Not quite sure about what happened to Lisbon's mother aside from something about death and I think a drunk driver, maybe. So, sorry if I got it wrong. Just go with it! Thanks!

Also, in case you hadn't realized, these chapters will not particularly be connected. They are just a collection of shorts or drabbles that may or may not go together. The only thing they really have in common is the use of red.  Enjoy! (and I'd love to see someone else's version of 30 Shades of Red)

30 Shades of Red:

Green is for Go, Red Means...

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As a child, she had loved to go fast. She had always giggled when her Dad sped through the "pink" lights, feeling the excitement of the moment and the exhilaration of triumph at making it through. She was always disappointed to see a red stop light, knowing that there would be no race to make it, no shared moment of pride between her father and herself. She had loved yellow lights.

When her mother was killed in a drunk driving accident, she realized just how much bigger cars were than people. How much they weighed. How they could become weapons. Tons of sturdy metal against the frail bodies of flesh and bone. Just as her mother's body had been no match for both her own car and the car which had plowed into it, Lisbon felt that in a match between car and man, the car would always win.

That was why she drove slowly and cautiously. That was why she was always secretly glad to see a red light, even if she still hated them (a gut instinct that she, apparently, couldn't force herself to lose). Unlike yellow lights, red lights never created that moment of tension when she had to restrain the urge to rush through the intersection, the urge to race through to a victory that she felt connected her to her father and her childhood.

Of course, she always ruthlessly controlled the urge, but it annoyed her that it was there anyway. And for that reason, she was starting to dislike yellow lights now. She hated not being in control of her emotions. So Jane was partly right. Her need to be the driver was, indeed, a need for control.

But it was more a control she needed to feel over her emotions. It was silly. The colors of traffic lights meant so little, and yet so much, to normal people.

Green is for go.

Yellow: yield, stop if possible.

Red: stop.

Jane, like her father, liked to speed up through yellow lights. She didn't think he noticed he did it. She didn't think he even thought about it in conjunction with his personality. She didn't analyze it; she just made sure she was the one who would drive.

There were a few inevitable times that she had to allow another to drive, whether it was Jane, Rigsby, or Cho. Van Pelt was fine. If possible, she was even more cautious than Lisbon.

So, it wasn't until she had injured both hands (nothing serious, just an irritating infliction that forced her to rearrange her life in minute, annoying ways) that she realized that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't given Jane enough credit. As the member of the team with the fewest responsibilities and obligations to the Bureau, he had been ferrying her around. After the first few trips, she realized that he was carefully calculating the timing of the lights, making sure to adjust his speed in order to avoid being close enough to the intersection during yellow lights that would provide any sort of temptation. The lights were generally either green or red.

She thought it may be a coincidence, but during rush hour traffic when there was no avoiding the yellow light she must have unknowingly tensed, waiting for Jane to speed through to the other side. Surprisingly, he slowed and stopped before the crosswalk. He didn't speak, for once not giving her a verbal rundown of her personality and behavioral traits. He reached over, still looking straight ahead, and placed a firm, gentle hand on her arm before putting it back the steering wheel. This simple, fleeting touch calmed her. He knew that traffic lights meant something to her, were some connection to her past. And, this time, she didn't feel uncomfortable about him "reading" her. She mused distractedly over this odd acceptance of his perceptiveness.

Green is for go, red means...

Well, it wasn't so much the extremes that troubled her, but the middle ground. Understandable. Predictable, really, if one thought about it. As an adult, Lisbon never liked the unknown. She had changed. That unconscious thrill that was linked to her childhood couldn't counter the fact that she was starting to really hate yellow lights. And her childhood dislike of slowing down, of stopping, of red lights, was not powerful enough to overcome the fact that her adult self was instinctively wary—a fact that had saved her life many times in the field.

Red could grow on a person, really.