AN: First of all, thank you for the response to To Be Happy. I was absolutely floored by everyone's positive comments, and I'm honored that so many people seemed to have liked the story. Second, I must offer my apologies: I had absolutely every intention of publishing another oneshot last weekend, but this story would not leave me alone. I hope you'll forgive me for working on this instead!

Reichenbach is far different than anything I've attempted to write before. For one thing, it's the darkest piece I've ever written. For another, it's quite long. I could have published it as multiple chapters, but I think the suspense builds better if it's all read in one sitting (and trying to split it up creates too many cruel cliff-hangers for the reader). As always, I welcome feedback, especially because this story was a bit of a departure for me.

And for those wondering, the title is a reference to Sherlock Holmes. I've heard Patrick Jane compared to Holmes quite a bit in recent months, and with the events of this story, the title seemed fitting.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.

Reichenbach

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Patrick Jane's neck.

Las Vegas hadn't had a drop of precipitation in five weeks. The city was in the middle of one of the most extreme droughts in its history, a condition only exacerbated by the punishing heat that accompanied it. Jane ached to wipe the moisture from the nape of his neck. Instead, it rolled down his spine and soaked into his shirt.

"If you try to turn around, I pull the trigger. You'll live, but it'll hurt more than anything you've ever felt before."

Jane planted his feet squarely, looked up at the large cross on the wall in front of him, and locked his muscles into place. His fatiguing body protested, but Jane pushed images of pain out of his mind. He blinked once, twice.

Jane forced his hands to remain at his sides, tucked against the side of his legs.

At least the city had functional air conditioning, Jane thought wryly. He immediately amended his thoughts. At least most of the city had functional air conditioning. The small church on the outskirts of the city he was currently standing in obviously was the exception. He wished Red John had picked a more ideal location to meet.

And it was Red John, thought Jane, if the raspy voice was anything to go by. Jane's eyes wandered around the front of the church, taking in the pulpit to his left and the stained glass windows on either side of him. Each window rose high above him, and the arches at the top pointed towards the heavens. Each also featured a different saint.

Jane wondered idly if Saint Teresa was among them. He almost smiled at the irony.

"It's good to see you again, Patrick," said the voice behind him—the voice that belonged to the body which held the gun pointed at him. "It's been, what, two years since we last met?"

Jane's jaw tightened. "Something like that," he responded.

Footsteps echoed around the church, and Jane knew the figure behind him was approaching. Jane remained stationary in his spot at the front of the pews.

"You must be curious as to why I invited you here."

Jane chose not to answer.

"Of course you are. So I'll just cut straight to the important bit, shall I?" The footsteps stopped, and Jane pictured the man standing halfway down the aisle in the center of the pews.

"I'm calling your bluff, Patrick," said the nasally voice. "I'll admit, when you first ran out on the CBI, when you ran out on Teresa Lisbon, I was intrigued. I wondered if you had finally given up." He paused before continuing. "It didn't take me long to figure out you were faking the whole thing."

Jane tried to prevent his shoulders from slumping, but they dropped a fraction of an inch. He was sure his companion had noticed, and he swore under his breath. Jane had planned for this, of course—he'd planned out every possible turn of events for the fallout of his breakdown—but he'd been hoping Red John wouldn't have been able to see through the con. Apparently, Jane had underestimated his opponent.

Again.

Jane brought his attention back to the nasally voice behind him. "It occurred to me that I could let you continue to fake your breakdown—however, it also occurred to me that allowing this little charade to continue would be a waste of both of our time. Sure, you might sink a little lower, discover even more reasons to loathe yourself than you had before—but we'd be right back where we started."

Jane's gaze was drawn back to the cross on the wall, and he traced its outline with his eyes.

"So what's next, then?" Jane said.

The disembodied voice chuckled. Another drop of sweat rolled down Jane's neck.

"I've decided to raise the stakes of the game," came the reply. "What can I say? When in Vegas." He chuckled again, but the sound was devoid of any real humor.

"Raise the stakes how?" asked Jane.

Red John took two steps forward.

"You're cocky, Patrick. You thought you could outsmart me—obviously you're a bit deluded. I think a lesson needs to be learned here, so that you don't try something like this again."

"You summoned me here to teach me a lesson?" said Jane in disbelief. "To punish me? Good luck with that. You can't hurt me—you've already taken everything I care about."

Three more steps, and Red John was a foot away from him. Jane felt the barrel of a pistol being lodged between two of his ribs.

"Killing me won't teach me a lesson," said Jane.

The nasally voice came from directly behind Jane's left ear. "I don't want to kill you, Patrick. I want to make you suffer."

Despite Jane's attempts at biofeedback, his heartbeat sped up. This was something that hadn't figured into his calculations, something he hadn't planned for. His mind flashed through numerous scenarios, trying to discover any possible weaknesses he might have. And then it was suddenly all too obvious.

"Lisbon," Jane breathed.

Jane could practically hear the smile in the answering voice. "Very good, Pat. Yes, I realized relatively recently your connection to her was rather deeper than either of you had let on. Smart of you both to play it that way."

Jane sorted through his memory palace, trying to come up with something—anything—that could spare Lisbon's life. And he realized there was only one way out.

"Please," he begged.

"Sorry, Pat, you're going to need to speak louder. I didn't catch that."

Jane closed his eyes. He couldn't tell if the moisture on his face was from sweat or tears.

"Please," he said, in a louder voice. "Let her live. I'll do anything. Anything. I swear." His voice broke on the last word, and he ducked his head.

The man behind him breathed in deeply, as though considering his offer.

"Sounds like a fair trade," he said, his voice almost cheerful. Jane felt the pressure from the gun increase between his ribs. "And as it turns out, I have the perfect way for you to repay me."

This time, Jane didn't bother hiding the fact that his shoulders slumped in relief. "Which is?"

Suddenly the cold pressure of the gun disappeared, and Jane vaguely registered the sound of it being holstered. Red John clapped his hands onto Jane's shoulders and leaned towards him. Jane could feel the breath of his companion on the back of his neck.

"Seduce her," said Red John. "Sleep with her. Make her fall in love with you. And when she does—kill yourself. Or at least, pretend to kill yourself. We'll figure out a way to ensure she watches it—to ensure she watches you die."

Jane took several deep breaths to prevent his hands from forming fists.

"That's how you plan to make me suffer," he guessed. "You're going to let me survive to watch her fall apart."

"It'll be beautiful, won't it?" said the voice, and he increased the pressure on Jane's shoulders so that his grip became painful. "Saint Teresa will be living out her own sad, tragic love affair."

Jane took another gulp of air. "And if I do this—if I keep all of this a secret from her—she'll be safe?" he whispered.

"Oh yes. You have my word. No harm will come to Teresa Lisbon, her family, or her team if your performance is acceptable. And I believe it will be. You are, after all, a very good conman. Now you'll get to prove you may even be a great one."

The hands disappeared from Jane's shoulders, and Red John's footsteps could be heard walking towards the back of the church. "I'll be in touch," said the nasally voice, and a door slammed.

Jane opened his eyes and looked up at the cross again.

He sank to his knees, his head cradled underneath his hands.

The next day

Jane checked out of his Las Vegas hotel room for the first time in five months. He carried a duffel bag of clothing over one shoulder as he walked out of the lobby but otherwise had no possessions. He looked up at the sky, noting threatening clouds approaching from the west.

Perhaps the drought would end today.

Shifting his bag slightly, Jane walked over to the edge of the parking lot. He sat down on a concrete block at the end of one of the parking spots, and he took a second to glance around. He'd never noticed before, being too caught up in his con for the past few months, but his hotel looked barely serviceable. No green grass in sight around the outside, and the wood siding appeared to be rotting off. Jane wondered why he'd chosen it in the first place.

Behind him, cars raced by on the freeway, oblivious to the man sitting in quiet contemplation a mere thirty feet from them. Jane showed them the same attention.

Building up his resolve, Jane took out his cell phone. He'd stopped charging it a month after he'd left the CBI—after receiving nearly a hundred calls, all from the same worried party—and had honestly been relieved when he'd found it still worked upon plugging it in this morning. To his surprise, the phone had registered about nearly as many new calls since he'd stopped checking: though it appeared Jane had given up on the world, Lisbon had certainly not given up on Jane.

Jane opened his phone and turned the brightness up as high as the settings allowed. He narrowed his eyes to block out some of the Las Vegas sunlight, and he jolted when the phone buzzed to signal an incoming text.

