Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, if I did it would be a completely different show.
She had told him the night before. Not sure how he'd react. She - who wasn't afraid of anything - had been scared to death. Now she was sitting on the floor of her living room, curled up against her couch and crying her eyes out into the soft comforting fabric. She was guessing it was due to the hormones, she normally wasn't this sensitive. But his expression when she told him, followed by him wordlessly leaving, and not even looking back was enough for her to still be sitting where he had left her 12 hours earlier, though she'd somehow ended up on the floor, and now she was sobbing uncontrollably.
She was glad it was only Saturday, so she didn't have to go to work and could manage to get a grip of herself before Monday beckoned her back to work and life as normal.
When Monday came around she felt sick. She had been sick for a few weeks, and going to the doctors had confirmed what had been wrong. This day she considered not going to work. How would she be able to face him now? In the end her work ethics won out and she managed to drag herself all the way to her office unseen by all but the security guards.
People came and went. The day crept forward, afternoon came around and she still hadn't seen even the shadow of Patrick Jane. Crestfallen she went home, feeling even worse than she had the night before.
xxx
She had been ill for weeks, and he had been worried. When she asked him to come over after work Friday, he knew she was going to tell him what was wrong. What she did tell him caught him completely by surprise. How had he not known? He was shell shocked. He hadn't known what to do, had been rendered speechless for once and for some reason he'd just upped and left.
He felt a small pang of guilt as he was sitting in his motel room, trying to perfect a letter he'd been working on all weekend. He had to do it this way, he couldn't otherwise deal with the implications of this. Come Monday morning he was done. Instead of going to work, he stayed home and packed his bags, throwing the few belongings he had together. He checked out and drove to Lisbon's apartment. Thankfully she'd already left, so he picked her lock and snuck in. He placed the letter upright and in plain sight on the coffee table, together with a little post-it note that read 'You should think about getting a better lock.' Then he let his eyes wander quickly around one last time thinking this place was undoubtedly going to look so much different in a year's time. And then he left.
xxx
Exhaustion had veered its ugly head at her and made her head straight for the couch. She threw herself on it, landing stomach down and head pressed against the cushions, letting it engulf and comfort her whole being. A few seconds went by and she turned on her side to a more comfortable position, and that's when she saw it.
A white envelope was resting discreetly against her beige vase, attached to it was a yellow post-it that ruined the calming dynamic of the otherwise neutral colours. She knew before she reached for it, who it was from.
She sat up. Took the post-it off the envelope, read it and laid it back down on the table, thinking he was probably right about the lock. She took a deep breath preparing herself for what was to come, then she slid one finger in to the little opening in the upper right corner and gently pushed it to the opposite edge, feeling her hope break along with the tearing of the paper.
Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled the letter from its encasing. It seemed to be in two parts, neatly written in Jane's handwriting, not that she'd expected anything else, well maybe a shorter note written on a typewriter - not so much fuss and less personal - but she was glad for what she'd gotten.
She could almost hear his voice echoing the words out as she read them in her mind:
My dearest Teresa,
I'm so very sorry for the way this has turned out for the both of us. In another time and another place things might have turned out differently. I just hope that someday you can forgive me for what I'm about to do. I truly never meant to hurt you.
I need you to know that I don't regret it, the one night we spend together after Red John's death. I know it was more for comfort than for anything else. But I wish I could spend a thousand more of those nights with you.
Leaving you is the hardest decision I've ever had to make, but it's necessary, if I don't want to see you ever hurt or harmed in any way. You deserve to be happy and loved fully, and I know I don't have what it takes to be that person for you.
It's a sad fact, and I know it will hurt, but please don't waste your time and energy resenting me.
I'm just sorry it had to end like this, and that I won't be there to support you through this tough time ahead, but I know if I stayed just a minute longer I'd never be able to leave. And leave I must.
I know you're scared right now, but it'll pass, I promise you. And I wish you all the best, you're going to have a wonderful life, I'm absolutely sure about that.
Love,
Patrick Jane
P.S. You will make a great mother, and don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise.
To my unborn child,
Hi, I'm you father! (I hope your mother lets you watch Star Wars) knowing her she probably will. I'll leave it up to her when and if you'll get to read this letter.
Now on to the more serious matters. I need you to know that I love both you and your mother more than words can ever say. Unfortunately we will most likely never meet in person, but that doesn't mean I won't love you and think about you every day for the rest of my life. I know I won't be there to hear you speak your first word, to comfort you when you're sad, to read you stories when you're sick, to embarrass you in front of your friends and scare away your boyfriends or girlfriends, to see you get married or hold my grandkids, but I will love you always and forever and more than you'll ever know or think possible.
I have no doubt in my mind that you'll grow up to be a wonderful, smart and beautiful person, just like your mother. Take care of her or me!
Love,
Your father
P.S. And promise me you'll be good to her, she is a good person with an amazing soul.
xxx
When she had finished reading the two letters she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably into the throw pillows. All the mixed feelings inside her struggling to come out as the winner... anger, fear, love, hope. In the end she settled for a mixture of lonely sadness with a hint of anticipation. She was going to be a mother, heck she was going to be a single mother. Fear gripped her momentarily, could she do this?
She went to put the letters back in the envelope for safe keeping, when she saw a crumpled piece of paper still in it. She turned the envelope upside down and banged it lightly. A small piece of paper fell out and landed on the table. As Lisbon got a better look at it quiet tears began streaming down her cheeks again, washing away all the doubts in her mind. She was going to have a baby, Patrick Jane's baby and it was going to be a life changing and amazing experience.
She had to respect his wishes to disappear and not be involved. She understood why this might scare him, but she would have liked to at least have had a chance to talk to him about it some more. Sure they weren't in a relationship, but they were two reasonable adults, they could have figured something out. For now she would give him the space he needed, he was a smart man and if he changed his mind, she'd still be here. She picked up the little paper frog, kissed it - wishing for her prince back - and put it back in the envelope with the letters. Then she took a deep breath, cleared her mind and got up from the sofa. There were a lot of things that needed to be done.
A/N: This is so OOC, I'm so, so sorry for that. And for the record I don't think Jane would ever behave like this. He would never just leave Lisbon if he'd gotten her pregnant, not even to protect her, 'cause let's be honest, leaving her doesn't protect her at all, not at this point, and I simply refuse to believe that he is that coldhearted.
Also I'm really bad with writing believable letters as a genre in stories so sorry for those also.