Summary: Episode Tag to Violets. Jane's thoughts after Lisbon leaves with Pike.

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

I know that somewhere on her emotional radar, my distress registered. It might have only been the slightest of bleeps, but she was not so far removed from me that it went unnoticed. In the not too distant past, it would have caused a slight stutter in her step has she walked away from me or it would have caused her to glance over her shoulder and make sure I was not wallowing too much. But now, while it registers, it does not necessitate action on her part.

I have only myself to blame.

Since returning from my self-imposed exile, and make no mistake by choosing not to take my own life, I chose exile. All the possible outcomes flashed before my eyes, as the weight of the gun in my hand taunted me. I chose what I knew she wanted, even if she didn't fully understand the ramifications of that choice. Living meant leaving-leaving her behind with the knowledge that despite all her words and actions, I still chose to knowingly end a man's life with my own two hands. Neither of us was prepared for what living with that truth would do to the basic fabric of us.

My return felt inevitable. My letters to her were breadcrumbs to be followed so I could find my way back to her. And once I was back, I had plans. Of course, I always have plans, and rarely do they go as smoothly as they did today.

Seeing her was everything that I had imagined, and I have quite the imagination. The tentativeness of her welcome quickly dissipated when I pulled her into my arms. For the briefest of moments, I was able to imagine that maybe I was wrong. Our history could overcome the fact that I murdered a man, because at the end of the day, serial killer or not, that is what she saw when she looked at me. She would never say it or use it against me intentionally, but at her core, she knows me for what I am. The knowledge of what I chose to become battles her knowledge of what I once was and what she always hoped I could be.

There is a distance between us now that I don't know how to bridge. Her words on the plane reverberate in my head every time I contemplate attempting to mend what I fear may be irreparably damaged. My motives, which always seem so clear to me, never seem to translate through her filter.

I never had a choice when it came to killing him. But I did have a choice about what happened next. Most days I don't regret it, because while we are fractured and torn, I still register on her radar and that give me hope.