A/N: I hope you enjoy this story. It will be a short story that I hope to finish soon. Thanks for reading, and i am glad to be back to writing!

Prologue

Hesitation was such a small thing that often cast the biggest shadow for Teresa Lisbon. When she was young, her father would tell her that deciding to wait for something could be the difference between getting ahead and getting left behind. Her mother, on the other hand, had a more easygoing approach to hesitation: if you hesitated, and it didn't happen, then it wasn't meant to be in the first place. Maybe that is why she was currently looking down at an application for a position as lead investigator for the San Diego squad.

"You strapped him to a chair and threatened to push him off a building!" she heard Rigsby say as they walked into her line of view. "That's not exactly protocol."

"Meh," came the reply she'd come to expect from one Patrick Jane. "It was a hypnosis. He wasn't really on a building."

She looked up now, her mouth set low in a disapproving frown. She hastily pushed the nearly completed application under her blotter and folded her hands in front of her, willing herself not to roll her eyes at Jane's defense argument.

"It doesn't matter that it was from—" she tried to find a kind word to describe it, but failed, "mind pokey. Now I'll have to explain to the D.A. why our suspect keeps screaming that you 'did some bad juju' on him." She turned to him as he passed her and sat on his rickety couch behind her.

"Good morning, Lisbon," he replied cheerfully. "He should be convicted on the usage of the word 'juju', anyway," he added offhandedly.

She lifted a corner of her mouth. "The law doesn't work that way, and neither do we."

Before he could answer her back, her desk phone rang, cutting through the noise of the bullpen sharply. She stole one more glance at Jane before picking it up on the third ring.

"CBI, Lisbon." She listened for a minute, turning in her chair briefly to motion to Rigsby they had a case. "We'll be there in forty-five." She hung up and turned to Jane, her eyes narrowed. "You better behave yourself. We're already the laughing stock of the CBI. There is a case at the base of Tatter's Bridge. Rigsby knows how to get there."

Jane lifted his two hands in surrender. "Don't I always?" His smile nearly cracked his cheeks. "That was rhetorical, Teresa." He lifted himself from the groaning couch and stood expectantly, his gaze falling Rigsby.

"Oh, come on, boss!" Rigsby moaned, "it's Cho's turn to take him!" His mouth fell into a pouty frown.

"Cho had a deposition," she replied with a roll of her green eyes. "Get going if you want to get there before Christmas."

"You're not coming along?"

"I've got something I gotta do," Lisbon replied, glancing quickly at the blotter that held her application. "I'll be right behind you guys. Go!"

She couldn't help the feeling of betrayal that was coursing through her veins as Jane and Rigsby set off toward the elevators. Choosing between her career advancement and the people she considered family-in some cases, more than family-was a hard, bitter pill to swallow so quickly.

She couldn't even admit to herself that the fact her belongings at home were packed up in boxes and labeled for a potential move to San Diego. In fact, the day she picked up that application is the day she emptied her shelves of her brothers' pictures, and dusted off her old police academy textbooks was the same day she packed them into those boxes.

When her head hit the pillow at night, though, there were lingering doubts. Not about anything to do with her parting ways with the CBI, but more her parting with Jane. It was a part of her life for years; he was a part of her life for years. She tried to understand the capacity in which he served her, but it only left lingering questions that she much rather not touch. Her eyes once again drifted to her blotter. She sighed deeply, her fingers reaching out for the application and plucking it from its hidden spot. As her fingers hit the stiff paper, she hesitated; she felt like she was running away from something, and Teresa Lisbon didn't run away from anything! But-like some constant reminder in her head-she had a lot of reasons to move on, too, besides Patrick Jane.

Picking up her pen off her desk, Lisbon completed the application.

Jane lifted one long finger toward his colleague, the smile unable to fall gracefully from his face. He was standing just at the bottom of Tatter's Bridge, his legs straddling a clearly deceased male. Facing his him, Rigsby stood with his arms crossed, his face held in an expression of concentration.

"You're telling me this guy died by an accidental fall?" The disbelief etched Rigsby's words. "How did you conclude that?"

"He's too close to the edge of the cliff," he stated matter-of-factly, pointing a finger above their heads to a steep cliff that jutted from the jagged rocks. "If he had been pushed, he would have fallen...over there." He swung his finger to point behind Rigsby. "Several feet farther, actually. Law of gravity."

"We've been here for two hours. Couldn't you have said this sooner?"

"I had to be sure," he said, though his voice sounded distracted now. "Have you gotten ahold of Lisbon yet?"

Rigsby sighed. "No. It's not like her, but maybe the thing she had to do is keeping her." He noticed the look on Jane's face and added, "I'm sure she just lost track of time."

"Maybe."

Jane was unconvinced. Lisbon would never lose track of time when she knew there was a case. She was much too dedicated to her work for that to happen. And the repeated attempts to call her that went unanswered only made him more nervous. She made it sound like it wasn't that big of a deal and she'd be right along when they had left the CBI.

"I can try again," Rigsby said quickly.

"No," replied Jane, shaking his head vigorously. "It's okay. I'm sure she's just busy." He was so glad he was a virtual wall of masks when it came to lying. Nobody could tell. This point was proven when Rigsby nodded his head.

In the following moments, when he suddenly reached out to hug his colleague, and when he so smoothly lifted the keys to Rigsby's SUV, his panic in his chest rose. The intense pounding in his veins did not quell until he was kicking dust behind him as Rigsby shouted at him to come back.

