Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: I posted this fic a long time ago but things stopped me from continuing it, mostly my RL and my muse. Then whenever I did find the urge to write, something stopped me...the SHOW! What happened was we started finding out more about Lisbon's brothers and that started messing with what I had come up with in my head. It made it difficult to write when the characters you created didn't work with what you were seeing on screen.

Then I got the chance to meet the Lisbon brothers in season 7 and I was able to see where I could change things with this fic. For starters I had always assumed that James was the family man but obviously that wasn't the case. I decided to fix that to make it reflect the cannon in the show.

So I hope you guys will like this new/old fic.

Hope

Chapter 1: How Did We Get Here?

Then she pulled out her gun and pointed it straight at him.

For a very long moment they stood there staring at one another. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, mingling with the blood that had dried on her face. Her hands were shaking, making the gun quake. The rest of the team stopped several feet away, watching the situation with wide shocked eyes.

But Jane barely noticed them, he was staring at Lisbon and for the first time ever he wondered if she would actually do it.

Her teeth were bared at him. "Well Jane, you got what you have always wanted. You have your revenge," she told him menacingly. "Red John is dead. Congratulations." Then she pulled the gun back. "Now get the hell out of my sight."

And for once, Jane did as she asked.

Almost Five Years Later

Teresa Lisbon was bored sitting in the car waiting for Derek Johnson to finally appear, to top it off her coffee had gone cold fifteen minutes ago. She knew that tracking down the embezzler who had skipped on bail would be fairly uneventful but the pay was damn good and she liked any change of pace from tracking down philandering husbands or following corporate suits that might or might not be doing something naughty.

It was her own fault. Once her boss found out she chased down a suspect on foot for ten blocks and still tackled him to the ground he had decided to loan her out, if she was willing, to his brother-in-law's bail bonds business when someone high profile skipped bail. She never turned it down; it was the closest she ever got to feeling useful again.

Derek Johnson had skipped NYC right after he was put on bail, when he hadn't shown up the warrant was issued. Now Lisbon had been able to track him to a neighborhood in Jersey, idiot hadn't tried to get far. He was either arrogant or just that stupid, she was leaning towards the latter in this instance.

Years of working stakeouts as a cop had given Lisbon the patience to sit in a car for hours, the only good thing about New York as opposed to California was that the car was not boiling hot now. Still she did come close to letting her mind wander to dangerous territories, to memories of previous stakeouts when she wasn't alone. Shadow puppets, he'd been bored and entertained her with shadow puppets.

She shook her head and took a sip of her cold coffee, grimacing at the taste. She didn't have long to distract herself; the man in question suddenly opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop. Lisbon lowered her head and watched him as he sauntered towards the street; she thought that this would be as easy as she wanted it to be. He kept moving closer; in a second she would step out and arrest him.

But then Johnson looked up and met her eyes. Damn, she'd been made.

It only took a second for him to take off in the direction down a side street. Lisbon didn't panic though. She calmly restarted her engine and drove down the street, like every good investigator she had also scoped out the neighborhood before waiting to make her arrest. There was an alley at the end of the side street, she parked at the end of it and simply waited.

Three minutes later Johnson raced through the alley but slowed his steps, he was looking behind him as if he expected her to be there. He stopped and seemed to relax a little, even smiling as he sauntered again.

Then he saw her standing outside of her car, her gun leveled at him.

Johnson froze and flinched, as if he were about to run again. "Try to run and I'll put a round in your kneecap," Lisbon told him, "your call."

The man actually seemed to think about it. Then he slumped and knelt down on the ground with his hands over his head. Lisbon pulled out her cuffs and walked over to him. "A wise choice."

But he wasn't done quite yet. "You don't have to do this, I have money…"

"Good," Lisbon replied, "you can use it to pay for a good lawyer, you're going to need it."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry Browning and his brother-in-law Jim were enjoying their beers when Lisbon walked in; Derek Johnson was tucked away behind bars once more. She gave them her regular cold stare. "I assumed you got the call."

"Johnson is enjoying prison chow once more," Jim said with a wide grin.

Harry laughed. "Don't doubt her again, Jim. She's chased down serial killers." He turned a serious look to Lisbon. "I hope the car's okay."

She simply tossed him the keys. "Not a scratch." Ever since she had used the car door to stop a fleeing suspect Harry had been concerned that she'd ruin one of his cars, she didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't the first time she'd used that particular maneuver to stop a suspect.

"You have no idea how happy I am that wasn't my car."

