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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I wish I did. I'm only playing with them in a nonprofit manner. They are, however, killing me. Damn you, show!

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This is not a tag, but a multichapter which starts a week or two after Silver Wings of Time. Though I know what happens, I'm not sure how long it will take to get me there, so please bear with me. The title is taken from the wonderful Ray Charles song, You Don't Know Me. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it.

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7 am Austin FBI Headquarters

The briefing was mercifully…well…brief. Given the early hour, Lisbon shuffled to her desk, falling into her chair to drink a badly needed second cup of coffee. Something had to sustain her on the way to the airport, and breakfast wasn't looking likely. In addition, she had a difficult phone call to make before she left. She scrunched her eyes shut and took another long draw on her coffee. Behind her, Jane sat on his couch, silently sipping his tea. She wondered briefly if he'd slept there last night.

Not her problem, she reminded herself, and shifted her thoughts to the new case. Last night a murder and an electronic robbery - an illegal transfer of funds – had occurred in an assisted living facility in Fort Worth. Why was this the FBI's problem?

Because Representative McCleary's mother lived there, and a California colleague had wasted no time in letting him know that similar crimes had been committed in California nursing homes by national rings of the Armenian mafia. Though there was no immediate evidence linking this crime to those in California, nothing was too good for Representative McCleary's mother. Therefore, it was their next case, and she had to get to the airport soon. But first she had a call to make.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and called Marcus.

"Hey," he answered. She hadn't awakened him – she knew his sleepy voice. "What's up?"

"We've got a case. Up in Fort Worth. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel for tomorrow night."

"Oh, wow. Sorry to hear that. Any idea how long it will take?"

"There's politics involved, so I'm not optimistic. I'm really sorry to do this to you. I'm sure it will be fantastic." The truth was, she wasn't much for those dress-up things where she didn't know anybody, but it was clearly a big deal to Marcus, so she had agreed to accompany him.

"Yeah, you're going to miss me in a tux, too," he joked.

"Hopefully I'll get another chance on that count." The man would be easy on the eyes in a tux, no doubt about that.

"I can guarantee it, and I understand. I know it's part of the job. Say, if you happen to close the thing early, let me know. We might still make it."

"I'll do that."

"Safe travels."

"Thanks." That hadn't been so bad after all. Pike was so damn reasonable.

Jane stirred behind her on the couch as she closed out the call. "What are you missing, Lisbon?"

"A grateful art dealer gave Marcus a couple of tickets to a big art gala tomorrow night. Black tie thing."

"Ah, nothing like a good art gala. High heels and plunging necklines."

She twisted her chair to look at him squarely. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, really. Agent Pike is showing you a good time. Good for him." She could fairly hear the words he left unspoken after that. Not good for me. Really, he had to stop being so nice about it all. He was obviously restraining himself from making any negative comments. He was being gracious and deferring to her decisions, the bastard. Well, she was not going to allow herself to feel sorry for Jane. He did not know what was best for her, and maybe that little talking to she'd given him on the plane had actually sunk into his thick skull.

Jane sat his teacup on the table and rose. "So, Lisbon, why not ride up to Fort Worth with me? We can catch up."

"We're taking a commuter flight – weren't you paying attention? It leaves in an hour and fifteen minutes."

"Meh, I'm driving. I'll get there faster. Besides, I hate those little planes."

"The great Patrick Jane, afraid to fly?"

"Technically, I'm afraid for you to fly," he said, shrugging.

"And statistically speaking, it's safer than riding in that bucket of yours." Why he wanted that monstrosity was beyond her.

"Why do you continue to disparage the Silver Sovereign, when you haven't made any effort to experience its charm?" He seemed genuinely dismayed at her refusal to ride in that thing.

She snorted. "I'm flying, Jane. Fischer has already booked the seats. "

Honestly, she was half surprised he hadn't sat her down already and explained all the reasons he thought Pike was not a good match for her. She could hear it all now. Jane would contend that Pike's dependability and predictability would get boring eventually, and she would be trapped in the relationship – unable to hurt a man who had only treated her well and showed her kindness. Like Jane knew what she needed. Jane, who after all this time, couldn't even fix himself.

But so far the talk hadn't come, and all Jane had said to her about it was essentially, I'm happy you're having a good time. It was maddening, really.

Jane dropped his eyes, but protested no further as he headed for the elevators. "As you wish." She couldn't see the half smile of regret pass across his face.

Much later that morning…

It was after eleven when Fischer, Lisbon, Wylie, and Cho arrived at Arlington House of Fort Worth. The entry sign promised "Hassle Free Senior Living" and the landscaping was meticulously tropical. A signed van sat out front, waiting to take its residents on exciting new adventures. Except now, the parking lot was littered with cop cars.

Mechanical issues had delayed their flight from Austin by an hour and a half, and Fischer was not happy. Abbott had gone straight from the airport to visit the Representative to assure him they were on the case, and he would be joining the team later. Lisbon, Wylie, and Cho followed Fischer into the main office of the facility, where they met the administrator, Mrs. Stone.

