A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews of my last chapter. Sorry I didn't have time to reply personally to all of them, but it has been an extremely busy couple of weeks. So here, to make it up to you, is the extra long conclusion and epilogue.

P.S.: There are some M-rated bits toward the end, just so you know.

Chapter 10: Conclusion

Jane's knife stuck firmly into Red John's right shoulder, and before he could fire off a shot, the serial killer dropped his gun reflexively, where it clattered onto the stained linoleum floor. Lisbon's knife found its mark as well, deeply implanting into the man's stomach while he grunted in surprised pain.

Red John dropped to his knees, swaying there a moment, his shocked blue gaze sweeping from Jane to Lisbon while his good hand rested on the knife in his belly. Lisbon retrieved the gun and pointed it steadily at the man who had murdered her friends. She could end all of this now—end him—and finally be able to get on with her life. Her hand grew damp on the black metal, her finger hovering over the trigger.

Jane, however, had other plans, and he blocked her aim, moving toward McAllister, his foot coming up to violently kick him in the chest. McAllister fell backward with an oomph of lost breath, and lay on his back, bleeding from his two wounds, his shallow pants filling the room. Jane knelt beside him, looked into Red John's crystal blue eyes. He seemed to be recovering from the shock, and now he appeared angry at being thwarted so easily.

"Jane," cautioned Lisbon. He glanced back at her, met her eyes, and she said no more, though her hand didn't falter in its grip on Red John's gun. She understood completely what Jane must be feeling, and soon, she too would have her own moment with the man. She could be patient.

"Now, you bastard," said Jane, his voice tight with emotion, "give me a reason why I shouldn't carve you up like you did Matt, like you did so many others?"

"Because…" the injured man managed haltingly, "…you…don't…have…the balls."

Jane's hand rested on the knife embedded in McAllister's belly, and he gripped the handle, twisting a little as Red John moaned aloud. Jane's mouth formed a ghastly smile of satisfaction. He was feeling so many different things in that moment—fear, sadness, anger-but foremost was the desire to make this monster pay.

"Tell me, Thomas, can you see beyond this moment," Jane said mockingly, recalling Red John's words to his victims. "Can you see the light of knowledge from within your mind's eye?"

McAllister chuckled, the sound turning into a sickening cough of pain. "More than someone like you will ever see for yourself, Patrick."

As he spoke, in what seemed to be an unconscious movement, Red John's bloody hand slid down from his stomach wound to alight on Jane's leg. He looked up at Jane as he gave his knee two hard squeezes, his voice suddenly low, intense, compelling.

"Do it now, Patrick."

Jane pulled the knife cleanly out of his stomach, ignoring his gasp of agony. Jane stood slowly, the weapon still dripping with Red John's blood. He turned toward Lisbon, the knife held before him in a threatening pose, though when Lisbon looked at his face, it was completely devoid of emotion. His blue-green eyes had lost their light, and he moved toward her like an automaton.

"Jane?"

"I'm sorry, Teresa," he said, though he didn't sound sorry, "but I have to do this."

"Put down the knife, Jane," she soothingly, as if to a frightened animal. She backed up as he continued to advance slowly upon her.

"You don't know what you're doing," she continued, trying to reason with him, though by then she knew he was under Red John's control. "I will shoot you if you don't stop."

But he did not stop.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw McAllister sitting up, his left hand pulling the knife out of his shoulder. Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she watched as he got gingerly to his feet, clutching his stomach while Jane continued to come toward her with his knife. Soon she felt the change from cold tile to dusty old carpet beneath her bare feet, as Jane forced her back into the living room.

"What are you going to do, Teresa?" taunted McAllister. "Jane will stop at nothing unless I tell him to stop. And if you kill me, there will be no one to pull him out of his trance. I know how much you want me dead after what I did to your friends, but I've seen you with Patrick. There's some pretty heavy chemistry between you two. This isn't working out exactly as I had planned, but turns out, I'm liking this scenario even better. You have your own little Sophie's Choice here, don't you? Damn, I'd hate to be you right now." With a labored cough, he spat blood onto the linoleum.

"And I'd really hate to be you," she replied. She stopped; her mind turning suddenly calm with the knowledge that the madman had underestimated her.

She pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cho tossed his phone to Maya. "Call 911!"

