Beyond the Rainbow
by halleycat77

The afternoon sun slanted in the large windows of the FBI's Austin offices, and Patrick Jane was bored. That morning, Abbott had sent Lisbon and Fischer to tell Madison Price's next-of-kin the results of their investigation, including the unenviable job of explaining exactly why Madison had lied to her baby sister about what she did for a living. Not an easy conversation, but even so, they'd been gone for hours. Jane was more than ready for Lisbon to come back. He needed to figure out what was going on with her today.

They'd had such fun yesterday at the Foragers' Club. It was like old times, the two of them together, working in perfect synch. And Lisbon had seemed to love doing their hastily-put-together magic show as much as he had. For those few hours, he'd been completely happy. They were partners again, and all was right with his world.

Then they came back to Austin, and she'd gone out with Agent Perfect Pike again last night. At least this time they hadn't slept together, he was relieved to learn, when he'd managed to get close enough to check her scent this morning. Last time, when he'd realized she smelled like Pike, he hadn't been able to stop himself getting snarky. He'd tried to make himself regret embarrassing her in front of Fischer with the whole helicopter thing, but couldn't quite do it. She'd kind of deserved it, flaunting Pike-smell at him. She knew he'd notice. Besides, they got to ride in the helicopter. Who could regret that?

But today she'd been avoiding him. Hadn't met his eyes once. Had even seemed relieved when Abbott sent her out on her unpleasant assignment. He was pretty sure he hadn't done anything new to upset her, and if she hadn't had sex with Pike again, she wasn't feeling uncomfortable about that. So what was wrong? He needed to know.

Jane sat up on his couch and looked around the bullpen. A number of people were working, but none of them were Lisbon, so he found nothing to interest him. He was tired of trying to read, and his attempts at napping had failed, because all he could do with his eyes closed was listen for her footsteps. What was taking her so long?

He sighed and got up. When all else failed, there was always tea. He moseyed in the direction of the break room to make some. At least it was something to do.

Unfortunately, as he was crossing the room, who should turn up but Bad-Penny Pike. Pike saw Lisbon's empty desk and stopped with an expression of disappointment, then looked at Jane with one of his irritatingly guileless and friendly smiles.

Part of Jane really, really wanted to hate the guy, but he couldn't let himself, for Lisbon's sake. Pike was undeniably decent, also honest, straightforward, and dependable, all those Boy Scout virtues Lisbon deserved. If Pike was what she really wanted, Jane would not get in the way. Or try very hard not to, anyway. And if there was a little voice in the back of his head whispering that Lisbon would inevitably get tired of all that boring predictability, he tried not to listen. Much.

So he returned Pike's greeting with a smile, which the other man was too oblivious to realize was fake. Some detective, the little voice noted. Jane ignored it, and said to Pike, "Lisbon's out winding up some loose ends from our last case. Don't know when she'll be back. You could leave her a note." It was true, just leaving out the part where he was hoping she'd be back any minute. He was only being considerate, he thought, saving the agent from wasting his time hanging around the bullpen waiting for her. Surely he had art thieves to catch or something.

"Well, I was really hoping to talk to her," Pike said. He seemed tense, Jane realized, anxious. Anticipatory, maybe. Something was up. The same thing that caused Lisbon's odd behavior? Jane felt his own nerves tighten. He was getting a bad feeling about this.

The art-squad agent hesitated for a moment, then said, "Okay, I'll leave her a note and ask her to call me. If you see her, make sure she gets it?"

"Of course," Jane said, smiling an even phonier smile as he turned to continue on his way to the break room, leaving Pike to write his note at Lisbon's desk.

The open-plan, all-glass-walled office space had very few places where a person could get away from prying eyes, but the break room had some actual solid wall-walls. Jane leaned his shoulders against one of them just inside the door, grateful for a place to take refuge while he tried to calm the swirl of speculation and anxiety in his mind. He needed to know what was going on with Lisbon, but now he was afraid that whatever it was, it was much worse than he'd thought.

Someone spoke out in the hallway, and Jane reflexively drew further away from the door, not wanting to be seen. The conversation outside, however, remained catastrophically clear.

"Hey, Pike, how's it goin'?" The voice sounded like Agent Kinzie from Organized Crime.

"Fine, good," Pike replied.

"Better than good, from what I hear. Really plum promotion. Congratulations, man! And in DC, no less. Lucky guy. You're heading for the big time."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Whaddya mean maybe? You'd be totally nuts to turn down an offer like that!"

"Well, I'm with somebody now, and I need to see what she says. There's more to life than the FBI, you know, and I don't really want to go without her. It's a big decision, and she needs a little time to think about it, but I think she'll say yes."

The voices continued, heading toward the elevator, but all Jane heard was the buzzing in his head.

When Lisbon and Fischer got back to the office, it was almost six o'clock. Fischer went to her desk to file reports, while Lisbon went to hers to get ready to go home. Not being responsible for all the paperwork was the absolute best part of no longer being the boss, she thought, trying not to let Fischer see her smile.

Surprisingly, there was no Jane in sight. She'd expected him to be waiting, ready to pounce, since it was obvious this morning that he knew something was going on with her, and of course prying out secrets was a compulsion with him. In this case, if he could figure it out, he was way ahead of her. She had no clue what she was going to do.

There was a note propped on the keyboard on her desk. For a moment she thought it was from Jane, and her traitorous heart skipped a beat, then sank when she realized it was from Marcus. Sorry I missed seeing you. Hope you're having a good day. Call me when you get a chance? Marcus

He didn't actually ask, but she still felt a flare of last night's panic. She wouldn't be able to put off answering for long. He'd need to tell the FBI something definite about the job offer very soon. Not right this minute, though. She could have another day, surely.

She pulled out her phone and took a deep breath before dialing his number, then kept the call brief, telling him she'd had a rough day and just wanted to go home, and she'd see him tomorrow. All true, as far as it went. He was obviously disappointed, but he was nice about it.

He was nice about everything, that's what made it all so hard. Saying no to him was like kicking a puppy. Last night, when he'd looked at her with the big brown eyes and the imploring expression, she just hadn't been able to get the words out.

Why couldn't he be like a normal man, a normal agent, caring more about his career than anything else? Why'd he have to offer to throw away a great opportunity for her? Why couldn't she be like a normal woman? Shouldn't she find that romantic? All for love, and the world well lost, and all that malarkey. Some people would be swept off their feet, not feel like he was making an unreasonable demand. Why wasn't she happy that he thought she was more important than his job?

Lisbon sighed. Soul-searching was better done in private. She picked up her bag, ready to leave, before turning to look at Jane's empty couch for a moment, torn between relief at not having to face his curiosity and something like hurt. Apparently her secrets were not as interesting to him as she'd thought. Well, that should make things easier, shouldn't it? She straightened her shoulders, said good night to Fischer, and marched out, going home to fight her way to a decision, wishing she didn't feel like, whatever she decided, she would lose.

By about his third drink, the comforting numbness began to muffle the chaotic noise in his head and ease the constriction in his chest. With the fourth, Jane blinked, discovering that he was sitting at the table in his Airstream. Vaguely, he wondered how he got there, but couldn't quite remember. He thought he must have stopped at a liquor store on the way, because there seemed to be more bottles on the table than he remembered having before. Good for him. He was gonna need them. The endlessly-repeating words in his head were still way too clear, and the pain they caused too sharp. "DC... I think she'll say yes..." He knew from experience that it would take a lot more alcohol to blot them out.

At the moment, he was in the unpleasant in-between phase, where the edge was off the shock enough for his mind to start working again, but his emotional control was starting to slip. He refilled his glass, wanting to get to the passing-out phase as rapidly as possible, so he could just stop thinking. It wasn't easy with his brain. His damned, convoluted, screwed-up brain. His world was ending for, what, the third time? And it was completely his own fault, again, just like the other times. If he was so smart, why couldn't he stop ruining every good thing he ever had?

He'd destroyed his family with his arrogance, his stubbornness, his inability to stop lying, stop pushing the con just as far as he could, even when Angela had begged him to. If he'd just listened to her, if he'd just been different, Red John would never have noticed him, noticed them, and they'd have been safe.

And why didn't he listen? He'd known she was right, agreed with her when they first left the carnival that they didn't want to lie and cheat any more. He drained his glass and poured another, because he knew why, had always known. He was afraid. Afraid that if he tried to play it straight in the "real" world, he would fail, afraid that the only thing he knew how to do was con, that he wasn't good enough to do anything else. He was a coward. And he'd been too ashamed to admit it, even to Angela.

