I confess. I wrote this as therapy. Last week's preview had quite an impact. It makes sense, of course, that at this point in the story line the death of a major character would have a dramatic impact. Much as I dread to lose any of our team, I understand why the creators would do this. But I feel it as a loss already, even before knowing who we are losing.

Soon enough, we will lose all of them, anyway. Whether they ride off into the sunset, or continue their partnership at the FBI, our heroes will only exist in our memories and our imaginations. I'm glad to be sharing them with all of you, because I believe that my dear friends are in good hands here.

Anyway, since the number of chapters that I can add to the Predictable premise is very small, this seemed a fitting place to publish this quartet of what-ifs. I have my suspicions about which of these scenarios is most likely, and my sensibilities regarding which is most dramatically appropriate, and my personal feelings as to whose death would be most painful to me personally.

But they're all painful, in different ways. In living through all four of them, I am attempting to prepare myself for Wednesday night's ordeal. I make no predictions, really, other than the strong recommendation that we should all have a box of tissues handy. But my reactions to each potential story line are intense and distinct. Yours probably will be, too. I won't be offended (indeed, I will be touched and honored) if some of you choose to address your own feelings about the possible directions of the next episode in the review section for this chapter, rather than my particular interpretations/speculations about them.

My respects to quinnovative, for a more in depth version of one of these. If these characters were mine, I can't imagine how I could allow one to die. No money on earth could pay for that loss. So it's fortunate that I don't make any from writing about them here.

You should know that they are placed in order of distance from the death and funeral. Number 1 happens a week or more after, and a week or so before Abbott is supposed to transfer to Washington DC. Number 2 occurs a few days after the funeral. Number 3 is immediately after the funeral. And Number 4 is at the grave itself, as the attendees other than the team go their separate ways.

Repercussions

"To love, and to lose what we love, are equally things appointed for our nature." C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

1.

Wylie's red eyes keep returning to her empty desk. Cho's never even wander in that direction, but his face has sagged from it's usual brisk inscrutability into a weary, grim sorrow. Lisbon watches the two of them silently, uncertain what would be most comforting to either. The weight of her own grief is enough to make the attempt to approach them seem too daunting. Like diving down to touch bottom at the deepest part of the Pacific Ocean.

And Jane turns his his face to the cushions of his couch, his back to the the room. He can't be sleeping, Abbott thinks, he doesn't look nearly relaxed enough. He's just shutting out the pain. The man knows loss inside and out, in ways that Abbott doesn't even want to think about.

But thinking about his team's well-being is still his job.

She had been with them such a short time. But her eagerness to learn, to connect, to excel, quickly made her one of them. So much promise. All gone.

But it is the living that he must tend to now, and he has such a short time to do so. Cho can manage this team, Abbott knows there is no better man for the job. But this is a hell of a time to make the transition. Cho already feels the weight of responsibility for the lives of his team mates. With Vega, however, the load is heavier yet. She looked up to him, admired him. Maybe even had a slight crush on him. Not that Cho would have encouraged it in any way.

But as much as Cho tried to maintain a professional distance, Abbott knows that Vega got past his guard. Just enough to make this a personal loss.

One more glance around the room, and Abbott makes his decision. He clears his throat. "Jane, my office, please." It is his authoritative voice, softened just enough so that Jane won't drag his heels just to show that he can. He counts to ten in his head before the lump on the couch stirs. The consultant stretches, rises, and lumbers over like the walking dead. Abbott goes to his desk, burying his impatience.

When Jane is finally seated silently across from him, Abbott can see the shadows under his eyes. Not only was he not sleeping just now, he probably hasn't slept much since Vega's death. Perhaps he feels responsible. For an atheist, Jane has a strongly developed capacity for wallowing in guilt.

Abbott stifles his pity. It won't help Jane, anyway. And the others need him. He's their best chance for getting past this crisis.

"Jane, I need your opinion." That's the least of what he needs, really, but Abbott has to start somewhere. "Do you think that Cho's emotional involvement with Vega was more than professional?"

