A/N: Well, this episode wasn't as painful as I thought it would be, but it was still difficult to watch at times. I loved Jane's showdown with Wainwright, though, and the last lip wipe was perfect—it made me laugh. Simon Baker was wonderful. Now, to my tag, which gives me the scene I hope we get next week. If not, well, that's what fanfiction is for, right? Enjoy.

Episode Tag: Red Rover, Red Rover, 4x23

Between dealing with Wainwright's further haranguing of Jane's actions and a personal summons to Bertram's office, it was several hours before Lisbon could make it to Jane's dumpy extended stay motel. As she'd listened to her superiors' repetition of words like law suit and media nightmare, she could do nothing but agree with them. He'd done it this time, and there was really no defense for him, except to say that Red John's tormenting had finally taken its toll. That might obliterate criminal charges, but it was by no means a ticket back to the CBI.

She pounded on the motel door when she didn't get a response from a polite knock. She knew he was there; his car was in the lot.

"Jane! It's me. Open up!"

From somewhere inside, she heard a thump, the rattling of furniture, then the metallic slide of the chain on the door. The moment Jane opened it, she was hit by noxious fumes. She wrinkled her nose and looked at her former consultant, his vest and shirt unbuttoned and hanging open—the same shirt he'd worn for two days.

"Jesus, Jane. It's like a still blew up in a pig sty."

He gave her a watery smile. "Hello to you too, Teresa. Come here to beg me to come back? Sorry, that ship has sailed. As a matter of fact, I'm out of the shipping business altogether." His grin widened at his lame attempt at a joke.

She shook her head in disgust, then muscled her way past him and into the room. It was messy to say the least, littered with empty liquor bottles and a bed whose covers and top sheet lay in a heap on the floor. He was still standing by the open door, face haggard, eyes bloodshot, his beautiful hair matted or sticking up in places. He was a stinking mess.

"You didn't have to do this, you know. You could have taken your well-deserved suspension, the mandatory psyche evaluation, and come back after some much needed rest. Why'd you have to push Wainwright like that?"

"I felt it was my duty to toughen him up a bit. I bet he's never been challenged like that in his life, not without Mommy there to protect him. Did the whelp some good, I'd say."

"You bullied and mortified a superior in front of his team. He's been very fair with you, very lenient and even helpful with some of your hair-brained schemes. He didn't deserve that, and you know it."

"Meh," he said, pushing the door closed. "He's been corrupted by power just like all the rest of the muckety mucks. Bertram. La Roche…Darcy."

"Darcy? What's she got to do with this?" She watched him stand, starting to tilt a little to one side. She moved quickly back to him, helping him into a chair before he fell down. She sat on the edge of the stripped bed.

"She got to him, I'm sure of it," he told her. "Last couple of months, well, let's just say he doesn't look at me with the same kind of love and affection as he used to. The bloom has clearly gone off the rose." He reached for the table and a half-empty bottle of bourbon.

"Well, if it hadn't before, it certainly has now. And I don't blame him, Jane. You were a real asshole back there."

Jane shrugged, taking a healthy swig. "You've always known that about me, Lisbon. What's the difference now?"

She regarded him a moment, sadly, feeling tears forming behind her eyes. She blinked rapidly. She needed to be strong for him in order to deal out the tough love, and he'd probably be oblivious to her tears at this point anyway.

"The difference is, even when I've seen you at your worst before, I could always still see you. This"—she gestured to him helplessly—"This isn't you anymore. This is…an alien possession."

He chuckled. "That's as good a theory as any, Lisbon. Go with that if it makes you feel better." He toasted her with his bottle, and promptly took another swig.

"Nothing's going to make me feel better until you sober up and stop hiding in the bottom of a bottle. My father did it for years to escape facing my mother's death."

