'Holding a Candle For You' (Jane Version)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a close-up on a burning candle. The curled wick is visible along with the golden and orange hues of the lone flame. The background is pitch black to let the candle be the focal point. The title 'Holding a Candle For You' is similarly dark with a dim glow effect around it as if it's meant to be obscured.]

This Alternate Perspective is from J. Corvin. 💚

It takes place during TFS: Book One in Chapter 3, the memorium! It's important to note that I wrote this with J having a past crush on your Returning Visitor along with you choosing them for the candle lighting, which is a romance choice. The oak that's referenced in this writing comes up in both books; however, the choice to learn about its greater emotional significance can be unlocked by going on J's RO excursion/date in Book Two while having had a past crush on them.

(I'm mentioning this^ in case any of you are curious!)

Also, you're friendly with R. Verner rather than romancing them or being lukewarm, which means it influenced the conversation between them and J. There are variations in Book One too.😌

Through the gloom hanging over the town square's edges, Jane watches out for those gathered in its manicured, grassy center. They mill about in loose tangles, socializing during an event that should be quietly somber, if not reflective, but she doesn't fault them. She can't.

To fault them would invite her thinking about her own feelings about tonight's memorium.

Jane isn't remembering [Grandfather_Name], only you, and a part of her knows that's wrong.

It's why she's further separated herself tonight by seeking shelter beneath your oak tree, the one you once shared a clandestine first dance behind. This spot is the both of yours. It helps during these town events, seemingly providing the perfect sightlines for her to project a lawful presence, but Jane is also clinging to what's comforting when those eyes turn to her in silent question, expectation, and judgment. It adds to her guilt concerning this grisly case.

You're back, which is something she had once desperately wished for, but the circumstances are grim. She's thinking of your shocked face when you were taken away from the Corvin farm instead of [Grandfather Name]'s mutilated body. Jane's frightened screams for you overtake the ones from your grandfather when she tries to mentally reconstruct what really happened. Hurting you any further is what's bothering her in addition to the case's facts.

[Grandfather_Name] is dead, yet his grandchild still lives on after everything, so why harm you more by pointing out these inconsistencies…?

Because it's the right thing to do.

Would she do the wrong thing, if it was for you?

Jane forcibly banishes that whisper of a dark thought from her mind by concentrating on the patterns within the crowd. She recrosses her arms, feeling a very mild sting along her right forearm from where her nails subconsciously rested, digging into old wounds. It abates in a few seconds while her eyes scan for the cause of the ripple through the townsfolk. She knew when you arrived. It's easy to tell where you are from how the crowd moves in tandem: peering over in your direction, murmuring about your return, and treating you differently than before.

There's a magnetism—a shared gravity—from your childhood that Jane finds hard to resist; however, the townsfolk must feel something else. They're keeping you apart, not quite repelled, but there's an understood distance. She saw Reese speaking with you earlier, parting the crowd with his powerful stride to take a moment to speak privately.

It gave you a minor reprieve from the staring.

It's back now as you seem to be killing time before the memorium's lighting ceremony, possibly seeking out familiar faces like Mrs. Dor—

"Such a clandestine location."

Jane abruptly startles, catching her work boot on one of the towering oak's raised roots during her quick pivot around. Reese comes into the faint glow cast by the string lights wrapped around the tree trunk. His ebony suit helped him blend into the darkness, but his hair is the giveaway that she should've caught in her peripheral vision rather than giving into her habit of startling from the slightest of things. It isn't very Detective-like, too much Jane in that mannerism along with watching over you in particular.

"Reese," she states his name stiffly. Her reaction has more to do with where her mind's at than Reese's unannounced arrival. "I—"

"It was not my intention to frighten you," he interrupts her. "I simply wanted an update."

"I thought we agreed on distance?"

Reese raises a perfect eyebrow at her immediate counter before his flicker of concern gives way to a warning smile. "We agreed to boundaries for appearances since we are essentially conspiring, but"—he leans closer, weak shadows dappling across his face—"this case has a humanizing aspect. [Surname] shouldn't be left in the dark for long… It never ends well, even if you have the best intentions, Detective."

He's regarding her with too much perceptive understanding that leaves her feeling uneasy, or that may be her own guilt wriggling about.

"I couldn't speak freely at the station," she points out. Jane hates having to say this about her place of work where protecting the community should be their main purpose. She is having some fledgling doubts. "I didn't want to ruin the memorium—if I told [Name], it could've changed tonight's meaning for the [Surname] family."

