I'm just warning everyone now, this fic jumps through time, perspective and memory; so you'll have to think a little more than usual, and I haven't really broken the pieces (the fragments of time/memory) up.

Think of it as an absurd treasure hunt ;)

One where you don't really know the clues, the terrain or what the hell you're trying to find, or why!

Contrary to popular opinion, he does not enjoy irritating and annoying Lisbon.

It is a necessity.

Patrick Jane distinctly remembers the first time he had to embarrass her for a reason more than his own amusement.

At present he is reclining on a faded and fraying hotel quilt. It's late, nighttime dentist's hour. The cooling and moonlit night has brought the lonely cricket out from his hiding place. Jiminy chirps from his nest outside the window. Do crickets have nests? Patrick wonders (at this hour, when alone, he is always Patrick - the man, the crushed hollow of some other person, the one in the past who actually had things to lose), mind wanders back to his original ponderings.

It was all so simple in the beginning…

The rough, burly figure of Wayne Rigsby desperately trying to hide his enthusiasm for the Mentalist's craft.

The sullen, indifferent Kimball Cho, interest never waning from his books, his work and his boss. At first, Jane had thought the man suffering from in-lust with the petite woman. Further inspection had proven that theory void.

Cho was deliberate, but he was not prone to flights of fancy; like Jane.

Then there was Lisbon. The seemingly 'lone' female moving her way up the ranks in the shady Serious Crimes avenue; a tough cookie, unbreakable, but with a hidden vein of compassion. Fool's gold, he had thought, until the day he was on the receiving end of it; totally unencumbered by falsity and common courtesy.

Teresa Lisbon did not hand out her compassion like pity.

She did not pity, period.

It was a grave insult for her to pity you. She understood pain too clearly for her to insult anyone like that. He had completely missed it; he realized in reflection on another day, probably another night like this one. Teresa Lisbon was more than he had given her credit for, he toned down his wilder ways accordingly; probably the first time he'd ever done that out of consideration for someone else … other than his wife and daughter.

There was more to this make-shift, cobbled team than met the eye. And he was intrigued.

He'd been shuffled, and traded, and tossed from team to team. There was no way Minelli would have given a psychic to Lisbon first go; she would have drawn him a new … something.

It would have been an unfair and unusual punishment to force a youngling like her to deal with a lunatic like him.

In the beginning of the beginning, after the 'instituted crazy' time had passed, there was O'Conner's team. White Collar Crime; fraud, embezzling … dreary work so boringly apparent that he'd felt stifled and useless. Oh, he figured out the cases, the criminals, the wrong doers, but it was all too simple, too easy. He didn't have to work for it; he didn't have to use anything more than cursory observations. O'Conner had requested a transfer within two weeks, Jane's annoying habits and predilection for harassing team members a big minus. Apparently good (great) performance didn't mean everything to the Bureau, O'Conner especially.

Then there was Kingston's team, and some other team and then another and a different one; by this time the names were useless and he began to call people by their rank within the team dynamics.

The rank he gave them anyway.

'Oh Fair and Wondrous Leader' or 'Capitan', for the Agent in Charge (he would never dare to call Lisbon that, he'd recognized a slightly worthy adversary the first time he met her, or the potential for one).

'Wing-man' for the second in charge; the follower of the Leader, kind of useless power position really, everything depended on the Boss.

'Lackey' for the third, the Rigsby position. Occasional input, more leg-work and muscles than anything else.

And then there was the intermittent 'Underling' or 'Peon' – the newbie contingent, sometimes there was two 'Lackeys', in that event he tended to employ the use of physical characteristics to distinguish. Kingston's team had had two Lackeys, he had referred to the great rotund one as 'Pudgsicles', and the disapproving woman as 'Oh Stern One' (complete with exaggerated deference) or 'Sterny' if he was pressed for time.

Perhaps having his fun further displaced him and caused more problems than if he had pretended to care. But that was the problem, he hadn't cared, none of the crimes the teams investigated were applicable, they were all too easy, too common place. He wasn't trying to get into the murder and the kidnapping side of the Bureau, he wasn't.

His intentions were to consult for the CBI so that when Red John struck again, and he would, Patrick Jane would be there, in the right place, with the right resources and the right amount of leeway. He figured as long as he was in the building he could bide his time; wait, observe, figure it out and then get the hell out of Dodge.

And kill him.

