The Rose Garden
Comments: This story is loosely based on the true events surrounding the marriage of someone very close to me. They are magnified in this story, but the emotions are the same.
This story is not as long as my other one, nor is it related. It was just a short fic that I wanted to finish before I work on my next big project. Thanks for reading and I would love to get your reviews!
Chapter 1-Challenges
Teresa Lisbon was stretched to the limit. She sat at her desk, paperwork filling every available surface. They were in the middle of an investigation into the murder of a Sacramento alderwoman, and they had three cases that they were still finishing reports for. Patrick Jane had managed to piss her off four times today, and it wasn't even noon.
He currently lay on the couch with a Rubik's Cube. He'd already finished it three times today, and was beseeching his team members to mix it up for him. Normally only Van Pelt would have been inclined to humor him, but today, they took any excuse for a break.
Even as she watched, he flipped one last row and held it up in victory. Van Pelt glanced at him briefly. Rigsby was staring at a computer screen, a scruffy-looking pencil taking even worse treatment from him as he chewed on it absently. Cho was Cho—focused, efficient, and methodical in his research and reports. He thoroughly ignored the consultant.
Jane stood and approached Cho, extending the Rubik's Cube to him. She couldn't hear them through her closed door, but she knew Cho would cave after minimal persuasion on Jane's part. She gave him fifteen seconds.
Sure enough, fifteen and a half seconds later, Cho took the Rubik's Cube with a sigh and began mixing up the colors.
She couldn't blame them. Natalie Yancey was a well-loved alderwoman, and they were getting a lot of pressure to get this case in the solved pile. Breaks were few and far between.
So far they had very little. The fifty-year-old mother of three and wife of a decorated Army Colonel had been beaten to death in her home yesterday afternoon just before her youngest son had arrived home from school. The elder daughter and son had since arrived from their respective colleges, and the husband had been called in Iraq. He was on his way back on leave.
While all of her injuries had been horrific, the one that killed her was a blunt force trauma that caved in the back of her skull. It had been a messy crime scene, traumatizing for her high school son.
Her best suspect right now was her worst: a long-time Fire Lieutenant of the Sacramento Fire Department, Dan Giles. SFD had largely buttoned up about it. He was well-liked and respected, and the rest of the firefighters loathed to speak ill of him. Some neighbors suspected an affair, and had quickly told Van Pelt all they thought they knew about it.
Their other suspect was a utility worker who had been in the area that day. He was in the interrogation room now, and Cho had already grilled him. Her gut told her the guy was innocent, but they were checking his alibi now. Guiltily, she hoped that he turned out to be the perpetrator, because that meant she wouldn't have to dig into the Fire Department personnel.
Rigsby came to the door and knocked. She motioned him in.
"Olster's alibi is solid, Boss. His supervisor puts him turning in his truck around that time. Should I turn him loose?"
Lisbon sighed regretfully, absently pushing the picture of her dog back a few inches. "Yeah, let him go. It was too easy, anyway."
Rigsby nodded and turned to go.
Jane sailed through the door before it could close behind Rigsby, a finished Rubik's Cube in his hand. "Mix it up for me, Lisbon. Of all of my opponents, I expect you to be the most challenging!"
She leveled him with a look. "I'm busy," she stated. "Go away, Jane."
"Aww, Lisbon, come on. Everyone else has done it."
Her eyebrows came up. "And that's a great reason to do it," she muttered, flipping a file closed.
"It is, usually."
Her hand came out, palm flat, and Patrick Jane grinned. He set the Rubik's Cube in her hand.
"Take three steps back," she ordered, leaning back in her chair. She began mixing up the Cube, but her eyes were on Jane. "One more."
He did as she asked, and his expression said he was either puzzled or he was preparing himself for what she was about to do.
Lisbon threw the Rubik's Cube over his left shoulder, out into the squad room. The three heads of their other teammates came up as the colored cube bounced past them to skid underneath a heavy shelf.