He was racing down the highway as fast as he could safely go with the twists and turns that melded into sandy shores and coves along the ocean. This was almost the same feeling he had after he had come home and found his family slaughtered; a tangible, icy grip on his heart that felt like it was squeezing the very life out of him.

Along with his pumping veins, Jane's mind also went into overdrive. He thought about how Lisbon tried so hard to hide the fact she was trying to get up in the crime-solving world by moving to another precinct. If it hadn't been for his instincts and her horrible inability to hide things on her mind, he might haven't had picked up on it. And the fact she had hid the application in her desk when he was using it to plan out one of his case-solving schemes didn't help, either. He hadn't brought it up to her because it wasn't his place; though he felt she was just running from something, he decided that it was her decision to make and he would not interfere with it. When push came to shove, however, and she actually did move on, he wasn't sure how he'd react. Would she want him with her? Would that be some kind of stipulation? And besides...what if they bypassed her for someone else and she didn't move on after all? He didn't like to see her disappointed. Funnily enough, it was usually with him that she seemed the most disappointed. Cases, behavior-there was a lot she seemed to be getting fed up with lately. He also knew that she had some feelings that were complex and confusing; he could see her face turn in expression when she didn't think he was looking if he was comforting a woman from a case or otherwise flirtatious with new recruits at the CBI. It wasn't necessarily jealousy, but more of a 'why not me' attitude. He had looked at many, many women over his long, tethered career as a fake to know what looked meant what.

His brain came back to reality when, as he reached a long, deserted stretch of road that veered off into a small valley, he saw something that made his heart drop to his knees. At the same time, his phone rang. He veered off the road and came to a screeching halt on the right-hand side. He quickly pulled out his phone from his vest pocket, was dismayed to see it was just Rigsby. He did not answer. Throwing his phone into the passenger side of the vehicle, he turned off the ignition and scrambled out of the car toward the thing that caught his attention.

He looked around rapidly, moving toward the object. He was disturbed that the sandy gravel near it had two perfectly placed gouges in them; as if someone had been dragged under the arms. He followed the marks in the ground around the car, and was horrified to learn that the tracks ended at a jutting rock that overlooked the valley down below. His heart jumped in his throat as his phone rang again from the car. This time, he ran to answer it.

"Rigsby," he stated, his breathing harsh and loud, "I found her car. Lisbon!" he shouted into the phone, "Lisbon is missing."

XXX

Her fingers felt wet; almost sweaty. Her hair was damp on the back of her neck, the strands stuck to her hot skin in a clump at the base of her skull. She leaned over and vomited the contents of her stomach on the floor, or what she thought was the floor as she couldn't see past the blindfold over her eyes.

There was a noise off to the side that made her sit straight in the chair she was attached to. The rope she had felt against her raw skin burned, letting her remember how long she had been tied with it. She stiffened as she felt warm breath on her face. She wanted nothing more than to scream, but she knew better. The last time...well, she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

The person huffing hot breath onto her skin leaned against her and she exhaled sharply. She was afraid they would touch her somewhere she didn't want to be touched, or do something equally as horrible. She had seen what these kinds of people do to people, and that thought both terrified her and gave her renewed strength to keep her wits about her. Not that her wits had proven to be necessary-there was no chance to do anything. She was tightly held to her chair, only able to use the bathroom with assistance. She was always fed by someone, and her hands remained unusable.

"Run," she heard in her ear as the sound of sawing invaded the small space of the room.

She felt the rope lessen in slack around her wrists and finally fall to the ground with a soft thud. She didn't hesitate; she ripped off the blindfold and squinted her eyes at her surroundings. As soon as she could see just s sliver of sunlight peeking through a door ajar in front of her, she stood unsteadily on her feet and felt her legs wobble as she ran to the door and ripped it open, running into the intense heat of the outside world.

Running for what seemed like hours, she hit a small highway just on the other side of some dense trees that separated where she came from. She waved her warms frantically at the passing cars, most coming a little close for comfort as she cried out.

"Help!" she cried, waving her hands wildly in the air. "Please," her voice cracked, "help me!"

She felt relief as an old, beat-up Chevy came to a halt in front of her. She ran around the front, opened the door, and hurried inside the passenger seat.

"Are you alright?" a young, blonde woman asked her with concern. "You look like hell!"

Lisbon surprised herself with a hoarse, nervous chuckle. "I've been through hell, lady."

"What happened? Do you need me to call 9-1-1?"

Lisbon shook her head immediately. She didn't want 9-1-1. She wanted Jane. "No. Can you call the CBI? In Sacramento?"

"I can't do that, ma'am," the lady told her with a shake of her head. "Are you sure I can't call 9-1-1?"

Lisbon closed her eyes, suddenly tired from her ordeal. "No."

"Do you know who you are?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, the CBI building has been empty for a year and a half," she answered softly. "It's gone."

That bit of information caused Lisbon's eyes to snap open and turn quickly to her savior. "A year and a half?! What's today's date?"

"July 7th."

The feeling in the pit of Lisbon's stomach tightened. She had been missing for a year and a half!

"What happened to you, ma'am?" the lady asked her again.

Lisbon tried to reach into the depths of her memories, but found things were blank. Like a chalkboard, things were wiped away when she tried to access them in her memories. She was horrified.

"I don't know," she whispered, fresh tears staining her cheeks. "I don't know what happened to me."