What was it with her and memories today?

But Jim was more curious about her past than Harry's company car. "Serial killers? Are you serious?"

"Damn straight," Harry cackled. "She's an old state agent from Cal-i-for-nia," He punctuated each syllable of the last word. "You should see her file."

"How the hell do you get a state cop to work for you?"

"Ask her yourself."

Lisbon gave them a cold gaze. "If you ladies won't stop gossiping about me I guarantee you'll see for yourself what I can do."

That made Harry laugh. "She's got some real fire in her, you can't deny that."

She simply rolled her eyes. "Why I left California and why I came here is none of your damn business, and I'm not in the business of sharing."

"Settle down, girl. Just asking a question."

"Don't call me girl."

Harry laughed again. "We get the point, we don't need to know." He rummaged through the desk and pulled out a roll of bills. He held it aloft and then tossed it to her, she caught it easily. "Don't spend it all in one place."

Lisbon didn't say anything but pocketed the money and walked out the door. She knew they would talk about her once more after she left but she didn't care. They didn't know and she wasn't going to tell.

What she really needed was a drink.

Lisbon took care of her urge to drink by heading over to her regular bar. It was a simple place with a few scratched booths and an old broken jukebox against one wall. But she didn't take a seat in one of the booths instead favoring one of the stools at the bar. Jack smiled at her once she walked in and poured her a shot of tequila right away.

She threw that shot back and set the empty glass on the table with a resounding 'thunk' she ordered a beer that she could savor more and took a handful of the bar nuts that were in the bowl next to her elbow. The next hour passed much the same, she didn't say anything and let the alcohol work it's magic. She felt freer, almost happy…almost.

"Five o'clock," Jack told her with a smile.

Lisbon turned her head to see a guy checking her out, he looked to be a couple of years younger than her and had the demeanor of a man who wanted one thing only. He smiled and saluted her with his drink; she smiled back but turned her head around to wait for him to make the move. She might be on the wrong side of forty but she still could turn heads, it was something at least.

"Is this seat taken?" the man drawled out, looks like he was a couple of drinks ahead of her.

"Nope," she told him quickly.

He sat down and leaned against the bar in something of a sexy pose. "Married?"

She shook her head, "Unattached."

"So am I," he told her with a grin, "What a coincidence."

Lisbon almost rolled her eyes at the obvious reply but she didn't. Instead she gave him a small smile and turned back to her drink. "Henry," he told her, holding out his hand.

"Teresa," she said and shook it in greeting.

"So can I buy you a drink or do you only drink alone?"

Lisbon thought about it for a while. He wasn't anything she would have wanted five years ago but that was then, now… Now he was exactly what she needed. "Sure you can buy me a drink," then she lowered her voice to a sexy whisper, "as long as it's tequila."

Henry's eyes lit up and he quickly ordered the beverage of her choice. A couple of shots later and he decided to press his luck. His hand brushed against her thigh (accidently) and when they both reached for the bowl of nuts at the same time their fingers touched. That was when Henry grabbed her hand and pulled her closer so he could kiss her.

He tasted like cheap whiskey and cigarettes. His lips were firm and demanding, he was going after what he wanted and she wasn't going to stop him.

For several minutes they stayed that way, making out with the furor of two drunk single people with no desire for commitments. He was eager, his hands winding up in her hair and then trailing down her neck, she kept hers on the bar, she didn't have the desire to touch him like he did. His hand made its way to her breast and he began to cup it and the gently squeeze. That should have been the moment she moaned with pleasure, she should have been worked to frenzy, she should have grabbed him and taken him outside to a cab and then her bed.

But she didn't feel a thing.

It was the same way it had been for the past few years. She would go to a bar and make out with a stranger but it never got any further because she never felt anything. There was no desire to let this continue. If anything she wished he would leave.

Lisbon pulled away from Henry who was stunned. "Hey, what was that for?"

"That's it." She actually pried his fingers off her breast and tossed his hand back in his lap.

"Oh come on baby."

Lisbon took a sip of her drink. "I'm not your baby."

"What is this? I thought we were having fun."

"You thought wrong."

Henry gave a disappointed huff. "Don't tell me you are one of those chicks that wants a house, a fence and two kids."

The last word made her freeze. Pain shot through her system and she turned an angry eye to him. "Go."

"What?"

"Go now." Henry didn't know about her past, he didn't know she was a PI and that she used to be a cop. But he knew when a girl could kick his ass obviously. He slammed his empty glass on the bar and quickly stood up from his seat. She didn't watch him leave; she didn't care in the least.

