I know it's short, but that's better than nothing, right? I wanted to get this chapter just right, and, to be totally honest, I'm not 100% sure about it. But I'm afraid that if I try to do anything else to it, I'll ruin it completely.

Lisbon ran as fast as she could through the winding corridors. If she'd been thinking properly, she might have wondered exactly how she knew where Jane was, why all the corridors all looked almost identical, that this box was far, far bigger than she'd first thought, and how she knew how to get to where she knew Jane was. As it happened, she was wondering how she could have missed the sheer size of the place for the last few hours, but she was concentrating harder on getting to her friend than her lack of rational thought.

Arguing with that woman, Donna, had taken far longer than she expected. Lisbon was a seasoned soldier on the front line of word wars, thanks to the same man she was now chasing, but it turned out that Donna was no novice either. It had been entertaining to see how far she could push the other woman, and even more entertaining to see Donna give just as good as she got. Normally, she would walk away from such experiences, it was practically pointless to get into these kinds of arguments, but it had been a weird kind of day, and she'd needed a release. Donna seemed to notice this, and let Lisbon let off some steam, while letting off some of her own.

The two women got on very well, considering, and Lisbon wasn't really sure if that should worry her or not.

They hadn't even noticed when the two men had led them gently into another room in this weird place, and had only realised when Jane's enraged shouts were loud enough to snap them out of their argument, and emerge to see what was causing such a commotion.

That was when Lisbon had seen the look on Jane's face. He'd almost crashed straight into her in his haste to get away from that other man – the Doctor, hadn't Donna called him? – with such a fiercely angry expression, that any hostility she'd held towards the blonde had migrated instantly onto the Doctor, as the cause of her friend's anguish.

And now, as a result, she was chasing Jane as fast as her legs would carry her. This was the worst possible day for Jane to get angry, especially to the degree that she'd seen in his eyes. She could just about hear his footfalls, always too far ahead of her to be able to see him, but close enough that she could follow. Just about.

She told herself that she was going to take care of him today. Well, keep him happy anyway, she took care of him daily as it was. Something the Doctor had said or done had set Jane off in a way that not even Red John had managed so far, and she was going to sort it out, no matter what.

It occurred to her momentarily to get all the information first, to know what the Doctor had done to upset Jane so, but that rational part of her mind was quickly squashed by the part which only cared about Jane's emotional, mental and physical safety, as, usually, a threat to one was followed soon enough by threats to the other two.

And so, Lisbon ran faster, hoping she could get to him before anything happened. She only took minimal notice of the way the corridors seemed to be changing even as she ran down them, aiding her in her chase. She'd think about it later, she'd almost had enough for today.

Jane was seething. How dare he? How dare that Doctor say that? He's spent the last few years correcting everyone and anyone about the existence of psychics, and his own standing. He and the Doctor had been getting on fine. Hell, they were getting on like a duck on fire, like a house on water! Something was wrong with that sentence, but he'd work it out later... And then the guy had just come out with it! "Oh, by the way, you're psychic, Patrick! Now, would you like some more tea?"

Stupid alien, with his stupid sentient spaceship, stupid banana grove, stupid tea, stupid flashy console, and his stupid, stupid, stupid guessing games!

Jane couldn't just stand there and be told that his one core value, the thing he'd been telling the world for years, was a lie. So, he ran. He thought he might have crashed into Lisbon as he escaped, but he frankly couldn't care. Lisbon was a big girl; she could take care of herself. He had to get away from the alien throwing his beliefs back in his face as if he couldn't care what Jane himself thought about it. He hadn't been denying his previous life for all these years for fun, believe it or not!

The crazy's couldn't be right. There was no such thing as psychics. Psychics were just con-men, who very good at their job. And there job was to trick marks to separate with ridiculous amounts of money. Marks, suckers, idiots, whatever you wanted to call them. Patrick Jane was no psychic. Kristina was wrong. Psychics do not exist. There is only the show. The show of distracting the audience enough, be it a crowd of a single individual, so that you can observe everything you need about them to be able to reach the dear departed soul of their Uncle Bob and let he loved them, and some remark about forgiving someone close to them, or he can't be happy.

Suddenly, Jane couldn't run anymore. He dashed though one last door, slamming it behind him and hurried further into the room. Without even looking up he could tell it was a library. The place smelled of books. Old books, new books, somewhere-in-between books.

See? That's all you need to do to be a psychic! Know things. Like the smells or sounds associated with the mundane lives of the general public. That didn't make him psychic, it made him smart. It made him clever. It made him a professional. It made him a showman. It made him an expert. It made him a winner.

He ran this way and that, past shelves and shelves of books, in every colour and size. Any other time, and he would have been dying to read every single one. Who knew how much knowledge there was in these treasures.

But now, he couldn't care less. He just had to hide, so no-one could find him. One last turn and he hit a wall. Literally. He smashed both fists against it, silent screams bouncing around inside his head as he hit the surface again and again and again. Finally, his legs folded beneath him and he slide down the wall to rest.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms round his shins, head on his knees, and stayed silent and still. He didn't cry. He was too angry to cry. He just had to hide.

How long he stayed that way, he didn't know. Then he felt Lisbon sit next to him. He should have known she'd follow. Though he didn't acknowledge her presence, he knew that she understood. She always understood, even when she didn't know it.

She said nothing, and made no attempt to touch him, she just simply sat there, letting him know she was close, when he was ready. And so they sat, neither crying, neither smiling, both waiting for one of them to be ready to talk.

As I said; short. But, quality rather than quantitiy, and all that jazz?

Next chapter, the guys settle their differences

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