Cho had run maybe two yards when he'd heard a second shot. He'd poured on the speed, ducking between the cross hatch opening in the white gate, only slowing when he made it to the porch of the old house, gun drawn. Slowly, he walked up the steps. At the door, he stilled to listen, fighting against the adrenalin that compelled him to rush in with gun blazing. Hearing nothing, he turned the doorknob slowly, pushing it open and cringing at its tired creaking.

"Stop right there," said Lisbon. "Or I'll shoot your ass through the door."

"It's Cho," he said, relief rushing through him.

She reached out and pulled the door open, throwing herself into his arms for the first time since Rigsby and Van Pelt's funerals. He held her tightly for a fleeting moment, before gently disentangling himself to step back and look at her.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. But Jane isn't."

And now, Cho surveyed the disturbing scene before him. A man who looked vaguely familiar lay dead on the kitchen floor, a single gunshot wound to his forehead, his stomach slowly leaking blood. He still clutched the handle of a wicked looking surgical knife. Clear blue eyes stared blankly at the cobwebbed ceiling. Nearer to the living room, Patrick Jane lay bleeding also, an old rag pressed to his right shoulder. He was out cold. Cho followed with his eyes a thin line of blood that led to another knife halfway across the floor. It would be hard to figure out what had happened merely by the look of things.

"Backup is on the way," he told Lisbon, as she dropped again beside Jane and began applying pressure to his wound.

Then Jane seemed to awaken and began struggling against her, hands coming up as if to get a grip around her neck.

"Hold him down!" said Lisbon. Cho did as he was told, but the man was deceptively strong. Before Cho could ask why Jane was attacking her, Lisbon had punched the fake psychic into silence.

"Thanks. How the hell did you find us?" asked Lisbon.

"Rebecca Anderson," he said. He nodded at Jane. "His hunch was right. I took her by force and made her lead me here."

Lisbon nodded. "I guess we found our mole."

Her mind was still awhirl with all that had transpired, with all that she'd done. She hadn't hesitated to shoot them both just to take back control of the situation Now, however, as her adrenalin was wearing off, fear was setting in. Jane was still in his trance, and she had no idea if he would ever come out of it, and she prayed she had hit him where it would do the least amount of damage. He could still bleed to death before help arrived. She pressed harder on his wound.

"Did you see Maya?" Lisbon asked suddenly, her mind beginning to clear.

"Yeah. She's out by my car. I nearly hit her as she was running down the road. What the hell happened here?"

Lisbon laughed without humor. "I can hardly believe it myself. It's all like a crazy nightmare." She inclined her head toward Red John. "You recognize Sheriff McAllister?"

Cho's eyes widened as he followed her gaze. Now he remembered. They'd worked with him on a case several years before, and Cho had seen him at a state law enforcement fundraiser some time later.

"Napa County?"

"Yeah." Lisbon took a deep, shuddering breath, "He…is Red John."

Shaken anew, Cho stood, walked over to where the dead man lay in a pool of his own blood.

"Jesus," he said under his breath.

Cho stared into those lifeless eyes, felt his own well slightly with emotion. Here at last was the man responsible for his friends' deaths, the evil incarnate who had murdered seventeen other innocent people. And a sheriff, no less. A man sworn to protect and defend people, who had used his sacred trust to satisfy his own bloodlust. Cho felt sick at the stomach, but he also felt a deep sense that justice had finally come for Wayne, Grace, and Bosco. And while he wished he could have been the one to give it to them, Lisbon deserved the satisfaction just as much.

"There's another sheriff locked in the basement," Lisbon added. "And now with Rebecca—well, I wonder just how far Red John's network goes into law enforcement. They'll have to bring in the FBI to investigate, because I sure as hell wouldn't trust anyone in California to do it."

One more long look at Red John's face, and Cho would do his best to forget now. He turned away, striding back to Lisbon and Jane.

"Why are you shooting and pummeling Jane?"

"McAllister hypnotized him, programmed him to try to kill me. You think what he did to all those people was sick—you should see his basement. It's a regular dungeon, complete with torture chamber. He'd prepared it specially for Jane, he and his sick sidekick, Dumar. If we hadn't gotten out of there when we did—" She shuddered and closed her eyes against the horrific images of the surgical room downstairs.

"Hey," Cho said, squatting down beside her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "It's over. Really over."

She met his eyes, and their shared pain eased somewhat. Maybe now both the dead and the living could rest in peace.

