A/N: So I had this plot bunny form before Red John aired, and it's set in the months that follow. Based on the song "Home" by Michael Buble, which is actually a really cool song, and if you listen to it, this story might make a little more sense. I'm guessing this is gonna be about three chapters. Thanks so much for checking it out! ^.^
Home
Chapter One
Perhaps his biggest regret was the fact that he never had the chance to say goodbye to her. Ten years of working together, bantering, laughing, being partners, and all he had time for was a hastily spoken message on her answerphone.
"I'm gonna miss you."
It wasn't a lie. It had been months since Jane had fled Sacramento, crossing the border in the dead of the night, convinced he could start a new life in South America.
Why couldn't he? He had finally had his revenge, after all.
Killing Red John, Sheriff Thomas McAllister, had been intimate, chilling. He had killed the man with his bare hands, just as he had assured Lisbon he would, years ago when the evasive serial killer was still out of reach.
Jane couldn't move on, though. He had naively expected that a physical weight would lift from his shoulders the moment Red John was killed. Months later, and that weight was still there.
It was guilt.
Guilt that he ultimately caused the CBI to shut down, thereby making the SCU team, his surrogate family, lose their jobs.
Guilt that he had left Lisbon, without truly thanking her for everything she had done.
Guilt that his family was still dead.
And now, he sat in a dingy, loud bar somewhere south of Mexico, wincing as the cool alcohol burnt down his throat. The population easily doubled that in Sacramento, and yet, Jane had never been lonelier. The locals had never bothered to approach the strange, remorseful foreigner, and in turn, Jane didn't make an effort to get to know anyone.
Jane slammed his glass on the bar top, and made his leave. Outside, he had to squint against the sun's harsh rays, the lighting quite assaulting after being in the dusty, dark building. He looked around, at the tall, terracotta buildings, and the unsealed, sandy roads. The masses of people milling about in the streets, and the ocean just beyond the horizon.
Jane had always planned to flee to South America after killing Red John, and anticipated the excitement of starting life fresh in a new, unknown country, where he wasn't a wanted criminal, but just Patrick Jane. He had craved anonymity. The chance to start over, and make a home out of South America. He now despised it. He had decided mere days after arriving that the place could never be his home.
A patter of footsteps behind Jane alerted him to turn around.
"Mister Jane!" the boy yelled.
Carlos, with black, mussed hair, olive skin, average features, was the only person who had approached Jane after his arrival.
Jane considered the child to be a friend.
He smiled. "Hey kid."
The boy grinned back. "Wanna go to the beach?"
"I was already on my way there," Jane replied, and continued walking.
Carlos had to run to keep up with the American's long strides, as they meandered down to the beachside.
XXX
Settled in the sand, side by side, Jane threw shells aimlessly into the shimmering ocean.
"What's America like, Mister Jane?" the boy asked.
"You live in America, Carlos."
He pouted. "You know what I mean," he remarked.
Jane chuckled. "It's… quieter. Not as colourful. But the people can be nice," he paused. "People make good eggs in Sacramento," he added.
Carlos, who had been momentarily distracted by something moving in the grainy sand, jerked his head at Jane. "Eggs? That's what you miss?" he laughed.
"I miss the people mostly," Jane told him sombrely.
"Why don't you go back then?" the boy asked naively.
"I would like to go back home," Jane agreed.
"So why don't you?" he asked again.
Jane turned to face the child. "It's a lot more complicated than that, kid," he told him with a sad smile.
Carlos pouted again, thinking. Moments later, he said, "If you can't go home, why don't you write to her?"
"Who? You mean Lisbon?" Jane asked. He had often talked fondly about the team, and silently commended the boy for deducing how close he and the boss had been.
Another nod.
Jane smiled ruefully, turning back to face the ocean. Endless possibilities… Where would he and Lisbon stand had he not killed Red John? "It's complicated," he said again.
"Why?"
Jane shook his head fondly. Ever the questioning child. "She wouldn't want to talk to me,"
There was also the pressing fact that he was still a wanted criminal, and making contact with any of the team could alert the FBI. He didn't want Lisbon and the team to be in any more trouble because of him.
Hopefully they had recovered from the last shit storm he had caused.
"I'm sure she would, Mister Jane," the boy pressed.
"Oh yeah? How are you so sure?"
The boy grinned impishly, eyes shining. "I just am," he said evasively.
