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draco-tyler-mikes-paramour · 3 years

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It all worked out in the end :)

warnings: fluff, implications and mentions of sex, severe bullying, fluff, angst (season 1&2 spencer before and after flashback

‘Spence! Are you ready baby?’ You called to your husband from the hotel bedroom, as you adjusted your earrings in the mirror and flattened out your satin dress. He wandered out of the bathroom looking as dashing as ever. He had on his classic sweater vest and his hair in a sweet side parting. ‘Y/N you look beautiful but do we have to go? I really hate those guys.’ he huffed as he walked towards you. You sighed and adjusted his collar ‘Spence I haven’t seen Bethany and all the other girls in so long. It’d be nice to catch up with them. It’s been 9 years since we were a cheer squad. Besides, I already RSVP’d Bethany saying we’d go.’

He rolled his eyes ‘Oh great.. Bethany Fox. Are Harper Hillman and Alexa Lisbon gonna be there too? How about Bret the entire football team?’ you cupped his cheek ‘I know high school was horrible for you but I will be right there with you okay? Alexa and Harper were nasty bitches and Bret was a complete dick. I know it wasn’t easy being two years above the rest of us and in a class with nasty seniors. But look, we’re gonna be in a room with 25 to 27 years olds and i’m sure people have matured. Just give it a chance. And if anyone gives you crap i’ll personally kick their ass.’ he nodded and you pulled him in for a long kiss. ‘I love you Dr Spencer Reid.’ he smiled ‘I love you too Mrs Reid.’

10 years earlier:

Spencer sat in the library reading a rather hefty book titled ‘black holes and time warps.’ He knew all the content for his English final and took a break to indulge in his favourite thing: physics books. Being the smartest kid in the school, actually probably the smartest 16 year old in the whole of Vegas, was not something to be proud of in high school. He pushed his chunky brown-rimmed glasses further on his face and straightened out his sweater vest before turning a page in his book. You and the girls had walked into the library from cheer practice, needing to study for your Algebra class. You spotted Spencer as the girls were scanning the isle. Alexa laughed at you ‘Oh please Y/N, tell me you’re not thinking about going over there and talking to Spencer Dweeb.’ Harper cackled and Bethany rolled her eyes at Alexa. You scowled at them ‘Shutup Alexa, I can talk to who I like. Spencer is not a dweeb he’s actually a very nice person.’ she ignored you and carried on searching for the textbook she needed.

You had a majorly embarrassing crush on Spencer that had lasted 3 years and was ongoing. He was a few months older, could read 20,000 words per minute, and wore sweater vests and dress pants everyday to school, looking like a university professor. You were utterly whipped for him. You even did well in class just so you could catch up to him. But alas, Spencer was taken out of 10th grade and put 2 years above you, into 12th from his incredible academic advances. You were devastated when you heard he was no longer in any of your classes. You thought the boy was absolutely gorgeous and you had no clue how nobody else saw it, he was so sweet, polite and shy. Spencer didn’t have any friends, so you took it upon yourself to get to know him and be nice to him. He didn’t like to say much and you knew he was wary of you, as you were one of the pretty, popular girls who was on the cheer squad and hung out with jocks.

You smoothed down your cheer skirt and tightened the bow in your hair and walked over to spencer. ‘Hey Spence.’ he looked up from his book like a deer in the headlights. ‘Y/N. Oh-I-uh...um..hi.’ you giggled and sat down opposite ‘What are you reading?’ he coughed lightly ‘Uh an a-astro-physics novel on black holes and...uh...time warps.’ you smiled ‘Sounds interesting.’ he blushed ‘It does?’ you nodded in response. He looked around and saw Alexa staring at you both ‘I think your friends are waiting for you.’ he said timidly. You pursed your lips ‘They can wait. I’m talking to you at the moment.’

he looked down and then back up at you ‘Y/N...why do you talk to me? You’re one of the popular people, one of the star cheerleaders. I’m the loser geek. Everyone bullies me. But not you..you’re nice to me. Why?’ he frowned. It broke your heart to see him sad. You took his hand in yours and laced your fingers through his and his eyes widened as Spencer looked from your hands to your eyes ‘You, Spencer Reid, are NOT a dweeb or a geek or freak or a loser. You’re not pathetic or weak or anything those assholes tell you that you are. I think you’re strong and special. You are gonna go so far in life and lucky you, you’re graduating early and at 16. Who else can say they did that? No one. Cause no one is as smart, intelligent, interesting or kind as you. I care about you and I’m actually really sad that you’re graduating early because that means I won’t get to see you anymore.’

The boy looked like he was about to burst into tears of joy. ‘Wow...Thank you.’ he croaked out. you rubbed your thumb over his ‘Of course.’ The jocks then entered the library and Spencer quickly withdrew his hand from yours and looked down at his book in fear ‘You should probably go to your friends.’ he whispered, not taking his eyes of the book. The football captain Bret, a senior, looked over towards you ‘Hey! Y/N what are you doing talking to the her-me freak?’ Bret shouted as Spencer frowned and cowered at his insult. ‘Shut the fuck up Bret. What does that even mean you idiot?’ you yelled and he laughed ‘Her-me? You know half boy half girl. Or is the scrawny thing just all girl?’ He called out ‘Well at least he’s not a fucking tool like you and is more of a man that you’ll ever be.’

The boys hollered at you and Bret laughed again ‘Come on Y/N. That’s enough baby. Let’s not fight, you’re my girl and i’m supposed to be taking you on a date after school. Now get over here and let the loser read his nerd book.’ you scoffed ‘I already told you no im not your girlfriend and I swear to god if you call Spencer a-’ Spencer interrupted you ‘Just go Y/N’ you looked him bewildered ‘What? No! They can’t talk t-’ he shook his head ‘Seriously. Please I don’t want anymore trouble. Enjoy your date tonight and just go.’ you shook your head ‘I’m not going on a d-....’ too tired to argue with anybody, you accepted defeat ‘Okay Spence. I’ll see you later.’ and then went upstairs to the back room with Bret, Alexa and the rest of the others.

Alexa and Harper had seen and heard yours and Spencer’s interaction before Brent and his meathead jock friends walked in. Alexa thought it best you learnt the rules of hierarchy around school being the queen bee herself. She waited until you, Bethany and the jocks had left and she told Harper to approach Spencer. ‘Spencer. Right?’ Spencer visibly gulped and nodded ‘I just wanted to say how sorry I am about my friends. They can be so.......mean. Actually I spoke to them about it. Me and Alexa agree with Y/N that they’re so....uh-um- yeah, just really mean. Anyway.. about Alexa. She thinks you’re cute.’ she said to Spencer over-innocently.

Spencer went into shock ‘What? I- I- me?’ Harper nodded enthusiastically ‘Uh-huh and she actually told me that she wanted to meet you behind the field house after school...to kiss you.’ Spencer blushed furiously ‘R-really. I-it’s not a joke?’ Harper put out her pinky finger and crossed her fingers on her other hand behind her back to jinx it and linked Spencer’s pinky ‘Pinky Promise. We have practice again today, so wait for her behind the building after school, don’t be late.’ he nodded and gave a small smile, the undeserving boy not knowing the kind of torment he was in for. Harper walked out the library to find Alexa waiting by the bike rack and smirked ‘Nerd took the bait and will be behind the field house at 4. Tell the boys.’ she high fived Harper ‘Sweet.’

Stella and Bethany finished the routine with a backward layout protruding forwards to the formation you girls had created. ‘Okay girls great practice today. Stella and Beth your finishing layout was...painfully average. Work on it.’ Alexa fake smiled before walking off, out of the field house and Stella and Bethany rolled their eyes and left with the rest of the girls. You also went to pick up your bag and exit the field house. ‘Y/N! Wait I need to tell you something!’ Harper cries. You walk back towards her ‘Sure what’s up?’ you say as you take a sip of water from your water bottle. Then you hear a yelp from outside ‘Wait- Harper. Did you hear that?’ she smiles innocently ‘Hear what?’ you shoot her a dirty look ‘Don’t act dumb. You failed drama class. What’s going on?’

She giggles and runs out of the field house heading behind it and you follow her. Your face contorts into a look of horror as you see the jocks and Alexa stripping Spencer of his clothes as he’s in tears begging them to stop ‘STOP WHAT THE FUCK.’ you scream as you try to intervene only to be pushed off by a quarterback named Sam. Spencer sees you and cries harder. ‘This is what you get loser. Don’t talk to us ever again. You’re a nerd, stay away from us.’ Bret says as he rips off spencer’s shirt and sweater vest and punches him in the face ‘Bret you fucking prick let go of him. What did he ever do to you? You’re hurting him. Please.’ you shout as everyone around is laughing as the rest of Spencer’s clothes are discarded and they drag him out to the football pitch. The one thing your thankful for is that nobody else is on the pitch. You see Sam and Brady carrying ropes, making you feel sick for what they had planned next.

You chased after all of them screaming to leave Spencer alone. Bret holds Spencer wrists around the goalpost as Sam and Brady begin tying him up. One of the jocks holds you back from getting involved as you yell, cry and thrash around in his hold, trying to get to Spencer. Alexa and Harper and on the floor trying to contain their laughter ‘I QUIT ALEXA. I quit your fucking squad. You’re a bitch and so are you Harper.’ you sob over Spencer’s pleas of help. The boys continue laughing and taunting tying him up as he tries to conceal himself behind a goalpost. ‘He’s built like a twig!’ ‘Fucking geek.’ ‘Definitely one for the yearbook memories!’ they shout one by one

They back off of spencer finally after 30 minutes ‘Hope she-man was worth it Y/N.’ Bret laughed and you then punched him as hard as you could straight in the face making him bleed ‘Ah you bitch’ he said in pain before backing away. ‘Burn in hell Bret. Cause that’s where you’re all headed.’ you screamed. Alexa and Harper started singing as they ran off with the boys ‘Y/N and loser freak sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g’ Spencer was still shivering and crying as you rushed over to him and cupped his face ‘I’m gonna get your clothes. I swear to god I’m not leaving you.’ he didn’t respond and carried on shivering and crying, not believing a word you say.

He was surprised when you came back with all this clothes. You began untying the rope, never looking down at his dick or anything to save him the further humiliation of his forced indecent exposure. You got all the ropes off of him and turned around. He shuffled about as fast as possible getting all his clothes back on and started to run from you. You chased him down a side street ‘Please leave me alone.’ he begged. ‘Spencer Reid, stop right where you are, now!’ you ordered. He stopped along the road and you went up to him. He was scared of you what you were gonna do next, believing that you were just as bad as the rest of them. You knew he thought that but you threw your arms around his neck pulled him into a hug instead.