He could have saved them. But he'd failed, because he couldn't change his nature, couldn't be brave, couldn't be better, even for the people he loved most.

Something wet dripped onto his wrist on the table. He reached up and found tears on his face. Oh great. He hated this part, the totally maudlin phase of getting drunk, when he could still feel, but not control what he felt, or change the direction of his thoughts. Well, if he was going to torture himself cataloguing his sins, he might as well go the whole way, now that he had a new catastrophic failure to add to the list.

Lisbon. He was losing her, again. This time would be forever, no pardons, no more chances. The thought was unbearable. She was his reason for going on.

When his world ended the first time, he'd wanted to die. Failed at that, too, he jeered at himself. He woke up in the mental hospital. That was a bad time. He'd only been able to pull himself out of it when he'd recovered enough to start feeling the anger in addition to the guilt, and found a mission, a purpose for his life. He had to find Red John and kill him, and then he could die.

It seemed so simple.

There was no need any more to fight his own worse nature, He could just let the darkness and the rage consume him until he found his enemy, the rightful target for his hatred. As long as he could put up enough of a veneer of sanity and civilization to fool people, no one would stop him. And he was very, very good at fooling people. Easy-peasy.

Hah. In one of those viciously ironic twists the universe seemed to love to throw at him, his own murderous quest led him directly to the one thing he never expected, never wanted. A light in the darkness. A glimmer of hope. A glimpse of beauty, life, caring. All the things he'd given up on. Wrapped up in one small, fierce, stubborn, demanding, impatient, beautiful package. Agent Teresa Lisbon. The one person who wasn't fooled, who saw him. Saw more in him, even, than he did himself.

Jane felt more tears running down his face, and poured himself another whiskey.

Lisbon wouldn't accept that he was dead inside, that the only thing he could care about was Red John's blood. By sheer stubbornness she found, or created, a spark in him, fed it, nurtured it, dragged it kicking and screaming into the light of day. Dragged him back to life, to something resembling sanity. And even more incredibly, she made him love her for it.

But even then, even when part of him desperately wanted to change for her, to become the man she imagined she saw when she looked at him, he couldn't do it. He couldn't let go of his quest, couldn't stop being who he was. He ended his own world for the second time when he went through with it, committed cold-blooded murder, abandoned her just as her own world was falling apart around her. How many times had he promised he would always be there for her?

A strange sound startled him. He realized he was laughing. Or maybe crying. Something was wrong with this whiskey. How much more did he have to drink before it stopped hurting?

There was only one thing Jane had been able to do for her that day, that horrible day when everything ended, and he would never tell her. He had given up half of his mission. When he felt McAllister die under his left hand, he'd intended to finish it, the gun ready in his right. It was fitting. And it was what he'd promised himself from the very beginning, that he could give up, find the only kind of peace available to him, as soon as Red John was dead. But when he looked at the gun, all he could think of was how Lisbon would feel, how it would hurt her to know he had given up, and thrown away everything she had tried to do for him. He'd let her down in so many ways. He couldn't do that. "I think you'd choose life," she'd said to him once, years ago, and in the end he had. He'd been able to change that much, for her.

A drop in the ocean, he thought contemptuously. And what difference did it make? He had never stopped being a lying, manipulative con-man, and then he'd deliberately chosen to make himself a murderer. There was never going to be a happy ending for him.

Jane tried to pour another drink, but nothing happened. He blinked at the bottle for a minute before realizing it was empty. He reached for another, almost knocking it over before getting a grip. Huh. Maybe he was getting a little bit drunk. Finally. He managed to open the bottle and pour, only spilling a little onto the table. He drank, letting the burn draw him back into his bitter thoughts.

He'd thought the two years in exile might have changed him, at least a little. Maybe worn down some of his sharp edges, softened him a bit. But all that had softened was his head. What was he thinking, coming back like that? He'd acted on impulse, yet another flaw that hadn't changed in the least, succumbed to temptation, the irresistible lure of seeing Lisbon again.

Their first meeting was pure joy. He'd been flying so high, he hadn't even minded being locked up. He'd been able to endure the months in isolation, being certain that he'd have her back when he got out. And there she was, seeming just as happy to be with him. He'd had so many hopeful fantasies of a new start with her, of things being different, of himself being different, the better man she always wanted him to be. Of maybe even finding the courage to express some of the feelings he'd had to bury while Red John was still a threat.

But then what had he actually done? Been too much of a coward to tell her how he felt, fallen right back into his old patterns, taken her loyalty and patience for granted. When she forcefully pointed this out on that memorable plane trip, the realization of his own selfishness had felt like a punch in the stomach. He really hadn't been thinking of her. She needed him to be different, and he hadn't changed at all.

For a while, he still hoped that if he really tried, he could do better. They were beginning to feel their way toward a new balance as partners, friends, and if he could prove to Lisbon that she could trust him now, maybe much more.

But then, then -

A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he folded his arms on the table and laid his head down. He heard a sound like a sob, and wondered vaguely who was crying. It must be someone who knew about the black pit that had suddenly opened up and swallowed him, proving once and for all that nothing would ever change, that there was no hope for him.

Stupidly, he had let himself believe that with Red John gone, his curse had lifted, that nobody else would die because of him. He was so wrong, so disastrously wrong. With his same old manipulative arrogance, he suggested that they involve JJ Laroche in the Ardiles murder investigation. And Laroche died. The blood of yet another friend was on his hands. The shock and the weight of new guilt dragged him right back into the old nightmare.

Then Van Pelt was taken, sweet Grace. He'd been almost as terrified as Rigsby, who'd been so desperate to get her back he'd have gone along with any plan Jane could come up with. And Jane's plan got him shot. Jane had been so certain that Rigsby was dead. And Grace would be joining him very soon.

Once again, his family, the people he loved, were dying because of his failure. The pain was intolerable, much worse than anything Haibach could have done to him with that hatchet. When Rigsby appeared, bloody but alive, it felt like a miracle even to Jane. They were saved, but no thanks to him. It was all just too much. He'd wanted to weep hysterically. All he could do was lie in the snow and breathe.

It was supposed to be over, the horror, the fear, the guilt. But it would never be over. It wasn't Red John, it was him. Anybody who got close to him suffered. Clearly, that would never change.

He sniffed, and wiped his face on his sleeve. For a brief moment, the haze of alcohol cleared enough for him to remember that he had a bed, and that it would be a better place to pass out. He pushed himself up, catching himself on the table when he almost fell, and made his unsteady way to the bedroom in the back of the Airstream, managing to shed his jacket and one shoe on the way. There seemed to be more than one bed to his blurry eyes, so he picked one at random to fall on, landing on softness.

He buried his face in the pillow, reaching eagerly for painless oblivion, but his stubborn brain couldn't quite let go of the worst hurt.

"DC... I think she'll say yes..."

She should go. She should be far away from the Jane curse. Pike would treat her well. Pike would never lie to her, never manipulate her, never abandon her, never drag her down into darkness. Pike wasn't a screwed-up mess. She was better off with him.

Because there was one thing Patrick Jane had learned. He loved Teresa Lisbon with all that remained of his heart. Her happiness was the only thing that mattered, even if losing her destroyed him. It was only what he deserved, after all.

The elevator doors opened and Lisbon walked out into the hall of the CBI, her home for so many years, feeling happy. It was a beautiful day, and she'd gotten all the lights green on the way in. Her team would be waiting in the bullpen, and in a little while Jane would turn up with a cup of coffee fixed just the way she liked it, and a pastry from Marie's. She wasn't sure what kind she wanted this morning, but Jane would know. He always did.

She cut through the break room, smiling at colleagues as she passed, heading for Van Pelt's desk to get an update on their current case. Everything was fine, just a normal day. Then she saw it, the bloody smiling face on the glass, and she knew.

No, no, no. It was happening again, just like all the other times, and she couldn't stop it, couldn't change anything, not even her own actions. She walked forward and saw more painted faces, then the blood, the knives, the bodies. Van Pelt, Cho, Rigsby, lying dead, mutilated. Then last, always last, she saw Jane, his hand outstretched, drenched in blood. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the room was empty, the bodies, the furniture, all gone. Only Jane's blue teacup lying smashed on the floor. Everything she cared about, lost forever.

