Words, Heavier than Air
Hypeerboosttxox
I'm back! After what a month and half? So a slice of Jisbon angst as my fluff bunny seems to have bit the dust, or died in other terms and I was left with this. So tell me what you think, I love feedback -xx
"It is better to have loved and left, rather than to have lost and not have loved at all."
Disclaimer- I do not own The Mentalist, that is all.
...xxx...
The soft whining of her staircase woke her, the sign of pressure being put on each step, alerting her to the fact her bed occupant was moving downstairs. She shut her eyes tightly and curled back in to her protective ball as see tried to will herself to go back to sleep.
Realising quickly, that sleep was now going to be impossible after being woke, she opened her eyes, her body still wrapped cosily in her blanket as the result of her sleeping form and blinked a few times to adjust herself to the sudden change of light, coming through her window.
She glanced over at the harsh green digits blinking on her bedside digital clock and tried to suppress a groan at the early time, blinking mockingly at her.
Rolling back on her side, she noticed the cool feel off her occupants side of the bed and knew he must have been awake for quite a while. She was used to him sleeping a lot less than she did but he rarely left the bed completely, rather preferring to watch her sleep.
Sitting up, sleepily mumbling as she did so, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it before getting out of bed, stretching and pulling on her silk robe, that had been discarded on the floor the previous night.
Standing between her door and the en-suite, she quickly debated whether or not to check her reflection in the mirror but after stretching again and running another hand throughout her hair, she realised how bad it might be and decided against it. So she, sleepily made her way downstairs, dragging her feet as she went.
She shivered as her toes touched the wooden floors that covered her living room. She noticed a suitcase, carefully placed by the door and she felt her stomach twist in to knots as she saw the letters PJ beautifully inscribed on the handles.
Warily, she made her way, quietly, towards the kitchen, where she found the man himself.
She stopped in the doorway and just watched him, she had never seen him so anxious, hunched over a kitchen bench, scribbling on a page and her stomach twisted almost painfully as a sick realisation dawned on her.
"Patrick?" she asked quietly.
His head snapped up in surprise, he hadn't heard her walk in.
"I have to leave" he replied quietly, almost whispering.
"Leave?" she asked, uncertainly, hoping she's heard him wrong and he only nodded.
"Leave?" she asked again, this time in disbelief.
"I'm really sorry Teresa" he tells her and looks down, away from her lingering gaze.
"Sorry?" she whispered, finding herself unable to speak in full sentence as she felt hot, angry tears prick the back of her eyes and fearing her voice would break.
She couldn't understand why it took her so long to try and comprehend why he was leaving; she had knew it was coming but maybe she had thought she had finally managed to convince him that leaving wouldn't be the right thing to do, but maybe that was why it hurt so much,
Did the last couple of months mean nothing to him?
But she had felt the change in him, after another failed attempt, with Red John feeling the need to send him flowers, which held no real relevance until she had pried the information out of him, lying in bed a few days before, on a rare day off.
They were the last bunch of flowers he had bought his wife.
She tried to move; closer or further away, she wasn't quite sure, she just knew that she waned to move but found herself frozen in that spot by the doorway.
She felt the anger flood through her and she wanted to scream, he made her feel so out of control of her own life. She couldn't control anything to do with him and it made her feel so helpless.
Each time they didn't catch him she could feel him slipping away from her, inch by inch and there wasn't anything she could do about it. She had tried, but when they had a case that even remotely hinted to Red John being involved, he changed and although she would ever admit it, he almost scares her.
Yet he's still there, sitting at her table, like he has done so many morning mornings before, not making any effort to move and she can't help but whisper
"Why?" that sounds harsh even to her own ears and she sees him visibly flinch.
" I can't deal with putting you in danger any longer" he says a lot more confidently than he feels but even still he can't bring himself to look at her.
She sighed loudly and managed to walk, albeit shakily but walked to the living room and sat down heavily on her sofa, laying her head in to her hands, she honestly thought they were past this. Did he really not understand that she was in danger, every single day of her career?
She couldn't help but feel a sob rack through her body and was made aware of him sitting down beside her
"Teresa.." he started, the sincerity in his voice was overwhelming.
"Don't you dare 'Teresa' me" she hissed but he didn't retreat, just tried to lace his fingers through hers until she yanked her hand away, she knew she was being irrational but she had every right to be.
"I have to do this Teresa, I can't let him come back" he offers quietly.
"So what, you're going to hunt him down like an animal?" her voice sounding far to loud for the silence of her apartment and she feels him stiffen as her words sink in
"It's what he deserves" and he uses that tone of voice she hates, it makes her want to break down and cry but the tears just won't seem to flow and for that she's grateful.
There's a definite silence that surrounds them like fog, full of unspoken words and that's the way they stay until Lisbon responds, timidly
"So this is it?"
Her tone of voice surprises him, he wants her to yell at him, he wants her to be angry, maybe then it would be easier for him to leave. He hates seeing her so upset and the fact he's the reason makes it worse.
She finally looks at him as a lone tear travels down her cheek but he just nods and turns to look at the suitcase, still sitting by her door. He moves to kiss her forehead and she can't find it in herself to stop him, he whispers a quick goodbye in her ear and he's gone.
She feels the cold air travel past her face as the door open and closes, so quietly that she wouldn't have noticed, quickly brushing the tears that managed to spill over from her eyes, she turns to leave the living room and crawl back in to bed, too mentally exhausted to do anything else when her eyes fall on the note he was going to leave and she feels the anger rise in her once again.
That is until she picks it up, fully intending to rip it in to shreds, and reads the beautiful scrawl that claims that he loves her.
What hits her the most is the overwhelming sense of emptiness as the anger disappears and more tears threaten to fall on her way back to her bed, where she can pretend, if only for a little while, that it was all a dream.
…xxx…
How heavy are my hands? How heavy are these words?
They're heavier than blood
That rushes to my head as I will walk away from here again
They're heavier than air
That rushes to my face as you turn away from me again
How heavy are these words, heavier than time
That rushes past your face as you would turn to walk away again
- Richard Walters, Elephant in the Room.