I reread a couple of stories and got my Mentalist juices back to flowing. This idea wouldn't leave, so here it is. Of course none of this is mine - I'm just borrowing the characters for a while.

It wasn't very often that he felt either anger or hurt. Those emotions, for the most part, had left when his wife and daughter had been killed. In fact, most emotions had fled, to be replaced only with self-hatred and guilt and the desire for revenge. Oh, it was true that he'd often felt irritated, no longer willing to let the pettiness of life and of people slide past him. But it hadn't been a deep emotion and it was one that was easily dealt with by doing something equally – or more – irritating in turn.

No, he'd refused to allow most emotions to affect him. Guilt was allowed to stay – had to stay to move him on. But nothing else could get in the way of his quest. Anger confused the mind and got in the way of purpose. As for hurt – well, there was very little that could hurt him after he'd lost the only two people whom he loved.

But now he realized that he had been deluding himself all these years. He had begun to feel again, and it had started the day he walked into the CBI office in Sacramento. The shell which surrounded him, which kept out emotions and caring had started to crack that very day.

True, it had taken years for the crack to grow, for the shell to break. It had started with a return of purpose – not just revenge, but of doing something worthwhile. It had started when he realized that he did have something to offer, he could do things that weren't about conning people – tricking them for his own satisfaction and profit. He solved murders and brought justice to the living. He began to feel a sense of pride in himself.

And then there was his team. At first they were good for some amusement. They helped fill the loneliness, the quiet in which all he could do was remember – remember the bloodied bodies of his wife and child.

But soon they became more than just fillers. They became real. There was Cho - stern, enigmatic – but full of courage and loyalty and a wicked sense of humor. Cho had, surprisingly, been the one most often willing to go along with his crazy schemes. Under his inscrutable exterior was the heart of an adventurer.

Rigsby – what could he say about the big guy? He was a man with a heart of gold – and much smarter than he sometimes appeared. There was also an innocence and naiveté that remained in him, even with all he had seen and done and experienced. It meant that sometimes people (Jane included) took unfair advantage of him. But through all of that Rigsby remained, in the real sense of the word, a gentle man.

Grace. Her name suited her. She was a strong woman – and had become stronger over the years. She was smart and bright and capable – yet someone with a kind and compassionate heart. She had lost some of her innocence over the years, but never her goodness.

These three had become his friends, in spite of all he had done. And because of them his own heart had opened and responded. He liked them and gave them his loyalty and his friendship. The crack in his shell had grown bigger.

And then there was Teresa.

He closed his eyes and the hurt and the anger flooded through him. It had been Teresa who had saved him, who had taken him in, given him a job, protected him, stayed by him through everything. It was she who had cared whether or not he lived or died. It was Teresa who demanded the best from him, who pushed him to be a better man than he had ever been. It was she who moved him beyond hatred and guilt and vengeance and had reopened the world to him.

It was Teresa who had taught him to live again, and to love again.

And now she was leaving and his life, once more, was falling apart.

He had waited, hoping for the right moment to tell her, to show her how he felt. But before he had had the chance Pike had appeared and had swept her off her feet. He hadn't known what to do – too rusty in dealing with relationships, still too filled with self-hatred to think he deserved her.

So he had waited, and watched and hoped that she would look over at him and realize that he was here, waiting for her, loving her.

But she hadn't and now she was going away – moving on with another man, a better man than he would ever be.

And he was hurt and he was angry and the emotions almost made him collapse with the pain of them.

She hadn't even had the courage or the kindness to tell him. He'd had to find out through Cho – clearly the last and only person not to have known. The hurt blazed through his chest, almost taking his breath away.

Did he mean so little to her? He had thought she cared, that maybe there was hope for more. But no – she had finally found a man good enough for her, and in so doing had clearly left him behind.

He forced air into his lungs and then closed his eyes, trying to clear his face of any trace of the emotions coursing through him. He still had his dignity and he wasn't going to show the world that he was, once again, a broken man.

He made his way quickly up the stairs and down the hall to Abbott's office. It was early and he knew it was only the two of them in the office.

He knocked and entered at Dennis' word.

It didn't take long, or much effort, to convince the agent who he had, at one time, hated. Now he considered him a friend and felt himself lucky to be working for such an honorable man.

Of course Abbott had tried to dissuade him, had told him to talk to her. But he knew it was too late and too unfair. He couldn't put that burden on Teresa, even though he was angry at her for moving away from him.

So Dennis had reluctantly agreed and had wished him well – with a sad and regretful look in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, once again.

"Yes, I'm sure," he'd replied, not looking at the agent but peering beyond him, to a suddenly bleak future.

"I think you're making a mistake," Abbott told him, "but it's your decision. Please take care of yourself."

"I will," he'd responded with a crooked smile, which did not reach anywhere near his eyes. "I'll be back, don't worry."

"I don't."

Abbott watched him leave, sighing gently at the unfairness of life.

Jane walked quickly down the stairs and out the door, not wanting to run into any of his team, and especially not into Teresa. He couldn't see her and appear indifferent to the hurt she had caused – or even more, to the loss he was now feeling.

He didn't know if he could handle the loss – not again. He walked to his trailer, his throat tight with the pain of it. He'd only loved two women in his life – and he'd thrown them both away- one through his arrogance and one through his fear.

He laughed softly, although he really wanted to cry. He obviously hadn't deserved either of them.

He sat for a few minutes, staring blindly out of the window. He didn't know where to go, or what to do. But suddenly he saw her car enter the lot and took a sudden breath. He had to leave before she had a chance to approach him.

He took one last look at her car – and saw her as she drove into a parking spot. It would be the last he would ever see of her, he was sure.

With that thought he put his Airstream in reverse and was soon heading out of the lot. He didn't look in his mirror or he would have seen her standing there, watching him leave, a look of sadness and longing on her own face.