Jane blinks. His brow furrows as he considers the question. His reply, when it comes, is blunt to the point of brutality. "Are you asking me if Cho's ability to lead the team is compromised by Vega's death?"

"I am asking what he needs to help him deal with a crisis of leadership. You have known him longer. Your instincts are the best. Will it help him if I put off my transfer, or would it be better to keep things on schedule? Are there things we can do that will help him keep everything on track?"

Jane lets out a long breath, and Abbott can almost see the wheels slowly grinding into action in his head. He needed this, needed a challenge, some problem to solve to keep him from dwelling too deeply on yet another tragedy that he could not prevent. Preferably a problem that was more a matter of life than of death.

The consultant's face is like a statue slowly animating. His eyes begin to dart, unseeing, up to the right, the left, and down, as he considers the problem of team dynamics from all directions. "He needs to feel your confidence in him. Don't put off your departure." He hums, thoughtfully, as more ideas occur to him. Abbott smiles to himself. He doesn't often get to see Jane's process like this. Usually, Jane covers the workings of his brilliant mind behind a quiet watchfulness, scheming on the fly while the world moves around him.

Abbott suddenly realizes how much he will miss Jane's devious plots. Hopefully a mature leader learns a thing or two from working with such a master of manipulation. But Dennis Abbott knows that there is only one Patrick Jane. What an extraordinary privilege it has been to work with him, even for such a short time.

Jane's eyes refocus on Abbott's face, beaming a smile that would melt a heart of ice. "I've got it. Could you and your lovely wife be available for a going away party Saturday?"

Abbott hesitates. Their church was throwing a party for them that very night. "We can involve anyone you wish," Jane clarifies, obviously intuiting the source of Abbott's reluctance. "In fact, if there's already a party in the works, inviting your team members makes this plan even better. And could I invite a surprise guest or two as well?"

"You're making a call to the Rigsby's, right?" The beat of silence suddenly brings a dazzling burst of insight. "Fischer, too?!" He's beginning to understand Jane. Just in time to leave. It figures.

The blue eyes crinkle even more as the smile broadens. "You read my mind."

"Just tell me what I can do."

"Involve the whole team. To the extent that they are able. Will they let you have alcohol?"

"I'll ask. Our team can do moderation, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Is it a potluck?"

"It could be, if you think that would help."

"Yes. Wylie doesn't cook much, but Teresa and I will bring him over to help us."

"Cho cooks?"

Jane grins slyly. "He's a man of many hidden talents."

Abbott rises, reaching for his cell phone. "Excellent. I'll start on arrangements."

"Abbott." Jane's eyes and voice arrest him mid-dial. "Thank you. We all need this."

And Dennis Abbott knows that Jane has seen through him, anticipated him, extended his reach beyond all that he expected. But what else is new?

He clears his throat, thinking of the only thing missing from this vital celebration. "A moment of silence? Or can my pastor pray in her memory?"

Jane nods soberly. "As you think best."

2.

Cho finds Vega at the shooting range, clenching her jaw as she fires round after round into the target. He quietly takes his place next to her and begins his own calm routine of target practice. He can see the very moment when she realizes that it's him. As confirmation, he notes that each shot is now an inch or two farther from the bullseye.

There is no ignoring the reasons for her distress this time. He wishes he could. It's messy. She had made her interest in him obvious from their earliest interactions. He had never before found it so difficult to maintain his distance. He had taken every pain and made every excuse to remain aloof. Had relentlessly reviewed in his mind every reason for steering clear of a emotional entanglement with a team member. Had encouraged her budding friendship with Wylie.

If she needed a personal connection to assuage her loneliness, Wylie was a far better match. Young, like her. Full of energy and excitement, the joy of life. Not a lot of personal baggage to weigh down a partner. His laid back, easy-going nature was a good balance to Vega's driven, disciplined approach to her work. And clearly Wylie was very interested.

