Speak now

AN: Inspiration comes at very odd hours, but this time, I'm grateful for this particular sleepless night. I hope you are too…

Disclaimer: If anyone objects to me owning Patrick Jane, speak now…I think CBS would. Oh well…

You look in the mirror with anticipation on your face, nerves wracking your body. All you can do is keep telling yourself they're just wedding day jitters, that every bride feels that way on their special day.

The most important day of your life so far.

Still, it feel ridiculous, void…wrong. All wrong. The dress, so beautiful when you saw it on the mannequin in the window in Sacramento's most exclusive bridal shop, is now way too tight, too frilly, tasteless and tacky. It makes you feel like a cream puff and you know you're closing in on forty. Maybe, five years ago…

The engagement ring you were so proud of wearing after you said yes to Freddy McGovern, deputy DA and a very much sought after bachelor when you met him, weighs you down. Instead of it being a symbol of promise and devotion, it's a ball and chain. Your death-certificate, so to speak.

Suddenly dizzy, you find a chair to sit on, trying to ignore the voice inside your head which keeps summing up an endless list of other details that are indicative of the huge mistake you're about to make, walking down the aisle with a man you don't love. At least, not enough to promise him forever.

Freddy is a wonderful man. A sweet, honest man. A man of principles, a very bad liar and one who never forgets to take you and your job seriously.

The two of you are a match made in heaven and both his and your own family and friends have stated that fact so many times that, until a few weeks ago, you made yourself believe them, burying your doubts away in the deepest pit of your being, never to be exhumed. Never to be discovered in fear you'll have to own them when they are.

He's a wonderful man. And you're going to walk down that damn aisle, say the right words at the right time, sign the certificate and live happily ever after even if it kills you. You made your bed, you'll lie in it and never, ever dig up unwanted memories of the past. You'll force yourself not to see another man's face when Freddy reaches for you in the dark. Even if you have no idea how long you can live with yourself, knowing you're betraying the one man who deserves better from you than that.

You're glad you're alone for a few minutes, while Grace, your matron of honor, has darted off in a frenzy to find your grandmother's earrings, which have gotten lost somehow. And you need them as a part of the 'something old, something new' tradition.

To hell with traditions.

A few minutes ago, when it was just you girls, colleagues and friends, you almost spilled your guts to the younger agent, knowing somehow that she would understand, and maybe even help you make a decision. The one you know, deep down, you have to make. But she was so happy for you, so busy helping you get dressed, doing your make-up and hair…you swallowed your words, nodding and agreeing you're one lucky woman to have found the right guy.

She has a point, after all. Freddy is the right guy.

Just not for you.

Not when you still, after all these years, want someone else.

How can you want the complete mirror opposite of what you've got, when what you've got is so brilliant it should by all means blind you to everything else? Still, when you are being really honest…

Freddy has dark hair and hazel eyes, he's always smiling at you with the utmost trust, never questioning, always telling you exactly and eloquently how he feels. The man you crave for is blond and has piercing ocean-colored eyes, and he used to know what you thought without you telling him anything, but he hardly ever showed you any of his own concerns and he had some serious issues with the truth. Yet, whenever he was being honest and open, you understood him without excessive use of words. Something you've never managed to do with your fiancé.

Your groom holds the same standards for himself as you do for yourself. The two of you hardly ever fight, you don't even banter really and therefore, your trust in each other should be complete and unquestionable.

But no matter how much you wish it was so, you know better. Whenever he tells you an anecdote, you have to force yourself to listen properly. Outside from his work, he's a bit…predictable. Oh hell, he's simply boring. He always orders the same thing in a restaurant and he still doesn't know how you like your coffee (black, one sugar) or your eggs (none). You've tried to tell him things like that, but whenever you want to tell him something, anything really, words seem to come out wrong and all you can think of is a trust-fall into another man's arms.

Irony. You hate it.

And to top it off…the blond haired man of your secret dreams is in confinement. And Freddy is the one who put him there.

That was four years ago.

Helpless to stop it, you let your mind take you back to those fateful days.

It had been a calm morning. The calm before the storm, as it turned out to be. From out of nowhere, a strong, reliable lead came in to Red John. Jane had tricked you and your team, you don't recall the details, but it gave him at least an hour's head start. By the time you found him, there was no need for the hastily assembled assault team. Patrick Jane was standing over a dead man's body, holding a blood-stained knife, not even bothering to wipe it off, to conceal it or to run away.

Standing a few feet away, you couldn't bring yourself to get any closer and picking up on your demeanor, Cho and Rigsby advanced without you. As in a haze, you watched them take the knife from Jane's hand, cuff him and read him his rights. Jane gave up without a struggle, didn't look back at the crime scene.

When they walked past you, your loyal agents with your former consultant, now a murderer, in between them, your eyes met his.

