Fic--The Lights Go Out
Because I desperately needed to deal with all my emotions regarding this episode.
Title: The Lights Go Out
Author: foreverwriting9
Characters/Pairings: Jane/Lisbon
Spoilers: For Blinking Red Light
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,202
Summary: They stand together in silence, watching as the ME cleans up the body and somebody begins trying to scrub the bloody smiley face off the brick wall.
-
Jane stops right in front of the bloody smiley face, and tries to catch his breath. This all feels weirdly like a dream, and the earth won’t stop spinning madly beneath his feet and he is nauseous. He sucks in a shaky breath and is just beginning to weigh the pros and cons of passing out when he hears Lisbon nearby.
"Jane." She walks up behind him, her fingers brushing against his elbow.
(He can't look at her.) "Nasty coincidence," he says, gaze fixed on the scene in front of him.
"A nasty coincidence," she echoes, but she doesn't sound convinced, and Jane can hear the half-formed accusation in her voice.
They stand together in silence, watching as the ME cleans up the body and somebody begins trying to scrub the bloody smiley face off the brick wall. After all that remains on the wall is a faint tinge of crimson, Jane finally turns and looks at Lisbon, half reaching for her hand when she suddenly speaks again.
"We're going to talk about this," she says firmly.
He frowns. "Talk about what, Lisbon?" He can hear how unconvincing the words are as soon as they leave his mouth, and Lisbon is quick to mirror his frown.
"You know what I mean, Jane."
He arches a brow at her, feigning innocence, but Lisbon can see right through it. "Do I?"
"Yes," she says without hesitation.
"Hmm." Jane takes a step back from her, trying to ignore how disappointed she looks in this moment. Without saying another word, he leaves Lisbon in the dark, dusty warehouse by herself, staring at the bloody smudge on the wall and wondering what all of this truly means.
Lisbon sits at her desk afterward, waiting and watching Jane through the open door of her office. The fifth time he walks by without saying anything or even glancing in her direction, Lisbon calls out to him quietly.
"I saw the video footage, you know."
The sentence hangs in the air between them, awkward and untouched. For a moment, Jane looks as though he is simply going to ignore her and continue on his way. Something (fear, panic, love) lodges itself in Lisbon's chest at the thought of this happening, and suddenly she can't stop the words from tumbling out.
"I saw you, on that ridiculous TV show, being all arrogant and stupid and..." she trails off as he finally looks at her. There's something in his face that she can't quite read, something angry and untouchable, and she hates when he acts like this. "You provoked Red John," she says in a harsh whisper, "on purpose."
Jane takes a few steps toward her, until he is just inside her office door, and then levels her with an even stare. "What do you want me to say?"
Lisbon stares back at him, gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles whiten. She knows he won't say that he's sorry, because he's not. And why should he be? He took a dangerous killer off the streets. Lisbon takes a slow, careful breath, letting the unknown feeling in her chest unfurl and loosen. "I just...I expected better, Jane," she says. "We would have caught him."
He walks toward her, stopping once he stands across from her, the toes of his shoes bumping into her desk as he leans over and looks her in the eye. "But not before he killed again."
She is stubborn. "You don't know that."
"I do."
Lisbon drops her head into her hands, suddenly too tired to argue with him. The floorboards creak as he moves away from her to go lie on her couch. When Lisbon finally lifts her head and speaks again, her words are angry and hard. "Well, not only did you eliminate a serial killer, but you also proved that you were right about Timothy Carter not being Red John. Two birds with one stone. That should make you happy."
Jane watches her, weighing the words on his tongue. "No, Lisbon, it doesn't make me happy," he says quietly. Then he stretches out across her couch and closes his eyes.
Lisbon stays at her desk for the rest of the night, watching Jane toss and turn on her couch, and desperately wishing that she could save him.
What wakes Jane first is the early morning sunlight as it slants through the blinds. He rolls over with a groan, only to be met with the heavenly smell of freshly made tea. He smiles, eyes still closed. “Lisbon, you made me tea? How sweet.”
