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grenegomeTitle: Aftermath (6/6)
“Son of a bitch!” Roars Bosco, who is now standing over Jane. Mutely, Jane holds out the piece of paper he had liberated from John’s pocket, and then scrambles into the corridor.
He thinks John went left, which is away from the main doors, and he staggers that way. The knock to the head won’t be shaken away, and he keeps close company with the wall as he moves forward. He isn’t the most stereotypically masculine of men, but he refuses to faint like a Victorian heroine right now.
He can feel a breeze.
He rounds the corner in time to see a fire escape swinging shut, and nearly topples over getting to it.
Outside, on the street, there is silence.
“John!” He yells. “Don’t you want to finish what you started?” He props himself up against the brickwork. His legs buckle. He realises he is not wearing shoes.
A car roars around the corner and he stands up, braces himself. It’s Bosco’s car.
When it stops, he clambers in.
“Lost him.” He offered, helplessly.
“My house.” Bosco spat. “He’s got my wife at my own fucking house.”
“He won’t have time to return. He can’t hurt her now, it’s too risky.”
“I know. Security’s calling it in. We’ll have cops everywhere in ten minutes.”
But Bosco doesn’t let up on the accelerator. Jane approves, and slumps silently against his seat belt as adrenaline starts to work his body over. He may start shaking.
“Thank you.” Bosco says into the silence.
“What?” Jane asks, puzzled.
“Look, I don’t have a damn clue what the etiquette is for these situations, so just accept my thanks and shut up.”
“I think Minelli covered the part where you aren’t supposed to shout at me. Do you have mints? I’d appreciate mints.”
“…mints?” Bosco asks, distracted by the red light they just ran.
“Yes. My mouth tastes of latex and synthetic cherries.”
“Check the glove box.”
He sticks the mints in his mouth, and wishes for his cell phone, which is in the pocket of his suit on Bosco’s floor.
“Is someone calling Lisbon?”
“If they value their lives. She’s been an unholy terror since…”
“Last time he assaulted me.”
“Yeah. I can’t believe you bit him. I hope the bastard’s dick falls off.”
Bosco seems to swear a lot when under stress. Jane presumes he has other coping mechanisms when at work.
“Can you use a gun?” Bosco asks, as he swings them around a corner.
“No. Don’t give me one. I’m better as a distraction.”
“When we wrap this up, I’m teaching you. And we’re getting you a license.”
Jane imagines his future, full of Bosco and Rigsby and Cho insisting he learn the kind of skills he had never wanted to master. But then he remembers John’s fist in his face, and his own clench. It isn’t too much to ask of himself, that he learn another kind of strength.
He’d presumed, actually, to incapacitate Red John as part of a trick, a con. Coming across him unexpectedly and shooting him in the head was somewhat out of character, but he wouldn’t object. He’d like John to see his face before he pulls the trigger, for John to realize that his actions have driven Jane’s people to train him and arm him. Yes, he can cope with that.
“We’ll discuss it.”
And then they’re screeching to a halt, mounting the curb in the process. Bosco is out, gun drawn.
Jane chases after him. Red John won’t be here, but he has been, and so Jane needs to see.
Bosco’s hand fumbles the key in the lock, so Jane takes it, and Bosco shoulders past him as the door opens. The house is dark, and silent.
“Sarah!” Bosco yells.
“Your bedroom, check your bedroom.”
He’s hard on Bosco’s heels again, and stampedes up the stairs, following him into the room.
The dark figure on the bed nearly turns his stomach, but when Sam hits the lights, he sees Sarah Bosco lift her head, wide eyed with relief. He smiles madly.
Bosco is by her, untying her hands from the headboard, pulling a tie from her mouth, and clutching at her desperately.
“Oh God, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
It’s probably a husband and wife moment he shouldn’t interrupt, but he very much needs to sit down now. He perches on the foot of the bed, and then flops backwards.