Her face was puffy and her suit wrinkled, but she greeted them professionally. She had no doubt been called in at 3 am when the body was found. "Oh, you must be the rest of the team that Mr. Jane mentioned."

The team exchanged glances. "Yes?" Fischer hesitated. "And where is Mr. Jane now?"

"He's addressing all of the Memory Care residents in the Main Dining Room. We brought them over to the main building at his request. Poor Frank was…killed over in the Memory Care main office." The woman dabbed her eyes and pointed to an adjacent building.

"Our facility is made up of two parts," she pulled herself together and continued. "Memory Care, where we keep our more challenged residents in a controlled environment, and here in the Commons, where our residents are mentally self sufficient, but need some sort of physical assistance. They're free to come and go as they please."

"Thank you, Mrs. Stone. Maybe you could show us where the crime occurred?" Fischer inquired.

"Mr. Jane said you would want to check out the crime scene when you got here. I'll walk you over."

"Please." Fischer turned to her team as the administrator walked out. "Cho, you and Wylie come with me." Then she added in a whisper, so Mrs. Stone couldn't hear, "Lisbon, go figure out what Jane's up to."

Lisbon did as she was instructed, and she soon found Jane addressing a room full of elderly residents in the Commons dining hall. Cop that she was, she immediately noted the staff positioned at all of the exits. Occasionally a resident would try to leave, only to be escorted back to his or her chair by the helpful staff member. For the most part, however, Jane held the room. She stood outside the double doors at the back with a group of older ladies, all of them craning to hear what he was saying.

Jane was going through one of his usual "examinations" of the crowd, asking them to raise their hands, trying to determine if anyone there was the killer, she supposed, and liberally laying on the charm to the geriatric group. If one of these folks had committed the murder, they might not even remember it, she thought with a chuckle.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Lisbon asked one of the nosy ladies. "Why are all of you," she motioned to the group listening in, "not in there?" She pointed into the dining hall where Jane was speaking.

The women looked horrified. "Oh, they're the 'Memory' ones, bless their hearts," one of them replied, making the word 'memory' sound like something to be pitied. There were nods all around. "The staff brought them all over here today for the police investigation. Usually they're not allowed out of…over there. Afraid they'd get lost, you know? The murder happened over in their building."

A second woman broke in. "Mildred, she knows that. She's a cop. Aren't you dear?"

"Yes," Lisbon replied with an amused smile. "FBI, actually." She flashed her badge.

Yet another woman added her two cents. "Must have been money involved, then. The FBI doesn't show up when a night clerk gets offed at a nursing home."

"Shhhh," scolded one of the ladies standing closer to the door. "I can't hear."

Most of the women turned their attention back to Jane's presentation, but one resident made her way toward Lisbon. She appeared frail, yet her voice was confident and precise when she spoke. "Excuse me, young lady?" she said quietly.

"Yes, ma'am?" They both took a couple of steps backward so they would not disturb the group that crowded near the door, riveted to Jane's machinations.

"I'm Eleanor Granberry." She offered Lisbon an arthritic but warm hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Agent Lisbon." Something made her add, "Teresa."

"That's a nice name," Eleanor noted. The woman exhibited a kind demeanor, and her twinkling eyes told Lisbon she was sharp as a tack. She continued, "I was wondering if you knew the man addressing our Memory group. Is he your colleague?"

"Yes," Lisbon smiled. Old ladies were attracted to Jane like flies to flypaper.

"What's his name, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Patrick Jane – he's a consultant for the FBI."

The woman's eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and Lisbon instinctively reached for her arm when she swayed a little.

"Is it possible?" Mrs. Granberry whispered, mostly to herself.

"Do you know him?" Lisbon asked, intrigued. A glance into the room revealed Jane still in showman mode. His audience was captivated.

"Do you know about his past?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Lisbon smiled. "Well, some of it." Jane probably reminded the older woman of some long, lost love from years ago. The next question, however, got her full attention.

"Was his father with a carnival?"

Now it was Lisbon's turn to be surprised. Could this actually be someone from Jane's past? "Yes," she confirmed, "he was. Do you know him?"

"I believe I might. I think I was his teacher."

"Jane didn't go to high school."

"If this is the Patrick Jane I knew, he was in my seventh grade class. For part of the year, that is. It was in Council Bluffs, Iowa, November through midMarch, if I recall correctly. Winter of eighty-two. He wasn't a child you forget."

Lisbon was fascinated. Could this be true?

"I was wondering if you could introduce me later, if you have time. Of course you must do your jobs first and find the person who killed poor Frank. He was a lovely man. He worked over here sometimes, too, and we all knew him."

"Why yes, I'd be very happy to introduce you, Ms. Granberry," Lisbon replied with a smile. Her day had just become a thousand percent more interesting. If this was true, it was going to be good.