Inner nightmare –by Chiisana Minako.

AN: Hello you all :D! This is my entry for Jello-forever May challenge: Empty promises. First non-oneshot in years! (It'll probably be just a two-shot but still xD). This fic is sort of out of my comfort zone, darker, but I'm trying something new.

I wanted to thank Yaba for being such a sweetie while betaing, and dedicate this to my amazing England girls, Tromana and Boutondor *hugs*

I hope you like it : )

Jane had nightmares. With the details of his family tragedy common knowledge, even if Jane himself never admitted to anyone that he had horrible dreams, most people could guess that he probably started having them shortly after. That they still plagued his unconscious.

Lisbon had nightmares occasionally, not as often as she did when she was growing up. During her adult life, they were often triggered by stress, when her will power wasn't enough to calm her fears or stop her mind from reflecting on not so happy memories.

Now, the night dark illusions of her mind had another reason. She hadn't picked up on what was bugging her until she saw her calendar once again. Sam Bosco would have been 49 that day.

If he was still alive.

Even if she wanted to just forget about it, put it in the back of her mind with all the rest of the painful memories, it was like the world didn't want her to, even with silly little things. For instance, Rigsby had the meatball sub from Cornaro's for lunch, the same sandwich Bosco stole from her a day before he was shot.

As she picked up on a detail that small, a much more trained mind took note of the barely perceptible twitch of her eyebrow when she looked at the sandwich's wrapping. Lisbon might have known at some point, that his blue eyes were glued to her; following her every movement, as though he knew something was wrong. Of course he knew, he always knew.

It wasn't that hard to conclude; after all, she usually didn't skip lunch unless she was too busy interviewing suspects and following leads, it all became so hectic then she just didn't remember she had to eat.

And they had just closed a case that morning.

.

.

Her hands were red.

Of course they were; they had been in contact with blood. So much blood.

The same blood the wall was painted with…and that fucking creepy smiley. It didn't matter how long she washed her hands in the bathroom, it was never enough. She scrubbed and scrubbed, but her fingers remained crimson red. It took her a while to realize her knuckles were bleeding, and she couldn't stop it. The numb feeling went away, replaced by sharp pain, cutting on her skin. She looked at herself in the mirror, realizing she was crying, and behind her…

… there was another red smiley.

Lisbon sat up suddenly and her eyes shot open immediately, getting a hold of her surroundings; her living room, her couch. It was dark now… when did she fall asleep? In a tired gesture, she rubbed her eyes and found out how damp her cheeks were, how sore her eyes felt. Crying in her sleep, it had been a while.

As she got up from the couch and into her little kitchen, she wondered when she was the one trapped in the memories of things that couldn't be changed (no matter how much she wanted them to). When her eyes got watery again, she didn't stop them, just stared at her kettle, waiting for it to boil the water. Salty droplets fell to the floor, never to be seen again, and she mumbled something even she couldn't hear. If she did, Lisbon feared she might keep her word.

"I'll let you kill him."

.

.

Next time she saw Jane, she couldn't look him in the eye. Her own whispered words kept mocking her, how much of a hypocrite she was. But she pushed it away; after all, it wasn't like she had kept her word.

Yet.

And of course, if Jane was denied something, he worked even harder to get it. So he made a point of staring at Lisbon until she caved and looked at him. At first, he flashed his most charming smile, but as the day progressed, every time he succeeded they just kept eye contact for longer. He was kind of expecting her to roll her eyes, to glare at him, maybe even to show a hint of a smile at his grinning, but she just looked at him with her deep, crystal green eyes; as if trying to communicate something.

Then he remembered he wasn't really a psychic.

.

.

It was evident, clearer than water. If Jane believed he had a real, solid lead on Red John's location, he would go by himself.

And so, he did.

First he had to trick Lisbon, which didn't go exactly as planned. She was a lot smarter than he sometimes assumed, not that he thought she wasn't intelligent, because she was, but this was way beyond that. It was for her sake, really.

Jane remembered her words perfectly, the ones she threw at him in that cold dark room, when they rescued Maya Plaskett, who had been kidnapped. He didn't want Lisbon to be sad, to be disappointed, to have naïve and sweet but ultimately false hopes. His determination to make Red John pay for what he did ran way deeper than anything else, and came before anyone he met.

It was all decided before he met Lisbon, he couldn't change it for her.

(Even if he wished he could, just... sometimes).

His hand pushed an old-looking wooden door, trying to be as careful as he could be, not because Lisbon told him so repeatedly, but because he didn't want to alert Red John of his presence.

Too bad the serial killer already knew the blond would be coming.