When she doesn’t respond, Jane reluctantly opens his eyes. The room is empty. He sits up slowly, reaching for both his blue cup and the steaming tea kettle that sit on the floor next to the couch, waiting for him. He pours himself a generous helping, and then leans back against the cushions of the couch, feeling far more relaxed than he should given what’s happened in the past few days.
Jane is in the midst of pouring himself a second cup of tea when Lisbon walks into the room.
He watches her over his teacup as she walks toward her desk. “You didn’t go home last night,” he states to the still air of the office.
Lisbon turns and looks at him, and Jane is suddenly struck by how absolutely exhausted she looks. “No,” she says, “I didn’t.”
He grips his cup tightly, mulling over what he could possibly say in order for them to become friends again. “You made me tea.” For some reason the thank you he plans on saying simply refuses to come out of his mouth.
“Yes, I did.” This time she doesn’t look at him, simply slides down into her chair and resumes reading a file.
Jane bites the inside of his cheek. He knows what Lisbon wants to hear, but he can’t give it to her. After a few moments of listening to Lisbon’s pen scratch across the forms she’s signing, Jane breaks the relative silence. “I’m not sorry, you know.”
She doesn’t look up from her work, and for some reason this hurts him more than anything. “I know.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I wish I was sorry?”
She doesn’t answer right away, staring down at the file in front of her, and struggling to find the correct words to give to Jane. (He is so maddening and frustrating and blindingly wonderful sometimes that it makes every inch of Lisbon’s body ache.) When Lisbon finally does lift her gaze from the papers in front of her, she is startled to find that Jane is suddenly right in front of her, staring down at her in an almost helpless way. “It’s a start,” she says on a sigh, and he visibly brightens.
The next time she looks up from her desk, Jane is sitting in the seat across from her, sipping his tea and watching her thoughtfully. He smiles slowly at her, leaning forward until his elbows rest on top of her desk. “Thank you, Lisbon.”
She nods once, trying (and failing) to tamp down the answering smile tugging at her lips. “You’re welcome, Jane.”
Title: The Lights Go Out
Author: foreverwriting9
Characters/Pairings: Jane/Lisbon
Spoilers: For Blinking Red Light
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,202
Summary: They stand together in silence, watching as the ME cleans up the body and somebody begins trying to scrub the bloody smiley face off the brick wall.
-
Jane stops right in front of the bloody smiley face, and tries to catch his breath. This all feels weirdly like a dream, and the earth won’t stop spinning madly beneath his feet and he is nauseous. He sucks in a shaky breath and is just beginning to weigh the pros and cons of passing out when he hears Lisbon nearby.
"Jane." She walks up behind him, her fingers brushing against his elbow.
(He can't look at her.) "Nasty coincidence," he says, gaze fixed on the scene in front of him.
"A nasty coincidence," she echoes, but she doesn't sound convinced, and Jane can hear the half-formed accusation in her voice.
They stand together in silence, watching as the ME cleans up the body and somebody begins trying to scrub the bloody smiley face off the brick wall. After all that remains on the wall is a faint tinge of crimson, Jane finally turns and looks at Lisbon, half reaching for her hand when she suddenly speaks again.
"We're going to talk about this," she says firmly.
He frowns. "Talk about what, Lisbon?" He can hear how unconvincing the words are as soon as they leave his mouth, and Lisbon is quick to mirror his frown.
"You know what I mean, Jane."
He arches a brow at her, feigning innocence, but Lisbon can see right through it. "Do I?"
"Yes," she says without hesitation.
"Hmm." Jane takes a step back from her, trying to ignore how disappointed she looks in this moment. Without saying another word, he leaves Lisbon in the dark, dusty warehouse by herself, staring at the bloody smudge on the wall and wondering what all of this truly means.
Lisbon sits at her desk afterward, waiting and watching Jane through the open door of her office. The fifth time he walks by without saying anything or even glancing in her direction, Lisbon calls out to him quietly.
"I saw the video footage, you know."