Jane, please call me. Whatever you're going through, we can fix it together.

Though he doubted this, Jane punched in Lisbon's familiar number, and the con was on.

She picked up in the middle of the first ring.

"Jane?" she said tentatively, and he could hear the sounds of Rigsby arguing with Van Pelt in the background. Their voices faded, and Jane pictured Lisbon walking away from the bullpen towards her office.

"Yeah, Lisbon, it's me," he said roughly. "How are you?"

"I'm...I'm—I am so relieved to hear your voice, Jane," said Lisbon. "Please tell me everything's okay."

"I've been having a rough time," said Jane honestly.

"You don't say," said Lisbon softly, and Jane smiled at her teasing tone.

"That's why I'm calling, Lisbon. I'm sorry it took me so long, but…I need to take you up on your offer for help."

Jane imagined Lisbon sitting down on her couch, resting her head against the wall behind her, and closing her eyes in sheer relief.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Vegas," said Jane stiffly. "Can I meet you halfway—perhaps in Bakersfield?"

"You sure you don't want me to just meet you in Vegas? I could catch a flight and be there in a few hours."

Jane smiled to himself as the threatening clouds drew closer. "It'll take you hours to get on the flight and even longer to actually get here. I want to see you sooner."

"Okay," said Lisbon, and Jane could hear her smile in her words. "We're in the middle of a case, but I'll leave Cho in charge. I'll be in Bakersfield as soon as I can, alright?"

"That sounds wonderful, Lisbon," said Jane, thinking about how delicate her voice was. He couldn't remember hearing this tone before, and he wondered if Lisbon was treating him suddenly as though he were fragile—as though he might break at any moment.

It occurred to him that his actions the past five months hadn't exactly given her reason to believe he was stable.

"Jane, do you need anything? Is there anything I can bring?"

Jane looked up to the sky, and a rain drop fell onto his cheek.

"Just you, Lisbon. That's all I need."

Four and a half hours later, Jane stepped out of a taxi in a Wal-Mart parking lot, rain pouring down around him. He grabbed his duffel bag and dug around for the money he'd stashed away; he handed the driver almost double what he'd charged for the fare, and the taxi sped off as though worried Jane would rethink his generous tip.

A car door slammed. Jane turned around.

And there she was, looking completely the same and yet completely different than when he'd left her five months ago. She was beautiful still, though now she looked the part of the tragic beauty more than she had before: her eyes were harsher, somehow, and the shadows beneath them were more defined. Her raven hair was slightly different as well; it fell in loose waves to her shoulders, and her bangs had grown out. She was dressed in all black, and Jane wondered who she was grieving for.

Their eyes locked, and Jane nearly ran over to her to eliminate the distance between them. And despite the time that had elapsed, she opened her arms to him. He accepted her invitation gladly.

Lisbon's arms tightened around him, one gripping his shoulders and the other holding the back of his head, weaving through his now rain-soaked hair. Jane snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. He breathed her in, the sweet smell of cinnamon threatening to overwhelm him. Jane buried his head into her shoulder. Though he tried to speak, tried to greet her in some way, he found he was unable to.

Jane felt her shake against him, and he knew she'd begun to cry. He hugged her tighter in response.

Lisbon turned her head so that her lips were at his ear. The rain continued to pound down around them.

"I was so worried," she said over a soft clap of thunder. "So worried. God, I was so afraid…I was so scared."

Jane still couldn't find the words to speak and kissed her temple instead. She seemed to understand. She sighed into him. Another clap of thunder sounded, this one much louder than the last.

Lisbon seemed to come to her senses. "Come on," she said. "Let's get out of the rain."

She led him over to the passenger door as though fearful he'd get lost on the way there and disappear for the better part of half a year again. She closed the door when he'd climbed inside, and Jane tossed his bag into the back of the SUV.

Two seconds later, the driver's side door opened, and Lisbon jumped inside. She slammed the door, muting the sounds of the storm, and made a face when she got a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Instead of trying to salvage her makeup, she grabbed a towel from the backseat and began to wipe it all away. Jane watched her with fascination.

"I brought another towel for you, too," said Lisbon, now drying her hair. "I saw the forecast for today and didn't think it looked that promising."

Jane smiled and grabbed the other towel. He ran it briefly over his own hair and across his face, then returned to staring at Lisbon.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards again. "You shouldn't try to cover up your freckles with makeup, Lisbon. They're endearing."

She blushed scarlet, like he'd intended, and threw her towel at him. "Oh, hush," she said. "You think I don't know flattery when I hear it?"

Jane shrugged. "It may be flattery, but it's true," he said. He folded their towels and returned them to the backseat. His heart nearly stopped when Lisbon reached over to fix his hair.

"I'm not used to seeing you without immaculately styled hair," she explained. "It's almost disconcerting." And she proceeded to tuck the strands into place while she continued talking. "Actually, I'm not used to seeing you at all. You being here with me—that's disconcerting."

She blushed again, and to Jane it was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in years. He found he was unable to find words to speak again.

Finally satisfied with her work, Lisbon pulled back to her side of the vehicle and started the car. "We should stop and get you something for lunch," she said, and Jane realized she'd noticed his weight loss. He'd tried to avoid it for the most part, knowing it would worry her, but his scheme by its very nature had been unpredictable, and unpredictability didn't lead to a stable diet. He'd shed fifteen pounds before he'd even realized it.

"And something for you as well," he pointed out softly. Though she'd lost less than he had, it was still evident to him. Her face was less full, the curve of her hips less pronounced that it had been before he'd left.

"For both of us," Lisbon agreed, and the windshield wipers sashayed back and forth as she pulled out of the parking lot. "Then we'll head home."

'Home' ended up being Lisbon's apartment, of course, after she insisted on Jane taking her spare bedroom for the night.

"This is really not necessary, Lisbon," said Jane as he followed her inside and she closed the door behind them.

Lisbon turned towards him, her back to the front door, and crossed her arms. "I think I need to decide that for myself," she said. "And right now, I have absolutely no information on your whereabouts of the past five months—to be honest, you should consider yourself lucky that I didn't immediately take you to the psych ward."

"And I thank you for that considerably."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Don't thank me yet—I haven't ruled it out completely." But she smiled, and Jane knew that however bad his mental problems seemed to be to Lisbon, she'd never abandon him to the care of psychiatrists. Especially considering her knowledge of his hatred for doctors.

"I'm going to need some coffee before we start this conversation," she said, still smiling. "I might have some tea bags somewhere," she added, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen.

Jane leaned against her counter as she started up the coffeemaker and put a kettle on the stove to boil. He watched her movements closely, and how much he'd missed watching her hit him in full force. He clenched the counter behind him with the realization that their time together was already ticking down—he wouldn't be able to watch her like this forever.

Red John would see to that.

Lisbon turned to him and noticed his expression. "Jane?" she said softly, laying a hand on his upper arm. Jane raised his eyes from the floor to take in her expression of concern. She handed him a teacup and saucer.

"What is this doing here?" said Jane in surprise, taking the turquoise teacup from her.

Lisbon blushed again. Jane's heart raced.

"Some rookie agent tried to use it a week after you left," she said grudgingly. "I may have overreacted a bit in response, so I decided to bring it here so no one else would make the same mistake. I also took what was left of the tea you'd stocked the break room with. I didn't want anyone else using that either."

Jane set the teacup down and intertwined their free hands. "I don't…I don't know what to say," he admitted, touched. The kettle whistled, and before turning to take it off the burner, Lisbon moved her hand from his bicep to clasp his other hand in both of hers. She examined his hand, protected between her smaller ones, for a beat before letting go and fixing his tea for him. He grabbed the coffee pot and poured her a cup, fixing it as he knew she liked.

They exchanged cups.

Wordlessly, Lisbon led Jane into her living room, where she sat down on her sofa, tucking her feet underneath her and holding her coffee in both hands. Jane sat on the other end of the couch and took a sip of his tea. The water burned the tip of his tongue, and he set it down on the small table in front of them.

"I guess I should start by apologizing," said Jane. He'd planned exactly what he was going to say to her on the long car ride to Sacramento. Jane knew it was a fine line he had to walk: he'd need to stick to the script Red John had given him, but he also needed to tell Lisbon enough of the truth to earn her trust back. His apology was twofold, in that sense—he was sorry for his five-month absence, and sorry that he'd be stringing her along in another web of lies upon returning.

Lisbon took a sip of coffee and lowered the cup from her mouth slowly.

