woman lying beside him. Lisbon is often a restless sleeper, and the night before was no different. Her dark hair falls like a curtain, knotted and tousled around her face, and the sheets gather in tangled at her waist.
He laughs inwardly, affectionately at the sight of her, usually so composed and in control in her waking hours; the odd duality of her sleeping habits striking him, not for the first time in the last four months. One hand lingers against her side as the other straightens the sheets. Lisbon shivers involuntarily as his hand traces the side of her rib cage, but Jane tears himself from the bed before he can allow himself to get carried away. He slept a little later than usual and doesn’t dare wake her before he has a chance to start her coffee.
He pads quietly downstairs on that very mission before returning to her bedroom, one last long look at dark hair against pale sheets before disappearing into the en suite bathroom. His things sit alongside hers, mixed in carelessly, as though they’ve been there for years.
The transition had been surprisingly easy; it happened so slowly that the lines blurred almost before he was even aware. Lisbon had been sly and crafty; first convincing him to come down from his self-enforced seclusion in the CBI attic, then eventually convincing him to abandon the office as well. If left to his own devices, Jane is certain he would still be sleeping on his makeshift bed in the attic; he had to admit that his current arrangements were infinitely more comfortable.
By the time Lisbon made that next step, he had barely put up a fight. She had thrown his own words in his face, reminding him that even if they couldn’t have -- as he phrased it -- a “normal life,” they could at least have something, and why not have that something be together.
He couldn’t argue with her logic. Honestly, he hadn’t really wanted to.
Admittedly, he had still been worried. Kristina Frye’s fate weighed heavily on his mind, when even several months in a psychiatric hospital had done nothing to alter the damage inflicted by Red John. Lisbon, however, had no qualms, no fear. She reminded him that she was well aware of what could happen, but that it made no difference to her; she could take care of herself. Let Red John try to come after me, she had said. He won’t know what hit him.
In spite of himself, Jane had laughed. Then he had agreed.
If it had been anyone else, he never would have given in, but this was Lisbon.
On the whole, things had not changed all that much. He had not abandoned the attic completely, nor had she abandoned her need for personal space. They both still had their secrets, and neither particularly wanted to reveal them all. He did eventually open up to her about the Blake poem (for which she was not as angry as he expected, she knew he had been hiding something from her about that day), but he still had Max Winter’s gun hidden away in the dark recesses of the attic. He certainly did not relish the thought of keeping it from her, but some things were still non-negotiable. It was for her own good, after all.
But even as things did not transform significantly, there were some changes. It was a natural consequence of being together on any level, aside from the obvious. He learned more of her quirks, her routines, and she in turn learned more of his. It became comfortable, familiar, welcome.
So much so that when he arrives downstairs that morning after his shower, dressed and ready for the day, he immediately notices that something is amiss.
“Well, this is different,” he says teasingly, announcing his presence as he lingers at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb as he takes in the scene.
Lisbon spins around to greet him with raised eyebrows. She’s put on yoga pants and a t-shirt, her hair clipped messily back so that it isn’t falling in her face, and she’s holding a spatula in one hand. She has both coffee and tea already going, and she turns around again as the pancakes she’s making need to be flipped. “If you’re going to be like that,” she warns over her shoulder, “You can make your own breakfast.”
“You’re not exactly June Cleaver, but you’ll do,” he says, but when she turns around to glare at him (as if to say, ‘June Cleaver, really?’), he recants. “Kidding, kidding!”
“Oh, bite me,” she retorts, but her lips twitch up as she fights back a laugh.
“It may not be in my best interest to point this out,” he smirks as he says this, ambling across the kitchen casually until he stands right next to her. He leans in close to her ear and murmurs, “But I’m pretty sure I already have.”
Quirking an eyebrow at this, Lisbon simply swats him in the shoulder and turns back to the task at hand. “Why don’t you make yourself useful,” she suggests as he feigns injury (she really does hit hard), but he stops to kiss her before he obliges.
By the time they sit down to breakfast, he’s managed to completely redeem himself for his good-natured teasing by locating the last of the strawberries he bought her earlier in the week. So often their mornings together are rushed, with one or the other looking at the clock to maintain their staggered arrivals at work, that the slightly slower pace is a welcome change. Above all things, he enjoys her company.
All too soon, they finish breakfast, and he finds himself preparing to leave and walk the few blocks to where he parked his car the night before.
“You have that budget meeting this morning,” he half-asks, half-states from the edge of the kitchen.
“Yeah, I do, but Hightower pushed it back to 10:30,” she answers, as she finishes rinsing the last of the breakfast dishes and wipes her hands on the dishtowel.
With one last look at the clock, he reluctantly turns and heads towards the front door. “I’ll see you at office, then.”
She nods. “I’ll see you at work, Jane.”
And with the smile on her face as reassurance, he disappears out her front door.
If he had known what would happen later, he would have turned around one last time to catch a glimpse of her as she climbs the stairs to shower and dress for work.
The problem is, of course, that this is the one thing he could not possibly foresee.
xxxxx