There and back again

It was kind of ironic that when he finally shot Red John – the real one this time – people regarded him as a hero.

Well, he'd actually (sort of) saved Van Pelt's life.

For the serial killer had suddenly decided to start a brand new twisted game with him.

He was going to abduct his team-mates one by one and kill them slowly. The redhead had been the first – of course Red John was going to save Lisbon for last, as some sort of delicious dessert.

Van Pelt was so very grateful to him. And so was Rigsby – no matter how confused he still was about his feelings for Grace.

Cho went as far as patting him friendly on the back. Didn't smile, but no one had expected him to.

Lisbon didn't say a word, just stared at him with her sympathetic eyes.

Clear, honest eyes – as Sam Bosco had once told her.

The following day Jane quitted from the CBI and retired to his motel room. He'd been so lucky as to get back his old dwelling when he came back from his six months in Vegas.

There he was safe from the praise he didn't deserve. He was no hero, and he knew that.

What he had done – it had been mainly about his own selfish reasons.

Revenge wasn't as sweet as he'd always thought, but he was sure he could live with that.

Even if living didn't actually matter so much to him anymore.

He didn't feel like taking his own life either. Guessed he was going to carry on, that was all.

Maybe he could take a trip around California, or even the Midwest.

Maybe he was going to lock himself up in his own motel room and throw away the key.

He'll have to figure that out sooner or later.

In the meanwhile he drank tea and watched documentaries on the National Geographic Channel.

Lions, zebras, tigers, penguins, reindeers, whales, squirrels.

It didn't matter.

He didn't call Lisbon. Didn't call any of his former colleagues as a matter of fact.

Perhaps he missed them.

He wasn't sure that they missed him in turn.

Didn't matter. At the very least he pretended that it didn't.

When Susan Darcy knocked at his door some weeks later he was in equal parts annoyed and amused.

"You're a coward, aren't you?"

Straight to the jugular. Like the cheetah in the last documentary he'd watched.

He just shrugged.

"What did you expect me to do? Throw in a party, and then marry the pretties girl in the kingdom?"

"Then why did you tell Teresa that you loved her?"

A frown creased his brow.

"She'd never tell you such a thing. Not on your life."

"No, she bit her tongue just in time. But I'm an agent. I can figure as much."

"And how is this any of your business, pray?"

"It isn't. I simply think that the whole situation is ridiculous, that's all."

"Maybe I don't want to move on. I'm quite comfortable where I am – with the ghosts from my past as the only company I keep.

"You're an idiot, Jane."

"I've been told so. Perhaps it's true."

"You bet."

He didn't sleep that night. In the morning he left his room for the first time in weeks and drove straight to Lisbon's apartment.

It took her a while to open the door. Her eyes were puffy with sleep – or had she cried as well?

She stared at him as if he was as evanescent as a dream. Blinked slowly, half expecting him to disappear all of a sudden.

He was still there though.

His hand cupped her cheek as he leaned forward and placed a barely-there kiss on her soft lips.

Then he waited for her to slap him across the face, or something equally painful.

She didn't hit him. Didn't utter a single word either.

Standing on her tiptoes she kissed him back – taking her time to savor the taste of tea lingering on his mouth.

"What about stepping inside and shutting the door?"

He felt her smirking against his mouth and smiled in turn.

What a lucky bastard he was. Few men ever find their soul mate – but even fewer can actually meet two of them in one lifetime.

He fancied she would look absolutely gorgeous in a white wedding dress.

Perhaps he'd even buy her a tiara. His angry little princess surely deserved one.