A/N: I'm so pleased that people seem to be enjoying these little tags to episodes and a couple of people (Idan & Caramelapple27) have even been inspired to write their own because of them. Check out their tags if you haven't already done so yet. So this is a little "what if" scenario for 4x24. What would have occurred if Lisbon had bailed Jane out in Vegas and not Lorelei? This thought has been circulating in my head since I first watched that episode and every time since. Here's my take on it. This will be a short multichapter (probably a three shot I'm guessing at the most unless I get carried away). Hope you enjoy the first instalment!

Disclaimer: I don"t own The Mentalist, the wonderful Bruno Heller does.

Vegas Variation

Chapter 1 – Released & Reunited

"Why am I being released? I didn't raise bail," Jane stammered after leaving his cell.

"Somebody raised it for you," came the reply from the guard.

"Who was that?" he asked quietly, signing his release paperwork.

"I don't have that information."

"Teresa Lisbon's my guess," he smirked, nervous excitement rushing through his veins that made him rock back and forth on his heels. "Huh? Lisbon?"

"I don't have that information," the surly man opposite responded again.

"Okay, you don't have that information," he replied, slightly annoyed, as he took back his personal possessions such as they were, comprised of a wallet and a handkerchief.

Jane shielded his eyes from the morning sun as he left the holdup facility. He blinked, sighed loudly, as its golden orb permeated his vision and did nothing to help neither his hangover nor the pain his face and body were in from his beating a couple of nights before.

Thoughts of Lisbon permeated his brain. It was the first time he'd said her name out loud in six months. He mused how strange it was how much he'd missed even that, how nice it felt just to say her name, how much saying it had lifted his spirits, even for a few moments. He smiled a little as he remembered how her eyes widened slightly when he used her first name occasionally, how her eyes became a deeper shade of green. How it unbalanced her somehow and how much he enjoyed it having that affect on her.

He sighed as he searched out the nearest bus stop. Of course if she had bailed him out then she had heard about his arrest and would be worried sick by his behaviour. She would act calm and aloof in front of her team but he knew her better than that. She would want to reach out again, perhaps her pride the only thing stopping her from calling him. But that didn't mean she wouldn't just send the money to help anyway. A powerful and painful ache stirred within him. He thought of the hundreds of text messages and voicemails she'd left him, offering him help, counselling, a place to stay, someone to talk to. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had his finger poised over her name on his phone, her bright smile looking at him enticing him to call her back. The more time away from her and the more he drank the more likely he was to give in and return her calls so he'd stopped bringing his phone out at nights and made sure he was drunk enough by the time he crawled into his motel room bed that he wasn't coherent enough to give any thought to following through on the notion.

On the bus back to his motel he couldn't stop wondering though if his guess was correct. That despite how he'd treated her, effectively dropping off the face of the planet for six months that she might still try to reach out to him, to try to save him still. Ignoring the rush of gratification he felt if that were true he shook his head instead and his expression turned thunderous. He didn't need her to interfere with his plans this far in and if she dared to actually make the trip to Vegas and was there waiting for him at his motel room to presumably drag him back to the CBI with her then he'd say whatever he had to in order to get her back to Sacramento as quickly as possible and to allow him to follow through on the con. He steeled himself for the task. Whatever it takes.

The bus made a stop and a homeless man sat down beside him, nodded to him like a kindred spirit. Jane nodded back blankly, glanced at his own wrinkled suit, his vest long gone by this stage. He studied the man in an attempt to sharpen his mind, to bring him out of his stupor and turn his thoughts away from her. The man wore a tweed coat so obviously not a native of Vegas, must have come here from somewhere a little colder. Nebraska, perhaps? Gambler obviously, still hoping to make his fortune otherwise he'd have gone home or someplace else where it was a little easier to eke out a living. Alcoholic from the stale scent of cheap rum he smelt waft in his direction mingled with three day old sweat and urine. Jane's eyes moved to his face surreptitiously. The man faced forward in the seat beside him, one hand resting on the bar of the back of the seat ahead. He noticed a faded tan line on his left hand ring finger. Married once, likely sold the ring when he got further down his luck. Or perhaps even more likely had it stolen. He was unaware of Jane's sideways glance in his direction. His eyes stared ahead, focussed on nothing in front of him, his mind somewhere far off. Depressed and probably history of mental illness even before that. Age indeterminable. He could be in his thirties or his fifties, the untamed beard and etched lines deepened by spending too much time in the sun made it impossible to make an accurate reading. Jane shifted his eyes back to the window at his side. Perhaps the homeless man's initial reading of Jane was more accurate than he wanted to acknowledge. If he had to perpetrate this con much longer then the ghost of Christmas future was sitting beside him.