"I'm sorry I left you. Again. I'm sorry I caused you to worry. And I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. I have no excuses, but I do have an explanation." Lisbon waited patiently for him to continue. "Five months ago, I lost it. I was tired of being strung along in a game that I hadn't even voluntarily chosen to play. I was tired…I was so tired of feeling like I had disappointed my family—and I was tired of feeling broken. The life I was living…it was like a nightmare—like, like a half-life. I wanted to feel something again."

Lisbon sat her cup down on the table next to his and moved to the center of the couch, her arm thrown over the back as she turned to face him.

"Obviously, I snapped. I was completely broken. But…" he trailed off, biting his upper lip. "But I could finally feel again. It took a while, but I discovered that I could put the pieces of myself back together—I could fix myself. I could become whole again."

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Lisbon, and she scooted closer again, so that her knees almost touched his hip. "I could have helped."

Jane shook his head. "I didn't want you to see that," he admitted. "It wasn't pretty—actually, I was positively abhorrent." He paused, thinking. "It took me awhile to fix the mess I made. And I'm still a work in progress, but I think I'm getting better." He smiled at her, hoping she wouldn't see through the façade and into the lies.

Lisbon's brow furrowed. "So you've given up on catching Red John?" she said. "You've put all that behind you?"

Jane nodded solemnly. "I had to—it was either that or die trying to take him down."

Lisbon smiled. "I told you many years ago that you'd choose life," she said.

"You were right, Lisbon. I do choose life," he affirmed, knowing that those words were the closest he'd come to telling her the truth since they'd began their talk.

Lisbon rested her head on her hand on the back of the couch. "Does Red John know about this? Won't he be upset if you decide to quit playing?"

"There will be consequences," said Jane truthfully. "He's already hinted about that to me." He tried to slow his pulse as he took her hand.

"Are you in danger?" asked Lisbon, her forehead wrinkling. "What is he planning, Jane?"

"No one's in any danger, Lisbon, I promise," said Jane, happy he could at least assure her of that. "But beyond that, I've been ordered to keep our conversation a secret."

"You met with him?" Jane felt Lisbon's entire body tense, and her eyes flashed from light green to dark.

"Yesterday," confirmed Jane. "I didn't see him, and he didn't reveal anything that could get us closer to figuring out his identity. He's very careful, Lisbon. I'm sorry."

Lisbon sighed, and Jane squashed a desire to pull her into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Lisbon," he said again. "For everything."

Lisbon surprised him by leaning against his side and laying her head on his shoulder. "Stop apologizing, Jane. You were healing—and I'm glad you were. I'm happy for you. I'm thrilled actually. This is the best news I've heard in months—you're coming to terms with your past and not letting it define you. I wish I could do the same."

"The past can be a heavy burden," agreed Jane. "And we become so used to carrying it that we wouldn't know what to do if it were suddenly gone."

As they talked, the California sun had gradually faded from Lisbon's living room, leaving the house in a limbo-like state between day and night. Jane pulled back slightly to get a better look at Lisbon's face.

She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling slightly. Jane watched in amazement as her pupils dilated.

Lisbon put her head back on his shoulder. "Since we're being honest," she mumbled into his neck, "I should tell you that I've taken a temporary leave of absence from work. Wainwright was surprised when I asked him, but he couldn't very well refuse—I haven't taken family time in all the years I've worked there."

He didn't miss her use of the word 'family,' and his guilt skyrocketed. "You took leave from work—for me?"

"I want to make sure you were alright. It's been a long five months. For both of us, it seems."

Jane ignored the part of his brain that told him to exercise caution. Instead, he pulled Lisbon into his arms like he'd wanted to for the better part of the afternoon. When she sighed into his embrace, he nearly wept with relief.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me," said Jane hoarsely. His hands were everywhere—her back, her hair, her hips, her shoulders, her collarbone. "I missed you so much. God, I missed you."

Jane attempted to sleep in Lisbon's guest bedroom that night, but as soon as the lights in the apartment were shut off and his eyelids closed, ghostly images haunted his consciousness. Disturbed, Jane's anxiety spiked, and he slipped silently out of bed to lie on the couch in Lisbon's living room.

He grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and the pillow Lisbon had been propped against earlier that day. He was relieved to find it still smelled like her.

The change of room did little to keep the frightening images at bay, but Lisbon's scent at least made them bearable. Eventually, Jane grew tired of fighting the nightmarish thoughts and let them wash over him for the first time since his most recent encounter with Red John.

Jane had no delusions of the full impact of his agreement with Red John from the day before—he'd known when making the deal that he was essentially signing his life over to the serial killer. After all, as long as Lisbon lived, she would need protection from Red John, and if this was what it took to ensure that protection, Jane had no qualms about it whatsoever.

His only regret with the deal concerned the amount of heartache it would bring Lisbon. Had he been the only one to suffer, Jane could have lived with the deal. But as the agreement stood, Lisbon's life would also be torn apart—for the sole purpose of causing Jane anguish. It was, thought Jane, quite the horrifically beautiful plan.

And it would be Jane's own hand that caused Lisbon to suffer. He'd woo her, and she'd fall for him—and he'd make her watch as he killed himself.

And the worst part of all was that he loved her.

Jane had no problem admitting this to himself now, not after Red John had pointed it out so bluntly the previous day. In fact, he suspected he was very much in love with her, which made the whole thing so much more tragic. At some point in his life, some point far in the future, he'd actually wanted to woo her, to make her fall for him, to be intimate with her. Instead, he was forced to commit these acts he considered sacred as part of a show—as part of a con.

Jane felt a wave of disgust and self-loathing wash over him. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

But there was nothing to be done. He'd made the deal, and now he would stick to it. And though Lisbon would be heartbroken, she'd still be alive. She would live through the heartbreak.

Jane wasn't so sure he'd be able to do the same.

One week later

Jane and Lisbon easily settled into a familiar routine, and a week passed in what felt like no time at all. Jane hadn't heard from Red John in that time, and he could almost forget the ticking time bomb that counted down the days he had left with Lisbon.

Almost.

Jane worried constantly that he wasn't romancing Lisbon enough to meet Red John's idea of an "acceptable performance." But these things took time—surely even someone as emotionally stunted as Red John understood that? Jane wasn't going to rush into things: that'd be a surefire way for Lisbon to refuse him. And if she did, he had no idea of the consequences.

But they had become closer over the past week. Their first full day together, they'd headed to the library and checked out as many movies as was allowed. They made it through The Avengers, Star Wars, and Indiana Jones before the day was through, though they'd talked more with each other than paid attention to what was happening on the screen. A few days after that, Jane suggested they go to the local farmer's market, and they wandered the aisles of fresh produce. Lisbon had eyed a particularly bright bouquet of daisies while Jane was working up the nerve to take her hand. Upon following her line of vision, Jane had immediately paid for the flowers—and Lisbon had threaded her fingers through his after accepting the bouquet. The blush returned to her neck and face.

Today, Lisbon had asked nervously if he felt up to meeting the team for lunch.

"They miss you," she'd said over breakfast. "And obviously, they want to see how you're doing. They're concerned."

"It'd been great to see them," Jane had responded. "I missed them, too, you know."

Her answering smile had lit up the room, and at noon Jane found himself accompanying Lisbon into the CBI building to meet the rest of her team.

When the familiar elevator doors closed in front of them to take them upstairs to the bullpen, Jane turned to her. "Are you sure they're not angry with me?" he asked.

"Why would they be angry?" she said. "I explained your reasoning for being away—and they're just happy you're doing better." Lisbon intertwined their fingers again. "Really, they're happy to see you."

Jane nodded, still not entirely convinced, but the doors opened, and he had his first view of the CBI bullpen in nearly half a year. It hadn't changed much: the team still sat in their same assigned desks, each working on separate reports. The blinds to Lisbon's office were drawn and the light was off, indicating her absence. Jane looked to his left and smiled. His couch remained.

Van Pelt was the first to notice their presence—she also noticed that the pair of them seemed to be holding hands, and she raised one eyebrow in surprise before a grin spread across her face. Jane quickly dropped Lisbon's hand.

"Wayne! Cho!" called Van Pelt, and the three younger agents stood to meet Jane and Lisbon. Rigsby couldn't contain his smile, and even Cho looked slightly less stoic than usual.

Cho and Rigsby shook Jane's hand and enquired as to how he had been. Van Pelt, however, hugged Jane tightly and beamed at him. Jane looked at her, nonplussed, then returned his gaze to Rigsby and Cho.

