A/N: It's been awhile and I am sadly not updated due to my busy schedule, but I really needed to take the time to write. I hope anyone that takes the time to read it appreciates it! Thanks to anyone that reads this. Know that I am always grateful. Also, all mistakes are mine, I read through it, but I always miss something. Consider this my heartfelt apology.

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to The Mentalist.

Pain

There are two different kinds of pain in the world; physical and emotional. Which one hurts more? The answer depends on who you talk to first. External physical pain can be healed by kiss. Mommy knows how to take that pain away and wipe away the tears that fall when you scrape your knee. It can also be healed by bandages, ice, heat, ointment and a rest. In a week or less the injury is a memory recalled only when aggravated.

Internal emotional pain is different. It may not strike harshly, yet it sits and simmers for months causing a constant ache that cannot be relieved. It chips away at any façade it comes into contact with forcing the bearer to acknowledge the pain as often as it deems appropriate, and usually at the most inconvenient times. It drives some to attempt to relieve the pain externally, only to have it return more fiercely after the attempt has failed. Of course, emotional pain can also strike as fast and as hard as lightening leaving behind a flood of anguish that recedes slowly and leaves devastation in its wake. The rebuilding process takes years, if not a lifetime.

It's this devastating stabbing thunderstorm of a pain that she is currently trying to survive. She can't breathe because the agony is too great. There might be physical pain there as well, but it is overshadowed by the empty pit being torn open within her chest. She remains stoic as he walks away from her. His body language betrays nothing. He is even carrying his damn tea cup. She hears him rinse it in the break room sink before he goes to the elevator.

Her feet feel nailed to the ground. Her body is heavy as the sharp pain dulls to a heavy throbbing. It will take time to reduce it to something she can cover and ignore. She knows she should do something to try to relieve the pain she feels, but there is nothing she can think to do. The one person that can begin to traverse the chasm that was her heart is patiently waiting for the elevator so he can leave the building. He is going to leave the building, and everyone's life. She inherently knows it. He would not have hurt her so completely if he was coming back. Instead, he cut himself from everyone by utterly destroying her.

Surprisingly, she finds that her mind is not reeling, spinning, or swirling. No, there is no thought process. She is too focused on holding back the tears, keeping herself upright and staying silent. If she opens her mouth she will call to him. If her turns toward her she will hope and to have those dashed would be too devastating to consider. If he didn't turn around she would no longer be vertical. Allowing herself to fall to pieces in front of the entire bullpen would not serve her well. It doesn't matter that her heart is dust. She must stand tall.

The world stops turning when the elevator announces its arrival on their floor. He waits for a few to exit the elevator, and he steps onto it. He has to turn around to push the button that will take him to the ground floor. She doesn't want to, but her mind insists she has to see him one more time. Just one. It's only then that she sees the tears glistening in his eyes as the doors to the elevator close; as the doors to their chance close. She steps into her office. Out of habit she shuts the door, locks it, and pulls the blinds down. Only then does she allow herself to crumple onto the couch and let the pain overtake her.

A/N: Thoughts?