Summary: Just stop and imagine this. A world where, yes, Red John did take everything away from Patrick Jane. He did kill his wife, but instead of murdering his little girl along with her, he left a terrible cliffhanger for Jane and kidnapped her instead. Could his daughter still be out there?

A/N: Yes, I'm back! I wrote this chapter and rewrote this chapter too many times. I hope you like my story about a young girl named Lela Benson, someone who is all too familiar to Jane.

And don't worry. It'll start off with Jane/Lisbon friendship, and end in romance :]

Rated T for language.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Patrick Jane jerked awake from yet another terrible nightmare.

Red John.

The worst part about having these nightmares was that he had to wake up to the haunting red smiley face just above him. He supposed this was partly his fault. He was the one who chose not to scrub it off.

Jane rose from his bed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

He was surprised to find a birthday cake sitting on the kitchen counter, with a large "13" candle that was lit.

Jane turned and looked around, half-expecting someone to be standing behind him. There was no one.

But when he turned back around, he flinched. A young girl was standing by the counter, grinning at him. She had curly blonde hair and light blue eyes.

When Jane stepped closer, he got a better look at the cake.

In pink icing, it read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLOTTE!"

He sucked in a breath, glancing up at the girl again. She was smiling at him. "Thanks for the cake, Daddy," she said before blowing out the candles.

Jane gasped and launched up on the couch, blinking away the tears that were beginning to form behind his eyes. Grace Van Pelt stopped what she was typing at the computer next to him and stared at him. "You okay, Jane?"

He glanced over at her and tried to smile reassuringly. "Yeah. Just a bad dream." He rose from the couch and stalked out of the bullpen, feeling Grace's eyes on him the entire way out.

He walked down the hall as fast as he could, without even a glance into Teresa Lisbon's office, where he knew her own curious eyes were following him.

He hurried up the stairs to the attic, taking two stairs at a time. He plopped down on his makeshift bed, dropped his head into his hands, and tried desperately to stop the damned tears that had somehow begun to come even faster and bigger as he walked up the stairs.

His eyes widened in horror when he heard footsteps trudging up the staircase. He wiped at his eyes, panicking. Nobody should see him like this…

"Jane?" came Lisbon's soft voice in the doorway.

He sighed in defeat, wiping at his eyes again. "Yeah?" he asked, voice cracking.

With a sympathetic look on her face, Lisbon sat down next to him. She slid her hand around his and stared at him until he was forced to look her directly in the eye.

"What's the matter, Jane?" she finally said.

"Nothing."

"You lie."

"Never."

She snorted. "Good one."

"I'm fine, Lisbon. Really, I am."

"Tell me why you were so upset."

He shook his head.

"Why won't you tell me?" Lisbon demanded.

"Because it doesn't matter."

"It certainly matters to me."

"Why?"

She groaned, exasperated. She ripped her hand from his. "Because you're my friend, Jane! And I hate seeing you so upset! Please tell me what's wrong."

"Fine. You want to know? It's my daughter's birthday today." He smirked.

Her mouth clamped shut, and her eyes suddenly lost its anger and went back to sympathetic and sorry. "Oh," was all she could manage to say.

"Thirteen," he whispered. He swallowed hard, and blinked. Those damn tears were about to return to him, and he tried to curse them away. They wouldn't go, and Lisbon reached up and caught one that fell on his cheek. "Damn. She'd be a teenager." He sniffed.

"Hey, hey," she said gently. "Don't cry, Jane."

Easier said than done, he thought bitterly.

"You never know. She may still be out there." Lisbon tried to smile.

He let out a little laugh.

"I'm not kidding, Jane."

"Yeah, I really didn't think it was that funny, anyways."

"Jane, seriously."

He met her eyes again. "Lisbon, do you honestly believe that she could be still alive?" He almost choked on his words. "Do you think that eight years after she was taken by Red John, the sadistic, notorious serial killer that slaughtered her mother and is hell-bent on keeping her father as unhappy as possible, that there is actually even a small chance that she's still alive?"

"Red John is a sick man, Jane," Lisbon replied. "You never know what might go on through his head."

Jane paused, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

She pondered this. "Think about this. If he had killed her, he would have made her body visible to the public, and most importantly, to you. Right?"

"Right…"

"Maybe he still has her. I mean, did you ever think about that?"

He stared at her. "Of course I did, Lisbon. I thought about every damn scenario there is."

