Fic: Long Lost (Long Last) - Chapter 15
Here, as promised, is the next chapter.
Title: Long lost (Long last)
Rating: K+
Pairing/Genre: Jane/Lisbon, friendship/romance
Summary: After a case involving obscure hobbies, Jane decides to bring back the long lost art of letter-writing. In spite of his best efforts, he only manages to secure a single correspondant
Chapter 15
xxx
Lisbon’s optimism about her date with Geoff lasted until about midway through the main course. His smile over dinner was just as charming as it had been at Diane’s New Year’s party, and then later in the bread aisle. He’d actually listened to her answers when he asked her questions. He was a very nice guy, really. He’d just moved from New York. He’d told her about living there, told her about his sister who lived in California and was a nurse. He’d talked about his new job. He’d talked about his favourite sports teams (she’d violently disagreed with him on most of them, and they’d gotten into quite the debate as they waited for the waiter to bring them their bill).
They’d had a good time. Well, she had. She assumed he had too. He’d suggested getting together for coffee maybe the next week to continue the argument.
He’d make a great friend. But that was it. That was all it would ever be, at least for the time being.
Luckily, they’d both known it, even if neither of them had said it aloud.
Lisbon had read it clearly in his eyes after he’d kissed her cheek after dinner.
She sighed as she drove back to her condo. She’d been looking forward to the evening too. Not that it had been a total disaster. Good friends were hard to find, and someone to argue with about basketball would always be welcome.
Romance wasn’t something you could force. (Jane could have told her that.)
She guessed it just hadn’t been meant to be. She tried not to be disappointed.
It was just, it would have been so much easier if she had been genuinely attracted to Geoff. But no. She’d suddenly realized about half an hour into dinner that she’d had absolutely no romantic interest in the man sitting opposite her. Because she was just that ridiculous. He’d been practically perfect, and of course, her brain (or maybe her heart) had just yelled NO. It wasn’t fair.
It just wasn’t fair.
And the worst part was, she couldn’t even pretend that she didn’t know why the date hadn’t worked.
She’d told herself she was looking for balance. She’d also told herself she was looking for a distraction.
Distractions only worked for so long.
Lisbon dropped her purse on her couch and stared at the unopened letter on her coffee table. Usually she opened them right when they arrived, but she hadn’t wanted to open this one before getting read y for her date. A clear mind had seemed important.
(And that fact alone made ignorance, even willful ignorance awfully difficult.)
Sighing, Lisbon dropped onto her couch. She figured she might as well read the letter now.
x
Madera, California
Dear Lisbon,
I’m sorry that you’re feeling dissatisfied with your life. Or maybe not dissatisfied. Maybe just restless. I don’t know. Maybe you are dissatisfied. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you for feeling that way. We all feel like that sometimes. I certainly do. Let’s be honest, I’ve been driving around California for months trying to figure out what I want. You’re way ahead of me, if that makes you feel any better. I don’t know if it will, since I’m hardly a good example of mental balance.
But I don’t want to discourage you. I think you absolutely can find some kind of mental balance. I think that joining a club or volunteering is a great idea. I’d suggest a book club, but with your schedule, I’m not sure that anything with deadlines would be ideal. Still, you know best what’ll work for you, so maybe I will throw it out there. Particularly if you can find one that’s particularly low key.
On the other hand, volunteering would probably give you more of a sense of purpose. And you like having a sense of purpose. You do like trying to save the world, Teresa. You definitely like being active and doing things. So maybe that would be more your style?
And I absolutely think that keeping in touch with Annie and Tommy on a regular basis is great. For all three of you. You always seem so happy when you talk about your family, Lisbon. Even when you’re worried about them. You need them. And they need you. I know they do.
It sounds like your New Year’s was more eventful than mine. I just ended up watching the town’s fireworks from my car, parked on a hill outside of town. It was peaceful. I didn’t make any resolutions, but maybe I should. I don’t know if I believe in them, but I also don’t think they’re something you believe in. I agree with you; they’re about trying to be better. I’m not always good at being better, but now, well... now that... Maybe it’s time I give it a try. I’m not entirely sure I’ll be very good at it, unfortunately.
Still, I guess I’ll have to put some thought into what my resolutions might be.
I actually got two letters from you today. It was a good thing I stopped off at the Merced post office as I drove through. I’m glad to see that you were in a better mood in your second letter.
I hope January continues to treat you well, dear. I’ll write again soon, next time with non-holiday related news. I’ll think up something fun to tell you.
Love Jane
x
Lisbon bit her lip.
Jane was making resolutions? What did that even mean? Who knew what his resolutions would be. Try to sleep on a semi-regular basis? Try to figure out half of the chaos floating around in my brain? Try to achieve some measure of peace at the end of the year?
She sighed.
She was in no frame of mind to deal with any of that.
She resolved instead to write him a letter about Rigsby’s attempt to set Cho up on a date with a friend of Sarah’s. It was a pretty funny story. And right now, the lightness would be much easier to deal with.
x
Dear Jane,
I don’t have much to report on the subject of New Year’s resolutions. Unsurprisingly (given the success most people have with resolutions), I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with mine. I can’t decide where to volunteer. Finding a club to join isn’t exactly easy, unless you have something in mind (I will consider a book club though - thanks for that). Although, I did talk to Annie last night, so that’s progress.
So instead of talking to you about my personal life, I thought I’d talk to you about Cho’s.
Before I go any further, I should say that most of my information is second-hand. I heard the main points from Van Pelt, with the odd comment from Cho and/or Rigsby when I asked. It’s a pretty funny story though.
You see, Sarah, it turns out, is a bit of a matchmaker. And she set her eye on Cho. Poor Rigsby just got swept into it all, against his will. What happened was [...]
x
Over the next few weeks, Lisbon found herself getting more and more frustrated in general.
