"Dad! DAD!"
Patrick Jane winced at the shout in his ear. At the moment his head felt like the inside of a bombed out building, all raw and charred and in danger of collapsing on itself.
These parents really needed to get their kid under control. The last time Jane heard such yelling, he and Lisbon were in the middle of a food fight in the cafeteria at Carnarvon Juvenile Hall. Okay, so he had instigated the fight in order to reveal the ambidextrous teenager the FBI were looking for as a witness to a murder of a Senator's daughter, but at least it worked. It just required putting up with Fischer's complaints that the echoing shouts and bangs still caused ringing in her ears days later.
Made it kinda worth it, actually.
"Dad! Wake up!"
Dad? Who is calling me 'Dad'?
Jane winced again as he opened his eyes just a slit. The light was painful to behold, like snowblindness in a glacial field.
Glacial. That suited. He realized that he was freezing, like he was up to his neck in blowing snow.
"Cold…" he said, shivering.
"Yes, you're spiking a dangerous fever so the hospital is putting you in a warm bath."
"H-hosp…"
His vision adjusted to the brightness but he still had difficulty focusing. The form of a slender young woman hovered near where he lay…
In snow?
"W-warm…b-bath?" It sure didn't feel warm. The snow was fluid and enveloping, as though quicksand could exist in the Artic regions. He tried to cross his arms over his chest but they were too heavy. He hadn't felt so bad since Venezuela when he contracted malaria soon after he arrived. It nearly killed him.
"Just relax, Dad. They're doing their best for you."
He concentrated on the fuzzy figure next to him. His eyes remained stubborn in their resistance to clarifying his view. She looked like… Charlotte? No…her hair was dark, her face more squared than the heart-shape of that the imaginary progeny. She looked…
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Have a guess."
She leaned forward, a wicked and playful little smile becoming clear. Eyes the color of Mayan jade peeked out from long bangs of walnut-toned hair.
"Lisbon?"
No, that wasn't exactly right. This young woman was college aged. Her shoulder-length tresses were big riotous curls. Her lips weren't as full and the chin was just slightly, slightly cleft. His chin on this pretty little face.
"Partly right."
"Daughter…" he said. It left his lips as if it were wind being knocked out of him.
"Brittany," she said, crossing her arms. "Get up, you lazy cuss."
"I…I can't move."
She turned away like he hadn't spoken. "Come on."
After heaving a sigh, Jane struggled to sit up, his curiosity about…his daughter?...giving him strength.
"You're my and Lisbon's daughter?" he asked, finding his feet and staggering after the young lady.
"Could be," she said.
Hmmm…if she were his daughter, that's the kind of answer he'd expect.
"'Could be' as in 'it could be that I've guessed correctly'? Or as in 'If Lisbon and I ever hooked up, you could be the result'? Because last I checked, Lisbon and I have never slept together."
Brittany laughed a trilling, melodic set of tones which reminded him of Teresa Lisbon's sincerely happy laugh that he had gotten to enjoy a few times during his association with her.
"It could be that you're a coward and should have gone after her affection the moment you realized you are in love with her."
Jane gaped for a moment before shaking his head to remove the vision in front of him.
"I'm having a malarial relapse, aren't I? My high fever is causing hallucinations."
With an enigmatic smile, Brittany stopped and turned to him. She was a tall girl, strangely similar to Jane's own mother. Or at least what Jane vaguely recalled his mom to be like. She'd disappeared when he was very young, around the age of six or so.
"Hallucinations?" the young woman asked in light, playful tones. Then she vanished like a Cheshire cat, her broad smile being the last to fade.
Behind him the tinny, trill bell of a child's bicycle rang. Just as he turned to look, a little girl with long curly brown hair raced past, laughing at him as she brushed against his hand. Again she faded out from the fringes inward until her grin disappeared.
To his right, the laugh picked up again, causing him to spin around. Brittany was there again, this time a little older than the college-aged woman. She was garbed in a simple yet elegant white gown, a string of perfect pearls and a long veil cascading down her back. At her waist she held a bouquet. Her steps toward him were a bridal march, bringing one foot to the side of the other, then alternating the lead step.
"Could be you beside me," she said, teasing. "I could marry Ben Rigsby. He's a bright young man."
"Well…I suppose I could enjoy being related to Grace and Wayne if you were in love with Ben and marrying him simply because he made you happy."
Her mischievous smile became a loving expression.
"You could be a good dad," she said, tossing the bouquet toward him. He caught it as it nearly struck his chest, staring at the blossoms. Gardenias. The flower that symbolized hidden affection, or to be precise, 'secret love'. The flower that symbolized his affection for Lisbon. Pure. White. Multifaceted. Delicate. Lovely beyond description.
And of course Brittany was gone again when he looked up.
"Could be that you have some things to think about."
Again he turned in a rush, searching for the beautiful young woman.
"Could be that life is too short for you to play this kind of game. Could be time, Dad."
The voice faded into the empty landscape around him.
"Could be," he said softly.