Just let me be
Disclaimer: I do not own the show or the song.
*A/N* I should be doing tons of stuff, instead I wrote this. Mh. It's depressing, I know, but well… depressing is my strong point. So just a one-shot of a possible (and hopefully completely wrong) outcome, post Red John, based on the song below. I hope you'll enjoy it.
I cannot go to the ocean,
I cannot drive the streets at night,
I cannot wake up in the morning without you on my mind
So you're gone and I'm haunted
And I bet you are just fine
Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life?
-Almost Lover, A Fine Frenzy
She sat on the beach, listening to the waves and tried to relax. Case closed, team still alive and barely scratched and a violent burglar and murderer behind bars. Not a bad day. Yet still she felt uneasy.
When she noticed she was looking for a familiar figure stretched out in the sand next to her, she squeezed her eyes shut angrily. This wasn't going to help. Jane was gone and she would never amuse herself over the man lying so completely misplaced and overdressed on the beach again.
Her team expressed their astonishment about his disappearance every two days. Everyone checked the couch when they came in, Van Pelt and Rigsby took turns to ask her whether he had called and even Cho looked around at every unsolved mystery like Jane was going to waltz in and explain, upsetting everyone he passed in the progress.
But the couch was empty and Lisbon had not talked to her boss for so long she was starting to feel like screwing up just for old time's sake.
She kept catching herself doing it, too, and that was the worst. His absence hit her unprepared whenever she drove somewhere in the dead of night and the only voice to be heard was the bloody traffic news, whenever they left a crime scene without anything gone wrong and whenever she was interrogating someone she waited for him to burst in and tell her suspect he could leave.
But he didn't.
And every morning, right before her feet hit the floor, she remembered he had left.
Not a word.
Every time, she could have slapped herself because she missed him so much and just couldn't close the file.
There was one, an actual file, still in her desk drawer, marked Patrick Jane, and she had a hunch it would never be laid ad acta.
And sometimes, when she was close to tears, usually sometime alone in her office in the middle of a long, complicated case, she hated him so much and herself even more. Because, after everything that had happened, he just fucking left without even so much as a goodbye, a hug, a kiss, for Heaven's sake!
How could it be that he was still in her head after weeks and months and she had just been wiped from his mind the moment Red John's heart had stopped beating?
How could it be that she had apparently not managed to matter to him at least a bit, after all those years, the bullets taken, the long looks, the things unsaid yet surely understood?
He had always read her like an open book. He had known she loved him.
And still his revenge, his service to a woman who was long dead and gone, had been more important than Teresa Lisbon.
Had she really made forgetting her so easy?
Please take a moment to review.