You didn’t expect him to hug you back...but he did. He sobbed into your shoulder holding you, arms holding your waist tighter. You cried with him and put your forehead against his ‘I would never hurt you Spence. And they can’t hurt you anymore. Please tell me you heard me begging them to stop right? I didn’t know they planned to do any of that. Please please believe me Spence. It killed me to see that happen.’ you said as another tear rolled down your cheek ‘I do believe you.’ you gave a small smile ‘Really?’

he closed his eyes and nodded relishing the feeling as you stroked the nape of his neck. ‘Harper c-came up to me in the library....to tell me that y-you girls thought the boys were m-mean and that alexa w-want...wanted to meet up behind the field house to kiss me c-cause she thought i was cute.’. you sighed ‘Oh spence...’ you said still wrapped up in his embraced foreheads touching ‘Ugh, those bitches are gonna get it. But also I want you to know I was never going on a date with bret and I’m not his girlfriend. Christ, I fucking hate them. I’m so sorry Spencer. I’m never being friends with them ever again.’ he gulped ‘I know that now...Y/N, that was one of the most embarrassing and horrible things that has ever happened to me.’ he said as you wiped a tear from his face

‘I know.’ you agreed ‘Can I walk you home?’ you offered. He looked at you cautiously ‘I dunno. My mom might be having one of her episodes. I don’t want you to see that. She probably doesn’t even realise i’m gone.’ you let go of him and laced your hand with his, once again, tugging him along the street ‘Come on its fine. Is she okay? What about your dad?’ he gave a tight lipped smile ‘My mom is a manic schizophrenic and my dad left us because my mom is a manic schizophrenic. I’m her carer.’ Fresh tears produced in your eyes. Spencer Reid had been through it. ‘Hey, why are you crying again?’ he said softly

‘God spence where do i start? you got a deadbeat dad, a mom who i’m sure loves you but probably doesn’t know what day it is, having to care for her and keep up with school all while probably feeling sick with worry during the day when you’re not with her, also the fucking assholes at school who treat you like shit. Yet you’re this nice, incredible, insanely beautiful genius with a heart of gold. You don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you.’ he turns to you and stares at you in adoration he opens his mouth but words don’t form.

So instead you press your lips to his in a reassuring kiss and he just melts into it placing his arms around your torso once more. You break apart from the kiss ‘You think Im insanely beautiful? Don’t you feel repulsed by me? You’re like..even more beautiful and popular and.. like..I was literally stripped naked and tied to a goal post tonight.’ you shook your head ‘No i’m not repulsed. I do think you’re beautiful and I want to be there for you and you need someone in your life to support you and i don’t care what you say. Nothing can keep me away from you. I meant every word i said Spence.’ he purses his lips ‘Thank you. And umm about that....I’m going to Caltech.’ your face dropped ‘Oh..well congrats.’ he nodded ‘Yeah.. so I won’t be at graduation. I don’t think i’m gonna come to school anymore either, it’s pointless i’ve got my diploma anyway and my mom needs to be taken care of. Tonight was the the final straw. Besides a 16 year old standing up there with a bunch of 18 year olds, i’d feel more out of place than i already do.’

You carry on walking to his house with him ‘No i understand completely. You do what’s best for you. Maybe we’ll meet again someday in the future. But if not, I know you’ll be doing genius stuff in a genius place with lots of money somewhere. And i’ll be proud of you.. I am proud of you.’ he stops outside what you believe is his house ‘I hope we meet in the future and I want you to know Y/N that I’ve never had someone like you in my life even if only for a few years.’ you hold both his hands and smile at his fresh dimpled face ‘Can I kiss you one more time?’ you ask he grins and nods capturing your lips pouring all your emotions into one kiss. You wanted it to last forever. But you broke apart ‘Goodbye Spence. Good luck with everything.’ he sadly smiled ‘You too Y/N.’ he walks into his house as you whisper ‘I love you.’ and walk back to your own home, alone.

••••

After that you went to a party to get drunk, trying to forget about Spencer leaving for California, only to be sexually assaulted by some drunk jock. The next day you decided to not go back to school either and dropped out. You got yourself involved in self defence and combat training in order to stop anything like that from happening again. You spent 2 years training in an underground combat gym in New york and eventually you were recruited by the CIA at 18 as an undercover agent. You saved a police officer from a brutal attack one night after a training session in Brooklyn.

Little did you know this guy that you saved was NYPD chief and had many connections to the CIA hence being recruited. You took down all sorts of bad people, not without receiving consequences of course, kidnapping, torture you name it. By the time you were 20 you decided you wanted to get your brain involved and take on smaller crimes such as homicide cases rather than mafia rings and drug lords trying to cross borders. You wanted to keep society safe. You took a course in Psychology for 3 years getting a degree whilst keeping up with training. Your unit respected your decision to leave and recommended you straight over to the FBI in Virginia, sectioned to the BAU. You packed up and moved there and spoke over the phone with chief Aaron hotcher about your new position.

You walked into Hotch’s office and he offered you the job on the spot, as an agent to which you happily accepted. In the conference room, the rest of them team sat waiting for Hotch to give them new files from today’s case. JJ walked in giddily ‘Okay so I know this is sudden but Hotch just told me that we have a new agent joining us. Reid, you’ll be glad to hear she’s 23, the same age as you and also has a degree in Psychology.’ JJ winked and Spencer smiled and rolled his eyes as she continued ‘However do not mess with her. This girl was in the CIA at 18 years old, she’s been through a hell of a lot like kidnapping and torture and stuff but she’s super nice and so pretty, I spoke to her this morning.’ derek raised his eyebrows ‘Damn. I’m intrigued. Reid, i think you might have yourself a new girlfriend here.’ he scoffed ‘Slow down Derek. I don’t even know who this girl is.’ he laughed ‘Alright i’ll have her then.’

Hotch walked in the conference room ‘Good morning team. As you’ve probably heard we have new agent. So everyone, I’d like you to met Special agent Y/N Y/L/N.’ Spencer’s jaw went slack as he heard your name. You walked into the room and waved at everyone. ‘Hi. Thank you for the.....oh my god Spencer?’ derek chuckled and hotch looked confused ‘Wait you two know each other?’ Spencer smiled ‘We went to High school together.... I cant believe it.’ you smiled back ‘Me neither...Ive missed you so much.’ you admitted as he blushed.

Hotch and Gideon began explaining the case and Spencer’s eyes stayed glued to you. You were 10 times as beautiful than when he last saw you, the day you said goodbye. You could feel his stare and it made you feel confident and loved. ‘Pretty boy you’ve got that girl in the palm your hand. She’s all yours.’ Derek whispered to him. Throughout the rest of the day you spent your time solving the case with the team all of them asking about your time in the CIA, amazed at all your stories and everything you’d been through. It was truly amazing to them. You and Spencer became closer and closer with each passing day, him telling you he earned 3 doctorates and you telling him that you dropped out of school the same night he did, from being sexually assaulted at the senior party and decided to start combat training because of it and moved to new york where you got recruited to the CIA.

Within 2 months, you two were dating and he was still the exact same Spencer you attended high school with and he saw you as the exact same Y/N. Which you were even after everything you’d been through, Spencer made you feel like yourself. You spoke about the day you said goodbye and admitted that you loved him even back then and that you were so happy you found one another again. He told you about his mom being institutionalised but happier and how he got his own job here. Time flew again and you moved in to his apartment with him after 6 months together and had now been dating for a year. He proposed to you a month before christmas with a big white diamond costing more than your annual income. Of course, Spencer earned the most money out of everyone being not only Agent Reid but Dr Reid, which was incredibly sexy to you.

Spencer felt like he finally had someone who he could call home. The one person who cared most about him, had him as a priority. Someone who loved him. You guys got married 10 months later just before Spencer’s 25th birthday, Rossi hosting a big wedding ceremony in his back garden for you two, no high school people invited thank god. You vacated to Verona in Italy, for your honeymoon and celebrated your own 25th birthday where things got heated in the bedroom every night ;)). Fast forward another 2 months and it was new year’s day, the present. The high school reunion or as Spencer called it ‘Doomsday’.

But to make up for dragging him along you had some exciting news to tell him. You were pregnant, from the honeymoon of course. At first, you and Spencer didn’t have sex until you’d been dating for 3 months, both losing your virginity’s to one another and after that.... you guys kinda couldn’t stop. The sex was that amazing. Then you were married and it just intensified and being Mrs Reid and hearing him moan ‘mrs reid’ made you feral and desperate for him and his child, so you stopped taking your birth control on your wedding day. Morning, noon and night you guys could barely look at one another without tearing each other’s clothes off. So you knew that nothing would make him feel more on top of the world than telling him he was becoming a dad.

You had flown out to Vegas as you were seeing Spencer’s mom anyway so the date of the reunion was convenient. You called an uber and the drive was 15 minutes to the restaurant Bethany had rented out. Spencer sighed as he got out the car brushing his side parting behind his ear. ‘Baby, can we just go back to the hotel and order pizza?’ he pleaded. ‘After. I promise love, if it’s bad and they behave like assholes we’ll leave.’ you squeezed his hand and he wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked into the restaurant. Bethany came up to you both ‘Oh my god, well if it isn’t Y/N Y/L/N and Spencer Reid?’ you laughed and gave her a hug ‘Hey Beth.’ she sighed ‘My my, it’s been what? nearly 10 years? cant believe you and Spencer have remained friends all this time!’ you put your hand on her forearm ‘Well me and Spencer are actually married. About 2 months ago.’ she gasped ‘Oh my god! I was not expecting that! Congrats!’

Spencer held onto your waist tighter and softly smiled at you. Bethany looked behind her at all the other people ‘Everyone come say hi to Y/N and Spencer!’ Alexa and Harper turned around ‘Y/N oh my god!’ they looked the same still had that sour demeanour and average faces. ‘How are you? Like you didn’t even graduate with us you kinda just fled.’ you shifted uncomfortably ‘Yeah. Kinda just needed my own space.’ you shrugged. Harper smiled ‘So what do you do now? What’s your job?’ you leaned into spencer ‘Im an FBI Agent and Spencer is also an FBI agent and doctor.’ Harper looked between you both barely registering Spencer ‘Thats so cool.’ however she then examined Spencer’s face ‘you look familiar.’ she said to him and before they could press any further the jocks came bustling over. Sam, Bret, Brady and a few of the other former jocks. Most of them had become over-weight and addicted to nicotine from the smell.

Bret wolf whistled you and Alexa swatted at him ‘Hey you can’t do that! I thought I was your girlfriend!’ he laughed ‘Yeh until this little hottie showed up. God Y/N, didn’t know you’d grow up to be so fine.’ Harper then looks towards Spencer and gasps ‘Oh my god. I know who you are. Y/N...You brought the dweeb, Reid with you. He’s taller at least.’ everyone laughed besides you Bethany and Spencer, of course, who tensed up uncomfortably. Bret then took another sip from his beer ‘Y/N, i say why don’t me and you go upstairs and I’ll show you what a real man does. Poor freak here is probably still pining after you. Listen.. Spencer Reid... oh shit someone actually called you by your name for once, she’ll always be out of your league man. Y/N Y/L/N will al-’ you interrupted him ‘Y/N Reid.’ Bret and all the others looked at you ‘What did you say?’

You looked at him with all seriousness ‘That’s my name. I will not go upstairs with you ever and My name is Y/N Reid. I married Spencer. He’s my husband.’ Everyone looked as though they’d been hit by a bus before Bret snickered ‘Was there nobody else who’d take him? We kicked his poor little virgin ass pretty good. He probably can’t even say the word sex. Was the wedding night good enough for you Y/N? You don’t have to lie. Probably married him out of pity.’ you caressed your hand up and down Spencer’s back to relax him ‘No. I wouldn’t let anyone else have Spencer because I wanted him all to myself. And as for our wedding night that is none your business but if you really must know, I am more than satisfied and I’ve not touched a single drop of alcohol tonight as I am currently pregnant with his child and could not be happier with my life.’

