When I started this I had a completely different idea but I guess it had a mind of its own. This is the first fanfic I've wrote in a while so I could really appreciate your views and comments to help me out as well as to see if this is worth continuing.
When something like this happens, one of the first reactions for those involved is to look back and see if there was anything they could have done to prevent it. Some small sign that showed things weren't quite right. But what if it just a random event? When something like this happens most of the time there is no explanation, no warnings before the world comes to a crashing halt. When someone's life is turned upside down so that they're hanging on helplessly, watching everything unfold while they sit alone and afraid, they are desperate to be standing tall once again, taking charge of the situation once more. But that can't happen. They can be strong for others, they can take control when something like this happens to other people, locking away their emotions and pushing aside any personal issues to get the job done. But when something like this happens to themselves it solely is a personal issue ruled by emotions. Normal rules don't apply when something like this happens. Even though they see this happening everyday, see some tragedy strike another, they never expect it to happen to them, especially if their past has already been plagued with sorrow. They think that maybe, just maybe, they will be spared from further pain, but that isn't how the world works and even though they know this deep down, when something like this happens they are not prepared. They could never prepare for something like this, and even if there was a way, they couldn't bring themselves to do so. If they tried to prepare, to anticipate, then that means they were willing to accept that something like this could happen and they could never accept that. Not until it is too late. Not until something like this happens. Not until one they hold dear is ripped away from them.
Not until Theresa Lisbon lost Patrick Jane.
Lisbon would remember what she would tell grieving family and friends. What her team was probably trying to tell her now if only she could listen. The first thought that comes to anyone in this position is what could they have done to stop it happening. Lisbon would sooth and reassure the crying widow, the quiet child or the angry brother that it wasn't there fault, that is wasn't possible that they could have known and rescued the clueless victim from their fate, from getting lost from their loved ones. So why couldn't she follow her own advice? Maybe because she was a trained CBI agent? Maybe because he was snatched from right under her nose? Maybe because it was her words that drove him from his usual sanctuary of the CBI Headquarters?
Lisbon thought it was her fault.
Cho was talking to her now. That was all Lisbon knew. That and the fact that Cho was sitting on his couch. She couldn't hear the words or grasp at any meaning but she saw his lips moving, his hand gently resting on her arm, his eyes trying to reassure her while barely hiding their own grief. Many thought Cho as emotionless, a robot. But Lisbon knew differently. Just because he didn't display his feelings didn't mean he didn't have any carefully locked away. Some may think that this would make Cho harder to read, harder to understand but for Lisbon it made it easier. She had lived and worked around his deadpan expression for so long that even the slightest twitch of his mouth or gleam in his gaze would let her know at once his thoughts. Really he was open as one of his books that littered his desk. You just needed to know the language. And Lisbon did. Lisbon understood the look in his eyes and she briefly closed her own, blocking out the image.
Cho thought it was his fault.
The slight pressure lifting from the couch was enough for Lisbon to know that Cho had left. Left her to grieve, to blame herself. Left her so he could find his own solitude, so he too could blame himself. It was finally the soft moan that roused Lisbon from her blame. Van Pelt sat at his desk as though seeking a closeness to him. Lisbon understood. She herself had been sitting on his couch, clutching the brown leather since they received it. Since she saw it. How she wished she could scrub at her eyes, wipe away the image. And she knew Van Pelt would also give anything to burn the stained memory from her mind. In the brief moment the two women's gazes met Lisbon knew. Grace's eyes held the same haunted look that Lisbon knew she herself had, except the redhead couldn't keep the tears away. Lisbon imagined the memories leaking away from Van Pelt's mind with every tear and she almost wished she could bring herself to cry. But she knew there was nothing she could do to forget. Van Pelt gave another mournful moan as she dropped her eyes, almost shamefully.
Van Pelt thought it was her fault.
The wail brought the last, and with that word Lisbon felt a stabbing pain, member of the team in to play. Rigsby rushed to his love's side, for once not caring about their closeness at work. He shared a simple touch with Grace, their foreheads pressed together as their hands clutched the other, both of them a lifeline for the other. Lisbon wondered why they could be saved when she was left drowning. But she had her chance. She had sent Cho away because she knew. She knew it was her fault no matter how much her team blamed themselves. She deserved to drown alone on his brown leather couch. The leather couch that from this day she swore nobody would use. It would stand lonely but never forgotten as a monument, a reminder to how she failed. And how he paid the price. A crash brought Lisbon eyes back to the couple but she was neither surprised or shocked by the outburst. It was to be expected. She knew Rigsby was troubled by a small part of himself that thrived off his anger and craved for violence. A computer lay at his feet, the same computer that changed their lives only moments before. For a moment Rigsby glanced down at Lisbon, daring her to scold him, but instead she just gave a small satisfied nod before Rigsby turned his attention back to the crumpled machinery.
Rigsby thought it was his fault.
They all blamed themselves but really what good did it do them? All they were doing was sitting around in shock, the missing presence more noticeable than ever. Lisbon slowly rose to her feet, not daring to look back down to the couch fearing the emptiness, and made her way to her office. They did still have a killer to catch and now Lisbon needed to more than ever. For the first time she almost understood her consultant's obsession with his own demon. Now that she had her own devil Lisbon found the idea of killing it, exercising it, surprisingly likeable. She was an officer of the law and had to apply justice, but to banish the devil, well that would be justice, wouldn't it?
Because after all, even though the team all blamed themselves, it was the fault of one man that caused this. One man with a damaged mind, a knife and a video camera.
It was his fault that Patrick Jane was gone, leaving behind his empty couch and a puddle of blood that would forever stain the memory of Theresa Lisbon.
Okay, this was a very vague opening chapter. Things might not be as they appear. From this stage I'm going to go back to before this event, leading up to it as well as what happens afterwards.