the Mentalist fic. Red John/Jane NC-17 (2/6)

[grenegome]

Title: Aftermath (2/6)

Rating: NC-17 (Deals with non-con)

Warnings: Non-con, slight violence, swearing. If you have any questions about the nature of the fic before deciding to read it, I'm happy to answer them.

Pairing: Red John/Jane, team gen.

Notes: This is a sequel to the Red John/Jane fic I posted at the Mentalist kink meme here. That fic also deals with non-con. This will make more sense if you read that first. Also, if anyone has suggestions for a decent title, hit me. I suck at titles.

Summary: After Red John's holiday is over, Jane and his team pick up the pieces.
Previous Parts: One

 

He tells parts of it with his eyes closed, pretending that he is struggling to recall details. He isn’t. He just doesn’t want to see what the story is doing to Lisbon. The others will probably read the transcript later. He wonders if Grace will cry again. She will pray for him, certainly. Silly requests to angels and ministers of grace that he has no use for, not with Lisbon sat opposite him with her steady voice and constant presence.

 

They wrap up, and Jane plans to wander off in search of tea, but Lisbon accompanies him all the way to the kitchen, where Cho and Rigsby are sat, discussing, of all things, baseball. How gloriously normal. Lisbon seems content to release him into their custody and he sits with his tea, not pretending to understand their conversation, and not derailing it as he usually would.

 

When Rigsby realises that no, Jane has absolutely no comprehension of the scoring system, and begins to try and explain it with packets of sugar and a pepper pot, Jane discovers that he is uncomfortable in his chair. He shifts, and catches a yell in his throat when pain lances through him.

 

Cho and Rigsby watch him silently.

 

“You need to tell us when you’re better.” Rigsby babbles suddenly. Cho glares at him.

 

“What? I’m fine.”

 

“Me and Cho were talking, and we’re going to teach you how to fight.”

 

Jane stares at them. It is not often they manage to surprise him like this. He gets his game face back, smiles at them disarmingly, and shakes his head.

 

“No, but thank you for the offer.” He doesn’t attempt things he’s bad at. There aren’t many of them, but violence, as well as being clumsy, crude and distasteful, is one of the few things at which he is genuinely incompetent. 

 

Cho shakes his head curtly. “It isn’t a request. We’ll petition Minelli until he makes it mandatory training. You should have had some before now.”

 

He looks at them. They look at him, their concern and regard telegraphing clearly, even from Cho whose signals are usually so muted.

 

“Mmm. Let’s go sit on my sofa to discuss this. I’m not letting the two of you beat me up on a regular basis out of misplaced concern.”

 

“That’s not how you teach-”, Cho begins, but Rigsby breaks in: “You want us to sit on your sofa?” He sounds panicked.

 

“Yes. The end is nigh. Along with hellfire and rivers of blood, sharing furniture is a sign of the apocalypse. It’s comfier, come on.” 

 

They troop behind him into the office, and pile onto the couch. Jane again is in the middle. Grace watches them from where she types at her desk. There is no room for her, but Jane would like her closer. He doesn’t think she would agree to sit on Rigsby’s lap. Not in the office.

 

He leans back and closes his eyes, breathes out. He had come over here to argue, but the urge had been blunted by his team-mates’ quiet presence. No, they wouldn’t hurt him. And he had been so utterly useless in Red John’s hands, so pliant and pitiful. The mechanics of actually subduing Red John had always been absent from his revenge fantasies. They seem confident they can teach him. Perhaps they can.

 

“Uh, Mr Jane?” A clerk stands before him holding a parcel. Cho takes it from him, clearly unwilling to let the young man step any closer, and hands it to Jane. “Thank you. And it’s just Jane please, like the girl.”

 

He unwraps it, thoughtlessly, because half his mind is still caught up in his bedroom, kicking and crying. It is a jewellery box. He opens it, to see his wedding band glinting up at him.

 

“Oh.” He says. There is a card.

 

Dear Patrick, it says, I had a delightful holiday. I meant to leave this with you, as I am not in the habit of keeping mementos, but as it happens, you are quite distracting. I hope this reaches you safely, and in future I will send more appropriate tokens of my regard.