He shook himself mentally. Wouldn't help his cause by falling into depression now. He thought instead about whom else may have paid bail if not Lisbon. He had no other friends and the rest of the CBI Team would follow her lead and leave him to his own devices if that was her word on the subject. So if it wasn't her then that left only one person he could think of who knew he was in Vegas and had got himself in trouble. It would mean that Lorelei may seek him out. And if that were the case then he'd be a step closer to finding Red John. A step closer to ending this charade in Vegas. A step closer to completing his vengeance. He closed his eyes briefly at what another meeting with her may entail for him. He sighed loudly. Whatever it takes.

He half staggered back to his motel, looking up to his door, his emotions battling with each other, a mixture of relief and sadness that she wasn't there waiting for him, peering over the balcony, a frown on her face and her arms crossed defensively over her chest. He brushed his hand over his beloved Citroen, relishing the feel of something familiar, something that told him he was still Patrick Jane and still in control of this plan. He walked up the steps and entered his room with a loud sigh as he regarded the depressing ambience. Curtains already drawn he threw his key card on the table and grabbed a mini bottle of vodka from the dresser, rolling his eyes before knocking it back in one gulp. He didn't like vodka but the scotch and bourbon he'd already drunk and wouldn't be replaced until he'd paid them off his bill. As he hadn't drank anything alcoholic in over a day his head was pounding still. He'd found the best way to stave off a hangover was to never allow himself to get entirely sober. Also, if he was sober then he'd only feel his conscience eating away at him and he couldn't risk that. Not at this stage when he could feel how close he was. He'd already allowed himself to think about Lisbon too much today, had already imagined her standing so close to him he could smell her, touch her.

He focussed his thoughts on the prize. Red John. The other night Lorelei had finally introduced herself to him after weeks of seeing her carefully surveil him for his nemesis, to ascertain if he had truly given up his hunt. He'd played the part of broken down loser well and could tell she'd bought it. Of course, six months into the longest con he'd ever played it hadn't required much acting. He downed three more miniatures of alcohol, lay on the bed and closed his eyes, blotting out all thoughts and prepared to sleep for a few hours so he could go back to the casino later to search out Lorelei again. That is, if she didn't search him out first.

A knock came to the door, wrestling him from his sleep. He listened for a second, immediately trying to guess who it was. He knew the two knock loud thud the motel manager made, had ignored it on many occasions when he pretended he didn't have the money to pay him, waiting until he'd tried to gain entry three times before finally settling his bill for the week. Of course he could pay it at any stage but the image he had to portray was that of a man who had little money and nothing much to live for and a man like that could hardly be timely in his payments. When he heard the knock again he knew exactly who it was instantly, his mind immediately taken back to many occasions when she'd pounded on the door to his attic. Light handed but strong definite knocks placed only milliseconds apart, her impatience showing even when she knocked on a door.

He considered lying there, pretending to be out but knew her well enough that she wouldn't leave without having a conversation after coming all this way. He got off the bed and checked the peephole. He caught a flash of chestnut hair as she assumedly tried to peer through the window at the side. He smoothed his hair down, pressed his hands down his suit jacket. They were suddenly clammy and he took a deep breath to centre himself.

He unlocked the door and heard her approach it quickly. When he opened it Lisbon stood in front of him, emerald green blouse cascading over a pair of dark blue jeans, her bag hanging over her shoulder and her jacket tossed on top of it. He trailed his eyes to her face, her porcelain skin appearing even whiter in the blinding sunlight, her freckles highlighted. She was a little thinner, dark shadows under her eyes that she'd tried to hide by applying some makeup. She took his breath away for a second as a light breeze blew the scent of cinnamon in his direction. On taking in his appearance she blinked rapidly and the expression on her face turned from one of downright hostility to extreme concern, her eyes searching his face for the man she once knew, her lips parted in bewilderment.

"Hey, Lisbon," Jane said, a tad surprised at how casual he'd made his voice sound as his heart hammered in his chest from locking eyes with her again. "What brings you to Vegas?"

A/N: I know! Think this is the cruellest cliffhanger I've ever left! Please let me know how you like the story so far though anyway, please?