Chapter Text
Another case closed. Another round of cameras, flashing lights, and microphones being shoved in his face. Reporters scrambling for even a single comment, like birds over a worm. Jane starts to shove them away just to get to his car. The Red John copycat murder has drawn significant attention since it was revealed that Patrick was helping work the case, and at its conclusion, the swamp of reporters has only grown.
“Excuse me, please,” he says, shouldering his way through the crowd. “No comment,” he says into the microphone that’s pushed into his face, pushing it right back.
“Mister Jane, Mister Jane!” calls one reporter—a scrawny dark-haired man with round glasses wearing a mismatched and rumpled suit. Probably some intern or rookie. “Mister Jane, a question!”
“An answer,” Jane says, still walking away.
The man doesn’t miss a beat. “The murderer was copying the motifs of Red John. How do you feel about that?”
Patrick halts, only for a split second, so quick nobody even notices. He tugs on his collar and flashes a smile to the crowd of reporters. “I don’t feel anything about it.”
“Didn’t Red John murder your wife and daughter? Surely these copycat crimes must have affected you.” The reporter readies his pen over his notebook as if Jane is going to give him any sort of answer.
Jane opens his mouth, about to make some remark or maybe tell the man to just plain mind his own business, when someone comes up next to him, a flash of long dark hair, and a familiar feminine yet firm voice speaks out.
“Mister Jane’s personal feelings never affect his professional judgement,” Agent Lisbon says tightly.
The reporter frowns. “I never said-”
“He remained professional all throughout the case,” Lisbon continues. “The copycat did not affect him.”
“Let me through,” Patrick says, and pushes through the crowd with Lisbon in tow. The reporters are left on the doorstep gawking at them.
Once out of earshot, Patrick turns to Lisbon and quirks an eyebrow. “Coming to my rescue, are you?”
“Consider me your knight in shining armour,” Lisbon replies flatly.
“I had it handled.”
Lisbon snorts. “Sure you did.”
“Honestly!”
“Yeah, no, I believe you.”
She ends up walking him to his car, and as he’s getting in, he catches her eyeing him with her brow slightly furrowed, lips pursed tight.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” says Patrick.
“Sorry.” Lisbon, to her credit, does her best to neutralize her face again, but her eyes betray her. “I just… You’re doing okay, right?”
Her wording. A deliberate out. Patrick shrugs and nods. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just… You know. With everything.”
Patrick groans and smacks his head against the steering wheel. “Not you too.”
“No! No, I didn’t mean…”
Patrick raises his head and grins. “Don’t worry about me,” he says. He sticks the keys in the ignition and the engine roars to life. Lisbon steps back. “I’m perfectly fine.” He even gives her a winning smile for good measure.
And he almost believes his own words.