Then he was lumped with Lisbon. He'd been delighted. Especially after the way she'd recovered after his initial intentionally embarrassing and arrogant behavior.

She'd bounced back and kept going. The fact that she had the respect of three so very different men had intrigued him: Cho, Rigsby and Minelli.

But all of his little intrigues and plots and games had meant nothing until the day, so innocuous at the time, he had spoken the truth; had inadvertently opened himself up to her.

It was a case they worked, a few months before Van Pelt joined the team; before they'd even heard the possibility that they might be getting a new agent, and definitely before Lisbon thought they might need one.

He'd dragged Lisbon out to a particular part of the city, known mostly for its homeless and squatter contingent. He affected an ease he didn't feel, recognizing that his clothing placed him at odds with the community more so than usual. He grinned and greeted but the more he approached the citizens of this street corner, the more they faded away. It was odd, he knew they had nothing to fear from either he or Lisbon, they were certainly the majority, so what exactly was the problem?

The main problem for him turned out to be that while he was using his skills and talents to work out who was who and what was what; those facets of the individual didn't really help him here. Knowing, for instance, that the man lazing beside the metal drum had been a well-to-do stock broker before his partner embezzled money off him didn't really help in a world where your major problem was where your next meal was coming from. Or, for that matter, the young girl trying to hide from view behind a tattered tarpaulin; she was on the run from an abusive father, and was trying to keep her wits about her, trying to avoid those who would take advantage of her. She wasn't that old, but she was wise.

Lisbon had watched him with a practiced air. She was used to his ways, even though she may not approve, and she had certainly had her fair share of involvement with this street. Every early cop got their taste of this world. It was best to learn the worst early on; it could only help you later in life. At least, that's what Minelli's theme had been.

A stumbling, grizzled man had come upon them then, tripping over the sidewalk curb. His body landing at Lisbon's feet. She'd immediately dropped to help him stand upright again.

They'd asked him the relevant questions, and though he wasn't quite right in the head (but who was these days?) they managed to understand some of his helpful responses. They had, in the end, relied upon the man's memories to link the events with evidence that pointed toward Jose's guilt. Jane had known all along Jose was guilty, it was clear from the way he clutched at his wife's hand during their initial interview.

But what was important about that day was the conversation he and Lisbon had had after their meeting with Homeless Luke.

Actually it was the conversation they'd had later, back at the office that was the most important thing about that day, that week. But in between Homeless Luke and the office, the event which had caused the conversation, and resulting revelation, occurred.

After he and Lisbon gathered the, relatively, important information Luke had to offer; they had embarked upon a round of the 'settlement'. Lisbon every so often, grabbing his arm to get him to tone down his inquisitive nature. He knew it wasn't the smartest idea to be too interested out here, but he couldn't help it, those people had led such different and unusual lives, and had unfortunately not come out on top, like he had (if you disregarded his current circumstances). But these people had an instinctive understanding of the human psyche, they knew who to approach for pity's sake, who to let pass with merely a jingle of their paper/tin cups or over-flowing trolleys. They knew who to avoid, and which stores they could garbage-dive in without repercussion, and these people did not have a problem helping each other out either. He enjoyed the solidarity, if singular, vibe permeating the place.

Lisbon - not so much.

They had finished up their conversations and inquiries and were walking back to the car when a 'woman of the night' (not so much of the night in the middle of the afternoon but still) approached him. He remembers it clearly as an approach toward him as the leggy, bottle-red woman had eyes only for him, his clear moneyed persona an advertisement to her well-worn gaze.

Lisbon hadn't even blinked. Jane had half expected her to get a little uncomfortable, but she hadn't. She simply waited, standing by his side, dwarfed by their stature.

After Jane had rebuffed her twice, politely; she turned her eye toward Lisbon.

"How 'bout you darlin'?" Her raspy, slightly promising voice had asked.

Again Lisbon didn't even bat an eyelid at the blatant propositioning. Jane was surprised by her blasé attitude. He supposed it was because he had built up an image of her in his head, one which the following events of that particular day would diminish quite quickly.

He would never again trust his perceptions of Agent Teresa Lisbon, there were too many secrets dwelling within the woman.

"Not today, thanks." She said blithely, "How long you been working?"

"Twelve hours." Was the reply.

"Have you eaten?" She asked.