The team had a couple of difficult cases. Bureaucracy got in the way, and Lisbon couldn’t see a way of cutting through it. Everything seemed to take at least twice as long as it should have. She still couldn’t seem to make up her mind about volunteering somewhere. She was half tempted to just storm into the local soup kitchen and offer her services (which wasn’t a half bad idea, actually, now that she thought about it, maybe minus the “storming in” part).
And to make matters worse, Jane had suddenly decided to start driving around California cities in figure eights.
It was just ridiculous.
Lisbon figured it meant that he had something on his mind that he was grappling with, but it was still annoying.
She needed some kind of outlet for her frustrations, and based on his replies, she wasn’t even sure he was getting half of what she was sending his way.
Not that it mattered, as far as her frustrations were concerned, she supposed. Writing the letters themselves was cathartic in its own way, whether Jane got to read the words or not.
Still, something just felt off.
Then came the Timothy Roberts case.
Lisbon wasn’t sure why the case of the missing nineteen year old was affecting her so much. She’d certainly seen much worse over the years, but that didn’t seem to matter.
She’d had a bad feeling about it right from the start. Still, she’d tracked down leads tirelessly with her team, interviewing a suspicious sounding father, and an even more suspicious sounding step-father, not to mention the ex-con living two streets over, only to find that it’d been his college professor. He’d claimed to be in love with the boy, and snapped when Tim rejected him.
The body hadn’t been a pretty sight when they’d found it, buried in the professor’s backyard.
Lisbon had felt sick to her stomach.
She watched her team drag themselves out of the office one by one, sending them off with what she hoped was an encouraging nod. She also hoped they’d find a way of working their way through it.
Then she dragged herself home.
She needed to find a way of working though it herself. She still wasn’t sure why the case had affected her the way it had. Maybe because it had started out as a missing persons, not a murder. That always carried with it an element of hope, hope that the victim might still be alive.
Not Timothy though. He’d already been dead for three days when they found him.
She really needed to work through it all. Not that she had someone to work through it with. She couldn’t even write to Jane about it. He’d requested that their letters be a murder-free zone after all.
Suddenly, Lisbon felt anger welling up inside her at her ex-consultant and her supposed friend.
The jerk. The selfish jerk. Who was he to make all the rules? To make demands? What about what she needed? Or wanted?
She always tried to help, and he... he... Lisbon studiously ignored the brooch currently pinned to her lapel (where it almost always was now).
Angrily, she pulled a piece of paper from her drawer and began to write.
x
Dear Jane,
You asked me not to write about murder in these letters. You asked me to keep them work free. You asked me for a lot of things of me. You always have.
And you know what I’ve decided?
Screw you.
You don’t want to hear about murder? It’s hard for you? Well, you know what? It’s hard for me too. Did you ever think about that? Sometimes my job sucks. Sometimes I want someone to talk to about it all. You know who that person used to be? You. It was always you. God only knows why.
Because today was terrible. There was a missing nineteen year old kid this week. Maybe you heard about it on the news? Or did you turn off the television the second you heard the word murder? Anyway, guess whose team was assigned to that one? Guess who had to tell the kid’s parents that their son wasn’t missing anymore because we’d just found his body in some sicko’s basement? Guess who had to stand there, unflinching and comfort his poor mother, and then support the team in the aftermath? Nothing worse than hoping to find someone alive, only to find a body, after all.
Oh right, it was me. It was all me. Just me.
Alone.
No one asked me if I was okay. No one asked me how I was doing. No one wondered if I wanted to talk.
Quite the opposite really, since you told me not to talk to you about it.
You were the only one I used to be able to talk to about it. The only one I felt like I could talk to about it. The only one...
And the worst part is, I’m not even mad at you. Not really. I just wish you were here. I wish about a million different things, all of them not really fair. Because I know why you’re not here. I know that you’re screwed up. I know that you need time. But I don’t care. Not right now.
I just want someone to talk to. I want to sit on my couch and drink tea, and talk. Or maybe drink tea and not talk.
Instead I’m just upset. At that horrible professor who killed his own student. At my job, for being this overwhelming thing sometimes, and always being the dominant thing in my life. And at you, for being gone, and for not even letting me talk to you.
It’s not fair, but life isn’t fair, is it?
I wish life was fair. I’m sorry that it isn’t.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just wish you were here.
-Lisbon
x
When she was done furiously writing, Lisbon stared at the sheet of paper in front of her, aghast. She immediately folded it up, and shoved it into the back of a drawer. She couldn’t send that. She absolutely couldn’t. Her situation wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t fair to throw it all on Jane, to blame him.
Maybe getting it all down on paper would help her somehow.
Sighing, she took another piece of paper from the drawer and started to write another letter, one of her usual types of letters, full of fun, silly little stories. Stories about the book she was reading, a ridiculous thing that had happened in the break room a few days ago, an update on Annie.
She wasn’t sure it was entirely convincing, or as cheerful as some of her past letters had been, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. In a way it helped just a little, on the surface at least. Maybe that was something.
Lisbon glanced at her map and decided to send it to Jamestown. It might not even matter what she wrote. Jane’s path had been so strange lately; he probably wouldn’t even get it.
He did get it though.
She knew he had, because a few days later, she received a rapidly scrawled note from him in reply.
x
Jamestown, California,
Dear Teresa,
What’s wrong? I just got your letter in Jamestown. The one where you described Wainwright’s reaction to finally being exposed to Gillis’ usual lunchtime ritual.
It’s not right (the letter, not the ritual. The ritual is absolutely accurate, obviously). I know something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but the tone’s just off. Are you alright? What is it? Please tell me.
I’m worried about you.
Send your reply to Jamestown. I’ll wait here until I hear from you.
-Patrick
x
Lisbon stared at the letter in her hand, wondering what to do. After a second, she walked across the room, and pulled her original letter from the drawer where she’d hidden it. With trembling hands and a thumping heart, she folded it into an envelope.
