Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my invented Jane children.
Warning: Might need to get the tissue box handy.
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Patrick Jane had always wondered which was worse: having someone you loved suddenly ripped from your life without a chance to say farewell, or being able to say your goodbyes, but still knowing that death will inevitably come.
As he slid the furniture, hitting the floor hard but not caring, he laughed harshly. Well, now he knew.
When they'd discovered that Teresa was pregnant for the fourth time, it was a shock to say the least, especially with Sorcha only eight months old, but they'd been excited nonetheless. Their joy had been cut short when a routine ultrasound at six months at revealed that their unborn daughter had problems with her heart, and may not live long, let alone survive the birth.
As they'd struggled through the next three months, thankful each day their baby was still kicking, Teresa and Patrick Jane prepared themselves as best as they could for what could be a traumatic birth. The birth was scheduled as a caesarean, as the doctors weren't sure if their baby's heart would be able to handle a natural birth, but when Teresa went into labour, four days before the operation, it was a mad dash to the hospital at 2am in the morning.
He'd never been so thankful to hear a noise as when his new daughter's cry hit his ears at 3:17am that morning after an emergency caesarean. She'd been so small, and she'd been whisked off to intensive care straight away, but he was relieved to know that she was alive. Several tests later, they'd been advised that there was nothing they could do to fix the heart problems, and that the day would come when their newborn daughter would die. It was only a matter of time. His heart had sank at the news and all he could do was pull Teresa close to him as they both looked down at the child covered in wires before them.
Leisel Freya Jane was born on the third day of February in the year 2015. She managed to live for nine months before she died in her sleep on the nineteenth day of November, 2015. He'd known the instant he'd awoken that morning that something was not right. He didn't want to remember how he'd felt when he'd entered the room to find her still body in the cot.
Fiercely brushing tears away that threatened to fall from his eyes, Patrick remembered Sorcha's second birthday party two weeks ago. It had been three days before Leisel died.
Sorcha was dressed up as a fairy for her party and Adelaide and Marta had decided to dress up too. When he and Teresa had gone searching for their missing children that afternoon, they'd laughed out loud when they'd found them and quickly grabbed a camera to take a shot. Adelaide had on her father's vest and shoes (looking huge on her tiny feet), Marta had on her mother's only pair of high heels and a fluffy boa (though Lord knows where it came from) and Sorcha had on her fairy outfit. Someone had placed a huge wide brim hat on Leisel's small head as she looked around from her lying position on the floor with a two-teethed grin.
The four of them hadn't realised they had an audience, and so the picture Patrick and Teresa had snapped was true art in motion. When Leisel had died in her sleep three nights later, this photo of the four Jane children playing dress up took the place of honour at the funeral.
They'd all been hit hard by the loss of Leisel. Two year old Sorcha kept asking for 'Lee-dul' and didn't understand why she wasn't there. An almost four year old Marta knew that her baby sister had gone somewhere and wasn't coming back, but it was the five and a half year old Adelaide that understood the situation best, and had closed herself off to all going around her.
The past week had seen a constant flow of traffic in and out of the house. Teresa's brothers and their families had come to town to support her, Cho had taken it upon himself to keep the Jane kids occupied as much as he could, and van Pelt and Rigsby kept them supplied with food.
He'd pushed aside his own dark thoughts and shattered feelings so that he could be strong for everyone. Keeping an eye on his remaining three children – especially Adelaide – and always watching his wife was taking his toll on him. He'd almost broken at the funeral today, but had stood there stoically as he looked forward at the little casket in front of them all. Teresa had held Marta and Sorcha close in her arms as tears ran down her cheeks, but Adelaide had stood beside him, hand firmly in his as neither shed a tear.
And so tonight, in the wee hours of the morning, as he leaned against Leisel's now empty and cold cot, he let the tears flow. With one leg outright and the other leg bent upright, he propped up his arm and quietly sobbed for his departed daughter, wondering at why this had happened.
It was Adelaide who climbed out of her bed and made her way to her father that night. Climbing into his lap, she threw her arms around his neck and buried herself into his chest as she too finally allowed herself to cry as her father held her close.
It wasn't until two hours later that Patrick Jane finally stood up, his sleeping daughter in his arms, and left the room. He put Adelaide to bed, pulling up her sheets around her and tucking her in as he kissed her good night, before moving next door to check on Marta and Sorcha.
Not quite ready to enter his bedroom where he knew his exhausted wife was sleeping, he made his way into the lounge room where that photo of his four daughters playing dress up lay on the table. Picking it up, and brushing the face of Leisel, he moved toward the fireplace. Shifting the bits and pieces that littered the mantle, he placed the photo in the centre.
Standing back, looking at the photo, Patrick Jane made a promise to himself: he would be strong. He would get through this.
He didn't know how long he stood there, the moonlight somehow falling just in the right place to clearly illuminate the photo. He didn't move when he felt Teresa enter the room until she was close enough and reached out her hand to him.
Pulling her close, he looks through his red, swollen eyes to find their partner in his wife's eyes. Shifting her, he turns them both to look at the photo that would remain on the mantle for a long time to come. 'I can't cry anymore,' whispers Teresa. Nodding his head, he pulls her even closer. 'Even though we knew it was going to happen, it didn't make it any easier,' he responded in pain.
When the rays of dawn filtered into the room, it crept over the two bodies slumbering on the lounge, ready to launch a new day.