She jerked awake with a gasp that was closer to a sob, her eyes opening for real this time. She saw only darkness, and took a moment to remember where she was. Right, her bedroom, in her house, in Austin. She sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face, and then turned on the bedside light and ran through her usual mantra. Everything was okay. The CBI was gone, but her people, her family, were all safe. Red John was dead. The real nightmare was over. It was just the damned dream again.

She'd had variants of the same horrible dream for the best part of three years, all through the last phase of the hunt for Red John and the unspeakable aftermath, and continuing during the time she'd spent in Washington. At first it featured the Red John suspects, all with bloody knives. Then, after they'd found out about the Blake Association and how unimaginably deep the corruption had gone, the horror had been colleagues, friends, people she'd worked with for years, morphing into monsters, wild beasts with fangs, turning on her, tearing her and her teammates to shreds. The later versions were different sometimes, the scene shifting to the park where Red John had died, only in the nightmare it was Jane lying dead on the ground.

She almost always woke up crying, and the waking up was bad too, because she was alone. She was never able to forget the first time she'd had the dream, the night after Red John had taken her and then let her go. It had been terrifying, but that time, she woke to find Jane holding her hand, stroking her hair, telling her she was safe. His touch, his voice, his presence were so soothing, she'd truly felt safe. Every time since, when she woke up and realized he wasn't there, that loss hurt more than the nightmare knives.

She lay back down, curling onto her side, feeling that same pain again. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Why couldn't she stop wanting Jane? It was crazy.

She looked at the clock. It was 3 am. After not sleeping much the night before, following Marcus' little bombshell, and lying awake for hours tonight wrestling with the problem of what to do about it, she'd dropped into an uneasy sleep and promptly found herself stuck in the old Red John nightmare. It occurred to her to wonder why. Why now?

Thinking about it, she realized that this was the first time she'd had the dream in quite a while. In fact, she didn't remember having it at all since she'd been in Austin, When had it stopped? She tried to think back. The nightmares all blurred together, but it seemed like the last time was a few months before she left Washington, two or three months maybe... Oh. That was when the FBI first called her to Austin. When Jane came back.

Of course, he'd promptly gotten himself thrown into detention, but she'd known where he was, that he was safe, that he was home. That was enough for her subconscious, apparently. She sighed and shook her head at herself. Just being in the same country with the man was enough to stop her nightmares. How could she still be so affected by him, when she got so little in return?

Lisbon rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, and let herself think about Jane.

She'd known for years that he had some kind of feelings for her. He'd clung to her, leaned on her, practically from the first time they met. She was his only friend. He trusted her more than anyone else, not that that was saying much, and he sometimes told her things she knew he would never tell anyone else. She'd seen him change a little over the years and flattered herself that it was her influence. For a while, towards the end of the Red John hunt, it felt like they had finally achieved a real partnership, that he was including her in his plans, that he really cared about what she thought, what she wanted. That morning in the hospital, when he'd stayed with her all night, when he touched her, she really felt... loved. And that time on the cliff-top, the way he looked at her, the way he held her, she'd truly believed that he cared for her the same way she cared for him. For about two minutes. Until he dumped her by the side of the road.

Of course, she figured out why he'd done it. He truly thought he was going to die when he faced Red John and wanted to protect her by keeping her away. And she had to admit, he was right. If she'd been at his house that night, she'd be dead, killed in the explosion. But he had used her feelings, maybe even his own, to deceive her, and knowing why didn't make it hurt any less or take away the feeling of betrayal.

In the end, whatever he'd felt for her, whatever her influence might have been, it wasn't enough to divert him from his purpose. He'd told her all along that he intended to murder Red John, he'd never lied to her about that. He'd chosen the path to self-destruction before he ever met her, and nothing she had to offer was enough to change his mind.

Lisbon could only be grateful that he hadn't actually died, that last day, as she was pretty sure he'd expected, even intended. Knowing he was alive and free was some comfort to her during the awful, chaotic months that followed. But she missed him fiercely, and knowing she would probably never see him again was a constant ache. Then his letters started arriving, and she was overjoyed to know that he hadn't forgotten her, that he missed her too.

When she found herself coming home early to check the mail and re-reading each letter obsessively, she began to realize she was craving them, the little pieces of Jane, like an addict craved a fix. It wasn't healthy. There was no future in it. They both needed to let go. But she had no way to tell him that, and the letters kept coming, becoming ever more affectionate, and she kept reading them and wanting more. Wanting him.

That was the thing that was driving her crazy. She'd wanted him, and she got him. Miracle of miracles, he came back. What she didn't get was more. When he first got back, there was such joy in his eyes every time he looked at her, she thought that things had finally changed. He was free now. They could move on together. Only all he seemed to want was for everything to go back to the way it was before. That wasn't good enough for her. She wasn't going to put up with being taken for granted any more, and she told him so.

He'd seemed genuinely shocked, even chastened, and, most astonishingly of all, admitted she was right. For a while after that, she could see that he was really trying to improve, at least in their working relationship, but old habits died hard. She didn't hesitate to point out when he messed up, and it felt like their old comfortable bickering. She had her Jane back, her best friend, and that was good. Even better, sometimes she saw a look in his eyes, an intense look that said he wanted more, and that was enough to renew her hope. After all these years he was finally healing, making progress, freeing himself from the emotional limbo he'd been stuck in for so long. She could be patient as long as she knew they were finding their way together.

But then, then -

In one moment, all his fragile recovery was wiped out. And she'd been the one who had to tell him. JJ Laroche was dead. She knew Jane would blame himself, guilt was practically his middle name, but the devastation in his eyes was terrible. And it only got worse. The change in him was painful to watch. All his sparkle was gone, the heart-stopping smile disappeared, even his speech was softer and slower. Seeing him hurting again tore her heart out. Still, she thought if only he would let her help him, they could get through it. Until the next blow fell, much too soon.

There were only four people left in this world that Jane loved, and he would do anything to protect them. He concocted an insanely dangerous plan to save Van Pelt, involving Rigsby because he knew there was no way to keep him out, but leaving her and Cho completely in the dark. Just like the old days, he made a unilateral decision to protect the two of them, both from Haibach and from having their careers blown out from under them a second time. The whole thing was so nearly a total disaster, all three of them should have been dead. Only Rigsby's strength and a miracle from Heaven saved them. Jane knew that, and he took it hard. He'd seen Rigsby shot, thought he and Grace were about to die, and hadn't been able to save anyone.

Lisbon knew what that would do to him, and moderated her own fear-induced anger into the form of one of her old familiar scoldings. He'd played along, but one thing he said stood out. "You have no idea how I feel." Once the initial relief that they were all alive had faded, he had proceeded to make sure that that was true. He'd withdrawn completely, barely spoke to her. She could see the guilt and depression eating him up, but every time she tried to help, he shut her out. It killed her to see him like that. There was a time when he would reach out to her when he was hurting the worst, if only to hold her hand in silence, but not now. All their hard-won trust was just gone, and that hurt her most of all.

Giving up on him seemed unimaginable, but what could she do? Once he made up his mind to something, she'd never been able to change it. Now it appeared he'd decided to suffer alone. How long would she have the strength to watch that, when she wasn't allowed to even try to help? When he seemed to have given up on any future for them?

She'd been miserable, lonely, and on the verge of despair when Marcus appeared in her life. An attractive man offering her uncomplicated admiration was appealing, and a total contrast to the unsolvable puzzle that was Patrick Jane. It was a relief to have a little break from bashing her head against Jane's stone wall. And if one small part of her brain remembered Jane's reaction, months ago, to her teasing about going on a date with Ardiles, was it so bad of her to wonder if provoking a little jealousy might knock him out of his funk? Neither of them could continue the way they were. Drastic action seemed called for. As long as things with Marcus stayed casual, she could tell herself she wasn't really hurting anybody.

How had it all spiralled out of control so fast? She'd only been seeing Marcus a couple of months. Jane had actually started to improve a little, at least at work. He still wasn't talking to her about anything personal, but they were working together more. He seemed comfortable with her, and even a little more cheerful. He clearly enjoyed their magic act at that club yesterday, and she'd been so glad to see him smile again, she'd been happy to play along as his assistant.

