Disclaimer: Bruno Heller & team own all characters, nothing mine (except perhaps the bear... * big grin *)

It is Christmas time - and during this time of year there should be a little Christmas dream, shouldn't it? I admit that it is a bit sentimental - but in this time of year that should be allowed ;-)

The idea was already fixed in my head for a while, but when I heard "It's only Christmas" by Ronan Keating, it finally had to be written down… ;-)

I hope you have fun reading it. And I wish you all a wonderful Christmas with your loved ones!

Heavenly (The touch of silence)

Part 1

The window at the open-plan office reflected the face of Teresa Lisbon when she looked outside, her gaze oriented far into the distance. She didn't bother that on the other side of the glass there was absolutely nothing else to see except the street lights. Absent minded she stared into the darkness and tried to remember when in the last years she had been in any kind of Christmas mood. She didn't succeed.

The full department stores, the crowds rushing around, Christmas carols played in loop on the radio - all this was pure horror and so she on principle spent the month of December only at two places: the office and home. Her apartment was hardly decorated for Christmas, though. The only thing there that had to do with Christmas was an old teddy bear made of plush wearing a Santa Claus hat and tousled hair. It was scorched at one paw and showed a black spot there. It sat on the shelf that was across the entrance door, on the second panel from the top, hiding a part of Lisbon's CD collection and in particular the old Spice Girls CDs; those she still danced to in her sleep shirt sometimes.

The window showed an inverted image of Lisbon's face. Eyes which had seen much, perhaps too much. A mouth with lips that were a little too firmly closed, and a flood of dark hair which hid a wide awake mind.

Patrick Jane, who once more preferred the brown leather couch in the CBI-office from going home, stopped in the middle of the gallery at the upper floor and looked at the scene below him. It seemed absolutely understandable to him that Lisbon worked even longer in these days. Because that was what he did, too. The sentimental "time of peace and of calmness", as it was often called in magazines or on the radio, made it even more difficult for him to go on with his life as usual. Thinking of families who sat together under the Christmas tree singing "Silent Night" or swapping gifts hurt him so much... In the past years he had often rented a little house by the sea and spent the holidays there. Alone. On the beach. In quiet conversation with the two people who meant more to him than anyone in the whole world. And sometimes, when the rough sea breeze had run through his hair and whispered into his ear, for him it had felt like they were replying to him. That he had reached them with his thoughts.

He suspected that Lisbon had a similar ritual. Because she never talked about spending Christmas with her brothers or something. She had always avoided answering questions about it and instead cleverly talked about how she had spent the days AFTER the holidays with her brothers or how the eyes of her youngest niece were sparkling when she had unpacked her present, a toy pony.

Jane was sure that Lisbon hated Christmas. He could guess it from her disparaging look when she saw the decorations in the shop-windows, from the expression on her face during the annual CBI-Christmas party (which was mainly a compelled event full of repressed rivalry than an informal get-together of the different investigators teams) and from the way how she pressed her lips together when someone suddenly came to talk about the holidays.

And so, this lost-in-thoughts Teresa Lisbon, who was standing down there at the window and who probably thought of herself to be the only one still working in the office at this December evening, didn't appear unusual to him.

But to his surprise the scene in front of his eyes touched him. He watched Teresa Lisbon from the gallery. She stood there in half-profile at the window like a statue carved in stone. Teresa Lisbon, who he considered to be an eternal mystery, who surprised him with unexpected reactions every single day, and whose patience he loved to strain (sometimes more than allowed by the rules). The almost black hair that fell over her shoulders onto a white blouse, the fringe of her hair which gave her face an almost maiden-like look, and the curved lips which had a rich red color after she subconsciously pressed her lips together while standing there and reflecting something. Automatically the question crossed his mind whether Lisbon had played in school performances when she was a school girl. She would have been the ideal cast for snow white. She still was.

Quietly, he went down the spiral staircase and made his way to Lisbon, who was still deeply lost in thought at the window.

When he was only short behind her and she suddenly noticed him in the mirror of the window behind her, she turned around with a gasp.

"JANE! How can you dare frightening me like that?"

Jane's face showed a silent regret and Lisbon sensed that he didn't have the intention to appear disrespectful at all. So she tried to make him forget her harsh words with a wink of her eyes.

"I almost pulled out my gun and shot you!" she said with an impish glance.

"... and right in this moment, as you say that to me with a wink, the thought flashes your mind that this could have solved most of your problems...," Jane answered nonchalant.

Lisbon grinned. "Got me." Suddenly hardly anything of her deep thoughts was recognizable. But this did not mislead a Patrick Jane.

"I would really love to go on philosophizing with you about this confession, but..." He made a short break, contemplating for a few seconds whether he should go on with the sentence he just started or better lead the conversation into another direction. But in the end, he chose directness. Lisbon seemed to be in a mood tonight, that would maybe make it easier for him to learn a bit more about her and get to know her better.

"But…?" Lisbon asked with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"... but there is something I am much more interested in at the moment." Jane gave her a smile and she was not sure whether she should go on with this conversation. She had the vague feeling that perhaps this talk could take a direction she would not like at all. On the other hand... She was not a coward! So - why not? If he asked something she wouldn't like to answer, she would simply tell him so.