The pretend-redhead looked surprised at the warm offer, she was just about to accept when her 'boss' arrived. He pulled up beside them in a worn red Cadillac. Lisbon inwardly gagged at the cliché.

His angry form leaving the car still running; he sauntered around the automobile to come along side the redhead, viciously yanking her back so that she slammed into the side of the car. The violent sound reverberating along the Cadillac; shuddering the side mirror.

Jane, being the gallant white knight, stepped in. He 'politely' informed the man that they were simply going to grab some food in the company of the extra woman (Lisbon). He made it sound like 'food' wasn't what was actually on the agenda.

Lisbon willed herself stay calm, but she could clearly see the imprint of a handgun peeking through from under the pimp's shiny pleather coat. She crossed her arms and felt better when her left hand touched her gun. She wasn't a left hand shooter by nature, but she could still shoot fairly well with it (by fairly well, she meant, not as good as her right hand, but still good enough to pass competency with the Bureau).

The pimp's body tensed, his eyes flashing from Jane's suit to Lisbon's defensive stature. The redhead tensed too, that was around the time Lisbon knew everything was about to go downhill. Jane too, but he still thought he could handle the situation, his position in the street not affording him the visual knowledge of the handgun.

In two short movements, the pimp's gun was pointing toward Jane's pretty head. Scowling Lisbon drew her gun too; this wasn't going to look good on any report. There was no way she could write the encounter as anything other than another one of Jane's messes, at least this time there wouldn't be any complaints from angry citizens.

Lisbon spoke calmly, breaking forth her badge for the first time. The redhead paled. The pimp's manner grew angrier, but he realized the futility of accosting cops. He knew when he was outmaneuvered. Shoving his lady of the night into his car, he swung a clumped fist at Jane; this newest development borne from Jane's desire to save her.

The pimp obviously disapproving of the blonde's attempt to approach her; Lisbon didn't know what he what he thought he was doing. She tried to pull him away from the red car too.

The conflicting mess of the pimp, the car, the ground, their shoes, the guns, Jane and Lisbon; resulted in a mish mash of bodies and sidewalk.

Luckily no one got hurt.

Or so Jane thought.

When Lisbon had pulled Jane away, the pimp's long arm had swiped past his intended target (Jane) and glanced across her lower face; splitting her lip.

That'll bruise, she thought.

Turning quickly she pulled Jane further away from the car. The wheels squealing as the pimp drove off down the cluttered street.

Jane yelled something indignantly after the man.

He hadn't realized the pimp's fat hand had actually connected with Lisbon's face, not yet.

She dropped her grasp on his arm, moving around to the driver's side of their car. Climbing in, she started thanking whoever was looking out for her that her lip had split on the left side and she lived in America. If she could hold off from talking to Jane, maybe, just maybe he wouldn't notice anything. He wouldn't be able to see it and if she didn't say anything he wouldn't be able to hear the hesitation in her voice. She'd had split lips before, they were hell to try and talk through. Give it fifteen minutes and it should be fine, she reminded herself clearly; indicating a turn and pressing her foot on the pedal.

Jane ranted and raved, as much as he ever did when not talking about Red John, during the entire car ride back to the office.

If he had thought it strange Lisbon wasn't berating him for his behavior he chalked it up to her anger taking silent form.

They parked, and she still wasn't talking to him. He was about to ask her what the matter was when she abruptly left the car; leaving him sitting along in the passenger side like an imbecile.

She stalked into the building, moving quickly so Jane wouldn't realize anything was amiss, not yet anyway. Bypassing the elevator, she ducked into the stairwell, taking it two at a time.

Jane was quick enough to see her disappear through the door but considered it another 'I hate Jane' episode. Deciding to let her be for the moment, he didn't want to interrupt if she was going that way to expel her excess anger by pounding out her frustration on the stairs. He caught the next elevator and had to wade through the epic stench of some overly-priced adulterous husband's perfume apology.

He was already on their floor when she popped out of the stairwell. It was a possibility she was prepared for; she immediately weaved her way into the women's restroom.

That's when he knew she wasn't mad at him.

It was something else.

"What happened?" Cho asked. He'd noticed the Bosses unusual return behavior, if she had a beef with Jane or anyone else on the team, she wouldn't avoid it. Everyone knew enough about Lisbon to believe her capable of that.

"I'm not sure…" Jane intoned thoughtfully, gazing at the closed door.

