Disclaimer: I don't own anything, well nothing Mentalist related. Lyrics are from the U2 song "Mysterious Ways" from Achtung Baby! I can't believe that's considered classic rock now. I bought that album the day it came out.

A/N: This sprung out of a picture I saw of Simon Baker tooling about on his skate board in Santa Monica and some shots of him surfing in Malibu. Fun Fact: He rides a short board. It also references the pictures of a golden lab on Lisbon's desk in the early episodes of the show. Pause your PVR once in awhile, they're there.

I'm still working on El Scorcho my other Mentalist story, but I write when the ideas come and when I have the inclination. Those two don't always line up. So in lieu of that, I give you this…

SAPPHO'S PUZZLE

"I can't make bricks without clay."

"To let the brain work without sufficient material is like racing an engine. It racks itself to pieces."

"It was easier to know it than to explain why I know it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact."

-Sherlock Holmes

Johnny take a walk with you sister the moon

Let her pale light in to fill up your room
You've been living underground
Eating from a can
You've been running away
From what you don't understand...
Love…

It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways

-U2

Patrick Jane doesn't do gyms. He doesn't mind physical activity, not at all. In fact, he craves and enjoys it. What he does not stand for is physical activity without a purpose.

That's why he runs, outside only, and in any kind of weather. He also surfs and swims depending on his living situation. For the past three months his life has been transient. It's been a constant back and forth marathon between his home in Malibu, the seat of his greatest joy and greatest pain, and his newly adopted town of Sacramento. In Malibu he swims laps daily, and he doesn't think of it as exercise so much as natural, human movement. We needed to learn to swim to survive in the early days of humanity and as far as Jane is concerned there is no more perfect form of exercise out there, save surfing. Surfing is more than exercise for Jane. It's his version of communion.

He grew up poor, and always on the move, in a travelling carnival, conning his way across the country trying to eke out a living for himself and his father. Jane hated the carney life, but his unusual childhood had garnered him two great prizes; the ability to read anyone, and any situation, at not much more than a glance, and Angela Rushkin. Angie had grown up right along side of him in the carnival hating every minute of it. Jane vowed, when he was no more than twelve and Angie was a brat of ten, to get them both out of the life so they could be free and prosperous. He'd been in love with her even then. When he'd finally built up the nerve, and the skill, to run away from the carnival with the love of his life they migrated towards Los Angeles, the city of dreams to make their fortune. Jane's uncanny abilities eventually brought them great wealth made off the backs of rich, famous and easy marks who truly believed he was psychic.

A comfortable lifestyle was hard won however, and there were a number of years, just after they'd run away from the circus to join real life, that Jane and Angie were as poor as church mice. No better off really than they'd been as kids. They were just as transient, and still conning to make a living. Eventually they drifted towards the beaches of Santa Monica and Malibu. If you had to live outdoors now and again it was best to do it in a warm climate. At the beaches they found more folks like themselves with a strong will to survive and no fixed address. They clubbed together to form a rag tag band that earned money through street performance and petty crime. The locals in Jane's new family surfed, and once they introduced him to it, he took to it like a duck to water.

Surfing was also a lucrative trade if you were able to provide lessons to the many hoards of pampered tourists who regularly descended on California's beaches. The biggest expense involved was procuring a board, and that wasn't much of a concern for a group like theirs. Jane had come to them an able finger-smith, and with a little help from his friends he'd managed to easily liberate a choice board and the necessary gear from a rich yuppie that stopped to watch one of pretty Angie's magic performances. Jane figured he was the best thing that could have ever happened to that board. It wasn't like a lawyer from Beverly Hills was ever going to learn to ride the thing properly. Surfing was just another novelty hobby the man would use as an excuse to buy lots of expensive equipment that would languish in his air conditioned, two-car garage.

He proved to be a popular, and therefore prosperous, surf instructor due in part, at first, to his lady killer looks. He'd felt bad about having to hide his marriage to Angie while he pretended to flirt with sixteen year old blondes from Rodeo Drive, but it, or rather, they, paid the bills. Jane knew that it paid to be beautiful, and as long as he played his cards right there didn't have to be any sort of physical consummation in order for him to procure gifts, money and favors from his female marks. The trick was to keep them believing, and he found the girls wanted to believe in a pretty face so bad there wasn't actually a lot of work to it. Their grumbling and suspicious significant others were another matter, but to Jane those tag along men were just another person paying to ride with him. Money was money wherever, and whomever, it came from.