"Then don't lose your hope. Or your faith," his boss whispered, giving him a small smile. "Please."

Without another word, she stood up from the makeshift bed and left, not even glancing back to notice that Jane had begun to cry again.

XXXX

He was ashamed to show his face downstairs again. Thankfully, Cho and Rigsby were at lunch at the moment and wouldn't suspect anything, but Grace would surely figure it out, and Lisbon of course already knew.

But he had to go back down. He couldn't hide upstairs forever.

Grace's curious gaze haunted him as he walked into the bullpen. She smiled warmly at him. "Jane? Are you sure you're alright?"

He tried to smile back. "Yeah, Gracie. I'm fine." Inwardly, there was a real smile. He knew what she'd think of her new nickname.

She cringed. "Don't call me that."

Jane laughed for the first time today. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, returning to her keyboard.

"Why does the nickname bother you?" Jane asked, now finding himself on a quest.

"Just drop it, Jane."

"You tell me, and I'll tell you why I left so unexpectedly and so obviously on the verge of pathetic, humiliating tears." His smile widened, knowing that she would not pass up the opportunity.

Grace sighed. "Fine. My dad always called me Gracie as a kid."

"And?"

"And… we just don't really see eye-to-eye anymore." She looked away.

"Why is that?" Jane sat down on his couch and leaned forward.

"Does it matter?" she snapped, but immediately glanced over with brown eyes that said sorry.

Of course it mattered. Jane hated feeling powerless. He hated when he didn't know absolutely everything that was going on. Of course he needed to know why Grace and her father didn't get along. "Yeah. It does matter, Grace. Please tell me."

She groaned, gave up trying to work, and spun in her chair to face him. "He wanted a daughter that turned out to be the complete opposite."

"How so?"

"He wanted a little girl that hoped to be Miss America or a princess when she grew up. He wanted a daughter that played dress-up and played tea party with her stuffed animals. Instead, he got a girl who always dreamt of being a cop. A daughter who tracked down every toy gun she could find and pretended to shoot everything and everyone with it." She shook her head.

Jane snorted. "Well then he's an ass. He shouldn't have been disappointed. Grace, just because you're a cop doesn't mean you aren't a beautiful woman with a liking to shopping and hairspray." He chuckled. "You like what you do. That's all that he should care about." At least he has a daughter, he wanted to say but didn't.

She considered this, and a small smile twitched at her lips. "Thanks, Jane."

He smiled back and nodded.

"Your turn," she said suddenly.

His smile faded. Obviously his mind games didn't work, and she did still remember that he had to hold up his end of the bargain. He stood up. "Oh. That. It's nothing."

"What?" Grace exclaimed. "That isn't fair!"

"No one said life was fair."

She rolled her eyes. "That's such a typical comeback, especially from you!"

He shrugged.

"Come on, Jane!" She took a step toward him and nudged him. "What's bugging you?"

He studied the redhead's expression, debating whether or not he should tell her. As much as he hated to be fair, Grace was always so loyal to him. She was always the one to fall for his tricks, and the poor dear trusted him still. "Today is my little girl's birthday," he whispered.

Grace's hopeful smile vanished and she shifted uncomfortably.

"You don't need to look so guilty about it," Jane said with a laugh. "I shouldn't be sad. It's a day to celebrate. Thirteen years ago, it was the greatest day of my life."

Grace blinked. "She'd be thirteen?"

He noted how she said it as if it was a solid fact that Charlotte was dead. "Yes."

"How old was she when… you know?"

"Five." Eight years. Had it really been eight years?

"I'm so sorry, Jane," she said softly.

He was about to respond, but Lisbon walked into the bullpen. "Jane?" she said in a troubled voice.

He turned around. "What?"

"We have a case."

"Okay… You're white as a ghost. What's the matter?"

She hesitated. "Jane, it's Red John," she said. "He killed a teenage girl today."

XXXX

The drive to the crime scene was silent. Jane stared out the passenger window as Lisbon drove, throwing glances in his direction every now and then.

Jane knew that this was all part of Red John's sick game. Murdering a teenager on Jane's daughter's birthday. As if he wasn't in enough pain.

Lisbon pulled up to a house surrounded by police cars and yellow tape. She cut the engine and looked over at Jane. "Are you sure you're okay to go through with this case?"

He looked over at her and smiled. "Of course. Why not?" He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, stalking to the front door of the house with Lisbon close on his heels.

