AN: Thanks again for the enthusiastic response to State of Grace. I still have the epilogue to post for that story, but I'm having a hard time letting go, so this fic happened instead.

Eventide is a sort of companion piece to Reichenbach, the long oneshot I posted a few months ago. I say that because there are obvious similarities between the two (dark, angsty storylines which both go AU around the time of Red Rover, Red Rover [the episode right before the season 4 finale]). However, it's totally not necessary to have read Reichenbach before you read this story because Eventide is not a prequel or sequel to it. It's just that subject-wise and tonally, they are very similar.

The events of this story pick up a few hours after the young girl finds Jane at the cemetery to give him Red John's message in Red Rover, Red Rover.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.

Eventide

(noun): evening; the end of day; the beginning of darkness

Dark.

Her eyes flashed open, but still the scene remained the same.

Dark. All-encompassing, overwhelming, completely and totally dark.

Lisbon waved a hand in front of her eyes. Nothing—no movement, no discernable difference.

Either she was in a pitch-black room or her eyes weren't working properly. And judging by the severe pain she was feeling at the base of her skull, Lisbon guessed the latter was a very real possibility. She touched the back of her head lightly and winced as her fingers brushed over an egg-sized bruise.

She heard Jane's voice in the back of her mind.

Use your other senses. Observing your surroundings for ten seconds could save your life.

She took a deep breath.

The floor was hard beneath her, but it wasn't cold. In fact, her entire body was slightly overheated, as though she had just spent a day in the sun at the beach. She felt the warmth on her toes, her legs, and her stomach. Lisbon moved slowly, careful not to jostle her head, which began to ache more every additional moment she was conscious, and eventually the warmth disappeared from her body.

Definitely blind then, thought Lisbon, if I can feel but can't see the sun.

The thought was not reassuring.

It wasn't even a relatively useful observation. It didn't tell her how to get help or even where she was.

And speaking of which, where the hell am I?

Lisbon closed her eyes, unnerved at having them open but being unable to see, and tried to walk herself through as many recent events as she could remember.

A blinding pain seemed to splinter her forehead in half, and Lisbon instinctively moved her hands to her head to cradle it. She moaned, breathing hard.

Okay, thought Lisbon, so recent memories are literally a sore spot.

The stubborn part of her wouldn't let her move on quite so quickly, however, and as soon as the searing pain had vanished, she tried again. What was the most recent meal I had?

The pain returned, a dull ache this time, but she couldn't recall the memory.

What was the last case I was working on?

The dull ache started to crescendo. Still no memory.

What was the last conversation I had with Jane?

The pain exploded again just inside her forehead, but this time a memory was dislodged. Jane's voice echoed in her brain.

He asked me if I'm ready to quit.

Her own voice answered him.

He's messing with your head. Don't let him.

Lisbon gasped, letting the memory fade, and as it slipped away so did the pain. She lay on the floor, sweating and nauseous, and a feeling of foreboding took over.

Of course it was Red John. It always was.

Had he blinded her? Had he hypnotized her, suggesting to her that trying to remember her recent memories would cause her intense pain? Had he taken away not only her vision but her past too?

Lisbon tried to sit up, relieved when she was able to do so. She rested her back against the wall.

She'd always thought she would be safe from Red John. Untouchable. Jane had thought so, too.

Another memory came back to her.

A torn suit vest, flesh against flesh, tangled bedsheets, and a union of two people who desperately could not stand to be alone.

"Was this a mistake?" she asked afterwards, his head on her breast, her hands running through his blond curls.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not." He kissed the hollow of her neck, and something on her nightstand caught his eye. "I knew you would sleep with your gun nearby," he said, gesturing to her firearm.

She shrugged. "Habit."

He smiled at her. "I'd do the same if I had a gun. Instead, I always keep a Swiss army knife underneath my mattress."

Lisbon chuckled. "That probably won't do you much good."

"You'd be surprised," said Jane, his tone softly teasing.

She tensed suddenly. "What if he finds out? About this?"

Jane hesitated, thinking over his words as though testing them before he spoke. "You're safe from him. He knows going after you would end the game, and he wants to continue playing."

"'End the game'?" she asked, confused.

He propped himself up on an elbow, eyes holding her own, his thumb brushing over the corner of her mouth.

"If he harmed you—if he touched you—the game would be over. I'd quit."

She hadn't needed to ask what he'd meant by quitting.

The blinding pain returned, and Lisbon cried out.

He nearly growled in frustration when his call went straight to her voicemail for the fourth time.

"Lisbon, I'm sorry about last night. Well, I guess 'sorry' isn't the right word, because I sincerely enjoyed every second of it. But I still feel like I owe you an apology. I know you, and I knew you'd do anything to try to fix me."

His mind flashed to the night in question—the night before the anniversary of the death of his family.

Lisbon's surprised face greeted him as she opened the door to her condo. "Jane?" she asked. "Is everything alright?"

He didn't answer, instead inviting himself inside, and she closed the door behind him.

"Tomorrow's the…the anniversary, right?" Lisbon asked softly, turning to face him, but he'd already moved towards her so that their faces were mere inches apart.