She saw a flicker of guilt pass his features, but it was quickly covered up by another drink of booze. The look was so fleeting, she might have imagined it, but she hoped not. That would mean the alien didn't have complete control yet. She changed tactics, decided to appeal to his guilt from another angle. She wasn't opposed to manipulation if she had to. Jane had certainly taught her the importance of that in getting someone to act.

"I don't get this, Jane. Why give up now? Red John has done many things worse than this to you since you joined the CBI. Hell, he didn't even kill anyone this time. So now you're leaving? You think this will make him stop? What happens when he kills again? You've burned all the files, what are we gonna do when we need to cross-reference a new case against-?"

"Nice try, Lisbon. Really. But I'm on to you. You have copies of every one of those files in the third drawer of your filing cabinet. As for me, I could recite each one by heart. All here in the good old memory palace." He tapped his temple with his free hand.

"Yeah, but that so-called memory palace has been recently displaced by a liquor store."

He laughed in genuine amusement.

"Look," she reasoned, standing up to go to him. She squatted before him like she would a child, looking up into his bleary eyes. "Take some time. Everyone knows how crazy you get when Red John rears his demented head. You come back and apologize to Wainwright, say you'll get counseling. Say you were under extreme duress because of the anniversary. Say whatever it takes, and I'll back you up."

"Aw, Teresa," he said, reaching out a hand to put a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You are sweet, truly. You said once I would end up getting you fired. Look on the bright side—I've trumped you and got myself sacked. Now your job will be secure, and without me there to screw it up, you'll probably have Wainwright's job in no time."

"I don't want his freakin' job, Jane! I want you back on my team, back on my couch, back making my life miserable."

"Isn't that what I'm still doing?"

"Yes, but it's not quite as fun as it usually is."

Her pout was so adorable, that Jane had an overwhelming urge to kiss it. His hand shook as he brought the bottle again to his own lips, and he closed his eyes tightly. It had to be the alcohol making him think such outrageous things. Or maybe it was aliens. She felt her warm hand stay his wrist, pulling the bottle down from his mouth.

"Please, Jane," she breathed, her green eyes imploring. "I am begging you now. Not just for the CBI; for me. For all the times I stood by you and bailed you out, you owe it to me to stick this out until the bitter end."

He stared at her a moment, swallowed the burning liquor, and almost gave in. His expression softened, and she saw the unvarnished affection there. Her heart leapt with hope, but then the shades fell again, and his eyes went blank.

"Pulling out the big guns, eh, Agent Lisbon? I'm sorry, but I'm pretty sure I've burned my bridges now with the CBI. I'll find something else to do, don't you worry. And I'm confident that if my old nemesis should come calling, you'll work with Darcy and find all the same old dead end leads that we always did. Or who knows? Maybe without me in the picture, he'll make a mistake and you'll finally get him. If you'd drop me a line when that happens, I'd appreciate it. Despite my moving on, some closure would be nice."

"Jane—"

He shocked both of them by leaning forward and kissing her softly on the forehead.

"Thank you, Lisbon. For all that you've done for me. I know it's not been easy, but we've had some laughs along the way, haven't we? I will miss really miss that."

"Jane—" she began again, but he was setting down his bottle and rising shakily to his feet.

"I think you should go now, Lisbon. I'm feeling rather…worn out." Understatement of the year.

She stared at him in disbelief. Was he really doing this to her? To himself? Impulsively, she threw her arms around him, holding him as tightly as her petite frame could manage. For a moment, he stood there, arms hanging limply at his sides. But as her hold tightened, he finally hugged her back, and she could feel the genuine emotion in his embrace. He smelled of spirits and alcoholic sweat, but she buried her face in his bare chest like it was heaven.

"You'll be all right without me. You and the team have shown on more than one occasion that you can solve cases quite well on your own. Maybe not as quickly, but you'll manage," he said with a hint of his familiar ego. "It's time for you to move on too, Teresa. Don't be afraid; I'm not, really."

She moved out of his arms reluctantly, and she wiped angrily at her eyes, betraying her despite her strong intentions.

