Chapter Text
Teresa Lisbon can't sleep. It's been almost two weeks of tossing and turning every night, her body desperate for some rest while her mind stays stubbornly awake. Aside from a half hour here, an hour there, multiple nights in a row have passed without the deep sleep the job demands and she feels herself growing increasingly frustrated. It translates to her working hours—the office printer, two new employees, and the coffeemaker have all caught the brunt of it.
Jane notices. (Of course he does). "Have you tried a soothing chamomile?" he says, looking up from a book as she walks in that morning.
She stares at him. "What?"
"Chamomile tea. It's a natural sedative. Should help you relax at night."
"Thanks but I'm fine," she mutters, going to pour herself a cup of coffee.
"If you say so," Jane murmurs and goes back to the book, though his eyes watch her closely that day.
On the way home from work, Lisbon lingers outside a grocery store. She curses Jane mentally but eventually goes in to buy a pack of chamomile tea.
---
It's 1 am and Lisbon tosses and turns until frustration gets her out of bed. She flicks on a lamp and grabs a bottle of sleeping pills from her medicine cabinet. Opening the lid, she stares at the little white pills. They stare back. Memories come flooding back to her, voices echoing in her mind.
Dr. Carmen's dulcet voice. "Why don't you have a cup of coffee Teresa?" Accusations—"The fingerprints on the gun were yours". Did I kill a man? "You're suspended until further notice". I could have killed a man. "Where were you Tuesday night?" I can't remember, it's all blank, I can't remember…oh God—why can't I remember?
She snaps the lid shut.
---
Jane's voice reaches her from the brown couch the next morning. "How about a white noise machine?"
"You provide enough noise during the day," she snaps.
"Ouch. I'll let that slide since you're clearly sleep deprived. But you really should think about taking something for the insomnia. You're grumpy enough with your eight hours a night."
Lisbon glares at him.
---
That night is the same. The little white pills seem to almost mock her. Damn it Teresa, she thinks, just take one. She's suddenly reminded of being a teenager, trying to get her little brothers to take their medicine when they got sick. Gulp it down quick and you'll feel better. Except all she feels when the pill is in her hand is a creeping, sinking feeling of dread. That she'll be left vulnerable again. That she'll be suggestible to anything. That she won't be able to defend herself.
---
"A warm bath? Long run before bed to tire you out?"
"Drop it, Jane." Lisbon mutters, standing next to the office printer, which—as if sensing her exhaustion—has jammed again.
He walks over to her. "What's going on, Lisbon?" he asks, allowing a hint of concern to enter his voice.
"The printer's jammed." She offers nothing else, wanting to move on from this conversation.
"That's just the surface level reason for your frustration," he says, zeroing in on his point. "The tip of the iceberg. The cherry on top of an angry sundae, if you will." He breaks into his usual I'm-having-too-much-fun-with-this-so-I-won't-drop-it grin.
At an earlier point in their relationship, Lisbon would have tried to dismiss him, denying any observations with a curt 'I'm fine'. But after years of knowing him, she knows Jane simply won't give up when he's fixated on something, so it's better to admit a part of the truth in the hopes that it will satisfy him. So she settles on "Yeah, I haven't slept much the past couple nights."
"No, you haven't slept much for the past twelve nights," comes his quick response, not letting her get away with it. "And while the cause of your newfound insomnia puzzled me for the past few days, I now realise that the far more interesting question is why, despite needing enough sleep in a high-pressure job such as yours, you haven't taken a sleeping pill even once."
Damn it. So much for him dropping it. Lisbon lowers her eyes, which Jane immediately notices and takes as confirmation that he's hit the nail on the head. She hates it, hates feeling so exposed and completely seen, like she's a suspect he's prodding at in an interrogation room. But she can't help but feel a wave of relief simultaneously. Relief that someone noticed.
"It's Carmen, isn't it?" he asks softly. "You can't bring yourself to take a sleeping pill because of what he did."
"Yeah," she whispers, throat suddenly dry.
Jane considers this for a moment before touching her elbow and leading her away from the printer. "C'mon."
"Uh…where are we going?" she asks, quickly regaining her composure.
"Your office."
"Okay but why?" She struggles to catch up a little as Jane rapidly moves down the hallway and opens her office door for her. "I still need my printing," she mutters under her breath, even as she steps in and lets him shut the door behind them.
"I figured we should talk privately so you can express your anger without constraint," he replies.
Uh-oh. Where had she heard similar words from him before? It clicks in her mind and she immediately bristles. "No, no way, you are not hypnotising me again."
"Lisbon, be reasonable. You've exhausted every other option available to you and you desperately need sleep."
"So you'll hypnotise me into taking drugs? Yeah, that sounds like a brilliant plan," she spits out, and it comes out harsher than she intends.
"I didn't say anything about you taking drugs," he says, placating her. "Let me put you in a light trance so you can fall asleep—"
"—No, forget it." She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a breath to calm herself down. "Look Jane, I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. I'll figure something out. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Jane doesn't look remotely convinced but he lets her go, listening as her footsteps merge into the general sounds of the office at work.
---
She does manage to push through for a few more days. Copious amounts of coffee, snatches of sleep here and there at night, and the resolute determination that she was not going to let Jane hypnotise her all fuelled her as she filed paperwork, went to meetings, and answered emails.
Until they got a fresh case.
Until she took Van Pelt with her to talk to a suspect who worked as a mechanic.
Until they realised that the garage they were in was being used to store meth on the side.
Until the workers got spooked seeing cops and pulled out guns and began shooting.
Until a man standing behind Van Pelt fired and Lisbon took a second longer than she knew she ordinarily would to scream and pull out her own gun.
The bullet grazes Van Pelt's arm as she sinks to ground and crawls to take cover behind a crate.
The next few hours pass in a blur as Lisbon fires two shots to the shoulder of the man, calls for backup and an ambulance, and runs to Van Pelt as soon as she gets the chance. Soon the team is on the scene, along with additional units and paramedics. Lisbon insists on going with Van Pelt to the hospital, despite the junior agent's claims of "Boss, I'm fine".
The doctors confirm that Van Pelt's injury was relatively minor and that she could be discharged that day. Yet a mixture of guilt and dread sits heavily in the pit of Lisbon's stomach. The image of the bloodstain on Van Pelt's sleeve, the sound of her crying out in pain, the sluggishness of Lisbon's body—unnoticeable to anyone else but clear as day to her—all echo endlessly in her mind. She knows what she has to do.
At CBI, Lisbon first goes to Minelli's office to report the incident personally. The office is almost empty when she gets out, the agents eager to leave on a Friday. Sunlight filters through the windows as dusk approaches, bringing out the warm browns of the office furniture. When she has to catch up on paperwork, Lisbon normally enjoys the peace and quiet of the office at sunset, but now it stands in stark contrast to the storm raging inside of her. She finds Jane in the kitchen, making tea.
"Van Pelt alright?" he asks without looking up.
"Yeah," she answers, voice barely above a whisper. "Rigsby's taking her home."
He nods.
She looks at him, resignation written all over her face. "Jane I—" Her voice breaks. "I need your help."
He looks at her, sharp blue eyes searching her face. And for once she's glad that he's able to read her like an open book, because she doesn't need to say anything more.
His face softens. "Give me your keys," he says. "I'll drive you home."