7Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist.
She wanted to be mad at him. She wanted to hate him for what the had done. Done to her. Done to himself. It would be so much easier.
She could still feel the warmth flooding through her at his words, could feel his arms around her. Could feel the coldness when he had let go off her and left her on the beach. And could feel the heat from the explosion that had sent her flying to the ground.
In that moment, when bursts of flames had destroyed the windows and set her world on fire, all previous emotions had been wiped out. Replaced by shock so strong she could barely move. By the horror of what this meant. If he had been in there, had been close to the explosion, he was gone. Forever. She didn't know what she would do if he had left her.
Only when she had found him lying on the floor, unconscious but alive, had she been able to breathe again. Because whatever had happened here and whatever would happen next, he was still with her.
She had tried waking him up, calling his name and cautiously shaking his shoulders. He had been so still and she had been so afraid. Massive head trauma, a damaged vertebra, internal bleeding. Her mind had provided her with a seemingly endless list of possibilities. There were so many ways in which he could be injured. And she couldn't do anything but wait.
She had stayed there with him on the ground, not caring if Smith got away or the whole building collapsed on top of her. She wouldn't have left his side for anything.
An eternity later the ambulance had arrived and the EMTs had shooed her away, carefully securing his neck after slowly turning him onto his back. They had checked for fractures and had loaded him onto a stretcher. There had been too much debris on the floor to wheel him out so they had carried him. All the while had she stayed at his side. But he hadn't woken up.
They had offered her a ride to the hospital in the back of the ambulance with him. She had gratefully accepted. She hadn't cared about the car, it wasn't hers anyways. One officer or another could drive it back to the station and contact the owner.
In the hospital they had taken Jane away from her for tests. Head CT, ultrasound of the abdomen. Maybe some more. They had all come back negative but he still hadn't woken up. She had been told she would just have to wait. That he was stable and his body needed time to recover from the massive shock.
So she waited. And with every passing hour the worry got worse until she could hardly take it anymore. She tried to distract herself. Get other emotions into her mind. Emotions that were easier to deal with.
She forced herself to recall what he had done on that cliff. Out of all the times he had deceived her for his own means, this had been the worst. He had sounded so earnest.
"You have ... no idea what you've meant to me. What you mean to me. Thank you!" And the hug had felt so real. She could hardly grasp the fact that it had all been just a trick. A trick to get her phone and to leave her in the middle of nowhere.
It had hurt and she had been angry, but only for a moment. Then realisation had kicked in. Realisation what this meant, what he was about to do. And every other emotion had been overtaken by worry. He had set up a trap for a serial killer! A serial killer he shared a personal history with. And his usually so clear judgement had been damaged, clouded by the wish for revenge that had kept him going for ten years. He had been in danger and she hadn't been with him. Her throat had constricted with fear, had barely allowed her to breathe.
She had called him with the confiscated phone, had begged him not to do this. But he hadn't listened. "Bye, Lisbon", he had said and she had felt like she would never see him again.
Standing at his bedside, staring at his still face with the oxygen supply, she could only blame herself. She had let him fool her. She had known he didn't want her with him when he took down Red John. And she had known to what length he was prepared to go to get what he wanted. But she had chosen to ignore it. To believe in his act. She had let herself be blinded by the glowing sunset and his beautiful words.
And she had paid the price for it. Almost with his life.
The mixture of guilt over what she had caused, relief about his survival and worry because he wouldn't wake up was too much for her. She didn't know what to do with herself, didn't know how to deal with all those feelings. It would be so much easier to just be mad at him. To chew on him for what he had done like she had so often in the past. But she didn't know how, couldn't find the anger necessary. There were only guilt, relief and worry.
A/N: Thanks for reading! And please excuse any mistakes in tenses, all this switching between them was a nightmare, especially for a non-native-speaker! If you find faults, feel free to tell me so I can correct them.
So, I hope you liked this piece. It may be my last one, I'm not completely sure yet. There are two more scenes I'd like to explore but I don't know if I can come up with enough content to not feel completely stupid publishing it ;-)
