Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2018-08-07 08:49 am
rionaleonhart) wrote2018-08-07 08:49 am
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Fighting the Tide (The Mentalist)
Well. Huh. I wasn't expecting to finish this.
I started writing this six years ago, so it feels like a weird patchwork of writing from myself at different ages, but I'm hoping it holds together better from a reader's perspective. Whether it's worked or not, it's been a lot of fun to write about Jane and Lisbon interacting!
(The key to finishing this fic at last turned out to be cutting out a single line that I really wanted to include, but that turned out not to have any place in it: “Things that can’t happen can’t have happened,” Jane says. “As deduction goes, that’s kind of as basic as it gets.”
It's weird how sometimes, when you're struggling with a fic, all you have to do is slice out a line or a scene to get it flowing. It took me a long time to learn that.)
Maybe one day I'll finish the companion piece to this, in which Lisbon is the one who turns psychic. That one will probably feel a lot darker.
Maybe I need to rewatch The Mentalist.
Title: Fighting the Tide
Fandom: The Mentalist
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3,100
Summary: Jane develops actual psychic powers. He's not very happy about it.
“This is ridiculous,” Mr Erholt growls. “Why would I kill my wife?”
“Ah, you resented her for being more successful in your career than you,” Jane says. “You had control issues. You stood to gain her father’s estate, and you were terrified that she would find out about your affair with a woman named... Charlene?” He pauses, frowning. “Charlene.” Another pause. “Anyway, these are just suggestions.”
-
“So who’s Charlene?” Lisbon asks, as she and Jane walk away from the house.
“Hmm?”
“Who’s Charlene?” Lisbon asks, folding her arms against the breeze.
“Charlene,” Jane says, closing his eyes. “Ah, yes. She’s the woman the victim’s husband was having an affair with.”
“Cute. Rigsby and Van Pelt didn’t find anything about a Charlene. Who is she?”
Jane shrugs. “I don’t know. All I know is what Erholt’s body language told me.”
“His body language told you she was named Charlene?”
“His body language told me he was having an affair.”
“So where did you get the name from?”
Jane hesitates.
“His reaction when I said the name told me she was named Charlene,” he says, slowly.
“Oh, and you just pulled that name out of thin air? Because there was at least a forty percent chance she’d be called that, right? C’mon, tell me how you knew.”
Jane, for once in his life, doesn’t say anything, and it takes Lisbon a moment to realise he’s stopped walking alongside her. She turns to see him standing there on the gravel drive, staring at it and frowning.
“You found her love letters or something, didn’t you?” she asks. It seems so boring, but that’s probably it.
Jane doesn’t answer.
-
The case is closed. Mr Erholt has been arrested. Aside from the trial, it’s over.
Lisbon can’t stop thinking about it.
Charlene. Jane was right; there was a woman by that name involved. He refuses to tell her how he knew when she asks about it, but it doesn’t feel like playful evasiveness; there’s something uncomfortable about it.
“Did he tell you how he knew?” she asks Van Pelt.
“About the affair?”
Lisbon shakes her head. Jane’s exposed plenty of affairs, but... “He knew her name. I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Jane?” Van Pelt asks, with clearly feigned surprise. “Doing something impossible? No way.”
Lisbon has to smile. “I don’t know. Some of the impossible things he does seem more impossible than others.”
“Maybe he saw the name somewhere.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think he did?” Van Pelt asks.
Is Lisbon really that easy to read, or is she just working with an entire team of mindreaders? “I don’t think he knows how he knows. It’s bothering me.” She hesitates. “I’m probably imagining it.”
“I don’t know,” Van Pelt says. “I think you’re better at reading him than you think you are. I mean, if anyone can tell what he’s thinking, it’s you.” She sits back a little in her chair, stretches her arms above her head. “Are you saying you think he’s actually psychic?”
Lisbon can’t deny that it’s crossed her mind, but... “No,” she says. “Why would he pretend not to be psychic if he is? It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe he thought the CBI would take him more seriously if he pretended it was just observation,” Van Pelt says, with a shrug. “A lot of people don’t believe in psychic powers. Pretending it’s something else could make him look more credible.”
Lisbon shakes her head. “That can’t be right. There’s no such thing as psychics.”
“Do you actually think that, or do you just believe it because it’s what Jane told you?”
“I just think there would be more proof if things like that were possible.”
“Maybe this is the proof,” Van Pelt says.
Lisbon hesitates.
Van Pelt drums her fingers on her desk for a moment, biting her lip. “Maybe it’s something to do with Red John.”
