Here's the second part. Hope you enjoy!
Part 2: LISBON
You know it wasn't your decision, you've accepted that.
(Or you thought you had.)
But you just, you don't understand.
Part of you is unbelievably pleased that he's not spending the rest of his life in jail.
(Okay, most of you.)
But a part of you is angry.
Quiet! Silence in the court!
You're not saying anything.
But you're not staying either.
You hear him chasing after you. You hear him call your name.
You figure you may as well listen to what he has to say.
This man who's nothing but pleased that he managed to cheat the system again.
You saw his face when that verdict was read out.
He was triumphant.
Of course he was.
He never had any respect for the rules anyway.
You wonder how he manages not to feel guilty about anything.
You wonder if he ever gets tired of bending and breaking everything he touches.
Even the legal system you've worked for your entire life.
Congratulations on your victory Jane. You deserve it.
You're not sure how to work with him anymore.
You thought you could accept the court's decision, whatever it was.
You thought you were fine with it.
But it turns out, you're not.
You're not sure how to just, move on from the fact that he shot someone.
You're not sure what to do about that.
You certainly didn't do a good job dealing with it the last time something like this happened with your partner.
Last time you found a whole new job.
Not this time.
This time you're staying.
If anyone's leaving, it's going to be him.
Come to think of it, why is he still here?
With Red John supposedly dead there's nothing to keep him.
No thank you Jane. I don't want any coffee. I've already had two cups this morning. Right now I need to get this done, so if you could just leave me in peace...
He doesn't leave though.
He follows you, without ever really following you.
He's always just there, just outside of your direct line of sight.
You're not sure what to make of it, this strangely docile Jane.
It's like he's trying not to cause trouble.
If it was anyone else you'd think it was meant to be an apology, this oddly compliant behaviour.
Not to mention the bear claws you find hidden in your desk every Friday.
You don't trust it though.
You don't trust any of it.
You're pretty sure this contrition's as phony as the rest of him.
Thanks Jane, but the only insight I'm interested in from you is related to this case.
You know you're taking your frustrations out on him. But you don't care.
He certainly doesn't.
You know him.
He watches the world behind those damn detached eyes of his.
He watches people, and then decides how to use them to get what he wants.
You know it doesn't matter to him what the world thinks.
You know he doesn't care what he leaves behind.
You're sick of showing him what he needs to see.
Being a chess piece for him to play with is bad enough.
You'd rather he didn't pretend that you meant any more than that.
Or maybe deep down you just want to hurt him.
(Though you're not entirely sure you can.)
He hurt you.
One too many times.
And you're not getting involved anymore.
I can assure you Sir, Mr. Jane and I have a completely professional relationship.
He's your employee.
Just your consultant.
But apparently Jane didn't get that memo.
Ah. Lisbon. There you are. Our friend Mr. Murray here would like to lodge a complaint.
You knew it couldn't last.
(Knew it wouldn't last.)
You knew it was only a matter of time before Jane was back to his old tricks and pissing off the world.
One day, one case, you swear he just explodes, just goes nuts.
You have to pacify three members of the victim's family in less than twenty-four hours.
You have to be the tactful one.
You always have to clean up the mess.
That's your job.
Jane! I can't believe you! What do you think, you don't have to obey the rules? That you can just swoop in whenever the hell you want to? That it'll all just be okay? I wish you'd think for a second before you did these things! You know what, forget it. Never mind. I'll take care of it. Just, just sit down and shut up for a while, would you?
He's smirking at you.
Standing there, all cool and aloof, like nothing about this matters.
Like your anger is funny to him.
Part of you wants to punch him in the nose.
Part of you refuses to give him the satisfaction, wants to walk calmly away and try and ignore him.
And an almost nonexistent part of you trying to make itself heard whispers that this yelling at him is the first time things have felt even remotely normal in weeks.
Lisbon is something bothering...
I'm fine, Jane. We've got work to do.
Everything is wrong.
Your life is going to hell in a hand-basket.
Your brother just called.
Steve. The supposedly stable one.
He's just told you that he and his wife are considering a trial separation.
They have two kids.
You don't know what to say.
There's nothing you can say.
You're tired of the never-ending clamour in your brain.
Absolutely everything's wrong.
Life is completely horrible.
And nobody cares.
Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been years since my last confession, but I really need someone to talk to...
Jane is changing.
The two of you are stiff with each other.
Stiff and painful.
Jane seems to take delight in antagonizing people, more so than usual.
At least it's not that horrible, phony cooperativeness.