And now Wylie is gone.

Vega doesn't stop to reload. She turns as if to leave, and Cho puts down his firearm and reaches out across the barrier, laying a firm hand on hers. "Don't leave on my account." It bothers him that she feels uncomfortable enough to end her practice early. Does she blame him?

That's even worse, somehow, than blaming himself.

"No, no," she says, shaking her head emphatically, "I really am off today. I'd better come back when I get my head together."

"If you say so." He should leave it there. Why can't he leave it there? "But if you needed to… talk. Or anything." He curses himself in his head. As if anyone who wants to talk ever comes to him. Not since Rigsby, anyway.

Usually, that's how Cho likes it.

She pauses, her eyes searching. "Really?"

Cho at once feels both pleased and unnerved that she took his offer to heart. "Of course. We both lost a team mate. Talking to each other has to be better than some shrink."

It was not what she needed to hear, evidently. She flinches away, and he winces at the intensity of her reaction. The reminder of Wylie's death must be more raw, still, than he had even guessed. "Don't bother. I've faced the death of a loved one before." Then she bites her lip, like she said more than she intended.

She loved Wylie. Well, that's no big surprise. It takes a serious effort to keep from loving the people that you work, fight, and bleed with. Cho knows all too well. He's seen men and women stronger than himself fall into it. So far, he'd managed to dodge that particular bullet.

Hadn't he?

"I'm sorry." His throat catches, clenches, like when you've had a workout and there's no water to drink. She doesn't like to show weakness. He gets that. So now, the pain on her face seems to be magnified. It's worse than when she kept begging him to take her in the field again. At least then, he knew what to do to fix it.

She is removing her safety equipment, gathering her belongings together. "Like you said, Wylie was your colleague, too. You knew him longer than I did." She stops, looks at Cho as if suddenly realizing something important. "How are you holding up?"

Cho wants to shut this down. Talking about his feelings is not something he does. But he doesn't turn away. He makes an effort to keep his posture open. "It's hard. I haven't lost someone close to me for… well, more than 15 years." He absentmindedly begins unloading his weapon. "You get used to believing that you'll always be on time, never make a fatal mistake. Not when it counts. Your head knows better, knows that there are no real guarantees…"

"But your heart doesn't really believe it." She is still looking at him, eyes wide, knowing, almost glad. Cho allows himself a small smile. She understands. It's nice to feel understood.

Maybe that's how she feels, too. She reaches out, cautiously, almost as if she's afraid he'll push her away. But he holds his breath as she takes his hand, and just holds on to it.

The bittersweet moment holds him in a tighter grip. This young woman, so much like him, and yet so other, still wants to know him. She loved Wylie. How does she feel about him? Is it right that he really needs to know?

"Maybe I'm the one who needs to talk."

She smiles warmly, and it almost reaches the desolation of her eyes. "I'd like that." Her mouth quirks wryly as she releases him. "I'm sure I would be better than some shrink."

3.

She clutches the folded flag to her chest tightly, like a lifeline, as she enters the bullpen. Her face is quiet and still, but Jane knows that she has cried herself out. He comforts himself that she knew what it meant, having a spouse in law enforcement. She has a purpose to keep her going, a mission and enough ambition to engage her focus and help her work through the absence of her beloved partner.

"Mrs. Abbott." He had purposely left the funeral early, hoping not to face her. He had a better idea than most of the kind of pain she must be in, but he had no answers, no balm to soothe that aching void.

"Lena." She lifts her chin, meets his eyes almost defiantly. "They told me you had come back here, Patrick. It's hard, I know, after your history… but please be patient with me. This is very important to me. I hate to play the 'what he would have wanted' card, but…"

Patrick spreads his hands helplessly. "Whatever you need, whatever will help you. I wish I could…" His voice drifts off into silence. The only thing that would make this better is beyond his power. Beyond any power he knows of. He would tear out his own heart if it could bring her husband back. But if that were possible, it would have been used years ago to restore Angela and Charlotte.