"I'm doing much better, thank you," he said. "A bit hungry, though."

"I've heard a great Italian place just opened up down the street," supplied Rigsby. "Want to try it out?" Cho and Van Pelt agreed vehemently, and Lisbon nodded while laughing. Van Pelt led the way back to the elevators after grabbing her purse, followed closely by Cho and Rigsby, who seemed to be arguing about something sports-related. Jane and Lisbon brought up the rear.

"See?" said Lisbon quietly, nudging Jane with her elbow. "They missed you."

Jane squeezed her hand quickly, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Van Pelt, who quickly diverted her eyes.

After lunch, Lisbon and Jane walked back with the team to the CBI building, where Lisbon was scheduled to meet with Wainwright to be briefed on the events she'd missed the past week. Though Lisbon had another week yet on her leave, she wanted to be kept in the loop as to the events that had taken place in her absence.

No longer a consultant for the CBI, Jane hadn't been invited to the meeting, and he sat on his couch to wait for Lisbon to finish up. He chatted with Rigsby about his son for a few minutes before Cho called the agent to assist him in investigating a lead on the case they were in the middle of.

Jane closed his eyes for a second, finding it very easy to imagine himself here a year ago before everything had changed. All the familiar sounds were there—Van Pelt typing away on her computer, beeping phones waiting to be answered, and high heels echoing down the hall.

The typing stopped, and Van Pelt's footsteps approached. Jane felt the cushion sink as she sat down next to him.

"Hi Grace," he said, opening his eyes and turning to her.

"You seem happier, Jane. I'm glad."

Jane tried to focus on the part of him that was indeed happy, and not the part that was being torn apart inside. He didn't respond.

"Are you and Lisbon…" Van Pelt trailed off suggestively. He lifted an eyebrow at her. The redhead flushed. "What I mean to say is…there's something different about you two."

Jane shook his head. "We're not together, Grace, no," he said.

Van Pelt looked at him carefully, tilting her head slightly to the side. "But you wish you were," she hedged.

Jane didn't see the point of lying to her by trying to deny it. Instead, he said nothing. Very obviously.

"You know she feels the same way, don't you?" said Van Pelt. "I've known Lisbon for a long time. She's never looked at anyone the way she looks at you."

Jane mulled this over for a second. "How do I tell her?"

Van Pelt shrugged. "There's no right way to ask her, Jane, but there is a wrong way. You know her—she doesn't like ostentatious or showy. She's soft-spoken and reserved. Appeal to that side of her." She brushed her flaming hair behind her ear and stood up. "I'm sure this all will work out, Jane. Just be truthful, and everything will be fine." And she headed off to finish her report.

Lisbon rounded the corner. He stood up to greet her, and they walked side by side to the elevators.

Van Pelt had said everything would work out if he told the truth. Jane sighed.

The truth was the one thing he could not give Lisbon.

He knew he was dreaming, but he couldn't wake himself up from the nightmare.

Everything was tinted blue-gray, even her emerald eyes. Her eyes gave the nightmare away.

Her eyes, normally bright green, were blue and shiny with tears. He wanted to reach up and wipe the tear tracks off her face, but his muscles weren't cooperating.

"Save your strength, Jane," she whispered between sobs. "Help is coming. You're going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

There was a blinding pain from somewhere in his chest—a pain that had been self-inflicted. He'd heard her call it in on the phone. Self-inflicted GSW, she'd said.

He'd shot himself.

He'd made her watch.

And now he had to die. Or at least, pretend to. And then he'd have to watch her as she watched him die.

He closed his eyes and used a biofeedback trick to slow his breathing. "Damn it, Jane!" swore Lisbon. He could hear her sobbing over him. "Damn you, stay with me!"

He let his body go limp, and he felt Lisbon tense. He'd thought she would scream, or plead with God when he died, but it was worse.

She just sobbed silently onto his chest, her hands covered with his blood.

"Jane! Jane—wake up! Jane, please. Wake up, Jane! Damn it, you're scaring me!"

His eyes shot open, and he froze. Drops of sweat lined his forehead: one ran down the side of his face. Jane couldn't see anything.

Then a hint of cinnamon wafted towards him, and he realized Lisbon was leaning over him and his makeshift bed on her couch. He could barely make out the whites of her eyes. One of her hands rested over his heart, and she raised the other to his forehead to push the hair out of his eyes.

"What time is it?" croaked Jane.

"Almost three."

That explained the darkness, then.

"How bad was it?"

"You were sobbing," she explained quietly. "Sobbing and screaming for me."

Her hand ran through his hair over and over again, attempting to soothe. Jane closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Jane shook his head.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Jane shook his head again, with more force this time.

"Okay," said Lisbon calmly. "You're okay, I'm okay. Whatever it was, it was just a dream."

Jane tried to lift a hand to wipe his face, but he couldn't keep the hand from trembling. He set it back down. Understanding, Lisbon's hand moved from his hair to his face, wiping away the sweat and tears. The hand then moved underneath his head, and she slipped her entire arm underneath his cranium, cradling it. She bent over him again and kissed his forehead.

"I had some really awful nightmares about four months after you left," she whispered. "One day, I just got this feeling at work—this overwhelming feeling that something terrible had happened to you. That you'd died. I didn't sleep well for two weeks, and every time I fell asleep, I woke up screaming for you."

Jane turned towards her so that he was lying on his side, and her hand that covered his heart now slipped over his shoulder to rub circles on his back.

"I guess my point is that I understand the nightmares."

"When did yours go away?"

"The day you called me back," she whispered.

Jane wrapped his arms around her and pulled her from her seated position on the ground. Arms still around her thin torso, he turned them both so that she was between his body and the back of the couch. "Stay with me. Please."

"Of course. As long as you need. As long as you want."

Six days later

Jane woke early and prepared coffee the day Lisbon was set to return to work. His efforts earned him a grateful smile from Lisbon. On her way out the door, coffee in hand, she detoured into the kitchen to where he was still seated at her table, sipping his tea and reading a well-worn Conan Doyle novel he'd found on the bookshelf next to the television. Lisbon touched his shoulder lightly with her free hand, and Jane turned his head towards her. His lips quirked upward, and Lisbon slid her hand down his arm to grasp his hand. She brought their joined hands to her lips to kiss his fingers, barely making contact, and Jane watched as she began to blush furiously. A second later, she relinquished his hand and stole out the door.

Jane remained faced toward the direction she had gone long after the door shut behind her, wondering if the tingling sensation from where her lips had touched his skin would fade. He raised the turquoise teacup to his lips and smiled.

A sharp, shrilling sound cut through the dense quiet of Lisbon's apartment, and Jane registered vaguely that his cell phone was receiving a call. Wondering if Lisbon had forgotten to tell him something, he pushed his chair back from the kitchen table and went to locate the phone.

He found it on the coffee table in the living room. He grinned broadly, thinking of Lisbon's voice on the other end, but his smile faded when he failed to recognize the phone number. Jane tensed, phone halfway to his ear, realizing the likely identity of the caller.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before flipping open the phone.

"Jane," he said, the word coming out more fragile than he'd intended.

"Yes, Patrick, hello," said the voice on the other end. "I don't need to identify myself, do I?"

Jane opened his eyes, and his free hand searched behind him for the arm of the couch. Encountering it, he guided himself to sit down.

"I know who you are."

"Good, good." The voice paused before continuing. "So, it's Teresa's first day back at work, huh? You must be missing her terribly."

Jane ran a hand through his hair. "You swore you wouldn't touch her," he hissed.

"And I haven't. I've kept my end of the bargain so far. I'm calling to inquire as to yours."

Jane took another deep breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Since you obviously have eyes on us, this won't be news to you," he said tersely. "We've been staying together for the time being."

"My vision has its limits, Patrick. Are congratulations in order?"

"We're not together yet, no."

Five seconds passed before Red John answered. "Then I regret to inform you that what time Teresa Lisbon has left is ticking down, Pat."

Frustrated and on edge, Jane stood up quickly and ran a hand over his face. "No! No, wait—please wait. I'll…I'll do it tonight. I'll talk with her tonight." Jane nearly winced at the dejected tone in his voice.

"Things need to start moving faster, Patrick. I'm beginning to think you won't follow through."

"I will."

Another few seconds passed, and Jane waited anxiously for an answer. "Alright, Pat. You have one more night to woo her. And another week to take her to bed." Jane found himself filled with self-loathing as the relief flooded through him. "We'll chat after that to make sure you're keeping up with your end of the bargain—and to plan the big show."