She'd missed that so much, their easy understanding that went beyond words. He still knew her better than anyone else, better than anyone ever had. And she knew him. She could tell that knowing she was dating Marcus was bothering him, but he steadfastly refused to say anything beyond "have a good time." And that she looked beautiful. The jerk.

Now suddenly Marcus wanted her to move across the country with him. Her first reaction to his proposal had been panic. It felt like he was going way too fast, expecting too much. He wanted a serious relationship. With her. Which shows all he knows about me, she thought darkly. But why shouldn't she have that? All those years she spent thinking about her job, and then about Jane. Wasn't it time she had more? Didn't she deserve a life?

She'd spent half the night considering pros and cons, trying to make a rational decision. A good, kind, honest, decent man was offering her love and devotion, stability, a home, maybe a family. A sensible woman would take that in a heartbeat. Why shouldn't she? The alternative was staying in Texas, with a reasonably satisfying job and a few friends. And Jane. All Jane was offering was heartache and frustration. And the real possibility of watching him self-destruct, which was more than she could bear. Wasn't leaving better than that?

She didn't love Marcus, but surely she could learn to. He was loveable. So what if the slightest brush of his fingers didn't make her tingle, if the sound of his voice didn't make her heart skip a beat, if she didn't want to spend hours staring at his eyelashes, if she didn't have an almost irresistible compulsion to run her fingers through his hair? That was just pheromones or something, and not a solid basis for a relationship. Other things were more important, like openness and reliability. Weren't they?

She flung herself over in bed, looking at the clock. Now it was after four, and she didn't feel any nearer a decision. On the one hand, affection, dependability, a normal life, everything a sane person could possibly want. On the other, a heartbreakingly beautiful man who needed her, but was probably too damaged to ever let himself love her back. It would feel like ripping her own heart out to leave him, but the way things had been, he would rip it out for her if she stayed. Simple self-preservation should tell her to grab Marcus and run.

Lisbon turned off the light and pulled the pillow over her head, wishing she could block out her misery. It would be a long day at work after so little sleep. She remembered her nightmare with a shudder. If the dream had stopped when Jane came home, had it come back now because she was considering leaving him? That was a scary thought. Sorry, Marcus, I can't go with you because I'll have bad dreams. Imagining that conversation, she drifted into a restless sleep.

Lisbon's alarm went off way too soon. She groaned, and dragged herself into the bathroom to get ready for work, wincing when she looked in the mirror. No amount of hot water or makeup was going to hide the fact that she had barely slept. She did what she could, then dried her hair and dressed slowly, yawning while she waited for the coffeemaker.

Her phone rang. It was Abbott. "Morning, Agent Lisbon. Do you have any idea where Jane is?" His tone made it clear he was not happy.

Startled, she tried to get her brain started. "Uh, no sir. I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. Is something wrong?"

"It appears that he left early yesterday without bothering to inform anyone. Another team requested his help with a witness who's having memory problems, but I couldn't reach him. He's still not answering his phone or his texts. Maybe you'll have better luck. He seems to respond best to you. Please find him and tell him to get his ass in to the office, now."

"Yes sir. I'll do my best." She hung up and dialed Jane. It went to voice-mail. She left a message, then texted, Where are you? Please call me. Not waiting for a reply, she hurriedly buttoned her blouse, grabbed her coffee and her bag, and rushed out.

On the way to the trailer park where Jane had parked his Airstream, Lisbon tried not to panic. It was probably just Jane being Jane. Office hours had never meant anything to him. They didn't have a case to get him into trouble. He'd probably just gotten distracted. Or maybe he forgot to charge his phone, though that was the one technological thing he was pretty good about. During the Red John era, he'd learned never to be without his phone.

A flash of red from a billboard caught her eye, reminding her of her nightmare, Jane lying dead, covered in blood. She shook her head, rejecting the image. He's fine. Of course he's fine. But he still hadn't texted her back. The instant the light changed, she accelerated, ignoring the speed limit the rest of the way.

Everything was quiet at his trailer. The curtains were partly drawn, and lights seemed to be on inside, but she couldn't see or hear him moving around. She knocked on the door, then called his name. Nothing. She remembered that he'd given her a key when he first got the trailer, "just in case." She found it on her keyring and unlocked the door. Going up the steps, she discovered her gun was in her hand, and though she told herself she was overreacting, the sick feeling in her stomach wouldn't let her put it away. Just in case...

The narrow space was empty, a bit untidy, but no signs of violence. Then the smell of whiskey hit her, and she saw the bottles on the table. Aw Jane, what have you done? she thought, putting her gun away, fear beginning to turn into irritation. Then she looked closer at the bottles, seeing how much of the drink was missing, and her anxiety came back. It was possible to die of alcohol poisoning. If those bottles were full when he started and he drank all that too fast, it could be enough...

Her nightmare panic back full force, she turned toward the bedroom, feeling like she was moving in slow motion. Please God, please, let him be okay. The door was partly shut. She saw her hand pushing it open, and there he was, sprawled on his face on the bed. She stared, unable to breathe herself until she could see if he was breathing. He was. Thank you, God! Finally able to move, she went to the bed and touched his throat. His pulse was slow but strong. She rolled him onto his back, tapping his cheek, but he didn't wake up, just began to snore a little. She sat down on the bed beside him and tried to calm down, without much success, her emotions in too much of a tangle. She'd spent half her childhood dealing with her father and his alcoholic stupors, the last thing she ever wanted was to have to go through that again. How could he do this?

After fuming for a minute, it dawned on her that that was actually a good question. Why did he do it? Jane was not her father. He was not an habitual drunk, in fact he barely drank at all, most of the time. She knew his patterns, had discovered them years ago. Jane used alcohol as a painkiller, pure and simple. Two or three times a year, there would be days he simply couldn't stand to live through, so he would drink himself into unconsciousness. The anniversary of the day Angela and Charlotte died, and Charlotte's birthday, always those days, sometimes Angela's birthday or their wedding anniversary. The day that would have been their twentieth, that was bad. He hadn't shown up at work for three days that time.

He was always careful, never tried to drive, just went away quietly by himself, like an animal hiding its pain. Lisbon knew binge-drinking was its own kind of problem and worried about it, but realizing that he would probably consider his only alternatives to be heroin or an overdose of sleeping pills, she had never interfered, the alcohol seeming like the least dangerous option. As long as Red John lived, the pain would not stop coming back.

That was one of the things she hoped had changed for Jane in the last two years. He'd confessed in one of his letters that he barely remembered his first month in South America, because of a concerted effort to drink all the tequila in the village. Jane hated tequila. Reading between the lines, Lisbon suspected there were other occasions, as well, when the loneliness was too much for him. But as far as she knew, this was the first time he'd gotten drunk since he'd been in Texas.

So why now? What happened yesterday? It wasn't one of his anniversary days. He'd been fine in the morning when she left. What could have happened to cause him such acute emotional distress that he would react this way? How could she know when she wasn't there, and her only witness wasn't conscious? You're a detective, she told herself. And you know his methods. Figure it out.

Suddenly she remembered Abbott, and pulled out her phone. Better placate him first.

"Lisbon, have you found Jane?"

"Yes, he's at home, but he's ill. He won't be able to come in this morning. I'm sure he'll be okay, but I'd better stay for a while, just to be sure. Is that all right?"

She couldn't quite hear her boss' teeth grinding, but the silence definitely gave that impression. Finally Abbott said, "Yeah, all right. Get him here as soon as you can." I'm not gonna ask, also floated across the line clearly before Abbott hung up.

Well, that could have been worse, Lisbon thought, puffing out a relieved breath, and turned back to stare at Jane through narrowed eyes.

What did she know about yesterday? It had apparently been a quiet day at the office, with no new cases coming in, and most people had gone home by the time she and Fischer got back. There was only - the note from Marcus. On her desk. That meant Marcus had come by. Jane probably saw him, but that was hardly new. Unless... Did Marcus tell him about DC? It didn't seem likely. Marcus wasn't the type to boast about a promotion. On the other hand, this was Jane she was talking about. He might not literally be able to read minds, but in practice, he came pretty close. If he found out...

Of course he wouldn't want her to leave, and she didn't doubt he would miss her if she did. Jane was a creature of habit, and he wasn't happy without his comfortable, familiar things. His couch, his tea, and me, she thought bitterly, like his old shoes. She stopped herself, knowing that was unfair. She did mean more to him than that. But how much more? He'd never given her any clear, unequivocal sign.

