Author's note: Written as an extremely belated birthday present for Brown Eyes Parker. Perhaps it's more of an "un-birthday" present, really.
Shake It Out
He woke up when the empty glass slipped from his fingers and shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. His motel room was a mess, as was its occupant; he hadn't showered or shaved in days, and now was dealing with the consequences of a massive hangover too.
When he tried to stand up, he tripped and fell ruinously over the shard-covered floor. A weak moan escaped from his throat, but he was too dizzy to move.
His chest was now racked with convulsed sobs, and that's how Lisbon found him half an hour later when she opened the door with the spare key she'd wrestled from him a couple of months ago.
She didn't comment, just dragged him onto his feet and to the bathroom. There she proceeded to remove the tiny fragments of glass from his hands and knees.
"You're lucky you didn't fall flat on your face," she grumbled as she cleaned the bruises with some disinfectant. He winced and made a feeble attempt to complain, only to cut it short when he met her fierce glare.
"And now you're going to take a bath."
"Lisbon…"
Once again his whine died on his lips as she gave him a commanding stare. She turned the hot tap on, stripped him of most of his clothes and helped him in.
"Now you're on your own. I'm going to clean up the mess in the other room. Just try not to drown yourself, okay?"
Clumsily he followed her orders, fighting against the mounting headache. He shouldn't have drunk so much, really. Except that it was the one thing that helped him forget, if only for a little while.
When he was done, she handed him a set of clean clothes and waited for him to get dressed.
"I've thrown all your bottles of tequila into the dustbin, so that you know," she informed him over a cup of strong black tea.
"All right, mum."
"I'm being serious, Jane. You can't go on like this. It's time to shake it out."
"I've told you, some things you just can't fix."
She took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength. "Red John is finally dead. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Doesn't change the fact that my wife and daughter are still dead."
"Well, you know what? At least they're spared the sight of how you're wasting your life."
There was a heavy silence, anger and hurt lingering between them for a moment.
"I regret to inform you that this is not a fairy tale, Lisbon. There will be no happy ending."
"That's entirely up to you."
He dismissed her with a shake of his head. His only drive in life was over, and he wasn't really interested in pursuing any other goals.
"You're sweet," he mumbled as he curled up on the bed and closed his eyes.
It wasn't like her to give up so easily though. She rested her hand gently on his temple, and he wished he could share her faith in the healing power of time.
"Go mourn your family, Jane. When you're done, we'll talk about this again."
A lone tear trickled down his cheek and onto the pillow. He listened to her footsteps as she left the room and closed the door behind her.
Perhaps she was right after all.
xxx
He went back to his house in Malibu, and stayed there for a week. Only, this time he cried all the tears he'd been holding back for the better part of a decade.
When the week was over he called a realtor and arranged for the house to be sold to a foundation that took care of sick children; their little patients could surely use a residence close to the sea.
There was only one thing that he kept to himself, the same thing he intended to give to Lisbon as soon as he was back in Sacramento.
"Hi," she said softly when he showed up at her apartment offering her a tentative smile. Then she noticed the tricycle that was resting on her doorstep, and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
"What's this?"
"It belonged to my daughter."
"Jane, I can't…"
His fingers rested briefly against her lips. "Consider it as a sort of promise."
Lisbon blinked, and for a moment she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Okay," she nodded at long last, unable to find anything more appropriate to say.
"I can't promise you a happy ending, Teresa," he whispered in her ear as he enveloped her in a warm embrace. "But I'm going to try."
She sighed against his lips, and for the first time in years he allowed himself to hope again.