Rigsby was intrigued; having Jane be 'not sure' about anything was a novelty. He knew that for the foreseeable future and the rest of his working relationship with Patrick Jane, mind reader extraordinaire, this uncertainty was unlikely to happen again. Or at least, perhaps, only applicable around Lisbon.

Lisbon looked into the mirror carefully; she turned her head to the right and lifted her chin up into the light. It wasn't a bad knock to the face. The split was pretty even, no ragged tearing, little blood. She dabbed at it gently, not wanting to cause more pain. It was throbbing dully. Why was it that the smallest things always hurt more?

Once she had cleaned it to her satisfaction and her lip had stopped spotting blood, she contemplated her next move. She couldn't avoid the team, or Jane. There were still a few hours to go before quitting time. She could hole up in her little office but Jane wouldn't stand for that, he'd barge in without a second thought. Besides, she had to make it to the office first. A minefield of open expanses, windows and doors; Jane would be beside her in an instant, not to mention Rigsby and Cho. She was surrounded by over-protective brother figures. She wondered how long they would bend to her demands, as long as she could keep them in mother-mode; they would be none the wiser.

Sighing, she squared her shoulders and turned to the exit. The door opened, and she had fleeting fear it was going to be Jane.

It wasn't.

It was another agent. A female agent.

One she hadn't had the pleasure of meeting yet.

"Nice lip." She said appreciatively.

"Thanks." Lisbon replied with a stilted grin; hissing slightly as the pull of the grin caused a new wave of stinging pain.

"I think there's some ice in the fridge." The agent added.

"Really?" She hadn't known that.

"Yeah, Lebowski made some when he got hurt last week. I think there's still some cubes left."

Nodding her thanks, she left the restroom, casting quick glance toward her team. Yep, they're all looking her way. Subtle guys, real subtle.

Making a beeline for the fridge she didn't stop until she was in front of it. She could hear the scuffling of feet; Rigsby. The tap of a loose paperclip; Cho. Watchful silence; Jane.

Not that one can actually hear watchful silence, she berated herself, but since it was Jane and she was quickly developing radar or some form of sonar where he was concerned, she accepted her brains' observance.

She found the ice cubes and thwacked the tray a couple of times to loosen its icy hold. Grabbing one she brought it up to her lip and tried to turn around the other way – so that she wasn't facing the guys.

She knew it was going to be a fruitless endeavor but she still tried to keep the split lip a secret. Some things just didn't need to be broadcast.

Jane's vested body was in her way.

Sighing, she turned in the opposite direction, Great, now she was facing Rigsby and Cho.

"Boss!" Rigsby cried, "What happened?" he moved over immediately. Towering over her, he tried to get a look at her face without touching her; he would never take that kind of liberty with the Boss.

Jane did not have the same compunction. Scooting around her side efficiently, he too saw what had alarmed Rigsby.

"It's nothing, just a little line-of-duty hazard." She replied, waving a disinterested hand in Rigsby's direction.

Cho frowned, but did not move from his desk. He had worked with Lisbon too long to believe fussing would change her mind. If she wasn't interested in telling him, he wasn't going to find out, and he certainly didn't want to annoy the truth out of her either. He wanted her to trust him and tell him in her own time.

Jane's forehead cringed in thought. Her hand and the ice were shielding her injury from view. He wanted to know exactly what kind of trouble had befallen her. He knew when it must have happened, and he was pretty sure about the how, but not why she had chosen to keep it from him.

Lisbon deftly avoided Rigsby's frame, ducking under his hesitant outstretched arm. Cho was lovely; he always waited for her to come to him, to let him know when she needed help. She was grateful for that.

She nodded toward Cho, thanking him for his distance.

Jane knew exactly what Lisbon was thinking. She was short enough and impressive enough that she could curtail any of Rigsby's more masculine protective urges. Rigsby wouldn't want to offend the Boss or make her feel less competent, especially given as he was in awe of her himself. Cho on the other hand was exactly the kind of person Lisbon thought she wanted. He wasn't. What Lisbon needed was somebody who would push her to take care of herself, someone to push past her defenses to let her know she was cared for, that's what she secretly wanted. Jane was sure.

He followed her into her office, as she knew he would. It wouldn't do to disappoint a lady.

She growled softly. Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? She wasn't grievously hurt and it wasn't like she hadn't had her fair share of knocks on the job.