He looked down, grabbing her hands. "I don't want to talk about that," he said. "I'm so tired of talking about death, and grief, and pain—and for once I just want to be normal. I just want to feel normal."

The look on her face was heartbreaking. "Oh, Jane," she said, and he leaned his forehead against hers. "Is there anything I can do?"

There was only a centimeter between their lips, and it took him no time at all to eliminate that distance. She pulled back almost immediately.

"You know I'd do anything for you, Jane," she whispered. "But are you sure about this? You're vulnerable right now—I think you'll regret it in the morning."

Disregarding her words—not because they were untrue, but rather because they were far too true—he leaned in. "I just want to feel again."

She looked at him, her eyes intense. "Okay," she said after a moment of hesitation, and she let him lead her down the hall.

Jane sighed and continued speaking to her voicemail. "You were right. You always are. I was vulnerable, and I knew you could help. It wasn't fair to you. And I just…" he trailed off, his voice becoming more emotional than he cared to admit. "…I just want to fix things between us—because I had no right to ask of you what I did. You're far more important to me than just a one-night stand; you're far more to me than anyone has been in the past decade. I used you—in the most cruel and pathetic way humanly possible—and I'm sorry. I counted on your goodness, your protectiveness, your purity of heart, and I knew I could use them to my advantage. And I'm sorry. I really, truly am. And I know I've screwed up things between us, but I just want to talk to you. Please call me back, Lisbon. Please."

Jane normally would have tried harder to hide the way his voice broke on the last word, but he figured since he was trying to be truthful with her, he might as well let her see his actual emotions. He shut the flip phone, tucked it in his pocket, and got into his Citroen. Without another glance at the CBI building, he sped out of the parking lot.

Lisbon hadn't answered any of his calls, and he'd only grown more worried when his last two had gone straight to voicemail. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited at a red light, deciding at the last minute to change course, and he made a sharp turn to the right to head towards Lisbon's condo.

She'd acted normal when she'd met him at the cemetery that morning, after the young girl had come up to him with Red John's mark on her palm. But soon after that, he'd lost track of her, and she hadn't returned to the CBI building all afternoon. None of the other team members had been able to reach her either.

Jane swore under his breath. He'd really screwed things up.

He parked quickly upon reaching her street, not bothering to straighten up the car, and he slammed the door behind him. As he walked towards Lisbon's condo, he pulled his lock pick set from his suit pocket. He tried knocking first, but when there was no answer, he grabbed his most trusted lock pick, raising his hands to the lock. His hands jostled the door handle, turning it more than it should have been able had it been actually locked. Concerned, Jane tried the door—it swung open.

Jane hastily put the lock picks back in his suit coat. "Lisbon?" he yelled, stepping over the threshold.

No one answered him.

Jane quickly swept the living room and kitchen, and not encountering her there, he climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

He froze at the top of the steps.

Her door was closed, a typed note hanging from it by a piece of tape.

Jane crossed the distance in two long strides, ripping the note from the door in his haste.

Patrick,

Do you give up yet?

It was signed with a red smiley face.

Jane flung open Lisbon's door.

His eyes first encountered the large, looming mark of Red John above Lisbon's bed, and he felt his knees buckle. But then he noticed that—contrary to his expectations—Lisbon was nowhere to be found, and his knees somehow found the strength to hold him up.

Jane pulled his phone out, and he didn't even bother addressing Cho when he picked up.

"Red John's got Lisbon."

"Figured it out, have you?"

Lisbon jumped, startled. She hadn't realized anyone else was in the room. Her head turned towards the sound, and her eyes opened automatically, expecting to see the embodiment of the voice.

She was disappointed to see only black.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Sorry, next question," said the voice, and Lisbon wanted to recoil at the sound. It was high and nasally, the type of voice she'd expect from a B movie villain. "I don't want to spoil the surprise—it'll be more fun when Patrick decides to join us."

Lisbon took a deep breath and tried to ease the tension in her muscles, forcing herself to relax. "You're Red John," she said.

"Yes."

"And you've taken me as bait to bring Jane to you?" she asked. "That was unnecessary—because I can assure you Jane would have come without the enticement."

There was a rustling movement, as though Red John shifted his posture slightly.

"Bait is such a vulgar way to put it. I look at it more like…incentive."

"Are you planning on giving Jane directions or something so he knows where to show up?" She couldn't help the vitriol that slipped into her words.

"He's a smart man—he'll figure it out," said Red John.

A horrible realization hit her. "You're never going to let him see me again, are you? You'll only tell him where I am after…"

She could hear uneven footsteps walking away from her, followed by the sound of a door opening.

"Where would the fun be in that?" he said. "No, eventually he will find us. You'll be alive when he does."

"And after?" asked Lisbon.

"I think you can figure that out for yourself, sweetheart."

And the door slammed behind him. Lisbon shivered.

Jane felt the couch dip beside him, and he caught a whiff of Grace's perfume. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling shaky.

"I'm absolutely useless," he said. "I feel like I can't help with anything."

Grace touched his arm gently. "We're running down every possible lead we can. There's nothing else you can do."

He turned towards her, and he watched her eyes widen as she took in his face. He knew his wrinkles would look more prominent with the stress he was under, but he guessed Grace had noticed his eyes, red from lack of sleep and trying to fight the perpetual tears which threatened to fall.

