AN: Crash helmet alert. S'all I'm saying. Fair warning: I cried during this chapter.
Rebuilding the Sun
Chapter Eleven
He met Will and Olivia in a small park not too far from CBI headquarters. Several agents jogged the paved paths over their lunch breaks, Lisbon included. Not that he would admit it, but he was secretly hoping she found her way to him by some miracle and he would be saved from having to endure this conversation alone.
Of course, he knew very well she would be at his side if he would have simply asked. This was really something he should do by himself, however. It still didn't mean that he wanted to.
His in-laws were waiting for him when he arrived.
They looked older than he remembered. Then again, he was sure he had a few more lines on his face, too.
As soon as he was close enough, Olivia wrapped him in a hug. His throat felt suspiciously tight as he returned her embrace. She had passed lovely blue eyes down to her daughter, and it was a shock to look into them again.
If Lisbon had been there, it would have been about the time he would have curled his fingers around hers. As it was, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets after shaking Will's hand.
"It's good to see you," Olivia said, sitting back on the park bench where she'd been perched earlier.
He carefully sat next to her. "You, too," he replied, even though he wasn't at all sure if that was true. "How've you been?"
"We've been well, all things considered," Will answered. There was a note of sadness in his tone. "And yourself? It's our understanding that you've had a busy month."
He smiled, just a little. "That's a pretty accurate statement."
The death of Red John, the re-emergence of his father, whatever was going on with Lisbon, in regards to both the threat towards her and his own relationship with her.
Yes. It had been a busy month.
Swallowing, he forced his next sentence out. "My father said you wanted to see me."
Olivia offered him a small smile before nodding. "We did," she assured him. "It had just been so long, Patrick, and with everything that's happened recently, we supposed that now was a good time."
Will's eyes never left his face. "Is it?" he asked, "A good time?"
Jane shrugged. "That hardly matters at this point. We're both here." He took a deep breath. "How's Danny?"
The look his in-laws gave each other was devastating. They didn't need to answer, but they did anyway.
Will held his jaw firm. "Danny was killed a two years ago," he said. "Car crash," he added succinctly.
He felt his heart sink. "I'm so sorry," he said instantly, and he was. No parent should have to bury their children, and the Ruskins had buried both of theirs.
But still.
He needed to know.
"I'm sorry," he said again, "but do you know if Danny was involved in some sort of hit and run accident about fifteen years ago?"
Again, their expressions told him what he was after before their words did. "Yes," Olivia said, sounding surprised and more than a little wary. "He was interviewed by the police a few times."
"I know this is hard," he told them, "but it's important. Did Danny ever confess to it? Even if it was just to you?"
He saw the emotions in their eyes - their desire to protect their son mixed with the knowledge that he certainly wouldn't be asking if it didn't matter.
Will took a deep breath, seeming to come to a decision. "He was driving," he said, quietly. "He was the one responsible for what happened." He gave a nervous laugh that contained absolutely no humor. "Are you going to have us arrested for aiding and abetting a criminal? Or for withholding evidence?"
"What were we supposed to do?" Olivia asked, tears shining in her eyes. "He was our son. We would have done anything to protect him."
"I know," Jane almost whispered. "It's not something I can fault you for. I've personally done stupid things to protect Danny. And if it was my daughter," he went on, very quiet now, "there's nothing I wouldn't have done."
The Ruskins nodded, accepting his sincerity. He hated the grateful looks on their faces. They had no idea of the consequences of Danny's actions.
"Can we ask why this is all coming up again?" Will asked tentatively.
And suddenly, he knew he would never tell them. It was bad enough thinking that their son-in-law was responsible. It would be worse if they thought their son, their dead son, was actually the one who caused such a horrible chain of events.
Besides, why did it even matter? It didn't, he answered himself, not to them.
He was the only living person that this would directly affect. This would only change his life. Blame or not, the Ruskins still didn't have their children, and nothing would alter that.
"It's a long story," he finally said. "And I can't really talk about it. It's part of an ongoing investigation."
Olivia offered him a small smile. "Do you have any idea how strange it is to hear you talk about the law, Patrick?"
He chuckled lightly at the irony she saw. "A little. It was strange for me, too, in the beginning."
"Do you enjoy what you do?" Will asked with what seemed like innocent curiosity.