“Patrick.” He hears, and he lifts his head to see Sarah staring at him from where she is held against Bosco’s chest. “You look terrible.”
He flashes an easy smile at her.
“I’ve had better days. And worse, actually. Are you hurt?”
“No. No. But he kept telling me what he’d do to me, what he’d do to Sam, if you didn’t, if you wouldn’t – Oh God. I’d have killed him for you, if I could.”
He beams at her, approving. He understands how Bosco can be half in love with Lisbon, but he is still an idiot to be distracted from his wife.
“Thank you.”
And then there are lots of other people in the room. CBI, and uniforms, all loud and large with their body armour and guns. Jane raises his hands, because most of the faces are unfamiliar. Getting shot at this stage in the day would be humiliating.
Outside, the paramedics irritate him by shining lights into his eyes. ‘Repeated head trauma’ makes it sound so debilitating, but he’s fairly sure he doesn’t have a concussion.
“I’ll just borrow him for a moment.” Bosco has appeared by his elbow, and is tugging him away, ignoring the protests of the paramedics.
They’re out of earshot of everyone when Bosco draws to a halt.
“Jane. What Sarah said?”
“Yes?”
“If you need help, when the time comes. I’m your man.”
Jane lets the surprise show on his face. It’s an effective way of conveying his gratitude.
He doesn’t have time to respond, because Teresa Lisbon is bearing down on him.
“Jane?” She asks, spotting that something has passed between the two of them. But it is Bosco that answers.
“It’s nothing. I’m just offering to kill a man for him.”
She nods, as if this is an entirely civil conversation to be having, and then looks up at Jane quietly.
“Yes.” She says.
Jane smiles. He hasn’t lost this round. He hasn’t won, either, because Red John is still breathing, but he looks at Lisbon, at her tightly coiled purpose, and he looks at Bosco, anger flooding in and out of him with every breath. He observes their stances, leaning towards him ever so slightly. Yes. He can work with this.
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 Two Three Four Five“Son of a bitch!” Roars Bosco, who is now standing over Jane. Mutely, Jane holds out the piece of paper he had liberated from John’s pocket, and then scrambles into the corridor.
He thinks John went left, which is away from the main doors, and he staggers that way. The knock to the head won’t be shaken away, and he keeps close company with the wall as he moves forward. He isn’t the most stereotypically masculine of men, but he refuses to faint like a Victorian heroine right now.
He can feel a breeze.
He rounds the corner in time to see a fire escape swinging shut, and nearly topples over getting to it.
Outside, on the street, there is silence.
“John!” He yells. “Don’t you want to finish what you started?” He props himself up against the brickwork. His legs buckle. He realises he is not wearing shoes.
A car roars around the corner and he stands up, braces himself. It’s Bosco’s car.
When it stops, he clambers in.
“Lost him.” He offered, helplessly.
“My house.” Bosco spat. “He’s got my wife at my own fucking house.”
“He won’t have time to return. He can’t hurt her now, it’s too risky.”
“I know. Security’s calling it in. We’ll have cops everywhere in ten minutes.”
But Bosco doesn’t let up on the accelerator. Jane approves, and slumps silently against his seat belt as adrenaline starts to work his body over. He may start shaking.
“Thank you.” Bosco says into the silence.
“What?” Jane asks, puzzled.
“Look, I don’t have a damn clue what the etiquette is for these situations, so just accept my thanks and shut up.”
“I think Minelli covered the part where you aren’t supposed to shout at me. Do you have mints? I’d appreciate mints.”
“…mints?” Bosco asks, distracted by the red light they just ran.
“Yes. My mouth tastes of latex and synthetic cherries.”
“Check the glove box.”
He sticks the mints in his mouth, and wishes for his cell phone, which is in the pocket of his suit on Bosco’s floor.
“Is someone calling Lisbon?”
“If they value their lives. She’s been an unholy terror since…”
“Last time he assaulted me.”
