This fic is a collection of one shots inspired by songs from the Keane album Under the Iron Sea. I wouldn't call it a songfic, but I will include the song that inspired each chapter at the end for those interested. I've been wanting to do this for months (and every time I listen to the album all of these different ideas hit me). Don't know how often I'll update, but that should be okay since the chapters are unconnected. Hope you like it!

Also, don't own them.

Atlantic


It felt as if he was no longer bound by the rules of gravity. Around him, the room—the world—was grounded. But as he became more and more disconnected, it all began spinning. Whirling. Out of control.

Red John was gone.

And Patrick Jane didn't know what came next. In his mind, he had never lived through it.

He thought that if the world kept swirling, he might get sick.

He had felt this way once before. After opening a door that should have stayed shut. After reading a note that never should have been written. And since, opening that door, he had lived in a world of red.

Suddenly, her face appeared in front of his eyes.

And just like that, the spinning stopped.

He focused on her, excluding everything else. Ignoring everything else.

She was grounding him. She was causing this feeling inside.

It felt like…

It had been so long since he felt it, that he didn't recognize it at first.

Yes, that was it. A new day. It felt like waking up to the beginning of a day. The start of something. Another chance. Guilt swept in at that thought, but he focused on her face, memorizing every bit of her features.

Memorizing her.


Patrick Jane looked out across the ocean. It felt weird to be on the East coast, but this was where he began. Where he was born. Or so his father said. Jane always wondered if his dad could even remember where his own son was born. So many places, so many cons.

He inhaled, feeling the crisp air that drifted in from the Atlantic.

But all he thought about was the Pacific.

The ocean had always felt a little bit like home to him. He supposed that's why he and his wife had bought a house on the waterfront. He allowed himself to think of his wife. To really think of her.

Not the frail, lifeless body that he had stumbled upon when opening the door to the end of his life as he knew it. But her.

The graceful way she played the piano, taught their daughter to play. The elegance of her body as she danced—even just around the house. Her cool loveliness. He smiled softly. Yes, his wife had reminded him of the Atlantic and the comforting feeling of home that accompanied it. Elegant, crisp, beautiful. Strong with a cold temper if angered. Mercurial.

And vast. Vast enough to take in all of his faults, to make them seem small in comparison.

A new face floated up to his consciousness and his smile turned into a grin.

The Pacific.

That's what Lisbon was. Just as mercurial, but fiery where his wife had been cool. Sun setting in the warm nights. Stars shining overhead.

Vast enough to take in his faults, make them seem small. Insignificant in the face of her loyalty.

He thought it strange that they were more alike than he could have imagined and wondered what it would have been like for them to meet.

They would have liked each other. He almost laughed. They would have been unstoppable.

Jane stood for hours, watching the waves of the Atlantic, saying goodbye.

He missed the Pacific.


He sat on the bare mattress. Below the gruesome face that had haunted his sleep for years until he no longer slept but to dream of it.

Until he tried to go without sleep at all.

He hadn't been able to let go of the house. It was his one link to them. To his family. To Red John.

But it was over.

And he knew he had to let go. Or he would really lose it.

Again, her face came to his mind unbidden. He closed his eyes, embracing the image of her. He wanted that. Every day. Every morning. Every evening.

He wanted to be the one who listened to her complain about work—even if it was about him.

He wanted to grow old with her. Wanted to see her barefoot and cranky even at the age of seventy.

He wanted to leave this house and Red John behind. Build a new life. One where he embraced the good memories, let go of the bad, and created new ones. He wanted a home, like this shell of a house had once been.

And he wanted it with her.

He needed her.

He opened his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Now he had to see if she needed him.

Because he couldn't do it without her. There was no life for him unless she was sharing it.

Maybe it was time he sold this house. He didn't need the ocean outside his back stoop.

Not if she was with him.

********************************************************
End.

Atlantic

I hope all my days
Will be lit by your face
I hope all the years
Will hold tight our promises

I don't wanna be old and sleep alone
An empty house is not a home
I don't wanna be old and feel afraid

I don't wanna be old and sleep alone
An empty house is not a home
I don't wanna be old and feel afraid

And if I need anything at all

I need a place
That's hidden in the deep
Where lonely angels sing you to your sleep
Though all the world is broken

I need a place
Where I can make my bed
A lover's lap where I can lay my head
Cos now the room is spinning
The day's beginning