You still wish to this very day that that one look never happened. There was nothing in those eyes. No remorse, no relief, no joy (thank God for small favors), just a deep pool of emptiness.

He had reached his goal. It was done. And whatever happened to him now, was of no concern to him.

Only to you.

You met your future groom a few hours later outside the interrogation room. Since Jane had listlessly given you a full and detailed confession, there would be no trial, just a sentencing hearing. All that was left to do was find Jane a lawyer and try to plead a deal.

And plead you did. More than his own attorney, more than your job ever indicated you to do and despite of Madeleine Hightower's strict order for you to step back and let others do their jobs.

The woman who had once lived to give and obey orders, became a tenacious, ferocious pit bull, ready to attack anyone who threatened to harm the one she was loyal to. You hardly recognized yourself when you picked up the proverbial gloves and fought, round after round in the fight of your life. A fight for his life.

First with Jane himself , who still didn't seem even awake, let alone interested. It was enough to make you angry with him, a feeling you preferred to the tightly gripping hands of dread and the numbing pain of loss.

When your emotional, tear-filled words fell on deaf ears and there was no progress with your anger, you changed course and tried to reason with the young DA, explaining all that you knew about the man in your custody. How he had gotten to that point where he couldn't be held accountable for his actions, disheveled as he was by the excruciating way he had lost his beloved wife and child and by the years of insomnia that followed it.

Surely he could see Patrick Jane was a mentally ill man, despite of his year in a medical facility? And surely that would mean his sentence could be reduced if he were to take some kind of therapy? After all, he wasn't a threat to society, not now that the only man he had ever felt the need to kill had indeed been killed?

If he needed an expert's opinion, you would get him in touch with Dr. Sophie Miller. Even if your stomach churned in childish, misdirected jealousy, if she was the one to help Jane, you would have called her.

Perhaps he saw the genuine pain and concern in your eyes and mistook it for a sibling kind of bond between you and the fake psychic in the other room, but Freddy agreed.

Patrick was being sent to the prison ward of a medical facility, with a chance of parole if he attended all his therapy sessions and basically behaved himself properly and obeyed the rules.

Somehow, your heart sank with that last condition.

For a few months, you made yourself visit him, but it became harder and harder to do so. Yes, he obediently went to all his sessions, both one on one and in groups. Yes, he seemed to behave himself, taking all his medications and never causing a stir. Yes, the doctors were cautiously positive he could make a full recovery and be sent back into society.

You knew better. Jane following the rules, looking at you with the unfocused eyes of a man who's regularly drugged and not even attempting to create a riot was quite the opposite of him getting better.

This man in the blue pajamas, eating his food with plastic utensils and making finger-painted art as a form of therapy, was a far cry from the man you'd fallen irreversibly in love with.

The only thing he communicated with his eyes was a request for you not to come back, to spare the both of you the pain and humiliation of seeing him this way.

The last time you visited, you brought him a blueberry muffin and he smiled in recognition, the first real emotion you'd witnessed since his arrest. Not bothering to wipe your tears away, you hugged him, kissed his temple and wished him well.

He understood and let you go.

That night, you smuggled two bottles of whiskey into your office and after everyone had left for the night, you got roaring drunk and passed out on the CBI couch. His couch. Somehow, your coworkers found a way to get you sobered up and presentable and to get rid of all incriminating evidence before Hightower showed up the next morning. They all understood and agreed it should never be mentioned again.

The next day, stone cold sober and emotionally as good as dead, you had the building's genitor called in and had Jane's couch removed. A week after that, Freddy asked you out. You refused. A week later, he asked again.

There was no reason to decline, really. And perhaps, it was time you at the very least tried to act as though you were inclined to move on. So this time you accepted.

It was by anyone's standards a dream date and indeed, despite of the wonderful atmosphere at the restaurant and despite of the fact that Freddy was an excellent dancer, you wished you were just dreaming. Yet, you thanked him for a wonderful evening and you accepted his offer to go out more often.

In the weeks that followed, you helplessly watched him fall in love with you and, feeling lonely, sad and selfish, you never told him you could never, would never, reciprocate. As one date turned into another one, and another one, even as more and more of his personal belongings got intermixed with yours in your bedroom and bathroom until he had practically moved in, you still remained silent.

When he produced a ring on your six month anniversary, you nodded your consent and let him kiss you, make love to you, while you held your breath and your tongue to prevent yourself from crying out the wrong name when you faked your release. It was the best you could do and you would feel guilty if you weren't so damn tired.

You registered at all the appropriate places, gave a small, stylish engagement party and asked Grace to help you plan the wedding, knowing it would mean a lot to your only female agent to be handed a task like this. She never once realized that the only reason you asked her was because you knew you didn't want to have much to do with any arrangement, foolishly believing that by not thinking about it, this whole mess would go away.