“Yeah. I can’t believe you bit him. I hope the bastard’s dick falls off.”
Bosco seems to swear a lot when under stress. Jane presumes he has other coping mechanisms when at work.
“Can you use a gun?” Bosco asks, as he swings them around a corner.
“No. Don’t give me one. I’m better as a distraction.”
“When we wrap this up, I’m teaching you. And we’re getting you a license.”
Jane imagines his future, full of Bosco and Rigsby and Cho insisting he learn the kind of skills he had never wanted to master. But then he remembers John’s fist in his face, and his own clench. It isn’t too much to ask of himself, that he learn another kind of strength.
He’d presumed, actually, to incapacitate Red John as part of a trick, a con. Coming across him unexpectedly and shooting him in the head was somewhat out of character, but he wouldn’t object. He’d like John to see his face before he pulls the trigger, for John to realize that his actions have driven Jane’s people to train him and arm him. Yes, he can cope with that.
“We’ll discuss it.”
And then they’re screeching to a halt, mounting the curb in the process. Bosco is out, gun drawn.
Jane chases after him. Red John won’t be here, but he has been, and so Jane needs to see.
Bosco’s hand fumbles the key in the lock, so Jane takes it, and Bosco shoulders past him as the door opens. The house is dark, and silent.
“Sarah!” Bosco yells.
“Your bedroom, check your bedroom.”
He’s hard on Bosco’s heels again, and stampedes up the stairs, following him into the room.
The dark figure on the bed nearly turns his stomach, but when Sam hits the lights, he sees Sarah Bosco lift her head, wide eyed with relief. He smiles madly.
Bosco is by her, untying her hands from the headboard, pulling a tie from her mouth, and clutching at her desperately.
“Oh God, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
It’s probably a husband and wife moment he shouldn’t interrupt, but he very much needs to sit down now. He perches on the foot of the bed, and then flops backwards.
“Patrick.” He hears, and he lifts his head to see Sarah staring at him from where she is held against Bosco’s chest. “You look terrible.”
He flashes an easy smile at her.
“I’ve had better days. And worse, actually. Are you hurt?”
“No. No. But he kept telling me what he’d do to me, what he’d do to Sam, if you didn’t, if you wouldn’t – Oh God. I’d have killed him for you, if I could.”
He beams at her, approving. He understands how Bosco can be half in love with Lisbon, but he is still an idiot to be distracted from his wife.
“Thank you.”
And then there are lots of other people in the room. CBI, and uniforms, all loud and large with their body armour and guns. Jane raises his hands, because most of the faces are unfamiliar. Getting shot at this stage in the day would be humiliating.
Outside, the paramedics irritate him by shining lights into his eyes. ‘Repeated head trauma’ makes it sound so debilitating, but he’s fairly sure he doesn’t have a concussion.
“I’ll just borrow him for a moment.” Bosco has appeared by his elbow, and is tugging him away, ignoring the protests of the paramedics.
They’re out of earshot of everyone when Bosco draws to a halt.
“Jane. What Sarah said?”
“Yes?”
“If you need help, when the time comes. I’m your man.”
Jane lets the surprise show on his face. It’s an effective way of conveying his gratitude.
He doesn’t have time to respond, because Teresa Lisbon is bearing down on him.
“Jane?” She asks, spotting that something has passed between the two of them. But it is Bosco that answers.
“It’s nothing. I’m just offering to kill a man for him.”
She nods, as if this is an entirely civil conversation to be having, and then looks up at Jane quietly.
“Yes.” She says.
Jane smiles. He hasn’t lost this round. He hasn’t won, either, because Red John is still breathing, but he looks at Lisbon, at her tightly coiled purpose, and he looks at Bosco, anger flooding in and out of him with every breath. He observes their stances, leaning towards him ever so slightly. Yes. He can work with this.
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Date: 2010-11-10 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-10 11:08 pm (UTC)