Entering the house, they went to the living room, which was filled with cops and coroners. Jane's heart stopped when he saw the red smiley face on the wall, and he knew Lisbon's did, too, by the way she let out a small gasp.

It was horrible.

A sobbing mother in the corner, a grieving father with his arms around her shoulders, and a younger sister seated on the sofa, staring blankly at the bloodied body.

Oh, the body.

It was definitely Red John.

"What do we got?" Lisbon whispered hoarsely to one of the local cops.

"Ashlyn McGregor. Sixteen. Seems that she came home from school and was ambushed by Red John," the sheriff explained.

"Where were the parents? And… is that her sister?"

The police officer nodded. "Yes. The parents were working and the younger sister arrived home later than Ashlyn."

Jane took one step closer to the body, his blood running cold. She had red-brown hair, a heart-shaped face, and tan skin. Her eyes were open, and they were a muddy brown. She looked just like Angela. I'm going to get him, Ashlyn, Jane promised the girl silently. I swear to you. I will.

The coroners took Ashlyn's body away and the local officers went to do some investigating, leaving Jane and Lisbon with the grieving family.

"I'm very, truly sorry for your loss," Lisbon said.

"Thank you." Mrs. McGregor sniffed. "She was such an amazing girl. I don't understand why anyone would want to hurt her."

"Red John does many things that are… uncalled for," Jane told her softly.

The husband snorted. "Uncalled for is an understatement."

As Lisbon began her whole question-answer process, Jane got a good look at the sister for the first time. Curly blond hair and blue eyes. She looked nothing like the victim, or the parents. She wasn't crying, nor did she look even grief-stricken.

Hmm…

"Mrs. McGregor, do you mind if we speak to your daughter? Alone?" Jane asked, interrupting Lisbon.

Mrs. McGregor gave the girl a look that really did resemble… anger? Maybe even… hate?

"Trust me. She doesn't care," the girl spoke for the first time. She stood up from the couch and stomped out of the room, leaving Jane and Lisbon confused.

"Ungrateful little brat," Mr. McGregor growled.

Jane scrunched his brows together, but turned and followed Ashlyn McGregor's sister. Uncomfortable with the situation, Lisbon excused herself and followed Jane.

They found the young girl sitting at the table in the dining room, glaring at the wall.

"Hi, sweetheart," Lisbon said gently.

The girl looked up. "Hi."

"I'm sorry to be so demanding. But what the hell was that all about?" Jane asked curtly.

"Jane!" Lisbon scolded him.

"What! I apologized in advance!"

"No, it's fine," said the girl. "Well, the first thing you should know is that I'm not their daughter. Ashlyn is their daughter. I'm in foster care. They, uh, can't stand me."

Jane pulled back, surprised. "Wait, what?"

She sighed. "I jump around foster homes all the time. The McGregors house is only just a stop. My name is Lela Benson."

Jane and Lisbon exchanged a glance.

"Why can't they stand you, Lela?" Lisbon asked awkwardly.

Lela shrugged. "Not sure. All I know is they don't give a damn about me. They keep me around so they get their check every month."

"How old are you?" Jane wondered aloud.

"I'm thirteen." She flushed. "Today is my birthday. They didn't remember, nor do they care."

Lisbon looked at Jane, but Jane stared at Lela.

"What?" the girl asked.

Jane shook his head. "Nothing. Happy birthday."

She smiled. "Thank you. The only birthday wish I actually got today."

Lisbon spoke this time. "Ashlyn didn't wish you happy birthday?"

Lela sighed. "No. She didn't like me either."

"Why would the McGregors take in a foster kid when they already had a daughter, and treat you like shit and the other like a princess?" Jane demanded, almost angrily.

Lisbon gasped. "Jane!"

"No, it's fine. Really," Lela assured her. "I don't have an answer for that. I wish I did, but I don't." She shrugged. "It happens in pretty much every foster home I'm in. The parents treat me like dirt and pamper their own children to the point of annoyance. Because they were angels sent from Heaven, don'tcha know?" she added sarcastically. All of a sudden, she looked at Jane. "What's your personal problem with Red John?"

He tensed, startled. "What?"

"Obviously, everyone hates the guy. He's a sick serial killer. Duh. But you've got something on him more personal than just an irritated cop that has to clean up his messes."

Jane and Lisbon both stared at her.

"What?" she asked uneasily.