She heard a soft chuckle and looked up to see Jack shaking his head as he wiped down the counter. "What?" she asked him, more than a little annoyed that he was finding amusement in her plight.

"Nothing," he told her but he still had a smile on his face.

"No, that's something, so what is it?"

He threw down the rag and his brown eyes locked onto hers. "All right, I've just noticed a pattern is all."

"I don't have a pattern."

"You have come here several times a week for the past three years and the same thing happens every time a guy hits on you," Jack pointed out, "You accept it, make out with them, let them get to first base, close to second, but then you always shoot them down. Now, ordinarily I'd think you were just a tease but you always seem just as disappointed as they do so that means it's something different."

Lisbon tried to appear indifferent. "Maybe I'm just looking for the right guy."

"You've had plenty to choose from." She took a sip of her beer and looked away but Jack leaned in closer. "When was the last time you did more than kiss a guy?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering?"

Jack laughed and shook his head. "My girlfriend wouldn't appreciate it."

Lisbon smiled but she didn't join in on the mirth. She was thinking about the question Jack had asked. The truth was she knew exactly when the last time she'd had a man in her bed, she remembered everything about it. Two nights before her life descended into utter chaos.

She remembered that night in vivid detail. It had been a simple fun tryst, a bit more exciting since she had been afraid they would be caught but it wasn't anything entirely special. There was no reason for it to be, they had done it many times before and she had assumed that there would be more such nights in the future. She had no idea that two nights later she would lose everything including her sanity, had no idea that the man she'd been sleeping with was no better than the devil himself.

Jack was studying her with a critical gaze. "What happens if one of these guys doesn't take no for an answer?"

Lisbon knew she could take down any one of the drunk imbeciles she let kiss her but Jack didn't know that she was a former cop. It didn't really matter anyhow. Instead she answered honestly. "Maybe I'll finally feel something."

The bartender couldn't have missed the dark edge to her voice but he was more intrigued by her answer. "So that's what it is. You're scary and damaged." He put a shot glass on the bar and filled it with tequila. "On the house."

Lisbon eagerly took the shot and tossed it back like she'd done with the others, but this one made her head swim a little. At least she was feeling giddy now.

"So who was he?"

She glanced back up at him and shook her head. "Of course, I'm a woman so it has to be a guy."

Jack smiled knowingly. "No, but I know it is." He leaned back against the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. "You've followed your routine to the letter every time, take the drinks, kiss a little and then send them packing. Except for a couple of times. A guy named Patrick hit on you six months ago and then two years ago a guy named James did the same thing. Both times you got this weird look on your face and refused to talk to them after that."

"Maybe I just didn't like them."

"Or maybe they reminded you of someone one or some guys you don't want to think about." Lisbon didn't say anything but looked down, fiddling with the sleeves of her jacket. "So, ex-boyfriends?" Jack asked.

Lisbon looked up and gave him a scowl. "No." It was the truth…but just barely in some respects.

"Then who?"

"Nobody," she replied quickly, "and stop trying to get into my head." She'd had enough of that five years ago from someone else entirely.

Jack held up his hands in surrender. "All right, I'll stop asking about your exes but that doesn't mean I'm done with you."

She gave him a surprised look. "You think you've got me figured out?"

"Not at all, but I've learned a few things over the years and maybe why you hold onto your shot glasses so tight."

Lisbon looked down to the shot glass that she was clutching and tossed it away, sending it sliding across the bar a few inches. "You don't know anything."

"Yes I do."

"Like what?"

Jack shrugged. "Like tonight."

She laughed bitterly. "I didn't do anything tonight."

"Of course you did. When that guy mentioned kids you got that same look on your face, like that is the last thing you want to hear. You always have that expression whenever you hear someone talking about kids. What I don't know is why."

Lisbon looked down at the scratched tabletop but didn't say a word. Her hands were curled into fists so tight her knuckles were bone white and her nails were digging into her palms. She didn't care about the pain, she just hated listening to Jack peel her apart.

"But I have a theory."

Her head shot up and she met his eyes. "What is it?"

"Did you have a kid once? Maybe your kid died? If so I'm sorry."

Lisbon blinked up at him, shocked that he was so wrong and then she laughed lightly. "Relax, I don't have any dead babies in my past." It was the whole truth, for once.

"All right so I'm wrong about that but I still think I'm right about the guys."

