A/N: A bit of drabble, worked around the concept of the ocean. Sorry if it's a bit vague/abstract, an explanation is at the end.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made.
"Will you choose life, for me?"
The question plays in her head, her mind struggling to paint the possible scenarios that would result if she actually asked him.
Now seems a perfect time. The case is closed, the adrenaline rush and heightened senses that are consequential to having a case to solve have dissipated. The fact it was a Red John seems like a reasonable excuse to bring forth the subject.
The beach is beautiful this time of year – the sun a blessed warmth on skin that has been cooled and whitened by the winter. Here, by the ocean, ankle deep in warm salty water she feels free.
"Lisbon!" he calls, blond curls tangled in the salt spray. He splashes over to her; she turns from the horizon to him.
"What Jane? It better not be something gross..." she says, hesitantly inclining her body away from his.
"I'm shocked you would think that of me." He says absentmindedly, while handing her a beautiful, milky -white shell, bleached by the salt and sun, yet still striking.
"Oh, it's so pretty Jane!" she exclaims. Her delight is palpable. She doesn't even stop to wonder how Jane would know she loves shells.
They spend a quiet hour collecting them, the words to many questions dying on her lips as she watches him, in an apparent state of peace, collecting the little treasures littered on the sand.
The concept of time weighs on her mind. If she ever wants to ask him she must do so soon, they will be expected back at the hotel shortly, ready for dinner and to pack for the long drive ahead, back to Sacramento, back to conventions and rules and the frustrating anticipation of another case. But here and now she is content wonder, as he wordlessly places another shell in her outstretched hands.
"Lisbon," he calls suddenly, startling her from her investigation of a rock pool "are you really free?"
He startles her no end. He is never so direct. She must be giving him reason to wonder though, some unintentional motion or action, or vibe she was radiating.
"W-what?" she calls back, turning to his suited form.
"Something binds you. Your mother? You do this job for her, despite the way it consumes you. You hunger for justice, I believe the Bible says. Or does something else draw you? Either way, something ties you to this job."
She laughs, unnerved. "I'm as free as the ocean!" she cries, brandishing a shell-laden hand towards to undulating body of blue. She tries to hide her confusion in a childish statement.
"But even the ocean must succumb to the moon." he whispers, now only a foot away from her.
Her biting comeback dies on her tongue. She is sure he can read minds. She hopes he can't read hers too well. "Translucent" he once said. She hopes he can only see around the edges, can't read her so well as to figure her out.
She averts her eyes. He's far too close. He's not interested the way she is. He's playing on that. She hopes to God he really doesn't know.
She slips out from beneath his shadow, back into the sunlight, where everything is clear.
**
Later that night, in the safe confines of her hotel room she allows her mind to replay the afternoon's events.
"But even the ocean must succumb to the moon."
She falls asleep with the comforting knowledge that the light of the moon is reflected from the sun.
A/N: In my deluded mind I've decided Lisbon must consume herself with work for some reason, this being her past, or the fact she wants justice for Jane. Jane is the moon, metaphroically speaking, and Lisbon is happy that the sun, a bit symbolic of good and life, reflects it's light onto the moon.
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