 

It is signed with a smiley face.

 

“Oh.” He repeats.

 

Cho stands up. “I’ll get Lisbon, and call forensics. Rigsby?”

 

“I got him.” Cho strides off, and Rigsby clearly isn’t planning to move.

 

Jane slips the ring back where it belongs.

 

“Hey man.” Rigsby says carefully. “I’m not sure you should-”

 

“Shut up.” Jane counts his breaths in, and out, struggling to stay out of the bedroom where he was pinned down and fucked relentlessly. It is difficult, but as he digs his fingers into the leather of his couch he can feel himself settling back into the present. Yes, safe. He is here, and now.

 

But then Bosco is in front of him, startled looking forensic technician trailing behind, and he isn’t safe at all. He’s the boy who cried wolf, and he’s about to get eaten up.

 

“Give Hayden the ring, Jane.”

 

He stands, unsteady.

 

“You can’t have it.” He says, remembering his kitchen, and a blow to the face. It is hard to focus on Bosco.

 

And then the man catches hold of his wrist, his bandaged wrist, and is thrusting his hand towards the rubber-gloved technician. Too much. Jane cannot breathe at all, and his knees buckle as he pulls away frantically but he isn’t strong enough. He collapses back onto the sofa with Bosco still in possession of his clenched fist, and he cannot hear his own frantic, “No-no-no-no-no.”

 

And then he has his hand back.

 

Bosco is on the floor. His nose is bleeding. Rigsby stands above him, grim faced. 

 

“You don’t touch him. Ever, again. You understand?”

 

And then Lisbon walks into the delightful tableaux, Cho right behind her.

 

“Sam. Out. You come in my offices again without my permission and it’ll be worse than a bloody nose.”

 

“Uh. This was partly my fault.” Jane says, but it comes out slightly strange. He might be crying. He shouldn’t cry in public. Why is he helping Bosco? He doesn’t like Bosco.

 

“Jane.” Lisbon says calmly. “Forensics would like to borrow your ring for a day, and the box it came in. I promise you’ll get it back. Can you hand it to him?”

 

“Yes.” Jane says, because that made sense. He did, and the panicked looking technician bolted. Bosco staggered out after him.

 

“Alright. Jane, you want to come sit in my office?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Right then. Come on.”

 

Teresa gives him more tea. Jane thinks this might be one of the things tea can’t fix, but he doesn’t comment.

 

“Apparently forensics want to keep hold of your house for a couple of days.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“I was wondering if you’d like to get very drunk tonight, and then sleep on my sofa.”

 

Jane is thrown off balance by Lisbon, of all people, offering alcohol as a crutch.

 

“Uhm. Are you drinking too?”

 

“A little. But Rigsby will be drinking a lot, and he needs someone to keep pace with him. You can call it an experiment in male bonding.”

 

“If I keep pace with Rigsby, I’ll end up under the table.”

 

He considers the idea. Remembers his first thought upon waking, and recalls that alcohol suppresses REM sleep. It will just be once, under the supervision of people he trusts.

 

“Yes. I’m going to need a fresh shirt for tomorrow.”

 

“We can hit the mall over lunch.”

 

 

 

 

It is Rigsby’s third beer before he finally buries his head in his hands and bewails his fate.

 

“I punched a senior agent. In the face.”

 

Jane and Van Pelt nod their agreement. Cho claps him on the back.

 

“I’m sure it was a good shot, man. Beautiful,”

 

Lisbon returns with her round.

 

“What are we talking about?”

 

“My knight in shining armour”, Jane grinned.

 

“Oh hush. Bosco and I are busy pretending none of this ever happened.”

 

“Ohthankgod.” Rigsby mumbles into his hands, and there is a general round of laughter. The conversation moves on from there, as his team trot out the highlights of the greatest moments of insubordination they have witnessed during their time in law enforcement. Jane enjoys the topic, and the alcohol has a warm hold on him. He sinks into their companionship easily, and doesn’t think of his split lip or bruised cheek. The other aches in his body register less the more he drinks.

