DISCLAIMER: The usual not mine, just playing with them spiel.

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for quite a while and decided to finally get off my ass and write it down. I've dabbled some in writing fanfic before but this will be the first I've actually posted. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

It was nearing ten thirty when she got the call. She had been finishing up the last of the paperwork from their previous case, a task which had grown exponentially since Jane had joined the team. She'd sent Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt home hours ago, telling them to enjoy their weekend. Jane was still asleep on his couch as far as she knew. He'd given up pestering her after she'd threatened to have said couch removed from the building.

Flipping open her cell, she mutters a curt "Lisbon."

A quick briefing from Minelli, and she's grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair as she dials Cho's cell. He answers on the second ring and she doesn't waste time with small talk.

"Red John. Four dead. Pine Grove Motel. Call Rigsby and Van Pelt. And Cho" she's silent for a moment, "they're children."

She hangs up and pockets her cell phone. With a quick check of her weapon and badge she flips off the light in her office and steps out. A brief glance confirms that Jane is where she thought he would be. She finds it strange that a man so unpredictable can be so very predictable when it comes to certain things: his couch, her morning coffee, and his infallible ability to double her paperwork.

He seems to actually be sleeping, a rare occurrence for him and she toys with the idea of heading to the scene without him. This is going to be a hard one for her and the team, she knew it the moment Minelli mentioned children, but for Jane, this will be hell. She knows she can't leave him behind though. As much as she wants to spare him the pain of seeing this, she knows he'd never forgive her for keeping it from him. Besides, it's not as if she'd be able to keep it a secret for very long. She used to think she was a pretty convincing liar, but Jane seems to see through every lie she tells.

Sighing she closes her office door and makes her way across the room to his couch. She doesn't touch him, there's no need. He's such a light sleeper that the creak of the floor boards and her shadow cast upon him by the dim light of the lamp on Van Pelt's desk are enough.

He sits up slowly, unaccustomed to actually having to wake up.

"Lisbon?" he questions, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to focus his vision.

She kneels down so she can look him in the eye. "We've got a case. Red John." Those two words are all it takes to erase the sleepiness in his gaze. She's barely standing before he's off the couch and shrugging into his jacket. He's already making his way to the elevator when she catches up to him and takes hold of his arm, momentarily halting his progress.

He turns to look at her, eyes haunted as if he already knows. It's times like this when she really does wonder if he's psychic.

"They're children, Jane. I'm sorry." She hasn't released her grip on his arm and she gives a gentle squeeze, a fairly empty gesture given the circumstances. He nods, and she watches as his eyes harden and the mask slips back into place.

The hour long drive passes in silence. Once seated in the passenger seat and buckled, Jane doesn't move an inch. There's no small talk, no magic tricks, no pestering. He doesn't even turn the radio on and constantly fiddle with the knob as he usually does. Traffic is quiet, nearly non-existent once they reach the edge of town. Only the SUV's headlights and the occasional reflective sign manage to penetrate the darkness. Gone is the sunny Californian day, the moon is invisible, hidden behind the clouds and a steady torrent of rain lashes at the vehicle from all directions.

The Pine Grove Motel is a small establishment, one of those rundown, hole in the wall type places. A cheap plastic table is missing a leg and the chairs that surround it look like they've seen better days. Half the hoof is missing shingles, numerous windows are boarded up, and the parking lot is littered with rusty old farm equipment.

Among an old tractor, a pile of used tires, and overturned garbage bins are multiple police cruisers with their lights flashing, a few cars and another black SUV identical to the one she is driving.

Hopping out she detaches her badge from her belt and shows it to the guard who lifts the tape to allow her and Jane to pass. Ducking out of the rain into the slight shelter of the motels overhang, Rigsby greets her with a simple "Boss." Cho and Van Pelt both nod their acknowledgment.

She then turns to address the sheriff, a gruff old man that looks like he's seen his fair share of death over the years. "Has anyone been in yet?"

The sheriff shakes his head. "According to the motel owner, the room has been vacant for the past week. Bodies were discovered when Herb Pembry over there" he nods towards a rather robust man in a plaid shirt and overalls "checked in a couple hours ago. He ran out of the room as soon as he saw them, up chucked over there in that garbage can, before informing the motel owner, who called me. I took one look in the room, saw that damned smiley and called Minelli. No one else has been near there since, can't imagine who would want to."

"Thank you Sheriff Camplin. We'll take a quick look and then send our techs in to collect evidence."

She shakes the Sheriffs hand and he gives her a sad smile.

Taking a deep breath she turns to her team and nods before heading toward the open motel room. One look in the room and it's almost more than she can handle. She feels Jane behind her and hears his breath catch. Van Pelt catches a glimpse over her head and makes an incomprehensible noise before bolting toward the garbage cans with Rigsby following. He holds her hair, a hand on her back as she empties her stomach.

Cho stands in the doorway as she and Jane take a step inside. Straight across from the open door is Red Johns signature smiley, painted in blood. The room is trashed, and among the ruins lay the battered remains of four blond girls that can't be much older than six. Two on each bed, the white duvets soaked red. In the middle on the night table is a bright white sheet of paper. Jane steps forward between the beds to get a closer look and as much as she wants to turn and run she steps forward with him.

Printed on crisp white paper are the words:

Four little goldilocks. I do say, they hold quite the resemblance to your little girl. You'll find that together their weight will be remarkably similar to that of Sheriff Hardy.

Quid pro quo, mister Jane.

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