AN: Okay, so I admit it. I spent a great deal of time in one of my classes this semester plotting out this story: when the instructor brought up a concept called "chaos theory," I couldn't help but apply it to Jane and Lisbon. Alas, the problems of being a fangirl.

This story begins during Jane's confrontation with Timothy Carter in "Strawberries and Cream," and - as per usual with my stories - it quickly deviates to become AU. In fact, I want to stress this point, since an infinitesimally small reaction from Jane at the very beginning of this story precipitates a major divergence from canon. This fic has quickly become my favorite multichapter out of the ones that I've written, and I hope you enjoy it as well.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.

(chaos theory):

sensitivity to initial conditions, allowing for great disturbances to arise from seemingly small occurrences

"Your life is precious, Patrick. Get on with that precious life. Find yourself a woman to love—start a family."

Jane hesitates for a millisecond.

Red John smiles, arching one eyebrow in surprise as he takes in Jane's expression.

"Oh," he says, clearly amused, and his grin is smug. "My mistake. You've already found one."

Jane feels a bead of sweat roll down the curve of his back. He says nothing.

Eager shoppers bustle around them like swarming bees.

Red John continues to scrutinize him, and he moves the gun hidden in the newspaper an inch closer to Jane. "Your woman—that was her on the phone, am I correct?"

Jane suddenly cannot remember how to keep his emotions in check, and he feels them flash across his face, one after the other. Anxiety, fear, disbelief, panic.

Red John smiles again.

"Ah, yes, of course. Agent Lisbon." His feigned cheerfulness suddenly disappears, replaced with feigned concern. "She sounded like she was in a great deal of pain, Patrick. Whatever are you doing here speaking with me when you should be rushing to her side?" He doesn't wait for an answer before continuing. "I'll make you a deal: run along to her now, and I won't shoot you."

"I don't feel that way about Lisbon," says Jane, a few seconds too late, and it comes out sounding like he's trying to convince himself rather than the man sitting opposite him.

"Of course not," says Red John, his tone more than patronizing, and Jane grips the gun in his suit pocket, his finger resting on the trigger.

How likely is it that Red John will kill me before I can even draw the weapon?

Red John watches Jane calculate with interest.

Very likely, Jane concludes. I'll be dead before I get a chance to shoot.

A woman walks past them with a stroller, pushing her two children along.

Red John's eyes narrow as though something has just occurred to him.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks.

"Know what?" says Jane automatically.

The corner of Red John's mouth curls up slightly. "You didn't realize you were in love with her until I pointed it out."

There's a beat of silence.

"I will kill you," Jane says finally, and he feels every muscle in his body tense as he restrains himself from lashing out at the man across from him. It takes an enormous amount of effort simply to keep his voice even. He succeeds.

Barely.

Red John's hand shifts on his gun. Jane tracks the movement out of the corner of his eye, intent on holding Red John's gaze.

"I doubt that, but I admire your tenacity, Patrick." He checks his watch with a sigh, clearly bored. "You have fifteen seconds to get up and walk away before I pull this trigger."

Jane hears the unmistakable sound of the weapon being cocked. He stands up slowly, though every part of him screams not to, and his body literally shakes with the effort to remain in control. He makes to turn away.

"Patrick."

Jane turns back around.

"I'm glad we had this chance to talk. It was…" Red John pauses, smiling at Jane as though they'd just concluded a productive business meeting. "It was illuminating."

Jane's eyes flash down to the gun still trained on him. Then he thinks of Lisbon, and he walks away.

Jane pulls into the emergency room parking lot, circling around for a couple minutes before finding a spot. He pulls the gun out of his pocket and stares at it.

He is overwhelmed by the need to get the gun as far away as possible, and for a few seconds he debates tossing it into the nearest garbage bin. Then he thinks about Red John's last words to him, and he stows the gun in the glove compartment.

He takes a deep breath before getting out of the car.

Cho is there to greet him when he finally locates Lisbon's room.