"Yes," she whispered, feeling the tears she'd been holding back for so long begin to blur her eyes, then slip down her pale cheeks. Cho added the pressure of his own hands to the man who, intentionally or not, had helped them get Red John.

"We'll find someone to deprogram Jane," Cho said confidently. "The bigger problem now is how to explain all this to the police." Without losing my job, he finished soberly to himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the madness that followed with the sheriff's department and EMT's arriving, Lisbon couldn't do much more than follow Jane on his gurney ride to the ambulance. He hadn't come to since she'd knocked him out, and she warned the medics he could be dangerous upon waking. They strapped him down securely to the gurney, and Lisbon watched in trepidation as they drove away into the night.

Cho had called Haffner, who would be arriving within the hour via helicopter, bringing, with Cho's urging, an agent with the FBI. Even with the bare bones of his explanation, Haffner was not happy with the junior agent, and Cho knew his entire career was on the line here. In his defense, he could say that he didn't think he could trust anyone in law enforcement, and given that the casualties/suspects were two sheriffs, and that Red John had a mole within the CBI, that could either support his claim or hurt him irrevocably.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon arrived at the hospital in San Angelo early the next morning, exhausted from the relentless questioning by Haffner and FBI Agent, Dennis Abbott. Still, she was anxious to know of Jane's condition after his surgery. Cho had dropped her off, having been given the assignment of returning Maya to her family. Lisbon had been released by Haffner, but there would be another round of interrogations that afternoon, and no doubt a serious investigation into all the California law enforcement agencies. Lisbon certainly didn't envy being a state employee under the FBI's microscope. While there had been no charges filed against her (yet) for the death of one sheriff and the assault on another, she knew she would be embroiled in this mess for some time to come.

Hearing of Patrick Jane's surgery and his involvement in yet another death, the press had descended upon the hospital like locusts. Without any familial ties to Jane, and with no police credentials, it was impossible for her to get any more information than the press could from the tight-lipped nurse in the small town hospital: Jane was out of surgery and in stable condition.

Lisbon supposed that was good news, but she was desperate to see him, to look into his eyes and see if the real Patrick Jane had returned, or whether he still wanted to murder her. Half the San Angelo Police Department had been summoned for crowd control, some likely stationed by his hospital room door upstairs, so there would be no sneaking in for Lisbon. She would just have to go home and await a call from Cho.

Two weeks later…

Jane stood outside the old Catholic Church that for one night two weeks before had been his sanctuary. It seemed now like two years, and he paused to take in the structure in the light of day. It wasn't nearly as imposing as it had seemed that night, when he and Lisbon had been worried and tense that Red John might have followed them, but it was still beautiful, still peaceful and serene in the quiet neighborhood. It was a haven now for Lisbon.

He had neither seen nor heard from her since his surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder, and the day she'd visited him with Cho had been a hazy blur of painkillers and the residual effects of his hypnotic trance. He'd awakened with no memory of what Lisbon told him had happened, but he'd felt acute anger at Red John's violation of his psyche. He was grateful to Lisbon for saving him from a life of mental enslavement, not to mention the fact that she'd taken Red John out of the world. Still, it would have felt good to kill the man himself with his bare hands.

After she'd filled him in, Jane had grabbed Lisbon's small hand in the hospital, apologizing profusely for the position he had put her in. She had squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek, but then she had disappeared. After a few days of trying to weasel her phone number out of Cho, he no longer answered Jane's phone calls.

Jane had been released from the hospital a couple of days later, but then had begun the barrage of CBI and FBI questioning in Sacramento. He'd brought his lawyer with him, given that his fingerprints were on both the knives found in Red John's kitchen, but the police were inclined to believe his story, and, he gathered, they seemed to have cleared Lisbon as well. Cho, on the other hand, had been put on mandatory leave for offenses ranging from unlawfully restraining a witness to obstruction of a police investigation. Agent Cho's future with the CBI wasn't looking too bright. He felt bad for Cho, but they had all assumed the risk for their actions, and he didn't think Cho was regretting anything now that Red John was dead.

