"I've had enough Jane! Just – just go away!" Lisbon sat with her head bowed over a stack of paper work – paperwork caused by her irritating, maddening, pain-in-the-ass consultant.

He had solved the case, she had to grant him that, but he'd also insulted one of the Governor's biggest campaign supporters in the process. Hightower was fuming, and she, Lisbon, was being punished by having to fill out lengthy reports as well as writing out a number of apology letters.

Of course Jane should have been the one doing the apologizing, but she knew there was no point in even asking him. He would simply grin and refuse – and tell her to forget about it. But that would lose her her job, a job she enjoyed – at least most of the time. But today she was tired, sick and tired of one Patrick Jane.

"You don't mean that Lisbon," he said lightly, standing on the other side of her desk with his damn smile lighting up his handsome face. "How about a cup of tea?"

She slowly lifted her head and regarded him seriously. "I mean it," she said softly. "I am sick and tired of your selfishness, your lack of consideration for anyone, your belief that whatever you do is okay. Well it's not okay. You screwed up Jane – and we're paying the price for it, like usual. So I don't want to see you – and I don't know when I will. I suggest you leave, because I really don't want to be around you right now."

She watched as the smile faded, and his face grew somber. For a moment she caught a glimpse of the real Patrick Jane behind his usual light exterior. It caused her to catch her breath, to almost take back her words, for what she saw was the unutterable pain and suffering in his eyes.

But she stopped herself. Jane had to learn that his obsession, his guilt, his agony wasn't the only thing in this world. He had to learn that others mattered, that his team mattered. So she said nothing.

"I'm sorry Lisbon," he said softly. "I'll go." He walked slowly towards the door.

She almost relented, suddenly feeling guilty, and opened her mouth to tell him to say, when he spoke again.

"But he deserved it. He was an idiot."

Her mouth snapped shut and she took a deep breath. So much for guilt! "Just get out of here."

With one last look he nodded, turned and walked out of her office, gently closing the door behind him.

She expected to feel relief, but instead she felt a shaft of sorrow and, strangely, of apprehension. Something told her to stop him, to tell him not to leave. She wanted to grab him, to hug him, to tell him she was sorry for the agony he felt, but then she shook her head, disgusted at herself. The quick glimpse of pain in Jane's eyes had turned her soft and a hug wasn't going to make him suddenly feel better. No, it was best that he got out of here for a while. He needed to think about his actions and she needed to calm down.

She bent her head to her paper work, determined to put Patrick Jane out of her mind.

Jane slowly made his way down to his car, feeling as if the day, which had started out relatively well, had suddenly turned bleak. He'd known he'd gone too far today and deep down he did feel guilty for the trouble he'd caused her.

So why did he do things like go after important people? Because lashing out at others gave him brief, very brief, moments of respite from the gnawing pain that was always with him. It also allowed him to channel his rage at the world, at fate, at him into those he could reach.

But he really hadn't meant to hurt Teresa, or his team, and he knew he had. The best thing was to leave them alone for now and they'd all get over it. There was no way he was going to apologize, or to admit he was wrong. To do so would open up doors he kept securely locked. His life was consumed with guilt over the death of his wife and daughter and there was no room for any more.

He opened his car door and got in, a sudden feeling of loneliness so intense washing over him that he stopped breathing.

He leaned his head on the steering wheel, unable to move or even to think. Since he'd been at the CBI he'd been able to move forward, each day, with purpose and intent. He'd been able to hide from the intense pain and grief by thinking only of the goal he'd set himself. He'd grown used to the pain that was a constant background in his life. But this intense agony – this was something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for months.

He let out a low groan. "Angie," he cried. He missed her so much. He wanted nothing more than to feel her arms around him, to have her hold him, to listen to her voice.

The tears gathered and fell. Charlotte – his baby girl. He wanted to be able to pick her up, to hold her and make her giggle.

And they were both gone and were never coming back. The pain stabbed him in the heart and he quickly sat up, took a deep breath and started his car. He had to get away from how he was feeling.

He drove, but didn't know where and didn't care. All he knew was that he felt alone, so very, very alone.

Teresa worked until the last reports and the last letters of apology were done. She sighed and stretched. God, she really wanted to kill Jane! She wished he had even an inkling of what he'd put her through with his antics.

She stood up slowly and stretched again, only then realizing that it was dark outside. She glanced down at her watch in surprise – it was after 8:00 o'clock. She'd been working for hours and hadn't even realized it. At that moment her stomach growled and she realized she was starving.

