A/N: Set in the first year during the two year time jump.
A Decade of Lights
ten.
Dear Lisbon,
I hope you've been keeping well. It's still warm and sunny here, and I can hear from my balcony, all the children on the street. You would love it here. It's amazing how simple it is to live…
He sends her letters and it is exactly the type of archaic, familiar, sweet, personal gesture that she's been aching for since moving to Washington. She tells herself that she loves the quiet and she has a home now (with a proper fireplace and everything) and being in a small town means that everyone knows you and uniforms mean that there is a tangible connection to her work, but she is still so lonely.
…It's Christmas, Lisbon. You'll see I've sent you the latest shell for your collection (if you're collecting them – I can only hope you're not throwing them out, or venting your justified anger and annoyance at me by taking a hammer out on them)…
She puts up a Christmas tree at the station and she feels somewhat self-conscious at first, because this is the first time she's put one up since, well, a long time. But really, she's become a figure in the community, and it's not as if she's chasing down the murderer of a high-powered senator anyway. She manages to enlist the help of the kids in the school, and after two hours, they stand back to admire the lights and the handmade ornaments. It's pretty and innocent, and it chases away any disappointment she has of him disappearing again, and then she asks herself who is she to be his keeper anyway?
She takes a walk to the park, later in the afternoon, and she starts a ritual of remembering all those lives lost over the last decade. She has time to think now, a flower in the pond for each name.
…There was a girl the other day on the beach who gave me this one. She had long dark hair, big brown eyes and a very serious face. She reminded me of you, and she invited me over to her small house with her family. She told me no one should be alone, so close to Christmas. (Or, I think that's what she said – my Spanish is still a bit rusty). Neither should you, Lisbon...
And because she's in the mood, she finds a small Christmas tree and puts it up in her own home. She watches the lights from the tree and the candles and the fire bounce off the surface of the wine in her glass, ripples dancing in front of her, the smell of smoke and pine and grapes filling the heady silence. She's reminded of the rare occasion when he would come over, and late night talks and banter and debates would leave them tired, yet simultaneously awake.
…And before you start denying it, let me explain. You do mean a lot to me, and I am sorry for all the grief I've caused, especially the last year. You deserve a lot better. But please, woman. Call your brothers. Call Tommy and Annie. See Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt. Do all the cop things you cops do, and let them know that they are missed…
She invites Wayne and Grace over for dinner and company. She is genuinely glad to see that they are happy, and feels a strong rush of pride for her former agents as they tell her of their private security firm. And they eat and chat and eat some more, and they ask her whether she's heard from him, and she's stuck with what to say. She leaves them with a quiet wistful 'yes', and she doesn't miss the soft look they give each other. Another hour passes, and she bids them goodbye, retreating back to her couch, warm from the lingering company of friends.
Dinners with them turn into a fortnightly event, and on the second one after, she's stunned because she hears Grace say 'I'm pregnant' and she automatically smiles and she is genuinely happy, but she feels something break inside. And dinner keeps happening, and she doesn't let anything show.
…I know I'm not of much use to you right now, but I hope that you're in good spirits. I can't get you a pony, or anything like that from here…
She carefully places the shell on her desk at work. Some days, she stares at it for minutes on end, almost willing his voice to magically sound through the hollow. She imagines its place on the beach, on the hot sand, rolled in from the tide, of the children on the shoreline, noisy, alive… She imagines him chasing the birds, drinking tea by the beach, thousand-watt smile blinding the local waitresses, carefree and content.
And when her deputy walks in and asks her curiously about the shell, she ducks her head shyly, smiles, and tells him that it's a gift from a close friend. Her smile is noticeable from rooms away.
…and I think the shell is prettier anyway. I'm sure you'll know what to do with it. It's me saying thank you for all these years (a small thank you – I know there's so much more that needs to be done). You told me once that we'll get there. I'm happy here, and I know it's not the same without you here as well, but I hope that you're doing okay too…
She goes home early on Christmas Eve, lights the fire, and settles back. She sits peacefully with the letter in hand; reading and re-reading, and the embers flicker and fade. She smiles and whispers into the darkened room.
"Merry Christmas, Jane."
…Wishing you a happy Christmas, Lisbon.
-J.
...
My knowledge of season 6 is limited to FF, YouTube and reading episode summaries. Sorry if I've inadvertently made up rubbish. Also, this marks the end. Thanks to all who read/reviewed/favourited/followed. Hope everyone has/had a happy Christmas/holiday.