But Jane couldn't let any of it go just yet, not without getting closure with Lisbon. His lawyer tracked down the address of her apartment, and Jane showed up there, driving his rental car awkwardly with one arm in a sling. He knocked for five minutes with no answer, before peeping through the mail slot in her door. Bills and junk mail were piled on the floor inside. Obviously, she hadn't been home in days. He had seen her picture on the news often as he lay in the hospital, then at a Sacramento hotel as he'd continued recovering. The press had probably staked out her place too, so she had likely abandoned her apartment until things quieted down.

Jane hadn't known her long, but he felt like he knew her, which was why the very next place he looked was in her own private safe house. When he saw a Mustang parked near the back door, he knew she had to be there. Of course an all-American girl like Teresa Lisbon would drive a Mustang.

He grinned and adjusted the wig/hat disguise he'd worn just for her and knocked on the door. He stood back and looked up at the security camera with a grin.

"Teresa," he called. "It's Jane. Open up." He held up an envelope with his good hand. "I need to settle our bill."

Inside, Lisbon stared with a fluttering heart at the monitor. She was glad beyond measure that he was up and around and even smiling, but she still felt deeply responsible for the sling that he wore, which was why, in a rare show of cowardice, she had stayed away from him. God, he is beautiful though, she thought idly, and flashes of the kisses they'd shared made her stomach do a little flip. His showing up here didn't mean anything, she told herself. He was just here to pay for her security services, such as they were, though she couldn't help thinking she owed him for her monumental failure in that regard.

"Quit thinking about it and open the door," said Jane into the camera, and she felt her lips form their first smile in days.

She opened the door. Face to face, both of them felt a little breathless, and they stood staring shyly at each other for several awkward seconds. It was Jane who finally cleared his throat and smiled gently.

"I hadn't received a bill," he said lamely, holding out the envelope. She didn't take it.

"I can't accept that," she said. "Your hospital bills alone—"

"I have good insurance," he said. "If you're feeling guilty, Teresa, you must have forgotten that I was supposed to be the bait. Our plan worked brilliantly—too brilliantly, really, but all's well, etcetera, etcetera…"

"Maybe for us," she said. "But Cho…"

"I know. But he's a big boy. Give this money to him if you like. He might have shot himself in the foot with the CBI, but a talented guy like him won't be without employment for long. He was the cop who helped bring down Red John."

"Yeah," said Lisbon softly.

The conversation fizzled, and they were both left feeling awkward again.

"Look," said Jane finally, "Can I just come in for a minute. I'd really like to take off this damn hat."

He finally got a little quirk of her lips, and he felt the familiar triumph of eliciting at least a semblance of a smile from her.

"Sure," she said, and stepped aside so he could come in. The moment the door closed behind him, he took off the hat, ruffling his real hair with his left hand.

"Thanks," he said, and he tossed the disguise on the kitchen counter. "I believe I owe you one of these too."

She moved into the kitchen, needing something to do with her nervous hands. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes. I think you got me addicted to it. It's the only thing that settles my stomach with all the pain meds I've had to take."

She grimaced a little. "I'm sorry," she said, looking guiltily up from the teakettle.

"Hey, don't be. I'm fine, really. I'll be good as new in no time. If you need absolution from me, you've got it. God knows I'm in need of it myself. I just couldn't get on with my life without at least saying goodbye, Teresa. But seeing you now, I—" he swallowed at the serious turn his feelings had taken—"I don't know if that's what I really want. I mean, we can still be friends, can't we?"

Lisbon didn't honestly know if they could just be friends, given what they'd been through together, given what they'd done together. Given that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, and not just in concern for his recovery. She must have shaken her head at her own thoughts, for Jane frowned.

"I must have lost my touch all of a sudden," said Jane grimly. "I can't seem to read you right now. Maybe it's because you make my head a little muddled."

He laughed without humor, running his hand through his blonde curls again, this time in agitation. He walked into the small living area, remembering how he'd awakened on that couch from a nightmare, how Lisbon had held his hand to comfort him.

He noticed a small pamphlet on the coffee table, and he felt himself grow pale, his heart squeezing painfully. He bent to pick it up, to look at the face so similar to his own. It was the memorial booklet from Matt Denny's funeral service. Jane had been so hopped up on pain medication that he'd missed his friend's funeral.

"You went to this?"

She joined him in the living room. "Yes. Cho and I. I was going to send that to you…"

It touched him more than he could express, the fact that they had traveled all the way down to LA to attend in his place.

"Thank you," he said simply.

She nodded in reply, meeting his eyes, suddenly bright green with unshed tears.