"You look like hell. What happened?"

But Jane barely hears him.

Lisbon is lying in bed, asleep for the moment, her hair disheveled and her face too pale. The glow from the sinking sun outside casts the room in an eerie light, and Jane concentrates on the reassuring beeping coming from her heart monitor.

"Jane?" asks Cho again, standing up from the chair by the window and moving over to him.

"Nothing," Jane lies smoothly. "Bertram left, and then so did I." He finally looks at Cho, and he can't tell from Cho's expression whether or not the lie was successful. "How is Lisbon doing?"

Cho crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight, as though planting his feet more firmly on the ground. "The bullet missed every major organ. She'll be up and moving in a couple of days."

Jane nods, knowing from Cho's tone that it could have been much worse. "Is Grace alright? And Madeline and her kids?"

He watches Lisbon breathe deeply in her sleep as Cho answers.

"Madeline and her children are fine. Van Pelt shot O'Laughlin."

Jane looks over at Cho, surprised. "So—not alright," Jane says quietly.

"Basically." Cho sighs. "She's still being questioned. Rigsby went with her." He steps around Jane. "Listen, I'm going to get coffee. You want anything?"

Jane shakes his head, his attention once again held by Lisbon. "No," he says softly. Cho disappears noiselessly from the room.

For nearly a minute, Jane doesn't move, rooted to his spot by the door, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of Lisbon's chest. Then he forces himself to step forward, and he's suddenly by her side.

He looks down at her and nearly feels his heart stop all over again.

For a few seconds today, he'd thought she was dead. He'd been preparing himself to add her name to the list of people he planned to avenge.

But she's still in front of him. Still breathing.

She shivers slightly in her sleep, and Jane reaches out to pull the blankets up over her chest. His fingers nearly brush the line of her jaw, and he freezes.

The ebony of her hair stands out against the ivory of her skin.

She's beautiful, Jane finally admits to himself.

And suddenly, he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him—but it's not at all painful. Rather, it's a pleasant kind of breathlessness, and it's addicting and intoxicating and mesmerizing all at once. And then Jane realizes what exactly it is he's feeling.

He's in love.

He can't help the slight breath that escapes him, and he smiles broadly. She's so beautiful, so strong, so good—and he wants nothing more than to tell her exactly how he feels.

His fingers brush against her jaw.

The touch jars him back to reality, and suddenly he's all too aware of her heart monitor and the sounds of the bustling hospital outside her door.

And he realizes he can never tell her. Lisbon can never know how he feels.

Anyone who gets close to me—bad things happen to them.

The smile fades from his face, and it is at this exact moment that Lisbon wakes up.

She blinks at him and groans, rubbing her eyes with her good arm. "Jane?"

Jane sits down on the side of her bed, careful not to touch her. "I'm here," he says.

Her eyes focus on him, and a crinkle appears in the middle of her forehead—an expression cluing him into the fact that she's worried about him. "Jane," she says, reaching for him. "What's wrong?"

He grabs her hand between both of his and smiles sadly at her.

He nearly says "nothing" but knows she won't believe him.

"You were shot," he says quietly.

She scrutinizes him, trying to read him, but he shuts her out. The very last thing he needs right now is for Lisbon to know what he's truly thinking.

He loves her.

And the only reason he knows is because Red John figured it out first.

The last of the sun's rays disappear from the window, bathing Jane and Lisbon in half-light.

His actions today put Lisbon in danger in more ways than one, he realizes. He's written crosshairs on her back twice over.

"I need to be more careful," Jane says finally.

Lisbon chuckles. "I've been telling you that from the beginning," she says.

He shakes his head. "No—I need to be more careful with you."

Lisbon's smile fades. "Oh."

She looks at him curiously, but before she can ask for clarification, he pulls away, moving across the room. Their hands hang in the air for a millisecond, reaching for each other but not touching.

Then he turns toward the window, wondering how exactly it is possible that falling in love has broken his heart.