Surfing had done right by Patrick Jane, physically, mentally and spiritually so he refused to give up riding even when he'd become a rich man with a busy pseudo-psychic practice. Instead, he'd built Angie a beautiful house on the beach in Malibu so that he would be close to the water, and they could both look out over their former stomping grounds like royalty. Money meant stability and stability meant Jane and Angie could finally give into their desire for children. The subsequent birth of their daughter, Charlotte hadn't put a damper on his enthusiasm for surfing. In fact, Jane often fantasized about teaching his daughter to surf while he watched her run around the beach on chubby, infant legs. The small family enjoyed many days at the beach in Charlotte's early years, and the little girl fell in love with the ocean and swimming. Jane would watch her play and dream about the day when his daughter would be the second coming of Gidget, well if Gidget had been a blonde.

But alas, that was not to happen. His little girl never got the chance to grow up, and her mother would never get old. Jane had taunted the wrong man, made light of a serial killer named Red John during a televised appearance, and his punishment was to live through the consequences. Red John had decided to teach Jane a lesson about the importance of telling the truth, and not falling prey to the sins of pride and greed. Jane had lied and told the television audience, and the world at large, that he was helping the police track Red John in order to bring him to justice. He also suggested the serial killer was weak and evil, and just a little overconfident as well. Jane had returned from the studio to find Angie and Charlotte slaughtered by the man he'd insulted just hours earlier. It was the opening salvo of what would become a long, and protracted, effort on Red John's part to destroy Jane's life over and over again.

So, he runs, or swims, or surfs to escape the fact that a serial killer is obsessed with doing him harm. A body needs an outlet for that kind of pressure. No one could handle it without some kind of release, and Jane doesn't allow himself much in the way of reprieve. In fact, some days his self-flagellation is so damning he thinks Red John can probably just sit this one out from here on in. Jane's plenty capable of torturing himself. But, all of that changes when he's submerged underwater or battling an errant wave for balance on his board. Times like that Jane can't focus on anything but his own movements and he no longer smells, or sees, the blood that drips all over his memories.

Running is a substitute for laps in the pool and days on the ocean. Surfing and swimming can't be done all year round, in all kinds of weather. Running, as long as you have the right gear and enough gumption can be done anywhere, any time. It's more conducive than his other hobbies to his new life as a consultant to the California Bureau of Investigation. Jane decided that the only way to fight Red John was to get involved with the people responsible for hunting the deranged killer. He's not a psychic, not really, but he's so good at his con, so able to read people just from a single once over that he might as well be clairvoyant. His skills proved useful on a trial run with the CBI four months prior, and in return for his help the higher ups at the bureau had negotiated his entrance onto the unit tracking Red John.

Working for the CBI necessitated a temporary move to Sacramento where their headquarters are housed. Jane can't relinquish the house he lost his family in, so he rents a small condo in an upscale area of Sacramento for the times he needs to stay overnight in the city. He's spent the majority of the last three months in Sacramento, but he's also made it abundantly clear to his superiors that he'll return to Malibu, to his home, and the ocean whenever there's a lull between cases, or the mood strikes him. No one seems to be bothered by this arrangement and Jane's not the kind of person to care if it does.

There hasn't been a lull, or break to speak of between cases however, and that's why Jane is running much more often now. Sacramento has no beach, so he has no choice but to hit the pavement when the demons in his head demand physical exertion. That's why he's out tonight, at nearly midnight running through the streets of his fancy, new neighborhood.

Fancy may not be the right word because the whole place is more planned than fancy. A deliberate neighborhood might be a more accurate description. It's a planned community for upscale transients like himself. People who are just in town for business, or aren't quite ready, despite their fat pay checks for the commitment of a house. He debates the merit of fancy versus deliberate and entertains an argument for each word as he runs, but in the end he settles on deliberate.

Deliberate wins.

This is the kind of nonsensical thinking Jane likes to do while he runs. He needs this time to be the break in between fixating on his misery and Red John's hand in it. Running doesn't give him the same relief from his tragic circumstances that swimming or surfing do, but he still considers it a more noble activity that pedaling a stationary bike to no where inside a gym.

Stationary bike…the very words are an oxymoron. What kind of a bike is meant to be stationary? In Jane's opinion it's a useless contraption ridden by useless, vain people who wouldn't need to go into a gym if they simply went out doors and ran around more often.