"It also could influence [his/her/their] behavior in front of the crowd," Reese knowingly remarks. "But you will be explaining it sooner rather than later to let that reaction—the real one—occur."

That wasn't a question.

Jane locks her jaw during the familiar tension that crops up when Reese levels an expectant look her way that's to be met with unequivocal agreement. There is absolutely no playfulness to it. Your grandfather's death and subsequent return is affecting them differently—her need to shield you contrasts with how your childhood rival wants it handled. "Tomorrow," she agrees. "I'll ask for permission to use his cabin as a meeting place—it's remote, a starting point."

"Until then, try to get through this 'event' by taking it as the poorly lit spectacle it is," Reese suggests. "Very rarely do people mourn here."

If there's more beneath his breezily bitter suggestion is unclear to Jane, although she observes Reese's side profile during the pause until she resumes her normal vigil. She seeks out the ripples that propagate from your presence; there are none. Her heart stutters at the mere idea of you feeling the need to leave this event, possibly due to the scrutiny or the heaviness of another loss in your family. Jane straightens up, prepared to leave the comfort of her distant vantage point early, when she locates you again.

You're slowly picking your way across the field.

"Reese, look."

He follows her signal, both of them pivoting in your direction to avoid appearing overly furtive as you close the distance. It'll be another reunion, except it's in the massive shadow of your oak tree. She wonders if you'll realize the emotional significance, which prompts her to avoid lingering near its broad trunk like it's a pillar of support… Even if it has been for years.

"Hey, [Surname]."

Reese raises his hand in a lazy wave, languidly rolling his wrist once before lowering his arm back down. It's useful—helpful—when Jane is finding it hard to play off what they were just talking about. She swallows roughly, unwilling and unable to muster up a smile or quell the tension setting into her features. She's far too worried about how you'll shoulder everything.

What if she's the one to hurt you this time?

What if she's just like him?

"It's almost time for your big moment."

"Yeah," you agree after sparing a glance at the steadily conglomerating crowd. "I guess."

"I have final check-ins to perform." Reese spares one last look at Jane, only stepping away once he receives the barest of nods in reply. "I will be in the front row, if you need any pointers on setting things ablaze. This would be hard to mess up."

Jane furrows her brow at Reese's advice that was encouraging in his own way; she saw how his smile broadened once he spotted you.

"Thanks…? I think."

There's a momentary quiet following Reese's departure that she doesn't disrupt. Each word she says to you before sharing the details about [Grandfather_Name]'s death is going to weigh on her. You're watching the path Reese is taking across the square, whereas she's still drawn to you. Jane waits for you to speak up.

She has never minded waiting for you.

. . .

. .

.

Her gaze leaves you the very second you turn back around with the lit candle in your hand.

Jane stands tall and rigid in the front row of the crowd where she doesn't belong. She isn't the only one who believes that based on the outline of space respectfully ceded to her that she prefers, expanding on it after delivering a stern look to a man who was getting antsy during the lighting. You had struggled to light the Flame of Remembrance. No one was going to ruin this moment that may mean something to you despite how Jane feels conflicted.

She would quiet down the entire first row.

Now, she's stalwartly staring at the obelisk as if you aren't the focal point of this memorium—of her turbulent thoughts—of her honest concern.

You don't deserve any of this tonight, but that changes come tomorrow, and Jane hates it.

She detects the minimal change in lighting too late—how what's artificial from the monument's few lights grows warmer. Her attention falls on you as you draw closer to where she stands somewhat apart from the others. Jane can't hide her silent confusion behind the Detective's inscrutability, not when you're this close.

She gives a small, unsure frown, even letting her eyebrows knit together ever so slightly since this seems unreal to her, almost dreamlike, but also so nightmarish given the circumstances.

You've made a choice…?

Is your new friend standing behind her? Mrs. Dorran? She doesn't deserve to receive First Light from you when she can hardly bring herself to think of the dead man in question. It shouldn't cross her mind how the soft candlelight accentuates your features—what she remembers and what has changed since then.

Jane watches you, stunned for a second time by the sight of you and left in free fall.

Why me?

That rises above everything else.

She doesn't remove the stick candle from the front pocket of her peacoat, never believing she should have been given one to hold tonight.

But Jane will raise it for you—only for you—if that's what you're in need of from her.

…It isn't the only thing she's holding onto for you…