A/N: This story is not new. However, I am having a hard time in my life right now, and just can't seem to write updates to my other new stories. I know a lot of people liked this story, but I wasn't too happy with it or the grammar issues. I have corrected it as much as I could (making it more readable), and thought that after a year of being taken down, I would allow it to have life again-and hopefully properly motivate me for my newer stories. Please enjoy. Thank you.

Chapter One - Sweet Relief

It was the same as always. She was still searching. Her eyes repetitiously scanned the room as she stepped back. She didn't notice that the door behind her—once closed—was wide open. She couldn't see the hidden shadow behind her as her instinct as a cop rooted her to the place like an old tree.

Teresa Lisbon didn't see the very same malevolent shadow creep behind her. The body at her feet, Brett Partridge, was just the beginning of what was waiting for her. She clenched her jaw and felt the quickening of her pulse and the beating of her heart against her ribs. Something was very wrong. Years of being a beat cop and boss at the CBI had given her the inexplicable luxury of that gift. Something wasn't just wrong—something was bad. Awful.

This was painfully confirmed when she felt the pull of her hair. She was falling backward. Falling into blackness as electricity flung through her body and shut her eyes for her against her will. She felt the world crumble under her. She can remember a groan escaping her parted lips before she was rendered into the black.

Teresa Lisbon awoke in a puddle of sweat. Her tank top was drenched, her hair stuck to her neck and forehead in clumps, and she was breathing fast and hard as she sat bolt upright. She gasped for air and pushing the covers off her body, turning herself and sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands.

It had been nearly four years since her near-fatal encounter with Red John. It wasn't easy on her, to say the least. For every day since she had the same recurring dream. Sometimes she woke up before she got to the part where he laid her on the mattress and put blood on her face, and sometimes after. It didn't matter, really. It still made her shudder when she finally opened her eyes in shock and sat up.

She could never really sleep more than a few hours a night. Once the nightmare invaded her, there was no going back to it. This fact, however, was leading to a decline in her job at work. Not only that, but Jane was on her ass that she looked tired or he'd throw a comment that she wasn't as chipper. She hated the ribbing, but mostly she was too tired to fight with him.

Red John was stone dead. Jane had killed him. She knew all this. She lived two years knowing this. The way she coped with Jane's absence was to spend her nights reading his letters just so she wouldn't have to fall asleep into that horrible dream without some light poking through. She'd found comfort in those letters of his. She often woke up panting hard and reached for her box that she kept on her night table beside her bed. Now that he was back and the letters stopped coming, there wasn't anything that helped her anymore. The box had been placed inside the closet. His old letters just didn't work the same.

She sighed, pushed her hair from her neck and stood on shaking legs. Walking to the bathroom off her bedroom, she flipped on the light and turned to the wall mirror. She sighed heavily at the reflection staring back at her. She looked so tired; pale and dark circles lacing her beautiful alabaster face.

"You look like crap," she told her reflection. "You need handles for those bags." She frowned.

She turned on the faucet and picked up the glass from the counter, shoving it under to collect the chlorine-tasting water. Her lips were stiff and dry. They were cracking and peeling and felt like the desert. So did her mouth. She sipped the cool water and splashed it around in her mouth before swallowing it and placing the cup back where she got it. She turned herself from the mirror where her horrible reflection mimicked her and turned out the light. She was going to hop into bed with one of her How To Be More Assertive books when her cell phone rang on her dresser.

Work. It had to be this late at night. She walked over and picked up the phone, sliding her finger across to answer. She cleared her throat and rubbed her eye with her knuckle, then yawned.

"Lisbon." She listened for a minute, tilting her head and feeling the ache in her neck from lack of sleep. "Yeah, okay. Text me the address. Is Jane there already?" She yawned again. "Okay. I'm about ten minutes out."

She was so tired that she nearly fell over her own feet as she got dressed, pushing her pants slowly on and buttoning them. She was convinced that one of these days, she'd pass out from exhaustion while driving or going after a dangerous thug. She hated this. Sleeping pills didn't work on her anymore, and she refused to go see a doctor for it. Teresa Lisbon seeking out help for a nightmare? No, thanks! Not cool, calm Teresa Lisbon. She pulled on a rose colored blouse and black blazer and headed out to look at the waking nightmares she saw every day.