"What were you thinking about when I caught you standing here at the window and looking outside to the car park?"

Lisbon's face froze.

If he asked something she wouldn't like to answer, she would simply tell him so.

She struggled for words.

He looked at her and waited for her response.

She swallowed.

Enquiringly, he lifted his eyebrows.

She feverishly searched for an explanation which would sound plausible, although it was not the truth.

His eyes showed that he would see through each lie.

After half a minute of wordless communication, Lisbon gave up. So what if he knew? So what if she told him about that Christmas holiday, the last one that she really had experienced as such?

Slowly she turned away from him and looked out the window again. Jane carefully paid attention to each feeling her face showed, to each blink and each twitch of the corner of her mouth. He knew that in this moment she didn't see the parking lot outside the CBI Office that was lit only by a few street lights which left it with a light orange-red shine here and there. No. She was somewhere completely different. Lost in a personal memory, another place, another time and maybe with very different people around her.

"Heavenly." she said softly and in spite of the beautiful word her voice sounded sad.

Jane had expected anything but a single word that confronted his perception skills with an almost unsolvable task. Heavenly? She definitely had to have something else in mind than the parking lot. But what? He waited for Lisbon to go on, but she obviously was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't realize his presence.

Just when Jane drew a breath to ask gently what this word was about, Lisbon began to speak again.

„It was Christmas in 1985. For years, my mother had wished to see snow. You know, in San Francisco that was a bit unlikely." Speaking this sentence, Lisbon's face showed a smile. But it could not conceal how hard it still was for her to talk about it.

"We didn't have much money. A large family can't afford any extravagances. Nevertheless, my father had secretly saved some money for several years. And in that year it was finally enough to spend Christmas in the snow. We packed up the warmest clothes we had and went to the Rockies. My father had rented a small cottage on a slope, about a mile outside of Heavenly at Lake Tahoe. When you were standing in front of the cottage, you could look over the city. When we arrived, the landlord had prepared everything. A warm fire was burning in the fireplace and a Christmas tree, decorated in red, with lights all over, was standing in a corner. If you looked out from the inside, you could see a thick layer of snow on the windowsill. My mom's eyes were full of tears. I have hardly ever seen her happy like that..."

Lisbon spoke in a low voice as if she feared her memories would leave her when she spoke too loudly.

"At Boxing Day, when it was almost dark, I sat at the window and watched the snow fall outside. Around the cottage, there were a few old street lights, so that at least the entrance and the access road were lit. I was totally fascinated by the thick white flakes that fell down in the light of the street lamps, because the snow was twinkling and sparkling so beautifully… I put on my jacket and went outside. I was eager to catch one of the flakes and hold it in my hand. I stood in front of the cottage, my boots deep in the snow and I looked upwards into the black sky. And there I saw lots of white points which silently floated down to me in the light of the street lamp. It was so quiet, never before I had experienced such silence. I was spellbound because it looked so beautiful..."

Jane looked at Lisbon attentively when she spoke. Her eyes were sparkling as if she was still the little girl in front of this cottage that watched the dancing snowflakes. He was deeply moved by her story because it showed the very fine line between happy and tragic moments so clearly.

"When I came into the cottage again after a short time, it smelled quite strange. I remember how I looked around to find out where that smell came from because I couldn't identify it. And then I saw the teddy bear. It had been sitting on the present my parents had given to me, a pair of roller skates. I had put it aside when I had opened the present. One of his paws was scorched. It had touched the metallic screen that was arranged in front of the fireplace to keep dust and sparkles."

"And let me guess," Jane broke in on her narration with a small smile, "the bear is the only thing you have kept until now and every year at Christmas it sits in your bookshelf."

Lisbon's small smile was so absent that he was unsure whether he had guessed right or Lisbon was just completely lost in the scene in front of her inner eye again. Then she turned away from the window and looked at Jane. Suddenly all the magic in her face had disappeared.

"Three months later Mom was dead. But I always find comfort in knowing that she was able to experience what she had wished for such a long time."

Lisbon's voice was strong when she said that. Nevertheless Jane, whose former job was to detect well hidden feelings behind well chosen words, still heard the sorrow in it. Suddenly he was tempted to pull her close and wrap her in his arms. But he didn't. He considered it a gift that Lisbon had opened up to him and told him her personal Christmas story. And a hug appeared much too ordinary to him to express his compassion. He felt the desire to do something for her, to please her, to delight her. He wanted to see her happy, he wanted to conjure up the little girl he had just been able to see. The idea took possession of him; he had found a new challenge. Or simply a way to displace the cheerless thoughts that flooded his mind every Christmas.

"Thanks for telling me," he said, while he already contemplated the way he could implement his „project".

"Thanks for listening," she answered and looked past him towards the lifts. Reliving these painful memories had puzzled her and left her confused. Suddenly she longed for privacy, calmness and her bed. "I have to go now. Good night, Jane."

But when she entered the elevator, she felt a strange relief to have finally shared her memories with someone. Someone who – she was sure about that - appreciated the importance of these memories.