The boy reminded Jane of himself, and he soon found he was wondering how Lisbon would like Carlos.
He dug his fingernails into his palms, and shoved his hands into the uncomfortably warm sand. God, he missed her. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he tried to force himself not to think of Lisbon.
It was no good. Jane had grown accustomed to spending most of his waking hours thinking about the dynamic detective. The way she smiled at him, so full of love and wonder, when he did things that impressed her. Like the time he bought her a pony for a birthday. He missed making her angry, and making her blush when he complimented her. Brushing her hair out of her jacket when he helped her put it on. Holding her close to him, silhouetted by a sunset much like the ones he experienced in South America.
Why didn't he say goodbye?
Of course, he tried to say goodbye, when he was convinced he would reveal Red John at his old Malibu home.
It wasn't the same, though.
He gazed out at the sun, hanging precariously over the horizon, making the beach set fire. He could almost smell her, and feel her form pressed up against his. Her scent, Jane realised, was one he unconsciously started to compare to safe, welcome places.
Home.
"Mister Jaaaane," Carlos sung, trying to get his attention.
Jane scrambled to his feet, and ran a shaky hand through his hair, unknowingly dislodging sand into his golden locks. "Sorry kid, I spaced out for a sec," Jane tried to sound nonchalant.
He raised a noncommittal eyebrow. "It's getting dark. I should be heading home."
Jane nodded. "Yeah, me too."
"You wanna come over for dinner? Mama cooks real good," the boy insisted. "I think she has some spare paper and a pen too, so you can write that letter too," he grinned, and waggled his eyebrows at an unspoken suggestion.
The corner of Jane's mouth turned up slightly at the offer. Going to his place to a tin of who-knew-what for dinner wasn't too appealing at that moment. And while he wasn't actually planning on writing those letters to Lisbon, she was his only link home.
XXX
An hour later, after a stale meal of staple food, Jane was seated at the crude family desk, pen in hand, a crisp piece of paper lying face up in front of him. The perks of living on the South American coast, he mused, was the fact that the world in front of him was canvased by the ever darkening beach, waves crashing lazily onto the sand. It was serene, and beautiful, and Jane felt a pang as he thought he would've loved to share it with Lisbon.
Carlos's mother had insisted a good, home cooked meal would help him get over his homesickness. Instead, the meal made him realise what poverty the people in this town were living in, and he was still mourning over the loss of the things he used to take for granted.
He didn't deserve their kindness or hospitality, and yet Carlos and his family, though struggling to feed their family of six, pleaded with Jane to stay for dinner.
But, Jane thought, he didn't deserve Lisbon's love, either. Or the open, welcoming arms of the rest of the team.
Jane tapped the pen against the desk, and stared out at the beach. He took some comfort at the thought that Lisbon, the rest of the team, anyone who still had sentimental value in his heart, could be looking at the same moon and stars that he was.
Where to start?
His and Lisbon's story couldn't be told in just a few words, in a meagre letter.
All the things he was sorry for couldn't be written down either. The list was far too long. His apology couldn't be generalised either.
"I'm sorry. For everything."
He couldn't express in words how much she meant to him, how sorry he was, how much she missed her.
What the hell was he doing?
He resisted the urge to hurl the pen through the window and into the night.
He had done the same with his life, disappearing without a trace. He owed Lisbon at least this much.
"Are you alright, Mister Jane?"
Even Carlos's mother addressed him with such formality. Like he was superior.
Did they not understand or care about his past?
He turned to the older woman and smiled. "I'm fine, thank you,"
She smiled, relieved. "Just call if you need anything, okay?"
He nodded and turned back to the blank piece of paper.
The door creaked closed, and Jane was plunged into silence once more.
Apologising for everything he had done to her would take years. He started with the most recent one.
Bowing down to the sheet of paper, Jane wrote,
Dearest Teresa,
I'm sorry for leaving you.
-Jane
He sighed, disappointed at his efforts, or lack thereof. Damn that kid. He should have been reassuring her that he was fine, the people were treating him well, and he missed her like hell.
He ran a hand through his hair, and scrawled underneath his name,
PS. I hope you're doing well. I miss you.
If it came to it, he would write her a new letter every week, hell, even every day, so he could apologise for everything. To convince her she was loved and missed, and he was so sorry.
Every day until he came home.
A/N: Thanks for reading. Reviews are very much appreciated! Next chapter should be up soon :)