She took one last gulp of her beer and climbed rather unsteadily to her feet. "Well, Jack. You'll have to wait and see." She tossed some money on the counter and made to leave.

"Hey, don't drive home."

"I can walk," she assured him. She never drove home; she didn't even own a car in this city. There was no point with the cabs; subways and the fact that she preferred to drink herself into a stupor most nights.

The walk home did a little to clear her head but it didn't sober her up. Her apartment was a pathetically small walk-up in a halfway decent part of the city. Lisbon stumbled up the stairs, ignoring the homeless woman out front with her coffee can of change in front of her. She lived in 3-C and it took her a full two minutes for her to fumble with her keys before she made it inside.

Things got fuzzy after that, like she was floating in warm bathwater. It was a nice feeling, she felt relaxed and calm.

But that didn't last long.

In the recesses of her mind memories haunted her, and no amount of alcohol saved her from her nightmares.

She smelt the blood. It was everywhere, on the bed, the walls and on her. Her hands were drenched in it.

There were screams, but whose? Her, she'd been the one screaming that night.

Jane looking up at her with eyes that were filled with hurt but why? What did he have to be sad about when it was all his fault? She ran over to the gurney in hysterics until she felt Rigsby pulling her away and Grace's soft whisper. "I'm sorry, boss. I'm so sorry."

Grace standing in her apartment doorway. "No you can't do this… That's crazy"

"Maybe I'm crazy now too."

Crying. She was crying, all three of them were but it cut through her like a knife to hear the one person who was innocent in all of this wailing for comfort.

But she didn't turn around.

Crying. Screaming. Blood. So much blood.

Her mother stood in front of her with pleading green eyes. "You promised to protect them."

"I did, mom! I did!"

"You failed."

"It's not my fault. I didn't know, it's not my fault."

She was crying again, why couldn't she stop crying? "Shut up! Just shut up."

Her father was there now, eyes bloodshot with alcohol. "Now you know. We're the same."

"I'm not you!"

"No, you're worse."

Blood so much blood. Dripping down the walls in that same grotesque pattern. "I warned you many times that I do not like interferences in my game, you were always the honorable one but I cannot abide anyone who does not follow the rules…"

Jane was there standing in front of her. "I am sorry, I never even thought that this would happen. I am so sorry,"

But you did know! You knew!

Why won't she stop crying? What was wrong with her?

Jane was still there, but now he wasn't being sad and tender. No, his eyes were hard with real rage. "How could you do something like that? How could you just walk away?"

She wanted to shout at him. To tell him he was wrong, to scream at him that he couldn't throw her sins back in her face after what he did to her. But she knew that it wouldn't change what had happened, what she did.

Crying. Screams. Blood. "I'm sorry."

James was there, looking at her through the blood haze. His green eyes were locked on hers, his face completely white. All he did was whisper two words.

"Your fault."

Lisbon woke up on the floor of her bedroom. Her head was pounding and her mouth tasted like an old gym sock. Everything hurt from lying on the hard floor and from drinking way too much the night before. She sat up slowly, groaning as the room spun and the light seared through her corneas.

It took her a moment to adjust before she saw the time on her alarm clock.

She was late for work.

Well it wouldn't be the first time.

"You're late," Harry said as soon as she walked through the door of the small slightly rundown office. For once he actually sounded a little annoyed with her.

"What about it?" she asked, she didn't care in the least. A long time ago being late for anything was a cardinal sin, but now she was a lapsed Catholic that was having a hard time remembering all of the words to Hail Mary.

He grunted. "You look like hell."

Sleeping on the floor tended to do that. But Lisbon didn't tell him that much. Instead she simply shrugged. "You know how it is."

It was the truth, Harry did know. Not because he'd been there himself, although that was probably more than likely the case. Rather it was because his line of work involved a lot of ex-military and ex-cops, most of whom had more than a few personal demons haunting them. Some spent most of their paychecks in a bar while others had those specially marked days where they go drunk off their ass. Harry always knew which days those were, he always remembered and knew better than the ask them in. That was the good thing about Harry; he always gave them those days.

Lisbon didn't have to ask if he knew hers. There were two days out of the year, two anniversaries that she always marked with lots and lots of alcohol. She'd spent these past few years ignoring any association with those memories but her mind refused to forget those important dates. They fell rather far apart so Harry didn't complain, seven months three weeks and two days to be exact; Lisbon never tried to think about why that time period was precise either.

This might have been why Harry was a little annoyed; he knew that this wasn't one of her two days. Still it didn't completely explained that look in his eye. "Try and get yourself presentable."

