Author's Notes- Some of you might remember me from a discontinued Mentalist fic, RulesofAttraction. I appreciate all the reviews I got for that story, but life just got away from me, and by the time I considered returning to it, the plot-line was already out of date. This new fic is completed and I hope doesn't disappoint too much.
I do not own the Mentalist.
Jane braced himself against the open doorway, seeing clearly the ghosts of his wife and daughter in the room with the blood-smeared smiley face. "I forgot," he whispered, disbelieving, as strands of silver moonlight twined in his dark gold hair. "How could I forget? What I live for… what they died for? Lisbon, please-"
She dropped a tiny hand onto his shoulder, "I don't know Jane. What's important is that you remember now."
"To think that for oneminute, I could overlook the fact that Red John is out there, not suffering a fraction of what he put them through-" he was faintly hyperventilating. Without another word, he brushed past her, down the stairs, to the kitchen. A flick of his wrist had the water gushing from the sink and he stuck his head underneath the faucet, until the clinging tears were washed from his face. It reminded him of what drowning felt like: part wonderful oblivion, part terrible senselessness; and then suddenly it was over, and Lisbon was holding out a small dish towel to him.
"Better?" she asked, ruefully, while he was scrubbing his cheeks, and he nodded yes, because being with her did ease his burdens slightly.
"It's good to have you back, Patrick."
"It's good to have you back, Teresa."
"Me?" Lisbon was startled, "I didn't go anywhere." She hopped onto the counter, swinging her legs back and forth idly. The empty house seemed to fill in all around her, as Jane's memory supplied images of Crayola drawings stuck to the fridge, the cow-shaped napkin holder Charlotte had gotten him for his birthday. All this time, he'd been thinking of it as a crime scene, but Lisbon transformed it back into his home.
"You're right," he tapped the side of his nose with his finger. "But I lost you, just the same. Don't know how I'll forgive myself for simply letting you get away from me."
She rolled her mint green eyes, stirring up the emotions they held the way he mixed tea in the morning. "Hey, if you haven't scared me off yet…." Her words left a trail to places they both were nervous to enter into.
"We should call the team. Let them know what happened," she said, with an obvious return to professionalism; her legs had stopped swinging, at least. But she did not reach for the phone in her pocket, or do anything but sit there, staring at him cautiously.
"What is it?" Jane hated that he had to ask, but she wasn't the open book he claimed she was; he could hardly trust himself to be objective. Placing his large hands on the marble to either side of her, he essentially caged her between his chest and the wall.
Lisbon, surprisingly, felt no need to run. His breath trickled over her, ripe with the smell of alcohol from the night before, but with an undercurrent that was so uniquely Jane. Nights she stayed at work late, she'd sink into the couch he'd bought for her office and end up being embraced by his scent; it had her heart thumping so wildly that she couldn't sleep. "I-"
He gripped her chin, to keep her gaze on him steady, and she noticed, errantly, that everywhere he touched her was warm, except for the cool path made by his wedding ring. "I… need to know what happens now," she let out, with a shaking breath. "Were you conning me earlier… at the hospital…? Or do you really believe that we… you and I… are…."
"…heading in that direction." He cringed at the memory; it wasn't devastating like the others, but further proof of the top-rate jackass he used to be. Jane stepped backwards, but a look of absolute rejection crossed Lisbon's features, and he went forward again.
"I can't make you happy," he sighed, sensing the presence of the ghosts upstairs. "After everything we've been through in the last week, don't you realize how broken I am? How much I need the hunt for Red John? Teresa, you're all about bringing justice; you deserve someone who can fight that fight with you."
"I understand," she said, thickly.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't think you do. All the missing pieces of my life are being shoved violently backed into their holes, where they don't want to fit anymore. I mean, I have this general sense of what to do with them, but each section is either upside-down or sideways; very disorienting. Then there's my memories of you…." Her eyes sparked in the darkness; if he didn't know better, Jane might believe she was hypnotizing him to get him to speak. "I remember the first day I met you. You warned me you weren't going to tolerate my nonsense. It was a serious job and I had to be serious too."
She snorted, indelicately, but he soldiered on because she had to hear all of it. "I remember your favorite fruit is strawberries, that you loved playing baseball with your family before it all went wrong, and that your favorite color is green, even after you told me it was red.
"Most of all, I remember your voice: amused, anxious, timid, furious. I have the most memories of that last one. It's the same voice that has pulled me back from the brink a hundred times, and that I would listen to until the end of the world, if I didn't have their cries in my head. I have no problem sorting out these memories; it's like they never disappeared, or if they did, then I went with them. I care about you, Teresa. With all the pieces of my heart that are still mine to give away."
He searched her face to make sure the message had taken and found Lisbon's jaw locked, her eyes drilling him like a murder suspect. Jane readied himself for a punch, but when it turned out she planned to keep her hands to herself, he was somewhat disappointed. "I'm willing to wait," she stated, confidently, and there was the blow he'd been expecting. "Just don't shut the gate on this. Don't make a pact with yourself that you'll always be miserable and alone because Angela and Charlotte…." she spoke the names he could never bear to hear out-loud "They wouldn't want that."
Jane waved a few fingers in front of his face, like he was trying to clear away smoke: "That's just something people say to the grieving."
"Is it untrue?" she challenged.
Jane helped her down from the countertop and together, they walked outside. The once perfectly trimmed hedges were overgrown and the night air fingered his still damp hair, but his daughter had learned to ride her bike on this driveway and that helped keep the sadness at bay. She was so fearless. Never had a problem being let go. It was always him that held on to the back of her seat, unsure if it was the right time.
They approached the car. Without thinking, Jane angled towards the passenger's side, the same spot he'd occupied two hours ago, only he was different. When his whole existence flashed before his eyes, it was a lot more than other people had to go through. Then again- he glanced sideways as Lisbon ambled into the car- he had been blessed as often as he'd been wronged.
When Lisbon reached to put the keys in the ignition, he caught her hand and, without thinking, leaned in and kissed her. Fire coursed through him and it was so much better than drowning, so much freer than amnesia. His lips moved in sync with hers, tongue tasting and reaching. He could hear her keys fall to the floor, but he was paying much more attention to the way she fisted his hair, drawing their bodies closer together over the clutch. Lisbon pulled away first. She was gasping for air, but managed a "wow" that had him smiling smugly to himself.
Finally, after they'd both calmed down and she edged the SUV onto the street, he was able to process what he'd just done. Nowhere in him could Jane bring himself to regret his impulsiveness; even though he was a long way from healed, the road ahead no longer stretched forever into an abyss, but was lit with signs showing him the right way. He kept on hearing Lisbon's last comment over and over again; it was unlike other tones he'd gathered from her, higher and less controlled; he was sure it was a sound he'd remember for the rest of his life.