At least putting out the fires gives you something to do.
You don't feel quite so ineffectual.
Ironically, yelling at Jane's the only time you forget what your life's become.
It's the only time you feel like you're holding anything together.
It's the only time you feel like yourself.
You've got the impulse control of a six year old, you know that? Don't you ever get sick of outsmarting the world?
You try to pretend that you're not lonely.
You try to pretend that your job's as fulfilling as it used to be.
You try to pretend that you don't mind not having a social life because of it.
You try to pretend you can still be a normal person.
You try to pretend that you don't miss having friends.
You try to pretend that it's not really just one friend in particular.
You try to pretend that you never thought that's what he was.
You try to pretend that's not really why you're hurting.
Sometimes you even try to pretend that you're not angry anymore.
That you've moved on.
That you're done.
(You wish it were true.)
He obviously doesn't consider your feelings.
Doesn't care how things affect you.
You're not sure he cares about anything.
That's your story at least.
I can't talk right now. I have a meeting.
Of course you do.
He's not as good as he thinks he is at outsmarting the world.
He's not as good at outsmarting you.
You can keep up with him most of the time.
Which is lucky for the CBI.
And really, damage control after the fact's your job.
How else would you describe being a cop?
It's not like you can save someone before their life's destroyed.
You can only find the criminal afterwards.
Just like you can clean up Jane's messes.
I know that sir... Yes, I know, believe me I know. But he closes a lot of cases.
You fully expect to walk in one day and find that he's burned the whole place down.
You're not sure how he'd do it, and he'd probably have some cockamamie explanation, but the way his head's been screwed on lately, it's exactly what you expect.
You see the judgement in his eyes when you refuse to go out for drinks with the rest of the team.
You see the irritation when you don't laugh at his horrible attempt at a joke.
You see the triumph when he manages to irritate you.
You can see the wheels turning, every time you get a case, wondering what game he can play.
You consider resolving not to chase him next time, but you know you'd never stick to it.
After all, he is still on your team.
That means something.
Even after all this time.
He's still your responsibility.
Still yours to try and save.
You know you should try to stop doing that.
But when you do, it makes everything worse.
Protecting people's all you have now.
Because he's my consultant! No, I haven't seen him in the last few hours. I assuming he's interviewing the victim's ex-wife. Why? What? No... No!
You have to get there in time.
You have to get there in time.
You will get there in time.
It's your job.
You won't allow for failure here.
Not about this.
How has Jane managed to get himself kidnapped again?
How did you not see this coming?
You have to get there.
It's your job to look after him.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord be with you. Blessed art thou among women...
There he is.
You can see him.
You can feel his body heat as you untie his hands.
You weren't too late.
You weren't too late.
You were supposed to make sure this never happened to him.
You're shocked to realize that you're not the one who says it.
You look up at his eyes.
And you see him.
For the first time in weeks, it feels like you see him.
And not because his hands have been tied for the better part of two hours.
A sob clogs in your throat.
You're supposed to protect him.
Why won't he ever let you do that?
Right now he's barely even looking at you.
Then you're lecturing him before you know what you're doing.
… never known a man who gets kidnapped as many times as you do! And I suppose you probably got held at gunpoint again. Just once I would like it if you couldn't piss people off. Just once I'd like…
But you're not sure that you would like it.
Bosco once told you that you can't live your life trying to save everyone else. That in the end, it'll destroy you.
Bosco never quite understood that part though.
Jane's looking at you now.
Actually he's staring at you.
Neither of you looks away this time.
You see his eyes.
Eyes so different than your last partner's.
Eyes that (unlike Sam's) never pretended to be anything other than what they are.
Broken and fallible and sometimes vengeful, but right now just sad. Lonely.
He's searching your eyes.
(Just as you're searching his.)
You swear you see them change the second he finds something.
He slips his fingers around your wrist.
And the noise in your brain finally stills.
You find something too.
You got to him in time.
You saved him.
For a little while at least.
But that's okay.
You'll keep saving him.
For as long as he needs it.
It's who you are.
It's what you do.
It's what you need.
You smile, even if only in your mind.
You tighten your grip on his hand.
Turns out Bosco had it wrong all these years.
Turns out you don't follow traditional rules either.
Turns out there's more than one way to save someone.
This is yours.
And you deserve to be saved just as much as anybody else.
Come on Jane. Let's get back to the office. I'll drive.
Can we stop for some fruit on the way there?
Only if you buy me strawberries.
Thank you, Lisbon.