A/N: Just a little something that came to me before going to bed one night.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, and as long as Bruno Heller keeps making awesome epis like the finale he can keep it.
He ran his thumb over the smooth surface. Contemplating. The day he'd put that ring on his finger had been the happiest day of his life. A hurried ceremony - before running away - to establish the bond he'd forever share with Angela. This ring had been a punctuation, the end of his old life and the start of his new one. Unfortunately he hadn't been able to let it all go, he'd selfishly clung to what he'd been, and had for years without knowing it, continued down the path of destruction.
Now this was the only thing he had left of what he'd thought to be his future, but had ultimately become his past. This symbol of promise had become a reminder of tragedy. The blank surface polished by years of unconscious fingering, like the waves polished the seashore stones by crushing violently against the shore.
He'd been so close today, so close to finally catching the man that destroyed everything. And in the process he'd almost lost his last tie to his late family. His ring finger and with it his wedding ring.
He looked down at his hands; with his right thumb and index finger he turned the ring a few times. It felt heavy, heavier than usual. It had brought him this far, been the beacon light in his quest for revenge.
Lately though he'd caught himself wondering if it was worth it; if revenge was worth the cost. He didn't think he had anything left to lose. But life was funny that way, giving you cause when there was none, and giving you hope when all was hopeless.
His ring had kept him on course, guided him. At this point he couldn't make anyone any promises. He had promised to love, honor and cherish Angela, and look what it had gotten her, and their child. He had learned from his mistakes, yes, but he'd be damned if he didn't eradicate the cause of it, before moving on, so as not to bring the curse of death and despair with him.
He couldn't take the ring of though, not yet anyway. It was part of him now, part of who he was, and it had been part of shaping him into the person he was right now.
He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Understandably he was tired. In the course of the last few days he had said things, uttered words that he didn't think he'd ever speak again. However it couldn't go any further than that, not as long as Red John was alive. He'd made himself a promise long ago to not rest until he had avenged his family or died trying.
He didn't believe in curses, but he feared for the safety of the people he cared about, now more than ever. The targets on their backs had been outlined more clearly and so he had to be more cautious going forward, if he ever wanted to live a normal life again.
He had taken her hand in the desert, not as a promise of something more, but as reassurance that she was still there, and a silent promise that he'd not go anywhere, that he'd be there for her, no matter what.
He slid the ring of his finger, looked at his bare left hand, committing the liberating feeling to memory, before sliding the ring back on, closing his hand into a fist, swearing to any God willing to listen that no one else he cared about was ever going to suffer because of him.