It was time to go home, get something to eat and maybe take a hot bath. She needed to relax and forget about the day.

As she collected her jacket, and made her way to the elevator, she wondered briefly whether Jane was in his attic room upstairs. She hesitated to go check on him – she didn't want him to think that she'd forgiven him. Still, she worried about him and had another flash of guilt for getting so angry at him.

With a sigh she turned away from the elevator and headed up the stairs to Jane's hidey-hole.

"Jane," she knocked. "Are you in there?" Of course he was, she thought. Where else would he be? As far as she knew, he didn't have a life outside the CBI. Which brought with it another stab of guilt. "Jane – come on, answer the door."

Silence greeted her and she frowned. Maybe he had gone to get something to eat. After knocking again and waiting a couple of minutes she finally decided he must have gone out and headed back downstairs to the elevator and then to her car.

"Hey Stan," she said to the guard at the gate. "By the way, did you see Jane leave?"

"Mr. Jane?" Stan nodded. "Yeah, he left about 4:00 o'clock, just after I started my shift. He looked kinda rough."

"Rough?" Lisbon frowned. "What do you mean?" If he had left then it had to have been right after she'd spoken to him. God, she hoped he hadn't gotten some kind of bad news after he'd left her office.

"Mmm – he sat in his car for a while. I was just about to go over and check on him – he looked like he was sick or something – but then he drove off. He didn't even say goodbye or anything when he left, which isn't like him. Mr. Jane is always friendly. But this time he looked -" Stan stopped and appeared uncomfortable.

"What?" demanded Lisbon.

"Uh – I don't want to – I mean, I'm sure he was fine."

"Stan – this is important. How did he look?"

Stan grimaced slightly. "Uh, he looked like he'd been crying."

Lisbon frowned. "Crying?"

"Yeah. I don't know – maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was just feeling sick or something. I don't want to get him in trouble or anything. He always treats me real good."

"No, no – he's not in trouble," Lisbon said, suddenly worried. "I'm just concerned about him. He's a member of my team – my friend. So he didn't say anything? Didn't indicate where he was going?"

"No, I told you he didn't talk to me. Usually he stops and chats for a minute before he goes."

Lisbon nodded, knowing there was nothing more she was going to get from the security guard. "Thanks Stan. I'm sure it's okay. We just finished an exhausting case so I expect he was just tired."

"Yeah," Stan jumped on that. "I'm sure that's what it was."

"Thanks," Lisbon smiled at the man. "Have a good night."

"You too Agent Lisbon," he smiled and stepped back, clearly relieved to have finished the conversation.

As Lisbon drove off she continued to frown. Where the hell could Jane be and had he been crying?

"No way," she murmured. She had never once seen Jane cry and was sure that Stan must have gotten it wrong. It's not that she didn't think Jane suffered – she knew he did – but he was a master of hiding his emotions. Sometimes she thought he even hid his emotions from himself.

Teresa drove home and pulled into her driveway, but instead of getting out of her car, she sat there for quite a few minutes. Finally she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Patrick's number. So call her paranoid, she needed to check and make sure he was okay.

The call instantly went to voicemail, which either meant his phone was off or he'd run out of battery. "Damn!" Now how was she going to find out if he was okay? She knew there was no way in hell she was going to relax until she talked to him.

She refused to think about what she'd said to him earlier. She'd been angry – justifiably so. So if Jane got all upset it should be at himself. He's the one who continued to pull stupid stunts. He was the one who created headaches for everyone, so why should she feel sorry for him?

Because he was a man who'd gone through hell and who now had few, if any friends and no family – other than his CBI team. And she'd gone and told him she didn't want to see him.

"You are an idiot!" she told herself. With that she backed up out of her driveway, knowing there was no way she was going to sleep that night, until she found Patrick Jane.

At that moment the man in question was turning off of the I-5 onto Lost Hills Rd towards Malibu. It was a route he had taken many times and he barely had to think about it.

His destination was not his house – not this time. For some reason, tonight all he could think about were his wife and daughter, missing them both with a fierce ache that was relentless. Normally he could push it to the background – but not tonight. Tonight all he could see were the faces of his wife and daughter, looking at him with disappointment and regret. It was that, that was driving him here - to a special place – to a place where he hoped he could find some peace.

