Author's Note:
Just a little exploration of the missing fourth month from Lisbon's POV, because in "Sinking", we had it from Jane's.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, I'd be rich and season 4 would have been one episode longer.
Month 4 – Lisbon's POV
Lisbon took a deep breath and lit a match with shaking hands. She put the flame to a candle and watched it as it ignited on the wick. Then she closed her eyes and bowed her head, her heart beating out of her chest as she started to pray.
Father in Heaven, hear my prayer. . .
She twisted her hands in her lap and released a shuddery breath.
Wherever Patrick is today, please be with him. I lay him at your feet, not my will but Your will be done. . .
She took another breath and tried to think of something else to say, but her mind was a tangled mess. She hadn't had one coherent thought to her name in the four months Jane had gone away. She rubbed her forehead against the mahogany railing and squeezed her eyes shut just a little tighter than before.
Not my will but Your will be done Father. . .
She felt a tear slip down her face and she pushed it away impatiently.
Please be with him Father. . .
Please bring him home to me. . .
Please. . .
Please. . .
Another tear slipped down her cheek.
Please bring him home to me. . .
Please. . .
A small cry escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
She was supposed to be stronger than this. She had never cried over a man in her life. . . not even after Greg, not even after Bosco. She didn't have the right to cry over him this way, she didn't love him the way a man loved a woman, or a heroine loved a hero.
They were just friends.
Brother and sister, if you wanted to put something deeper to their relationship.
After four months of separation, she couldn't understand why she felt like her heart was being ripped completely to shreds.
Lord, give me strength, she thought as the tears continued to come and she cried silently into her sleeve.
He's gone. . . he's gone. . .
The words came rushing back to her, mixing with her prayers and causing her heart to ache even deeper than she possibly thought it could.
Lisbon finally gave up on praying and gave into the tears, burying her face in her hands to muffle her sobs.
.
The sweet, elderly gentleman kneeling next to her had turned to her and wrapped his arms around her, held her close and whispered prayers for a woman that he didn't even know.
The old man had smelled of spearmint Tic-Tacs, vanilla tobacco, and mothballs mixed with Aqua Velva. They were comforting scents that reminded her of the elderly men from her childhood church.
The ones who were always spouting off Dear Abby or Andy Griffith wisdom and had Hershey bars, peppermints, or packages of gum magically stashed in their pockets because you had a big exam at school the next day, or boyfriend troubles.
When her cries had silenced an hour later, he had released her and pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at her face before pressing the square piece of cloth into her hand. Without complaining for a second about the black and clear smudges on his old, tan-colored jacket, he got up and offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet with little effort after she accepted it.
He followed her out into the hallway and put a gentle, weather-beaten hand on her shoulder, studying her thoughtfully.
Lisbon cleared her throat awkwardly and looked at her feet, gripping tightly onto his handkerchief. "I'm sorry about that—"
"It's fine," he assured her immediately. "I'm used to tears and mascara. I have six daughters, and at one point in their lives they've come to me crying just like you were."
She looked at him and offered him a watery smile, half wanting to get away from this stranger and half wanting to follow back into his arms and start crying all over again. "Thank you."
"You're welcome honey."
"I have to go now," Lisbon said, without glancing at her watch.
"I understand."
"I-I-I have to get back to work," she explained, backing up towards the door deciding that she just wanted to escape.
"Okay."
"Thanks again," Lisbon whispered.
She stumbled out of the church and to her car. She pulled down the visor and looked at herself in the tiny mirror. She was a complete mess. Her hair was disheveled and her cheeks were stained with mascara and tears.
There was no way that she could go back to work looking the way she did. But there wasn't enough time to stop at home and get cleaned up; she had already gone over her lunch break.
She'd just have to sneak into headquarters and get cleaned up before anybody could see her.
.
"You're back!" The elderly gentleman from the day before said as she passed the pew he was sitting in.
Lisbon blushed and pulled his handkerchief out of her pocket. "I forgot to give this back to you."
"Keep it," he replied, pushing her hand away. "There are plenty more where that came from."
"Okay," she said uncertainly, tucking it back into her pocket.
"My name's Gil by the way," he told her, holding his hand out to her.
"Teresa," Lisbon replied, taking his hand and shaking it.
"You seem troubled Teresa. Is there something bothering you?"
Lisbon almost laughed. "Why? Are you a priest Gil?"
"My son's the priest," Gil answered. "I'm just a good listener."
She sighed and looked away from him for a moment, not wanting to tell a complete stranger what was bothering her. . . even though the complete stranger had let her ruin his suede jacket just twenty-four hours earlier. She looked at him again and shrugged helplessly.
"I think I know what's bothering you," Gil said, patting the empty seat beside him. "Tell me if I'm right or not."
Lisbon sat down. "Okay, maybe I will. But I'm not making any promises."
"It's a man," Gil said. "It's always a man."
"Always?"
"A pretty young woman like you?" Gil replied. "It's always a man."
"Okay, it is a man," Lisbon confirmed. "But it isn't for the reasons you probably think it is."
"Are you sure? Women rarely cry like the way you were crying unless it is for those reasons."
"No," Lisbon answered, shaking her head slightly. "At least, I don't think it is. . . no, this man and I are. . . we're only friends."
Gil frowned. "Only friends? If you're only friends then why—"
Lisbon stood, signaling the end of the conversation. "I came to pray—"
"For your friend?"
"Yes," Lisbon answered.
Gil got up too. "I'll come with you. Something tells me this friend of yours can use all the prayer that he can get."
"Thank you," Lisbon answered. "I'd appreciate that."
Together they walked to the end of the aisle, and Gil lit a candle before they knelt and he took Lisbon's hand.
Lisbon closed her eyes and covered their hands with her free one as he began to pray.
_The End_
Author's Note II:
I am NOT ashamed of this story AT ALL. I don't care if it's OOC, I wrote it because I had writer's block and because I realized we had no idea what Lisbon did during the missing fourth month. Tell me what you thought, I'd love to hear what you thought. . .
Love,
Holly, 9/19/2012_
P.S
I wrote this to "Same Mistake" by James Blunt and "Air" by Ephemera.