The call ended, and Jane's jaw dropped slightly. He took several deep breaths to try to calm himself, and he cursed his lack of self-control when he noticed his vision become fuzzy as moisture welled in his eyes. He swore quietly, as though worried Lisbon would hear him.

Jane felt the ghost of her kiss on his fingers, and he broke.

At six that evening, the CBI elevators opened on the serious crimes floor to reveal a blond-haired former consultant. Though Van Pelt and Rigsby had departed for the night, Cho passed Jane in the hallway to the elevator, shrugging on a jacket and making for the exit. Cho made a slight movement with his head towards Lisbon's office and said only, "Still there," before wishing Jane a good night.

Sure enough, as Jane approached Lisbon's office, he could see her still at work, apparently concentrating intensely on some trivial piece of paperwork. With every step towards her, Jane became aware that her concentration appeared to be fading, and he watched as her eyes lifted slightly from her desk to stare off into space. Whatever she saw there had evidently pleased her somehow, if her small smile was anything to go by. A second later, she seemed to remember herself, and Jane watched through the blinds as she shook her head and attempted to concentrate on the paperwork again.

Jane rounded the corner to her door and knocked his knuckles against it softly before opening it.

Lisbon looked up, an expression of annoyance crossing her face at the interruption. Her features changed considerably upon registering that Jane was the source of the interruption, and she gave him the same smile she'd worn that morning.

"I figured you hadn't eaten yet," said Jane, holding up the takeout bag he'd been carrying. "The restaurant that I stopped by claimed to offer the only legitimate Chicago-style food in Sacramento. I thought maybe you'd be able to verify that claim."

Lisbon dropped her pen and closed the file she'd been working on. "If there's plenty of grease on whatever you have, I'm willing to bet the claim is true," she responded, standing up and walking over to him. She motioned to him, and he handed over the bag. She opened it and peaked inside, and her resulting smile weakened Jane's knees.

Blood pounding through his veins, he took her free hand and led her out of her office. "Come with me," he said, and she ducked her head again to smile to herself.

Jane brought them to the CBI rooftop, now deserted of agents but still slightly illuminated as dusk settled in. They walked automatically to their table, hands still intertwined, and Jane set down the takeout cup he'd been holding in his other hand. He smiled at her apologetically. "I could only carry one," he said, not actually feeling that apologetic. "Sorry."

"That's okay. We'll share," she said, handing him a burger and grabbing one for herself. Before biting into the burger, she grabbed a handful of French fries.

Jane steered the topic of conversation away from her current cases as they ate, and he was surprised at the amount of times he elicited laughter from her. Just as surprising was his ability to laugh along with her, despite the heaviness weighing on the back of his mind.

Eventually, though, as the skies darkened and the stars became visible, Jane knew the time had come to address some of that heaviness—to confess what he had come to confess. He searched his mind for a possible lead-in to the conversation.

And found he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Conning Lisbon had turned out to be far trickier than Jane had originally imagined. He'd been so sure that putting on an act to woo her would be so simple, but he hadn't taken his own feelings into account. The very act of lying to her, of pretending his world was fine when it was really falling apart, was destroying him from the inside out. He couldn't lie to her—to his Lisbon.

And yet he had to.

Because if he didn't, she'd die.

"You're staring," said Lisbon, her eyebrows raised.

"What?" said Jane, banishing the intrusive thoughts from his mind and attempting to do the same with his nerves. The nerves weren't so easily dismissed. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."

"Are you alright, Jane? You looked—I don't know…you looked almost sad there for a moment."

"Meh, I'm fine, Lisbon. No cause for concern," he said, waving his hand brusquely.

Lisbon's brow furrowed, and she stood up to make her way around to Jane's chair. She put her hands on his shoulders and rotated his body a quarter turn, so that he was facing towards her, and then kneeled in front of him so that she looked up into his face.

"You're not fine," said Lisbon. "Actually, I would be utterly surprised if you were, after that five-month long breakdown in Vegas. What is the ridiculous brain of yours agonizing over?"

Jane smiled at her, taking in the freckles on the top of her nose and the way her braid pulled back her hair to expose her face. "Honestly?" he asked.

"Of course."

"You."

Lisbon put her hands on his knees to steady herself.

"You're agonizing…over me?" said Lisbon, confused.

"I always do, but it's been more excruciating in recent weeks," Jane admitted truthfully.

"Sorry…um, what?"

"Eloquently stated, Lisbon."

"Hush, Jane! You know what I mean!"

"Yes," Jane said. "I suppose I do."

"Then explain, please!"

Jane wrung his hands anxiously. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, worried about the rejection he might find there, and he wondered why his showman persona had abandoned him in such a critical moment.

"I'm agonizing over the fact that I think I'm in love with you but have no idea if the sentiment is returned."

Lisbon gaped at him.

Knowing he had very few seconds before Lisbon regained her power of speech, Jane continued on. "Actually, I don't think I'm in love with you. I know I am. That's why I spent all that time in Vegas trying to put myself back together, Lisbon. I know I'm not quite there yet, and that I'm probably never going to completely heal, but…I love you."

He paused, waiting for a response, but Lisbon remained mute.

"I love you, Lisbon. I have for a long time—probably longer than I've realized. And I know you deserve more than I have to offer, but I had to offer anyway."

His last words seemed to spark something within her, and her eyes flashed in annoyance.

"Don't you dare," she said, taking his hands and squeezing tightly. "Don't you dare say you think I deserve better. You have the most pure and beautiful soul I could ever hope to meet in this life. For me, it doesn't get better than you, Jane."

He raised his eyes to hers as she spoke, and he couldn't stop the look of disbelief that crossed his face. "Lisbon…"

"If that wasn't clear," said Lisbon, "let me enlighten you. I think I'm in love with you, too."

Jane pulled Lisbon up and kissed her soundly. She settled against him, her legs across his, and her arms slid around his neck. One hand made its way into his hair, holding him more closely against her. Jane's left hand went to her hip to steady her, and his other arm wrapped around her waist, making unknowable patterns across the skin under her shirt. Lisbon broke the kiss to shift sides, her arms changing positions, and Jane moaned as her fingertips traced his collarbone.

"Beautiful," murmured Lisbon against his lips. "You—and your soul."

They spent hours talking that night, lying together on Lisbon's bed in the dark, and rarely was there a moment when they weren't in physical contact. Jane marveled at the questions he now had permission to ask and the answers bestowed upon him. He stored them all safely away in his memory palace.

"I hated tap, but I liked ballet," said Lisbon at one point in the middle of the night, her eyes drooping of exhaustion. "I wanted to keep taking lessons, but we couldn't afford the costumes."

Jane lifted his head up from where it rested on her chest, and her hand in his hair stilled. He looked into her eyes. "I'll take you dancing," he promised.

Lisbon snorted. "You don't like dancing," she said.

Jane smiled. "But you do."

She smiled back at him, obviously touched.

"Besides," Jane continued, putting his head back down on her chest, "taking you dancing is the perfect excuse to hold you close for an entire evening. And I'd get to show you off to everyone."

"Ah," said Lisbon, laughing against him. "Your real motivation becomes clear." She paused for a minute, considering. "You'd really show me off?"

Jane's reply was instantaneous. "Of course," he said. "Every male would be green with envy. Maybe some females, too."

She swatted him gently. "Oh, hush."

Jane sighed. "We both should follow that advice, my dear. It's approaching midnight, and you have to work tomorrow." He raised his head off of her chest once more to kiss her sternum.

Lisbon moaned. "Screw work," she said.

Jane chuckled. "You don't mean that."

"I wish I did. When we're…" She gestured with her hand between the two of them. "…when we're like this, it's so easy to forget about everything else."

"You need sleep, Lisbon," he chided.

Lisbon looked at him, calculating. "I propose a deal, then."

"Oh, you do?"

She nodded. "We'll stop talking, but you have to stay here the rest of the night. No more sleeping on my couch. Plus, I'm worried about your back."

"Oh, hush, woman. My back is fine," Jane replied, wrapping his arms around her torso and pulling her towards him so that she folded into his chest. "However, I find the terms of your deal satisfactory. I accept."

Lisbon breathed deeply against him, and he knew sleep was fast overcoming her. "Goodnight, Jane. Love you."

He felt her eyelashes brush his neck as her eyes closed.

"Love you, too, Teresa."

"I don't bite, you know."