Spencer looked you with tears welling up in his eyes ‘You’re pregnant?’ you got out a pregnancy test from your bag you’d taken this morning and presented it to him ‘With your baby. I found out yesterday. You’re gonna be a dad Spence.’ you grinned at him and he gave you a kiss as Bret, Alexa and Harper watched in shock and Beth smiled. You turned to her ‘Thank you for tonight Beth. It was...something we won’t be attending again as I’m sure you understand, we have a whole life to be getting on with back in Virginia.’ you gave her a genuine small smile as she was the only one who didn’t laugh or make fun of Spencer. Bret smirked ‘Later Mrs Freak. Bye Spencer Freak.’

Spencer turned to him ‘Okay Bret well you have fun downing 6 packs in your double wide with health bills you can’t afford, debt you can’t pay off and a job you don’t have, with a girlfriend who you probably cheat on, who is a complete moron. Enjoy still living in downtown Vegas, hoping to win a few bucks on a fucking fruit machine only to spend it on beer. Look who’s the dweeb, loser, freak now bret? Oh yeh it’s you. And if you come anywhere near me, my wife or my child ever, I can and will have you arrested as me and Y/N both work for the FBI. Also it’s Doctor Reid. Forgot to mention that on top of an FBI agent, I’m a doctor, who earned 3 phds, being paid more money than all of you combined. You don’t even know what phd stands for do you asshole? Have fun living your sad life cause mines very happy.’

In that moment you’d never felt more proud of and turned on by Spencer as you both ran out the restaurant leaving the others shocked. You laughed both feeling elated as you kissed. ‘Spence, that is the first time you’ve ever stood up to them. Well done baby it was long overdue I’m so proud.’ he beamed down at you ‘Thank you sweetheart. I bragged maybe a little too much but I don’t care they deserved it.’ You nodded ‘I agree entirely.’ He then put his hand on your stomach and whispered ‘I cant believe we’re having a baby.’ you giggled you and batted you eyelashes at him ‘I know. Our own little baby genius-reid.’ he picked you up and spun you around. ‘Let’s go and order pizza back at the hotel.’ he suggested.

‘I had a few more ideas than ordering to pizza.’ you looked at him suggestively. He raised his eyebrows ‘What did you have in mind.’ he bites his lip hands caressing your hips ‘How about you take me back to the hotel and show me how we made baby reid.’ He kisses your neck and then your lips ‘Sounds like a fantastic plan baby.’

LOL I LITERALLY WROTE THIS ON WHIM TWO NIGHTS AGO AND I LOVE IT!! HOPE U GUYS DO TOO💗💗

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deepdaleducks · 5 years

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Different League

Author’s Note - I wrote this based on one of my favourite songs - Heathrow by Catfish and the Bottlemen. Maybe it’s because of their aesthetics or the way a large number of their music videos are shot, but whenever I hear this song and imagine the relationship playing out it’s always in black and white. This song reminds me of drives late at night down empty roads and cold mugs of tea in the kitchen. So when you read this I recommend listening to the song first, during or after whatever your style is. I just really want you guys to listen to the song so you can maybe understand the inspiration behind this piece. It’s the first thing I’ve written in a while so let us know what you think. I did say this was the kind of piece you should read at night but I’m posting at noon because I want to go out tonight. Hope you enjoy.

He hasn’t heard from you in weeks when your name is lighting up the screen of his phone. You’ve been away, been busy, and he knows that. He’s surprised because he never expects to hear from you, never calls or texts first, never thinks that maybe someday it will be more than it is.

It’s earlier than usual when you call. The sun hasn’t even begun to set outside his window but he’s already wound down for a night on the couch. You’re not even on the phone for long. A quick “Hi I just boarded a flight back to London; can you pick me up later?” before you’re gone again. He’s agreeing - of course he’s agreeing – because no matter what Eric says he can’t seem to let you out of his life. Even if all he gets is the odd day with you every other month, or the three am call when you can’t sleep or the photo on Instagram of you somewhere out in the world.

The next time his phone is lighting up its Eric’s name flashing across his screen, almost as if Eric had some kind of sixth sense that would tell him when you had called. He answers after a minute, trying to act nonchalant when Eric asks if his night on the couch is boring enough for him to want a game of FIFA. He plays it off saying he’s busy but Eric doesn’t believe him, so he presses further. They’ve had similar conversations in the past and so he already knows how it will turn out. Eric will tell him not to go. To let you get a taxi and stay in a hotel. To ignore every one of your phone calls until you decide to stop calling. Instead of shedding any details, he’s vague – saying something has come up and he has to go out – and he’s quickly trying to end the conversation before Eric can begin to ask any more questions.

He’s setting off with plenty of time to spare, the sun now set but the sky far from black. He stops at a service station on the way and contemplates buying you some flowers. But people greet their loved ones at the airport with flowers. People greet their wives, fiancées and girlfriends at the airport with flowers. And you weren’t any of the above. He settles for a pack of your favourite crisps and a bottle of Lucozade, knowing you’ll be hungry from your flight.

Your plane hasn’t landed by the time he reaches the airport so he parks his car and walks to the terminal. When his phone rings he thinks it’s you so he answers without looking at the caller ID. He expects your voice but instead he’s greeted by a deeper voice, Eric’s voice.

“Why are you at Heathrow Airport?” Eric asks, forgoing any greetings. He responds with a lie, saying he’s not, but it’s useless. “Yes you are, I have your find my friends on and you’re at Heathrow Airport.” Again it’s another conversation they had had in the past so Eric skips ahead in the script. “You’re picking her up again, aren’t you? Oh for fuck’s sake, Del. You know she’s only gonna leave again, so what’s the point?”

Eric doesn’t understand, Eric can’t understand. He’s never been there in the car at 1am watching you sing along to your favourite song. He’s never had the pillow talk, or the 6am coffees. He’s never experienced a second alone with you when your defences are down, and so there’s no way he could know how all the pain and heartache is worth it. Even just for a second.

“I don’t care, Eric. She needs me.” And Eric tries to fight, tries to tell him to go home, but he hangs up when he sees you coming through the door into the arrivals lounge. The world is stopping around him and it’s as though he can see colour for the first time since you left. And it’s worth it.

It’s always awkward at first. Neither of you knowing whether to hug or kiss. The boundaries you established on your last visit erased by the time. You stop in front of him and take him in, his eyes a little tired and his hair not as neat as it usually is.

“Your hair is different,” He states with a nod.

“Yeah, I cut it a little – a couple of months ago actually.” You pause for a second, “It really been that long?” He nods again, reaching out a hand to grab your suitcase, motioning for you to head out the door. You fall into step together and when your hands accidentally brush you together it’s like electricity shooting up your veins. Like magnets, your fingers are drawn together and all of a sudden its like no time has passed.

He doesn’t need to ask where you want to go. He knows you want to go home. You always want to go home. And so he lets you sit in silence in the passenger seat as he drives, gorging on the crisps he bought you. The low hum of the radio fills the car and you’re on the M25 before he speaks.

“Where did you fly in from?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Lisbon,” You reply and he hums in response, “I was working there, but my job ended last week,”

Silence fills the car once more and soon he’s pulling up into his driveway and you’re following him into the house. He puts your bag at the bottom of the stairs and heads into the kitchen. You slip off your shoes and follow him, hovering at a distance from where he stands by the kettle.

“Eric says this is a bad idea.” He says, eyes facing forward. “He says its stupid of me to do this with you whenever you need it. Because what do I get out of it? A couple of days with you before you’re gone again?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, unsure of how to respond to his confession. “I just. I’m always gone for so long and then when I’m home,” you hesitate for second, “I never really feel at home unless I’m with you.”

The kettle finishes boiling and he makes you both a cup of tea. The air is still tense, and he remains stood by the kettle arms, pressed down on the counter, looking out the window towards the garden. The magnetic pull between you draws you closer to him and you tentatively wrap your arms around your body pressing your chest into his back and resting your head on his shoulder blade. He lifts a hand to hold one of yours splayed against his chest and for a minute you stay like that – together, finally.

He moves first - turning to face you and raising a hand to cup your face. Every time is like the first time with the two of you. You know each other - each other’s bodies - so well, and yet you’re always so timid, so hesitant. He leans in first, lightly brushing his lips against yours as though he can’t resist. When he pulls away, your eyes meet for the first time.

“I miss you when you’re gone,” He confesses and his words draw you back up to his lips. This kiss is deeper than the last, the hesitation easing away by the second. You both become more confident with your hands again, rediscovering each other’s bodies for what feels like the millionth time. Your fingers wind their way into his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no separation between the two of you. It’s the kind of kiss that makes never want to leave. It’s the kiss you’re always coming back for. And you think it could go further, up the stairs, under the sheets, where you usually end up. Instead he pulls away and you follow his lips as he straightens up.

You’re confused watching him turn on the radio, Lemmonworld by The National softly humming through the speakers. He outstretches his arms and when you wall into them he begins to sway you lightly in time with the music. It’s out of character for him – he’s not a dancer, he’s never been a dancer. But you love to dance, and so occasionally he would play the role of a man who knew how to dance, the way you play the role of a woman who plans on staying. The kitchen is lowly lit and the music is quiet so it feels like heaven – like the rest of the world doesn’t exist – and it’s perfect.

You break first, pulling yourself out of his arms and tugging him up the stairs by the tips of his fingers. And he knows from the look in your eyes that he could have you tonight, but something in his mind tells him that he would rather lie with you under the cover of darkness and just talk, than love you in any other way. He’ll be kicking himself when you leave because he only gets so much of you so often, but right now in the moment it feels right to face you on the pillows and take you in through your words and your laughter.

It’s light conversation, made naturally now all the initial awkwardness of your reunion has subsided. He updates you on how his season is going and you act like you haven’t been following every single one of his games. You tell him about the various jobs you’ve worked whilst being away and he mentions that he saw your old group of friends a few weeks ago in a bar. He doesn’t mention that he bought them all a cocktail each, and you don’t say that you saw the snapchats they sent you asking you to thank him. The air falls silent for a while, your bodies tangled together under the sheets, hands whispering through gentle movements.

“Do you remember the night we met?” He asks, his voice quiet and raspy. You nod subtly, even though he’ll hardly see the motion through the dark. “God, I knew I loved you instantly. I just remember looking at you and thinking wow she’s something else.” His confession makes you laugh lightly, half in embarrassment, half in amazement. “I don’t mind it. This. You coming and going all the time. You only ever calling when you need me. I don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry I do it.” You apologise, “You know why I can’t stay though.” He exhales in response, a yeah I know falling from his lips, pillow talk from years ago coming back to him. You had fought that night – the night you confessed everything to him. You’d been back for a longer time than usual. Two weeks. Normally you’d stay a few days, a week at most. But this time was different. You didn’t have anywhere to be and you only wanted to be with him. It was perfect. Two weeks of waking up in his arms. Two weeks of drives at 3am when you couldn’t sleep and matching cups of tea in the dimly lit kitchen. Two weeks of what could be forever. And then the call came in and you were packing your suitcase ready for an 8am flight out to New York. He was begging you to stay when you told him. Saying how much he loved you, how this really could be forever if you didn’t take the job and just stayed. His voice was bitter the whole argument; accusing you of lying to him, leading him on. You yelled back too, saying he could easily end it, easily just not pick up the phone next time you called, easily find someone else. And even after all the bitter words, you fell into bed together, needing one last night connected before it could all crumble apart in the morning. So when you’re breathing had slowed and you were wrapped up in his arms under the sheets, you confessed it all; opened your entire book for him. And he understood.