He and Angela had married young and had spent their early years living in grungy motels and even grungier apartments. They'd travelled all over as he'd eked out a performing his mentalist shows. It could have been an uncomfortable life but instead it had been one of laughter and joy. They hadn't cared about where they lived because they had each other.

And then had come the news that Angela was pregnant. Jane had known it was time to settle down and decided his wife and child deserved some place beautiful. He knew she loved the ocean – so did he – and so he decided on Malibu.

He'd put away a lot of money over the years as they'd lived carefully and frugally. And then, just before he retired from the road, he'd joined a card game with some rich, very rich, playboys. He'd won, which had been his plan, and had walked away with a huge pot of money.

That money had enabled him to buy a gorgeous home and to set up a psychic practice among rich and famous clients.

He and Angela had only been in the house a couple of months when they'd discovered the lookout. It had quickly become their place – the place where they went when they wanted to together, away from the house and his work.

He didn't know if anyone actually owned the land or not. He'd meant to find out, and to purchase it if possible, but he'd never gotten around to it. As it was, no one ever bothered them and, few people ever stopped there.

There was a road – more of a dirt path than an actual road – that wound around for close to five miles. You couldn't see the ocean as you drove at all and at first glance it seemed like a dry, desolate place – that was until you turned the last curve and came out onto a small outcropping of land that had the most magnificent views overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

It was breathtaking and every time he saw it he was awestruck – and Angela had felt the same.

It was their place – and where he needed to be right now. He continued to drive, not noticing the time, although it had been dark for quite a while. He didn't worry about the drive in the dark still knowing the road like the back of his hand. Instead all he thought was he needed to be at that spot. He needed to be with Angela, to feel her presence, to take away the deep well of loneliness that was slowly killing him.

He pulled his car to a stop and stared out at the ocean. The moon was bright, and reflected off the water. With his windows still closed, he couldn't hear any sounds and for a moment felt like he was in another world. He closed his eyes, asking a God he no longer believed in, that Angela would be with him when he opened them again.

Teresa had finally returned home, after driving to every place she thought Jane could have gone. It had been a ridiculous thing to do but for some reason she was worried. It wasn't just what Stan had told her either. She had this strange feeling that Jane needed her.

"Where the hell are you Jane?" she whispered, as she again sat in her driveway. Finally, with a shake of her head she pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial.

"Cho? Have you seen Jane?"

He slowly got out of the car, suddenly wishing he hadn't come to this place. Rather than taking away his loneliness, his pain, it had made it worse. Standing in this place, now hearing the sounds of the waves crash against the coast, his loneliness grew unbearable. He shouldn't have come! This was their place. He turned slowly – away from the water, away from the view he'd shared so many times with his wife.

"Angela," he cried, his eyes closed, tears running down his cheeks.

At first he didn't hear the sound, but then it grew louder until it was almost upon him. He opened his eyes quickly, to see a car pull up sharply beside his. The next thing he knew, the front doors and the back left door had all opened and three men got out. They were wearing scruffy clothes and all of them sported numerous tattoos. From the amateur nature of some of the tattoos, at least two of the men had spent time in prison. Jane took a deep breath and stood up straight.

"Well, well, well, look what we got here!" the driver said. "I think we found us a tourist! Hey you – are you a tourist?"

"No," he answered softly. "I live here."

"Here?" the man who'd been sitting in the back seat asked, with a deep drawl. Jane figured he must be from Texas. "You live here on this rock? Kinda weird, ain't cha?"

Jane didn't answer, knowing things were not looking good. He suddenly wished he hadn't left his cell phone in the car. "I live near here," he told them. "I'm just waiting for a friend." There – maybe that would keep them from doing something stupid.

"A friend?" the driver again spoke. "I bet you're waiting for a woman. You come here to make out with a woman?"

"Uh – no. It's a man friend."

"You're coming to make out with a man?" the third guy, who had remained quiet and unmoving to this point, spoke. "You into guys?" he sneered.

"It's just a friend. We like to do – uh – astronomy together and this is a good place."

"Ass – stronomy!" Mr. Backseat drawled. "Why ain't you the ejucated one! And you're reeeel purty too. I bet your friend ain't interested in ass – stronomy – he's just interested in ass – your ass."

Jane was more than ever convinced that things had just gotten really bad. He glanced between the three men, and realized that they were all high – and no strangers to crime and violence.

And no one knew where he was. He was in serious trouble. He briefly closed his eyes. "Teresa," he whispered.