"Thank you. Dennis was right to trust you. And we both owe you so much already." For a moment she has to pause and collect herself. Patrick looks away, unable to meet her pleading eyes.

She rocks slightly as she speaks, as if lulling an infant to sleep. "I can't keep this. We had no children. His brothers… well, the ones that were on speaking terms wouldn't understand…" As she speaks, he reaches out and sets his hands gently on the flag. He meets her eyes and sees how hard it is for her to explain this.

So he lifts the soft, august weight, pulling it away from her. "In DC, there will be flags everywhere. You don't need to associate them all with Dennis' death. He was brave, but the road you walk now will require even more courage." He wonders if he could have done it. Committed his life to building something, rather than to seeking vengeance, in the wake of his bereavement. He doubts it. He had to borrow strength from others even for the destructive path he chose.

She nods, her face flooded with relief. "You don't know what this means to me. And Dennis… he was so proud of what he built here. What you helped him build. He… he loved you, you know. All of you. He would be glad that it was him, not some other member of his team."

Her face crumples, and he gathers her into his arms, tears falling into her dark hair.

He feels eyes on them. Teresa, he suspects. But he waits patiently for Lena to pull away. Her need matters most in this moment. Teresa would understand.

"I'll keep it somewhere safe. In case you ever want it back."

She smiles. Grasps his hand firmly in both of hers. Touches her wet cheek to his with a whisper of a kiss and a final thanks.

Then she turns briskly and walks towards the elevator, the click of her heels echoing in the empty hall.

4.

Jane and Lisbon cling to one another. At any given moment, it is uncertain who is comforting whom. Whose sobs are shaking both bodies.

Wylie nudges Abbott. "When did…"

"Ages ago." Abbott's gruff voice breaks slightly. He clutches his wife's hand. He blinks too rapidly.

"While they were still at the CBI, we believe." Abbott's wife speaks for him. "But it probably wasn't acknowledged until the trip to Miami."

Vega's voice is hesitant, thick with tears of her own. "Should we…"

"No…" Abbott looks around at the dispersing crowd. "I don't think we can do much for them right now. I wish the Rigsbys could have made it on time for the funeral. If anyone could help them…Wayne told me they'd be in later this evening."

"Are they bringing the children this time?" The hand holding his squeezes tighter as she speaks.

"Yes," Abbott tells her. "They need family right now. They lost a brother."

Wylie looks at Vega's tear streaked face, and clears his throat. "Do you know who has the team now? When you both move to Washington, I mean?"

Abbott opens his mouth, then closes it, his jaw working furiously, his eyes strangely bright.

Lena comes to his rescue. "It's too soon to make that decision. Lisbon could do it, but… well, this will be hard on her anyway, without adding more responsibilities and an increased workload. Not to mention that she has only been working with the FBI for a year. Red tape is bound to make it even more difficult than it would be anyway." She puts her arm around her husband. "Come to think of it, I don't know how Dennis will handle shifting locations in the middle of this, either. If it would help him, help the rest of you, I could manage without him a while in DC. Just while I'm getting settled."

"No." His voice is hoarse, but emphatic. "I need you to get through this. And you don't need the distraction of wondering how I'm managing here."

"There's still some time to work through all that," she croons, stroking his face as she rests her head against his. Wylie and Vega avert their eyes from the unguarded moment, until a keening cry draws their focus to the formerly quiet mourning of the pair at the graveside.

The four of them watch mutely from a distance as Jane and Lisbon sink onto the freshly turned Earth next to the headstone, heedless of their good clothes. With voices raised in profound wordless lamentation, they sway together in an embrace like a vise, as if wrestling. Or dancing on their knees. Or praying.

Even Cho couldn't have kept a dry eye, if he were here. Abbott finally lets go, as Lena's arms encircle him soothingly. Wylie hears Vega stifle a sob, and awkwardly pats her back. She leans in.

The rain begins to fall.