"Matt was a good man," he added, and he cleared his throat at his sudden emotion.

"If the number of those attending was any indication, he was well-regarded by many. It was a lovely service."

The teakettle began its soft whistle, and Lisbon moved to take out two mugs. She nodded toward the couch when she returned with their tea, and they both sat, the air filling with tension as well as the fragrance of soothing chamomile.

The moment she joined him, he turned on the couch and took her hand.

"I'm having trouble," he admitted lamely. "Getting on with…things."

Her soulful eyes met his. "I know what you mean. I've gone to four AA meetings since I got back."

He squeezed her small hand, so deceptively delicate. This hand had held the gun that killed Red John, had shot him to save them both. Impulsively, he brought it to his lips, closing his eyes at the heady sensation of her soft skin against his mouth.

"I've missed you," he whispered. "I've…needed you, and that hasn't happened to me in a long time, needing anyone for anything except picking up my dry cleaning." He smirked at the irony of it.

"Jane—" She attempted to pull her hand away, but he held it fast.

"Please, just hear me out, okay? I'm sure you must be thinking that whatever this is between us was just from the heat of the moment, from the necessity of our predicament. But we both felt something, and I know you can't deny it. The question now is, well…would you like to see if there's still something there for us in the real world?"

She rose anxiously, and this time he let her go. "Even if there is, how can this ever work. For one thing, you're in LA—"

"I could move—"

She dismissed his proclamation with a waft of her hand. "For another, if there's any hope for either of us moving on from this tragedy, don't you think we should be away from any constant reminders of it?"

"I would constantly remind you of tragedy?" he said, his voice filled with hurt.

"Yes. No. I don't know. Can you honestly say I wouldn't remind you of Matt's death?"

"Only to the extent that you were part of my life at that time, that you helped me through it. That you avenged his death for me."

He rose then, stilling her nervous pacing with a hand on her upper arm. "Nothing about you saddens me, Teresa. On the contrary, the thought of you is what has kept me going. No doubt this experience has changed me. You have changed me—but for the better. I'm not sure yet what that will mean for my life, but all I know is I don't want to go back to a life without you in it."

He drew her closer, until he was whispering against her lips. "Please…can't we at least see what this might mean…for both of us?"

Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her for the first time without any kind of duress, without having to be mindful of someone watching or interrupting. He poured his entire heart into it, felt her tremble in response, then sweetly open her mouth to him while she slid both hands into his hair.

He moaned at the immediate spark of desire that coursed through his blood, and he wished he could employ both hands in touching her, in molding her trim waist, in pushing her gently rounded buttocks closer to his hardness.

"I want you," he said desperately, as his mouth moved across her jaw to her ear. She shivered and he felt her hands at the waistband of his jeans—he had no trouble reading her intentions now.

"Bed," she said huskily, and, taking his hand, led him down the short corridor to her room.

It was difficult to be patient, now that Lisbon had made up her mind, but she helped him take off his sling, gently lowering his arm before unbuttoning and carefully slipping it off. He stood still, letting her undress him, his breathing loud in the small room. She kissed and caressed each bit of his skin as she revealed it, and his left hand came up to press the back of her head closer. His knees grew weak when her mouth found his sensitive flat nipple and gently nipped it with small, white teeth.

"Bed," he repeated her word much more forcefully, and, chuckling softly, she pushed him back the two feet to the mattress. He sat down, and she finished what she'd started in the living room, pulling off his jeans while he toed off his shoes.

Clad only in his boxers—the expensive silk variety—he watched as she stood back and very helpfully undressed herself for him. He had imagined from the feel of her beneath him on Red John's cot what she must look like, knew that her breasts would be high and firm, her stomach flat and lightly muscled, her hips pleasingly curved. But the impact of actually seeing his fantasy realized hit him directly in the groin, especially when she removed the practical matching white cotton of her bra and bikini panties to reveal the treasures hidden beneath. His boxers became uncomfortably full.

Reaching up, Lisbon freed her dark hair from her ponytail, and it cascaded sleekly around her shoulders. She met his eyes boldly despite her nakedness, and Jane's mouth went dry.

"Come here," he rasped, and she moved seductively closer, pushing lightly on his chest until he was laying flat on her bed atop her grandmother's quilt. He grunted a little as pain shot through his shoulder, and she stopped in concern.

"You okay?"