Something heavy hit Jane on the back of his head unexpectedly, making him fall to the floor, losing consciousness.

.

.

Piercing blue eyes: that's the first image Jane could see when he woke up, dizzy, and reddish hair, maybe as some kind of twisted joke. His hands handcuffed behind his back to a chair, Jane knew the red headed man was aware that Jane could get out of them. So what was the point? Was it another scheme, a test? Also, the fact that Red John would let him see his face indicated either that he wasn't the real one, or that he grew tired of playing this game with him. It had been seven years of taunting him...

When his conscience returned completely, he was picking the handcuffs and getting himself free, just to see the other man smile and punch him harshly in the face, making him fall back onto the chair again, lower lip bleeding.

A demonstration of power; clearly; the taller man was much stronger than Jane. That made things much more amusing for the serial killer. Maybe for both of them. Sure the blond didn't expect this to be easy, did he? But he did look kind of defeated. This early in the game? Not acceptable.

His laughter was as creepy as the enigmatic smileys he liked to paint in the wall above his works, and Jane felt something soft landing in his lap. His eyes almost got watery, almost. But the rage was winning the battle against the sorrow. He charged against Red John.

His daughter's headband, stained with blood, gripped tightly in his fist.

No words were spoken, there was no need to. As much adrenaline Jane had in his system, it wasn't enough to overpower the trained murderer in the long run. A few punches here and there, but nothing major. Of course not. Red John would concede the poor man a few blows to boost his ego.

.

.

Especially if you got feelings in the way, fighting skills became even messier. A punch to the stomach had his untalented opponent on his knees, trying not to completely fall. The red head kicked him without mercy and took out a knife from one of his boots, thinking his plan over. He was getting bored; maybe he should just kill the bruised, coughing blond in front of him. At first he thought if Jane ended up killing him, that'd just mean that he succeeded in totally ruining his life; no family, losing friends, loved ones; making them hate him, and even losing freedom. The serial killer didn't care much for life –that was evident to anyone who witnessed his art. Even though he had a higher appreciation for his own, he was more than willing to die to complete his masterpiece.

It would have been a lot better if he had managed to kill the lovely Agent Lisbon first, but for some reason he hadn't been able to. Two failed attempts, but no one had to know about that. He had to be thought as infallible. Maybe Jane wasn't worth it, maybe it'd be better just to finish him off. It had started to go downhill recently, the seemingly unflappable blond brought more troubles than amusements as of late, but that'd be too easy.

Oh well. Better to quit when you're ahead.

The knife felt strong in his hand, powerful, familiar; and as he stepped closer to the bleeding man at his feet, the anticipation only grew, threatening to overcome him as he raised the blade over his next victim. He had killed so many times before, had taken pleasure in both the act and the fear permeating the air around his chosen target, but watching Patrick Jane slowly resign to his fate gave him a thrill like no other. His sweetest victory yet.

Red John allowed himself a moment to indulge in the defeat of his favorite adversary, but that became his greatest mistake, because before he could strike, the knife slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor as one bullet pierced his right leg and then another his right one.

It took four shots, two in each leg, to make him fall. The quick footsteps let both men know it was Lisbon approaching.

Jane picked up the knife, knowing it was now or never. Finally he could taste his revenge, the reason he got up every morning. He cut his own fingers by being too hasty in picking the sharp instrument; he regretted he couldn't give the bastard a slow death, because it would have to be a quick one due to lack of time. He could see Red John's throat being cut open already.

If only.

Three bullets connected with the blonde's abdomen, and he was shoved to the floor once again, feeling a sharp pain. It was hard to breathe, he couldn't get up. He could feel Lisbon's presence, somehow.

Did she just...?

A loud thump echoed or at least that was what he heard, signs of struggle. Lisbon hitting Red John with the back of her gun, getting a punch in the face in the process, but with the help of Cho, she succeeded in getting the murderer unconscious. Back-up was already there, helping them take the criminal into custody, securing the area for a possible minion of his. Jane was sure there was more to it, but his mind was so fuzzy and confused. Was someone talking to him?

There was blood near Jane. Red John's.

"Jane... please, wear a vest. For me."

It all made sense now.

Jane didn't know if he should be happy or angry that for once, he had listened to her. His vision was getting blurrier, had he been shot? There was the metallic taste of blood on his mouth, and all of a sudden a salty taste felt stronger.

Adrenaline was leaving him, and so was his consciousness, once again.

Cinnamon… and watery green…

"Lisbon…?"

Jane's blue eyes closed.

.

.

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Soo, what did you think? Was it a surprise or not?

Next up: It didn't matter how much he rationalized it, Patrick Jane did not like to lose.