Disclaimer: The Mentalist does not belong to me.
A/N: It's short but I tried to add some good details and emotion in this one. Written for Jello-Forever Forums October Challenge.
Prompt: Frozen in Time.
She'd never known him to be quite so closed off. He'd always be the first one in line to ask questions and get answers, in ways that were daring yet admirable. It irked Teresa Lisbon, really it did, that he was able to do such clever things. It was annoyingly attractive. However today, Tuesday, he sat with his face buried in his soft but worn hands. His hands suggested, she smirked, that he was artistic, when in fact he couldn't draw for the life of him. Unless body language was considered an art; he would be Da Vinci.
So now, a total of two minutes later, yet it seemed like an eternity, Jane was still quiet. He hadn't moved an inch since Lisbon had been watching him. Not that she was watching him in that sense she noted. She was just concerned, about his well-being; yes a healthy concern. Lisbon took a mental sigh knowing fairly well, she couldn't just leave him there stranded while she filed through paperwork by the ton.
So she whispered quietly, just in case he really was asleep, "what's wrong?"
He was unaware of her until she spoke, and his head jerked up to see her wearing the casual yet very professional outfits she always seemed to wear. This day though, her scarf was a deep red. She had to wear red didn't she? Not only does that bloody scene of his beloved family torn and ripped obscure his dreams, but his reality as well. He'd been better about it, but the scarf reminded him of his daughter's broken limbs. He fought hard to run that out of his imagination. Lisbon had taken notice to the awkward silence that had befallen them, and told him, rather quickly, she'd be in her office if he needed her.
"Wait…" he muttered. He was going to take advantage of the fact that they were alone. It was the plain and simple truth that she was the only other person he'd told in detail of his traumatic incident so many years ago. Well, other than Sophie, who had saved him from himself. He did need her. He needed her scarf to show him, this was reality, and he had to live in it. He needed her humor, he needed her stern voice to tell him to stop. It was Lisbon who knew his internal torture. And it seemed like everyday she would give him that look that said everything at once. But it was everyday that he clung to that memory of walking that endless hall, and reaching the note that told him all about himself in only a few short sentences.
However, Lisbon remained loyal to the stone statue that was Patrick Jane. And it was enough for her to just make sure he was okay. It was enough to hold on to that little glimmer of hop that was hidden in the smile he saved only for her, that he would move on; that he would live again.