 

He leans against Lisbon’s doorframe, giggling, as she pats at her pockets for a key. She’d drunk more than she’d intended, and Cho had had to drop them both off, failing to raise an eyebrow when Jane scrambled out after Lisbon.

 

She drops the key, and they both dive after it. This seems to be the funniest thing in the world, ever, and they end up sitting on the doorstep, laughing until it hurts. Jane is not used to being so out of control. He wonders if this is what a conventional adolescence would have felt like.

 

They get the door open eventually, and Lisbon locks it again, turning to push Jane towards the sofa. He baulks.

 

She looks from the sofa, to him, to the door. “Too close?” She asks, and he nods, remembering a cloth over his face in the night. “Yeah. Ok. Bedroom, you better not snore.”

 

They make it to her bed, and Patrick falls onto it whilst trying to get his shoes off. He’s pretty sure that would have hurt him if he were sober. Lisbon grabs his ankles and pulls the shoes off without untying the laces. The socks follow. “The rest is up to you”, she announces, and then grabs sleep clothes from a drawer before disappearing into the bathroom.

 

Patrick rarely undresses for sleep any more. He sleeps in snatches, fully suited, on sofas, at strange times. Last night, Red John had forced a warped version of normality on him, drugged and pyjamaed in a freshly made bed. He suddenly, desperately, wants to reclaim that for himself. He strips himself down to his boxers and crawls beneath the sheets. The heavy press of drink forces his eyes closed, but he clings to consciousness until he feels a weight dip the mattress next to him.

 

“Night.” Lisbon mumbles.

 

“Night.” He says, and slips away.

 

 

 

It’s a work day, so he wakes to the sound of Lisbon’s alarm, and Lisbon’s cursing.

 

“Off, off, turn it off.”

 

He echoes the sentiment. The noise hurts. His skull feels too small, and the beeping is bouncing around inside it. He whacks the bedside table until the alarm submits and shuts up. Then he pulls the covers over his head.

 

He feels Lisbon leave the bed. Moments later, she is back.

 

“Jane. Jane. Come up for air.”

 

He surfaces warily. Lisbon is offering orange juice and little white pills that are probably aspirin. His gratitude knows no bounds.

 

He sits up and takes them from her, knocking the pills back with an easy swallow.

 

“That’s a very pretty nightie.” It is, and the correct term would be negligee. It’s silky, and lacy, and very Not Lisbon. 

 

She flicks his ear. “Ow.”

 

“Everything else is in the wash. Are you even wearing anything?”

 

“Hopefully, my underwear.” He looks under the covers. “Yes, we’re safe.”

 

She drops a bathrobe on his head. “Breakfast. Come on. We have to be in work in an hour.”

 

It comes to mid thigh when he puts it on. 

 

 

She drives them both to work. Jane looks thoroughly disreputable, because clean shirt aside, his suit had very obviously spent the evening crumpled on the floor. 

 

Breakfast had gone a long way towards soaking up his hangover, but he’s still looking forward to his couch, and a few more hours of sleep.

 

But when they get in, Minelli is waiting for them. They have a case, and after a rather brief briefing, are in the car again.

 

Jane wakes up when they reach the Hallingden’s house. His head is resting on Van Pelt’s shoulder. He hopes he hasn’t dribbled on her. It would erode his mystique.

 

The case is boring, and over quite rapidly when Jane trips the husband into an admission of adultery. It takes very little effort, and the whole tenuous façade of lies comes tumbling down around his head. 

 

They drive back again, milling into the office whilst debating if such an open and shut case merits case-closed pizza, or if that would be an unjustified number of calories. Jane and Rigsby are pro-pizza, Cho and Van Pelt against, and Lisbon is temporarily withholding judgement.

 

There are flowers on Jane’s desk. He scoops them up, and walks out.

Next Part

 

 

Comments

[oroburos69.livejournal.com]

I love the ways the team tries to protect Jane, how he wants them all close to him. The scene with the ring is really powerful, and reminds the reader that Jane's opinion aside, he really isn't unaffected by this.

Him having a sleep over with Lisbon-it's like you invaded my mind, saw my ideas, and made them even better. It's a tiny piece of humor that only drives home the pain of this all over again.