Author's note: Written for the Paint It Red Monthly Challenge - prompt: "Three words that can change your life forever"

Memory palace

There are some special rooms in his memory palace. Rooms that he enters seldom, and even when he does he only dares to creep around on tiptoes – half afraid to stir the things that lie in there.

…

First room holds the moment when Angela said Yes, I will.

They were sitting under a tree a few yards away from the carnival – wind and sunshine both playing with her long silky hair.

She smelled of lavender, cotton candy and summer – sugar still lingering on her cherry-red lips.

He still recalls the texture of her low-cut dress – so smooth under his fingers as he kissed her again and again.

That very night they ran away from the carnival and got married. All the rest is history.

…

Second room hides something even more precious than the previous one.

It was his birthday, and Charlotte had forgotten to buy him a present.

So she just threw her slender arms around his neck – her petal-like lips gently brushing his cheek.

Love you, daddy – she whispered in his ear.

He tightened his hold on her as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. It was the first time he seriously thought about giving up his career as a con man.

…

Next room is so very dark.

Chaos erupts as soon as he steps inside. For there are gunshots echoing all around him, piercing cries, and all of a sudden a stabbing pain in his chest.

Something warm and wet is soaking is shirt, and the whole world starts fading away.

His eyes ask an agonized question – the only one that really matters now.

Rigsby's hands frantically press on his wound, and it takes him a while to answer.

Red John's dead.

As soon as he hears those words his mind finally drifts away.

…

Last room is actually where he stands right now.

It resembles Lisbon's apartment as a matter of fact. Well, that's probably due to the fact that it is her apartment.

Lisbon has always been fiercely protective of her team members – even more so when it's him the one she makes a fuss over.

Yet there's something slightly different about her this time.

It's in her eyes, and in the way she touches him. Nothing even remotely inappropriate of course – no, not his Lisbon.

Each time she checks his bandages her hand lingers on his chest just a tad longer than strictly necessary. And her fingers sometimes wander to places where they never dared to go before – his hand, his face, a stray curl hanging on his brow.

Teresa knows he wonders why she's doing all this.

Need a map? – she retorts in the end, an amused smile playing at the corner of her lips.

He takes some time to commit the moment to his memory – the mischievous twinkle in her beautiful eyes, her long dark hair hanging loose about her shoulders.

When their lips meet he can almost swear she tastes of coffee and cinnamon.

His last coherent thought is that this is for sure the best room he's visited in a long while.