The name always has an impact; it makes the air feel unsafe. It changes something in Jane whenever he hears it, and Lisbon thinks it’s starting to change something in her as well. “Being psychic?”
“Pretending he’s not.”
-
There’s someone else in the building.
Lisbon thought she was the last one here, working late again. But there’s someone else. She can feel it; she felt it the moment she stood up from her desk at last.
Who is it? Where are they? Someone who’s supposed to be here, or...?
She steps out into the dark corridor, warily. There’s someone sitting against the wall, a little further towards the exit; she can just make them out in the shadows.
“Hello?” Lisbon calls.
There’s no response. She edges closer, her hand instinctively going to her hip even though she’s not carrying her gun. Someone taking a moment to breathe? Someone planning an ambush? Surely nobody could have dumped a body here.
And then the recognition leaps up in her chest. It’s Jane. Of course it’s Jane. The building is empty, and Jane is sitting against a wall in the dark.
“What’s going on?” Lisbon asks.
“Nothing’s going on,” Jane says, not looking at her. “Why would anything be going on?”
“You know, despite your impressive collection of honesty trophies I’m not sure I believe you this time.” She flicks the light on. Jane winces. “So why don’t you come back to my office and talk to me?”
“I’m fine where I am, thanks.”
Lisbon folds her arms. “Were you just going to sit there all night if I hadn’t found you?”
“Well, probably not all night,” Jane says.
“Jane. Something’s bugging you. Tell me about it.”
He looks at her.
“It’s the psychic thing,” she says. “Isn’t it?”
It takes him a moment to reply. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”
“I’m not,” she says. “Because you know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”
“I have a reasonable idea,” he says. “You think I can read minds. I can’t. Well, not in any supernatural sense.”
She shrugs. “Maybe, but it seems to me there are things that can’t just be deduced. Charlene?”
He goes quiet again.
“Maybe I saw her name written down somewhere,” he says, after a moment. “It could’ve just stuck in my mind.”
“And you don’t actually remember where you saw it, because you’re so famously bad at picking up on things that might be clues,” Lisbon says. “Sure you’re not psychic?”
“That’s impossible,” he says, so instantly and so sharply that she knows he’s been thinking about the possibility himself.
“Okay, so maybe it’s just your normal deduction thing,” she says. “Although I’m still not sure ‘normal’ is the right word. You’ve been doing this so long, you’ve got to be picking up on things subconsciously by now.”
He shakes his head, and she doesn’t need to have his abilities to see how frustrated he is. “There are things you can’t just deduce. Not without testing someone’s reaction.”
“Like names?”
“You can deduce names,” he says. “Say someone keeps giving his flowers guilty looks: maybe he’s having an affair with a Rose, or a Violet. But I don’t see where Charlene came from.”
“Okay,” she says, spreading her hands. “You didn’t deduce it and you’re not psychic. So what is it? ’Cause it seems to me we’re running out of options.”
For a moment he just sits there, not meeting her eyes.
“I’m going to tell you what you’re thinking,” he says, very suddenly.
“Okay,” she says. “I mean, that’s not exactly new.”
“Think of something,” he says, standing up at last and turning to look at her. “Anything. Not something too obvious, like—” and then he cuts himself off with an exasperated hiss. “No, I’m already trying to manipulate what you’ll pick. I can’t stop myself.”
That’s how he does his ‘mindreading’ tricks? Planting thoughts in her head first? She thinks that might be even creepier than the possibility of actual mindreading. “So don’t say anything. I’ll think of something.”
“It won’t be a free choice.” He sits down against the wall again. “I’ve already influenced you just by asking you to come up with something. People become very predictable when they’re trying to be unpredictable.”
“Fine,” Lisbon says. “If I can’t help you, I’m going home.”
Jane looks up sharply. “You’re thinking about whether you can stop to pick up pasta and paper towels on your way back,” he says. “But you can’t remember the store’s opening times, and anyway you don’t like going in there after dark because the lights flicker and it gives you a headache.”
There is a pause.
“You’re psychic,” Lisbon says. “I don’t care what you say.”
Jane drops his head into his hands. “I know.”
-
Jane’s lying on his couch when Lisbon comes into the office, and she pauses in the doorway. Being around Jane has always been a little uncomfortable, given how easily he seems able to see inside her mind. It almost doesn’t seem like actual psychic powers should make a difference. But they do, and now she’s going to have to deal with the knowledge that this guy can hear her thoughts.
