A/N: Hi there :) As always, thank you to all of you who reviewed or even just read this, you really do all put a smile on my face and your words of encouragement often leave me blushing. Where the last oneshot was dialogue-heavy, this one is not. It was originally going to be nothing more than a drabble but then…I went in a different direction. Still, I hope you'll enjoy it just as much.

Thank you to Autumn (watchyouwalk), who really is so much more than a beta.

Prompt: Memory

Disclaimer : I do not own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist. Or the quote, which belongs to Cicero.

-xxx-

03. Memory

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.

.

The unexpected coldness on his side of the bed is what pulls her out of a dreamless sleep in the middle of the night.

She blinks groggily, trying to make some sense of the blurry red numbers staring back at her from the nightstand. It takes another second for her eyes to focus on the time, and she faintly becomes aware of the fact that Jane isn't lying beside her. She props herself up on her elbows, blinking a couple of times in rapid succession as she looks around the room.

Rain is lashing against the windows, and a rumble of distant thunder is all she hears when throwing back the covers, reaching for her nightgown.

A feeling of dread seems to sneak up on her, and her stomach drops unpleasantly. Because while she knows Jane's insomnia has significantly improved since Red John's death, this is the third time this week she has woken up to an empty bed.

Most of the time he's been as cheerful as ever, though Lisbon still catches herself wondering how genuine it all is, given his uncanny ability to mask his real emotions. She likes to believe part of that has been dropped, that he's finally opened up to her throughout the past couple of years in a way she never thought possible before. Although he frequently claims to be perfectly happy, four decades filled with life have still left their scars.

Particularly on him.

It's this very realisation that propels her forward, and she tiptoes down the stairs to find him stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face. He acknowledges her instantly when she approaches him, but other than the barely noticeable frown on his face, there's nothing that betrays his current state of emotion. He's wearing nothing more than pyjama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt, though the room is decidedly much colder than the comfortable bed she just left behind.

Lisbon suddenly, unaccountably, feels as if she's intruding on a private moment, like someone showing up unannounced at the worst possible time. But Jane immediately pushes any surfacing worries back down when he wordlessly offers her a hand, inviting her to join him. She accepts somewhat hesitantly, still trying to gauge his mood when he pulls her towards him, moving back on the couch to make some room.

Strong arms wrap around her smaller frame easily as his right leg slips in between hers, and he cradles his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. For a few minutes, silence is their only companion as they lay comfortably in each other's presence, sharing an impossibly small space.

Lisbon stifles a yawn, unable to prevent the accompanying shiver from running down her spine, and she covers the arms around her waist with her own in an effort to transfer some of her body's heat onto him. But the blonde doesn't seem the least bit affected by the palpable chill in the room. When he notices the trail of goosebumps on her arms, however, he takes the afghan off the back of the couch, covering both of them with its soft, comfortable warmth.

Jane momentarily revels in the sense of calm that overtakes him the minute he feels her warm, solid body against his, letting her tranquillity seep deep into his bones. The tense muscles in his shoulders relax instantly, but no amount of comfort from Lisbon can cure the current turmoil in his head.

He never thought it could still be so hard after all this time; that a sudden rush of grief could completely overtake him, disrupting everything in its path.

Rumour has it that the first five years after losing a loved one are crucial for spouses who get left behind. But he has long since passed that mark, and still the all-too familiar feeling of loss can strike like lightning and destroy his fragile structure of recovery. Often, it's triggered by the smallest things: someone who has a similar smile or laugh, who brushes a hand through their hair in that recognisable way...

At first, he'd kept a carefully drawn-up map in his head of all the places he and his family had gone to, so that he could avoid them at all times. But he also knows that this map will never be complete; grief is still lurking in the most unpredictable places, on street corners or in small alleys, ready to attack him at any given time for as long as he lives.

But even so, he can never ignore that he's been fortunate enough to have been given another chance at life - another chance at love.

At times, it's still hard for him to come to terms with the fact that, despite everything he's done wrong in his life - all of the people he hurt or wronged somehow - he's still here, in the arms of a woman he's sure he'll never deserve. Why Lisbon had selflessly let him, of all people, into her heart will probably always remain a mystery to him. Perhaps it's because they share a lot of scars, and he's the only one who understands all that she carries with her. It had taken sufficient time for both of them to break down each other's walls, though she had already been investing more time in him long before he even realised, for which he'll be eternally grateful.

"I love you," his soft voice unexpectedly fills the silence around them.

