A/N: The title comes from the Robert Frost poem of the same name.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist.
2013
Monday, May 13
5:54 am
Lisbon made her way to the plastic bench where she had left Jane only minutes ago, but was not surprised when she discovered he was no longer there. Peering through the early morning crowds, she finally spotted him standing in front of a large window overlooking the runway. The sun was rising, its light blazing through the glass so that most of what she saw was the dark outline of his suit jacket against a bright orange canvas.
She approached him slowly, not wanting to shift the blanket of silence that seemed to surround all of them these last few days or wake the child sleeping against his chest.
"Hello, Lisbon."
She came up beside him and took a slow sip from her new coffee, waiting for something to say. "Nice view" was all that came to mind, so she said it, if only to feel words coming out of her mouth.
He remained silent, but turned to face her. "Yes," he replied after a moment.
Lisbon shuffled her feet, one hand in the pocket of her blazer as she studied the floor and then his face. "I can take her for a while. If you want."
Jane glanced down at the head of auburn hair resting against the grey of his suit coat, a twinge of something coloring his features. But then it was gone, and he was handing Rosie to her and turning to once more face the glowing glass.
2010
Sunday, October 24
7:12 pm
"You looked lovely today, my dear."
Lisbon whirled around, nearly spilling champagne down the front of her dress. She sighed, straightening the blue satin before raising her eyes to his. "Why do you do that?"
"What?"
"Sneak up on people like that." She squinted at him. "It's annoying."
Jane grinned. "Why the long face, Lisbon? Don't you know there's a wedding on?"
"It's the reception."
"Technicalities, woman. And avoiding the question."
"Shut up, Jane."
His smile just got wider. "Oh, lighten up. Look, even Cho's smiling." He pointed over to the corner of the room where a smirking Cho was watching Rigsby sneak up behind Van Pelt, a hunk of cake in his hand.
Lisbon nearly choked on her sip of champagne. "Van Pelt! W—"
It was too late. Grace, hearing her name, had turned around just as Rigsby let go of the cake. He had meant it to hit the back of her head, but it was now instead smeared all over her face.
Rigsby looked horrified. "Grace! I didn't mean—You weren't supposed to—"
He was cut off by Van Pelt's laughter and a piece of cake in the face.
Lisbon let out a breath, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. She turned to Jane.
"You knew that was going to happen." She put on her most accusatory glare.
Jane shrugged. "And whose fault is it she got it in the face?"
Lisbon grinned, then punched him in the arm.
"Ow."
2013
Monday, May 13
6:38 am
The departure times flashed across a blue screen. The storm had passed, and they were to board in 45 minutes.
Cho had gathered their carry-on bags and began dividing them between himself and Jane. Lisbon, after losing a half-hearted argument, was left to sit on a nearby bench, counting the seconds until they were airborne. Rosie's soft breath whispered across her chest, the child's small fist grasping the ever-present golden cross.
It took three calls before she realized that "Boarding now, all families with children" meant them.
2011
Thursday, May 26
3:08 pm
Grace spun back and forth in her chair, feet pressing against the walls of her desk to propel her motion. The computer screen was a dizzying blur of letters and numbers as she watched row after row of data scroll by. She was running the suspect's phone records against a list of Sofia Morrison's contacts. All three hundred of them.
A little beam of light peered through the tall windows, casting a dull warmth around the room that made her eyelids feel heavy.
"Sleeping on the job?"
Grace jerked her eyes open to find Rigsby standing in front of her, casefile in one hand, coffee in the other. "No," she sighed. "Not trying to, anyway. I'm just…really tired."
Rigsby's look of amusement took on a tone of worry. "Do you need to go home? Maybe Bailey and Seymour could fill in again. Like a dry-run for the maternity leave. I'll ask Lisbon—"
"No, it's ok," Grace cut him off, "I'm fine. Besides, Lisbon's got me running Townsend's phone records and I've got about five more pages of financials to go through."
"Hand me the financials." Rigsby rolled Cho's chair across the aisle.
"What?"
"Hand me the financials." Rigsby gestured at the pile of paper on the corner of Grace's desk. "I'll look through these while you finish running the phone records. Maybe we'll get out of here in time for dinner at Roselli's." At Grace's grimace, he added, "Or maybe just some take-out at home."
"You know what I really want?"
Rigsby grinned. "Let me guess. Pickles and peanut butter."
Wrinkling her nose, Grace shook her head, a look of confusion on her face. "No. Cilantro. Isn't that weird?"
"You hate cilantro, so yeah. But good for me the little guy likes it," he said, casting an approving look at Grace's swollen stomach. "I've been craving Mexican all week."
Grace eyed him as she shuffled a stack of papers. "Didn't you just do out for burgers with Cho at lunch?"
Rigsby glanced nonchalantly at the paperwork in his hand. "Yeah…and?"
"And you're not six months pregnant."
"So?"
"So you probably shouldn't be eating a cheeseburger and a burrito on the same day. You know how many calories that is?"