He didn’t force you to stay, didn’t make you get a taxi to the airport, didn’t look at you like something that was breaking his heart into a million pieces. Instead, he gave you one of his hoodies with the thumb holes bitten into the sleeves, drove you to the airport before the sun had come up and kissed you in the departures lounge like his life depended on it. And when you called three months later and said you would be back in London for 36 hours, he answered and he loved you the way he always does.

When you wake up in the morning, his face is pressed into your neck, arms wrapped around your waist possessively, as if he decided in his sleep that he was never going to let you go. He stirs with your movement, peppering light kisses over your shoulders and up towards your ear. The feeling makes you moan slightly and he takes it as a cue to go further.

In an instant he’s rolled you over so you’re on top of thighs straddling him. He smiles at the sight of you – your hair messy, eyes low, his shirt hanging of your shoulders. Confidently, he tugs at the hem of the shirt, pulling it up slightly until its over your head and discarded on the floor. He’s locking your lips together once more and making you forget why you’re always leaving with every movement.

He takes it slow, not letting a single second be taken for granted. It’s giving and taking, moving in harmony together as the sunlight cracks through the gap in the curtains. It’s electricity in your veins and caffeine to your brain, waking you up more than your morning cup of coffee ever could.

And afterwards, it’s pulling him down the stairs for a morning of breakfast and card games at the dining room table. He’s happy to be here – in your company, hearing your laughter, letting you win at 301 because he knows you love the glory – and he could stay here all day, keep you in doors, not share you with the world.

But he doesn’t mind when you’re pulling him into the city in the afternoon, desperate for some cakes from your favourite bakery. He doesn’t mind when you’re dragging him round every tourist spot in the city because you hardly get to spend time here. He’s more than happy to fork out the money for the last-minute tickets to see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time on the West End because “it was your mum’s favourite book growing up and it’s only showing until the end of the month”. And he’s watching you in amazement, fully immersed in the play in front of you, and he’s wondering how someone like you could even give him the time of day, let alone give every second you have in the country to him.

When the play finishes, he’s wrapping his jacket around your shoulders to protect you from the cold London air on the walk back to the train station. He doesn’t mind that he’s now cold, because you look warm. He doesn’t mind not getting a taxi, because you look at home. He doesn’t mind being recognised on the tube because the look of content on your face is worth it. All of this is worth it.

“You’re leaving tomorrow aren’t you?” He asks as you’re walking through the door of his house. There’s an air of sadness in his voice but you know he’s not going to fight it. “I saw the text on your phone.”

“Yeah, I, um. I was going to tell you tonight. My flights at 1.” You reply, stepping closer to him, desperate to feel connected to him as much as you can.

“It’s okay,” is all he says, pulling you up the stairs back to his bed so he can make the most of the few hours he has left with you.

In the morning it’s breakfast at the local Wetherspoons, a conversation about the future, and a drive to the airport that feels like it last forever. He’s holding you in the airport as you wait out every last second, letting you go only when you can’t stay any longer without missing your flight.

“I love you, whenever you need me.” He whispers lowly. The noise of the airport is blocked out in the little cocoon you’ve created within each other’s arms.

“I love you, always.” You reply, locking your eyes with his, meaning it.

He hesitates for a minute, taking in your words, unsure of whether to echo them in return. “Yeah me too.” He says, giving up the battle with himself. With that you turn and leave him alone in the airport once more.

He goes home knowing he’ll spend the whole week missing you, listening to Eric’s “I told you so’s”, wishing he hadn’t let you go. But all that, all the hurt, will disappear soon and he will be left with dreams of you under his sheets, in his passenger seat, at his dining room table.

He prepares himself to do it all again, go through the motions, the late-night airport pick up, the slow dance in the kitchen. And although he goes on various dates and meets random girls in clubs none of it compares to you. And none of it could ever come close to the feeling he gets when he turns his phone on after training one day to a missed call from your number and a voice mail attached.

“Hi. So, I just got offered a job in London. A permanent job. I’m gonna take it. So would you maybe pick me up at Heathrow one last time?”

He’s agreeing – of course he’s agreeing. He’s making the familiar drive to the airport under the cover of darkness. Stopping off at his usual service station for your favourite crisps and Lucozade. Meeting you in your usual spot in the arrivals lounge. And you’re tentatively walking towards him, like always, scared you’ll have to start again. But he’s grinning at you like a fool and opening an arm to pull you in and kissing you as though you were oxygen and he hadn’t breathed in a lifetime.

When he pulls away, he’s revealing a bouquet of your favourite lilies from behind his back. Because people greet their loved ones at the airport with flowers. People greet their wives, fiancées and girlfriends at the airport with flowers. And he was hoping you were about to become one of the above.

#i hate writing tags on these things #dele #dele alli #writing #footballer imagine #england nt #spurs #tottenham hotspur #eric dier #different league

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bromfieldhall · 7 years

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“Redwood” - A Mentalist Fanfiction

TIMELINE: Set some time after season five episode, ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’. Goes AU from there.

SYNOPISIS: Jane and Lisbon are forced into a deadly game when they try and catch a new serial killer.

PAIRING: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon - Jisbon

Previous Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

CHAPTER 12

Jane sat up in bed, arms folded, a slight frown marring his handsome face as he tried to quell the uncharacteristic feeling of anxiousness that had claimed his body. Lisbon was due to arrive at any moment and there were things they needed to talk about. Not just about the case, but personal things too.

Like those three little words she'd uttered, the one's that had kept him going, had given him strength and now kept swirling around and around in his head refusing to be ignored. He'd always wanted her to give him some clearer idea of how she felt about him and now he had it in spades...and then some.

But her unexpected declaration had thrown him into an emotional quandary that he hadn't anticipated. It needed to be addressed and for once in his life he really had no idea what to say. His head seemed to be in constant conflict with his heart over which direction he wanted to take.

Logically, he knew that he should tell her that there could be nothing between them while Red John was still alive; better yet, he was tempted to just ignore the whole thing. He was pretty certain that Lisbon wouldn't broach the subject, which suited him down to the ground. He just couldn't take the chance that if their love was made public, the killer might hurt her to get to him.

But emotionally…emotionally, he wanted to know what it'd feel like to kiss her without restraint, to tell her how he much he loved her and had done for years, to take her in his arms and watch the rosy glow come to her cheeks as he whispered all the things that he loved so much about her, to simply hold her hand, to feel her move beneath him…to finally give in to his incredible yearning for her and just be goddamn happy for the first time in over a decade.

He unfolded his arms and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Completely ignoring everything was fast becoming the best option. If he started talking, he was worried that his heart might just win out for once in his life.

Of course, the fact that something Cho had said to him that morning kept playing on his mind and was no doubt affecting his judgement wasn't exactly helping the situation either.

For days it seemed as though he'd been dipping in and out of consciousness. In reality, he learned it had only been two but each time he awoken, it had been to find Lisbon sat patiently nearby with a ready smile and soothing words. He hadn't been able to say much in return, just a murmuring of her name before he'd succumb to oblivion again. He'd known what was happening but for once, his body had refused to do what his brain wanted. It had been frustrating to say the least.

So it was with great relief to finally wake up feeling more like his old self earlier that morning, but instead of being greeted by Lisbon's smiling countenance, his gaze had clashed with Cho's stoic expression.

"Where's Lisbon?" he'd asked, his voice raspy from lack of use and a constant stream of oxygen.

"The doctor said you were out of danger so we finally persuaded her to go and get checked out herself," he'd replied curtly. "She was in a real knock down fight with Newland's son. No broken ribs but she's sore. I told her I'd sit with you while she got some rest. How are you feeling?"

"Better," he'd replied, more concerned about Lisbon than his own state. "Could use a drink."

Cho had poured him out some water then helped him sit up so that he could have a few sips. He'd nodded his thanks then the Agent had sat down again and looked at him.

"Boss said you distracted them," he'd commented impassively. "It gave her a fighting chance she wouldn't have had and bought enough time for Van Pelt to get there and kill the bastard. Good job. She'd be dead otherwise."

He still felt as physically sick from that comment now as he had when Cho had uttered the words. Lisbon. Dead. He gave an involuntary shudder and glanced at the doorway. Still no sign of her but she'd arrive soon, he just knew it.

He gazed down at his sheets and stared at the bright streaks of sunlight that cut sharp lines of relief across his bed from where they filtered in through the half closed blinds. His side was beginning to ache a little but he didn't want any more painkillers until he'd spoken to Lisbon. They dulled his senses and he needed to have his wits about him.

He gave a little sigh then let his head drop back against the pillow and closed his eyes as he thought back to the rest of his conversation with Cho. The Agent had brought him up to date on the case and scarily, but sadly not that unusually, there was no real motive behind the senseless killings.

They were no acts of revenge nor were they even some kind of retribution against people who they'd perceived were guilty of some crime with which they'd gotten away.

No. These callous murders were borne out of a tragic accident that had been the catalyst for Zack to recognise and eventually seek to sate his darker side.

Apparently, a little over ten months earlier, Newland, Ben, Wade and Zack had all been out illegally hunting in one of the more remote parts of the Redwood National Park. Being good friends with a number of the rangers, the sheriff had known the areas they mainly patrolled and had no worry of being caught.

Unfortunately, a man by the name of Anthony Grange had also decided to take a hike in the same area. Catching sight of movement though the trees, Zack had taken a shot. It wasn't until they heard the man cry out that they had all realised what had happened.

When they reached the hiker, he was already dead. Knowing the amount of trouble they were in and not wanting to tarnish his career, Newland had made them bury the body in a shallow grave near to the Kinsella cabin. He'd sworn them all to secrecy and carried on life as normal. As Sheriff he glossed over the missing persons report that came in and put the whole thing behind him.

For a few months all was fine until Newland had received a call from his brother saying that Zack had done it again...on purpose this time. He had taken Wade hunting on their own but it wasn't deer Zack was after. He'd gotten a rush out of killing a man and he'd wanted to experience that feeling again.

His father had been livid but because of the initial cover up, Zack knew that there was nothing the sheriff or the others could do unless they wanted to go down with him. After that it had escalated until he finally abducted the first victim that the CBI were aware of, Lance Williamson.

Zack had gotten cockier, revelling in the fact that he couldn't be caught and had merely dumped Williamson's body without telling his father where. Hicks had been the coroner assigned to the case once the body had been found and Newland had wasted no time in threatening him that he would let everyone know of a time he'd caught him performing a certain act on one of the corpses in his charge if he found anything that incriminated his son.

Newland had admitted that Zack seemed to get a kick out of making it harder and harder for him to cover up the killings. Ripped clothes, knife wounds, he even wore one of the victim's baseball caps around town for a few days. It had been as though he'd wanted to see just how far his father would go in order to help him.

As the bodies kept coming, his deputy's began to question why Federal forces weren't being called in and Newland was eventually forced to contact the CBI in order to alleviate any suspicion. Having controlled everything for so long, he had mistakenly thought that he would be able to continue to do so while they were there. He'd assumed that they'd only be around for a few days then they'd go, case unsolved. Unfortunately for him, his son's recklessness had proved to be their undoing.

There were a total of eight further bodies classed as missing persons that the police were uncovering near the Kinsella cabin. Zack had been a busy boy.