She doesn’t think he’s noticed her. Maybe she can get some things done elsewhere in the building, put off the moment when she actually has to address this.
“I know you’re there, Lisbon,” Jane says, not opening his eyes. “I can hear you.”
Right. Of course.
“Can you turn it off?” Lisbon asks. “I’d really prefer it if you could turn it off in the office.”
“Believe me,” Jane says, “so would I.”
“Have you always been...?”
“It’s new,” Jane says. “A few weeks now. It’s been getting worse. I don’t know what started it. I don’t know how to stop it.”
Getting worse? What does that mean? It’s going away? Or...
“It’s getting stronger,” Jane says.
Lisbon hesitates for a moment. “Do you mind if I tell the rest of the team? I think they have a right to know, if they’re working with someone who can read their thoughts.”
Jane shrugs against the couch. “They all think I’m psychic already.”
“Even Cho?” Lisbon asks. “You heard them thinking it?”
Jane snorts. “I could tell before this whole thing started. But yes.”
-
She tells them anyway. Rigsby and Van Pelt definitely don’t seem surprised. Cho’s the only one who even bothers to test it.
“What did I have for breakfast?” he calls from his desk.
“Nothing,” Jane says. “You should eat in the mornings, Cho.”
Cho shrugs.
“He probably didn’t need psychic powers for that,” Lisbon says.
“I already knew,” Cho says, focusing on his work.
-
Jane’s barely spoken all morning. It puts Lisbon on edge; either he’s in a bad mood or he’s plotting something, and both possibilities tend to end in lawsuits.
“I’m not plotting anything,” Jane says, when she’s walking past on her way back from the bathroom.
She’s so used to telling herself it’s just guesswork, he doesn’t really know what you’re thinking, but now it keeps hitting her a moment later: he actually knows. It’s going to take a while to get used to this.
Not plotting. So he’s... annoyed? Feeling down?
It makes sense, come to think of it. All his insistence that there’s no such thing as psychic powers, and now...
“I know it must be difficult to have your beliefs shattered like this,” Lisbon says.
“That’s not it,” Jane says.
Lisbon frowns. “It’s not?”
“I won’t deny that it is a factor,” Jane says, idly tracing circles on the sofa’s leather with the tip of a finger. “But it’s not the main cause of all this...”
“Sulking?” Lisbon suggests.
“‘Sulking’ makes me sound like a child. Let’s say ‘moodiness’.”
“Right, because that’s so much more mature.”
“The problem is that everything’s so boring now,” Jane says, closing his eyes.
Lisbon stares at him. “You’re bored.”
“Correct.”
“You have supernatural powers and you’re bored.”
“Well, yes. I don’t have to work things out; all the information just comes to me. I don’t even have to think any more.”
“Okay,” Lisbon says. “Let’s make sure I’m clear on this. You’re not annoyed that this is a huge breach of privacy or, I don’t know, overwhelming or something. You’re annoyed that it’s made you better at your job.”
“I was good at my job. I didn’t need this.”
“Of course. Who cares if a few murderers get away, so long as it’s interesting for Patrick Jane?”
It’s amused, rather than heated. He’s being ridiculous, but it’s not as if that’s new. She’s not angry. Not yet, at least.
“You don’t have to be snide, Lisbon,” Jane says. “I can hear your thoughts; I already know how you feel about this.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Lisbon says. “I think I’m going to make the effort to be snide anyway.”
-
“We’re going to talk to the victim’s son,” Lisbon says, pulling on her jacket. “You coming?”
“Mmm,” Jane says, “no.”
There is a pause.
“You know that was meant to be a rhetorical question, right?” Lisbon asks. “I thought you were bored.”
“And if I walk through the door and hear him wondering whether he managed to erase all the evidence, that’ll make me less bored?”
“Psychically solving a murder? Yeah, I’d say most people find that more interesting than lying on a couch.”
“It’s not psychically solving a murder; it’s psychically receiving the answer to a murder. I wouldn’t be doing anything.”
“You’d be bringing a killer to justice.”
Jane waves a hand. “Meh.”
“Are you quitting the CBI?” Lisbon asks. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be allowed to keep the couch.”
Jane doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Good,” Lisbon says. “So there are still things you don’t know. You can entertain yourself by trying to work that out, and meanwhile I’m going to do my job.”
She’s determined not to think I wish Jane were here once while they’re talking to the son. She almost manages it. Even if it’d be good to have his insight, though, nobody gets punched in the face or threatened with a lawsuit, so there’s a bright side to not having Jane around.