Taking a blank sheet of paper from the same drawer, she added a short explanatory note.
x
Dear Jane,
Enclosed is the original letter I wrote you on the day that I sent you my re-write, the one that you rightly called not genuine. There was something wrong; I just didn’t want to tell you what it was. I didn’t know how to tell you, really. You’ll see why. I’m sending you the real letter now. I’m sorry. I was upset. I don’t even know if I meant it all, or what I meant, or... well, here it is.
Make of it what you will.
-L
x
Lisbon resolutely sealed and addressed the letter, sending it on its way. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she couldn’t say that she regretted sending it.
Not entirely.
She just hoped he understood
A few days later, Lisbon found another letter at her condo. It wasn’t quite the one she’d been expecting though.
The first surprise was that it arrived tucked inside a bouquet of purplish-blue violets. The second surprise was its message
x
Dear Lisbon,
Don’t apologize for your letter. Don’t. I deserved every word. I did. And I’d rather get that type of letter, the *real* letter, than have you try and shield me from things. I can’t guarantee that I’ll react well, not right away at least. But I still want to see how you really feel. I’m realizing that I need to start facing things head on. Well, okay, technically Madeleine told me that I need to start facing things head on. I’ve always known it, but I guess I just needed someone to hit me over the head with that fact.
Madeleine can be good at that.
I visited her a few days ago, by the way. She sends her love. She gave me your letter. It’s the third copy of it that I’ve received (the other was from my old motel in Sacramento when I was passing through a few months ago, and then obviously I got a copy from Pete and Sam). It makes me wonder how many other copies are floating around out there as a testament to you tenacity, and your loyalty.
Anyway, that’s not the point right now. The point is that I... Well, I want to try to actually deal with some things.
So I have a favour to ask of you. I know I don’t deserve one, but I’m going to ask anyway, and count on your generosity and that loyalty I mentioned earlier.
I need you to tell me why you did it. Why you shot Red John that day. I mean, I *know* why you did it, intellectually at least. But I think I need to hear it in your words.
Please. Please tell me. Really lay into me if you want to, just like you did in that last letter. It’s what I want. I think it’s even what I need.
I’m heading south, if you decide this is something you can give me.
Thank you,
-Jane
P.S. Feel free to yell at me some more in your letter as well, if that makes you feel any better. Or feel free to tell me about your day, or your cases, or the murders. It wasn’t fair of me to declare our letters a murder-free zone. To be honest, I’d forgotten that I had. I didn’t realize you were still censoring yourself. I’m so sorry. If you need to talk about that, or get it off your chest, or just, whatever. I officially retract that restriction. Let me at least be your sounding board.
I’m sorry again. I’m trying to be better. I really am. I’m trying to face my deficiencies now.
x
Lisbon stared at the piece of paper in her hand. She glanced at her violets and took a deep breath, trying to pull strength from the fact that he’d sent them at all. Then, she walked slowly to the kitchen table and pulled out a piece of paper. She sat, just looking at it for several minutes, planning out what she was going to write.
She’d do what he asked. It would be difficult, more so for him than for her probably, but she’d do it.
It was what they both needed. It was what they’d always needed. They’d just been putting it off.
It couldn’t be put off any longer.
Gritting her teeth, Lisbon steeled herself and began to write.
xxx
TBC
Oh look! Another deleted scene!
Delete Scene #4: I almost put this after the next chapter, even though chronologically it goes here, then I decided, whatever. I’ll leave it. It’s written (for the better part of a week it was the only part of the chapter that was, to my great annoyance). I hope you enjoy.
xxx
Jane couldn’t quite believe where he was sitting. He’d driven here himself, but he still couldn’t quite believe it.
He was sitting across from Madeleine Hightower in her office, dunking a tea bag into his tea, pretending to ignore the fact that she was staring at him.
“So, Patrick,” she said after a moment. “You never did tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I can’t just drop by for a visit?” Jane asked.
Hightower didn’t take the bait. “You can, but you didn’t,” she told him.
Jane leaned back in his chair, trying to maintain control. “Then tell me Madeleine,” he said. “Why did I come here?”
Hightower leaned back herself, opening a drawer in her desk. “I don’t know for sure,” she admitted. “But I’d imagine it has something to do with this.” She handed him a letter from her desk.
Jane’s heart gave a painful thud. Even without seeing the handwriting on the front, he knew exactly what it said. He’d already received two other copies. Nonetheless, he reached for the familiar letter, feeling the rush of something akin to relief her notes always gave him.
Madeleine was smiling now. It was irritating. “You don’t seem surprised,” she murmured.
Jane frowned. Why was that everyone’s first reaction? Why should he be surprised that Lisbon was writing to him? Of course he and Lisbon were keeping in touch. “I’m not surprised,” he admitted.
“I assume that also means you know what that says,” Hightower prompted.
“I do,” Jane nodded.
“So then that’s not why you needed to come here.”
Jane looked up in surprise. “I didn’t need to come here...”
“Yes, you did,” Hightower interrupted. “You need something. I can see it on your face. “
“You’re reading facial expressions now, Madeleine?” Jane asked, somewhat sarcastically.
“Something like that,” Hightower murmured. “You’re frustrated.”
Jane stared at her. “Of course I’m frustrated!” he exploded.
“Why?” Hightower asked, still maddeningly calm.
“I...” Jane sputtered. “I don’t know!”
Suddenly Hightower smiled.
“I’m glad you find this funny,” Jane grumbled into his tea.
“I’m sorry,” his old boss apologized. “I really am, Jane. I’m just not used to seeing you at a loss.”
“Hmph.”
Hightower sobered. “You really are upset.”
“Of course I’m upset,” he muttered.
“Is it Red John?” she asked softly.
He sighed. “What else would it be?”
