AN: Hey Mentalistas! This story takes place after the season 5 finale and diverges from the show's canon at that point. I wanted to explore that finale because a lot of fans were vastly underwhelmed by it. When I watched it again I realized that at this point in the show, Lisbon and Jane have some understanding of what the other really feels for them but obviously can't act on it because of Red John. This multichapter story will play with that idea a bit, and eventually it will explore how this effects The Mentalist 2.0. Hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.

Chapter 1: A Dark and Endless Abyss

"You've changed the game, so there's new rules now.
Eileen Turner is the first of many.
I'm going to start killing again.
Often.
Until you catch me or I catch you."

He held the compact disc tightly, and his fingers closed in a death grip. Lisbon had a sudden mental image of those same fingers around the neck of Red John. Before, Jane's tormentor had always been faceless, a man without an identity. Now, the seven faces flashed quickly in her mind, one after the other, Jane's fingers around each of their necks.

The disc shattered.

Lisbon looked up at him, horrified. Horrified at her vision—but also at the words Red John had forced Lorelei to read. Jane turned to face the window, turning away from the shards now littering the floor.

She tried to form words then realized after about a minute that she didn't know what she would say even if she could speak. Instead, she stood up slowly and walked to Jane's side. Not knowing what else to do, she settled on standing close to him, the length of their arms barely touching. Hesitantly, she touched his hand, worried he would retreat again inside himself.

He didn't pull away.

They stood like that, in direct contact, for some time before Lisbon felt something on her hand. Startled, she looked down. Blood, oozing scarlet, was running down her palm.

Jane looked at her woefully. "Sorry," he said, raising his left hand to reveal the source of the blood. "Must've cut it on the disc."

Lisbon gave him a reproaching look and motioned for him to sit on the makeshift bed. "I'll be right back," she said softly, heading downstairs. She returned minutes later with her purse to find Jane seated on the bed, jacket off and sleeves rolled up, and she sat next to him.

"My mom was a nurse," she said gently as she began to dig through her belongings. "She told me to always keep some bandages with me."

"—and with three brothers to look after, it became habit," finished Jane, his tone matching hers.

Lisbon gave him a half smile and pulled out a small packet of alcohol pads, some gauze, and medical tape. She held out her right hand to him, still covered with his blood, and he set his hand in hers. Lisbon looked at it closely. Though the cut was longer than she'd originally thought, spanning diagonally across his palm, it wasn't very deep.

"Please don't tell me this is going to sting a bit," said Jane.

She opened up the packet of alcohol pads, took one out, and swiped it across his hand quickly but gingerly. He hissed as the disinfectant made its way into the cut. "Alright," quipped Lisbon. "I won't tell you."

She placed the gauze on his hand and proceeded to wrap the medical tape around the makeshift bandage. "I'm going to leave this with you," Lisbon said, indicating to the first aid supplies, "since God knows you won't take the time to get any of this for yourself."

Jane shrugged, his hand still in hers. "Where would I be if I didn't have you, Lisbon, to patch me up every time I break something?" His tone was joking, but his face was serious as he lifted his eyes to hers. He flipped their hands over, so that his was the one supporting hers, and his other hand pushed her sleeve up to reveal the cast underneath.

His eyes darkened, as though it had finally occurred to him that though Lisbon was his protector, he wasn't doing a very good job of doing the same for her. "What really happened to your wrist, Lisbon?" he asked gently.

Lisbon sighed. "I did trip. Really."

"But you're leaving out part of the story."

"Yeah, the part that you don't need to know."

Her hand was now sandwiched between his larger, warmer ones. Lisbon dropped her eyes, not being able to maintain contact with his intense blue stare.

"Ah," said Jane, and he retreated a bit with realization. "Last week, the hostage situation—I was supposed to be there to help negotiate."

"You've been busy following a Red John lead—"

"I've been a jackass. I blew you off."

"You being there might not have changed anything."