Rigsby grumbled. "No. But you're probably going to tell me."
2013
Monday, May 13
7:31 am
The space between them was a vacuum. Somehow, silence seems emptier miles above ground in a pressurized cabin.
Jane's vacant stare navigated the contours of the seat in front of him, as if attempting to decipher a code hidden in the calico upholstery.
Cho's hands gripped the metal armrests, his white knuckles belying the distant expression on his face.
Lisbon's fingers drew small circles into the fabric of Rosie's sweater, the material rippling in waves of magenta.
Rosie's eyes began to open.
2011
Monday, August 8
1:41 pm
The waiting room of Mercy General was cramped, crowded, and perfumed with an unfortunate mixture of rubbing alcohol and copy paper. A gale-force wind from an inappropriately placed air-conditioning vent kept Lisbon's hair from sticking to the back of her neck, but otherwise served only to chill her so that she could no longer feel her fingers grasping the sludgy coffee Cho had procured from the hospital cafeteria. Jane had long since abandoned his chair beside her and instead sat at a small plastic table constructing a tower out of colored wooden blocks. Lisbon was sure it would topple any second; he had placed the blocks at such odd angles and it seemed he had every intention of knocking it over once he had finished. He was about to set the last red block atop the teetering tower when a young boy rammed the table's legs with a plastic truck, sending the entire structure tumbling to the floor.
"Family for Mr. and Mrs. Rigsby!"
Cho, who had been interrogating the charge nurse about her job qualifications, was the first to fall silently into step behind the woman in printed scrubs. The hallways seemed to elongate, the afternoon sun flashing through the windows and painting their shadows against door after door on the opposite wall. They stopped after a while, the nurse's hand resting on the steel doorknob of room 815. Lisbon nodded for her to open it.
It was small, but cozier than most hospital rooms. Grace was propped up on pillows, a faded blanket covering her legs. The sunlight streaming through the window made a blond halo around her auburn hair. Her gaze was directed to the corner of the room where Rigsby sat in a rocking chair, a small pink bundle in his arms. He had eyes for nobody else.
…
Jane, succumbing to stereotype, slipped silently into the gift shop. He looked casually around, remembering a similar day about twelve years ago. To his surprise, the thought brought him a small smile. He wandered through row upon row of stuffed animals and brightly-colored greeting cards before settling on a fleecy white lamb with a blue ribbon tied around its neck.
Carrying his prize, he made his way toward 815 and opened the door. Van Pelt was asleep on the bed and Rigsby was in the chair next to her, holding her hand and snoring slightly. Apparently they were out for the day.
Jane backed out of the doorway and followed the signs to the nursery, pausing to gaze through the glass at the rows of infants in their bassinettes. He shut his eyes and let out a sigh before pushing the door open. Rigsby…come on…Quinn, Randall, Regis…ah, Rigsby, Joanna Rose.
Joanna Rose was sleeping silently, her miniature pink hat askew. Cautiously, Jane stepped closer. He studied her face, bittersweet memories clouding his thoughts as he ran his finger over her small, soft hand absently, reminiscing. The baby opened her eyes, which were for now the deep blue of early infancy. Jane started to pull back, expecting her to cry. But she just stared wonderingly up into his face. His smile reached his eyes for the first time in days.
"Hey there, Miss Rigsby."
He rustled around in the gift shop bag and presented the little lamb.
"Here's something for you, my dear." He laid the lamb in the corner of the plastic bassinette. It received the same wide-eyed stare he had a few moments earlier.
2013
Monday, May 13
7:32 am
The little girl squirmed in Lisbon's lap, eyelids fluttering as she awoke. Making a face, she burrowed herself into Lisbon's blazer, rubbing her eyes and hiding from the glare of the small round window. The sun had fully risen now and seemed to stare straight through the double-paned plastic. Jane reached over and tugged the shade down until only a sliver of white light was visible.
Rosie's eyes were now fully open and she peered at Jane from behind a fistful of blazer, thumb in her mouth as she readjusted the graying lamb against her chest.
"Hi, Bug." Jane's lips pressed together in a muted smile.
Rosie waved with her free fingers, then removed her thumb. "Car?"
Lisbon shook her head, shifting her weight in the seat now that the little girl was awake. "No, Posey, not a car. Remember Jane showed you the book? The airplane book?"
Rosie nodded solemnly.
"The airplanes fly in the sky and take people to other places. We're on an airplane."
"Aplain?"
Lisbon nodded.
"Where we going?"
"We're going to Iowa, remember?"
"Iwa?"
"Yep. We're going to Iowa."
Rosie replaced her thumb in her mouth, contemplating. "Where's mama?"
Lisbon's hand stilled against Rosie's back, looking from Cho to Jane and back again.
Cho cleared his throat. "She's in Iowa. We're going to see her now."
Then, steady as ever, Cho returned his gaze to the black shine of his shoes and tried to convince himself that he had not just lied to his best friend's daughter.