Jane gave her a look of stern disapproval. "That's no way to treat the Cube, Lisbon."
"Out," she ordered. "You wanted a challenge, I gave you one. Now get out. I have work to do."
With only a slight bit of dejection, Jane left her office to retrieve the Cube. Maybe it would keep him busy for a while, she considered as he dropped to his stomach, hand extended under the shelf.
Suddenly her phone rang and she picked it up.
"Lisbon."
The other end was silent for a moment. "Teresa?" a male voice asked finally.
She sat back in her chair, glancing at the number on the phone before putting it back to her ear. "Yes? Who is this?"
He hesitated a moment. "It's Michael. Michael Ballinger."
Lisbon froze. That wasn't a name she'd heard in years.
"Teresa? Are you there?" he coughed suddenly, away from the phone.
"Yeah, I'm here," she said reluctantly. "What do you want?"
"I was wondering…I have something important to talk to you about…could we meet for lunch?"
Lisbon stood and moved to shut her door. "Just like that?" she hissed after the door was closed. "After what happened seven years ago, and you think you can just resume this relationship?"
"Look, I told you how…look, I was a jerk, okay? I'm sorry. If this wasn't important, I wouldn't ask. You know that. I've honored your request thus far. Tiny's in an hour?"
Lisbon sighed. "Fine, I'll be there. I don't have a ton of time, but I can meet for a bit."
"Great, I'll see you then."
When she pushed open the door to the small diner called Tiny's, she had expected to see Michael. He was always on time, and she rarely was. What she didn't anticipate was how he looked.
Michael had always been a well-built man. His skin had always carried a glow of vibrancy, and in her memory, his eyes were a warm brandy color, sparkling with life.
Now he was skinny and pale. His dark, thick hair that she had loved so much was gone. His skin looked fragile and papery.
She sat across from him at the table, and noticed with a small smile that he had water. Of course he did.
Michael smiled at her. "You look great, Teresa," he said quietly.
"You're sick," she stated bluntly.
His smile lacked humor now. "Yeah. I am."
"Cancer?"
"You would figure with the terms we parted on that it would be liver cancer or something. But it's multiple myeloma."
Lisbon tried to keep her face impassive, recalling the reasons she'd left him, the reasons she'd had a restraining order on him for three years. He seemed different though. He seemed older. Sadder.
"What did you want?" she asked, her voice a bit harsher than she meant it to be.
Michael sighed. "I guess when you get to this point in an illness, you want to make amends. You want to have someone you care about to know. I'm trying something with stem cells in Tennessee in a week, but if that doesn't work out, it's not a good prognosis."
He was silent, and she finally softened her expression. "I'm sorry, Michael."
Michael nodded absently. "I'm not looking to get back with you, Teresa. I just…I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was an idiot drunk and I lost the best thing I had in my life to that. I've been clean for four years now."
She smiled at him, but was unable to keep a bit of bitterness out. "Good." Too little too late, though.
Michael hesitated a moment, and then his brown eyes locked onto hers. "You are still my power of attorney, did you know that?"
Her throat caught. "No," she managed finally.
"I have no one," he said a bit bleakly.
"You're asking me to make decisions about your life," she stated, a little incredulously, as she realized what he was saying.
"I guess."
She stood suddenly, startling a waitress who was passing by. "You drink yourself into a rage and you beat the shit out of me for nearly a year of our marriage, and now, when you're dying, you expect me to stand by you? Jesus, Michael!" Her tone was incredulous.
"I know, Teresa, I'm sor—"
"No," she said viciously, leaning over the table. "Sorry isn't good enough for what you did. It doesn't make up for—" she broke off in a strangled voice and tears sprung to her eyes. Now that she noticed it, his were a little watery as well. Her voice was calmer now. "No. I have a murderer to catch, the last thing I need is to waste my time with you. Goodbye, Michael."
