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The Anniversary
They told him that it would get easier; one of the first officers on scene, his psychiatrists and all the mourners telling him how sorry they were for his loss. Even now, it feels far from easy.
The first anniversary was surprisingly not the hardest. He had just started to find his feet at CBI and the desire to hunt the monster down who took everything from him was like a fire in his belly. He kept busy and quickly quashed his newfound partner’s fears of him not being up for their latest case. He probably wasn't, but he wasn't going to let himself get pulled back downwards into the pit of despair when he finally had a cause to keep him going. Red John was going to be his to slay and he did so, eventually, albeit it was over a decade later.
It was the second anniversary which pulled the rug from under his feet. He wasn't any closer to his goal than he was the previous year, and he had the difficult realisation that this quest he had found himself on was not going to be straightforward. There may be many idiots in law enforcement, but Teresa Lisbon and her team were far from stupid, there was a reason why the serial killer was so hard to catch. He drank himself into a stupor in his sparse house that night, the now brown smiley face on the wall staring him down, taunting him, a constant reminder of his failings. Sometimes, even now, when he closes his eyes, he still sees it and sometimes, in his nightmares, it laughs at him. Laughs at him in Thomas McAllister's voice.
Jane turns his head to look at his bedside clock. It isn't even six in the morning yet but he is wide awake. He may be largely at peace now but some days, like this, haunt him deeply. It is the days which he feels like his senses are heightening and muffled all at once. Smells which smelt sweet the day before would now be too strong, sickly, making his stomach turn and the calming sound of the wind would be stifling, and cut through him like a knife. That's why alcohol on these anniversaries quickly became a must – but now his life is too important for him to drink it away.
He sighs and shifts his focus to his snoozing wife lying beside him, her dark hair strewn across her face, but he can still study the freckles on her pale skin, peeping between the strands like stars on a cloudy night.
If she didn't look so restful, he would sweep her hair out of her beautiful face and softly kiss her on the lips, musing how lucky he is to now be in this position after all the horror and pain in his past, but he knows better than to risk waking her, especially at this time. She needs her sleep, plus she is always so picturesque when she is snoozing. Her expression relaxed, the signs of a smile ghosting her lips and her chest rising and falling rhythmically is enough to hypnotise a person into a calm state.
A complete juxtaposition to how Angela was when he found her, with their daughter.
Jane bites his bottom lip harshly and squeezes his eyes shut as he falls back, flat onto the mattress. His mind now quickly becoming overloaded with images of what he saw that night when he opened his bedroom door. Even when he read the note he hoped, wished, prayed, that it wasn't true. That he wasn't suddenly a childless widower with no reason to live. Then he saw them, butchered and bloody, and his heart not only shattered but his entire world ended so suddenly that his body just couldn't cope.
His memories of that night are scattered. He vividly remembers the gut-wrenching sight and the scream that left his mouth that was so harsh he can still sense the discomfort in his throat whenever he thinks of it. He vaguely remembers falling to his knees with a thump but there is also a memory of him searching for a pulse on his wife's injured wrist, his fingers being dyed red in the process. Other than that, it is all a blur. A messed-up blur.
He peels open his eyes and stares back up at the ceiling knowing deep down that the chances of him getting anymore sleep is practical nothing. So after a resigned exhale, he slowly (and quietly) pushes himself up into a sitting position and off the bed leaving Teresa sleeping soundly.
Once upon a time he would regularly be up at all sorts of antisocial times in the morning either for cases or because insomnia was a sickness coursing through him. Now it is more of a rarity but because of that time he knows how best to deal with it. Since moving into the remodelled shack which is now their home, the few instances where sleep has eluded him he has watched the sun rise over the lake with a cup of tea – in his cup – between his palms. That is how he is going to start the day, with something positive, something beautiful, something to cling onto.
Tea has been a staple in his life ever since he and Angela left the carnival. He got a big cheque for a private psychic reading and she went to do a grocery shop, returning with all sorts of items that they wouldn't usually buy, stating proudly that they were adults now and they should act like it. Tea was one of those things and he swiftly started to love it. She used to make it for him when he woke up, when he returned from work, whenever he needed picking up, so in a way whenever he consumes a cup, he thinks of her. He manages a smile as he flicks on the kettle for it to boil, homing in on the sounds it makes as it fires up.
Jane doesn't like the silence because it gives his brain time to cause him bother so focusing on all sounds, no matter how minor, he finds helpful. His psychiatrist called it distraction therapy and even though he reluctantly started the sessions not long after his wedding, there were golden nuggets of information and techniques that he will take to his grave. Lisbon was so pleased (and probably relieved) that he found therapy somewhat helpful, and it has aided his long recovery, but that doesn't mean today is going to be easy. However, not every day is going to be amazing... but since he married Teresa, most days have been. He loves her more than he could ever put into words.