The comment seems to linger for a few seconds before she twists in his arms, carefully manoeuvring herself to face him. They hardly ever say those three little words, even if it's not a conscious choice. They both know how they feel without the need to express it in words every single day. She soon discovered that Jane is a true romantic at heart, therefore his actions usually speak for themselves, and Lisbon has never been one of those women that needs constant verbal reassurance of his affections towards her – she's well aware of his fondness.

Words have always seemed redundant somehow.

Which is why this surprising, quietly-uttered statement, combined with the expression on his face, takes her aback. In spite of his heartfelt tone, he's looking at her intently, an unusual mix of sincerity and sadness in his eyes, and he suddenly looks more distraught than she's ever seen him.

The air around him is drizzling with sadness, and it renders her speechless. To her surprise, she detects a few faint tear tracks, and the knowledge makes her heart constrict before she slowly reaches out and traces one down his cheek. Jane notices the concerned expression on her face; the worry lines appearing on her forehead, and the way she subtly tightens her grip on him, a silent question reflecting in her eyes as she gives him a searching look, wanting some guarantee that he's okay.

"I'm starting to forget," he whispers, a slight quiver in his voice. His eyes are unfocused as he stares over the top of her head. "Random memories, moments I wanted to hold captive forever. They're slipping through the cracks. I find myself having to really concentrate to remember a certain day, a particular summer; what we said, what we laughed about, what we did, how we spent our days at that given moment in time...and it scares me. More than anything ever has. It's slowly fading away, piece by piece. Not the bigger memories, of course, but all the precious little ones… they're disappearing."

A few silver tears well up his eyes, but he blinks them away quickly. It had taken a significant amount of time in a mental hospital after losing his family for him to stop reliving every little memory of their life together, over and over. But now that he wants to conjure up certain images, he finds that half of them seem to be missing more details than before.

He looks down to find Lisbon gazing up at him just as a ray of moonlight falls across the living room, illuminating her emerald-like eyes and the tiny freckles around her nose. And all at once, his mind is flooded with a whole set of different memories, and he comes to appreciate that while the loss of his first wife and child will always leave a mark on his heart, the petite brunette curled up against him is the only one who can alleviate the pain.

"You're the one who's familiar to me now," he adds when tracing the frown lines on her forehead. "The one whose features I know by heart, whose voice I'd recognise in a sea of others. All those nights I lay awake were mostly just spent watching you, and it didn't take me long to memorise every curve of your face, or the way your curls play across the pillow when you're tossing and turning."

This quiet confession makes Lisbon's heart ache for the man lying beside her, reminding her once again that even if both of them are no longer haunted by nightmares, none of this will ever be easy. Some memories of her own family, of happier times, started becoming vague and blurry long ago, always causing her to question whether she isn't confusing a particular moment with a dream instead.

Sometimes there's no way to be sure, to make that distinction between an actual recollection or a trick of the mind.

Though she's never once come close to doubting his feelings for her, in this moment, she almost can't help but silently wonder if there's ever a hint of guilt that rises up in him at times like these. She suspects the question she'd been about to ask would prove unnecessary, as Jane appears to have tracked her thoughts quite easily and almost imperceptibly shakes his head.

"I realise it's only normal," he murmurs. "That it doesn't necessarily mean I love you more, only –" he breaks off, and Lisbon clearly detects the remorse now visible in his gaze. "The way I feel about you is completely different. Often when I think back to that time, I'm not convinced the man I was back then was even capable of these kinds of emotions. I took it for granted, and that's something I still blame myself for," he says delicately, his hand absentmindedly running through her hair. "I don't think you would've liked me much," he smiles weakly.

She doesn't offer up any advice or words of wisdom. She doesn't say she's sorry, or that she's sure his wife would contradict him if she had the chance, doesn't deliver any of the common and overused words of comfort, which is something he's always valued about Lisbon. Her ability to empathise is one of her greatest gifts, and instinctively, Jane knows that if she could somehow go back in time and change what happened to him that day, she would do so in a heartbeat. There's no doubt in his mind that she's selfless enough, wouldn't think twice about it if it meant she could keep him safe from the sorrow awaiting him in the future.

There's a heartbreaking quality to her eyes, as they fill with unshed tears that threaten to spill over, at his expense.

"Don't be sad, Teresa. It's just a moment; it'll pass."

"I know," she says with hesitation and a hint of distress that she tries to keep hidden. It's the first time she's spoken since finding him here.

As always, words are unnecessary between them, and nothing she says will make it hurt any less.

So Lisbon buries her head in his chest and lets a solitary, silent tear run down her cheek. Because she doesn't mind sharing some of the burden and hurting right along with him, as long as he lets her.

-xxx-