Cho had continued to sit with Jane for just over an hour after he'd finished telling him everything before he'd finally made his excuses and left. He'd wanted to grab some breakfast before going to pick up Hicks and take him in for questioning. Jane suspected that despite it outwardly looking as though Newland had fabricated a lie in order to blackmail the coroner into helping him with the cover up, it wouldn't surprise him if there were some truth lurking behind the repulsive accusation. There was something about Hicks that just didn't sit well with the consultant.

The sound of familiar footsteps approaching his room broke into his thoughts and he opened his eyes to stare expectantly at the door. Ever since the time he was temporarily blinded, he'd always been able to tune in the sounds that were uniquely Lisbon, especially if his eyes were closed. It had helped a lot when he was on his couch at the CBI; he could track her movements, even gauge her mood sometimes. He heard her talking to someone and then, there she was, standing in the doorway, a huge smile lighting her face as she saw him and finished her call.

"OK, thanks, Cho. Keep me informed." Lisbon shut her phone with a snap then stared at him a few seconds more before walking slowly into the room. She was pleased to see the colour had finally returned to his face and the last lingering worries she had about his recovery began to fade away as she told him in a relieved tone, "You're looking alot better."

The small smile that had automatically appeared upon his face at seeing her bloomed into a full on grin at her words. She swore her heart just stopped at the sight. There had been times over the past couple of days that she'd been terrified she'd never see it again.

"Feeling it too," he replied as his gaze swept over her form before settling back on her glowing countenance.

He could just make out the angry purple bruising above her eye and across her jaw under the carefully applied make-up she wore and his smile faltered a little as Cho's words came back to haunt him again.

'She'd be dead...'

"The doctor's really pleased with your progress and said that you should be out in a few days," she told him as she came to a halt by his bed.

"Good to know," he replied, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of her.

She gazed back at him then her smile faded a little as she pulled out a small object from the back pocket of her jeans and held it out to him. He looked at it for a moment then reached out and took the precious notebook from her hand. Their fingers touched briefly and he welcomed the usual spark of awareness that accompanied such a casual act.

"I told you I'd give it back to you," she said softly.

"You did," he agreed equally quietly. "Thank you." They stared at each other for a few moments, each thinking back to that emotive time before he broke eye contact and looked down at the unassuming black book.

He ran his thumb over the soft leather cover knowing that the book and the elusive serial killer behind it was the very reason that their feelings for each other had remained hidden, unspoken for so very long. Even when Red John had asked for her death, her head, it still hadn't given him the courage to stand behind his own verbal declaration. Almost as though if he took it back it would somehow mean it wasn't true.

He was such a fool.

"Aren't you going to check that I haven't ripped out any pages or drawn little pictures in there somewhere?" she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He heard the humour lacing her tone and couldn't help but look up at her and smile.

"I trust you, remember?" he reminded her lightly.

"Really? Best not look at the back page then," she quipped dryly, eliciting a seldom- heard chuckle from the man. It made her feel good to make him laugh. He indulged in the act so rarely. She sat down on the chair next to his bed and tried to contain the tiny grunt of pain the movement caused to her side. Zack's knee's had dug into her ribs when he'd pinned her to the ground and the area was still a little tender.

"Cho told me you had a close call," Jane commented soberly. She looked up at him and clearly saw the concern in his eyes. "Apparently I have Grace to thank for your still being here."

Lisbon looked away briefly and nodded. "It was a hell of a shot," she admitted quietly.

He gazed at her and felt a chill steal through his veins as he took in her sombre expression. A small frown creased his brow as the stark reality of what he could have lost hit home hard.

Was he really willing to keep turning his back on this? On her? To keep ignoring what he felt? What they both felt? What if another ten years were to pass them by? Could he honestly sit idly by, each day fearing that that would be the day she either found someone else or be cruelly snatched away from him by some bust gone bad?

Not only that, but what about his own mortality and how it would affect her if something were to happen to him? Knowing how she felt about him changed things. He was surprised at the realisation but it was true just the same. He no longer had the same death wish compulsion when he thought about apprehending Red John. In its place was an urge to be cautious, to live…and it was all down to her.

He should have been happy at his little revelation, but he wasn't. The guilt that drove him to catch the killer of his family was far too ingrained within him to allow him the respite he craved. If possible it weighed even heavier upon him for even daring to contemplate giving up the hunt. Like he was betraying his wife and child, like he'd never cared for them at all.

He stared down at the book again and felt a sudden urge to just throw the damn thing across the room. He was so sick of it all. He'd become such a slave to his obsession with Red John that even now, after everything they'd been through, what they both could've lost, there was still that part of him that refused to let it go. Especially when he was so tantalisingly near to finally identifying the murderer.

"Are you OK? Is your side hurting?" Lisbon asked, her worried tone crashing into his thoughts.

He looked up and blinked. She was stood at his bedside now, her concerned gaze running over his form as if trying to locate the unseen pain. There she was, coming to his rescue again. Always ready to help him, even when he didn't need it…and God help her but he loved her for it. So much.

But even that wasn't enough to deter him from his chosen path. The depth of his love now couldn't absolve him from the depth of his sins then. He wanted, needed to be free of Red John before he could be with her wholly. And he would, whatever the cost to their relationship now. And he knew it would be high.

Letting the book drop onto the covers, he suddenly reached out and took her hand in a firm grip then tugged her even nearer to the bed. Just one last touch. Lisbon glanced down at their joined hands in surprise then looked up at him with a faintly quizzical expression but he noted, with some satisfaction, that she made no attempt to remove herself from his hold. Not yet at least. He stared at her for a few moments, just drawing comfort from their connection, hating himself for what he was to do next.

"That thing you said…just before you kissed me," he broached in a low voice, echoing her own words from many months before.

He saw the heat of embarrassment invade her cheeks and felt her tense as her eyes widened slightly then skittered away from his. He tightened his grip about her hand fearing that she was about to bolt and only relaxed again when she returned her gaze to his, defiance burning bright in her eyes.

"What about it?" she challenged.

Unlike him, Lisbon wasn't about to retract her words. He mentally applauded her bravery and only wished he had enough of his own to cast off the shackles in his mind that kept him from breaking free of the half life he was living.

"We can't act on it," he told her flatly, feeling his heart sink as he saw her expression turn first cold then blank as she withdrew her hand from his grasp. Feeling bereft at the loss of contact, he continued, "As much as I want to and as much as I feel the same…we just can't. Not while Red John is still around. If he knew for certain how I feel about you…how we feel about each other…it's just not safe. I can't take that chance. If anything happened to you too…I couldn't live with myself. I'm sorry, Teresa."

Seconds ticked by as silence stretched out between them. It wasn't his most elegant of speeches but he found the words weren't quite so easy to say as he'd expected. Jane tried to get a read on her but whatever she was feeling, she was keeping it well hidden behind a mask of apparent indifference.

"Okay," she finally said with a shrug.

Contrarily, her seemingly happy compliance stung the consultant a little and he felt a rush of sudden irritation. He'd expected her to be angry with him at the very least, hurt even, but this ready acceptance bothered him. Maybe she hadn't meant what she'd said after all. Maybe it was just something to say to make him feel better in what she thought were his last moments. A pity declaration. How insulting.

"Okay?" he repeated incredulously, looking at her as though she'd sprouted another head. He let out a derisive snort and added a trifle petulantly, "I have to say I'm a little surprised that you agreed so readily, Lisbon."

"Oh, I don't," she assured him in a lightly mocking tone. "I think it's all bull. Red John's not stupid. I've put my ass and my career on the line for you far too many times to count over the years and he told you to kill me just a few months ago. I'd say it's pretty obvious that he knows how we feel about each other so it's a little late for keeping a low profile now."

"Lisbon…" he began, only to stop when she cut him off, her voice carrying more heat than it had previously.

"You know what I think? I think all that crap you just came out with is only an excuse to protect yourself, not me. You want to be able to go and catch Red John any way you can and you think that by not committing yourself to me, you can do whatever or whomever you want to get that information and it'll be fine…but it's not, Jane. It'd still be wrong in my eyes, I want you to know that."

The blond stared at her as she blew all his poorly constructed reasoning out of the water. He wanted to refute everything she'd said but he didn't. If that's how she chose to take his words then so be it. He knew part of what she'd said alluded to Lorelei and it pained him to know that she thought he'd go down that particular road with her again. But why wouldn't she? Hadn't he told her on more than one occasion that he'd do anything to get Red John? Hell, hadn't he already proved that?

Her phone rang suddenly and she let out a small huff of annoyance before answering it with a curt, "Yes?" She listened to the person on the other end of the line, a slight frown forming on her face before she said, "Okay, I'm on my way."

"Cho?" he queried as she ended the call and put her phone back in her pocket.

"Yeah. He and Rigsby just found Hicks dead at his home. Hanged himself," she explained with a sigh. "I have to go."

Jane nodded and watched her walk swiftly away. He waited until she was almost to the door then called out, "Lisbon."

She stopped and looked back at him but when he wasn't immediately forthcoming she snapped impatiently, "What?"

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," he told her quietly.

Her expression softened for a fleeting second before hardening again as she let out a derisive snort and said, "Don't be; I'm used to it by now." She turned away and took a couple of steps before looking back and adding tersely, "I'm probably going to be caught up with the case the rest of the day. I'll see if Grace can visit you this evening."

Jane lay and stared at the door long after she'd left. It seemed they had come full circle and he was standing on the precipice of yet another great gaping chasm in their tumultuous relationship once again.

The problem was, as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't think that even he could build a bridge big enough to close this particular gap.

END CHAPTER 12

#mentalist ff #mentalist fanfiction #jisbon ff #jisbon fanfiction

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londonlanded · 6 years

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Week 54

Monday, my job got a little more fun, and a lot more sweet. As part of our latest marketing campaign designed to advertise our beautiful property in Budapest, I arranged to work with my friends in the pastry kitchen at my old haunt, Four Seasons Park Lane, to make a Hungarian treat to send to some of our top clients. The issue with Hungary (of which there are very few, in my opinion, if any really), is that it doesn’t really export much even though it totally should! Aside from the occasional small specialty shop, and the bottles of Tokaji you can find in the wine section of most stores, there aren’t many things that make it out of the country for our liberal consumption. I remember falling in love with a couple of Hungarian sweets while I was there, and I haven’t been able to find them since. That’s not particularly unusual of course, it makes sense that something that’s from a country might mostly stay there, but I get murmurs of agreement from my two Hungarian flatmates when I moan about how annoying it’s been to get Hungarian fineries worthy of being sent in the mail to our clients - they have just as much trouble finding products from home as I was seeming to. The solution? Make it yourself!

I headed over to the hotel and was met by David Oliver, our quirky pastry chef who had spent the weekend trying to sort out how to make our campaign happen. He also happens to be dating a Hungarian girl, which boded quite well for the fact-checking aspect of my project. He brought me to the pastry kitchen, which I had never been in, in spite of the fact that I had been on property for 7 months, and he presented me with his version of something called a Gerbeaud cake. This cake was created by a French chef living in Hungary (named after himself, of course), and it’s become one of the most famous desserts in the country. It was also created in a cafe that’s just down the road from our hotel, so it was an easy choice in terms of how to best represent what the city is capable of providing its visitors.