She raised an eyebrow. "You setting me up?"

He didn't smile, that was a sure sign he really was in no joking mood. "A guy came in with a case, he only wants to see you."

A feeling of dread descended on her. This guy, who could he be? Names and faces flashed through her mind all making her feel sick to her stomach. Five people came to mind immediately, she didn't know which one was worse. Actually she did but she knew that he wouldn't show up here, not after the last time they'd spoken.

"Me? Why me? Why not Nelson or Hendrix?" Now Lisbon was fishing, and desperate.

"I told him you were an ex-cop and he read about your history…"

Lisbon was barely listening at that point because she was so relieved. If this person read about her that meant he didn't know her. This wasn't someone from her past trying to drag her back, this was simply someone who found out a few things and thought she would do well.

"…and since you are from California, he thought it would help."

She blinked and swiveled her head up to Harry. "What? California?"

"Yeah, the case is in California, since you know the area then it is perfect."

She shook her head quickly. "No, I'm not going back to California."

"You have a problem?"

"Yes I do. I left California for a reason!"

"Which was?" Lisbon shut her mouth and turned her eyes away; no way in hell was she telling him about that. "Running from the law?" She shook her head. "Abusive ex?" Lisbon actually snorted and shook her head again. "Then I don't know what the problem is."

She turned around to face him again. "I can't go back there, Harry."

But Harry didn't seem to care and why would he? "He's willing to pay top dollar and more so I don't want to hear any excuses." He tossed her the file. "Take a look, your boy is in there." And he pointed at the small closet sized room that served as her office. Really it was just a desk and a couple of chairs.

Sitting in one of the chairs was a man in his late twenties or maybe early thirties, it was difficult to say. His dark brown hair was cut short and he had eyes the color of warm chocolate. He might have been good looking if he didn't have a permanent frown on his face, he looked…sad.

"Are you Teresa Lisbon?" She nodded her head. "I'm Peter Hensworth." He held out a hand and she shook it softly before gingerly stepping around him to her desk. He took a seat again in the chair. "I did some research, a lot of folks around here had good things to say about your. They said you are good at what you do."

Lisbon didn't really care what her reviews said. She was caught off guard by why little she knew about this man. "Around here? I assumed you were in California."

"No," Peter explained. "I actually live upstate, it's my sister. She lives…lived in California."

"Do you need me to find her?"

He shook his head and looked down at his hands. "She's dead."

Now Lisbon felt real guilt…and sadness. "I'm sorry," but her voice sounded wooden. She wanted to mean those words but she couldn't conjure up that emotion, or any real feeling these days. His pain was reminding her far too much of her own.

But Peter didn't notice her lack of empathy or he chose to ignore it. He met her eyes once more. "She died last year in an apartment in Sacramento."

Of course, what other city would it have happened in?

"The cops say it was a suicide," Peter continued.

That was a bit of a surprise. "But you don't believe that." It wasn't a question.

Peter shook his head. "Claire wouldn't have done that, she had no reason to kill herself. It doesn't make sense." There was a steely resolve in his voice. "Someone must have killed her, it's the only explanation."

Her want to feel sympathy for this man was fading fast. She'd seen this before, people who refused to accept that their loved ones might actually have been that troubled. Rather than admit that they might have missed a few warning signs and try to deal with that guilt, instead they bury it under false hope that there was another explanation. It was terrible really; they were actually hoping a murder took place.

"Mr. Hensworth, do you have any proof other than your feelings?"

"I've tried talking to the cops but they won't listen. They say Claire killed herself but I know that there is more to it. That's why I'm coming to you."

"I'm not sure if there is anything I can do."

"Will you at least look at her case?"

Lisbon glanced down at the folder in her hands, looking at it like it was a poisonous snake. The last thing she wanted to do was have a reason to go back to the one place she was trying to forget. But this time she was certain that Hensworth was sending her on a wild goose chase.

"I'll look into it."

She regretted her words almost immediately.

Harry didn't say a word when she took the file with her, leaving the office early. He was just happy that she was looking at the damn thing. Well that made one of them.

Lisbon took the case file home and set it on her small coffee table, pouring a liberal amount of cheap tequila into her glass. If she was going to look at a case from California then she was not going to do it stone cold sober.