"Hey," said Grace, concerned. She leaned over to him. "What else happened? What else is wrong?"

Jane smiled self-loathingly. "I'm such a bastard," he said.

"What's wrong, Jane?"

"Last night," he began. "It was the eve of the anniversary."

"Shit," said Grace, unapologetic for her language.

"Yeah," said Jane. "Which was basically how I was feeling. And I decided that…that I couldn't make it through the night alone. So I went over to Lisbon's, and…"

He trailed off suggestively, and Grace made the connection. "You guys slept together?" Jane glanced over at her, surprised at her tone—if not for the current circumstances, Jane suspected she would be grinning ear to ear.

"Please don't…don't act all happy for us," he said, rather more sharply than he'd intended. "I'm sorry," Jane amended at Grace's hurt look. "I just feel like a slimy, low-lying parasite because I basically pitied her into it. And now Red John has her—and what if that's the last I'll ever see of her?"

Grace leaned back against the couch and crossed her arms over her chest. "I think you're giving yourself far too much credit, Jane, and you're not giving Lisbon nearly enough," she finally said. "I mean, sure, you can be a bastard. I'll also concede that you can manipulate a good proportion of the female population into falling for you. However, Lisbon is one of the very few people in this world who won't tolerate your bullshit. She wouldn't let you act like an asshole. She wouldn't fall for you trying to seduce her."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

Grace stared evenly back at him. "I'm saying that Teresa Lisbon would not go to bed with you out of pity. She would only sleep with you if she wanted to. Did you ever stop to think that maybe she was just as lonely as you last night? Maybe you weren't the only one who didn't want to spend the night alone."

Jane pulled Grace into a bear hug. "Thank you, Grace," he said. "I really needed to hear that."

She hugged him back tightly. "Listen, Jane," she said as she pulled back. "Just because Lisbon is a grown woman fully capable of making choices about her own body does not mean that I won't hunt you down if you hurt her. We clear?"

Jane nodded, his eyes flashing to the gun on Grace's hip. "Transparently," he said.

When the pain in Lisbon's forehead had nearly diminished, she stood up slowly. She then walked around the room, keeping one hand against the wall and one hand extended in front of her.

She needn't have worried. There was nothing to run into.

And the room didn't turn out to be much of a room at all. Lisbon estimated it was slightly larger than the average bedroom, with one door—locked, of course—and two windows (also locked). She stood directly in front of one of them, the sun beating down on her face, hoping she'd be able to see some light.

She pressed her ear to the window, hoping to get some information as to what was going on outside. A gull squawked far away, but the sounds of human voices were strangely absent.

Where the hell am I?

She worked her way around the rest of the room, which proved to be completely unfurnished with the exception of a mattress. Darkness fell soon afterwards, and Lisbon lamented the loss of the sun—its heat had been oddly reassuring. She laid down on the mattress and closed her eyes.

Where is Jane? What is he doing now?

He would have noticed her absence by now. She was sure of it.

But Lisbon didn't know her exact location—even if she did, she had no way to contact him. Lisbon felt tears sting at her eyes, and she felt a strange sense of pleasure that her eyes were at least functional enough to allow her to cry.

Jane's voice spoke again in her mind. Her headache returned.

Crying is therapeutic, Teresa. Don't fight it.

So she didn't, pretending all the while that Jane's arms were around her, holding her close as he had done the night before.

She woke up just before dawn, tucked underneath his arm and held close to his body. She kept her breathing steady, feigning sleep, because Jane was already awake, talking to her gently, and she was curious.

"I wish things were different," he whispered, and when he shifted she could feel the warmth of his wedding band against her skin. "In another life, I wouldn't hesitate. But in this one…you deserve far better. This one night with you…"

His voice dropped below a whisper, as though he were merely mouthing the words, and Lisbon desperately tried to make out what he was saying.

"…this night was so perfect, but I don't deserve such perfection, or such devotion. I don't deserve the salvation you bring me. I'll only hurt you, Teresa. I always end up hurting the people I love."

At that point, the pain spread from her forehead to encompass the entire surface area of her cranium, adding to the ache she already felt from the bruise on the back of her head. Lisbon leaned backward, supporting herself against the wall, sliding down to sit on the cool floor.

She cradled her head in her hands once more, feeling herself slip into unconsciousness but unwilling to let herself be dragged down.

Sleep, Lisbon, said Jane's voice in her ear, so she did.

She opened her eyes to find white, sparkling light dancing across her vision. A seagull squawked somewhere above, and the seaside became visible, spreading out in front of her for miles, seemingly endless.

A soft warmth appeared by her side.

"I've been worried about you."

She turned to him. He was her Jane, dressed in a rumpled, navy blue, three-piece suit, but he looked out of place. Suddenly she realized why.

They were at his home in Malibu, on the deck out back which faced the sea.

"I'm hallucinating?" asked Lisbon.

"Oh, yeah," said Jane. "You took a couple of really hard knocks to the head, my dear."

"Concussion?"

"Most definitely."

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly."

Lisbon sighed. "When will I get my vision back?"

"I'm not a doctor, Lisbon, merely a hallucination."

