This was originally meant to be a one-shot, but instead of ending at 1000 words it dragged itself out to 7000. That felt a bit long to just dump on you all at once and it was already split up into easy little sections, so I figured I would make chapters out of it. Fortunately I already have the whole thing written so I'll update every day. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

Parole. For good behavior. Not like him, he knew, but there was only so much he could do in prison before he got bored - and received more than his share of death threats. He'd already laid the groundwork, so it didn't take too much sucking up to get some recommendations from the guards. He was properly reticent at the hearing and the judge was a new one, one Jane hadn't had a chance to ostracize yet. Everything went well.

Five years had passed since he'd worn one of his old suits, but it slipped on smooth as snakeskin, as if it had never been off. And it hadn't, really. The suit was just the physical aspect of the showman, and the showman had never gone away.

His Citroen was in the impound lot downtown. It still ran, to his delight, and he spent almost an hour driving around the city just to feel the old rumble of it underneath him. Then he checked into a motel, ordered a pizza, and called his PO to let him know where he was. Best to play by the book in these early days.

It was a solid forty-five minutes before there was any knock at his door, and he made sure to voice his displeasure as he opened it.

"If that's thirty minutes, I'm Lady Gaga- you better not be charging me for this." But it wasn't the delivery boy standing in front of him.

"Yeah, we don't do that guarantee." If the familiar smirk and drawl weren't enough to clue him in, there was the woman in all her sarcastic glory. Special Agent in Charge Teresa Lisbon, head of the Serious Crimes Unit and current Acting Director of the California Bureau of Investigation. The number of capital letters in that thought left him breathless.

"Well? You going to let me in? It's damned cold out here." He let her push past him into the room, whose second-rate furnishings suddenly embarrassed him. She sat down at the faded plastic table, settling back in the chair without bothering to take her coat off. He shut the door, standing in front of it without a word. She watched him in equal silence, both of them gauging the field as best they could. Finally, his voice cracking, he spoke.

"Five years." Lisbon flinched. "Five fucking years. Not a word."

"Well, I can't be seen associating with a known criminal. Not good for PR, you know." She laughed weakly.

"Humor." He threw his hands out, pacing in front of her. "That's the best you can do."

She sighed, her brows drawn. "Jane…" He could see the pain on her face and he could see in himself that he didn't care.

"You need to leave." She looked as though she was going to cry and something in him cracked, some strange thing in his stomach snapped in two. "Just- come back tomorrow. Tomorrow." He turned away from her and covered his face with a hand. Behind him he heard her get up and slip out the door. As it clicked shut a sob ripped through him, his lips curling back in a choked-down yelp of pain and rage. Five years of nothing, no contact. Five years of waiting, waiting for anyone, any member of his team, to come see him. No one came, and he knew that only one person could give that order and be obeyed.

But why?