Tasting it (poor tummy) was more than worth it, it’s apricot preserves, walnuts, butter biscuit and chocolate ganache all in one. And of course, it wouldn’t be Four Seasons without a little flair - I watched, mesmerized, as my new friend placed delicate flakes of gold leaf under the newly cut-out chocolate logos he had placed on each bite.

It looked almost as good as it tasted.

The only catch of the day was the fact that, well, London doesn’t quite know how to handle the heat, in any sense. I left work and walked out into London’s version of a sweltering day, and beyond being deeply concerned about my little treat packages making it to their recipients without turning to mush in the muggy mail, the rest of the city was breaking down in slightly more concerning ways. My local Tesco’s fridges couldn’t handle it, and neither could the rest of England. Never ceases to amuse me how a little weather just shuts this place down. When the sign below was posted, it was a balmy 25 degrees...

Wednesday, a real highlight, Paris’ mum made me traditional Cantonese food and I think I definitely ate enough of it to show the appreciation I couldn’t exactly articulate in words. Paris translated for me, we were having mung bean noodles with traditional mushrooms, scrambled eggs, and dried scallops that were rehydrated and used as a stock base before being added into the main dish itself. They’re apparently a delicacy, and I can see why - they’re salty, briney and taste like stronger versions of the larger versions I’m more accustomed to (if one can be accustomed to scallops?). She also served potatoes and chicken wings in Gojuchang sauce, equally good, though I’m always more of a fan of noodles than anything else.

We finished the meal with a vegetable broth that’s usually served on its own, either before a meal as an appetizer, or afterwards if you still have room. It was strange but delicious, you could taste the whole cobs of corn she had used, bought from the Chinatown farmers market earlier that week. As much as I’m sure Paris has had enough mother-son time for a while (like, two months, bless him), he’s definitely not tired of this little aspect of it. Dessert was a very non-traditional one, at least for mum. Paris popped open his bottle of 20 year old balsamic vinegar, and sought his pint of vanilla ice cream from the fridge, I grabbed the blueberries. Sounds weird, but give it a go and get back to me. Mum was excited to the point that she sent a photo of it to all her friends so they could see how strange her son’s palate had become, but she tried it like the chef she is. Everything once, eh.

Thursday, early start at work since I was going to be heading out an hour early for my next adventure. Thankfully, I made it out in time to catch an earlier train to London City airport, since I found myself on a massively delayed Jubilee line that would have otherwise completely screwed me over had I not taken off an hour early. I always do wonder what’s a massive enough deal that could result in shutting down an entire tube station, but part of me doesn’t want to know why Waterloo was bypassed that afternoon. I got the airport with my version of just enough time (aka two hours), and stopped at Pret to grab some dinner before boarding my first ever TAP Portugal flight, to go to Lisbon to meet Brooke!

Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that apparently TAP stands for ‘Take Another Plane,’ which wound up being more funny than it was inconvenient, I am grateful in hindsight for the anecdote it left me with though I was little grumpy at the time. I know this is classic anglicized entitlement, but the pilot hardly spoke English, so when I realized that the code he had spoken to us in was actually an announcement that we’d have to stop for gas halfway to our destination, we were landing in Nantes, France. My first thought was, ‘well hey, I guess pilots can forget to get gas, too,’ and my second was, ‘well thank you sweet lord he was able to voluntarily fall out of the sky before gravity forced it upon us!’ After an hour or so on the ground, extended by the fact that Nantes wasn’t expecting us and didn’t have the proper paperwork ready, we took off a second time, and landed in Lisbon a bit after midnight. But hey, at least the customs line for non-EU citizens was manageable...

I hopped in an Uber, and while doing so managed to rip a hole the size of a graperfruit in my favourite pair of pants, quickly changed into something less shredded in the back seat of the car without the driver noticing (I’m an artist, thank you), and within about 15 minutes, pulled up to the Four Seasons Hotel Ritz Lisbon.

I wasn’t with it enough to really appreciate it when I arrived, but I did take a good look around the next morning - it’s really a stunning place, it’s much bigger than many of our other hotels, and it’s as grand as the name states it might be. Hard to be underwhelming when you’ve got both Ritz and Four Seasons in your title.

Swaths of pink flowers and vines hang from the main floral display in front of the Concierge and reception desks, I checked in and was told that not only were we on the 9th floor, we’d been upgraded to a Premier room for no reason that I could discern beyond proper kindness. It made getting to the hotel around 2AM sting quite a bit less. Brooke was asleep of course, but she’d picked up some snacks for me to arrive back to, and after downing a few of them while opening the letters the staff and sales team had left me, I climbed into bed, too.

The morning meant really seeing the mess I had gotten myself into. I woke up to the largest hotel room I’ve ever stayed in (not that I’ve stayed in many, but regardless), and I noticed we had a terrace all to ourselves, too, with a view overlooking most of Lisbon. What a life.

I had arranged to meet one of my long-distance colleagues for a tour around the hotel, Patricia was born and raised in Lisbon and had no shortage of recommendations for Brooke and me once we finished my tour. She showed me all their ballrooms and meetings and event spaces (as per my job’s main focus points), and I was struck over and over again by just how beautiful the place is - it’s honestly art, every corner is glowing or decorated somehow, there’s no shortage of places to stop and admire, whether you’re looking at the ceiling or the ground.

After my hotel tour, Brooke and I met up in the room to find our way to the city centre to go on our free walking tour of the city, which wound up being just the two of us thanks to everyone else’s cancellations. We began in the Luís de Camões square, which is dedicated to the famous poet of the same name who began Lisbon’s reputation of artistry. He was responsible for writing one of Portugal’s most famous pieces, The Lusiads, which earned him the reputation of being Portugal’s Shakespeare. One of his less gallant contemporaries, António Ribeiro, has a statue a few metres away, outside the tavern he used to spend his earnings in, which he collected by writing poems for those who requested them.

As we continued, we noticed some musicians playing in the street we were walking on, Juliana went on to explain that the bands we see, wearing what looked like uniforms, were actually groups of students who were doing this voluntarily. Most of them are paid in f & b, and whatever money they earn by playing is usually donated to a cause that the group chooses. Every university faculty has a band you can join, this one happened to be a group of medical students, but we were told that nurses, engineers, and beyond all put on the same kind of show.

Just beyond where they were standing, we walked to the Elevator de Santa Justa. This Gothic-style elevator was built by Raoul Mesnier de Ponsard, who was rumoured to have been one of Eiffel's contemporaries. However, our guide Juliana did not hesitate to point out that, unlike the Eiffel Tower, this actually had a purpose.

The Santa Justa lift was responsible for bringing people up to the upper levels of the city, since Lisbon’s basically a collection of hills, this makes a ton of sense. If you’re a child or if you’re elderly, I can’t imagine anything worse than going for a circuitous stair climb in 40 degree heat, when you could instead wait a few minutes to be lifted to your destination.

We walked on see what was easily the most evocative part of the city tour, the Carmo Convent, which was destroyed in the 1755 earthquake and fire that effectively leveled the city. The earth shook beneath the feet of Lisbon’s residents for about a minute, which doesn’t seem like long but only to those whose worlds aren’t collapsing. Thing is, the world shaking is bad enough on it’s own, but it gets a bit worse when you’re standing in a room full of candles, that might as well be made of kindling framed with stone.

You can still see char marks on the inside of the Gothic arches that line the outside of the convent, scars from a fire that burned over 200 years ago but that hasn’t been forgotten. Similarly to St. Dunstan’s in the East, they haven’t replaced some of the roof, though this time I think it was more out of an effort to illustrate devastation than it was for the sake of making a centrally located garden.

As if matters could get worse, those who fled the earthquake and the fire, of course, headed towards the sea where they would not get burned. Unfortunately, as is often the case with seismological activity, a tsunami followed the quake, and destroyed most of the city and killed many of its citizens who had escaped the first round of disaster.

That earthquake made way for a new government since, well, their leader at the time fled the city instead of cleaning up the mess, and the person that took over was responsible for saving Lisbon. His mantra of bury the dead, heal the living, and rebuild the city, cam true over the next years, and Sebastião de Melo, the prime minister at the time, became one of the city’s heroes. He redesigned what was broken, and you can plainly see the results of his efforts today. The new streets are wider and more spacious, they’d give anyone the chance to find open air if the earth were to ever shake again.

Still, Lisbon’s reformation continued even into the last century, Brooke and I were both astounded to learn that so much change had occured so recently. Up until the 1900s, Portugal was living under a fascist regime that had begun to harm the citizens it ruled over. In 1974, the Portuguese had had enough, and at around 10:55 PM on the 24th of April, a song played on the radio that included a code to the members of the military that knew what was coming. At 12:20 AM, a second song played, this time with a lyric in it that included the sentiment of ‘the power returns to the people,’ and at that signal, the military took over ‘strategic points of power’ in the city, thereby beginning the revolution. Our guide continued, telling us that announcements were made over television and radio that everyone should stay inside, safely out of harms way, in case things turned violent. Much to the military’s surprise, Portuguese citizens emerged from their homes to join the military, as they felt it was their country to fight for alongside their forces. The revolution was successful, and since then, April 25th has been called ‘Freedom Day,’ and is now a public holiday.

There’s also another powerful side to the revolution’s story. While it’s always been known as a relatively ‘peaceful’ one, as in it had very few fatalities, there’s another tale for how it got its name of ‘the Carnation Revolution.’ Carnations are in full bloom around the time that the revolution occurred, and apparently, one of Lisbon’s residents who didn’t have access to either television or radio had gotten up at dawn to go to work. She got there, realized that no one else was, but figured she’d made the trek so she might as well stay. A soldier walked past, and saw her shop was open, so he walked in and asked, ‘please, tell me you sell cigarettes?’ The woman replied, ‘no, but have a flower,’ and she proceeded to place one into the end of the soldier’s rifle. From then, it became a symbol of their peaceful revolt, and soldiers began to place flowers in their weapons to show that there was no real intent or desire to use them. Brooke and I both got genuine chills at this point, our tour guide’s delivery was only a bonus to an already powerful tale (albeit likely a bit embellished, but anyway).

As Juliana led us through Lisbon’s winding roads, we walked through a tunnel depicting a cartoon version of Lisbon’s entire history, from the fire to the revolution to the present, another testament to the city’s artistry that I did not know it possessed. That tunnel gave way to a beautiful plaza, decorated in the same bright pink flowers we’d seen in the hotel lobby. I realized then that these are the same carnations that were talked about a few minutes prior, they were in full bloom. Not quite the red colour that we were told about, but a bit of googling tells me carnations can take on a range of shades, so I’m sure these bushes cousins were those in the story.

From there, through the area that Juliana described as the Jewish Ghetto, which was actually one of the only areas of the city that survived both the fires and the tsunami of 1755. The streets are narrow, pedestrian only, and buildings are built high and narrow, closely packed to each other. Juliana told us that if we wanted to listen to traditional Portuguese Fado singing, we should come here, since it’s one of the only places in the city you can see the ancient art form practiced. She also pointed out the reason that the Portuguese haven’t invested much stock or money in CCTV surveillance systems. We were puzzled by this, but she pointed upwards at the windows behind us. Sure enough, out of every single one of them, there was an elderly Portuguese woman looking down at us. ‘The second something happens, everyone knows,’ said Juliana with a laugh. Apparently no language barrier exists in the context of suspicion?