She chuckled at his words, and he held out his arms. She leaned into him.

"You know I feel awful about last night, right?" he asked.

"You shouldn't," said Lisbon. "It was one of the best nights of my life."

Jane pulled back from her, his expression one of intense disbelief. "You're only saying that to make me feel better."

She shook her head. "No," she said, chuckling again. "I mean it. So please don't drown yourself in a pool of self-loathing. We're two consenting adults—and I happened to be particularly consenting."

"You need to have this conversation with the version of me who is not a hallucination," said Jane. "He really needs to hear it."

"I intend to tell him," said Lisbon, leaning into him again. "If I ever get to see him again. Speaking of which, any ideas to help me get out of this mess? Jane?"

He'd started to fade before her, and the rest of her surroundings followed suit. His voice floated towards her.

"Take ten seconds to observe your surroundings, Lisbon. It could save your life."

There was only a bright light—and Jane's voice.

"The mattress," said Lisbon. "It smells…familiar."

"Bravo, Lisbon."

The darkness returned.

The team was huddled in Lisbon's office, Jane perched on her desk, Rigsby and Grace on the couch and Cho at the small table. The stars had come out, but despite tired eyes, what remained of the CBI team showed no signs of turning in for the night.

"Why go after Lisbon now?" said Rigsby. "He's had plenty of opportunities before, so what makes this exact moment any different?"

Cho looked at Jane. "Rigsby's asking the right questions."

Jane tapped his thumbs together, not knowing how to respond.

Grace spoke up. "Something had to have changed," she said. "Red John was originally planning to drag this game out as long as possible. But now all of the sudden he's essentially called a checkmate, forcing the end of the game. Why hasten the ending?"

Jane's eyes widened. "That's assuming he chose to hasten anything. What if he was forced to?"

Three identical looks of confusion appeared on the faces of his teammates.

"What if," said Jane, "something occurred that forced Red John to end the game now instead of drawing it out indefinitely?"

Grace looked at him curiously. "Red John is dying," she deduced.

Jane snapped his fingers. "Exactly. He must have been given a terminal diagnosis."

Rigsby's back straightened eagerly. "Is this something we can use to track him down? To figure out who he is?"

Cho slapped a fist on the table. "Not likely. Getting access to medical files of living patients is worse than pulling teeth, and how would we even narrow it down? Do you know how many middle aged men get terminal diagnoses in Sacramento?"

"You're right," said Rigsby. "We don't even know what disease he has—or if he even has a disease."

Grace put a hand on Rigsby's shoulder. "It's something, though. We'll get there. And if this really is Red John's endgame, he's going to want Jane present, so we'll find her eventually."

And if we're lucky, added Jane to himself, we'll find her alive.

Lisbon began to measure the passage of time based on temperature cycles in the room. If she felt heat when standing in front of a window, she knew the sun was shining, and it was during these times that she received two sizable meals per day. This, at least, was a relief—if Red John was feeding her, it meant he intended to keep her alive for a while. She was also allowed regular trips out of her room and down the hall to the restroom, always accompanied, of course, by one of Red John's women.

She'd knocked something off the wall in the hallway on her first trip to the restroom, and the sound of shattering glass had been particularly startling to Lisbon. The woman who was leading her had called for assistance, and someone had come to sweep up the mess.

But Lisbon had been satisfied. By the sound of it, she'd knocked down a picture frame or a painting.

She was in someone's home.

Lisbon was lying on the mattress in the sun, mentally going over the information she'd accumulated, when her door opened.

"Knocking is the standard social convention when entering a room with a shut door," said Lisbon tersely.

Red John chuckled. "You're feisty. I can see why Patrick is captivated by you."

"He's hardly captivated by me," Lisbon snapped.

"You're not an impartial observer," said Red John. "So you're not qualified to make such an assumption. I, however, am. And I've found that there is exactly one thing in this world that Patrick values more than hunting me down—and that's you."

Lisbon sat up, resting the back of her head gingerly against the wall behind her. "Why do you care?"

"Because you're a piece in the game."

The game. Uneven footsteps. The mattress. What the hell did it all mean?

Lisbon clenched her fists. "And what, exactly, is my role in this game?"

"You're the necessary sacrifice to end it, Teresa." He began to walk towards her, and there was a dull clunk with every other step he took.

Uneven footsteps.

None of the previous witnesses in the Red John case had made such an observation about him. So was this a recent development?

"What happened to your leg?" asked Lisbon.

For the first time, Red John seemed unsure as he hesitated. "Lost it," he said finally. "Cancer. It took my left hand, too."

"Ewing's sarcoma?" asked Lisbon. "My mother was an oncology nurse."

"Ewing's," he confirmed. "The doctors said it mostly affects teenagers. Guess I'm the exception."

"How long do you have?" asked Lisbon.

He was closer to her than she'd expected him to be, and she felt his breath on her face when he answered. "Long enough," he said. "But not enough time to waste. Which is why I'm sending a message to Patrick today. He hasn't been able to figure it out on his own, so he needs a little incentive."

Lisbon tensed, remembering what Red John had told her the first time they'd spoken about her being the incentive.

Damn it, she thought, taking a deep breath and trying to calm her anxiety for Jane. She froze.