"You might not have broken your wrist."

"You can't know that."

"I'm sorry."

Lisbon was almost too engrossed in their argument to comprehend that they were no longer arguing. She couldn't remember the last time Jane had apologized to her—and looked like he meant it. Lisbon met his repentant gaze, mouth slightly open in surprise. His next words astonished her.

"Is there something I can do to make it up to you?"

She shifted positions on the bed, drawing her legs up off the floor to sit cross-legged across from him. Jane held her gaze. She couldn't believe it—he was serious. She could ask for absolutely anything from him now, and she had no doubt he would give it to her.

Possibilities flooded her mind, each of them more game-changing than the last. The rational thing to do—the safe thing to do—would be to walk away as though this moment had never happened. After all, it seemed as though they'd come to a truce of sorts; there was no need to mess with that delicate balance. And the stakes were already high enough now with Red John so close—tensions were escalating between them both. But despite all that—or perhaps because of it—Lisbon was tired of rationality, of reason, and of safety. So she plunged into the blue.

"Yes," she said. "You can tell me the truth."

Jane started to make a face she knew all too well, a face of feigned confusion, but must have realized it. He quickly fixed his features back to neutral. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to have a conversation," said Lisbon, all too aware that their injured hands were still intertwined. "And everything that comes out of your mouth must be the absolute truth."

After a beat, Jane nodded stiffly. "What do you want to know?" he repeated.

Lisbon let the words tumble out of her mouth before she lost her nerve. "You knew before I did, didn't you?" she asked softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. "You knew that I was in love with you before I had even realized it myself."

Jane's head titled to the side, his eyes intent on her. "I…I suspected as much, yes."

"When did you know for sure?" she asked.

Jane took a moment before he answered. "I think I've always known that you loved me," he hedged, "because you've always felt that way, since the moment we met. You just didn't realize it until recently—more specifically, until my six-month breakdown."

That was, she reflected, around the time she'd realized that she was in too deep with Jane, that her happiness, in part, depended on him—whether she liked it or not.

"When you came back from Vegas," Lisbon started hesitantly, "you told me you loved me." Jane's hand in hers tensed.

"Did you mean it?"

She watched his face carefully to gauge his reaction; her heart started to pound in her chest when she realized that he looked worried.

"I…I can't answer that question," he said. "Because if I answered it, I'd be putting you in danger. More danger than I could bear."

He remained stoic for another second, then Lisbon watched in fascination as his features shifted to extreme concern. "But by not answering that question, I've just answered it, haven't I?"

"Jane…"

"Lisbon, you can't mention this to anyone. If he finds out…" Jane gripped both of her hands in his for emphasis. He was suddenly anxious, intensely concerned for her safety. "He can't find out, Lisbon. He can't."

They sat like that, looking at each other, until Lisbon spoke. "When this is all over…"

"If this is all over, at some point I will really and truthfully answer your question, Lisbon. But I need you to know that—"

His voice and her heart broke at the same time.

"Don't wait for you, essentially," finished Lisbon, trying to smile despite the watery glaze that now covered her eyes. "I know, Jane. I know you. I understand—you have to do this, whatever this is."

Lisbon made to move off the bed and head for the door, desperate to get some space between them—she would not allow him to see her break down; that would only make things more difficult—but Jane had other ideas. Halfway across the attic floor, his right hand caught her left. He spun her around, and Lisbon looked down at their joined hands—this time, neither were broken nor cut. They were whole.

"Lisbon, I—"

"I know, Jane. I know."

She squeezed his hand once and watched his mask slide back into place. He was, once again, as unreadable as ever. Lisbon backed away and out the door, leaving him alone in the attic, simultaneously reaching out for her while pushing her away.

As always, any mistakes are mine. And please don't worry-I won't leave the story like this! I love a good happy ending :)

If anyone was wondering, chapter titles (and the story title) are lyrics from Into the Blue, a song by Sara Jackson-Holman.