-
“So,” Lisbon says, when she sees Jane the next day, “have you decided whether you’ll be staying with us?”
She doesn’t want to lose him, infuriating as he can be. She tries to keep it out of her voice; it’s harder to keep it out of her mind.
Jane grins. “Actually, I’ve thought of a way I can help with the investigation.”
“That’s good; I know how tough it can be to find any use for telepathy when you’re trying to solve a murder.”
“Cho said you’re bringing in one of the co-workers,” Jane says. “I’m going to need you to set up a video thing from the interrogation room.”
Lisbon looks at him. “A video link. To another room in the station.”
“So I can watch the interview without being there. And I’ll need some kind of thing so I can send my voice.”
“A phone?” Lisbon asks. “I know you’re not so bad with technology you don’t know what a phone is.”
Jane ignores her. Some things never change, even if your colleague suddenly develops impossible abilities. “That way I can suggest questions to ask and I won’t be able to hear the suspect’s thoughts.”
“Of course,” Lisbon says. “Wouldn’t want you to be too useful with this new power of yours.”
“I’m going to catch the murderer. How can I be more useful than that?”
“What if there’s another attack while you’re figuring it out?” Lisbon asks. “What if someone dies and you could have prevented it?”
“Then I will live with that,” Jane says. He touches two fingers to his temple. “I can’t live with this.”
“So you have a guaranteed way of finding out whether someone’s the killer, but you won’t use it because you’d rather be wrong than bored.”
“I won’t be wrong.”
“You’d better not be,” Lisbon says. “I’ll see if I can get a video link set up.”
-
“Who do you keep talking to?” the suspect asks, halfway through the interrogation.
“Jane,” Cho says. “Consultant. Couldn’t be here in person.”
“Why not?”
“Broke his legs.”
“What, both of them? How?”
“Wouldn’t answer questions,” Cho says. “Where did you go after you left the bar?”
-
“So?” Lisbon asks, when the interview is over and they’ve shut off the video feed.
“He didn’t do it,” Jane says. “But he knows who did.”
“Great, well, we’ve got the perfect way to find out what he knows. Get in there.”
Jane makes a face. “I need to figure out a way to shut off this mindreading thing.”
“No,” Lisbon says. “You don’t. I’m not going to waste CBI time and money on making things interesting for you when you could solve this case right now.”
“Any more,” Jane says, quietly.
“What?”
“You’re not going to waste any more time and money.”
Lisbon gives him the most intense glare she’s capable of. It’s still less than he deserves.
Then she takes him by the arm and physically marches him to the interview room.
-
“His sister,” Jane says, extremely grudgingly, once they’re out of earshot of the interviewee. “She works in a different department of the same company. Apparently she and the victim had a difficult relationship. They had an argument that turned physical.”
“Thank you,” Lisbon says. “Any ideas about evidence?”
“Evidence?”
“Evidence,” Lisbon says. “The stuff that proves someone committed a crime. You know, the stuff we’ll need if we actually want to make an arrest.”
Jane is brightening, which cannot possibly be good news. “What’s this, Lisbon? I thought my incredible psychic powers were all we needed.”
“You didn’t see any possible evidence locations in his mind?” Lisbon asks. “Murder weapon? Anything? From what you’re saying, I’m guessing it wasn’t planned.”
“The murderer got some blood on her clothes,” Jane says. “The brother helped her dispose of them.”
“How?”
“But,” Jane says, talking over her, “I think it’d be more interesting to trick her into confessing in some sort of extravagant, potentially disastrous spectacle.”
“Of course you do,” Lisbon says, flatly.
Jane grins at her. “You see, you can’t ruin all my fun.”
“Do you want to at least meet her before we take her down?”
“No,” Jane says. “Absolutely not. It’ll take away any chance of failure if I know exactly how her mind works. Much more fun if I work with her brother’s assessment of her character.”
If nothing else, at least it seems like this might not drive him out of the CBI. “Psychic powers are wasted on you.”
I started writing this six years ago, so it feels like a weird patchwork of writing from myself at different ages, but I'm hoping it holds together better from a reader's perspective. Whether it's worked or not, it's been a lot of fun to write about Jane and Lisbon interacting!
(The key to finishing this fic at last turned out to be cutting out a single line that I really wanted to include, but that turned out not to have any place in it: “Things that can’t happen can’t have happened,” Jane says. “As deduction goes, that’s kind of as basic as it gets.”
It's weird how sometimes, when you're struggling with a fic, all you have to do is slice out a line or a scene to get it flowing. It took me a long time to learn that.)