Could it be the idea of her going away that had pushed him over the edge like this? She couldn't think of anything else, anything worse, that might have happened to him yesterday. But if it was, if the thought of losing her hurt him so badly that he needed to drink himself into oblivion to escape it... This wasn't unhappiness about missing a friend. This was deep, devastating pain.

Did he really care that much about her? He'd only ever gone on one of his benders when he was grieving for his wife and child, the people he'd loved with all his heart. How could his feelings for her even begin to compare? It didn't seem possible.

Yet his drinking binges had stopped when he came back to the States, when he came back to her, and he only relapsed now when he might lose her. Just like my nightmares, she realized. Aren't we a pair. She reached out and laid her hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, and wondered if it might truly be as broken as hers was at the thought of being separated from him again.

A new resolve straightened Lisbon's spine. Now was her chance to find out. While his defenses were down she had to take ruthless advantage. She would get the truth out of him once and for all, and he wasn't getting out of here until she did.

Jane still seemed to be deeply asleep. Lisbon kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed next to him, ready to take action. She put out her hand to wake him, but couldn't resist just touching his face for a moment, feeling his stubble prickle her palm. He looked so peaceful. But this was her only chance to get through his walls and find out how he really felt, and she couldn't let him off the hook, no matter how beautiful he was with the morning light gleaming in his golden hair.

She patted his cheek, and when he didn't respond, kept doing it, a little harder each time. Finally he made a protesting noise and tried to move his face away. "Jane. Jane, wake up." She kept talking to him and tried shaking him, but not too hard. He'd be in a bad way when he woke, and she didn't want him throwing up on her. She took hold of his chin and shook it more-or-less gently, just wanting to kickstart his headache. She needed him vulnerable. No mercy. Not yet.

Finally he groaned and moved, putting his arm over his eyes to keep out the light. Show time! She'd felt less nervous about going into a firefight, but she steeled herself and spoke to him, not too loud but very, very firmly.

"Jane, can you hear me?"

"Lisbon?" He moved his arm enough to peek at her through one slitted eye, then moaned and replaced his arm.

"Tell me what happened yesterday. Marcus came by the office. Do you remember?" He didn't answer, but caught a sharp breath, as if from a sudden pain. She took it that he did remember now. "Did Marcus tell you about his promotion? About moving to DC?" He started to shake his head, realized moving was a bad idea, and made a negative sound. "But you did find out? Somebody told you."

"Not told. Overheard." His voice was scratchy, barely above a whisper, but at least he was answering. She had to hurry, while he was still groggy enough not to resist.

"You overheard Marcus tell somebody else about going to DC?"

Another negative sound. "Kinzie. Already knew. Congrashulated 'm. Pike said... din' wanna go without you. Thought you'd say yes."

Lisbon's stomach was in tight knots. This felt like the most important conversation of her entire life. She had to get it right. She asked, more softly, "What did you do?"

Silence for a moment. Then, "Don' remember. Just, I was at the trailer, and a lot of scotch..."

He couldn't remember what happened before he got drunk? That was a little weird. It almost sounded like his fugue state of several years ago, when the doctor said he was blocking out unbearable emotional pain. Surely he couldn't be that deeply hurt now...

Gently, she asked, "Why did you want to get drunk, Jane?"

He sniffed, and she wondered if he was crying. He still had his eyes covered. "I messed up."

"What did you mess up?"

"You. Everything. Jus' like always."

"Messed up how?"

"It's me. I ruin everything. My whole life, never changes. Everything I care about. Even when I try, it's the same. I'm the same. Now you're gonna leave me and..." He moved his arm to look at her. His eyes were wet, his expression desperately serious. His next words shattered her heart.

"You should. You should go with him, Lisbon. Away from me. Far away. Where you'll be happy. Safe. You deserve that." He looked at her with anguish, then covered his face with his hands before going on, as if now he'd started, he couldn't stop. "You deserve somebody who won't hurt you and let you down. Won't ruin your life. Somebody who isn't a liar and a cheat. A killer." His voice broke on the word. "Not a screwed-up failure. A coward." He stopped, then added, very softly, "You deserve so much better. You deserve everything."

Shocked, Lisbon needed a moment to get hold of herself, before she could speak without crying. Finally she whispered, "Is that what you think of yourself?" She took his wrists and pulled his hands down, so she could see his face. It was full of utter misery, but he met her eyes.

"It's what I am. Everybody who comes near me still gets hurt. Even without Red John, it keeps happening! I thought it would be different this time, that I could be different. We had another chance and I wanted - But all I've done is hurt you again, ruin everything. Please, just go, Teresa. Get away from me before I -"

Suddenly, his color changed to a sickly shade of green, and he abruptly bolted for the bathroom as the inevitable happened.

Lisbon wiped her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to gather her scattered thoughts, shaken by Jane's confession. She'd known he was depressed, but she had no idea it was this bad. Yeah, at the moment he was hung over and feeling sorry for himself, but the self-hatred was very real, and went back a long way. Obviously, Red John's death had not helped him to forgive himself, for what happened to his family or anything else, and he would need to learn to do that before he could be truly happy, with or without her. She couldn't do it for him, but she thought she could help him find his way, if he'd let her. Without her... A chill went through her. Without her, he would probably feel he had no more reason to care, no reason to try.

They needed to talk more, a lot more. She thought she had what she needed now, to get to the whole truth. One thing she was sure of, though. This self-sacrificing crap has got to stop right now. Patrick Jane did not get to decide what was best for her just because he thought he didn't "deserve" her. She would make that crystal clear, just as soon as she could get him in a fit state to listen.

Lisbon got up and followed Jane to the bathroom, where he was still having bouts of retching, though there was nothing left in his stomach. The room was too small for her to do anything but kneel on the floor behind him and rub his back gently. Eventually the spasms stopped, and he turned to sit on the floor, leaning against the vanity cabinet. She got up and wet a washcloth, wiping his face gently. "Better?"

"Mm. Thank you." He looked at her muzzily, and for once it was obvious he had no idea what to say. After a moment his face changed. "Uh, I need to..." He waved his hand vaguely.

"Oh, right," she said. He had drunk an awful lot of liquid last night. "You clean yourself up. I'll get you some aspirin." She offered her hand and helped him pull himself up off the floor, then shut the bathroom door as she went out.

She tidied while she waited for him, throwing away the empty bottles and wiping the spills off the table. At least now it'll smell less like a distillery in here, she thought. She considered getting rid of the full bottle too, but finally stuck it in the back of the pantry cabinet. She found the aspirin in a cupboard next to the sink, and took a couple of bottles of water out of the fridge. On the way back to the bedroom, she picked up Jane's jacket and one brown shoe. She found the other one half under the bed. As she hung up the jacket, she heard the faucet shut off in the bathroom, so she shook some aspirin tablets into her hand and opened the water. She held them out to him as he came into the bedroom.

"Bless you," he said fervently, swallowing the pills and drinking half the water thirstily, before lowering himself very carefully to lie back down on the bed. He still looked pale and distinctly fragile, though no longer green, and he had tucked in his shirt and run wet fingers through his hair.

Lisbon resumed her position on the bed, knees almost touching him, close enough to grab him if he tried to get away. He was not going to escape until they had worked out their issues to her satisfaction. Seeing her determined expression, he began to look alarmed, and tried hiding by draping his arm over his eyes again.

She didn't move or speak, just waited. She didn't often have Jane at her mercy like this, and she was beginning to enjoy herself.

He broke first, lifting his arm enough to squint at her. "Um, Lisbon, why are you here? I appreciate your help of course, but aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Yeah, this could be fun, she thought. "So are you. Which is why I'm here. Abbott's on the warpath. He was looking for you yesterday, but you weren't answering your phone, so this morning he called me."

"Oh." Jane actually looked a little disappointed, so she relented slightly.

"When you wouldn't answer me either, I got worried, and came to find you."

"Did you?" He brightened, then seemed to remember this wasn't part of his game plan, and looked away. "I'm sorry. To worry you. I didn't mean for you to see... I wasn't thinking, I guess."

"Not about work, no. You were thinking about something, though. And we need to talk some more about that." He was looking very anxious now. "Do you remember what you were telling me before you went to toss your cookies?"

"Y-yes. Mostly." He seemed to gather himself, finally looking at her, and she could see the walls going up behind his eyes. "And it was all true."