Finally, we headed towards the last stop on the tour, which was actually the most surprising part of the adventure for me. We walked to the front of a large building that had large, diamond shaped bumps all over the front of it. Apparently, the building was used as a cod-drying warehouse before it was left to ruin. Someone came across it and decided that no building this beautiful should be left the way it was, and turned it into a museum. The House of Spikes is now home to the museum of Jose Saramago, who is perhaps Portugal’s most famous writer. His most famous piece Blindness (great, in case you wanted my opinion, sure you did), won him the Nobel Prize for literature in 1988. The moment that surprised me the most though, was the end of the tour when Juliana pointed to the tree we were standing beside. She said, ‘not to alarm you, but he is buried under this tree.’ So I got a little closer to one of my favourite writers than I counted on getting, but being able to see the olive tree that marked his grave, while standing in front of the building designed to tentatively immortalize him, was a pretty fabulous way to top off a tour that proved there was far more to Lisbon than I could have ever imagined.

We then headed towards Juliana’s recommended restaurants, and found ourselves at a cute Portuguese place for lunch. After a slight translation error, I wound up with Bacalhau à Bras, which is basically salted cod and hashbrowns fried together, served with salad, and Brooke had cod fritters and a side of rice, beans and tomato sauce. An odd mix that worked pretty perfectly, as far as I could tell.

We walked (read, rolled) to the Praça do Comércio, which is the largest square in Europe, and walked through the archway that marks the entrance to Lisbon from the sea. The top of it is marked by the King who was in power during the 1755 earthquake, but he is shown facing the ocean since he fled the city instead of staying to protect it. Our guide said she wasn’t sure why he was given a monument at all, but I suppose being immortalized as a traitor is one way to pay for being one.

Before we made our way back to the hotel for a break, Brooke and I stopped for a quick shop down the main strip of the city, and for a requisite Pastel de Nata, which is the famed Portuguese egg-custard tart that the country is famous for.

We walked into a bakery where I watched them briefly being made, and Brooke treated me to one - again, worth the pain it caused me, sometimes you’ve just got to eat some gluten and figure out the rest later.

We headed back to the hotel, and while Brooke headed down to the spa, I went upstairs to enjoy one of the most amazing things about our Lisbon hotel - the fact that it’s got gym and a sprinting track on the 11th floor, where you can look out on the entirety of the city while working off your tarts. I spent a generous amount of my workout looking at the city I had spent the day traipsing around, it’s hard to focus when the world outside is just so much better looking than the dumbbells you’re only half-convinced you want to be holding.

We had a beautiful walk down to our dinner destination, and while it was booked out that evening, we made our way to a backup place called 11 Tapas. With no real expectations, we sat down at our tiny table and took in the well-loved vibe the restaurant gave off. Before long, our heavy-handed waitress had poured us two of the largest glasses of wine either of us had ever seen, and we were sitting in front of some of the most delicious tapas I’d had in a long time. Octopus, peppers and cilantro, smoked chorizo that came to the table while still on fire, mushrooms and sauteed onions, mussels, and a grilled chunk of goat’s cheese on arugula and tomatoes, we were two happy campers.

Our heavy handed waitress the placed two glasses of equal volume on our neighbour’s table, and before long, she came over to us and replaced what we had on ours because she said something along the lines of, ‘you looked jealous!’ She went back to the counter, and returned with her glasses, pointing to them and saying, ‘I couldn’t see!’ when we laughed at the volume she’d poured for us.

We ended the night with a lava cake and ice cream for Brooke, and cottage cheese with honey and walnuts for myself. Our first full day in Portugal set the bar quite high, don’t you think? That, and the fact that it cost a grand total of 32 Euros didn’t hurt either.

Saturday morning, we started our day up on the 11th floor gym, taking in the sunshine before hopping on a 5 Euro round-trip train from the city’s central Rossio station, out to Sintra, a region known for its beautiful views and stunning architecture. We were surrounded by people wanting to do and see the same, and after a rather rough and windy bus ride to the top of the hill, we saw what it was they were trying to come and see.

Pena Palace is a UNESCO world heritage site, and stands in the heart of the Sintra Mountains. Apparently you can see it from Lisbon on a clear day, which wasn’t the case for us, but it’s high enough up that we saw clouds rolling over the grounds as blue skies remained open above the world beyond the mountain.

Though it was initially built as a monastery in 1493, it was left to ruin before King Ferdinand the II came across it and fell in love with it, commissioning its Romantic reconstruction between 1842-1857. It’s a pretty impressive place, with tiled interiors and intricately carved furnishings. The real stunner is the outside though, colourful stucco and tile and stone, engraved and painted and all-together looking like a piece of artwork standing tall and proud out of the greenery below.

Brooke and I headed back to Lisbon and stopped for some picnic supplies on the way back, and headed down to the hotel spa to unwind for a bit before heading out for dinner. Turns out, you don’t need to buy out the hotel to have exclusive use, if you’re lucky! Not sure how we managed to take over during peak season, but hey, sometimes it’s best not to ask questions.

We headed out to our dinner reservation at a place called Minibar, which was an adventure all on its own. It’s a tasting menu designed to be more of an experience than a meal, and we wound up getting quite (sometimes too) daring with our orders to the point we didn’t always know what we were eating! After accidentally downing a chunk of foie gras covered in cocoa and hazlenuts disguised to look like a Ferrero Rocher, we chose to choose a little more conventionally for the rest of our meal.

I wasn’t feeling totally myself, so I went easy, but still managed to try some of the most amazing food we had found all trip. The walk home wasn’t too shabby either, I sometimes forget that life goes on after bedtime, and that in some places, leaving the restaurant after dark doesn’t mean you’ll be too cold to make it home.

Came back to the hotel and finally had a second to walk around and attempt to capture it, turns out, I can’t.

Sunday started off, you guessed it, at the top floor gym, where Brooke and I worked out and took one last look at the Lisbon skyline before dropping our bags at reception and checking out. We also had a little photoshoot in case our future selves need some motivation at the gym, since our workout views were no doubt going to pale in comparison from here on out.

The grand total cost of my stay at Four Seasons Hotel Ritz Lisbon? 6 Euros, 1/person/night, city tax. Otherwise, we’d been allowed to stay at the cost of having a contract with the company for almost a year and a half. Fair enough.

We hopped in an uber to one of the places we’d been recommended - Cascais is a city on the west coast of Portugal, and we had been told to go there for the beach, to compliment the city-exploration we’d been doing for the past two days.You can definitely take a train, but we chose the 30-minute car ride option since we had our flights to catch later in the day. We hopped in and soon realized our driver was from Cascais, and he decided he’d take us right to the sight we were in his car on his way to go see! We weren’t counting on a full blown tour, but turns out kindness and national pride are as abundant as the other here in Portugal.

Boca del Inferno is named that way because of the noise the waves make when crashing into it during a storm - it’s a large rocky outcropping that you can climb all over.

Much to Brooke’s chagrin I was one of the wannabe monkeys that was turning it into my playground.

There’s not much to see beyond the chasm itself, but the walk on the way back meant we could see a bit of Cascais without even meaning to. before long, we were in the centre of the city, or at least along the coast at a point where we decided to stop.

The difference in design between both Lisbon and Cascais is palatable, one is densely packed and bustling, while Cascais bears a bit more of a resemblance to Los Angeles along the coast, but not the Venice beach part, more like LA on a Sunday morning. It’s actually earned the reputation of being the California of Portugal, Lisbon’s main bridge looks a ton like the golden gate, and the vibe of Cascais resembles its equally laid-back counterpart. Walking around, we could feel why they were being compared to one another.

We found ourselves a spot on the beach and settled in, I saw some clouds take shapes I’d never seen before, and we watched the day go by as the sun told us we had made the right choice in how we were spending our day.

Our Uber driver home was playing jazz on his car radio, and we made it back to the hotel slightly more sandy and much better off than we had been when we left. We also wound up far less broke than we expected to be, sure Cascais is 24 km away, but Uber is notoriously inexpensive in Portugal, and we found ourselves pleasantly surprised with the fact that we’d managed to conveniently and relatively inexpensively hit another city on a day we thought we’d be too tight for time to do so. We decided on the way back to the hotel that we’d make the most of our stay, and we chose to use my employee benefits to try out the hotel’s acclaimed Sunday brunch. We were seated, and soon, we were beyond glad we’d made that choice. I’m here to change your opinions of Four Seasons - whatever they are, they now need to include the fact that an FS brunch is probably the best meal they serve.

I’ve had three of them now (spoiled much?) and this one was by far the best, Portuguese delicacies, seafood, an entire honeycomb suspended for you to break chunks off of and use at your discretion, dozens of desserts and a handful of one-hit appetizers that left you wanting about twelve more. Aren’t all berries dusted in gold???

It didn’t hurt that our waiter was an angel with a sense of humour, whose version of punshing us for not yet having tried Port during our trip was to bring us two glasses of it on the house. No matter what you think of Four Seasons, no matter what comes to mind, I know that this experience will mean that at least for me, the first thing I’ll think about will be the people who make these experiences happen. They’re phenomenal, almost every single time.

Unfortunately, even the best things have to end, and we headed down to the spa to shower and change before heading to the airport to come back to London. One final moment of joy though, it’s usually me who says sentimental things that usually stay inside peoples heads, but that I choose to share with the planet. On our Uber ride to the airport, our driver spoke only French and Portuguese. We were chatting, and out of the blue, he came out with something along the lines of, ‘sometimes I think it’s so useless to know this language, I never really use it. But then I do, and it reminds me how important it is, it let me talk to a Canadian that I never would have been able to talk to otherwise. I think that’s special.’ And I think he’s right.

After our slightly delayed flight finally made it to London, Brooke and I made a beeline for bed. Nothing like having to land in France though, I’m hoping that only happens to me once. And to end off, a shot of my all-time favourite part about air travel - that no matter where you are, the colours just seem brighter above the clouds, whether there are any or not.

Next week, some down time? Maybe?

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bromfieldhall · 7 years

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“Redwood” - A Mentalist Fanfiction

TIMELINE: Set some time after season five episode, ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’. Goes AU from there.

SYNOPISIS: Jane and Lisbon are forced into a deadly game when they try and catch a new serial killer.

PAIRING: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon - Jisbon

Previous Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

CHAPTER 11

Emotionally, Lisbon was numb. She had been ever since they'd taken Jane away in the ambulance.

Everything appeared to be happening at a lightning pace around her; the many voices and sounds that she associated with a busy hospital merging into one loud continuous buzzing noise as she sat listlessly staring at the opposite stark white wall of the waiting room area.

In contrast, she didn't think there was a part of her body that wasn't aching. After the ordeal she'd been through, it was hardly surprising but she had yet to agree to go and get checked out even though Van Pelt had urged her on a number of occasions since they'd arrived at the hospital.

All she cared about was Jane. The waiting for news was interminable, the hands of the clock ticking so slowly that even the seconds seemed like hours to her overwrought mind.

She thought back to earlier that evening when Van Pelt had gone to meet the paramedic's to lead them back to where Jane lay. Once alone, she had scrubbed her face clear of her useless tears then reached out to gently brush back some of the consultant's dirty blond hair before running her hand down his inert features as she'd leaned down to look at him.

"Jane? Jane, can you hear me?" she'd asked. His skin had felt a little clammy under her fingers and she knew enough about blood loss to have recognised that he was going into severe hypovolemic shock.

