To Patrick Jane, Christmastime was no different than all the other holidays. It was only an empty reminder of how much he had lost and how little his life was worth since.
This was the eighth Christmas he had stolen from his wife and child with his arrogance. He had no cause to celebrate his failure, as a husband and father or as their avenger. He didn't deserve any sort of Christmas cheer or holiday spirit. To him, wallowing in the remnants of his shattered life while the rest of the world celebrated with the families they hadn't failed seemed to make only too much sense.
He was sat at his desk with a bottle of whiskey, staring out the window. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and a knock on the door. "Come in, Lisbon." He knocked back another shot.
"Jane, are you just going to hide-" she caught sight of the whiskey bottle and cut herself off. "Are you drunk?"
He paused. The shot glass made a sound against the wood of his desk when he set it down. "Not yet, but give me some time..."
She sauntered up behind him and crossed her arms. "We had a party. There was egg nog. And gingerbread cookies. You weren't there."
He knew she was worried for him. It was touching, but unnecessary. She would tire of drilling him and leave him with his whiskey soon. "I've never understood the appeal of gingerbread cookies. Too dry for me."
She fumed. "Okay, so gingerbread cookies aren't your favorite. What about your friends?" Her hands went to her hips. "This is a family, and you're a part of it, and you don't get to just sit up here all by yourself while we're celebrating."
He bristled at the word family. "My family is dead, Lisbon. They don't get to celebrate an overrated, commercialized holiday of pagan traditions masquerading as religious foundations anymore because I got them murdered. So no, I am not going to go down there and drink egg nog and be merry, because I don't get to do that when they can't because of me."
The hard look in her brown eyes softened. "Jane, what happened to your family, you can't blame yourself. You made mistakes and maybe those mistakes drew Red John to them but it was Red John who took their lives, not you." She admonished him. "If they saw you punishing yourself like this for what happened to them, it would kill them all over again. They would want you down there celebrating with the people who care about you, not sitting up here beating yourself up over past mistakes."
She set something on the table and turned to leave. He thought over her words; she was right, and it made his resolve waver slightly. But it didn't last long. They didn't care what he did. They were dead. There was no use in deluding himself into thinking that maybe they were watching from out there somewhere. How could I forget, he scolded himself. Dead is dead.
At the door, Lisbon turned one last time. "When Red John killed your family, the attack wasn't on them. He was attacking you, Jane. You were his victim. He wanted to take your happiness, and you know what, Jane, if you keep doing this to yourself, closing yourself off, he wins. You let him win. You want to avenge them? Pick yourself up and try again. Allow yourself to enjoy the life you still have. That's how you'll get your revenge on Red John. Take away his satisfaction. Because right now, Jane, all you're doing is showing him that he's taken away all your ability to live the life you still have."
She walked out, and he sat alone at his desk. He didn't move for several minutes. Finally, he set his shot glass down. The whiskey had lost its appeal.
The box she had left on his desk was wrapped in red gift paper, with a silver ribbon going around the bottom and the side. He picked it up and pulled at the end of the bow tied on top, letting it come unfurled, and peeled the wrap back. What was inside fell out and into his lap. He lifted it in his hands. A smile broke his face, and he pulled a box of his own from his drawer and ran after Lisbon.
He caught her at the elevator. Tapping her on the shoulder, he held the box out with a large grin. She turned to him mirroring his grin with one of her own. The elevator dinged, and they stepped into it together, laughing and teasing at each other. The doors closed on them, and he smiled inwardly for the first time in days.
A/N: I said you'd get a Christmas surprise, didn't I? Well, I said you might. I hope this holds those of you reading Red Attic over for awhile... the holidays have had me distracted, but I will be working on that sixth chapter soon ;).
I hope you have all had a Happy Solstice/Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Happy Kwanzaa/InsertYourHolidayHere! I've enjoyed time with my family and a brand new entertainment setup in our living room this weekend/early week D.