"Don't worry about hurting me. Do your worst. I can take it."

She bent then and reverently kissed the bandaged wound on his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered to it. Touched, Jane pulled her mouth up to his, kissing her ardently, willing her to feel his forgiveness.

Aching to touch more of him, Lisbon moved off the bed again to help him slip off his underwear, grinning at the difficulty of removing the garment over his erection. Then, gripping him with her strong hand, she slid up the engorged shaft till she found the dewy tip with her thumb. He gasped with pleasure, then pulled her hungrily on top of him. She straddled his body, moving her own wet heat forward and back upon him with agonizing slowness, until she was in danger of driving them both crazy with desire.

Bending forward, he caught her breast in his mouth, found the bud of the other with deft fingers. She cried out as he suckled hard, her body stilling as she paused to enjoy the incredible sensation. She was on the very edge of release when Jane reached down to circle the sensitive pearl within her folds, and soon she came apart beneath his hand, crying out her pleasure while his mouth continued to worship her breasts. She had barely recovered when Jane found that he himself could take no more, the sensual undulations of her body against him almost too pleasurable to bear.

He guided his erection inside of her, his mind going blank as pure feeling inundated him with sensation. Lisbon began once more to move, taking him in so deeply he thought he might cry with the pleasure of it. He let her set the pace, wishing he could take the pain of covering her body with his own, but enjoying still the vision of her moving above him, her breasts swaying enticingly, her head thrown back in renewed passion.

"Yes," he said, as she took him impossibly deeper. "Yes," he said on a groan, as she nearly released him, then glided forward to take him home again. His mantra changed to her name, and he repeated it mindlessly until he lost the power of speech altogether, and it echoed in his mind with each beat of his heart…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

She fed him strawberries in bed, having bought them from a farmer's market just that morning. They spoke of nothing important, laughing and kissing frequently between bites, the fruit an added sweetness to what had passed between them. When he took a ripe berry and pressed it to her nipple, things accelerated quickly again, and he joined with her where they sat, his mouth seldom leaving hers except to cry out in ecstasy.

They slept after that, awakening to the colorful glow of the setting sun through the stained glass window high above her bed.

"This doesn't bother you," he said, tracing the cross at her neck as she snuggled into his left side. "Making love in a church with a man who isn't your husband."

He felt her smile against his chest. "I suppose it does now, a little, but I admit I had totally forgotten where we were the moment you kissed me."

"That's twenty Hail-Mary's for you, young lady," he said, kissing the top of her head.

She leaned her head back so she could kiss his firm jaw, inhaling the intoxicating scent of expensive cologne. She felt her eyes prick suddenly with emotion. "This feels so right between us, I know that God will forgive me."

He was quiet for so long that she thought she might have frightened him off with her words, but when he began to snore softly, she relaxed against him, falling asleep once more with a contented smile.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

EPILOGUE

Six months later…

"RVB Investigations," said Lisbon, pausing by the front desk to pick up the phone in her brand new office overlooking Tower Bridge. Their secretary was on her lunch break, and Cho and Jane were out tracking a new lead on their current missing person case. She nodded at the man in the waiting room.

"Sure," replied Lisbon to the woman's inquiry. She flipped a page in the appointment book and found an empty spot the next week. "We can fit you in next Friday at nine. Is that okay?"

Lisbon glanced up to where a large framed picture of her company's namesakes dominated one wall. It was a snapshot taken on her phone at their last CBI Christmas party, and she'd caught Rigsby, Van Pelt and Bosco together, drinks in their hands, laughing at some joke-probably of Rigsby's telling, given their reactions. Rigsby had his arm around Van Pelt's waist, and Bosco's blue eyes twinkled with good humor. She couldn't remember for the life of her what they'd been laughing about, but something had compelled her to snap the picture. It made her tear up a little every time she looked at it.

When Cho had lost his job, he'd come to Lisbon for temporary work. His reputation stained, he could no longer find a position in California law enforcement, and with the way the FBI had handled the Red John purge, he hadn't even considered working for them. Staff had been needlessly fired, paranoia taking over as the investigation deepened into Red John's network. Police, CBI Agents, and even judges were found to be connected to the killer. The CBI was closed temporarily, so Cho would have lost his job anyway.