"Most days," he told them truthfully. He enjoyed catching criminals who thought they were smarter than him, enjoyed the interaction with the team, enjoyed being with Lisbon, who was rapidly becoming the center point of his universe.
"Patrick," Olivia said slowly, and he knew they were coming to the real reason the Ruskins had wanted to speak with him in the first place. "Have you moved on? Even a little?" Her eyes landed on his wedding ring, and he fought the urge to twist it nervously.
"More than I ever thought I would, at least originally," he admitted. "But no, not really." He wasn't sure of the answers they wanted him to give. Did they want him to always remain faithful to their daughter's memory? Or was there something else they were after?
Will smiled a touch. "What about that young lady I heard in the background this morning when I called?"
This was unbelievably uncomfortable. "That's...complicated," he finally said.
Olivia read the color in his cheeks correctly. "Are you in love with her, Patrick?"
Damn the woman and her ability to reduce him to a twelve year old. "Yes." He held her eyes, reminding himself that she would surely know if he was lying.
"Does she love you?" Her expression was soft, sympathetic.
He took a breath. "Yes," he said, and he could hear the certainty in his own words. The force of her love was something he had never doubted. No matter what he did, she would always have his back, would always take him back.
She smiled. "So what's so complicated about that?"
He almost snorted. "You have no idea."
Olivia reached forward and touched his hand. Her fingers tapped his ring. "Ang was the first woman you loved, wasn't she?"
His lips turned up in sweet remembrance. "Absolutely. She was the only woman that wouldn't put up with any of my shit, and it drove me crazy. At least, until I realized how I felt. Then she drove me crazy in an entirely different manner."
"It's time to let her go, Patrick," she said, very softly.
He ran a hand down his face. How could be explain to Olivia that it wasn't just Angela he couldn't let go of? It was everything - his guilt, the unending grief, the loneliness. They had been a part of his life for so long, and now that Red John was dead, everyone just expected him to be fine. They expected better than fine, actually. They wanted rainbows and puppies and people shoving flowers in their ears.
"I'm trying," he settled for saying.
"What Liv and I came to say," Will said, looking very serious, "was that we want you to be happy. We want you to live, Patrick, and live well."
He felt tears prick in the back of his eyes. This was all utterly unexpected. It forced his still raw emotions to the surface, made them bubble over. He fought for control. "I think I might have forgotten how," he whispered.
The older man had nothing but sympathy and compassion in his eyes. "You just do," he said.
The conversation drifted away from the mess his personal life was after that. He was sure Will and Olivia could see how close he was to his breaking point. They had always been better parents than his own father.
It surprised him, how much he wanted Lisbon now. It had been a rough morning, coming on the heels of a rough night before that, and he kept thinking that if he could only stand close enough to feel her body heat that he would feel better.
Almost as if she knew he was thinking of her, his phone buzzed.
Everything going okay?
He took a moment to reply.
Strangely, yes. Call you soon.
Hearing her voice wouldn't be as soothing as actually seeing her, but it was a start.
He left not long after that, still feeling like he was a raw mass of tangled emotions. He felt distinctly fragile, like one more bump in the road would cause him to crack into a million pieces.
Before he had even called Lisbon, his phone rang. He thought the number looked vaguely familiar.
"Mr. Jane?" the voice on the other end said. "This is Anna at Sac Memorial Hospital."
He swore mentally. "What can I do for you, Anna?" he asked, voice light. Regardless, his heart was sinking.
"I just spoke with your father's doctor, and he's of the opinion that you should probably come down here. Now," she added, as though he had missed her meaning.
With no idea of what was compelling him to do this, he made an illegal U-turn and started in the other direction. Three weeks ago, he wouldn't have given a damn about Alex Jane dying alone. However, his world was fraying around the edges, and he was making decisions that made no sense.
He held down the "1" on his keypad, waiting for the speed-dial feature to activate. Lisbon answered on the second ring.
"Hey," she said, and he knew she had been waiting for his call.
"Hey, yourself," he replied distractedly. "I'm not going to the crime scene."
"Is everything okay?" she asked, concern coloring her tone.
He swallowed convulsively. "It's my father," he said. "Apparently, we've reached the end. I'm on my way to the hospital."
"Oh, Jane, I'm so sorry," she breathed, and he knew what her face looked like. "Do you want me to come down?"
