Hey there :) Thanks for giving this story a chance. There's going to be a whole lot of introspection, Lisbon as a badass agent, and mature themes.
This story is going to feature Jane and their relationship quite prominently, of course, but not until I've given Lisbon a chance to grow out of his shadow first.
Two years, uh?
That said, happy reading! Do drop me a comment if you so wish, I'd love to hear what you think of this first short prologue- aka, the prelude, lol ;)
(Also, I noticed all the paragraph breaks have disappeared... I edited the chapter to add them back in, sorry if it comes up as a fake update...)
She knows she's never going to see Jane again.
She just knows, like she often does when it comes to Jane, from the moment she realizes he's gone, leaving her stranded by the roadside.
He's gone.
And it's as much a fact as it is a death sentence- at least, that's the only good way she can think of to explain this feeling of desperate, all-encompassing dread that's choking her at her throat.
The idea of her whole life without him is unthinkable. Even unbearable, at times.
She is not surprised, though. Oh no, she's always known it was going to end in disaster- from the very day she met him.
Patrick Jane, with his golden curls that stuck out against the bland background of the CBI offices like a sore thumb and the big, sad eyes of a lost puppy.
She never held any chance of success.
But knowing it is one thing, living through this hell of her own making is another.
All around her is scorched earth now, there is nothing (nobody) left standing.
But what hurts the most is not the less-than-honorable way her agency has been disbanded, nor the breakup of the team she considered her family. No, what keeps her awake at night is the thought of Jane's death.
They've found no body other than McAllister's, but that doesn't mean anything, not with Jane.
Maybe he had the grace of sparing her the sight of his corpse, she muses bitterly, tossing and turning in her bed.
She just hopes to God the bastard didn't use her gun- the gun she agreed to give him- to kill himself.
She's not sure she'd be able to live with herself if he did.
Her sleep is restless, plagued by her memories and him.
Always Jane, always in the eye of the storm.
'You have no idea what you mean to me,' his voice cracks, he looks at her with big, earnest eyes, and she doesn't know this is the last time they'll ever see each other. Golden curls and bronze skin bathed in amber light- she can still feel his arms around her, smell the salty breeze of the ocean. In a way, she's never left that cliff in Malibu, she's never stopped loving him.
The setting sun behind them turns blinding.
She wakes up screaming.
There's no discernible rhythm to her days after Red John's fall.
She testifies in a lot of Blake trials, sees a lot of her co-workers (people she's shared office with for years) get thrown behind bars- nearly gets thrown in herself, but in the mess of scandals and corruption her own charges are overlooked (the judge surveys her over her glasses, almost smiles, 'you are free to go, Agent', she says, a surprising kindness in her voice, 'and may God be with you.')
There are a total of four attempts on her life, and she doesn't know whether to be offended by their poor execution or terrified by the nonchalance her mind is displaying on the matter.
('We'll assign you a protective detail, ma'am, I'm very-'
Lisbon cuts him off with a shake of her head.
'No need, Agent Wright,' she says, eyeing the polished ID tag on his chest, 'No need.')
Sometimes- and that's what terrifies her the most- sometimes she almost wishes one of them had succeeded.
She stops running, stops eating. Doesn't sleep, afraid of the nightmares that come with it.
Her body runs on caffeine and sheer willpower for a while-
-until the trials are over, until Cho leaves for Quantico, Grace and Wayne for LA. ('It's been an honor, boss,' they say, and then it's over.)
That's when she just stops.