The sentence hangs in the air between them, awkward and untouched. For a moment, Jane looks as though he is simply going to ignore her and continue on his way. Something (fear, panic, love) lodges itself in Lisbon's chest at the thought of this happening, and suddenly she can't stop the words from tumbling out.
"I saw you, on that ridiculous TV show, being all arrogant and stupid and..." she trails off as he finally looks at her. There's something in his face that she can't quite read, something angry and untouchable, and she hates when he acts like this. "You provoked Red John," she says in a harsh whisper, "on purpose."
Jane takes a few steps toward her, until he is just inside her office door, and then levels her with an even stare. "What do you want me to say?"
Lisbon stares back at him, gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles whiten. She knows he won't say that he's sorry, because he's not. And why should he be? He took a dangerous killer off the streets. Lisbon takes a slow, careful breath, letting the unknown feeling in her chest unfurl and loosen. "I just...I expected better, Jane," she says. "We would have caught him."
He walks toward her, stopping once he stands across from her, the toes of his shoes bumping into her desk as he leans over and looks her in the eye. "But not before he killed again."
She is stubborn. "You don't know that."
"I do."
Lisbon drops her head into her hands, suddenly too tired to argue with him. The floorboards creak as he moves away from her to go lie on her couch. When Lisbon finally lifts her head and speaks again, her words are angry and hard. "Well, not only did you eliminate a serial killer, but you also proved that you were right about Timothy Carter not being Red John. Two birds with one stone. That should make you happy."
Jane watches her, weighing the words on his tongue. "No, Lisbon, it doesn't make me happy," he says quietly. Then he stretches out across her couch and closes his eyes.
Lisbon stays at her desk for the rest of the night, watching Jane toss and turn on her couch, and desperately wishing that she could save him.
What wakes Jane first is the early morning sunlight as it slants through the blinds. He rolls over with a groan, only to be met with the heavenly smell of freshly made tea. He smiles, eyes still closed. “Lisbon, you made me tea? How sweet.”
When she doesn’t respond, Jane reluctantly opens his eyes. The room is empty. He sits up slowly, reaching for both his blue cup and the steaming tea kettle that sit on the floor next to the couch, waiting for him. He pours himself a generous helping, and then leans back against the cushions of the couch, feeling far more relaxed than he should given what’s happened in the past few days.
Jane is in the midst of pouring himself a second cup of tea when Lisbon walks into the room.
He watches her over his teacup as she walks toward her desk. “You didn’t go home last night,” he states to the still air of the office.
Lisbon turns and looks at him, and Jane is suddenly struck by how absolutely exhausted she looks. “No,” she says, “I didn’t.”
He grips his cup tightly, mulling over what he could possibly say in order for them to become friends again. “You made me tea.” For some reason the thank you he plans on saying simply refuses to come out of his mouth.
“Yes, I did.” This time she doesn’t look at him, simply slides down into her chair and resumes reading a file.
Jane bites the inside of his cheek. He knows what Lisbon wants to hear, but he can’t give it to her. After a few moments of listening to Lisbon’s pen scratch across the forms she’s signing, Jane breaks the relative silence. “I’m not sorry, you know.”
She doesn’t look up from her work, and for some reason this hurts him more than anything. “I know.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I wish I was sorry?”
She doesn’t answer right away, staring down at the file in front of her, and struggling to find the correct words to give to Jane. (He is so maddening and frustrating and blindingly wonderful sometimes that it makes every inch of Lisbon’s body ache.) When Lisbon finally does lift her gaze from the papers in front of her, she is startled to find that Jane is suddenly right in front of her, staring down at her in an almost helpless way. “It’s a start,” she says on a sigh, and he visibly brightens.
The next time she looks up from her desk, Jane is sitting in the seat across from her, sipping his tea and watching her thoughtfully. He smiles slowly at her, leaning forward until his elbows rest on top of her desk. “Thank you, Lisbon.”
She nods once, trying (and failing) to tamp down the answering smile tugging at her lips. “You’re welcome, Jane.”