Since I am personally acquainted with insomnia, this is somewhat lacking in humour. It does improve a little as it goes along, though. For the record, I have not tested the efficacy of the cures that Jane mentions. They are therefore not recommendations...

Patrick Jane always had trouble sleeping, but every now and then he would go through a particularly chronic patch of insomnia. Teresa Lisbon knew the signs. He became very edgy and restless. He had trouble concentrating. He went off his food. He didn't lie lazily on his couch whenever the opportunity arose, but paced about bothering everyone else. He couldn't settle to any particular task. And he didn't look well.

She couldn't figure out what the trigger was. The pattern seemed so random. It didn't relate to the anniversaries of his family members' births, wedding or deaths. It didn't relate to their cases. It didn't even relate to the phases of the moon. Perhaps there was no trigger. Perhaps it was just one of those things.

It worried her. She felt so helpless watching someone she cared about in distress and not knowing how to fix it. It made her irritable to not be able to do anything. And she felt guilty for feeling frustrated with Jane, who refused to talk about it or acknowledge that anything was wrong.

Cho hoped they would get a case that would involve him being somewhere far away from Jane and Lisbon. The ideal would be a nice quiet stakeout with Rigsby, so he could read his book in peace, far away from the tense atmosphere of the office. He was reading a book that required concentration and he found Rigsby's mellow munching to be very conducive to mental focus.

Rigsby was trying to look inconspicuous. Lisbon was clearly not in a good mood and he preferred to keep a low profile, just to be on the safe side. Being caught in Lisbon's cross-hairs was always something worth avoiding – she didn't mean to be unkind, but when she was in a bad mood, her sarcasm sometimes got away from her before she had time to stop it. Better to be punched in the stomach by Mr T than get on the wrong side of Lisbon's tongue, Rigsby had decided.

Van Pelt was worried. Jane wasn't looking well and Lisbon was evidently concerned and upset. Van Pelt had already tried making Jane some tea (something they all usually tried to avoid doing, because the man was inordinately fussy about his tea) and getting Lisbon some coffee, but didn't know what else she could do. Clearly saying something would be a bad idea. The atmosphere was tense enough as it was. But this had been going on all week, and everyone's nerves were getting frayed. She gave a little sigh and exchanged a look with Rigsby, who, she noticed, had been tiptoeing about all week like he was surrounded by sleeping babies. Under different circumstances, she would have found this rather funny.

And then, finally, the reprieve they had been hoping for arrived: a case which involved them all driving several hours to some tiny place none of them had ever heard of. In two cars. Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were all very happy about this state of affairs and set off very cheerfully in one of the SUVs. Jane and Lisbon, less enthusiastically, set off in the other.

"Could we please talk about this?" Lisbon was sick of the silence. Jane had been staring out of the window for the last half an hour, but she could tell he wasn't seeing anything. He was spaced out.

"What?" he said, aggravatingly.

She made an irritated noise in her throat. Jane rose to the occasion.

"It's really amazing how much you communicate with such a small sound, Lisbon. You should give lessons."

She didn't respond. She was too annoyed, and wasn't in the mood for games. If she started playing with Jane, all hopes of a serious conversation would be lost. They needed to talk about this. The silence stretched out for a few minutes. Lisbon's expression was getting more and more irritated. Eventually Jane gave in.

"What do you want me to say, Lisbon? Contrary to popular belief, I am not a mind reader."

"When did you last sleep?"

A brief silence.

"I've been having a little trouble the last week or so. The pills don't seem to be working." He kept his eyes on the view out of his passenger window. Away from Lisbon and her questions. "But it always comes right eventually. No need to make a federal case out of it." His tone was light.

"Do you know what causes it to get worse like this?"

"Are you trying to fix me again, Lisbon? Your optimism is both surprising and touching."

Lisbon wasn't sure how to respond. He was right. She was trying to fix him. And he was deflecting.

"Is that a 'no'? Or a 'yes, but would you please mind your own business'?"

Jane sighed.

"No, I have no idea, Lisbon. If I knew, I would fix it myself."

Well, that was good to know. He did have limits to his self-flagellation.

"What have you tried?"

"Everything, Lisbon! I've tried everything! Just leave it alone." Pause. "I'm sorry. I'm not at my best." He still kept his eyes firmly turned away from her.

Lisbon wondered if she should simply let it go. But she just couldn't.

"Have you always suffered from insomnia?"

The question surprised Jane. It was too perceptive for his taste. He had thought she would just assume that the insomnia was caused by the obvious. He didn't want to answer. But apparently his lack of response had been sufficient answer.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then, shall I? How did you used to deal with it when you were younger?"

He had turned to look at her now, drawn in in spite of himself.

"Sex usually worked." He grinned. "So I suppose the question is: how badly do you want to fix me, Lisbon?"

She had actually seen that one coming, but still couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from twitching as she suppressed a smile.

"Not that badly, Jane. Sorry. That would be a case of the cure being more deadly than the illness."

That got Jane's attention. He stared at her.

"Why do you say that?"

Oh, dear. The conversation had veered way out of control. Time for some damage control.

"Come on, Jane, you know what I mean. Or you would if you had slept for more than a few hours in the last week."

Should he let her get away with it? He was torn. On the one hand he very badly wanted to follow this conversation through to its natural conclusion; on the other hand he was desperately afraid to. He was leaning towards discretion being the better part of valour when she reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of her face, thereby completely derailing rational thought.

"No deflection, Lisbon. Are you saying that you think we would be bad for each other?"

How had they got from insomnia to this, for crying out loud?

"Jane, we're colleagues. And friends. Why would we want to mess with that?"

"I can think of a couple of reasons."

Lisbon's heart contracted rather painfully in her chest. He sounded deadly serious. Why couldn't her phone ring right now? It interrupted them all the time usually, but now, when she could really use the interruption, everyone was leaving her to her fate.

"I'm sure you can also think of a couple of reasons not to." She kept her eyes on the road.

Jane dropped his gaze. Right. He'd actually forgotten for a moment. She had that affect on him. He sighed.

"Listening to someone else breathing sometimes used to help me to sleep. I'd actually forgotten about that."

"Are you saying that if you sleep in a room with someone else, it will help you to sleep?"

"Not Rigsby. He snores."

"Cho it is."

They both spent the rest of the journey thinking what a pity it was that Lisbon couldn't offer to share a room with him (and trying heroically to focus on the platonic version of such an arrangement).

Cho was equally dissatisfied when he discovered that he was to be Jane's latest remedy for insomnia. He privately thought Lisbon was much better suited for the role, but wisely kept this opinion to himself. Like Rigsby, he had a healthy respect for Lisbon's sharp tongue. Especially concerning all things Jane-related. No point in poking a hornet's nest.