"Hm. So you want me to go to DC with Marcus?" She watched him steadily, saw his gaze waver. He couldn't meet her eyes when he answered, though his tone was confident.

"Yes. I hope you'll be very happy."

"Uh huh. Thank you. Thank you very much." Lisbon stared at him silently, tempted to just let him have it with both barrels, then decided that a cooler, more controlled attack might be more effective. He seemed to pick up something of what she was thinking, becoming visibly nervous. He licked his lips, then reached for the water bottle on the bed table. When he'd finished the water, he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. Jane never fidgeted.

It was great. She let him squirm for a few more moments, then took a deep breath, and the battle was joined. She might have simply enjoyed the challenge, if she weren't convinced now that this battle was for his soul, and probably her own. At least the nerves were more on his side now, giving her an advantage.

She kept her tone calm and considering. "You know, maybe you're right. Marcus is a better man than you. He told me the deal about going to DC, and asked me what I want to do. He didn't try to make up my mind for me, or make judgements about what's 'best' for me without consulting my opinion, or manipulate my decision by not telling me all the facts."

"Lisbon, I -"

"You don't get to talk right now. I'm talking, you're listening. Are you listening to me, Jane?"

He nodded, though his jaw was clenched rebelliously.

"Do you remember the conversation we had about you making decisions for me? Hell, do you remember any of them? We've had the same one so many times over the years. Funny, for a smart guy, you never seem to Get. The Point." She took a deep breath to calm herself. Losing her temper would not help right now. He looked at her, his mouth tight, and she knew exactly what he wanted to say. She'd heard it so many times before.

"Yeah. I know. You were trying to 'protect' me. You were always trying to protect me. You wanted to keep me away from Red John, or keep me from losing my job, or whatever. I get that." His eyes were saying clearly, Yes, of course, I had to. "What you never got is that I'm not a child. You can offer an opinion, but you can't lie to me or go behind my back. When it's my life, my job, it's got to be my decision. It's not your responsibility to protect me." His eyes changed, becoming liquid, distressed, and his lips moved. "What?"

"It is when I couldn't bear to lose you," he whispered. She hesitated, not wanting to hurt him, but she had to get through to him somehow.

"Then you were protecting yourself rather than me, weren't you?" she said, as gently as she could. She saw the pain in his eyes before he closed them and turned his head away.

Just then Lisbon was terrified that she was doing this all wrong, that she was just making him worse, pushing him further down into his despair, but she was operating on instinct here, and some part of her seemed to be following the principle that you had to hit rock bottom before you could get better. She offered up a quick prayer that it was true.

"See, that's one of those facts you've never told me. I might take into account how you feel about something in my life before I make a decision about it, if you would ever actually tell me how you feel." She watched him for a moment. "So, before you couldn't bear to lose me, but now you're perfectly fine with it. I should just go." He reacted, moving uncontrollably, but then stilled. He didn't open his eyes. She sighed, and began again, very gently.

"Jane. Just tell me this, honestly, not what you think is best for me or what either of us deserve, but just for you. Would you be happy if I go away with Marcus?" No response. "Please, Jane? For me. It's important." Very slowly, he shook his head. Then he took a breath, but before he could speak, she changed direction. She caught his left hand and held it up. Surprised, he looked at her.

"Tell me what this means to you." She lifted his ring finger, showing him the gold band. His lips parted, but he didn't seem to know what to say, so she went on. "I used to have a theory about why you kept wearing it, after so long. I thought maybe it was more than just love for your wife. That maybe it had something to do with what you felt you owed her. Like you couldn't take it off until you found Red John."

Jane interrupted her, the words coming eagerly now, so fast he stumbled over them a little. "Yes, exactly! It's, it's the symbol of a vow. The vows I made to Angela when we got married - She's gone. I know that. That's over." Those words were clearly painful, and he paused, licking dry lips. He had turned his hand to hold hers, looking earnestly into her eyes, needing her to understand. "But I made another vow. To find the man who hurt her, hurt our child, and make him pay, make him know what a terrible thing he did. That's why I couldn't stop. It was a promise. I had to. When it took so long, so much more than I thought, and everything got complicated - the ring reminded me. That I couldn't forget what he did to them. Even when I was tempted... when you made me want to stop. I just... couldn't let it go." His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "It was my responsibility to protect them. And I failed. Avenging them didn't make up for that. But it was the only thing I could do. The only thing I had."

Lisbon nodded, trying to hold back her tears. "I know. I always did." He closed his eyes, still holding her hand. After several moments of shared silence, she quietly asked the next question, the one she didn't know the answer to. "Why do you still wear it now?"

Jane looked down, reaching for her other hand, to hold both of them resting on his chest. After a moment he met her eyes, his expression sad but open. "When I - left, after... It was all there was. Only a ring and a suit. All that was left of my whole life." He turned their joined hands to look at the ring. "On the island, it was so hard sometimes to remember who I was. There was no one there who knew, knew me. The ring helped. It reminded me of... my life. Everything I cared about. My family. You." He looked up at her with a little frown, afraid she wouldn't understand. "That sounds wrong, doesn't it? That Angela's ring should make me think of you. But it did. You're part of me. The best part. Both of you are. That's what I needed to remember." She nodded her understanding, and felt his tension ease. It made her heart ache to think about how alone and lost he'd been in his exile. At least she'd had friends. She held tighter to his hands, and he returned the grip before freeing his left hand and holding it up, spreading his fingers.

"I've thought about taking it off. I have tried. It's just... For so long, the ring was... me. All there was to hold on to. Taking it off feels like losing myself. I just panic. It feels a little like... dying." He shrugged, looking embarrassed.

She took his hand in hers again. "It's okay. You don't have to take it off. Not until you're ready. And if you're never ready, that's okay, too." He smiled slightly, his eyes grateful, and pulled her hand back to his chest, pressing it over his heart.

Lisbon bit her lip, her stomach beginning to twist again. Now they were coming to the tricky part, the most critical part of this conversation. The trouble was, she was even worse than Jane at talking about feelings. If she messed up, if she failed to get him to tell her the whole truth, or if she lost her nerve and didn't tell him... then both their futures would be ruined. She took a deep breath.

Jane was still looking at her, and he must have picked up on her tension, because she felt his heart rate increase slightly under her hand. She couldn't find the right words to begin. He broke the silence first. "Lisbon, all I want is for you to be happy. That's the only thing that matters." Miraculously, he'd given her the perfect opening.

"It's not all that matters. You being happy matters too." He shook his head, but she went on, not letting him speak. "You admitted me going away would make you unhappy. Do you really think I wouldn't care if I hurt you? And why is it you think I'd be so much happier in DC?" He looked away, not answering. "I'm making a decision here that affects my whole life, yours too. I can't do that without knowing everything. Please, Jane, just for once, stop trying to 'protect' me or hide things from me 'for my own good' and just tell me the truth. And remember, I really can tell when you're lying."

His mouth twisted in pain and he tried to turn away from her, but she held on, not letting him go. Clearly she was going to have to lead the witness.

"When you first woke up, you said you messed up your life. That you're still afraid that everybody you care about will get hurt. That I should go away before you ruin my life too. Is that what you truly think?"

He winced, then braced himself and met her eyes. His voice was quiet, with a desperate edge. "It's not what I think. It's what I know. It would have been better for you if I'd just stayed away and let you get on with your life. You were right, I was only thinking of myself when I dragged you here. Now you have an opportunity to fix that, to have something better. And whether you believe me or not, I only want -" His voice broke slightly. "- the best for you."

Lisbon swallowed hard, trying to control her emotions. Think of it as an interrogation, she reminded herself. You know how to get a suspect to confess. "Because I deserve the best."

"Yes!"

"And you think that's Marcus."

"...Yes." That agreement was much more hesitant.

"Why?"

"Because he's a good guy. You said it yourself, he's a better man than -" Jane caught himself before finishing the comparison, unwilling to suggest that he might be considered as an alternative to her boyfriend.

"Maybe he is. While you think you're so bad that all you deserve is to be left alone to drink yourself to death."

He winced again and screwed his eyes shut in pain. She knew his head must still be pounding. "I don't come into it. You need to do what's best for you. As you say, it's your life."