Lisbon's form tensed beside him, and Jane peaked his eyes open enough to get a good view of her. As he'd suspected, she had one hand extended, as though she couldn't decide whether to touch him or not.

"Unless you want me to, that is," Jane amended, closing his eyes again and grinning into his pillow.

Lisbon sucked in a sharp breath and flicked his ear lightly. However, her hand didn't retreat from his skin, and Jane thought she'd decided to take full advantage of the permission he'd just given her to touch him. She propped herself up on one elbow, and she moved her hand from his ear to trace the line of his jaw.

"You haven't shaved in a while," he heard her say, her tone audacious. "I like it."

He smiled, and her fingers traced that next. He kept his eyes closed and tried to focus on the feeling of her fingertips on his skin. Her hand moved from his head and down his neck to his shoulders, and Jane was suddenly glad that they'd both fallen asleep fully clothed.

His dress shirt didn't dissuade Lisbon's wandering fingers, however, and she traced the outside of his ribs.

"You weren't taking care of yourself in Vegas, Jane," she reproached. "I've never been able to see your ribs this clearly defined before. How much weight did you lose?"

He ignored her question. "The first month was really bad," he said instead, lying through his teeth. It hadn't just been the first month that had nearly killed him—all five months had been hell. "But I should be saying the same to you," he said, opening his eyes again and laying a hand on her ribcage. Her bones were easily as visible as his.

"Like I said, I struggled while you were away. I couldn't sleep; I forgot to eat."

"I'm here now."

She smiled at him and leaned over to kiss his lips.

"Yes," she said, almost humming. "You are."

She retreated from him to get ready for work, and the blissfulness Jane felt shattered.

Regret and shame took its place.

Five days later

"You look…" Jane began. He tried again. "You look…" He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it and pulled her closer. "Have I told you that you look stunning tonight? Mesmerizingly gorgeous."

"I should hope so," said Lisbon. "I didn't wear four-inch heels and a dress that barely pretends to cover my back for nothing."

"I particularly like that aspect of your dress," murmured Jane into her ear. "Or lack of it, I should say."

It had taken him a week, but Jane had finally made good on his promise to take Lisbon dancing. He'd spent a day panicking with the realization that he needed to plan his first real date in nearly ten years—and it dawned on him that he had absolutely no idea where to take her. Knowing he needed some help, he had called in a few favors from people who owed him poker money.

They'd started the night by dining at a five-star restaurant that was closed for everyone but the two of them. Though Jane knew that Lisbon normally hated to make a fuss about going out—that she usually preferred a cheeseburger over crème brûlée—he also had guessed that she wouldn't mind so much if other people weren't around. He'd been right. Over dinner, as the two of them marveled over having the restaurant to themselves, she'd giggled like he'd never heard before and blushed a deeper red than he'd remembered seeing.

Then they'd left the crystal wine glasses, fancy napkins, and fifty dollar entrées behind them and headed towards one of Sacramento's ritziest hotels. Jane had led Lisbon to one of the hotel's grand ballrooms and opened the door for her, revealing pristine hardwood floors, sparkling lights above them, and an impossibly arched ceiling. Music played from some unseen sound system, and Jane had pulled her into his arms.

They hadn't parted since.

Jane swayed them to a particularly slow, piano-driven tune, and he took another moment to glance over at Lisbon. Jane, dressed in a three-piece suit, thought he looked about the same as always, though he had added a tie this time around. Lisbon, however, was simply radiant in a tight black dress with an off-shoulder neckline. The hem came just above her knees, providing ample freedom for dancing. Her ebony hair was up in a messy bun with tendrils falling out to frame her face. When she smiled, Jane couldn't remember a time she had ever looked more beautiful.

The music changed to a faster waltz, and Lisbon stepped away from him. "No," she said, shaking her head and laughing. "I'm not going to make a fool out of myself attempting to dance the waltz, Jane."

"Oh, come on, Lisbon—no one's watching," Jane said. "And besides, I'll teach you."

Lisbon laughed again. "Like you know how to waltz."

Jane spoke quietly. "I took some lessons. You know, for…for the wedding."

Lisbon's grin immediately faded, and her eyes became darker, more pained. She stepped back towards Jane, holding her arms up roughly where she believed they should go.

Jane tried to push the bittersweet memory aside and grabbed her right hand with his left. Lisbon put her other hand on his shoulder, and he put his right hand near her shoulder blade to complete the hold.

He looked into her eyes. With her heels, she was only a few inches below his eye level.

"When I step forward," he said quietly, "you step back. Then to the side—and then you'll step forward, and to the side again. It's a dance of threes."

And they moved together on the next down beat, miraculously and incredibly in sync.

After Lisbon had picked up the basic steps, Jane began to rotate, spinning them around the floor as they waltzed. He turned them around once more as the music slowed and then broke their hold, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her.

"I'm not the same person I was then," he said in a pleading voice, needing her to understand. Needing himself to understand.

She did. "I know, Jane. I know."

"I put her in danger. I couldn't save her. I'm not going to let that happen to you."

Lisbon wrapped her arms under his. "Nothing is going to happen to me, Jane."

Jane nodded. "Because I won't let it," he agreed. "Remember what I told you two years ago, Lisbon? When we were locked in that shipping container together?"

She spoke into his shoulder. "I remember. But I still don't need to be saved."

Jane felt himself breaking down again, and he ducked his head to kiss her bare shoulder so that she wouldn't see his face.

You still need to be saved, he thought, attempting to keep his fear at bay. And it's still because of me.

Jane let his mask slip back into place, knowing that if he revealed anything more Lisbon might become suspicious. His plan depended on her ignorance of the situation, and he planned to keep her blissfully unaware of his internal turmoil.

He hoped he was succeeding.

After the next song ended, Jane noticed that Lisbon had started to favor one foot over the other, and he stopped moving in the middle of the ballroom. Her movements ceased as well, and she looked up at him. He leaned his forehead against hers.

"Is Cinderella ready to return home?"

The corners of Lisbon's mouth lifted up in a small smile. "Glass slippers aren't the most practical footwear," she quipped.

Jane leaned forward a fraction of an inch, enough to press his lips against hers tenderly. Then he led her out of the ballroom.

Thirty minutes later, Jane watched as Lisbon collapsed on her couch, still clad in her light jacket and ridiculous heels. Jane sat down on the arm of the chair next to her, and she smiled up at him lazily.

"Thank you," she said. "I know you probably already know this, what with your ability to practically read my mind, but that was one of the best nights of my life."

Jane smiled at her deviously. "'One of the best'?" he quoted. "Hmmm, we'll have to do something about that."

And he kneeled in front of her to take off her heels.

She let him.

He kissed the side of one knee, just below the line of her dress, understanding the implications of what she had just allowed him to do. Then he pushed the edge of her dress up a few inches to kiss midway up her thigh, and he felt her shiver against him.

He straightened up slightly, so that his eyes were level with hers. He searched her face, finding conflicting emotions of surprise, uncertainty, arousal, and affection there, and he watched in amazement as the uncertainty disappeared. "Bedroom," she whispered, leaning towards him, and he moved his arms to her shoulders to help her shrug out of her jacket while simultaneously kissing every part of her neck he could reach.

He moaned in acquiescence, gathering her into his arms, and he carried her down the hall.

At daybreak the next morning, Jane was in limbo between sleep and consciousness, his mind groggy with exhaustion and elation. Vaguely he registered Lisbon's deep breathing beside him, and he became aware of her skin pressed against his. His eyes flashed open.

She'd moved to the center of the bed, leaving little room for him, but Jane found he didn't seem to care. Instead, he was far more concerned with the way Lisbon's dark hair contrasted with the beige pillows underneath her—and the random pattern of freckles strewn across her skin, which was exposed from the waist up. Jane's eyes focused on the soft curve of her back as it rose and fell in time to her breathing. He memorized the patterns of freckles and the silvery scars that adorned her skin, knowing he'd never get a chance to see them again. A desire to touch her flamed inside him, but Jane crushed it back down. Lisbon needed her sleep, and he was loathe to wake her.

After the events that would take place later today, he doubted she'd sleep soundly for a very long time.

Jane's phone lit up on the bedside table, and he reached over to grab it. He knew what the text message would say, but he had to check.

Leave her now.

As if she could feel his discomfort, Lisbon rolled over in her sleep. Jane gazed at her longingly and pulled the beige sheets up over her chest, noticing the scar that must have been the result of the shooting the previous year. Steeling himself to walk away, Jane kissed her lips one last time and then touched his lips to the scar.