She'd swallowed hard around the lump that had formed in her throat and had tried to speak to him again but she couldn't seem to force her voice to work. She'd glanced around, wondering what was taking Van Pelt so long even though it had only been a couple of minutes…and then she'd felt it. Ever so slightly, Jane's hand had squeezed hers in response. She'd looked back down at him and heard him emit a low groan before he'd slowly opened his eyes.

"Oh, thank God," she'd breathed in relief as she'd ducked her head down so that he could see her. She'd given him a watery smile and greeted his return to consciousness with a soft, "Hey."

It had taken him a moment or two to focus on her face but when he did he'd managed a shadow of his usual smile.

"You're safe," he'd murmured his voice laced with obvious relief as his eyes drooped again.

"We both are," she'd assured him. "The paramedic's have just arrived so you need to stay awake, OK?"

"I hate hospitals," he'd grumbled sleepily, eyes still closed.

"I know you do," she'd said in a hushed tone as she ran her hand through his hair again.

"Feels nice," he'd muttered, obviously losing the battle to resist the lure of welcoming blackness that beckoned him back to a place where he stopped hurting.

She remembered smiling at his words before hearing a noise behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she'd been thankful to see Van Pelt finally returning with a paramedic and also Cho who had arrived when the rest of the emergency services had. She'd learned later that the redhead had quickly updated the stoic agent on all that had happened which was why she'd seen him shoot an icy glare at the Sheriff as he'd rapidly marched by him.

"They're here," she'd said urgently, turning back to her consultant but he hadn't responded. She'd called his name a couple of times then the medic had suddenly dropped his bag by her consultant's side and knelt down to begin looking Jane over.

"What have we got?" he'd asked, checking for the blond's pulse and frowning slightly.

Lisbon had briefly outlined the consultant's injury and the man had nodded his thanks as he continued to work methodically.

"Is he going to be OK?" she'd asked, trying to curb the slightly panicked tone in her voice.

He'd glanced at her, his expression serious as he'd replied, "We need to get him to hospital right away."

It's what he didn't say that had disturbed her most, the worried look in his eyes speaking volumes even though he hadn't realised it.

"I want to go with him," she'd stated firmly.

"I'm sorry but with our other patient there's just not going to be room in the ambulance," he'd told her apologetically as he'd stood up.

She'd wanted to argue the point but Cho had cut in saying, "Van Pelt can take you, Boss. One of us needs to go to the hospital and interview Newland anyway. I'll stay here and process the scene."

She'd shot him a grateful smile, suddenly feeing a little lighter; it had been good to let someone else take charge after everything she'd been through and she knew Cho would do an outstanding job. She was lucky to have such a great team around her and made a mental note to make sure she let them know it more often.

Things moved swiftly after that. Jane was carefully moved onto a stretcher then loaded into the ambulance with a sour looking Newland. She'd hardly let go of his hand the entire time, only relinquishing her hold when she'd been forced to and even then it had been reluctantly.

She'd stared after the ambulance as it had driven away, sirens blaring and lights flashing, feeling as if her heart had been ripped out of her chest and dragged along behind it in the slipstream.

That's when the numbness had set in.

Thankfully, Van Pelt had found out which hospital they were going to and Cho had ensured that a couple of deputy's followed so that the Sheriff would have a guard detail once they were there.

For once, the woman that prided herself on being able to handle any situation had been fit for nothing.

"When Rigsby gets here, I'll send him on to the hospital," Cho had informed them as they'd prepared to leave. He'd then paused for a moment before looking at her and adding in a slightly more softer tone than was normal for him, "He'll be fine, Boss, don't worry."

"I know," she'd answered with far more confidence than she'd actually felt and now, as she sat and waited, she was desperately trying hard to summon up even an ounce of that fabricated positive feeling.

Even fake self-assurance was better than none at all.

A flash of movement caught her eye and she looked up hopefully but it was just Van Pelt returning from a visit to the hospital cafeteria. She quelled the burning disappointment she felt and summoned half a smile. It wasn't the young woman's fault that she wasn't the doctor.

"Hi," Grace greeted as she walked over to Lisbon and handed her the cup of coffee she'd just bought. She sat down next to her on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs then asked, "Any news yet?"

"No," the brunette replied. She took a sip of the hot brew and relished the bitter taste as it slid down her dry throat then gave the agent another small smile as she added, "Thanks for getting this, I needed it."

Van Pelt nodded then drank some of her own coffee before setting it down beside her and glancing at her watch. It had been just over three hours since Jane had been rushed straight through to the operating theatre. Cho had rung her not long after they'd arrived at the hospital to inform her that he'd just sent Rigsby to join them there.

"Let him deal with Newland, you stay with Lisbon just in case it's bad news about Jane," he'd advised.

She'd understood his concern and assured him that she would stay put. Looking at Lisbon, she worriedly eyed the ever deepening bruises that coloured the brunette's face then straightened slightly as she prepared to try and coax her boss to get checked out for the umpteenth time.

"Don't even bother, Grace; I told you, I'm not going anywhere until I know how he's doing," Lisbon said with quiet resolve, forestalling the redhead's words.

Van Pelt let out a sigh of resignation but remained otherwise silent. It was useless to try and force Lisbon into doing anything she didn't want to. She was still amazed that she'd succeeded in persuading her boss to leave the waiting room long enough to go and wash the dirty streaks from her face. True, it'd taken over an hour and had culminated in her saying quite bluntly that Jane wouldn't want to see her in that dishevelled state to get her boss to finally comply, but it was worth it. She'd even managed to purloin a clean top for her from a kind-hearted nurse. It was a little on the large side but much better than the blood stained t-shirt she had been wearing.

She took another sip of her drink and looked around. Out the corner of her eye she noticed a doctor in scrubs enter the waiting area. He was a short man in his mid fifties, his hair colour hidden under a surgical cap and, after a cursory glance at all the occupants, he headed their way.

"Boss," she said, giving the other woman a light nudge on the arm. "I think this is us."

Lisbon looked up and quickly stood as the surgeon came to a halt in front of them.

"Are you here for Mr. Jane?" he asked briskly.

"Yes, I'm Agent Lisbon, this is Agent Van Pelt," the brunette introduced as Grace held out her badge. "How is he?"

The doctor gave the ID the most briefest of glances then turned back the Lisbon with a commiserating smile that had her stomach turn over.

"He's in recovery. The surgery went well, there wasn't too much tissue damage considering. He was very lucky the bullet passed through and missed his major organs but it's his blood loss I'm more concerned with," he explained impassively. "He's suffering from hypovolemia and although we've given him blood transfusions, the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours are critical. Hopefully he'll respond but I suggest you call his family."

Lisbon felt like she'd been punched in the gut. He hadn't really told her anything she didn't already suspect but even so, she couldn't stop the little nagging voice in her head that kept insisting that it was just like Bosco all over again.

But it wasn't, she had to remind herself firmly. Jane's injuries weren't nearly so bad. He would be alright. He would survive.

"We're his family," she stated coolly. "When can I see him?"

A slight rise of his eyebrows was the only indication that he was in any way surprised by what she'd said then he glanced at his watch.

"He probably won't be awake yet but you can have a few minutes with him now before they transfer him to ICU," he allowed then checked the time again. "I have another patient I must attend to but if follow me, I'll show you where to go."

Lisbon nodded her thanks then she and Van Pelt walked quickly behind him towards the recovery room. Once there, the doctor spoke with one of the nurses on duty then hurried away without even a backwards glance of acknowledgement.

"Nice bedside manner," Van Pelt murmured wryly as the nurse he'd talked to bustled over with a friendly smile.

"Dr. Morgan said you could have a few minutes with Mr. Jane," she said warmly in stark contrast to the doctor's emotionless demeanour. "He's just through here. Only one of you I'm afraid though."

Lisbon looked at Van Pelt who merely nodded and took the brunette's coffee from her before saying, "I'll wait for you out in the hall."

The nurse led Lisbon through to the next room and pointed to the bed at the far end where Jane was surrounded by various beeping machinery. His face was as white as the sheets that he lay on and the brunette couldn't help the little gasp of shock she emitted at the ghostly sight of him. It was the first dart of emotion she'd felt in ages.

"His colour should improve over the next few hours," the nurse commented reassuringly as she gave the agent's arm a consoling pat. "I'll be back soon."

Lisbon nodded automatically and waited until the door closed behind her before she moved slowly towards the bed. She came to a halt by its side and looked down upon her sleeping consultant. There was an I.V. in his arm no doubt administering pain medication and some kind of antibiotic and he had tubes in his nose that supplied a steady stream of oxygen. Machines monitored his heart and blood pressure, ready to alert staff if there were any kind of slight alteration in his natural rhythms, but she ignored it all, her gaze completely focussed on his face.

He looked so frail. Nothing like the vibrant, sometimes larger than life, pain in the ass she knew him to be. It was all just so wrong. He shouldn't be that quiet. So still.

Tentatively, she reached out and laid her hand on the bed before sliding it up until she touched the tips of his fingers. He didn't feel cold anymore, she realised with no little amount of relief. Inching further, she covered his hand with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

The door clicked open behind her and she felt her heart drop that her time with him had already come to an end.

"We're going to be moving Mr. Jane to ICU soon," the nurse informed her quietly.

Not looking around, Lisbon nodded her acknowledgment then bent and closed her eyes as she pressed a lingering soft kiss to her consultant's forehead. Her faint hope that he might stir came to fruition when he suddenly let out a very soft moan. She pulled back immediately, her eyes snapping open to look down at him intently.

"Jane?" she called urgently before turning to the nurse and saying, "I think he's waking up."

The other woman hurried over to opposite side of the bed and began making the usual vitals checks as the blond let out another small groan and moved his head to the side.

"Lisbon?" he whispered, a slight frown marring his face as he tried to open his eyes.

"I'm here," she assured him, squeezing his hand again.

His eyes fluttered open and after blinking a few times, he locked onto her face and smiled.

"I could get used to you being the first thing I see whenever I wake up," he murmured sluggishly.

Lisbon couldn't help the tiny skip her heart made at his comment even though she knew he was too drugged up to really know what he was saying.

"Oh please, you'd be sick of my face within a week the amount you sleep," she replied lightly, unable to keep the answering smile from her own lips.

"Never," he refuted softly, his eyes not leaving her face.

Her smile faded as they stared at each other for a few moments until a soft clearing of a throat broke the lightly charged silence. Lisbon blinked then looked over at the nurse questioningly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," the woman began apologetically, "but I have to ask Mr. Jane some questions and then we need to get him up to ICU."

Lisbon nodded her understanding but it was with great reluctance that she let go of his hand and took a step back. She listened idly to their conversation and once they'd finished, the nurse turned to Lisbon and proposed, "If you leave your number on my desk, I'll give you a call as soon as he's settled in ICU."

"Thank you," Lisbon replied sincerely before looking back at Jane and adding, "I'm going to go and check in with Cho and the rest of the team."

He nodded and she caught him staring wistfully after her as she gave him one last glance before leaving the room. Ignoring the urge to go back and plant herself resolutely by his side, she went over to the nurses' desk and left her a note with her name and number on it then went out and joined Van Pelt in the hallway.

She knew he still a long way to go but finally, for the first time in hours, she felt the numbness that had settled around her like a thick protective fog begin to lift.

END CHAPTER 11

#mentalist ff #mentalist fanfiction #jisbon ff #jisbon fanfiction

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