"He killed my wife and kidnapped my daughter," he blurted out, and watched shock cross her face.

"Oh," she breathed. "I'm… so sorry…"

He shrugged. "I will find and kill the man who murdered your foster sister," he promised. "I swore to my wife, and my daughter, Ashlyn… and even myself."

Lela nodded slowly. "I don't doubt that. You seem like you have the potential."

Lisbon drew back. "What?"

The girl glanced at her. "Huh?" she asked, obviously startled by Lisbon's surprise.

"What do you mean by 'the potential'?"

Lela Benson peeked at Jane, then back at Lisbon. "Well, isn't it obvious?"

Jane and Lisbon exchanged a glance.

Lela sighed again. "Underneath all of this smart-aleck behavior that annoys the crap out of Miss Lisbon here-" She nodded at Teresa, then looked back to Jane. "-there's pain, even if sometimes you don't let it show. I mean, obviously it's quite understandable if you lost both your wife and daughter, who, judging by the way both of you reacted to hearing my age, she'd be around thirteen, right?"

Jane nodded slowly, dumbfounded.

She went on. "As reserved as you seem, that's a sign that you are silently and carefully plotting your revenge on the bastard that consistently ruins the lives of so many innocent people." She looked back and forth from Jane to Lisbon. "Am I right?"

"Uh-" Lisbon choked out, but Jane interrupted her.

"It was lovely talking to you, Lela, but we really should get going." He stood up from the table. "Come on, Lisbon," he said, never taking his eyes off of Lela.

The girl knitted her brows together. "Um, okay. Bye."

Jane and Lisbon escaped out the front door with quick promises to Mr. and Mrs. McGregor that justice would eventually be served. They walked quickly and silently to the SUV, hands shoved in their pockets. Jane could see Lisbon peering at him, but he pretended not to notice. When they got in the car, Jane sat in his chair and stared forward, but Lisbon turned to him immediately. "Jane."

"What?"

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I doubt it. But I'll let you have your fun. What are you thinking?"

She took a deep breath. "Paternity test."

His eyes widened and he whipped his head to stare in her direction. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Jane! All the signs are there!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"That girl in there could very well be your daughter!"

He snorted and faced forward again.

"Would you just listen to me for a second?" Lisbon exclaimed, bringing on hand to Jane's cheek and forcing him to look at her. "Listen to me! I would not be surprised if her name wasn't really Lela."

"It's not Charlotte."

"What if it was?"

"I'd know if it was."

"Maybe you would, and maybe you wouldn't. Jane, it's been eight years."

"Has it? Ah, thanks for reminding me."

She rolled her eyes. "Think about it, Jane. She's in foster care. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Honestly, if you got a good look at her, practically a spitting image of you. She turned thirteen today and-" Her hand flung out to gesture towards the house. "Did you hear all that crap she was saying? It sounded exactly like you. Exactly like you!" She folded her arms and leaned back. "I'm telling you. She could be your girl."

He huffed. "And what if she isn't?" he demanded. "What if, for some crazy, hypothetical reason, we did get a paternity test. She'd be all excited about maybe having a real father. I'd be all excited about maybe having my little girl again. What if it wasn't a match? Bam. Disappointment. Next thing you know, I'm back to my revenge-craving self and she's back to her own personal hell in those foster homes." He threw his head back against the seat. "Besides, it's betting against all odds. Charlotte's dead. I know she is."

Lisbon stared at him, but suddenly reached forward to touch his hand. He lifted his head up.

"Red John is a sick man," she whispered for the second time that day. "He plays games. Do you really think it's just a coincidence that he randomly killed the foster-sister of a girl who has all the qualities and likeliness of being your daughter?"

"Coincidences do happen, Lisbon."

"Not with Red John, they don't."

Jane glanced back at the house, thinking.

On some level, Lisbon was right. If Jane knew for sure that Charlotte was still out there, Lela Benson would be a good candidate to check out, just to be sure she wasn't his girl. If they did get tested, he'd have to make sure that she didn't know for sure what was going on so she didn't get her hopes up.

"Okay, fine," Jane finally said. "Set up an appointment."

A/N: How did you guys like it? It's kind of a long chapter, I know. I hope you weren't too bored, but thank you very, very much for reading!

It seems like in every fic I write, Jane and Grace have some sort of loving friendship moment. Don't worry! I like them as strictly good friends, nothing more. Jisbon forever!

Tbc?