The scent she'd just inhaled wasn't merely familiar.

It was Jane's.

Jane had been here, lying on this very mattress.

She mentally kicked herself for not recognizing it sooner—she smelled it nearly every day.

Lisbon closed her eyes.

It was Jane's mattress.

It was Jane's house.

She was in Malibu. But how to get this information to Jane?

Red John began speaking again. "We're going to record a message for Patrick. If you cooperate, I'll even let you say a couple of words at the end."

Lisbon's mind began whirling. She had no time to prepare something elaborate. How could she convey the message without Red John catching on?

She heard the sound of a cell phone's video recorder being turned on, and Lisbon immediately shut her eyes. She didn't want Jane to see her eyes empty and unfocused. However, after a second of consideration, she determined it would be better for Jane to have all the information she could give him. If he developed a plan for her to escape that was contingent on her being able to see, she wouldn't be able to follow through.

She opened her eyes.

"I hope this message finds you well, Patrick," said Red John. "As you can see, lovely Teresa here has joined me. We're getting tired of waiting for you, so I thought I'd offer an enticement."

Suddenly he was too close, much too close, and Lisbon knew he was zooming in on her face. "You have three days to admit you've lost the game, Patrick. With every passing day after that, Teresa will begin to break down. It's already started—do you see her eyes? The longer it takes you to publicly admit defeat, the more she will lose of herself."

Lisbon tensed. What kind of screwed up game is this?

The harsh reality soon dawned on her. Her eyes were just the beginning. Red John was planning on literally taking her body apart, piece by piece, the longer it took Jane to arrive. Her hands shook at the thought of what Jane would find if he were too late.

"If you surrender before your time runs out, I'll release her to you. Well…" Red John hesitated, and Lisbon could hear the sick smile in his voice. "I'll release most of her to you." Red John grabbed her left hand and held it up for the camera. "Teresa has lovely hands. Perhaps I'll just keep this one? It's not like she needs her left fingers—you're too busy mourning dear Angela to put a ring on one." He kissed her left hand, and then her right. "I think I'll also keep a leg," he added as an afterthought, running a hand down her thigh. "That way, we'll match, her and I. Forever bound."

Lisbon tore her hand from his grasp, breathing hard.

"Alright, Teresa, you've behaved yourself. Is there something you'd like to say?"

Lisbon didn't even attempt to look into the camera. She knew she wouldn't be able to find it.

"I keep thinking about that moment, Jane, when you woke up from your fugue state. I wish I would have told you then—I love you."

Most of the words were a lie—she hadn't actually wanted to tell Jane how she felt the night he'd finally remembered who he was. Because that night, the night he'd woken up from the fugue, she'd had to remind him of his past—she'd had to remind him of losing Angela and Charlotte. And that would have been a horrible time to confess that she loved him.

However, she wanted to draw his attention somehow to his Malibu mansion, and the only way she could think to accomplish that was to remind him of where they'd been when he'd woken up. He'd figure out what she meant.

She hoped so, at least.

Red John shut off the recording and walked towards the door. "Nicely done, Teresa," he said. "Cinematic perfection."

The door swung shut behind him, and Lisbon let out a breath she'd been holding for far too long. She curled up on the mattress and breathed in deeply, comforted by the ghostly scent of Jane's cologne.

Jane breathed heavily, sitting up quickly from his spot on the brown leather couch. He glanced at his watch, found it to be nearly three in the morning, and stood up. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now—not after the nightmare he'd just had.

He tried to push the horrible images of Lisbon out of his mind, instead focusing on brighter, happier memories.

"You're stunning," he said, walking her backwards so that the backs of her knees touched the bed. "Breathtaking." He made quick work of the buttons on her shirt and she shrugged out of it, one of her hands tangled in his hair and the other at the small of his back.

"You're not so bad yourself," she said shyly, moving her hands to his bare chest to trace the muscles there for the first time.

"Why, Lisbon, that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She rolled her eyes as he ducked his head to kiss her neck. "Don't get used to it," she mumbled, and they didn't speak again for a long time.

Jane ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further.

Grace's computer beeped.

Jane walked across the darkened room to sit at Grace's desk, where an alert for a new email had just appeared. Curious, Jane opened the email webpage and found the new message.

There was no subject and no text, but a video was attached.

He clicked 'play' with a shaking hand.

"I hope this message finds you well, Patrick," said a voice. Jane was familiar with it—Red John had spoken to him before. But more important than the audio was the visual itself.

His first sight of Lisbon in days.

He nearly breathed a sigh of relief before he noticed something was off about her eyes. They were vacant, and they never quite made contact with the camera. Jane felt nauseous.

Lisbon was blind.

His first time watching the video, he didn't catch a word of what Red John was saying. But when Lisbon began to speak, he listened intently.

"I keep thinking about that moment, Jane," she said, and Jane hung to every word like a lifeline. "When you woke up from your fugue state. I wish I would have told you then—I love you."

And the video ended there promptly, the screen cutting to black.

Jane tapped his fingers against each other. Lisbon had only been able to get in two sentences—she must have wanted to make them important.