He could see the tension smoldering off her body. What exactly did she think he was going to do? Kiss her? Hug her? Have a mud-wrestling fight over her badge and gun?

"Lisbon. When were you going to let me in on your little secret?" He teased.

Ugh! Never. "It wasn't that bad, I didn't see the need to make a fuss over it." She replied.

Stubborn Woman! "Over what? You haven't even let me, or anyone else for that matter, see it yet!" He continued indignantly.

Stop prying. "It's not important. It doesn't matter! You don't need to see it. I'm fine." She moved further away from him, trying to fend off his emotional/personal advances by retreating further into her sanctuary – her office.

Just tell me, you'll feel better. "Come on Lisbon." He wheedled, smoothing his voice and his body language so she would trust him.

It didn't work.

If anything, it ratcheted her tension up a notch.

Don't try the old side-street, back-alley merchant shtick with me. "Jane, really. I appreciate your concern but it's not necessary." She tried to get their conversation back on more solid ground. Their collegial relationship was unsteady enough; she didn't need any misconstrued attempts at friendship and false concern to shake her already unstable position. Jane was just the type of man who could easily be the mouse that sunk the boat.

He realized his approach was only making her more immovable. He leaned in catching her off guard.

"Lisbon. I just want to see what mark that man left on you. That's all. I need to see it." He was trying for light-hearted with a touch of slight omniscient concern. He didn't want her to think he cared or that he was interested in her well-being for any other purpose than his own need to know everything, because he kind of didn't. Only, it was his fault that she had been hurt. It was he who the woman and the man perceived as possible money and threat; if Lisbon had been there by herself nothing like this would have occurred, she certainly knew how to take care of herself in hostile situations.

He hated being indentured to anybody, and he certainly was in this case. If Lisbon hadn't pulled him away he very well could have been shot. He wasn't totally unaware of the repercussions of having a handgun shoved barrel first into one's face. The man would have had no compunctions about shooting a random blond haired, suited man in the back streets of the homeless quarter.

The only problem was that his voice wasn't coming out the way he wanted. Instead of slightly fatherly concern and light-hearted it had arrived with a touch of pain, of actual guilt-laced worry.

It made him pause.

Lisbon too, she had never heard that tone from him before. She wondered how much else he kept hidden underneath that suit. His armor of tailored cloth.

"Jane, really." She tried one last time, rivulets of icy melted water slipping down her wrist to hide under her blouse sleeve. She didn't want his fussing; he'd only use it as a chance to explore her thoughts and emotions more thoroughly.

He saw too much already.

"JUST let me." He pleaded; forcing his way into her personal space, hands reaching around her body to barricade her in place.

He had her pinned between the wall, the corner of her desk and his body. He towered over her, as was easy to do since she was so much shorter.

Before she fully comprehended exactly what had happened, his hand was delicately restraining her wrist (ice cube still clutched between her fingers) and Jane was gazing at her lip; a twitch of anxiety spreading across his face.

She blinked rapidly, trying to understand what was happening.

The deafening silence became uncomfortable.

She instinctively licked her lips; cringing when she brushed the sore spot.

"Hey, you're okay." Jane said softly, his free hand coming up to caress the unmarred side of her mouth.

But who was he comforting?

The frisson of spontaneous concern shocked him. Compelled him to thrust her away from him; he couldn't be that obvious though. He hid it. He hid the unusual emotion and his revelation.

He was concerned with the fate of humanity in an abstract way. He didn't care for individuals anymore. Not now. But there it was, glaringly obvious and staring him in the face with sure eyed greenness.

A simple, unwarranted acceptance of his concern.

Lisbon accepted him, or… she was compassionate enough to give him this moment. One he needed for some reason she would never ask him to explain.

She needed to be okay.

He needed her to be alright, whole.

The delayed realization that it was his fault, again, that someone close to him got hurt; even if it was 'just a split lip', nothing really in the grand range of being hurt.

But it was blood.

A violent ripping of skin.

His fault.

His actions.

His words.

They had brought this about.

"Hey Boss." Cho broke the snapshot; his unpretentious opening of her office door revealing an odd sight (one which the team would become entirely too used to in the coming months).

Lisbon and Jane turned to him expectantly. Lisbon who would have liked to move away from Jane couldn't, because he was still barricading her.