Maybe one day I'll finish the companion piece to this, in which Lisbon is the one who turns psychic. That one will probably feel a lot darker.
Maybe I need to rewatch The Mentalist.
Title: Fighting the Tide
Fandom: The Mentalist
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3,100
Summary: Jane develops actual psychic powers. He's not very happy about it.
“This is ridiculous,” Mr Erholt growls. “Why would I kill my wife?”
“Ah, you resented her for being more successful in your career than you,” Jane says. “You had control issues. You stood to gain her father’s estate, and you were terrified that she would find out about your affair with a woman named... Charlene?” He pauses, frowning. “Charlene.” Another pause. “Anyway, these are just suggestions.”
“So who’s Charlene?” Lisbon asks, as she and Jane walk away from the house.
“Hmm?”
“Who’s Charlene?” Lisbon asks, folding her arms against the breeze.
“Charlene,” Jane says, closing his eyes. “Ah, yes. She’s the woman the victim’s husband was having an affair with.”
“Cute. Rigsby and Van Pelt didn’t find anything about a Charlene. Who is she?”
Jane shrugs. “I don’t know. All I know is what Erholt’s body language told me.”
“His body language told you she was named Charlene?”
“His body language told me he was having an affair.”
“So where did you get the name from?”
Jane hesitates.
“His reaction when I said the name told me she was named Charlene,” he says, slowly.
“Oh, and you just pulled that name out of thin air? Because there was at least a forty percent chance she’d be called that, right? C’mon, tell me how you knew.”
Jane, for once in his life, doesn’t say anything, and it takes Lisbon a moment to realise he’s stopped walking alongside her. She turns to see him standing there on the gravel drive, staring at it and frowning.
“You found her love letters or something, didn’t you?” she asks. It seems so boring, but that’s probably it.
Jane doesn’t answer.
The case is closed. Mr Erholt has been arrested. Aside from the trial, it’s over.
Lisbon can’t stop thinking about it.
Charlene. Jane was right; there was a woman by that name involved. He refuses to tell her how he knew when she asks about it, but it doesn’t feel like playful evasiveness; there’s something uncomfortable about it.
“Did he tell you how he knew?” she asks Van Pelt.
“About the affair?”
Lisbon shakes her head. Jane’s exposed plenty of affairs, but... “He knew her name. I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Jane?” Van Pelt asks, with clearly feigned surprise. “Doing something impossible? No way.”
Lisbon has to smile. “I don’t know. Some of the impossible things he does seem more impossible than others.”
“Maybe he saw the name somewhere.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think he did?” Van Pelt asks.
Is Lisbon really that easy to read, or is she just working with an entire team of mindreaders? “I don’t think he knows how he knows. It’s bothering me.” She hesitates. “I’m probably imagining it.”
“I don’t know,” Van Pelt says. “I think you’re better at reading him than you think you are. I mean, if anyone can tell what he’s thinking, it’s you.” She sits back a little in her chair, stretches her arms above her head. “Are you saying you think he’s actually psychic?”
Lisbon can’t deny that it’s crossed her mind, but... “No,” she says. “Why would he pretend not to be psychic if he is? It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe he thought the CBI would take him more seriously if he pretended it was just observation,” Van Pelt says, with a shrug. “A lot of people don’t believe in psychic powers. Pretending it’s something else could make him look more credible.”
Lisbon shakes her head. “That can’t be right. There’s no such thing as psychics.”
“Do you actually think that, or do you just believe it because it’s what Jane told you?”
“I just think there would be more proof if things like that were possible.”
“Maybe this is the proof,” Van Pelt says.
Lisbon hesitates.
Van Pelt drums her fingers on her desk for a moment, biting her lip. “Maybe it’s something to do with Red John.”
The name always has an impact; it makes the air feel unsafe. It changes something in Jane whenever he hears it, and Lisbon thinks it’s starting to change something in her as well. “Being psychic?”
“Pretending he’s not.”
There’s someone else in the building.
Lisbon thought she was the last one here, working late again. But there’s someone else. She can feel it; she felt it the moment she stood up from her desk at last.
Who is it? Where are they? Someone who’s supposed to be here, or...?
She steps out into the dark corridor, warily. There’s someone sitting against the wall, a little further towards the exit; she can just make them out in the shadows.
“Hello?” Lisbon calls.
There’s no response. She edges closer, her hand instinctively going to her hip even though she’s not carrying her gun. Someone taking a moment to breathe? Someone planning an ambush? Surely nobody could have dumped a body here.