The fugue state reference was obvious. When she'd helped him remember who he was, she'd shown him his family's house in Malibu. Was that where she was being held? It seemed likely. The wall behind her and mattress she was sitting on matched the room in which Red John's mark still remained.

The 'I love you' was a bit more difficult to sort through, Jane thought as he dialed Cho, who picked up on the third ring, his voice heavy with sleep.

After all, how could someone like Lisbon love someone like him?

Lisbon couldn't sleep after shooting the video message for Jane. She pictured him, lying prone on his brown leather couch but getting about as much rest as she was. She wished he was with her now, his arms wrapped around her torso.

Lisbon rolled over, wrapping her arms around herself instead, and let out a gasp of surprise when her shoulder dug into something hard embedded in the side of the mattress closest to the wall.

She sat up and moved her hands to the side of the mattress, feeling up and down along its length, until she noticed a long slit. She dug one hand inside, and immediately her fingers came into contact with a small object about the size of a flashlight.

Jane's voice floated back to her.

I always keep a Swiss army knife underneath my mattress.

Well, he hadn't been lying—that was for sure.

Lisbon pulled out the compact knife and stuffed it inside her boot. With the extra assurance the knife gave her, she quickly fell asleep.

"We still have a couple hours to go, Jane," said Cho. They'd been driving for hours already, Grace and Rigsby in the back seat and Jane tapping his fingers anxiously on the hand rest on the passenger's side as the sun rose. "You sure we shouldn't have Malibu PD storm the house?"

Jane looked at Cho, exasperated. "Red John doesn't know that we know where he's holding Lisbon. That gives us an advantage. The last thing we need right now is to forfeit that advantage by calling in the incompetent mess that is the police department."

Cho sighed, and Grace and Rigsby exchanged an amused glance. "Alright, Jane. So how are you planning on getting Lisbon out of there?"

"I'm not. We're going in."

Grace was able to hack into the mansion's security system with little effort. "I really want to berate you for how awful your security is here, Jane," she said, "but I find I can't say so because being able to hack into your cameras might actually save Lisbon's life."

Cho had parked the SUV at a secluded park a couple miles down the beach from Jane's home, and the four remaining members of the CBI team were huddled around Grace's computer at a picnic table. Jane had a sudden vision of Charlotte on the swings to their left, but he pushed aside the melancholy memory to focus on the task at hand. The mid-morning sun shone down on them, and Jane took off his suit jacket as the sweat began to bead on his back.

"Are the alarms shut off?" he asked. "I'm assuming they would have to be if Red John got around them."

"Actually," said Grace, "it looks like he rigged them up again. I'll make sure they stay off."

Jane nodded. "The locks to everything—all the doors and all the windows—are also electronically linked to the security system, so make sure those stay unlocked as well."

Cho looked at Jane. "What's the plan?"

"Lisbon's at the farthest bedroom from the stairs to the second floor." He pointed to Grace's screen. "But that's also the part of the house where Red John and his people have camped out. We'll need to enter from the other, less-surveilled side. There's a bathroom on the ground floor—close to the gardens—with a large window that we can enter through tonight when it gets dark."

"There he is," said Grace, pointing to a man walking down a hallway. "It is him, right?" she asked, glancing at Jane. "His gait is slightly uneven, like he's limping, which would make sense if one of his legs was a prosthesis."

"It's him," Jane confirmed. "He admitted it himself in the video—he wanted to take one of Lisbon's hands and one of her legs so they would match. He's a double amputee. Can you see his hands?"

Grace shook her head. "The baggy shirt he's wearing is covering them up, and the footage is grainy anyway. Can't even make out his face." She looked at Cho. "There are at least two other men, one of whom is walking the perimeter of the house, and a woman."

Cho crossed his arms across his chest. "We'll need someone to keep monitoring this while we go in," he said. "We need to know where these people are at all times."

Grace nodded. "I got it covered."

"Jane, you have to come with since you know the layout of the house. You're also going to have to help Lisbon navigate, since Rigsby and I will be busy covering you both."

Jane's face hardened. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lisbon hadn't been able to eat either of her meals that day, her stomach still unsettled from the news that Red John wanted to amputate two of her limbs.

Unable to remain lying down, she walked around her room as the sun set, feeling the reassuring weight of the compact knife at her ankle.

The team had walked for a couple miles along the beach, only entering Jane's property when they'd reached the gardens. Jane said a prayer of thanks to Lisbon's God when they made their way through the overgrown garden—deciding not to maintain it over the past decade had allowed for the plants to grow wildly, providing extra cover. However, the men still crouched to remain unseen.

Jane, clothed in dark jeans and a black long-sleeve sweatshirt with the hood drawn over his hair, led the way. Cho and Rigsby, dressed in identical dark attire, followed him, their guns drawn. Jane touched his hip, where Cho's spare firearm hung from a holster. It felt strange, Jane thought, to finally have permission to carry a gun. And to fire it.

The house loomed in front of them, large and imperious, and Jane's gaze was immediately drawn to the window where he knew Lisbon to be. His heart thumped inside his ribcage, and he took a deep breath to attempt a biofeedback technique.

Jane slipped out of the garden and towards the bathroom window. "Grace?"

"It's open," came the voice through his earpiece.