With time, he hoped the wounds he had given her would also fade.

Jane looked out across the deserted rooftop and tried to keep his heart from jumping out of his ribcage. Breaking into the building and onto the roof hadn't been a problem; despite its proximity to the CBI, the old office building was abandoned and, by the looks of it, occasionally served as shelter to a few of Sacramento's homeless. Jane closed the door behind him, noting that several chips of gray paint fell to the ground as it swung shut.

An ancient air conditioning unit, looking like it hadn't been serviceable for the better part of a decade, lay to his left, and over the ledge in front of him a fire escape swayed in the breeze, rusted beyond repair.

A shrilling pierced the air, and Jane pulled out his cell phone.

"Yes?"

"My network has sectioned off the street to your right," came the nasally voice. "All the buildings that have any view of the point of impact have been evacuated and replaced with my men. We'll have to move quickly once you land: the stunt pad will be cut up and moved away, and you'll need to be covered in blood. Head wounds bleed like a bitch."

Jane swallowed the urge to vomit.

"And when Lisbon arrives?"

"The paramedics who just happened to be a block away will already be by your side. I'll make sure Teresa gets just close enough to see that it's you. You'll be in pretty bad shape, so we'll keep her held back—delicate female disposition, and all that."

"And then?"

"They'll take you to the hospital, and my people there will declare you dead. I'm sure dearest Teresa will want to identify your body to make sure it's really you, so we'll stall her as someone applies makeup to make you resemble a corpse. We'll ice you to decrease your body temperature."

"She'll want to feel my pulse."

"And I believe you already have a solution to that, don't you, Pat?"

Jane touched his breast pocket, which held a rubber ball. "I do," he confirmed.

"Then I believe we're ready. Leave your note, Patrick."

And the line went dead.

Jane looked up at the sky, closed his eyes, and dialed Lisbon's number from memory. She picked up on the second ring.

"Hey you," she said, and Jane could hear her smile through the call. "I missed you this morning—where'd you sneak off to?"

Jane took a ragged breath, and Lisbon's tone suddenly became laced with worry.

"Jane?" she asked. "Jane, is everything alright?"

Jane began to walk towards the edge of the roof as he answered. "I'm sorry, Lisbon," he choked out.

"What? Jane, what do you have to be sorry for?"

Jane blinked twice, and he knew his eyes were rimmed with red. "For thinking I could be what you needed. Lisbon, you deserve so much better."

"I deserve you," said Lisbon forcefully. "Jane, what's this all about?"

"I've been kidding myself, Lisbon. Trying to fix myself these past several months. I'm a lost cause; I'm completely broken. I can't be fixed. And the worst part is that I feel that brokenness spreading. I have to leave before it consumes you."

"Leave?" whispered Lisbon, and Jane pictured her wiping her eyes furiously to remove all traces of tears. "Jane, we need to talk this out," she began, her voice breaking. "I need to see you. Where are you?"

Jane's grip around the phone became so tight he feared the cell might break. "Out your window," he said, and he stepped into her line of vision.

Lisbon gasped and swore loudly. Jane thought he could hear a banging noise, as though she were hitting her hand against the glass walls that surrounded her office. "Jane," said Lisbon delicately. "Jane…"

There was commotion on Lisbon's end of the line, and Jane thought he heard Cho's gruff voice murmur something to Lisbon.

"I'm sorry, Lisbon," said Jane again, trying to keep what was left of his composure as he stepped up onto the ledge. He was suddenly grateful that he wasn't able to directly see Lisbon—his back was to her, and the CBI building was a couple blocks away at least. Close enough that Lisbon would be able to see him. Far enough that she wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

And far enough that the buildings between them blocked her view of the point of impact.

Lisbon began to cry, and Jane's soul shattered. "Why are you calling me?" she managed to get out.

"It's my note," said Jane simply, his voice cracking on the last word. "Love you, Teresa," he said, and he flung the phone across the roof behind him.

Then he stepped off.

For a second, it was like flying. The air rushed at him, billowing his suit jacket, and he flung his arms and legs out wildly as he instinctively searched for something to slow the fall. Then it was all over. He landed in the middle of the stunt pad, the impact knocking the wind out of him—but he jumped off the pad a second later as Red John's people rushed in to take the pad apart. Jane watched for a few seconds as they cut the pad into pieces, deflating and dismantling it in record time, and he barely noticed when someone began to paint blood on his skull.

Jane was directed to lie down directly where the stunt pad had been set as the last of the pieces were cleared away, and someone continued to pour blood onto his face and into his hair. Another person rearranged his limbs into awkward, contorted angles, and Jane heard the telltale sirens of an approaching ambulance.

The man with the containers of blood—real, Jane suspected—leaned over Jane after he'd finished. "It's on," he said, barely more than a whisper, and suddenly he was gone, replaced by Red John's sham paramedics, who began to speak medical jargon at each other immediately upon assessing Jane's injuries.

"JANE!"

Jane almost flinched at the sound of Lisbon's voice, and he knew the CBI had arrived. He heard the sound of her heels hitting the pavement, one quickly after the other like she was running, and he knew she was headed towards him. The others, he guessed, would try to move the witnesses back beyond gawking distance, completely unaware that Red John's people would be lying through their teeth later when asked to give their statements.

A soft hand touched Jane's shoulder, strongly contrasting with the rough movements of the paramedics.

"Ma'am," said the female paramedic sternly. "It'll be easier for us to do our job if you step back."

Lisbon didn't seem to hear her. "He's…he's my partner," she stuttered, and the soft pressure of her hand disappeared. "He's my partner! Jane!"

Jane's mind flashed with memories of his first nightmare at Lisbon's apartment, and he ached to reach out for her.

"Damn it, Jane! Jane, stay with me! Please, Jane. Please."

The paramedics had finally gotten him onto a stretcher, and they lifted the stretcher to transfer him to the gurney, which they wheeled towards the ambulance.

Lisbon's hand touched his arm one last time, and he heard her heels as she walked to keep up with the gurney.

"I love you," she whispered, and Jane didn't think it was possible to break any more than he had.

The ambulance doors closed.

One week later

"Aren't we past all the secrecy?" Jane asked in annoyance, staring into space.

After Lisbon had identified his body at the morgue, Jane had been whisked into a dark SUV with tinted windows. Jane memorized each turn the driver made, and by the time they'd pulled up at their destination, Jane had pinpointed their location in a township to the south of the city.

Not that it was useful information to him now. If he attempted to enter Sacramento, Lisbon would be dead before he crossed a foot over the city line.

Instead, Jane was fulfilling his deal of the bargain, confined to a cell in a penitentiary that Jane suspected had been abandoned due to budget cuts. The derelict prison was now under the control of Red John, and Jane was fairly sure he was the only prisoner in the hundred or so cells in the building.

Jane's cell had a makeshift bed on the floor and a bucket. Sometimes he imagined the brick walls which lined the cell were caving in on him. More than once he wished they would.

There was no light. Jane wondered if living perpetually in darkness could cause him to become blind.

A slot opened on the door to Jane's cell, and a stream of light flooded his eyes, making him wince. A pair of eyes, disguised behind ordinary sunglasses, appeared in the slot. The man to which they belonged chose to ignore Jane's comment.

"You should know that Teresa has spent the last few nights at the CBI," said the nasally voice. "My people tell me she's sleeping on the couch in the bullpen. You know the one?"

"Leave her be," Jane hissed, running a hand over his unshaven face.

Once again, Red John ignored him. "She hasn't been eating, Patrick; she's lost a few pounds already. She rather looks as though she's…wasting away."

Jane didn't respond. He thought back to the last time he'd heard her voice—when she'd come to see for herself that his body was lifeless. She hadn't been able to form words. Instead, she'd held his hand briefly, evidently fooled by the lack of pulse and cool temperature—the result of a rather large amount of ice applied directly before she'd been allowed to see him. She'd sobbed at his side. Then she'd kissed his lips one last time and was gone.

"She does seem to be faring better than you did. No mental breakdowns yet, at least."

"She is, in every way, my superior," said Jane, his voice proud.

"We'll see. In all fairness, Pat, just about anyone deals with grief better than you."

"So this is it?" spat Jane. "This is how it's going to be for the rest of her life? I'm locked away, forced to hear stories of how I tore her life apart—of how she's suffering? Why don't I just kill myself now? Seems like it would save the both of us some trouble."

"We've been over this. You die—and so does she."

