He woke up with a start. What had once been slow, deep inhalations turned into sharp gasps of air, as if he had been choking. He ran his hand through his sweat drenched, curly locks.
Patrick Jane was choking. He was choking on the very thing that shaped his life- the death of his wife and child. He was gasping for air, for life. But Jane was lost in his grief, lost to the world.
Jane rolled painfully off of the couch where he had been resting, and walked slowly to his locker, breathing deeply as if to calm himself. Instead, his heart rate quickened, and a morbid feeling of happiness came over him as he sped up, taking the keys from his pocket.
His hand was shaking as he rifled through the locker. Jane was only looking for two, particular objects. His paces grew more and more frantic until he finally found them: a razor, and a black sharpie. With a sigh of satisfaction, he walked into the bathroom and closed the stall.
It was early in the morning when the team walked into the bullpen. Something felt a little bit odd, but for a while, no one suspected anything. The temperature had dropped overnight, and they were too concerned with fixing the heat, which didn't seem to be working.
Midway in the process, Lisbon looked up. "Hey, guys, have you seen Jane?" She asked. The team responded with a resounding no, and Lisbon couldn't help but brush it off for the time being.
One of the most unusual things about their unit was how much earlier they reported to work than the others. Most divisions came at 8; they were there, usually, at 6:30. Plus, Jane was always on time. Right?
The building fell into a cold silence. It was eerie, and Lisbon couldn't help but notice it as she strolled to get a refill on coffee. Suddenly, Wainwright appeared in front of her, walking fast and talking into a microphone.
"Lisbon. You're just who I needed to see. We have a serious issue." Wainwright motioned for her to follow him.
"What's going on?" Lisbon inquired as they moved through the CBI. He began talking once more into the microphone instead, calling for paramedics, as soon as possible, and Lisbon felt herself growing more alarmed.
"Agent Wainwright, what is going on?" She asked again, this time with more seriousness.
He sighed and looked at her, motioning for the door. It was the men's locker rooms.
Lisbon felt the urge to demand to be told, but instead walked in, stunned by the grave feeling she had in the pit of her stomach.
She was right to be worried. It was Jane, laying propped up against one of the stalls. Jane, covered in blood, lying still with a razor in his hand.
Jane, with a curly "I'm Sorry" written above his head, in his exact handwriting.
All she say was, "Why?"
The paramedics had rushed Jane to the hospital, leaving Lisbon in the waiting room, weary and confused. There were subtle signs, she realized- Jane wasn't drinking as much tea, and his smile lost just a bit of charm. She cursed herself for not thinking more about it. She realized that she wanted to be there for him
Her mind kept darting back to the scene. Jane had cut multiple times, up and down his arms. He looked almost satisfied with himself. Lisbon had the urge to be with Jane, but she dismissed that as just a factor of shock.
Shock was truly what it was. She was in shock and denial. Lisbon kept whispering to herself, encouraging herself that Jane would be just fine. Deep in her heart, she wasn't so sure, and it scared her entire being. When did she become so vulnerable?
Lisbon bowed her head and prayed for the first time in a long while. She prayed for Jane.
Jane was drowning in a sea of blackness. He felt emotionless, in complete solitude. Was this death? He couldn't help but wonder.
He tried to move, but found himself motionless. All he could do is lay, and stare as he was consumed in darkness, lost to the world, time flying by.
Suddenly, Jane heard a voice. It sounded ethereal. What could it be? It felt like it was trying to reach him, engulf him- a light in the dark. He wanted to respond, to reach. It was just there, and it sounded familiar…
A month had passed by, and the CBI had returned to it's normal routine. The team remained shaken, and everyone noticed that the most affected was Lisbon.
Jane was still in a coma. He had lost a lot of blood, and his heart momentarily stopped, but at the moment, he had regained most of his health. It was just waiting, then, hoping that he would wake up.
Lisbon visited Jane every day. She would come in the morning, before work, and in the late afternoon, without fail. The nurses even began to know her, just a little bit.
The first week had been agonizing. They weren't sure if he would make it. But somehow, his body pushed through, and now it was just a matter of waking up.
She began by talking to him. She told him about her day, how she missed him being such a smartass, and what the new boss, Wainwright, was like, followed up by a short plea for him to rise again. It was slowly killing her, too. Lisbon never realized just how much she was attached to Patrick Jane.
But, it was one day, not a week later, that something happened. Lisbon was clutching Jane's hand and talking to him once more, when he clenched it. It was just a small movement, but it meant the world. It meant that he was finally coming back. She eagerly watched him, waiting for his blue eyes to open, hoping that they would.
They did, a brief look of disbelief, Jane studied her.
"Who are you?" He asked.
Lisbon answered with a kiss.
First fanfic! Please review and let me know what you think. Should I make it a multi-chapter? Leave it as a oneshot? Never write again? Haha.
Thanks for reading!
~dreamarie