She watched him for a moment. “You’re having trouble coming to terms.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Jane admitted. “It’s been months, and I feel like I’m getting nowhere, so I thought maybe, if I talked to people who... who...”
“Who Red John also hurt,” Hightower supplied.
“Yeah,” Jane admitted.
Hightower watched him again. “I’m sorry Jane,” she said after a moment. “I’m not sure how much help I can be there. I’ve put it all behind me. Or, I’ve tried to at least. Mostly I have. I had to, for my kids. I had to get past it. They need their Mom. And I, well, I pretty much picked up and started a new life. I haven’t really reconciled it to the one I had before. I don’t know if that helps.”
“It doesn’t,” Jane replied bluntly.
Hightower paused. “Have you thought about just packing up and moving across the country?” she asked. “Starting again, like I did?”
“Yes,” Jane admitted.
“But you haven’t done it,” Hightower continued.
“No,” Jane confirmed, glancing at the letter in his hands.
Hightower smiled slightly, her suspicions confirmed. “And what does Lisbon think of all this?” she asked lightly.
Jane shrugged. “I haven’t asked her,” he admitted.
“Why not?” Hightower demanded.
“What’s she going to say?” Jane shot back. “She’s thrilled that Red John’s dead. Probably thrilled that she got to be the one to shoot him too.”
Hightower glared at him. “You think she wanted to kill another human being.”
Jane paused, momentarily chastened. “No, not exactly. That’s not quite what I meant.”
“Good,” Hightower said, still glaring.
“I don’t think she’s upset about what happened though,” Jane muttered. “Or the way it happened.”
Hightower just stared. “Yeah, I’d imagine this is Teresa’s ideal outcome,” she said dryly
Jane shrugged, staring mulishly at his cup, unwilling to admit the truth of that statement, even to himself.
In the ensuing silence, Hightower suddenly realized something else. “You’re angry. At her,” she said in something close to surprise.
Jane looked up. “Am I? I don’t know.”
“She killed the man you were supposed to,” Hightower said, trying to treat the conversation like she was a neutral observer, and this was just a kind of a police interview.
Jane reacted with his usual stubbornness, “She knew what I wanted.”
“She saved you from yourself,” Hightower clarified.
That finally made the man across from her angry. “I didn’t ask her to do that! I didn’t want her to do that!” Jane growled, his eyes flashing.
Madeleine looked superior. “Are you sure about that?”
That question stopped Jane’s anger in its tracks, replacing it with shock. “What?”
“If that was really true,” Hightower pointed out. “If you really didn’t want someone to try and save you then you should’ve found yourself another partner years ago.”
Jane’s brain quite literally stalled. “I...”
“Chose her,” Hightower finished bluntly.
“She wasn’t a choice,” Jane corrected, vigorously shaking his head. “I didn’t have a choice. I was assigned to her team by the director of the CBI.”
“In the beginning,” Hightower agreed, letting the implications dangle in the air.
Jane didn’t know quite what to do with those implications. “I...”
“Who are you really angry at Patrick?” Hightower asked, softening. “Do you even know?”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to figure out all these months?” he asked in pure frustration.
Hightower met his eyes evenly and told him the truth. “I don’t think you’ve been trying to figure out anything, Patrick. I think you’ve been avoiding... well, everything, I guess.”
He didn’t reply.
“Look at your letter,” she urged him, gesturing to the piece of paper in his hands.
“I told you, I’ve already read it,” Jane muttered.
Hightower smiled. “Look at it anyway. Read it again. And if you’re going to sort through things, actually sort.”
“Why do you think I came to see you?” Jane demanded.
Her reply was blunt. “You’re lonely.”
Hightower was pleased to see that she’d shocked him again. “What?” he demanded.
“And I’m the next best thing,” she added.
“I need to get everything straight in my head before I see her!” Jane snapped. He did. He absolutely did. He needed to figure stuff out. He couldn’t dump this all on Lisbon. What if he did, and he got too angry, and he... What if it was too much... what if she... what if... It couldn’t happen.
“Did it ever occur to you that she might be part of the reason you can’t get everything straight?” Hightower asked, cutting through his disjointed thoughts. “Did it ever occurred to you that she’s tied up in this?”
Jane flinched and looked away.
Madeleine almost softened again, then she steeled herself. It might hurt, but he needed to hear it. No one else was ever going to tell him. No one else would dare (well, except for Lisbon, had it been any other subject but this). “Have you even asked her about that day, Patrick? Have you asked her why?”
“Ummm…”
“God give me patience,” Hightower muttered under her breath. He was being utterly ridiculous. She suspected the pair of them were. The poor terrified fools. “Patrick, you’re not sorting anything out by this little rambling thing you’ve got going on here. You’re just avoiding.”
“I…”
Hightower overrode his attempt at interrupting. “And unless you want to spend the rest of your life in limbo, you need to figure it out.”
“I don’t know…” he said softly.
“Start with her,” Hightower told him. If she knew Teresa Lisbon, it’d work out. That woman wouldn’t let herself be pushed away, not by him.
Jane was still uncertain. He didn’t deserve to make demands of Lisbon. He didn’t deserve to ask anything of her. It might not work, but it might also be a disaster. So much could go wrong... “But what if…”
“You’ll lose her eventually if you don’t,” Hightower warned.
Jane didn’t answer.
Hightower examined him carefully. “But you know that already, don’t you? Somewhere deep down in that stubborn skull of yours. Has she already started to pull away? Does she seem upset? Are you worried that this limbo isn’t enough for her anymore?”
Jane flinched, ever so slightly.
Hightower reached over and took Lisbon’s letter from him, a small part of her brain snickering when she saw the flash of panic on his face. “She was the one to open the lines of communication. Maybe it’s your turn to take the next step.”
Jane swallowed, reaching for his letter.
Madeleine let him take it. “Just think about it Patrick, for both your sakes.”