She hadn't looked at a possible murder case in five years, not since she'd walked out of the CBI leaving her badge behind. But this wasn't a murder case, at least probably not. Claire Hensworth was found by a friend two days after she died, he had come by to check on her as per the usual. She was in her bed, her wrists were cut. There hadn't been any signs of a break-in and no defensive marks either. The only prints on the knife had been Claire's. No suicide note but the TV shows always got that one wrong, she could count on one hand how many suicides she'd worked where they had actually bothered to write a note.

All in all it was an open and shut suicide.

Lisbon took a hard swallow and glanced at the report. She breathed a sight of relief when she realized that she didn't recognize the names. SACPD had handled the investigation which made perfect sense, in something like this there would be no need to call in the CBI.

But just worrying about it brought back unpleasant thoughts. Cho looking stunned as she pressed the badge into his hand. Rigsby standing there gaping, his mouth open like a sad forlorn gold fish. And Grace…she had been crying, softly breathing her name as she walked away.

Were they all still together? The three of them working as a team still, was there another member added to fill the void she had left?

Was he with them?"

Lisbon really didn't need to know the answer to that question but she had a feeling it was no. Jane had gotten what he'd wanted five years before, what possible reason could he have to stick around?

She threw back what remained of her tequila and glanced at the pictures.

Claire had been a very lovely girl with dirty-blonde hair and pale skin. Her color looked even paler in the aftermath of her death. Lisbon hated the chalky way people looked but it was something she had gotten used to, hazards of the job. But that bravado had gone out the window long ago, now she could barely even glance at the pictures. It was so unsettling seeing white skin marked by dark blood.

Blood. So much blood. It had been everywhere, filling her senses and making her head dizzy with the smell. Or maybe that had been from the fear, the disbelief that it was happening to her. It didn't matter; there had still been a lot of blood, on the bed, on the body, on the wall…everywhere.

The blood was gone now, except for the lot of it which still soiled her hands.

She groaned and took another long swig of alcohol. She needed to get rid of this damn file, she needed to stop. Remembering would only lead to more pain and guilt which would only lead to even darker things. She knew that the path of memories she was following only led to one place and she had no desire to keep walking down it.

Get back to the case file, but there was nothing there. The whole thing was open and shut, besides she didn't know what she could see that would be helpful. It was difficult going off of an incomplete case file with a few pictures and notes; there was a reason cold cases rarely got solved later. Seeing the crime scene itself was the biggest asset she knew on the job.

Her head was swimming; the tequila was starting to work on her brain. If she didn't see something soon then she wasn't going to find anything at all, not when she was drunk. That was fine with her. Unfortunately the alcohol had a bad side effect, it conjured up her subconscious thoughts whether she wanted to face them or not.

There had only been one person she knew who had been good at looking at cold case files and seeing things. He could take a picture, take one glance and see something that would rip it wide open.

"Background," Jane would tell her, "stop looking at the obvious and see what else the picture can tell you."

The last thing Lisbon wanted to do was take advice from Jane, even if he was limited to her subconscious mind these days. She wasn't going to find anything, even if she did turn her eyes away from Claire's pale skin and her dried blood.

Lisbon threw the photograph aside and reached for the tequila bottle again, her eyes flicked to the picture of Claire's cut wrist. This time she followed Jane's advice and looked away from the cuts. Her hand stopped in mid air as her whole body froze.

She blinked then blinked again but it didn't go away. Even though her head was cloudy with tequila she could register what was staring at her right in the face.

Claire's hand was visible in the photograph, her fingers curled towards her palm. There Lisbon saw her fingernails, three were painted a soft pink, the other two were completely bare. Who painted three fingernails but not the other two? No one.

Lisbon scrambled through the other photographs until she found the one she wanted. IT showed a view from Claire's bed, more specifically of the knife resting by her right arm. In the background the camera had captured an image of Claire's nightstand. It took a few seconds for Lisbon's eyes to adjust but there resting near the edge of the table was a small bottle of nail polish, the pale pink an exact shade of the one Claire was using.

She set the photographs down on the table reverently as she recalled everything she knew about the mindset of suicide victims. Women tended to avoid anything that would destroy their looks, which is why swallowing pills and cutting wrists were normal for them. They did their make up to make themselves beautiful before they were found…they did their nails.

No woman would leave her fingernails unfinished. She wouldn't stop in the middle of her beauty prep and then kill herself. There was no way.

Shit.

Lisbon took another swallow of tequila and grimaced but it wasn't from the taste. No, now she knew she had somewhere she had to be.

The last place she wanted to go.

Harry told her a sentence she never thought she would hear from him. "Money is no object." Apparently Peter Hensworth had quite a bit of cash to spare or he simply didn't care how much of his life savings he lost, either way he was willing to front the whole trip along with her expenses.