"Ah, no," he told her. "There's no point in that." And there wasn't as much as he would have liked her to be there, would have liked to be able to lean on her. But he had been doing too much of that lately. He took another deep breath. "I'll call you later," he promised. "Be careful."
"If you need anything, anything at all," she started, but he cut her off.
"I'll let you know." He hoped she'd hear in his voice that he was attempting to smile.
Sacramento Memorial Hospital looked identical to every other hospital he had ever been in. Molded plastic chairs, ugly industrial tile, ridiculous artwork on the walls, the whole place smelling vaguely of sterility and death.
He walked slowly past the first set of elevators, the second, before stopping at the third, pressing the up button. It seemed to take a lifetime to reach the seventh floor.
A helpful nurse pointed him in the right direction, and he tamped down his rising and unexpected panic when he reached the correct room number.
Alex was sleeping when he pushed open the door, and so he could take a moment to absorb the scene. His father looked awful, gaunt cheekbones and sallow skin. Of course, Jane reminded himself, he was at death's door.
He wondered how he had missed this the first time he'd seen his father. He supposed he simply hadn't been looking. Then again, it wasn't as if he'd any frame of reference.
Quietly, he pulled a chair up to the bedside.
He did have some good memories of his father. Endless rides on ferris wheels, stuffed full of cotton candy and popcorn. Nights as a small boy when Alex had rocked him through colds and thunderstorms.
These thoughts were what he was choosing to hold on to, at least in this moment. He didn't think he had any energy left to be cynical and bitter.
"Patrick," came a croaking voice from the bed. "I'm surprised you came."
He managed a small, unhappy smile. "Not as surprised as I am."
"I won't make you wait long," his father said.
"Take your time," Jane almost whispered, throat tight. Then, "Did you really just want to see me?" he asked, hating how childish he sounded.
"Is that such a strange idea?" Alex smirked. "I've made a great many mistakes, Patrick, and I think I had some idea about setting a few of them right." He coughed, and it sounded like a death rattle.
"Some things you just can't fix," he said, echoing words he'd said to Lisbon years ago. He wondered why he had said it in the first place. Clearly, this was not a time for arguing.
"You think I don't know that? I've lived a long time, Patty. I know plenty about regret."
Was it just him, or did the rise and fall of Alex's chest seem to be getting shallower? The sound of his breath was definitely more labored.
"You turned out to be a good man," his father said, "despite my better efforts."
Only Alex Jane could make that into an insult, but he could hear the affection behind it.
"You would have loved Charlotte," he said, apropos of nothing. The words just seemed to burst from his chest.
His father's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I know it. I bet she was an angel."
It was difficult to swallow. "She was," he whispered.
"Maybe I'll meet her now," Alex murmured, and Jane knew they were almost out of time. He couldn't help the tear that slid down his face.
"Maybe," he choked out.
"Find someone that makes you happy," the older man wheezed. "Make sure you don't die alone, like me."
Without thinking, he reached for his father's hand, ignoring how thin his fingers were. "You're not alone."
A faint smile touched Alex's face. "No, I guess I'm not."
XxXxXxX
Three hours later, he knocked on Lisbon's door. When it opened, and she took in his appearance, her expression was shocked.
In all honestly, he had no idea what he looked like.
He had spent the last few hours driving aimlessly around the city, sometimes fighting the tears, sometimes not even bothering.
Twice today, he had been told to move on with his life, by people he had truly never expected to see again. Like it was just that easy.
"Oh, my God," she whispered, "Are you alright?"
She all but pulled him inside, closing the door behind them.
He dimly noted that his hair and shirt were wet. It was raining. He hadn't even noticed.
Carefully, she touched his face, fingers sliding slightly on the moisture she found there. He knew she was wondering if it was rain or tears.
"Jane?" she asked, eyes focused on his. "Talk to me."
Find someone that makes you happy, his father had said.
You just do, Will had told him when he'd admitted to not knowing how to live well.
Throwing caution and rational thought out the window, he wrapped his fingers around Lisbon's upper arms, forcing her backward until she was stopped by her living room wall.
She was startled, but not afraid.
Releasing her arms, he framed her face in his hands. He gave her just an instant to pull back, his intentions written all over his face.
And then, in one sure motion, he leaned forward and kissed her.