He reflects on his two-year absence whilst watching the liquid in his glued-together cup turn amber, remembering his tedious routine and how the highlights of his day were his eggs and tea on the beach, and writing to Lisbon. His letters were lovesick notes in a way, but he still didn't think in the unlikely event that he would return to the US that they could be anything but friends. The ring on his finger, the kitchen (that he constructed) he stands in and the sound of rustling leaves instead of lapping waves say otherwise though. When he read that note on this day all those years ago, he never thought he could have anything else like thisagain. The idea would have been completely preposterous.
He knows that sometimes people can't understand how he has been able to move on, although it took him quite some time to do so, but what those people don't understand is that he hasn't completely moved on and he never will. He will always love Angela and Charlotte but that doesn't mean he can't love his new family. Patrick Jane feels guilty about a lot of things, but he doesn't feel guilty about loving the people in his life now.
After fishing the teabag out of his turquoise cup, he takes his hot beverage outside onto the decking that overlooks the stunning lake, a sight which has yet to get old to him. When he stumbled on this place during one of his lower moments since living in Austin it was like a haven and he supposes it still is. Buying the land was a symbol of his commitment to Lisbon, to show her that he doesn't plan to run away again and that he wants to settle down with her. At the time, he didn't really know what that truly meant for them. Their relationship has never been ordinary from the moment they met back at CBI all those years ago, but now they have a domestic bliss which isn't necessarily normal, but it isn't erratic or dangerous or crazy like their lives used to be. Lisbon is still the same brilliant person he fell in love with just a little less stubborn and free to love him back and that is a beautiful thing – just like her.
She asked him last week on realising that the anniversary was coming up, if he wanted to return to California to visit the cemetery. She offered to take time off work, said that they could make a break out of it and maybe even visit the Rigsby's but he declined. He does think he should go back at some point but on the Anniversary of his darkest day, the day he lost them, would be too difficult even now. He told her that and she understood, well, she tried to understand before littering him with kisses, the feeling of her lips on him always improves his mood.
Jane settles at the small table on the decking, taking in a few deep breaths to fill his lungs with the purest of oxygen. Moving out of the city was definitely one of his better ideas and he is definitely healthier, not just physically but also mentally, for it. The hustle and bustle which city life brings is certainly enjoyable at times, he loves people watching and you do meet some eccentric people in those places, but this is better. He didn't quite expect his city mouse partner to take to it so easily, but she did and now she can't imagine being anywhere else but here. She always sleeps happy, generally drifting off nestled into her husband's side.
It is her daughter stirring which pulls her back to consciousness. Lisbon stretches an arm out with a groan and pats the empty space beside her, searching for her husband who appears not to be there. “Jane?” She pointlessly questions and peels open her eyes, the early morning sun peeping between the blinds is almost too bright for eyes, but she pushes past that thought when she comprehends that she is alone in the bed. “Patrick?” Early on in their relationship, him not being there would have been the norm, he rarely used to sleep through the night but more recently he has always been there, but she knows what today is. It has been continually plaguing her mind for the past week or so, she dreads to think what it has been like for him.
The almost-two-year-old continues to mewl from her own room so Lisbon quickly deduces that her husband is not seeing to her, and she frowns whilst finding the energy to get out of bed. It is a call for “mama” which gives her the final push.
Riley is her pride and joy. She never thought she would be a mother, she thought it was too late for her and even if the opportunity were to arise, she didn't know whether she would be a good one. It wasn't that she thought it would be difficult and she wouldn't be able to provide the needed care, she knew she could, and she was right, it was more the fact that she has never loved children and she certainly isn't a fan of having her patience tested. Then the midwife put her small, pink baby in her arms, and she knew that she was going to love her child more than anything in the world. Yes, the early mornings and dirty diapers aren't exactly fun experiences, but they are worth it for the beaming smiles and giggles and the achieving of milestones. “Mama.” Her dark-haired daughter greets on seeing her mother enter her nursery. Her little arms immediately reach up with her hands making grabby motions earning a soft chuckle from Teresa as she gathers the child up into her own arms.
“Morning baby.” She murmurs and plants a soft kiss on the top of her head whilst making sure she is securely resting on her hip. “Let's go and find daddy.” And she knows exactly where he is.
Jane hears the footsteps behind him, and it pulls him out of a trance-like state, his cup of tea now sitting on the tabletop half drunk. The back door is slid wider open and out of the corner of his eye he spots his wife’s bare feet step out onto the dark, wooden slats and his eyeline sweeps the full length of her body, up her silk, pink pyjama clad body and to her sleepy but concerned face. Riley yawning draws his attention to the young child, and he is immediately outstretching his arms to take her. “Morning monkey.” He greets his green-eyed lethargic daughter, and she is carefully passed to him by Lisbon who then moves to take a seat in the empty chair next to him.
“Are you okay?” She asks, her apprehension evident in her tone and it warms his heart even though he would rather she didn't worry – but it is nice that someone does.
When he woke up, he didn't feel like he was okay. He felt... strange. The familiarity of grief was closer than usual, almost suffocatingly so. However now, sitting in the fresh morning air with his wife and daughter he feels much better. “I am.” He truthfully admits and she can tell that he is being honest as he holds Riley tighter to him.