In the end she'd had no choice. Which is why she had boarded a plane to Sacramento, she'd been stuck in the aisle seat next to a small boy of about five and his father. The little boy kept kicking the seat in front of him and running one of his toy trucks over the tray table. When he threw one of his toys in her lap for the third time the boy's father gave her a sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry."

Lisbon gave him a quick glance. "It's all right," but she didn't smile back.

He was quiet for a moment as he pulled out some cheese crackers in the shape of goldfish and set them down in front of his son. "You have any kids?"

She felt that familiar pain whenever anybody asked her that question, wistfulness and now something much worse. "No," she said not even looking at him.

Lisbon wasn't happy when the plane finally touched down in Sacramento. She remain rooted to the seat for a bit, as if hoping that if she stayed long enough then the plan would take off again and she would be able to avoid this entirely. But she had no choice, not anymore.

She dutifully picked up her bags and rented a car, still she looked at the familiar skyline and landmarks with dread. Too many memories were being conjured up but this time she didn't know how to avoid them, everywhere she turned there was something else that reminded her of her old life.

There was an extended stay motel that wasn't too far from the airport. Lisbon grimaced as she couldn't help but reflect on the irony of her using one of those particular establishments; at least it wasn't the same one. She deposited her bags in her room and fought the urge to just curl up on the bed and cry.

She didn't want to leave the room; it frightened her that she was so close to them. It was like she could sense them even though she knew it as ridiculous. They didn't know she was here and she couldn't know where they were, they certainly weren't close by, not in a city this size. There was no reason for her to run into them, she was safe.

Still, Lisbon kept a wary eye out as she made her way to where Bradley Wilks worked; he had been the one who found Claire's body and the logical place for her to start her investigation. She still looked around in case she saw one of them; she knew that the two she desired to see least was a flash of red hair or maybe curly blonde. The latter was unlikely; she doubted he was still in Sacramento, not now.

Bradley Wilks worked as a processor in the corporate headquarters of some company that she had never heard of. The building was tall with a nice lobby but she didn't pause to admire her surroundings. She stopped at the receptionist with blond hair pulled back expertly and a shirt cut a little too low, showing up her ample cleavage. "May I help you?"

"I need to speak to Bradley Wilks."

Now the blonde blinked up at her and her expression changed from bored and sultry to shocked and sad. "Oh…I guess you haven't heard."

"Haven't heard what?"

"Bradley is dead."

No Lisbon hadn't been expecting that one in the least. "What?"

"He was murdered two days ago," she explained, "everyone is talking about it."

"Murdered?"

She nodded. "Some cops already came in here yesterday, are you with them?"

Lisbon numbly shook her head. "No, I'm not a cop." Not anymore, not for several years now, no matter how her mind rebelled against that label.

After several minutes of arguing Lisbon was finally able to wrangle an interview with one of Bradley's coworkers. "Cubicle buddies" as he called it, the buddy being Timothy Hart, a young twenty-something man who looked like he'd rather be at home play video games. "Do you know what happened?" Lisbon asked, unable to temper down the side that needed to get to the bottom of this murder too.

Timothy shook his head. "I thought he was playing hooky, until the cops came in here yesterday. I don't know anyone who would want to kill Brad."

"Did he ever talk about a woman? Claire Hensworth?"

He nodded. "I think she was a friend of his, she killed herself a while back."

"Did he mention anything about it?"

Timothy shrugged. "I know he was the one who found her."

"Yes but did he ever talk about any doubts that it was a suicide?"

He blinked a few times and thought about the question for a bit. "Actually, he said that he couldn't believe Claire would kill herself. He kept thinking that someone must have drugged her or something like that."

"Did he ever look into it?"

"Not that I know of," Timothy explained, "But I didn't know him that well."

No, they had been "cubicle buddies" not friends. Sometimes Lisbon had to remind herself that not everyone got as close to coworkers as she had, not everyone made a family with them. She closed her eyes against the rush of pain and mustered up something of a smile. "Thank you for your time."

She wanted to leave this building as soon as possible. Actually she wanted to leave this state.

Lisbon had the feeling that only one day into the case and she was already at a dead end. She wasn't that surprised, cold cases tend to hit brick walls quickly. But she couldn't shake the thought that there was more to it. It seemed weird that Bradley had been killed, the one witness to Claire's death.

Sure, it might have been a coincidence, these things did happen. But Lisbon didn't like that explanation one bit. Something was going on and she didn't know what it was.

