DISCLAIMER: The Mentalist does not belong to me. It is the creation of Bruno Heller. I'm writing this fiction to express my love for the series and maybe vent a little.
Lisbon was loaded into the ambulance where the paramedics swiftly started working to stop the bleeding from her gunshot wound. A fleeting thought crossed her mind that it was probably made worse by her dragging herself around, to get to O'Laughlin's phone.
Teresa then thought of Jane. Of the crazy look in his eye that he brushed away, saying he was perfectly calm. She thought of his contention that she wasn't the boss of him and of her contention that she was responsible for his safety. Of how worried he'd been about her, both when he found her with a bomb strapped on her body and when she'd been shot, shouting her name over the phone.
In the latter incident she'd been quick to reassure him that she was okay.
Now she was thinking maybe that was a mistake.
Jane had taken a few moments to compose himself before he asked her to do something; to call what she knew he suspected was Red John's number.
She complied with his request. For all her bravado that she had to keep him from danger, she'd probably thrown him head first into it. It never even occurred to her to not to do as he asked.
"She's lost a lot of blood. Call the hospital tell them we need..."
The paramedic's voices blurred away just as quickly as they had invaded her consciousness.
But one thing she was perfectly aware of was the heavy weight of her phone in her hand. She refused to let it go even as she was taken out of the ambulance and into the hospital.
He said he'd call her back. He hadn't yet.
"Boss. Boss, you need to give me your phone."
"Rigsby," she managed to croak out, dizzy from blood loss.
Teresa had forgotten he'd climbed into the ambulance with her. She remembered now that Cho had stayed behind to take Hightower's and Grace's statements and to wait for LaRoche and Bertram to arrive at the scene. Lisbon thanked God that, for once, Jane's plan had actually required the implementation of protocol. The two higher up's already knew Madeline might be innocent. Craig's body and the bullet in her from his gun would prove that now.
"Boss, they're going to take you into surgery."
Lisbon managed to focus on Rigsby's worried eyes; her arson specialist. He was probably more worried about Van Pelt now, but the red head wasn't injured.
Priorities. He came with me because he had to.
After she was out of the woods, he'd go back to his the woman he loved.
"Boss, how about I hang onto your phone for you?"
"Jane," she managed to say through the white hot pain; keeping her raspy voice steady.
He said he'd call. After he finished whatever he had to do, he'd call her.
"We haven't been able to reach him. He's probably already on his way."
No. Something was wrong. It's been too long since they talked.
Tears she'd been holding back since she first got shot finally pushed through. Her emotional trauma, her worry rendered her unable to contain the pain any longer.
It gutted Wayne to see her like this. He place his large hand on her smaller one with the phone as she was being rolled towards the OR.
"Lisbon," Rigsby choked out.
His use of her surname snapped her out of her turmoil. Wayne always called her 'boss'. Teresa finally relinquished her death grip on her phone.
"Find Jane. Make sure he's okay," she ordered breathlessly, seeing his face relax a bit in relief.
This was the Lisbon he knew.
"You got it boss."
Rigsby kissed her forehead without thinking. Never mind he only ever kissed his mother with such humble regard. As he leaned back, he saw reproof in her eyes at his emotions making him take advantage of the situation: I'll get you for that as soon as I can.
He didn't care. And to prove it he kissed her again, smiling incorrigibly as he always did when he teased her unprofessionally, acting more like a little brother than a subordinate.
For the first time, rather than glare at him (before slapping him with desk or stake out duty), Lisbon smiled back in return, a watery smile but a smile nonetheless.
"Find Jane," she repeated. This time it was a plea from a dear friend.
"I will," he promised.
When the gurney was led past the point he could follow, and the doors closed behind her, Rigsby finally let out the sob he had been holding ever since Cho text-ed him to tell him what Jane had done.
He couldn't tell her. Not when she was heading into surgery. Not when her worry for their consultant overshadowed her own pain. Not when she waited with hope filled eyes for a call that would never come. At least, not one which would give her the assurance she needed. Although the fact that Jane was alive and unharmed might lessen the blow. Wayne didn't know.
What he did know was as boss she'd find some way to blame herself.
No, not as the boss. As Jane's friend. His family, his...
Whatever they were he hoped it would be strong enough, that it would mean enough for them to overcome this.
Or else Red John (from his grave) would have added two more souls to his list of victims.
With a shuddering sigh Rigsby headed towards the waiting area.
Author's Note: We're all very shocked. Comfort me with reviews?