"I don't live it in isolation. Seeing you do this to yourself is certainly not what I want. Your welfare matters to me as much as mine does to you." She paused, considering him, before choosing a new angle of attack. "You know, I've invested a lot of time and energy in you, Jane. I followed you around for years, supporting your crazy plans, keeping you from getting fired, protecting you from people who wanted to beat you to a pulp. I listened to you, and helped you, and worried about you. I lost a lot of sleep over you. I even helped you get Red John, and you know how I felt about that." He was looking at her now, wistfully. "We got through all that, the worst that could happen. Now here we are." She hesitated, feeling like she was about to jump off a cliff. "I think it's time for a little return on my investment."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Teresa..."

"You said a minute ago you were being selfish bringing me to Austin. You wanted me to be here with you." He nodded slightly. "Why did you want me, Jane? Just for us to work together again, to go back to being friends? Is that really all? Can you honestly tell me you never hoped for anything more?"

"I -" Under her hand, still resting on his chest, his heart was beating fast now.

So was hers. Now or never. Go for it now, or run away with your tail between your legs and never know what might have been. Feeling more afraid than she'd ever been in her life, she closed her eyes and jumped.

"Because I did. I waited for years, and that was okay because the time wasn't right. But now things are different. Or they ought to be. Red John is gone. We're free. You're free. I'm tired of waiting. I need more from you now." She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, transfixed, his lips parted. "Tell me you don't love me, tell me you don't want me, and I'll go. But... if you do... I..."

He swallowed hard. "Teresa..." He let go of her hands and pushed himself up, sliding back until he was sitting, leaning against the head of the bed. They were further apart but their eyes were level. "I do. I love you." Her heart leaped, until he went on. "That's exactly why I want you to go. I can't... I don't know how to be different. All I've ever done is hurt you, and I can't bear to do that any more. I wish with all my heart that I could be the one to make you happy, but I don't know how. I don't know how to be the man you've always wanted me to be, the one you deserve. So many times I've tried to change, but nothing ever gets any better. I think, at this point... all I can do is love you enough to let you go."

Jane was looking into her eyes with anguished honesty. She'd asked him for the truth, and he'd given it to her. Something seemed to be wrong with her breathing. Her chest felt funny. He loves me. He said it. Only he wants to take it back. Again. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, trying to remember Van Pelt's yoga classes, how to center herself and get her breath back under control, hoping her emotions would follow.

Only Patrick Jane could be so heartbreaking and so infuriating all at once. Lisbon believed, she knew, that his feelings were real. But his conclusion was totally wrong. What was needed here was a serious attitude adjustment. Wishing she had a two-by-four, she took a deep breath. Calm.

"Okay. Good to know. It would have been better if - never mind. I get it now." She looked at him assessingly. He was looking down, playing with his ring, as he only did when he was disturbed. His face was still, his mouth tight. He could have modeled for a portrait of grief. He was astonishingly beautiful. There was no way she was letting him go.

Okay. Time to finish this. "There are so many things wrong with what you just said, I don't even know where to start." He met her eyes, shocked, and she went on hurriedly, "The love part, that was good. But the rest... One more time. You don't get to make choices like that for me. I'm not your pet butterfly or bird or whatever, that you just 'let go'. I decide what I want. Who I... want." She tried to lick her lips, her mouth suddenly completely dry, and forced herself to go on, almost whispering. "Who I love."

He was staring at her mouth, and she lost her train of thought for a moment, watching him. Then she remembered what she wanted to say. "I've known you for a long time now, Jane. I know you blame yourself for a lot of things, and many of them weren't your fault. You say you never change but that's not true. I've seen you change. You have done a lot of bad things in your life, hurt a lot of people, but you don't do that any more. Your methods may be questionable, but for years now, all you've been trying to do is to stop the bad guys and protect the innocent. You help people. Give yourself a little credit."

He was shaking his head. "It's not enough to make up -"

"No, it isn't. It doesn't work that way. Nothing we do can wipe out what happened in the past. All we can do is accept it, and learn. Learn to make better choices now, and in the future. That's what you've been doing, not perfectly, but a lot of the time. You certainly are not the same as the man I first met, you're not the same as you were two years ago. I can see that. I wish you could."

Suddenly, the moment was here. There was nothing left to say except... the words. They came more easily than she had feared. "You said once that you wanted someone who knew the worst about you and still loved you." He was watching her face intently, his expression a mixture of fear and hope. "I've seen the worst you can do, Patrick Jane. Lies, rage, betrayal... murder. And I... love you anyway."

"Teresa..."

"I see so much good in you, too. If you can't trust yourself, trust me. I know you. Please just let yourself be happy. Let us both be happy." Her voice broke then and she couldn't go on, but she didn't need to. He caught her hands, holding them tight, drawing one up to press his lips to her fingers. That simple touch felt electric. She couldn't look away. He turned her hand to kiss her palm, and the tingle went all the way through her body.

He looked up then with a slight frown. "What about Pike?" Trust him to find a way to break the mood. She bit her lip.

"I think - he deserves to be loved, too." Jane looked a little alarmed. "By someone who can give him her whole heart. That wouldn't be me, 'cause mine got stolen some time back, by a very accomplished thief." The corner of his mouth quirked up in a little smile, and the look in his eyes was one she had never seen from him before. There was a very strange fluttery feeling in her chest.

He was tugging gently on her hands, pulling her towards him, when a sudden buzzing sound made her jump. Nooo! Not now! It was her phone. It was Abbott. Biting back a curse, she answered. "Sir?"

"Lisbon. How is Jane? We need him here. Is he going to be coming in today or not?' She looked at Jane questioningly. He screwed up his face and rubbed at his temples, but shrugged reluctant assent.

"Yes. He's feeling better. We'll be there soon." Her tone was a bit short, but she didn't think Abbott noticed. She disconnected, and looked at Jane in frustration. He was staring at her mouth again, in a very distracting way. Maybe this is just as well, she told herself. She really should break up with Marcus before she and Jane... did any of the things he was clearly thinking about. She shivered, thinking about them, too. Uh, this needed to stop before Abbott sent a posse after them. She dragged herself away from him and got up. "You. Shower. Clean clothes. You smell like stale whiskey. I'll make you some toast. Hurry."

He made a face of revulsion at the thought of food, but pushed himself off the bed obediently, only groaning a little in protest. He swayed slightly when he stood up, and rubbed his forehead.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'll manage."

Lisbon left him to it, going to examine the trailer's little kitchen space. Knowing Jane's addiction to sandwiches, she assumed there would be bread. There was, also a toaster. And, needless to say, tea and a kettle, which she filled and turned on. Looking at the clock, she realized in surprise that it was after noon. No wonder she was hungry. She'd skipped breakfast. Foraging in the mini-fridge, she found some leftover take-out which appeared to be still edible, and put some in the microwave for herself, trying not to listen to the sound of the shower, or imagine Jane in it...

The microwave dinged just as the shower stopped and the kettle boiled. By the time Jane appeared, still pale, his hair wet, she was sitting at the table eating, with a plate of toast, a cup of tea, and the aspirin ready for him.

"You really are a saint," he said, sliding into the seat opposite her. "Thanks for taking such good care of me." He just sat looking at her for a moment with a little glinting smile that made it hard to breathe.

"How's your head?"

"Remember that marching band? It's in there. But I guess I'll live. Somehow it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did an hour ago." He smiled at her again, a slow warm smile.

She caught herself before she could completely melt, looking into his eyes. "Hurry up and drink your tea before Abbott has an apoplexy." It occurred to her how awkward it would be if Jane kept looking at her like this all afternoon at work. She blushed at the thought. He grinned, clearly knowing what she was thinking. "Jane. Please. Promise me you'll behave and not embarrass me at the office?"

His mouth full of toast, he tilted his chin and raised his eyebrows, clearly weighing the fun of making her blush against the certainty of her wrath. She frowned, trying to look fierce. "You know, I haven't told Marcus no yet. I could always change my mind..."

He held up his hands in surrender, smiling. "No, no! I promise. I'll behave." Then his smile faded and he looked at her searchingly. "Are you sure you -"

"No! Of course I'm sure. I was just teasing." She reached across the table to touch his hand reassuringly, looking into his eyes. "I don't want Marcus. I just want you. It's only... I'd rather not make a big public thing yet. I need to tell him first. After that... let's talk about it, okay? No unilateral actions, remember?"

"Got it. I really don't ever want to hurt you again, Teresa," he said seriously. "We'll deal with work however you want. It's just..." His expression lightened, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You're so adorable when you're annoyed. I haven't been able to resist it for years. Old habits, you know. But I will! I'll resist!" he added hastily, shying back when she made a fist and waved it at his nose.