And then the recognition leaps up in her chest. It’s Jane. Of course it’s Jane. The building is empty, and Jane is sitting against a wall in the dark.
“What’s going on?” Lisbon asks.
“Nothing’s going on,” Jane says, not looking at her. “Why would anything be going on?”
“You know, despite your impressive collection of honesty trophies I’m not sure I believe you this time.” She flicks the light on. Jane winces. “So why don’t you come back to my office and talk to me?”
“I’m fine where I am, thanks.”
Lisbon folds her arms. “Were you just going to sit there all night if I hadn’t found you?”
“Well, probably not all night,” Jane says.
“Jane. Something’s bugging you. Tell me about it.”
He looks at her.
“It’s the psychic thing,” she says. “Isn’t it?”
It takes him a moment to reply. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”
“I’m not,” she says. “Because you know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”
“I have a reasonable idea,” he says. “You think I can read minds. I can’t. Well, not in any supernatural sense.”
She shrugs. “Maybe, but it seems to me there are things that can’t just be deduced. Charlene?”
He goes quiet again.
“Maybe I saw her name written down somewhere,” he says, after a moment. “It could’ve just stuck in my mind.”
“And you don’t actually remember where you saw it, because you’re so famously bad at picking up on things that might be clues,” Lisbon says. “Sure you’re not psychic?”
“That’s impossible,” he says, so instantly and so sharply that she knows he’s been thinking about the possibility himself.
“Okay, so maybe it’s just your normal deduction thing,” she says. “Although I’m still not sure ‘normal’ is the right word. You’ve been doing this so long, you’ve got to be picking up on things subconsciously by now.”
He shakes his head, and she doesn’t need to have his abilities to see how frustrated he is. “There are things you can’t just deduce. Not without testing someone’s reaction.”
“Like names?”
“You can deduce names,” he says. “Say someone keeps giving his flowers guilty looks: maybe he’s having an affair with a Rose, or a Violet. But I don’t see where Charlene came from.”
“Okay,” she says, spreading her hands. “You didn’t deduce it and you’re not psychic. So what is it? ’Cause it seems to me we’re running out of options.”
For a moment he just sits there, not meeting her eyes.
“I’m going to tell you what you’re thinking,” he says, very suddenly.
“Okay,” she says. “I mean, that’s not exactly new.”
“Think of something,” he says, standing up at last and turning to look at her. “Anything. Not something too obvious, like—” and then he cuts himself off with an exasperated hiss. “No, I’m already trying to manipulate what you’ll pick. I can’t stop myself.”
That’s how he does his ‘mindreading’ tricks? Planting thoughts in her head first? She thinks that might be even creepier than the possibility of actual mindreading. “So don’t say anything. I’ll think of something.”
“It won’t be a free choice.” He sits down against the wall again. “I’ve already influenced you just by asking you to come up with something. People become very predictable when they’re trying to be unpredictable.”
“Fine,” Lisbon says. “If I can’t help you, I’m going home.”
Jane looks up sharply. “You’re thinking about whether you can stop to pick up pasta and paper towels on your way back,” he says. “But you can’t remember the store’s opening times, and anyway you don’t like going in there after dark because the lights flicker and it gives you a headache.”
There is a pause.
“You’re psychic,” Lisbon says. “I don’t care what you say.”
Jane drops his head into his hands. “I know.”
Jane’s lying on his couch when Lisbon comes into the office, and she pauses in the doorway. Being around Jane has always been a little uncomfortable, given how easily he seems able to see inside her mind. It almost doesn’t seem like actual psychic powers should make a difference. But they do, and now she’s going to have to deal with the knowledge that this guy can hear her thoughts.
She doesn’t think he’s noticed her. Maybe she can get some things done elsewhere in the building, put off the moment when she actually has to address this.
“I know you’re there, Lisbon,” Jane says, not opening his eyes. “I can hear you.”
Right. Of course.
“Can you turn it off?” Lisbon asks. “I’d really prefer it if you could turn it off in the office.”
“Believe me,” Jane says, “so would I.”
“Have you always been...?”
“It’s new,” Jane says. “A few weeks now. It’s been getting worse. I don’t know what started it. I don’t know how to stop it.”
Getting worse? What does that mean? It’s going away? Or...
“It’s getting stronger,” Jane says.
Lisbon hesitates for a moment. “Do you mind if I tell the rest of the team? I think they have a right to know, if they’re working with someone who can read their thoughts.”