Cho and Lisbon decided to get their private investigators' licenses and open an office together, expanding her security business and finding some actual office space. They'd decided on something modest, in a less expensive part of town, but when Jane had made them an offer to invest, they'd found themselves in the swankiest part of the city.

What's more, Jane had offered his services as a partner, using his observational talents for good instead of evil, he'd told Lisbon with a smile. Jane too had decided to change his occupation, and Lisbon had seen just how much their confrontation with Red John had affected him. He quite simply was tired of lying, tired of conning naïve people out of their money. He would always blame his own arrogance for Matt's death, and actually helping people instead of manipulating them seemed a small way to make reparation for what he'd done. Pulling himself out of the limelight was another, so he'd chosen not to renew his contract for his talk show, fired his publicist, and set about living a quieter existence.

He'd enjoyed helping the police in the past, but found the idea of helping Lisbon and Cho even more rewarding, because he actually liked them, wanted to help them for mostly altruistic reasons. Working with Lisbon every day was an added bonus; using his brain to find missing children or to bust a serial adulterer was another. His fame had brought him millions, more than enough to live off his other investments for a lifetime if he lived more frugally. And so he sold the house where Matt had been murdered and rented the penthouse apartment in the same building where RVB was housed.

When word leaked that the famous Patrick Jane was working as a private investigator, the business poured in, but the three partners agreed they would be very particular in the cases they accepted, sometimes even taking on charity cases that the police wouldn't touch. After their business had flourished in less than a month, Jane awoke one morning to find that for the first time in his life, he was genuinely happy.

And so when Jane and Cho arrived back at the office, after having discovered their so-called missing person had actually been living a double life with his polygamous spouse in the next town, Jane walked over to Lisbon and gave her a smacking kiss right in front of Cho and the man waiting in the reception area.

"Hey," she hissed, her facing flushing pink. "What have I told you about doing this in the office?"

"Forgive me Lisbon. I was just so happy that we'd solved yet another case, didn't we Cho?"

"Yeah," Cho agreed, silently shaking his head before heading to his office and shutting the door.

"Lisbon, may I have a word with you in your office please? Excuse us, will you, sir," he added, grinning at the man. "We'll be right with you." The man smiled back knowingly.

In his suit coat pocket Jane could almost feel the weight of the extra keycard to his apartment. He would ask Lisbon to move in with him, right after he professed his deep, abiding love for her. He'd planned to cook her a fancy dinner that night before he asked her, but suddenly, he found he couldn't wait.

The minute he closed the door behind them, he pulled Lisbon into his arms, kissing her until they were both breathless.

"Jane," she began, and he kissed her again to stifle her chiding tone. When he lifted his head again, she was suitably dazed and speechless.

"Now, just listen for a minute, okay?"

She nodded dumbly.

"Good girl."

She frowned at his sexism, but he merely smiled. "Now, there's been something I've been meaning to tell you, and I know it might seem like it's too soon, but actually it probably isn't considering I've been in love with you since that day we made love in the church…"

She blinked. "You—what?"

He kissed her on the nose, charmed anew by her adorable confusion—a look she tended to get often with him.

"Come on, Teresa, keep up. I love you. And I want you to move in with me."

With a flourish, he seemed to magically draw out the key card from the slight cleavage revealed by her button-up blouse.

Lisbon's heart squeezed at his admission and she looked at the card before her, but she did not take it. Instead, she reached up and caressed his handsome face. "I love you too," she said, "but the answer is no."

"No?" Had he heard her right?

"No. I'm sorry. If you want me to live with you, you've got to give me a good reason. Your loving me is a lovely one, but I'm the kind of woman who needs more than that."

She pulled out of his arms and walked over to the picture window on the seventeenth floor. "I need more from you, Jane."

He moved to stand behind her, trying to suppress his exasperation.

"Look, I've invested in your business, signed a lease for this choice office space with this stunning view, worked by you and Cho diligently the past few months to make this place a smashing success. Turned my whole life around in more ways than one. Now, I've confessed my love—what more could you want from me, woman?"

She turned to look at him, and he was struck by the way the light from the window haloed her mahogany hair. She was his angel, his saving grace, and he knew it. No matter her request, he wasn't going anywhere unless she kicked him to the curb. And maybe not even then.

"I want guarantees," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "You mean like a contract or something?"

She cocked her head, considering. "Eventually."

And then it dawned on him. She wanted a marriage proposal.

