Hey there. I know I said this was a one shot but I was listening to Sparta's The Most Vicious Crime and I thought it would be a perfect song to finish this up with. Besides the two people who were kind enough to review said they liked it and asked for more. What can I say I'm a sucker for compliments.

Disclaimer: The Mentalist and its characters, the band Sparta (formerly At The Drive Inn, now Mars Volta and Sleepercar) and it's song The Most Vicious Crime aren't mine I just think they're awesome.

Sea foam and Vicious Crimes

He stood over her, taking in the smooth ivory skin of her back, the dark mahogany curls tumbling across her cheek and down her shoulder. They made a beautiful contrast to the pale sea green sheets and light blue comforter.

Alone, it could be alright

I'll make it alright

Have to get by

Have to get by on my own

For someone who kept up the appearance of tough austerity at work, Lisbon's bedroom was surprisingly decadent. Soft thick piled cream carpeting; the furnishings were shaker style with spare clean lines but of highly polished golden colored solid wood. And the bed, "my god that bed," from the silky high thread count combed Egyptian cotton sheets to the down comforter and the multitude of satin covered and silk embroidered feather pillows. It was the kind of bed you expected from an 18th century courtesan not his prickly no nonsense senior agent Lisbon.

"His agent Lisbon," "No she wasn't his; she couldn't be because if she was his he'd have to give up, move on." "He'd have to move on from the memories of his family, give up on his plans for revenge, give up on his plan to kill Red John and he wasn't ready to do that." "He was too selfish to do that, even for her." "Oh he knew she'd never ask him to not for her sake anyway." "She was an innately selfless person, used to considering others before herself, beside she loved him too much to do that."

He felt it last night in her touches, at first urgent and slightly desperate, they had slowly gentled. She'd started by running her hands up his back until they tangled in the blond curls at the nape of his neck pulling a little roughly as she arched her back, offering herself up to his mouth. They had ended with her running her finger gently through the curls, lightly scraping his scalp then continuing to his neck and down to his shoulders. One hand had kept going, from his shoulder down his forearm to his wrist, finding his hand she'd twined her fingers with his. The other had strayed to his chest, caressing until she'd felt his mouth and tongue traveling from her ear to her neck then her chest, then it had gone back to his neck, pulling him closer 'till they were flush against each other. Her hand held him tight in place as she murmured words of praise and encouragement. The words and the love in her voice echoed in his ears, words like "please, yes, more, Jane and right there." Until they formed a song in his mind, a sweet addictive song. The kind you couldn't forget not matter how hard you tried, the kind that would pop into your head at the most inopportune moment, like when you're stuck in traffic or you're supposed to be paying attention to the speech your boss is giving.

Today, I found this moment

Leaned in and stole it

And this is the start

This is the start of it all

All these thoughts ran through his mind as he stood over her. Like a dying man's life flashes before his eyes, if his life had just begun the night before at 10 past 1 a.m. when his mouth had met hers for the first time. Well if that was when his life (his new life) had started he supposed he should comfort himself with the knowledge that he knew exactly when it would end, most people didn't, it took most of them by surprise, but he knew, down to the minute. Because while he was too selfish to let go of his revenge for her he wasn't selfish enough let her get dragged into it. He couldn't keep making love to her knowing he'd one day see the look of hurt and betrayal in her face when she had to arrest him for killing Red John.

I was born into this world

I've done all I was told

But oh, I did it too slow

I walked the straightest line

I finished it all in time

But oh, it's not enough for you

The walk down her stairs reminded him of another so many years ago, only in reverse. Last time the feeling that something was terribly wrong had grown as he'd walked up the stairs until he'd gotten to the door with the note and he'd know, he was sure that whatever was on the other side it couldn't be good, wasn't something he ever wanted to see. This time the feeling of dread grew as he walked down her stairs until he was facing her front door and though he wanted (almost as much as he wanted his family back, almost as much as he wanted his revenge) to go back up those stairs and crawl back into her bed, so badly it hurt. It was only almost, so he opened it and walked out.

I'll steal your cries

I'll take your life and run it all aground

I'll bleed your lies

I'll take your life and run it all aground

He got to his car and sat, at a loss as to where he should go. His apartment wasn't an option, it was too quiet, too lonely and he wasn't sure he'd be able to resist the temptation to call her once he got there. He couldn't go to the house in Malibu, his wife was gone but it would still feel like a betrayal, to go there with the taste on his lips and scent on his skin of another woman. He closed his eyes and thought of her, the way she'd opened her eyes and looked up at him, whispering "Patrick" as she'd let go. The way she'd look as he'd last seen her. Sleeping on her side her arm across her chest, the hand palm down and tucked under her cheek, and the corner of the sheet tangled around her hip were the only things keeping her modest. Her other arm was thrown out; palm up as if in supplication and a tangle of curls covered her face. Unable to stop himself he'd reached out gently pushing them off her face, his fingers caressing her cheek as he went. Looking down at her he'd caught his breath, among the ocean colored tangle of blue and green linen, her curls tumbled as if by the breeze, she looked like a copy of Botticelli's Birth of Venus. Watching her he decided he preferred her ebony curls to the red gold hair of the masterpieces original model.

Snapping out of his reverie he looked around and started his car, he'd decided where to go.

He pulled up and got out of his car. Taking off his shoes and coat he left them on the boardwalk and walked down the few wooden stairs and onto the sand. The weather was too overcast for sunbathers, the waves to rough and choppy for surfers so he had the stretch of beach to himself. The memory of her tangled in an ocean colored foam of sheets, the rest of the room with its creamy sand colored walls, the small collection of shells and sea glass in a jar on her dresser even the occasional splash of cocoa brown, in the thick curtains blocking the light from entering the big bay window to the little brown silk throw pillows stacked on the bench at the foot of her bed, looking like drift wood washed up on shore. Even the peace and tranquility, the feeling of contentment he'd felt when he'd first woken up from the best sleep he'd had in years, it had all reminded him of this place. One of the few places he'd felt at home, felt he could rest.

He'd always loved the ocean.

Time wore down this passion

Force fed, but total lack of love

It wasn't enough

I lost my head at the thought of losing

Fell apart when it came to choosing you

It's time to get it right