Jane shrugs against the couch. “They all think I’m psychic already.”
“Even Cho?” Lisbon asks. “You heard them thinking it?”
Jane snorts. “I could tell before this whole thing started. But yes.”
She tells them anyway. Rigsby and Van Pelt definitely don’t seem surprised. Cho’s the only one who even bothers to test it.
“What did I have for breakfast?” he calls from his desk.
“Nothing,” Jane says. “You should eat in the mornings, Cho.”
Cho shrugs.
“He probably didn’t need psychic powers for that,” Lisbon says.
“I already knew,” Cho says, focusing on his work.
Jane’s barely spoken all morning. It puts Lisbon on edge; either he’s in a bad mood or he’s plotting something, and both possibilities tend to end in lawsuits.
“I’m not plotting anything,” Jane says, when she’s walking past on her way back from the bathroom.
She’s so used to telling herself it’s just guesswork, he doesn’t really know what you’re thinking, but now it keeps hitting her a moment later: he actually knows. It’s going to take a while to get used to this.
Not plotting. So he’s... annoyed? Feeling down?
It makes sense, come to think of it. All his insistence that there’s no such thing as psychic powers, and now...
“I know it must be difficult to have your beliefs shattered like this,” Lisbon says.
“That’s not it,” Jane says.
Lisbon frowns. “It’s not?”
“I won’t deny that it is a factor,” Jane says, idly tracing circles on the sofa’s leather with the tip of a finger. “But it’s not the main cause of all this...”
“Sulking?” Lisbon suggests.
“‘Sulking’ makes me sound like a child. Let’s say ‘moodiness’.”
“Right, because that’s so much more mature.”
“The problem is that everything’s so boring now,” Jane says, closing his eyes.
Lisbon stares at him. “You’re bored.”
“Correct.”
“You have supernatural powers and you’re bored.”
“Well, yes. I don’t have to work things out; all the information just comes to me. I don’t even have to think any more.”
“Okay,” Lisbon says. “Let’s make sure I’m clear on this. You’re not annoyed that this is a huge breach of privacy or, I don’t know, overwhelming or something. You’re annoyed that it’s made you better at your job.”
“I was good at my job. I didn’t need this.”
“Of course. Who cares if a few murderers get away, so long as it’s interesting for Patrick Jane?”
It’s amused, rather than heated. He’s being ridiculous, but it’s not as if that’s new. She’s not angry. Not yet, at least.
“You don’t have to be snide, Lisbon,” Jane says. “I can hear your thoughts; I already know how you feel about this.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Lisbon says. “I think I’m going to make the effort to be snide anyway.”
“We’re going to talk to the victim’s son,” Lisbon says, pulling on her jacket. “You coming?”
“Mmm,” Jane says, “no.”
There is a pause.
“You know that was meant to be a rhetorical question, right?” Lisbon asks. “I thought you were bored.”
“And if I walk through the door and hear him wondering whether he managed to erase all the evidence, that’ll make me less bored?”
“Psychically solving a murder? Yeah, I’d say most people find that more interesting than lying on a couch.”
“It’s not psychically solving a murder; it’s psychically receiving the answer to a murder. I wouldn’t be doing anything.”
“You’d be bringing a killer to justice.”
Jane waves a hand. “Meh.”
“Are you quitting the CBI?” Lisbon asks. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be allowed to keep the couch.”
Jane doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Good,” Lisbon says. “So there are still things you don’t know. You can entertain yourself by trying to work that out, and meanwhile I’m going to do my job.”
She’s determined not to think I wish Jane were here once while they’re talking to the son. She almost manages it. Even if it’d be good to have his insight, though, nobody gets punched in the face or threatened with a lawsuit, so there’s a bright side to not having Jane around.
“So,” Lisbon says, when she sees Jane the next day, “have you decided whether you’ll be staying with us?”
She doesn’t want to lose him, infuriating as he can be. She tries to keep it out of her voice; it’s harder to keep it out of her mind.
Jane grins. “Actually, I’ve thought of a way I can help with the investigation.”
“That’s good; I know how tough it can be to find any use for telepathy when you’re trying to solve a murder.”
“Cho said you’re bringing in one of the co-workers,” Jane says. “I’m going to need you to set up a video thing from the interrogation room.”
Lisbon looks at him. “A video link. To another room in the station.”
“So I can watch the interview without being there. And I’ll need some kind of thing so I can send my voice.”
“A phone?” Lisbon asks. “I know you’re not so bad with technology you don’t know what a phone is.”
