A/N: Sorry for such a sad story, just spent the whole day lying on my bed listening to sad songs while writing and sad song equals sad story. This isn't a song fic but I was listening to 21 Guns by Green Day as I wrote this short drabble.
Disclaimer: I really wish I owned The Mentalist but for now I am content with what Bruno Heller is providing. In short, I own nothing. Not even a bed :( (joking!)
The rain was falling from the sky; endlessly falling, never ceasing. The blonde consultant just sat there, letting the water soak him, letting the grief consume him. He looked up at the sky rain water mingling with the salty tears rolling down his cheeks. How cruel the world could be; taking away not only his first life but his second chance to make things right.
Teresa Lisbon lay on the ground in front of Patrick Jane, a gaping hole through her head. Her killer lay a few feet away several bullet wounds in his back.
After everything they had been through together; after finally admitting his feelings. She was shot by a damn junkie. A lucky shot. Hitting it's target dead on.
The FBI team pulled up, the brakes screeching, the tyres slipping on the wet tarmac. They took in the scene before them. Jane had Lisbon's dead body clutched to his chest, his never-ending tears cascading onto her red stained pale face. Sobs wracked from his chest ripping through the air causing the watchers hearts to break.
When the ambulance arrived Cho and Abbott had to drag Jane from the dead woman so she could be put in a body bag. He struggled like a mad man trying to keep her cold form in his hug, but the two men were too strong for the guy who spent his time sleeping on his couch. He slumped back, tasting the bitter tang of defeat.
Suddenly he knew. He knew he wouldn't be able to go on. He wouldn't be able to live. Not without her.
Her funeral was filled with people. People who owed their lives to Teresa Lisbon, mainly. Few of them were real friends. Cho was unemotional as always but he spoke less than usual. Grace had tears running down her face; Wayne held her shaking form in his arms reminding Jane that he could never do that anymore. He could never hold her in his arms. He could never hear her voice or her laugh. Never feel her lying next to him in bed. Never watch his and her children grow up.
He broke. He snapped. He fell apart at the seams.
He ran.
It was Cho who found him. Lying on their bed. A roughly scrawled note lay on the bedside cabinet. I'm sorry; I just can't live in a world where she isn't with me.
In his left hand he was clutching a picture of him and Teresa. Lisbon's off duty gun was held loosely in his right hand. A bullet wound in his head.
He was dead.
His funeral was low key. His old carnie friends watched at the back. Grace, Wayne and Cho stood beside the graves. Grace cried more. Wayne had no tears left, he stared silently at his two friends in the ground. But Cho. Cho smiled. Just a slight twitch of his lips (nobody noticed). The two were together now... just as Jane had wanted.
Mr and Mrs Jane, even in death they do not part...
Fin