"Lisbon, you look peaked," Jane told her as she walked slowly toward him, where he was waiting for her with a coffee. "Everything all right?"

"Jane," she sighed, "I am really not in the mood for your crap, okay?"

Jane handed her the coffee container and held his hands up in defense at her direct grumpiness. "Sorry. Just … I am a little concerned, Teresa."

"Don't be ridiculous. What do we have, boss?" she asked Cho.

"Well, I am," Jane persisted. "You look worse and worse every time I see you. That's not an insult, Teresa. It's the truth," he added, noting the look on her face.

"Would you stop analyzing me, damn it?" she asked him grouchily, her hand going up to her aching neck and massaging it.

"Fine." Though he didn't look like he was done with the subject, she saw him give up his persistence for now.

Cho briefed her on the case, detailing the body and the evidence collected. Lisbon was listening to him, but from the corner of her eye, she could see Jane staring at her. He knew something was up and it ate at him that he couldn't quite figure it out. But then, she liked to think he never could figure her out. That suited Teresa Lisbon just fine.

"Okay," she told Cho. "I'm going back to the office to run his finances. Jane? You want to be a pain in my ass or Cho's? If it's mine, let's go," she said, nodding toward her car.

She knew he'd pick her. He always did. She walked a little clumsily to the car. She just couldn't seem to get herself together. Her vision would fade in and out and she often caught herself before she fell down. Usually, the coffee Jane got her each morning would help wake her up with the caffeine rush she needed. Today, however, she was having no luck. No luck at all.

She could feel her eyes burning like a naked light bulb and close briefly before cracking open again and catching herself. The drive back to the office was like that. A few times she felt herself drift off but would regain control. It was also a quiet ride with Jane, which seemed impossible these days. She could feel his hot stare on her. She ignored him and decided not to take the bait. He clearly wanted her to confess what was going with her, but she didn't have any plans to do so. Not to Patrick Jane. It was bad enough there was a tension between them since he got back from that stupid island of his.

He never even bothered to explain himself or his actions. Instead, he had inserted himself into her life again, and like a sucker, she had let him. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing something was up with her. She wouldn't allow him that little bit of self-centered joy.

They got out of the elevator fifteen minutes later and Lisbon mechanically made her way into the bullpen. She nearly sighed in relief when her back hit her chair. Her legs were like jelly and her body was so heavy with unused sleep. She could feel her heavy eyelids dropping like lead. She nearly dropped her head to her desk when Jane called out from behind her, sitting down on his couch and crossing his legs. She slowly turned her chair to face him.

"You know," he started. "I know when you are lying to me, Teresa. You're terrible at it. Besides," he shrugged a shoulder, "you can't even lie convincingly. It's all twitching eyes and close-lidded looks."

"Jane, please shut up," she half-begged. "Drop it, okay?"

"Ah! So there is something up! What is it? Tell me," he leaned forward. "Teresa," he whispered, capturing her attention. "Let me help you."

"You can't help me with this, Jane," she told him.

Why the hell was she admitting she even had a problem? Sure, he could see and sense it, but that didn't mean she had to confirm it. He had this way of getting things out of her when he used her first name. There was a certain thing that happened to her when he said it the way he did. The "Terezah" was incredibly sexy when he said it.

Though her eyes were filled with exhaustion, she looked at him and felt the familiar feeling in her gut. The tension they shared after he came back wasn't just anger of unanswered questions. It was also of deeply hidden desires and feelings between them both. At least, it was on her part. She couldn't explain Jane's reasons for his tension toward her. She sensed it, though. Sometimes the way he looked through her instead of at her or sometimes when she brought up his time on the island, he'd close up and make some kind of jackass comment.

"I can't help if you don't tell me what is wrong," he whispered. "You really don't look well, Teresa." He uncrossed his legs and stood, peering down at her. "I am seriously worried."

She looked up at his face and knew that he was telling the truth. His eyes reflected concern and his mouth was in a serious line across his face. She stood up.

Too quick.

Too hard.

She felt her shaking legs give out from under her and her eyes flew closed. She was heading down swiftly.

"Teresa!" She heard from some distant plane. "Teresa!"

Felt warm arms around her.

Sweet sleep. Sweet relief. Sweet blackness.

Going.

Going.

Going.

Gone.

The world shattered behind her eyelids and faded away.