A theory formed in her head and she couldn't shake it. What if Bradley hadn't been willing to accept the idea that Claire had killed herself anymore than her brother had? What if he had decided to look into things himself. If he'd discovered something well…well that might explain why he'd been killed. To keep him quiet.

There was only one way to find out.

She drove the twenty-minute ride all the way to Bradley Wilk's home. The place was dark and crime scene tape sealed the front door shut. She knew that technically this was illegal but that only mattered if she got caught, besides, she had no desire to go through proper channels. Doing so would mean putting herself on her old team's radar and she didn't want them to know they were in the same time zone again.

But Lisbon didn't want to break the seal of evidence so she hopped a fence and headed around back to the backdoor. The lock was simple design and easy to pick, she'd learned a few tricks on the job in San Francisco and Jane had taught her a few more. Lisbon gritted her teeth and forced his face from her mind as the door swung open.

She didn't know anything about the case but she knew enough to hug the walls as she made her way through the back door. The kitchen was small and led to an open living room. Everything was in place; there were no signs that any murder had occurred here at all. But looks could be deceiving.

Lisbon rummaged through one drawer but only found a pen and old deck of playing cards. There was some very nice electronic equipment including a surround sound system that undoubtedly would have give her a headache, his passion had been for the toys obviously.

She made her way towards the bedroom, the only logical place where she might be able to find something but she was caught up short by the smell of blood.

Blood, it was everywhere.

Now she was somewhere else, in another time, another home as she opened the bedroom door. The smell of blood, that was always the first thing she noticed. Smelling it now made her sick and she had to resist the urge to vomit what little she had choked down for lunch. She never should have come here, it was too much, too similar. How would she even be able to survive this?

But her eyes took in the sight in front of her.

The blood was everywhere on the bed, soiling it down to the mattress and some had dripped onto the carpet. But rather than send her into a frenzy, she felt a bit of relief. This wasn't that same bedroom, no, it was something else entirely. The proof of that was staring at her in the face.

Drawn on the wall over the headboard was a red cross.

So, someone else had a penchant for painting on walls with blood. But this was a cross, not a smiling face. The irony wasn't lost on her but she also wondered if this meant there was a religious motivation to it. Her first thought was maybe a hate crime but she hadn't seen any religious symbols around Bradley's home, it didn't seem like he'd been particularly religious.

Perhaps the killer just liked the dramatic flair, a bloody cross was something that would shock, horrify and frighten most people because it was the opposite of what the cross originally meant. If that was the case then Lisbon had a feeling this killer was going to be very dangerous indeed.

Of course that didn't mean Bradley's killer and Claire's were one and the same. There hadn't been any indication that Claire's killer had the same flair, there hadn't been a bloody cross or anything of the like. No, it was looking more and more likely that these two cases were simply two tragic coincidences and nothing more.

Still Lisbon wasn't going to leave any stone uncovered. She peeked through Bradley's drawers, avoiding the blood stained bed and tried to keep her eyes away from the cross. But she wasn't finding anything. The only thing that spoke of Bradley's friendship to Clair was a framed photograph of them in a group; it looked like something from their college days, probably from a football game. So college friends, interesting but nothing that could really help her. In his bedside drawer there was a clipping on Claire's suicide and her obituary, again it was interesting but there weren't any notes, no signs that Bradley had done anything more than kept a few mementos of a dead friend.

Lisbon was ready to leave and try for some other clue on Claire's death, maybe interview the investigators but she heard something. A soft noise, like someone creeping through the house. Her heart pounded in her chest and she pulled out her gun. She pressed her back against the wall by the door and quietly waited.

Her heart beat a few more times and then the door burst open.

"Down on the ground!" She shouted at the same time another voice said loudly.

"Put the gun down and your hands up."

Wait a minute…she knew that voice.

Through the haze of flashlights they blinked at each other. She made out two figures one very tall with short hair, holding the flashlight at her eye level. The other much shorter but with a straight military posture.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

She lowered her gun the same time Cho lowered his but they never broke eye contact. Rigsby was the one who gaped at her, still shining the flashlights in her eyes. "Boss?" he gasped.

Lisbon flinched not just at the title, which no longer belonged to her, but at the situation.

There was no way she could run now.

A/N: You guys are seeing a VERY different Lisbon than on the show, this is my take on what would have happened if something caused her to go down a similar path than Jane. You'll guys get your Lisbon and Jane reunion next chapter!