"Excellent," whispered Jane, and he lifted the window up. Cho climbed in, followed quickly by Jane and then Rigsby, who shut the window behind them in case someone noticed in their absence.

The bathroom and adjoining hallway were pitch-black, and Jane led the way down the hall by memory rather than sight. When the house started to lighten up, indicating they were getting close to some of the people they needed to watch for, Cho took over. The hallway split at the end, with one brightly lit path leading to the living room and the other, darker hall leading up the stairs. Cho dashed towards the latter path, and Jane and Rigsby followed him.

They cleared the top of the stairs in a matter of seconds, but just as they made to move down the hall towards the room where Lisbon was being held, another door to their right opened. A thin, raven-haired woman dressed in a long, deep red dress stepped out and froze.

Her hand went to the gun strapped to her shoulder holster, but Cho was faster: he sent two bullets into her forehead, and she crumpled to the ground.

"Damn it," said Cho out loud as the gunshots echoed in Jane's ears.

Two shots exploded from down the hall, and Lisbon jumped away from the door, lunging for her knife. She flipped it open and moved to the corner of the room, out of the immediate line of sight of anyone who entered.

Another shot sounded, and Lisbon knew the door had been blasted open. Friend, then, she thought, because a foe would have had the key to the door.

"Lisbon!" came a strangled yell that she immediately recognized as Jane's. Hurried footsteps—more than one pair, she thought—echoed around her.

"I'm here," said Lisbon softly, and almost immediately she felt a strong pair of hands grasp her forearms.

"Lisbon, it's me," she heard Jane say. "Cho and Rigsby are here as well. They have weapons, and so do I, and we've got Grace talking with us through a wire. We're going to get you out of here, Lisbon. Hold onto me, alright? I'll be your eyes."

She nodded, and he placed one of her arms around his lower back, throwing one of his across her shoulders. A gunshot went off to her left—was that Cho?—and she heard the return fire from down the hall.

"Shit," came Rigsby's voice. "Grace says there's at least two more of them than we'd originally thought—and they just took out the camera at the base of the stairs."

"He's got backup coming from somewhere," said Cho. "We need to get out of here before more arrive."

"Come on," said Jane gently, and he began to pull her forward.

There was a thud from down the hallway, and the gunshots ceased. "One down. He had both hands—he wasn't Red John," said Cho.

They moved down the hall and towards the stairs. "Grace?" said Rigsby.

There were a few seconds of silence, then Jane said, "It's alright, Grace," his tone deflated. He turned to Lisbon. "They've knocked out the cameras, so Grace can't tell us the safest way out. We're on our own."

"Let's move, then," said Cho, and Lisbon pictured him and Rigsby leading the way down the stairs. Jane grabbed her free hand and put in on the railing.

"Careful," he said.

When they reached the bottom, Lisbon flinched as another few shots sounded, seemingly coming from both her protectors and attacker. Two pairs of quick and heavy footsteps approached from Lisbon's right, undeterred by the stream of bullets around them. A rough hand grabbed at Lisbon's arm, pulling her away from Jane, and Lisbon reacted instinctively, grabbing her knife and plunging it into the nearest piece of flesh she could locate.

The hand let go of her almost immediately and was replaced by a much steadier, warmer pair of hands. Another slew of gunshots went off from both sides. Jane hissed, and Lisbon caught the sounds of two bodies dropping to the floor.

"Two more down. Neither were him," said Rigsby, and Jane pulled Lisbon forward again, his grip on her waist slightly weaker.

"Jane?" Lisbon breathed. "What happened? Were you hit?"

"Bullet skimmed my shoulder," said Jane, the pain evident in his voice. "It's nothing—it's fine. Bathroom is straight ahead, Rigsby."

She heard shuffling and a sliding sound and felt cool air hit her face. "Come here, Lisbon," said Jane, and Lisbon could hear Cho breathing behind them.

Another round of gunshots. "I hit someone," said Cho. "I don't think they're down, though."

Jane gave Lisbon's hand to Rigsby, who'd already climbed out the window. Rigsby wasted no time in grabbing Lisbon around the torso and pulling her towards him. As soon as he released her, Jane scrambled to her side, grabbing her again and pulling her against him.

Another thud, and Cho had landed beside them.

They disappeared into the garden.

The foursome climbed into the idling SUV, and as soon as the last door had shut, the car shot off.

"Van Pelt?" asked Lisbon, vaguely registering that someone had to be driving.

"I'm here, Boss. You alright?"

"I've been better," admitted Lisbon, turning towards Jane. "You found me," she whispered.

Jane couldn't speak, so instead he raised her hand to his face and let her feel the moisture falling from his eyes.

An unfortunate nurse tried to separate Jane and Lisbon at the emergency room. Lisbon finally broke.

"I just got you back!" she practically sobbed as Jane held her in his arms. "I'm not about to lose you again!"

Jane kissed the top of her head and turned to the nurse. "To say she's had a rough few days is an enormous understatement. Would it trouble you terribly to let me stay with her?"

The nurse acquiesced, and Lisbon heard her rush off.

"She's gone to get someone to clean my wound, as well as an ophthalmologist to look at your eyes," said Jane in her ear. "I'm not going anywhere. It's alright."