He nodded once, before slipping out of her office.
xxx
Title: Long lost (Long last)
Rating: K+
Pairing/Genre: Jane/Lisbon, friendship/romance
Summary: After a case involving obscure hobbies, Jane decides to bring back the long lost art of letter-writing. In spite of his best efforts, he only manages to secure a single correspondant
Chapter 15
xxx
Lisbon’s optimism about her date with Geoff lasted until about midway through the main course. His smile over dinner was just as charming as it had been at Diane’s New Year’s party, and then later in the bread aisle. He’d actually listened to her answers when he asked her questions. He was a very nice guy, really. He’d just moved from New York. He’d told her about living there, told her about his sister who lived in California and was a nurse. He’d talked about his new job. He’d talked about his favourite sports teams (she’d violently disagreed with him on most of them, and they’d gotten into quite the debate as they waited for the waiter to bring them their bill).
They’d had a good time. Well, she had. She assumed he had too. He’d suggested getting together for coffee maybe the next week to continue the argument.
He’d make a great friend. But that was it. That was all it would ever be, at least for the time being.
Luckily, they’d both known it, even if neither of them had said it aloud.
Lisbon had read it clearly in his eyes after he’d kissed her cheek after dinner.
She sighed as she drove back to her condo. She’d been looking forward to the evening too. Not that it had been a total disaster. Good friends were hard to find, and someone to argue with about basketball would always be welcome.
Romance wasn’t something you could force. (Jane could have told her that.)
She guessed it just hadn’t been meant to be. She tried not to be disappointed.
It was just, it would have been so much easier if she had been genuinely attracted to Geoff. But no. She’d suddenly realized about half an hour into dinner that she’d had absolutely no romantic interest in the man sitting opposite her. Because she was just that ridiculous. He’d been practically perfect, and of course, her brain (or maybe her heart) had just yelled NO. It wasn’t fair.
It just wasn’t fair.
And the worst part was, she couldn’t even pretend that she didn’t know why the date hadn’t worked.
She’d told herself she was looking for balance. She’d also told herself she was looking for a distraction.
Distractions only worked for so long.
Lisbon dropped her purse on her couch and stared at the unopened letter on her coffee table. Usually she opened them right when they arrived, but she hadn’t wanted to open this one before getting read y for her date. A clear mind had seemed important.
(And that fact alone made ignorance, even willful ignorance awfully difficult.)
Sighing, Lisbon dropped onto her couch. She figured she might as well read the letter now.
x
Madera, California
Dear Lisbon,
I’m sorry that you’re feeling dissatisfied with your life. Or maybe not dissatisfied. Maybe just restless. I don’t know. Maybe you are dissatisfied. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you for feeling that way. We all feel like that sometimes. I certainly do. Let’s be honest, I’ve been driving around California for months trying to figure out what I want. You’re way ahead of me, if that makes you feel any better. I don’t know if it will, since I’m hardly a good example of mental balance.
But I don’t want to discourage you. I think you absolutely can find some kind of mental balance. I think that joining a club or volunteering is a great idea. I’d suggest a book club, but with your schedule, I’m not sure that anything with deadlines would be ideal. Still, you know best what’ll work for you, so maybe I will throw it out there. Particularly if you can find one that’s particularly low key.
On the other hand, volunteering would probably give you more of a sense of purpose. And you like having a sense of purpose. You do like trying to save the world, Teresa. You definitely like being active and doing things. So maybe that would be more your style?
And I absolutely think that keeping in touch with Annie and Tommy on a regular basis is great. For all three of you. You always seem so happy when you talk about your family, Lisbon. Even when you’re worried about them. You need them. And they need you. I know they do.
It sounds like your New Year’s was more eventful than mine. I just ended up watching the town’s fireworks from my car, parked on a hill outside of town. It was peaceful. I didn’t make any resolutions, but maybe I should. I don’t know if I believe in them, but I also don’t think they’re something you believe in. I agree with you; they’re about trying to be better. I’m not always good at being better, but now, well... now that... Maybe it’s time I give it a try. I’m not entirely sure I’ll be very good at it, unfortunately.
Still, I guess I’ll have to put some thought into what my resolutions might be.
I actually got two letters from you today. It was a good thing I stopped off at the Merced post office as I drove through. I’m glad to see that you were in a better mood in your second letter.
I hope January continues to treat you well, dear. I’ll write again soon, next time with non-holiday related news. I’ll think up something fun to tell you.
Love Jane
x
Lisbon bit her lip.
Jane was making resolutions? What did that even mean? Who knew what his resolutions would be. Try to sleep on a semi-regular basis? Try to figure out half of the chaos floating around in my brain? Try to achieve some measure of peace at the end of the year?
She sighed.
She was in no frame of mind to deal with any of that.
She resolved instead to write him a letter about Rigsby’s attempt to set Cho up on a date with a friend of Sarah’s. It was a pretty funny story. And right now, the lightness would be much easier to deal with.
x
Dear Jane,
I don’t have much to report on the subject of New Year’s resolutions. Unsurprisingly (given the success most people have with resolutions), I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with mine. I can’t decide where to volunteer. Finding a club to join isn’t exactly easy, unless you have something in mind (I will consider a book club though - thanks for that). Although, I did talk to Annie last night, so that’s progress.
So instead of talking to you about my personal life, I thought I’d talk to you about Cho’s.
Before I go any further, I should say that most of my information is second-hand. I heard the main points from Van Pelt, with the odd comment from Cho and/or Rigsby when I asked. It’s a pretty funny story though.
You see, Sarah, it turns out, is a bit of a matchmaker. And she set her eye on Cho. Poor Rigsby just got swept into it all, against his will. What happened was [...]
x
Over the next few weeks, Lisbon found herself getting more and more frustrated in general.