Jane, knowing this was Lisbon's express wish, refused to move, it created a better atmosphere for what he needed to do next. He couldn't let his insecurities and vulnerabilities be known by this woman, by this team.

"Ah, Minelli needs to talk to you, in his office." Cho continued, trying not to be too distracted by how close his Boss and Jane were standing.

"Oh don't be that way Cho." Jane replied jovially, "Lisbon has a boo-boo; I was just about to kiss it better."

Cho eyebrows rose.

The expressive nature of his normally unmovable face causing Lisbon to flush; it wasn't quite a blush, but it was very near to one.

Her forehead scowled, she was still aware of her split lip, she didn't want to cause herself more pain just because Jane was being an ass.

Cho left quickly, not wanting to get in the middle of that conversation (battle). He decided he was going to keep this particular incident to himself.

Jane exited swiftly too. He sauntered to the couch, the one he had claimed within hours of joining Lisbon's team. It had only taken two weeks for her to give up trying to get him to use the desk assigned to him. He was surprised at her forbearance; most people gave up within three days.

Sinking into the heavenly cushions he reflected, that had been too close.

Too close to something real.

He didn't want people getting close, especially to anything real.

Anything real to do with him.

Things like care, concern, possession, camaraderie, friendship, truth… those were things he didn't want with anyone, not anymore. He wanted the façade, the man on the stage. That's what the suit was for, mostly, although he did look rather dashing in it, the suit was meant to remind people that he was outside of their circle, their range of touch. He was set apart from them. They could never see the 'real' him, because he was always on show. In character, so to speak.

Why was he letting Lisbon see him? The real him? The him no one was allowed to see anymore?

How had she done that?

It didn't matter he decided, several hours later.

Several hours of much consternation and thought later.

If she got too close again, or he was feeling the need to get close to her, he would push her away, employ his talents, irritate, annoy, embarrass her – that at least seemed to be the easiest way to put her off-balance.

Maybe next time though, steer clear of the romantic undertones.

As it happened though, when his irritation and annoying behavior still did not keep her away, he would have to bring in that old tool. Their chemistry, the attraction between them was pretty much the only way to make sure she would be distracted. It was the only sure-fire way to keep her off-balance.

As time went on, he began to enjoy it less and less. He didn't want to irritate, annoy or embarrass her anymore, because she already saw him.

She saw him very clearly.

She understood too much.

But he didn't know how else to keep her away.

Too afraid of the past.

Of the future.

And now he is stuck.

He doesn't know how else to keep her away, or to bring her closer. She's already too close; she stands beside him without even knowing how near she is. She thinks she's miles away, only he knows the truth. She's within holding distance. A small step, maybe even a lean and she'll be right beside him, standing side by side greeting the oncoming storm of emotion, of truth, of that which he fears more than anything.

Feeling something real again.

Feeling anything other than hatred and revenge, of sorrow and grief... loss.

He can't have that.

It would ruin his plans.

And he's not ready for that. Might not ever be.

He has a list of things to do with his life.

It's a list of one.

Kill Red John.

He's not looking for anything to add to that list. But she's there. She's always right there; even when she's not there physically. She's there in thought, in feel, in spirit; waiting, watching, understanding.

She's somehow added an incorporeal number two to that list.

He doesn't know what is; just that it has something to do with her. And his (their) future.

He's not ready, doesn't want to think about it. But it hurts. Trying to keep her close but not too close, trying to keep her far away but not too far. Trying to be truthful but not too truthful, trying to lie, but not lie too much. Trying to see her, but trying not to, wanting her to see him but not too much or too little.

It's painfully confusing and contradictory.

So he does things he doesn't really want to, just so that he can keep the status quo, the way he's found things work.

It's not perfect (it's excruciating) but he can't move in any direction, not without making things worse. And for the moment she seems content to let this strange situation stay.

It's painful, and imperfect.

It's an agony of awkwardness, but it's all he can give, stand, endure.

He knows what people think, but they're wrong. Even Lisbon is wrong, because she doesn't understand this particular aspect of him.

The tiptoeing closeness and abrupt push.

It's contrary.

But, it's all he's got. (It's all he can bear to give).

Well, I don't really know how to explain this one.

I guess, I thought, Jane wouldn't keep irritating and annoying without a reason. He always has a reason, even if it's a shitty one.

Just a little character exploration.

Hope you liked it, found something new in it. Something to think about at least.

Let me know.

Arc