"What's the point?" Jane groaned, drawing his knees up to his chest and lowering his head.

"You used to be an arrogant, self-loathing son of a bitch, Pat. I've taught you a lesson—it didn't sink in with Angela and Charlotte, but I think you finally got it with Teresa. Now you're just a pathetic, self-loathing son of a bitch. Which is, in my opinion, a vast improvement."

"Go to hell," Jane hissed.

Twenty-nine days later

Over the next few weeks, Jane was force-fed constant updates regarding Lisbon's life. He learned that Lisbon had broken down during his funeral a few days after the Fall, that she had relinquished control of the team to Cho while she tried to pull herself together, and that she'd lost another dress size as a result of her deteriorating eating habits. With every piece of new information, Jane found it more difficult to open his eyes each morning.

The only thing that kept him breathing was his memories of her. He thought of her bright eyes, her laughter, her kiss, and her heart when the darkness threatened to overwhelm him. Though every part of him ached—would ache forever—he thanked whatever higher being she believed in that he'd even been allowed a day with her.

Fifty-three days later

It was night.

Or at least, Jane thought it was. Since his cell had no windows or source of light, it was difficult to say.

But something was different about this night. Jane was sure about that.

He sat up on his makeshift bed and strained to hear something—anything—that would tell him what was going on. Dead silence greeted him.

A beat later, the silence exploded as multiple gunshots and voices rang out. Jane jumped and backed towards the wall instinctively, though his brain told him he'd have little chance against whoever had those guns if they chose to turn them on him.

The sound of multiple boots hitting the cold concrete floor in the hallway outside Jane's cell became almost deafening soon after the gunshots sounded. Jane's body shook involuntarily.

The door to his cell blasted open, flooding the room with more light than Jane had seen in nearly three months. Jane shut his eyes immediately against the hard glare, and he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"LISBON!" yelled the intruder, and Jane nearly fainted when he identified the speaker as Van Pelt. "Lisbon! He's here!"

Jane heard more footsteps and the sound of a gun being holstered, and suddenly a familiar waft of cinnamon flooded over him. He opened his eyes automatically and shut them again at the harsh light.

"Cut the lights!" said a strangled voice that Jane recognized immediately as Lisbon's. Jane relaxed against the wall behind him, and he felt a small hand touch his shoulder gently as Lisbon kneeled down in front of him. Jane lowered his hands, but his body continued to shake.

"Jane," Lisbon breathed. "Jane."

She inched closer to him. "Lisbon?" said Jane in disbelief, his eyes still straining against the light.

"I'm here, Jane," she said, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on her face. He touched her hesitantly, as though scared to believe she was real, then his hands gained confidence as they took in her cheekbones, her eyelids, her nose, and her smile.

"Lisbon," he said in relief, his eyes watering, and he pulled her into his arms. She kissed him soundly on the lips, evidently not caring that he hadn't shaved nor showered in months, and Jane felt a part of himself return.

"Lisbon," he said breathlessly when he had pulled away. "What's happening?"

Somehow, without being able to see her face, he knew she was smiling. "We got him, Jane. We got Red John. And his entire syndicate, many of whom were standing guard at the entrance here. You're safe now."

"How did you…"

Lisbon shushed him. "I'll explain it all later, after you've been checked out by a doctor. But suffice to say, your lips were warm the last time I kissed you almost three months ago."

Of course. When Red John's men had prepped him to fool Lisbon in the morgue, they'd iced down his entire body—or nearly his entire body.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner," Lisbon continued.

Jane shook his head. "No," he told her. "Don't blame yourself—I'm amazed you realized it at all."

"There were other things as well—but let's not get into all that now. Can you stand?"

Jane nodded, and the lights finally were shut off. The glaring in Jane's eyes faded, and he opened them.

A blurry outline of Lisbon was the first thing he saw.

The visit to the emergency room had been uneventful, for which Jane had been grateful. Because the ER docs were overwhelmed with other patients, they had decided against admitting Jane. A young resident explained to Lisbon that Jane was severely dehydrated and malnourished. He recommended eating small amounts of food to build up to a normal diet. He also assured Jane that his vision should return to normal, though there was no guarantee as to when this would be; Jane would be sensitive to light for a while, but that too would pass.

Lisbon guided him back into her apartment sometime around mid-afternoon that day. He was familiar enough with the apartment that he managed to shower by himself; however, he enlisted Lisbon's help in shaving.

She sat on the bathroom sink, and he stood between her legs, eyes closed against the harsh light.

"I have to be honest," she said, the smile evident in her voice. "I'm not sorry to see this go. I like the stubble, but the beard's a bit much." Done with the left half of his face, she turned her attention to the right.

She waited while he talked. "Admit it, though, Lisbon. You like my hair like this."

Her lack of a reply told him she was blushing, and she returned the razor to his face, guiding it gently. "I do have a strange fascination with your curls," she admitted. "You're kind of beautiful, you know that?"

This time, he blushed, and he was sure she noticed. She finished shaving him soon after, and after he'd dried his face, she led him to her bedroom. The blinds were already drawn, blocking out the afternoon sunlight, and she didn't turn on the light. Jane shot a grateful smile towards her.

They climbed in together, and Jane crushed her against his chest.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he whispered into the dark.

"I know the feeling."

"I'm so sorry," Jane said. "I'm so, so sorry. What that must have been like for you…God, I can't even begin to comprehend."

"Not your fault," she said. "It's nobody's fault but his, and he got what he deserved."

Jane's eyes felt tired, and he closed them, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of Lisbon pressed against him.

"But you figured it out."

"Like I said, there were a few things, that thing in the morgue being one of them."

Jane's brow furrowed. "The first?"

"You told me that Red John said there would be consequences for your actions. When you didn't elaborate, I knew that was important. Also, the only book you read when you were here was The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. The short story where Holmes falls to his apparent death at Reichenbach Falls, The Final Problem, was in that collection. But most importantly," continued Lisbon. "You told me you loved me and that you would always save me, whether I liked it or not. I couldn't reconcile your decision to kill yourself with your words to me—and then I realized that it was because they couldn't be reconciled."

Jane leaned towards Lisbon to lay kisses down her jaw, on her cheeks, and on her lips. "My Lisbon. My beautiful, extraordinary, astute Lisbon."

"I knew something had to account for your actions and that, more likely than not, Red John was the person responsible. As soon as I figured out that he had been playing you, I put my efforts into finding him and taking him down."

"How long did you think I was dead?" Jane was almost afraid to ask.

"Three weeks," she replied weakly. "I didn't realize your lips weren't cold like the rest of you for three weeks. Worst three weeks of my life—and then after that, I had to act like you were dead, which was almost as bad."

"I would say I'm sorry again, but I don't think I'll ever be able to apologize enough for what I put you through."

"How about you agree to tell me about stuff like this in the future instead of keeping it from me, and we'll call it even?"

Jane ran a hand up and down her arm, reveling in her warmth. "What I did to you was abhorrent," he spat. "I lied to you, I told you I loved you as part of a con, and I slept with you under false pretenses! I don't deserve to be even with you."

"I'll give you the first one," Lisbon said quietly. "But con or no con, did you not love me? Did you not want to sleep with me? The fact that you had to do those things as part of a con doesn't make those acts meaningless."

"I do love you," said Jane emphatically.

"See?" said Lisbon softly. "You were willing to destroy yourself to keep me alive. I don't call that false pretenses, and I don't call that a con—I call that love."

"You don't hate me?"

"Of course not," she said. "I hate that you had to make that choice. I hate what he did to you. And if something like this ever happens again, you need to tell me."

"As long as you're contractually obligated to do the same."

"Deal," said Lisbon.

Jane blinked in the darkness, and for the first time in three months he stared into Lisbon's eyes. His mind flashed through the horrific events of the past year, and it occurred to him that he'd been wrong, at least in part, in his original belief that she was the one who needed saving.

In the end, she had been the one to save him. In the end, they saved each other.

AN: Thanks for reading! As always, any mistakes are mine. I confess to not knowing exactly how human eyes would respond to seeing light after being locked in darkness for so long, so that part is a bit of artistic license. If any of you are eye experts, feel free to correct me!

Also, I did intend for the Fall to parallel Sherlock's fall in the BBC show. I of course don't own Sherlock, and my only purpose in trying to draw parallels is complimentary to the folks at BBC. I think Sherlock and Jane are quite a lot alike, and I always wondered how The Mentalist would have handled the Fall that is so famous from the Conan Doyle short stories.