The team had a couple of difficult cases. Bureaucracy got in the way, and Lisbon couldn’t see a way of cutting through it. Everything seemed to take at least twice as long as it should have. She still couldn’t seem to make up her mind about volunteering somewhere. She was half tempted to just storm into the local soup kitchen and offer her services (which wasn’t a half bad idea, actually, now that she thought about it, maybe minus the “storming in” part).
And to make matters worse, Jane had suddenly decided to start driving around California cities in figure eights.
It was just ridiculous.
Lisbon figured it meant that he had something on his mind that he was grappling with, but it was still annoying.
She needed some kind of outlet for her frustrations, and based on his replies, she wasn’t even sure he was getting half of what she was sending his way.
Not that it mattered, as far as her frustrations were concerned, she supposed. Writing the letters themselves was cathartic in its own way, whether Jane got to read the words or not.
Still, something just felt off.
Then came the Timothy Roberts case.
Lisbon wasn’t sure why the case of the missing nineteen year old was affecting her so much. She’d certainly seen much worse over the years, but that didn’t seem to matter.
She’d had a bad feeling about it right from the start. Still, she’d tracked down leads tirelessly with her team, interviewing a suspicious sounding father, and an even more suspicious sounding step-father, not to mention the ex-con living two streets over, only to find that it’d been his college professor. He’d claimed to be in love with the boy, and snapped when Tim rejected him.
The body hadn’t been a pretty sight when they’d found it, buried in the professor’s backyard.
Lisbon had felt sick to her stomach.
She watched her team drag themselves out of the office one by one, sending them off with what she hoped was an encouraging nod. She also hoped they’d find a way of working their way through it.
Then she dragged herself home.
She needed to find a way of working though it herself. She still wasn’t sure why the case had affected her the way it had. Maybe because it had started out as a missing persons, not a murder. That always carried with it an element of hope, hope that the victim might still be alive.
Not Timothy though. He’d already been dead for three days when they found him.
She really needed to work through it all. Not that she had someone to work through it with. She couldn’t even write to Jane about it. He’d requested that their letters be a murder-free zone after all.
Suddenly, Lisbon felt anger welling up inside her at her ex-consultant and her supposed friend.
The jerk. The selfish jerk. Who was he to make all the rules? To make demands? What about what she needed? Or wanted?
She always tried to help, and he... he... Lisbon studiously ignored the brooch currently pinned to her lapel (where it almost always was now).
Angrily, she pulled a piece of paper from her drawer and began to write.
x
Dear Jane,
You asked me not to write about murder in these letters. You asked me to keep them work free. You asked me for a lot of things of me. You always have.
And you know what I’ve decided?
Screw you.
You don’t want to hear about murder? It’s hard for you? Well, you know what? It’s hard for me too. Did you ever think about that? Sometimes my job sucks. Sometimes I want someone to talk to about it all. You know who that person used to be? You. It was always you. God only knows why.
Because today was terrible. There was a missing nineteen year old kid this week. Maybe you heard about it on the news? Or did you turn off the television the second you heard the word murder? Anyway, guess whose team was assigned to that one? Guess who had to tell the kid’s parents that their son wasn’t missing anymore because we’d just found his body in some sicko’s basement? Guess who had to stand there, unflinching and comfort his poor mother, and then support the team in the aftermath? Nothing worse than hoping to find someone alive, only to find a body, after all.
Oh right, it was me. It was all me. Just me.
Alone.
No one asked me if I was okay. No one asked me how I was doing. No one wondered if I wanted to talk.
Quite the opposite really, since you told me not to talk to you about it.
You were the only one I used to be able to talk to about it. The only one I felt like I could talk to about it. The only one...
And the worst part is, I’m not even mad at you. Not really. I just wish you were here. I wish about a million different things, all of them not really fair. Because I know why you’re not here. I know that you’re screwed up. I know that you need time. But I don’t care. Not right now.
I just want someone to talk to. I want to sit on my couch and drink tea, and talk. Or maybe drink tea and not talk.
Instead I’m just upset. At that horrible professor who killed his own student. At my job, for being this overwhelming thing sometimes, and always being the dominant thing in my life. And at you, for being gone, and for not even letting me talk to you.
It’s not fair, but life isn’t fair, is it?
I wish life was fair. I’m sorry that it isn’t.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just wish you were here.
-Lisbon
x
When she was done furiously writing, Lisbon stared at the sheet of paper in front of her, aghast. She immediately folded it up, and shoved it into the back of a drawer. She couldn’t send that. She absolutely couldn’t. Her situation wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t fair to throw it all on Jane, to blame him.
Maybe getting it all down on paper would help her somehow.
Sighing, she took another piece of paper from the drawer and started to write another letter, one of her usual types of letters, full of fun, silly little stories. Stories about the book she was reading, a ridiculous thing that had happened in the break room a few days ago, an update on Annie.
She wasn’t sure it was entirely convincing, or as cheerful as some of her past letters had been, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. In a way it helped just a little, on the surface at least. Maybe that was something.
Lisbon glanced at her map and decided to send it to Jamestown. It might not even matter what she wrote. Jane’s path had been so strange lately; he probably wouldn’t even get it.
He did get it though.
She knew he had, because a few days later, she received a rapidly scrawled note from him in reply.
x
Jamestown, California,
Dear Teresa,
What’s wrong? I just got your letter in Jamestown. The one where you described Wainwright’s reaction to finally being exposed to Gillis’ usual lunchtime ritual.
It’s not right (the letter, not the ritual. The ritual is absolutely accurate, obviously). I know something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but the tone’s just off. Are you alright? What is it? Please tell me.
I’m worried about you.
Send your reply to Jamestown. I’ll wait here until I hear from you.
-Patrick
x
Lisbon stared at the letter in her hand, wondering what to do. After a second, she walked across the room, and pulled her original letter from the drawer where she’d hidden it. With trembling hands and a thumping heart, she folded it into an envelope.