"You'd better," Lisbon said. "Or I'll - I'll -" She tried to think of the worst threat she could. "I'll confiscate all your tea!"

"Oh no! Anything but that!" he cried, putting the back of his hand against his forehead theatrically. They were both still laughing as she took his arm and pulled him out of the door.

As it turned out, Jane's resolve wasn't much tested. Abbott was lying in wait and whisked him off to a briefing as soon as they got off the elevator. Lisbon went to her desk, feeling like she hadn't been there for a long time. Was it only yesterday? Somehow, everything looked new. It's not the office that's different, it's me. After all the weeks of anxiety and doubt, suddenly she felt light, free. Happy. Marcus had never made her feel this way. The thought of telling him gave her a pang, but she was sure at last exactly what she wanted, and she wasn't letting it go. Smiling, she got to work.

After an hour or so, Jane re-appeared, to tell her he was going out for a while with the team Abbott was loaning him to. They'd wanted him to interview a witness to a bank robbery, but Jane had persuaded them to gather all the witnesses together at the bank and let him talk to all of them at once.

"I wish you could come," he added wistfully. "Remember that bank robbery we did that time? With the gun in the safe deposit box? That was fun."

"Yeah, it was." She smiled at him fondly. "You go do your thing. You can tell me all about it this evening. How's the headache?"

He made a meh-face. "Still hurts, but it's better." He winced when Abbott barked his name from the elevator. "Duty calls. Loudly. See you later." He got up from his perch on the corner of her desk, giving her a small but very warm smile before turning away to follow their boss.

They'd been so late coming in, it was five o'clock before she knew it. Jane wasn't back yet. She didn't want to put off talking to Marcus. She texted both of them, arranging to meet Marcus, and telling Jane where she was going and that she'd see him at his place later.

Lisbon had been half-afraid Marcus would turn up during the afternoon, but it appeared he'd been out on a case. She decided to ask him to meet her for a drink, wanting neutral ground and an easy escape. He didn't keep her waiting long, and greeted her with a smile and a kiss. She didn't want to beat around the bush, and cut the chit-chat short.

"Marcus. I want you to take the job in DC. It's a great opportunity and you shouldn't miss it."

He looked hopeful. "So you'll come with me?"

"No." His face fell. "I'm not ready to leave Austin right now."

"Then I can stay here. It's fine -"

"No, Marcus. I want you to go." She looked at him steadily, watching his expression change as he understood her meaning.

"So you're breaking up with me?"

"I'm sorry. You're a great guy and you deserve to be happy. But I think it's best."

He studied her face sadly for a few moments. "It's Jane, isn't it? You're in love with him."

She looked down, swallowing hard, but decided he deserved the truth. "Yeah. I have been for a long time. It seemed like there wasn't any hope for us but... it turns out there is. And I'm not ready to walk away. I thought I was, but..."

"It's okay. If that's what you want. I hope it works out for you, Teresa."

"Thanks. I hope you'll be happy, too. Good-bye, Marcus."

"Good-bye, Teresa." He tried to smile as she kissed his cheek before walking away. She felt a little guilty, as if she'd taken advantage of him somehow, but she didn't look back. The feeling of a weight lifting from her shoulders as she went out the door proved she'd done the right thing.

Lisbon made one stop on the way back to the trailer park. Jane had texted her while she was on the way to meet Marcus, saying he was home. When she got to his Airstream, there was a piece of paper stuck to the door, with an arrow on it pointing to the left. She went around the left side of the trailer and looked around, shading her eyes against the low sun. The ground sloped down for some distance, with a pond at the bottom of the slope. There were some trees beside the pond, and a picnic table under one of the trees. She realized Jane was sitting at the table when the sun glinted gold on his hair. She walked down to join him.

He was sitting on the side nearest the water, with his back to the table, jacket off and sleeves rolled up. He looked tired, but turned his head and smiled as she sat beside him. Lisbon smiled back.

"Hey," she said. "How's the bank robbery going?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I figured it out. They've still got to catch the guy, but that's not my department."

"You solved it for them? Just like that? Wow. So I'm guessing Abbott's forgiven you?"

"Pretty much." He looked at her. "How about you? How'd it go with Pike?"

"Not bad. He took it well. Said he hoped I'll be happy. He figured out it was because of you."

"Hm. Not as dumb as he looks." She frowned. He was unrepentant, but went on. "It wasn't just because of me. You didn't really want to go with him, did you? He is pretty boring. And if he's not willing to fight for you, maybe he doesn't deserve you either." She opened her mouth to point out that he hadn't fought for her, but he spoke first, quietly. "It's not the same. I would do anything for you, Lisbon. You know that, I hope."

"Yeah." She looked into his eyes for long moments. When the intensity got too much, she turned away, looking over the water. "My knight in slightly tarnished armor. Usually when the knight finishes the quest and slays the dragon, he doesn't try to shove the fair maiden off onto the other guy. You need to brush up on your fairy tales."

He huffed a breath of laughter. "Is that what we are? I didn't think you believed in fairy tales."

"Maybe not. But a little bit of 'happily ever after' does sound pretty good right now."

"My angry little princess." He smiled at her lovingly.

She smiled back. "I got you something."

"You did? What? More socks?"

"No. Though you definitely need some. Something else. I, uh... You don't have to use it now. Or ever, if you don't want to, I just - I thought it might help..." She was floundering, having suddenly lost her nerve, afraid she was being presumptuous.

"What is it?" He looked surprised and mystified. She reached into her bag and took out a small box, putting it into his hand. It was a jewelry box. He opened it. Inside was a fine gold chain with smooth links. A man's necklace, rather beautiful, she thought. "It's lovely." He still looked puzzled.

"I thought maybe... it would be easier if it weren't all or nothing... with your... ring." She stole a glance at his face, afraid of his reaction. "I don't mean to push. Really, you can wear it forever if you want. I just thought..." She stopped as he began to smile.

"That's brilliant! Thank you." She watched the thoughts and emotions flash through his eyes as he considered the idea. Then he took the chain out of the box and undid the catch, holding the two ends out to her. "Will you?" She held the necklace for him as he looked at his finger, took a deep breath and slid his ring off, then threaded it onto the chain. He looked at her and bent his head in silent invitation. She went around behind him and fastened the chain around his neck, then stroked the curls on the back of his head once, just because she couldn't resist, before resting her hands on his shoulders. He picked up the ring and looked at it, then settled it into place at the center of his chest, a little below his collarbone, under his shirt. He laid his right hand on it, feeling it there, and held out his now-bare left hand. She could feel the tension in his shoulders relaxing as he took a deep breath.

"Yes. I think that can work. You, my darling, are a genius." She slid her arms down around his neck and laid her cheek against his hair. He stroked her arms and leaned back against her as they looked quietly out at the water. The sun was setting, and the homely little fishpond sparkled like diamonds. After a while, he tugged on her wrist, pulling her around to face him. He took her hands, playing with her fingers, then bent his head and kissed them, one by one. She caught her breath at the sensation.

He looked up into her eyes, his own as open and honest as she had ever seen them. "I do love you, Teresa. I want to make you happy. I'm just afraid... I don't know -"

"Yeah, me too. It's scary. But the two of us together - we've pulled off things that should have been impossible. So I think, together, we can do this too. I know now, I'll never be happy if we don't try. Maybe we just need to have a little faith." When his eyebrow went up, she added, "In each other. In us." She caressed his cheek. "Jane..."

He stood up, and she moved back half a step to give him room. "There's just one thing."

"What?" she asked, puzzled by the hint of laughter in his eyes.

"I think at this point you really need to start calling me Patrick. It's an easy word, I know you can do it. Pa-trick. Just try. Come on..."

She rolled her eyes at him, trying to distract him from the fact that she was blushing. He was still looking at her coaxingly, so she bit her lip, then opened her mouth. "Patrick..."

"Ah. I see." He looked enlightened, and enchanted. For some reason, when she said his name, it came out sounding incredibly intimate, like a caress. "Maybe you shouldn't call me that in public. But in private - say it again."

She said it again, and again, until he took her face between his hands and kissed her, and then she didn't say anything at all for quite a long time. And once they ended up back where they'd spent their memorable morning, in his bed, for an even more memorable evening, she didn't need to say anything else.

THE END