It didn't.

And now you're sitting here in a dress you don't want to wear, in a church you don't want to be in, about to commit yourself to a man who deserves so much more than you're capable of giving him. Time has slipped away from you and if you don't say a word now, it'll forever be too late.

You have to get it inside your head that no matter what you do, your dream never had a chance of coming true. Your name will never be Teresa Ann Lisbon-Jane…

Your stomach churns again and tears are threatening to spill over, so this time, you're glad when Grace comes storming back in, triumphantly holding up the previously missing earrings. She notices your trembling, but dismisses it as the normal anxiety of the big day. Gently, she takes the earrings one by one and fixes them onto your ears.

"Boss…I mean Lisb-…I mean Teresa…you look wonderful."

"Th-thanks."

Other words won't come and perhaps they shouldn't. You're too afraid of what you might reveal.

A knock on your door makes you jump. Is it time already? Is everybody seated? Is Freddy waiting for you, his bride?

Are you really getting through with this?

Apparently, you are. Your body now acts on automatic pilot, walking to the door, taking your place behind Grace and your brother's wife and trying to glide as gracefully as you can to the altar, where your very soon to be husband awaits, a nervous but genuine smile of appreciation on his face.

You're happy to be here. You'll have a wonderful future with him. Besides, it's too late now.

The priest begins the ceremony and you allow yourself to tune out, hoping you'll catch on soon enough to say the right words whenever required.

While the elderly priest takes his bloody time, chanting on and on about the sanctity of matrimony and the obligations it brings along (how the hell does he know anyway?), you take your chance to let your eyes scan over the guests.

All three of your brothers are there, and both your sisters-in-law. Your oldest niece is a flower girl and your nephew shall be ring-bearer.

Your team members are sitting in the second row, except for Grace, who's still standing beside you. You can see the happiness for you on their honest faces and it confirms for a moment you're doing the right thing.

Freddy's family, his parents and twin sister with her boyfriend, are sitting on the other side. You like them well enough, but being around his mom and dad somehow reminds you of the childhood you never had and it still stands between you and them as a heavy object you don't know how to move.

Other family-members, colleagues and friends fill the other rows, all faces turned to you, all eyes on the bride as they should be.

All so happy for you…

It's then, the very moment you want to turn your head away from so many expectations, that you see the slight movement in the corner of your eyes. You strain them to get a better look, almost believing…

No. Don't be a fool, Lisbon. You're delusional. You're just clutching at straws to find an excuse to call this blasphemy off and now you're starting to see things, or people, who can't be there.

Patrick Jane is not here. He can't be.

Stubbornly you twist your neck and look at Freddy. Sweet, unknowing, trusting Freddy. You resign yourself to your future with him.

Father…whoever, now asks the traditional, never to be answered question:

"If there's anyone here who has a reason for these people not to be joined in holy matrimony, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace."

You gasp. This is your last chance. You can open your mouth, put an end to this farce and make a run for it.

No word comes out of your mouth.

Yet, someone speaks.

The murmuring in the crowd erupts in protest. This is so not done. Whoever this person interrupting is, he obviously has no idea that this is a traditional, hostorical question and that nobody in his or her right mond would ever expect it to be answered. Really, the nerve of this person.

The blurry figure in the back who is responsible for the interruption, lurking in the shadows of the heavy oak doors, now comes closer, but it doesn't take a headlight for you to recognize him. His voice was enough.

He's wearing a charcoal grey, three piece suit and a blue shirt. His features are calm and his eyes are alive, have regained their depth, their luster. They're focused entirely on you, talking to you without words, like in the old days.

Patrick Jane is here. He's here and he's back. Really back.

It doesn't even matter what he's said, what he's saying now or what he's going to say now that the whole gathered crowd is about to combust, because your mind was made up the moment you recognized him.

He's your future. With all his flaws, with his entire, hundreds of pages thick psychological and/or criminal record, with his charm and his insight, his disobedience and his exuberance, he's the one you want.

In all the craziness of the moment, it's Freddy who gently takes you by the hand. Before he opens his mouth, you know he understands. He's letting you go, releasing the claim he staked over you.

You wordlessly hand him the engagement ring back. You hug him like you would one of your brothers. And as Freddy placates the guests while telling them the wedding's most definitely off, you turn to the cause of the stir.

He smiles his most real, radiant smile. Reaches for your hand and you slip it in his.

Nobody stops you from leaving the church together and no words are spoken while he drives you to an unknown destination. Only your hands are entwined and those limbs speak volumes of their own.

Funny. An hour ago, you were afraid you had run out of time. Now, the two of you have all the time in the world.

Time for tears to flow, for explanations and plans, for dancing and laughing and loving. Time even to speak your own vows.

But for now, the silence agrees with you. For now, it is not the time to speak at all.

THE END