Taking a blank sheet of paper from the same drawer, she added a short explanatory note.
x
Dear Jane,
Enclosed is the original letter I wrote you on the day that I sent you my re-write, the one that you rightly called not genuine. There was something wrong; I just didn’t want to tell you what it was. I didn’t know how to tell you, really. You’ll see why. I’m sending you the real letter now. I’m sorry. I was upset. I don’t even know if I meant it all, or what I meant, or... well, here it is.
Make of it what you will.
-L
x
Lisbon resolutely sealed and addressed the letter, sending it on its way. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she couldn’t say that she regretted sending it.
Not entirely.
She just hoped he understood
A few days later, Lisbon found another letter at her condo. It wasn’t quite the one she’d been expecting though.
The first surprise was that it arrived tucked inside a bouquet of purplish-blue violets. The second surprise was its message
x
Dear Lisbon,
Don’t apologize for your letter. Don’t. I deserved every word. I did. And I’d rather get that type of letter, the *real* letter, than have you try and shield me from things. I can’t guarantee that I’ll react well, not right away at least. But I still want to see how you really feel. I’m realizing that I need to start facing things head on. Well, okay, technically Madeleine told me that I need to start facing things head on. I’ve always known it, but I guess I just needed someone to hit me over the head with that fact.
Madeleine can be good at that.
I visited her a few days ago, by the way. She sends her love. She gave me your letter. It’s the third copy of it that I’ve received (the other was from my old motel in Sacramento when I was passing through a few months ago, and then obviously I got a copy from Pete and Sam). It makes me wonder how many other copies are floating around out there as a testament to you tenacity, and your loyalty.
Anyway, that’s not the point right now. The point is that I... Well, I want to try to actually deal with some things.
So I have a favour to ask of you. I know I don’t deserve one, but I’m going to ask anyway, and count on your generosity and that loyalty I mentioned earlier.
I need you to tell me why you did it. Why you shot Red John that day. I mean, I *know* why you did it, intellectually at least. But I think I need to hear it in your words.
Please. Please tell me. Really lay into me if you want to, just like you did in that last letter. It’s what I want. I think it’s even what I need.
I’m heading south, if you decide this is something you can give me.
Thank you,
-Jane
P.S. Feel free to yell at me some more in your letter as well, if that makes you feel any better. Or feel free to tell me about your day, or your cases, or the murders. It wasn’t fair of me to declare our letters a murder-free zone. To be honest, I’d forgotten that I had. I didn’t realize you were still censoring yourself. I’m so sorry. If you need to talk about that, or get it off your chest, or just, whatever. I officially retract that restriction. Let me at least be your sounding board.
I’m sorry again. I’m trying to be better. I really am. I’m trying to face my deficiencies now.
x
Lisbon stared at the piece of paper in her hand. She glanced at her violets and took a deep breath, trying to pull strength from the fact that he’d sent them at all. Then, she walked slowly to the kitchen table and pulled out a piece of paper. She sat, just looking at it for several minutes, planning out what she was going to write.
She’d do what he asked. It would be difficult, more so for him than for her probably, but she’d do it.
It was what they both needed. It was what they’d always needed. They’d just been putting it off.
It couldn’t be put off any longer.
Gritting her teeth, Lisbon steeled herself and began to write.
xxx
TBC
Oh look! Another deleted scene!
Delete Scene #4: I almost put this after the next chapter, even though chronologically it goes here, then I decided, whatever. I’ll leave it. It’s written (for the better part of a week it was the only part of the chapter that was, to my great annoyance). I hope you enjoy.
xxx
Jane couldn’t quite believe where he was sitting. He’d driven here himself, but he still couldn’t quite believe it.
He was sitting across from Madeleine Hightower in her office, dunking a tea bag into his tea, pretending to ignore the fact that she was staring at him.
“So, Patrick,” she said after a moment. “You never did tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I can’t just drop by for a visit?” Jane asked.
Hightower didn’t take the bait. “You can, but you didn’t,” she told him.
Jane leaned back in his chair, trying to maintain control. “Then tell me Madeleine,” he said. “Why did I come here?”
Hightower leaned back herself, opening a drawer in her desk. “I don’t know for sure,” she admitted. “But I’d imagine it has something to do with this.” She handed him a letter from her desk.
Jane’s heart gave a painful thud. Even without seeing the handwriting on the front, he knew exactly what it said. He’d already received two other copies. Nonetheless, he reached for the familiar letter, feeling the rush of something akin to relief her notes always gave him.
Madeleine was smiling now. It was irritating. “You don’t seem surprised,” she murmured.
Jane frowned. Why was that everyone’s first reaction? Why should he be surprised that Lisbon was writing to him? Of course he and Lisbon were keeping in touch. “I’m not surprised,” he admitted.
“I assume that also means you know what that says,” Hightower prompted.
“I do,” Jane nodded.
“So then that’s not why you needed to come here.”
Jane looked up in surprise. “I didn’t need to come here...”
“Yes, you did,” Hightower interrupted. “You need something. I can see it on your face. “
“You’re reading facial expressions now, Madeleine?” Jane asked, somewhat sarcastically.
“Something like that,” Hightower murmured. “You’re frustrated.”
Jane stared at her. “Of course I’m frustrated!” he exploded.
“Why?” Hightower asked, still maddeningly calm.
“I...” Jane sputtered. “I don’t know!”
Suddenly Hightower smiled.
“I’m glad you find this funny,” Jane grumbled into his tea.
“I’m sorry,” his old boss apologized. “I really am, Jane. I’m just not used to seeing you at a loss.”
“Hmph.”
Hightower sobered. “You really are upset.”
“Of course I’m upset,” he muttered.
“Is it Red John?” she asked softly.
He sighed. “What else would it be?”
