DISCLAIMER: The usual not mine, just playing with them spiel.
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that took the time to review, even a few words mean a lot. This is a short chapter, but don't worry, I've got more written. ;)
He watches her read the note for a third time. She stares at it as if sheer will alone will enable her to change the contents. Her eyes are glassy with tears that she refuses to let fall.
She turns to observe his reaction and he can't bring himself to put on his usual act. Instead he allows his shoulders to become hunched, his eyes vacant as he folds inward attempting to shield himself from what he has just witnessed. His hand falls to his side and the note that he doesn't even remember picking up, slips from his fingers, numb and unfeeling, to flutter to the ground.
He stands frozen for a moment, not moving, not blinking, barely breathing, before turning and running from the bloodied motel room.
He doesn't stop until he reaches the far edge of the parking lot. It's still raining and the late november air is surprisingly cold against his skin. He pays no attention to this discomfort, instead wholly consumed by the realization that this is his fault. Not directly, but in some sick twisted way, Red John has managed to lay the blame on him. Those four little girls are dead because of him.
The sudden urge to cause himself some small measure of physical pain arises and he crashes his fist into the unyielding bark of a nearby pine before collapsing to the damp earth, head falling against his bent knees.
Moments later he hears footsteps approaching. He doesn't look up when she says his name, his gaze remains fixed on decaying layer of pine needles at his feet. She drops to her knees beside him and says his name again, resting a hand on his arm.
Even as he leans toward her, allowing her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, he hates himself for wanting her comfort, knowing he doesn't deserve it.
She leans into him, face buried against the collar of his shirt. He hears her sniffle and feels her breath hitch. Only then does he realize how she must be feeling. She's alive because Sheriff Hardy is dead. She's alive and four little girls are dead because of it. Funny how it didn't even occur to him to blame her for this. He can't though. He doesn't regret saving her life, he simply wishes that things had played out differently.
Knowing she needs this as much as he does, he turns toward her and returns her embrace.
Pulling away, she moves to sit beside him, mirroring his position, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, knee to knee. This time she takes his hand and gives it a quick squeeze, releasing it quickly when she hears him gasp.
Gently cradling his hand in hers, she examines it as best she can in the dark.
"You really should get this looked at Jane, I think you broke a couple fingers."
He shrugs; the pain is a welcome relief to the numbness he is feeling.
"This isn't your fault Jane. Don't blame yourself for it. Red John is responsible for those girls in there, not you..." she hesitates "not me."
She leans into him, a chill racing though her as she becomes aware of the fact that it's still raining and they're both soaked.
"I already sent Van Pelt and Rigsby home. Cho insisted on staying to wait for the coroner and forensic team."
She stands and offers her hand, helping to pull him up. "Coroner was just arriving when I came over here, what do you say we find some dry clothes and get you a cup of tea?"
He smiles a ghost of a smile. It's not much, but tea always makes him feel better. Her company doesn't hurt either.
They're heading back to the SUV when he hears the coroner yell.
"Someone get a medic over here!"
Yes. You get a cliff-hanger. :O Don't worry though; I won't make you wait too long.
Reviews greatly appreciated as always.