Jane ignores her. Some things never change, even if your colleague suddenly develops impossible abilities. “That way I can suggest questions to ask and I won’t be able to hear the suspect’s thoughts.”
“Of course,” Lisbon says. “Wouldn’t want you to be too useful with this new power of yours.”
“I’m going to catch the murderer. How can I be more useful than that?”
“What if there’s another attack while you’re figuring it out?” Lisbon asks. “What if someone dies and you could have prevented it?”
“Then I will live with that,” Jane says. He touches two fingers to his temple. “I can’t live with this.”
“So you have a guaranteed way of finding out whether someone’s the killer, but you won’t use it because you’d rather be wrong than bored.”
“I won’t be wrong.”
“You’d better not be,” Lisbon says. “I’ll see if I can get a video link set up.”
“Who do you keep talking to?” the suspect asks, halfway through the interrogation.
“Jane,” Cho says. “Consultant. Couldn’t be here in person.”
“Why not?”
“Broke his legs.”
“What, both of them? How?”
“Wouldn’t answer questions,” Cho says. “Where did you go after you left the bar?”
“So?” Lisbon asks, when the interview is over and they’ve shut off the video feed.
“He didn’t do it,” Jane says. “But he knows who did.”
“Great, well, we’ve got the perfect way to find out what he knows. Get in there.”
Jane makes a face. “I need to figure out a way to shut off this mindreading thing.”
“No,” Lisbon says. “You don’t. I’m not going to waste CBI time and money on making things interesting for you when you could solve this case right now.”
“Any more,” Jane says, quietly.
“What?”
“You’re not going to waste any more time and money.”
Lisbon gives him the most intense glare she’s capable of. It’s still less than he deserves.
Then she takes him by the arm and physically marches him to the interview room.
“His sister,” Jane says, extremely grudgingly, once they’re out of earshot of the interviewee. “She works in a different department of the same company. Apparently she and the victim had a difficult relationship. They had an argument that turned physical.”
“Thank you,” Lisbon says. “Any ideas about evidence?”
“Evidence?”
“Evidence,” Lisbon says. “The stuff that proves someone committed a crime. You know, the stuff we’ll need if we actually want to make an arrest.”
Jane is brightening, which cannot possibly be good news. “What’s this, Lisbon? I thought my incredible psychic powers were all we needed.”
“You didn’t see any possible evidence locations in his mind?” Lisbon asks. “Murder weapon? Anything? From what you’re saying, I’m guessing it wasn’t planned.”
“The murderer got some blood on her clothes,” Jane says. “The brother helped her dispose of them.”
“How?”
“But,” Jane says, talking over her, “I think it’d be more interesting to trick her into confessing in some sort of extravagant, potentially disastrous spectacle.”
“Of course you do,” Lisbon says, flatly.
Jane grins at her. “You see, you can’t ruin all my fun.”
“Do you want to at least meet her before we take her down?”
“No,” Jane says. “Absolutely not. It’ll take away any chance of failure if I know exactly how her mind works. Much more fun if I work with her brother’s assessment of her character.”
If nothing else, at least it seems like this might not drive him out of the CBI. “Psychic powers are wasted on you.”
no subject
I really like how Jane wants to believe that he's somehow picked it up without realizing it himself, because that would make so much more sense!
“I’ve already influenced you just by asking you to come up with something. People become very predictable when they’re trying to be unpredictable.”
I love this line! And just the whole "How do I not prime someone to think certain things? This is hard!" moment.
“Okay,” Lisbon says. “Let’s make sure I’m clear on this. You’re not annoyed that this is a huge breach of privacy or, I don’t know, overwhelming or something. You’re annoyed that it’s made you better at your job.”
I love this because it is simultaneously hilarious and something I can weirdly sympathize with! He had an interestingly satisfying job with satisfyingly complicated problem-solving, and now suddenly it's easy, and he's bored! These psychic powers have taken away his fun!
Jane is brightening, which cannot possibly be good news. “What’s this, Lisbon? I thought my incredible psychic powers were all we needed.”
Yay, he found something that still required effort and problem-solving!
Jane grins at her. “You see, you can’t ruin all my fun.”
I love how you write Jane.
no subject
People become very predictable when they’re trying to be unpredictable.
I can't remember whether I ripped that line straight from Derren Brown or just paraphrased it, but it's definitely a concept I picked up from Derren Brown. Having been into Derren Brown is extremely useful for writing Mentalist fanfiction, perhaps unsurprisingly!
Thank you so much!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject