A/N: I tried and failed at my attempt to update Unforgivable so I ended up writing a new fic for this instead. It's a bit shorter and not quite as fluffy as the previous ones. But, I'm pretty proud of it so let me know what you think. Enjoy!
Spoilers: 1x07 Seeing Red
Disclaimer: Yep, not mine. Yep, not making money. Yep, still broke XD
Downpour
It wasn't often that Patrick Jane slipped from his façade. In fact, during the five years he'd spent with the CBI, he had only one minor break down. He chalked that up to the fact he had foolishly allowed Kristina Frye to get under his skin. Not once did he believe the woman was psychic. He was convinced of that fact when she revealed that his wife told her his daughter never suffered at the hands of Red John. Coroner reports didn't lie, albeit, the ME hadn't been completely conclusive with his findings. At the time, the good doctor had told Jane that his daughter had died blissfully unaware of her brutal attack, but Jane knew better. And the minute he was assigned to Lisbon's team, he got his hands on his family's case files to confirm his suspicions. Jane held onto the guilt like a life preserver. He needed it, depended on it to serve as a constant reminder for his reason for living, his thirst for vengeance. Damn that woman. Damn her for bringing all those repressed feelings back to the surface. He had worked so hard and that fraud just unravelled all of it in a span of a few short minutes. And after he had allowed himself a moment of weakness, he vowed never to cry within the walls of the CBI building ever again. One promise he had a chance of actually keeping.
He closed his eyes, allowing the downpour to envelope him. He couldn't remember how long he had been standing outside. It had been long enough for his fingers to go numb, but not enough to dull the throbbing pain in his heart. He shouldn't have had this kind of reaction to the case. The emotions didn't even quite hit him until everyone had left for the evening. A typical homicide. If you could label violent death as typical. The girl had been seven years old with perfect blond ringlets, tied back in pigtails. She was found wearing a pale pink jumper, one delicate foot in a black dress shoe while the other was bare, missing its counterpart. Her face and arms were bruised, her neck snapped, all the result of falling down a flight of stairs. The moment his eyes fell on the body, he felt his chest tighten. There was no mistaking the eerie resemblance this little girl had to his dead daughter. He thought he had handled the situation well, managing to still joke around with Rigsby, fluster Van Pelt and annoy Cho as if it were any other case. Everyone was buying his act, except for Lisbon. He couldn't quite decide what she was thinking. She kept mainly to herself, speaking to the team when it was only necessary. He had expected her to hover, to make sure he was alright but she never did and he wasn't sure if that actually upset him more. The case had been rather boring, for lack of a better word. The mother confessed to accidently pushing her daughter down the staircase after the girl had refused to put on her shoes properly.
This was yet another reason why he didn't believe in a god. How could anyone that was compassionate allow a child to die this way? How could anyone so all powerful allow a monster like Red John to continue to murder innocent people? His mind swam with angry questions. Tears spilled down his cheeks, masked by the fat drops of rain. He cried for the little girl whose life was abruptly cut short. He cried for his lost daughter. He cried for being so utterly helpless.
And suddenly, he no longer felt the comforting deluge of water washing over him. He slowly lifted his head in confusion. The rain was still pelting down unrelentlessly from the murky skies, except in the spot where he was standing. Peering over to his side, his eyes settled on Lisbon's delicate face. She stared back at him, holding a large umbrella between them. The expression in her eyes wasn't of pity or concern like he expected but rather understanding. His vision blurred with fresh tears. She didn't try to reach out to comfort him. She simply stood steadfastly by his side. Her presence alone dulled some of the pain. He didn't think it could be possible for anyone to have that kind of effect on him. She had the ability to make his world seem less bleak, to make him feel less broken, without uttering a single word. He offered her a small smile of appreciation which she reciprocated. The downpour was beginning to let up, when Lisbon finally spoke.
"Do you want a ride home?"
"No," he replied, "I think I can manage."
"Okay."
Reaching out a hand, she lightly tapped her fingers against his arm. He caught her hand in his before she could pull away. She looked somewhat startled by his reaction as he tugged her towards him and into his arms. She didn't protest against the cold, wet feeling of his body pressed against hers. And although the intimate embrace caused Lisbon's favourite shirt to become thoroughly soaked, she allowed him to cling to her.
"Thank you," he whispered against her ear.
She felt a small shiver run down her spine at the words. His voice had been raw, fraught with emotion. Lisbon merely nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. When he released his grasp on her, he stood back, sheepishly trying to straighten out her blouse. She laughed softly at his failed attempts.
"Forget about it," she brushed off.
"I'll buy you a new one," he insisted.
"Don't be silly, it's just a shirt."
"But you love this shirt."
Her mouth crinkled into a grin.
"There are more important things I care about."
Jane felt a grin spreading across his own face as the dark clouds began to part. He stared up and caught a glimpse of a star twinkling brightly against a patch of clear sky. Had he been a different person, perhaps he would have believed that there was a god out there after all.
Fin for now, Jello forever