"Look, this isn't good-bye," he continued. "I'll come in tomorrow to get my stuff, if Wainwright will call off the guard dogs for five minutes, that is."

"You will?" she asked. He could see her mind working. She was thinking if he sobered up a little, had a good night's sleep, when he came back to HQ she'd have one more shot at reasoning with him.

He grinned softly. She was like an open book.

"Yes, I'll drag myself in, I promise."

She looked deeply into his eyes, trying to see past the drunken haze to determine if he was telling the truth.

"Okay," she nodded, satisfied. "I'll go for now. But I want you to get something to eat, all right? Take a shower. Sleep it off. Swear you will, and I'll stop bugging you."

"Cross my heart, Lisbon," he said with a quirk of his lips, going through the childish motion with his index finger. He moved to open the door for her.

"I'll be fine," he told her, noting still the concerned expression on her face. She reached for the doorknob and took off the Do Not Disturb sign.

"And let the maid clean up in here. I can't tell whether it's you or the room that stinks more."

"You're always looking out for me," he said, and he meant for more than just the hygiene directions.

"That doesn't have to change," she tried one last time.

"Good-night," he grinned, and shut the door between them.

He could feel her standing there on the other side, and he knew she was tempted to stake out his room in her car all night. But she must have thought better of it—at least for now—and he heard her car drive away a few minutes later.

He leaned his forehead against the door tiredly. This was going to be harder than he thought. Certainly more painful. She rarely cried, and it killed him to see how his actions were hurting her. He always tried the best he could to avoid that, whether she believed that about him or not. He knew in his heart it was for the best though. Despite their recent closeness, their new policy of glasnost, for her protection, he couldn't allow her in the loop. At least, not yet.

He had to make this totally believable, even if it meant dealing with the constant hangovers and dirty clothes. Red John had eyes everywhere, and should the murderer even have an inkling that his actions weren't real, his retribution could rival anything else he'd done before. It was a risk to try to pull one over on him in this way, but it was the only thing he had never tried before—giving up.

Jane suspected that if Red John truly believed he had thrown in the towel, there could be one of two reactions. One could be that he could kill again to get Jane's attention, to get him back in the game. Or another—maybe he would finally give up too. No opponent meant no game at all. He strongly suspected it would be the former, however, so he would lure him away from Lisbon and everyone else he cared about, just in case. He might also lure him into making contact again. This was definitely dangerous either way, but he had to try. He hated what this was doing to Lisbon, but he hoped that one day, after he'd killed Red John, or when the murders of innocents stopped completely, she would see what he'd done and forgive him.

Hopefully, then he'd be able to forgive himself and truly move on at last.

A/N: So there it is: my theory of what Jane's really doing in a nutshell. I suspected this would be a long con, and he was leaving Lisbon out of the loop, but it was confirmed it for me when I saw the name on the Red John file he was looking at—James Panzer. That was the first time Jane had been able to really manipulate and play Red John. I think that up until that point, the despair and drinking had been real. Afterwards, you'll note that when he announced he was giving up, Wainwright was in the room. Of course, he would report back to Darcy—that would succeed in getting the FBI off his back so he could be free from both agencies to close his long con. At least, I hope this is what's going to happen.

Another thing that hints this to me is in the title, "Red Rover, Red Rover." If any of you ever played that game, it's all about challenging someone to try to break through your stronghold. If they can't, they join your team. Saying "Red Rover" is a call, a challenge. Who is challenging whom here? I'm not sure. There are hints in the previews that Jane talks of going over to Red John's side. All a ruse, in my opinion. We'll just have to wait and see.

Maybe the writers will surprise us and we'll get that motel scene next week. Wouldn't that be nice? I'm certainly glad the big spoiler we were all fearing didn't come to pass, but I guess there is still next week…

Hope you enjoyed this tag! See you next tag, or next chapter of "Goldilocks and the Red Wizard."