She watched him for a moment. “You’re having trouble coming to terms.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Jane admitted. “It’s been months, and I feel like I’m getting nowhere, so I thought maybe, if I talked to people who... who...”
“Who Red John also hurt,” Hightower supplied.
“Yeah,” Jane admitted.
Hightower watched him again. “I’m sorry Jane,” she said after a moment. “I’m not sure how much help I can be there. I’ve put it all behind me. Or, I’ve tried to at least. Mostly I have. I had to, for my kids. I had to get past it. They need their Mom. And I, well, I pretty much picked up and started a new life. I haven’t really reconciled it to the one I had before. I don’t know if that helps.”
“It doesn’t,” Jane replied bluntly.
Hightower paused. “Have you thought about just packing up and moving across the country?” she asked. “Starting again, like I did?”
“Yes,” Jane admitted.
“But you haven’t done it,” Hightower continued.
“No,” Jane confirmed, glancing at the letter in his hands.
Hightower smiled slightly, her suspicions confirmed. “And what does Lisbon think of all this?” she asked lightly.
Jane shrugged. “I haven’t asked her,” he admitted.
“Why not?” Hightower demanded.
“What’s she going to say?” Jane shot back. “She’s thrilled that Red John’s dead. Probably thrilled that she got to be the one to shoot him too.”
Hightower glared at him. “You think she wanted to kill another human being.”
Jane paused, momentarily chastened. “No, not exactly. That’s not quite what I meant.”
“Good,” Hightower said, still glaring.
“I don’t think she’s upset about what happened though,” Jane muttered. “Or the way it happened.”
Hightower just stared. “Yeah, I’d imagine this is Teresa’s ideal outcome,” she said dryly
Jane shrugged, staring mulishly at his cup, unwilling to admit the truth of that statement, even to himself.
In the ensuing silence, Hightower suddenly realized something else. “You’re angry. At her,” she said in something close to surprise.
Jane looked up. “Am I? I don’t know.”
“She killed the man you were supposed to,” Hightower said, trying to treat the conversation like she was a neutral observer, and this was just a kind of a police interview.
Jane reacted with his usual stubbornness, “She knew what I wanted.”
“She saved you from yourself,” Hightower clarified.
That finally made the man across from her angry. “I didn’t ask her to do that! I didn’t want her to do that!” Jane growled, his eyes flashing.
Madeleine looked superior. “Are you sure about that?”
That question stopped Jane’s anger in its tracks, replacing it with shock. “What?”
“If that was really true,” Hightower pointed out. “If you really didn’t want someone to try and save you then you should’ve found yourself another partner years ago.”
Jane’s brain quite literally stalled. “I...”
“Chose her,” Hightower finished bluntly.
“She wasn’t a choice,” Jane corrected, vigorously shaking his head. “I didn’t have a choice. I was assigned to her team by the director of the CBI.”
“In the beginning,” Hightower agreed, letting the implications dangle in the air.
Jane didn’t know quite what to do with those implications. “I...”
“Who are you really angry at Patrick?” Hightower asked, softening. “Do you even know?”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to figure out all these months?” he asked in pure frustration.
Hightower met his eyes evenly and told him the truth. “I don’t think you’ve been trying to figure out anything, Patrick. I think you’ve been avoiding... well, everything, I guess.”
He didn’t reply.
“Look at your letter,” she urged him, gesturing to the piece of paper in his hands.
“I told you, I’ve already read it,” Jane muttered.
Hightower smiled. “Look at it anyway. Read it again. And if you’re going to sort through things, actually sort.”
“Why do you think I came to see you?” Jane demanded.
Her reply was blunt. “You’re lonely.”
Hightower was pleased to see that she’d shocked him again. “What?” he demanded.
“And I’m the next best thing,” she added.
“I need to get everything straight in my head before I see her!” Jane snapped. He did. He absolutely did. He needed to figure stuff out. He couldn’t dump this all on Lisbon. What if he did, and he got too angry, and he... What if it was too much... what if she... what if... It couldn’t happen.
“Did it ever occur to you that she might be part of the reason you can’t get everything straight?” Hightower asked, cutting through his disjointed thoughts. “Did it ever occurred to you that she’s tied up in this?”
Jane flinched and looked away.
Madeleine almost softened again, then she steeled herself. It might hurt, but he needed to hear it. No one else was ever going to tell him. No one else would dare (well, except for Lisbon, had it been any other subject but this). “Have you even asked her about that day, Patrick? Have you asked her why?”
“Ummm…”
“God give me patience,” Hightower muttered under her breath. He was being utterly ridiculous. She suspected the pair of them were. The poor terrified fools. “Patrick, you’re not sorting anything out by this little rambling thing you’ve got going on here. You’re just avoiding.”
“I…”
Hightower overrode his attempt at interrupting. “And unless you want to spend the rest of your life in limbo, you need to figure it out.”
“I don’t know…” he said softly.
“Start with her,” Hightower told him. If she knew Teresa Lisbon, it’d work out. That woman wouldn’t let herself be pushed away, not by him.
Jane was still uncertain. He didn’t deserve to make demands of Lisbon. He didn’t deserve to ask anything of her. It might not work, but it might also be a disaster. So much could go wrong... “But what if…”
“You’ll lose her eventually if you don’t,” Hightower warned.
Jane didn’t answer.
Hightower examined him carefully. “But you know that already, don’t you? Somewhere deep down in that stubborn skull of yours. Has she already started to pull away? Does she seem upset? Are you worried that this limbo isn’t enough for her anymore?”
Jane flinched, ever so slightly.
Hightower reached over and took Lisbon’s letter from him, a small part of her brain snickering when she saw the flash of panic on his face. “She was the one to open the lines of communication. Maybe it’s your turn to take the next step.”
Jane swallowed, reaching for his letter.
Madeleine let him take it. “Just think about it Patrick, for both your sakes.”
He nodded once, before slipping out of her office.
xxx