His face fell in disappointment, and he stepped away from her uneasily.

"Lisbon, there's a reason I've never married."

"Oh? I've been meaning to ask you why."

"My parents. They were a complete train wreck. My mother was way too good for my father. She lowered herself to marry him, leaving her wealthy family to travel with him on the carney circuit, believing that their love could overcome anything. I watched them grow to hate each other, she resenting that he couldn't give her the kind of devotion she'd married him for; he because he claimed she knew what she was signing up for. They divorced when I was twelve, and my dad fought to keep me with him. As the Boy Wonder, I was his bread and butter, you see. They both died bitter and alone. I never want to put a woman through that kind of hell, and I certainly don't want to bring children into the mix."

She stared at him in wonder, for this was the first time he'd said anything about his parents more than in passing.

"A bad husband isn't hereditary, Jane," she said. "And as you have rightly pointed out, you've changed. I'm not asking for a proposal—not right now anyway. We've only known each other for six and a half months. I just want to know that we both want the same things in life. That marriage and a family are in our future. Otherwise, what's the point? I'm not getting any younger, you know. It sounds cliché, but I can feel my biological clock ticking as we speak. So…if there is no chance you could ever want these things with me, let me go. Don't—don't waste my time."

She felt the tears begin to fall and she reached for a tissue from her desk.

Every instinct compelled him to go to her, to promise her everything she asked for and give her the moon and stars besides.

"Can I think about it?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded, unable to form the words to say more.

He left her then, and she wondered if she would ever see him again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The city lights had just come on when Lisbon heard the knock at her door. Her heart picked up speed.

"Come in."

It was Cho. "I'm leaving, Boss," he said, though they were equal partners. She'd given up trying to correct him.

"Okay. Good night."

"You all right?" He asked, noting her blood shot eyes and blotchy face. She hadn't emerged since Jane had left earlier. There was trouble in paradise, but Cho had learned to stay out of such things long ago when Rigsby and Van Pelt—maybe if he'd pushed those two together sooner, they would have had a lot more time together before they died, he realized with a start.

"Life's short," he said awkwardly. "I know Jane loves you. Whatever it is, work it out."

She smiled in surprise that he'd given such personal advice. "Thanks, Kimball."

He nodded. "'Night."

Jane passed Cho at the elevator landing. "Don't be an idiot and screw this up," he said to Jane. Then, as an afterthought: "You break her heart, and I'll kill you."

The elevator door had closed on Cho's stern face before Jane could formulate a suitable reply.

Jane grinned, patting his breast pocket confidently.

Lisbon's door was still open, and he could see her sitting at her desk, staring pensively out at the city.

"Hey," he said, knocking on the open door.

She sat up. "Yes?"

He walked over to her, and pulled a folded document from his pocket. He unfolded it and pushed it across her desk. Clearly, it was some sort of a contract.

"I've been with my lawyer," he told her. "I think this should suffice."

Lisbon looked from his pleading green eyes down to the document before her.

"I, Patrick Jane, being of sound mind"-she raised skeptical eyebrows at that pronouncement—"do solemnly swear that if Teresa Lisbon has not received a marriage proposal from me within two years of this date, that she may collect half of my worldly possessions, including my interests in RVB Investigations."

Her eyes scanned to the end, where he had signed and dated, and had even had it witnessed and notarized.

"This wasn't necessary," she said.

"You wanted guarantees."

"Your promise would have been good enough for me."

He paused, swallowing nervously. "I promise—all that and more. Give me two years to get used to the idea, okay? And who knows, it might take considerably less time than that."

She regarded him thoughtfully, trying to gauge his sincerity. The past few years had been unimaginably tough. Indeed, there had been times she had wanted to give up, to drown herself in a bottle like her father had. With the death of Red John, the weight upon her soul had lifted, and with Jane in her life, she had begun to refill the holes the loss of her friends had left in her heart. Now he was standing here, offering her what she had thought would be impossible for her. She loved this man, she thought in wonder. What's more, he loved her.

With a small smile, she stood and held out her hand.

"All right then. Give me the damn key card, Jane."

THE END

A/N: Thanks for joining me in finishing this story at last. I hope you enjoyed it. I can't make any promises myself that I will write any more for this fandom, but I certainly have enjoyed coming back for a brief visit. I will always adore these wonderful characters, as much as I adore those of you in this fandom.