"Your shoulder…show me?"

And he lifted her fingers to his injured shoulder, guiding them to the wound. She touched it gingerly, relieved to find not much blood had been shed from the superficial gash. "See?" said Jane, and she thought he might be smiling. "I'm fine. Just a graze. Stings like hell, though."

Lisbon looked up, frustrated at not knowing where his eyes were. "Are you smiling?" she asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" But he chuckled, his laugh building when her searching fingers finally encountered his grin.

His smile was the last thing she remembered before she fainted.

Dark.

Her eyes flashed open, but still the scene remained the same.

Lisbon began to breathe deeply, trying to calm herself. Had her rescue been just a dream? Had Jane never showed up?

Her right hand flew to her left, and she wiggled the toes on both feet. Red John hadn't gotten to her yet.

A familiar scent of cologne washed over her, and her left hand was suddenly enveloped in two much larger, warmer hands. "Lisbon," said Jane, his voice low. "Hey…you're fine. It's alright. Shhhh." One of his hands moved to stroke her hair, her face.

"I can't see," she said shakily. "Jane, I can't see! I can't see you!"

He moved her hand to his heart, and she could feel his life beating under her palm. She breathed in time with him.

"It's alright, Lisbon," he said again. "Remember what the doctor said? You took a severe blow to the back of the head. You're going to have some memory troubles for a while. And some vision problems, too."

Her breathing slowed, approaching normal, as he spoke. She did remember being released from the Malibu hospital. She remembered speaking to the physician, even if his words weren't what she'd wanted to hear.

"It's difficult to say with these types of injuries. Every individual is different. I've seen people make a full recovery. Others never get their vision back."

Jane shifted closer to her on the hospital bed at these words. When he grabbed her hand, he was more tense than she was used to seeing him. And it hit her—he was scared. He was frightened for her.

Lisbon brought her thoughts back to the present. "Where are we?"

"CBI attic."

"How's your shoulder?"

His chest moved up, and she knew he was shrugging. "Meh," he said. "It's fine. It was just a scratch, Lisbon. Small potatoes compared to your eyesight."

She swallowed. "I might be blind for the rest of my life." She could barely get the words out.

"Yes," said Jane simply.

She felt a tear slip from her eye. "Jane, I might never get to see you again."

"Shhhh, Lisbon," said Jane. "It's alright. It's alright. You're alive, and you're whole. You're healthy. Everything is fine."

Lisbon couldn't help it. She began to sob.

Jane slid into bed beside her and pulled her into his lap, and she rested her head in the crook of his neck, her tears dropping onto his vest. "I won't be able to see your hair. Or your eyes! Or your smile," she choked out. "Jane."

He let her cry on his shoulder, rubbing her arms and tightening his embrace around her. "Lisbon," he said finally. "There are other ways to see me. Allow me to enlighten you?"

She nodded desperately against him, and he leaned down to capture her lips with his.

His hands ghosted over her skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. She sighed into him, eliciting a moan.

"Can you see me, Lisbon?" he asked breathlessly.

She nodded.

He pulled back slightly. "I left about twenty messages on your phone," he said, his tone suddenly sheepish. "After that night," he clarified. "Lisbon, I'm so sorry. I feel like I manipulated you. I'm such an idiot—"

She cut him off. "Believe me, there was no manipulation involved. I was a very willful participant in the events of that night."

He kissed her so she could feel the smile on his face. "Really?" he asked.

"Oh, definitely," said Lisbon. "I'd say it was the best night of my life, but I don't want to risk inflating your ego any more than it already is."

"You don't hate me?"

"Quite the contrary," said Lisbon. "I love you."

Jane stilled. "You meant that? What you said in the video?"

"Of course I meant it! How could you not know?"

He shrugged against her. "Drowning in self-pity, I guess. Woe is me. Who could ever love a bastard like myself—that kind of thing."

"No more of that," said Lisbon, resting her forehead against his. "I need you, Jane, now more than ever. I don't think I can do this alone."

"You won't have to. I'll be there with you from now on—I'm your eyes now, remember?"

She nodded, and he leaned backwards so that they were stretched out on the bed. "Alright," she whispered.

"Let's get some sleep now, okay? It's nearly three in the morning. The rest of this deep conversation can wait." She used his chest as a pillow. "I love you, Teresa."

"Love you, too," she murmured as sleep pulled her under.

This time, she welcomed the darkness.

AN: So, obviously there are a lot of questions that could be answered. Did Red John escape, and if so, how much trouble will he cause for Jane and Lisbon before he dies of cancer? How will the hypnosis that Red John put Lisbon under affect her past memory? Will she always experience headaches when trying to remember past events? And does Lisbon get her vision back? But for now, I like leaving it open-ended because I really adore this scene of Jane and Lisbon ready to face the unthinkable together. If you guys are interested, perhaps I'll continue the story :)

And for those wondering, the idea for this story came to me as I started wondering how different Reichenbach would be if Lisbon were the one in captivity—hence the obvious parallels between the two fics (particularly the blindness).

One other side note: the raven-haired woman who Cho killed first was Lorelei.

At any rate, I hope you liked it! And look for the final chapter of State of Grace to be posted soon :)