Requiem in Terra, Without Red

Summary: The surname on the gravestones was one she recognized. And it was, without question, his wife and daughter. They had the same death date.
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I don't own the show or any of the characters therein (or herein, for that matter). Nor do I get money for any of this. Just warm fuzzy feelings.

Teresa Lisbon's elderly neighbor was a kind man, who was always happy to pick up her mail and keep an eye on her place when she had to leave for several days at a time. So when he was hospitalized with a broken hip and asked her to take flowers to his wife's grave on their anniversary, she was happy to oblige.

Carrying a sheaf of sunny white daises tied with red ribbon, she walked alone through the quiet cemetery. The day was cool and cloudy, a soft breeze ruffling her hair. She passed several lanes lined with graves from the early twentieth century before coming to the newer portion of the cemetery, where he had explained to her how to find his wife's grave.

Within a few minutes, she was slightly lost. And worried that maybe Mr. Caldwell's directions were less accurate than she'd thought. Looking around, she tried to find the two lilac bushes he'd told her to look for.

Then she glanced down and stopped short. The surname on the two gravestones before her was one she certainly recognized. And it was, without question, his wife and daughter. They had the same death date.

She stood silently, staring at the two headstones, looking for some clue about the females they represented. She didn't know anything about their lives; all she'd ever heard of was their deaths. And for a moment, she felt guilty. This was a simple accident, but it almost seemed as if she were intruding on Jane, seeing as this was all that remained of the personal life he had lost. He did not talk about them. That was a conscious choice.

Feeling a pang of sorrow for the two whom she had never met, Lisbon contemplated the large bouquet of daisies in her hands before pulling out a few and placing them on the Jane women's graves. It was a small gesture, but at least one that made her feel a bit better. They never deserved that fate.

Eventually she found her way to Mrs. Caldwell's grave. After delivering the remaining bouquet, while walking back out to her car, Lisbon decided not to say anything to Jane, at least for the time being. She didn't want to seem intrusive.

A few days later

"Uh-oh."

Lisbon heard Cho's mutter and glanced up. Jane was in the office. And he was livid. His face was taut with fury, eyes blazing, as he snapped at Grace, who was backing away from him a little uneasily. Lisbon frowned. This wasn't Jane. His anger was always in check, held back, frightening in its intensity but never openly confrontational. Not like this.

"You can go, Cho. I'll talk to him." Cho nodded, heading back to his desk, warily watching the angry consultant. Lisbon stood, squaring her shoulders.

"Jane, come here. Tell me what –"

She stopped short as he stormed into her office and slammed the door violently. Lisbon was no shrinking violet, but Patrick Jane, while normally opposed to physical violence, was a large, forceful presence. And she knew, rationally, that he would never, ever hurt her, but the Jane standing there seething with anger was not a rational person. Nor was anything about this normal.

"What?"

"You want to tell me what's going on? Why are you yelling at my team?"

"None of your business."

"That's bullshit, Jane. What is it?"

"It doesn't involve you."

"The hell it doesn't!"

"Leave it alone, Lisbon, I'm warning you –" he stepped closer, backing her into the corner, boxing her in.

" – you're warning me? Who the hell do you think –"

" – stop pretending you're protecting me! This isn't your broken family, and I'm not some helpless brother you have to tend to!"

She flinched, but refused to react any more than that. Something really was wrong. He liked to tease, but he never used his knowledge to attack people like this. "Jane, just tell me what's bothering you!"

"Leave me alone," he hissed venomously, towering over her, fists clenched in an unspoken threat. She had to again remind herself that Patrick Jane would never hit her.

"No. Not until you tell me what's wrong."

His jaw tightened, and he turned away from her, seeing that she wasn't backing down. As if he'd expected her to.

"Red John."

Her eyes widened and she felt her heartbeat speed up. If Jane had some kind of lead – "What happened? Did he contact you?"

"No. He –" Jane clenched his teeth, glaring at her laptop as if he were about to hurl it at the floor " – he found them again."

"Found who?" At least he was answering now. She kept her voice neutral, hoping it would help him calm down. "Who are you talking about?"

"My wife and daughter. He won't leave them be."

Her mind whirled with thoughts of grave robbery and desecration. Oh God, not that. That peaceful cemetery was the one place they could have peace. It took a truly sick man to continue attacking a woman and child even in death.

"What did he do, Jane?" She held her breath against the inevitable report of a red smiley face smeared over the pale headstones.

"There were flowers on their graves. He put them there. To mock me."

Her blood froze. "Jane –"

"It was him, Lisbon! But he couldn't have known! How did he – " he took a deep breath, trying in vain to calm himself down. All it did was make his voice tighter and angrier. "Daisies were my daughter's favorite flower. He's toying with me."

Oh, no. What have I done?

"He still won't leave them be – "

"Jane, please –"

" – but how did he know?"

"Jane, it wasn't him," she pleaded, setting a hand on his arm. He flinched slightly but didn't pull away, wrapped up in his rage. "It was me."

"What?"

"The flowers – Jane, I put them there."

He stared at her like she was a ghost. The anger had completely vanished, leaving him deflated, empty, helpless. "It was you?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking – I just – I was there and I saw them, and I thought – I'm so sorry, Jane, I never meant to upset you –"

Stumbling over her words, she fell silent, not sure what she could say that would wipe away that stunned, hurt, terribly vulnerable look on his face. Her stomach twisted. He'd already suffered complete breakdown and fought through it . . . only to have her come ruin everything with a few flowers and –

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly, leaning on her so heavily she stumbled back to land sitting on her desk, gasping slightly as he knocked the air out of her lungs, burying his face in her neck.

She stayed silent, running a hand gently through his soft curls and rubbing his back as he cried silently into her shoulder. She was no midget, but Jane was quite a bit bigger than her and his dead weight kept her pressed against her desk. Not that she would have tried to move him, of course. This was a side of himself he kept locked up tightly, and the fact that he hadn't fled was reason enough to stay with him as long as he needed her.

He slowly calmed, his breathing evening out, but he didn't move, keeping her trapped against her desk. It was a new job – Teresa Lisbon, emotional bandaid – but so far it seemed she wasn't doing too badly.

"Thank you," he breathed. She shivered a little as the words rumbled through her skin.

Lisbon knew better than to ask him about it. He did not enjoy wading through those memories in the presence of others. The best option was to back away gently, leaving the painful subject of his family alone, and let him process it all.

But it seemed he had different ideas. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, and from a pocket inside it he produced a slightly wrinkled picture, which he silently held up for her to see. The little girl had her father's curly hair and winsome smile, clutching a teddy bear as she beamed shyly up at the camera. It was adorable. And probably taken not long before her murder.

Lisbon took a deep breath, her eyes suddenly stinging. "She's beautiful."

He nodded, taking a long look at it before slowly putting it away again and tucking his hands in his pockets. "I'm so sorry I yelled at you."

"It's OK."

"No, it's not. I knowingly intimidated you. I'm so sorry, Lisbon. I shouldn't have."

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me."

"You were still scared."

She shrugged. "It's OK. I should have told you."

"Thank you – for – it was kind. It means a lot."

Lisbon smiled gently. "You're welcome."

He nodded, seemingly a little unsure as to what to do, before straightening his jacket and vest and heading out the door. And when Lisbon returned from her lunch break a few hours later, she found a little vase full of daffodils sitting on her desk.