He's insulted by the very existence of these glass and concrete temples full of sweaty worshippers who contort themselves into strange positions on strange machines. He thinks it's the ultimate in irony that machines made humans slack and weak, but somehow a lot of people have been tricked into paying to use gym equipment to reverse the problem. Of course he knows there's a bit of class warfare brewing beneath the surface of his opinion on gyms. Despite working hard to become one of them Jane naturally despises the rich. He's seen too much of their excessive ways, known too many of their dirty secrets to trust people who over value money, and he equates gyms with the rich man's lifestyle.

Jane's fairly certain that his new colleagues at the CBI are the kind of people who use treadmills and bar bells. He can tell just from looking at Agents Kimball Cho and Wayne Rigsby that they routinely "pump iron". Jane pictures them grunting and flexing in a mirror trying to will their muscles bigger and is a little disgusted. He understands that their exercise program is probably gym based due to time constraints and life intrusions. They are busy men, who work a very demanding job that does not pay them enough to be considered anything but middle class. For those reasons alone Jane is tolerant of his colleagues' gym habit, but tolerance is not the same as acceptance.

His thoughts return to the pavement underneath him and remind him that he's not meant to ne thinking about work. Jane stills his mind and tries to let the sterile sameness of the neighborhood around him, and the sound of his feet hitting the ground dissolve his mind into nothingness. Success is short lived, and moments later his temporary blankness is replaced by images of Rigsby and Cho sweating over barbells. An outside observer would probably find his obsession with his teammates' choice of recreational activity ludicrous, but to Jane's exceptional mind his line of reasoning makes perfect sense.

He must capture Red John.

In order to do this he has to be positive the unit he's working with is capable of helping him find and subdue Red John.

Anybody who wishes to be successful in the hunt for this madman must be strong, unwavering and intelligent.

Jane considers the use of a gym to be weak, vain and somewhat frivolous.

These are not traits that he wants in his teammates.

Jane knows he's unfairly judging Cho and Rigsby, especially since he's only known the two men a matter of months. He's also very aware that his constant prying into their personal and professional lives by way of intrusive questioning annoys and intimidates his coworkers. But, the thing is, he must continue. He has to know everything about the three people on his team.

Everything

It's the only way he can be sure that they're up to the task that is Red John. Jane can't lose his chance to avenge his wife and child due to someone else's incompetence. Failure is not an option.

That's why he pesters his teammates constantly with questions and set ups meant to reveal their inner selves to him. Jane weighs and measures every aspect of their personalities that they give up to him in order to determine their fitness, loyalty, intelligence and capabilities.

In the three months Jane has been on their team he's made some preliminary observations about Cho and Rigsby. Rigsby is an open book. That is both good and bad from Jane's point of view. It's good because it makes Rigsby easy to read, and easier still to manipulate. The problem is Jane suspects that means Wayne would be no match at all for Red John. Rigsby would never go down willingly, nor would he purposely compromise the team, but Jane also fears that the younger agent could be tricked with very little effort into fouling things up.

Cho is the complete opposite of Rigsby. He's older than his partner. Jane estimates Cho is actually closer in age to himself than Rigsby. Despite this Cho does not seem to want to be promoted to the status of Senior Agent. He is willing to hang back, in the shadows so to speak, and be underestimated. Jane likes this about Cho, because it suggests humility and street smarts. Better to surprise an opponent with your unexpected skill than have them show up prepared.

Jane is sure there is military service somewhere in Cho's past, and also probably a stint as a delinquent. Jane imagines that it is the memory of his misspent youth that humbles Cho the most. He knows he should be content with Cho all round, but there's the gym thing, and most troubling, the agent has an overly developed sense of right and wrong. Jane figures a large part of Cho's reformation from delinquency to law enforcement involved learning to see the world as black and white. Cho's morals are so strident they're almost child like in their simplicity. The man refuses to break the rules, and Jane suspects that catching Red John is going to require some flagrant rule breaking.

Thinking about Cho and Rigsby naturally leads to thoughts about Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon, and Jane stumbles a little on a rock as his boss's face floats into his mind. A few hops and curses and he's back on track physically, but his mental equilibrium has yet to return. Jane chuckles at how accurate a metaphor his clumsiness would be when describing his interactions with Lisbon. The woman is constantly tripping up his efforts to dissect her personality and determine her adeptness.

Before he even realizes what's happening Jane puffs out the two words he most often uses to describe Teresa Lisbon, privately, of course. "Fucking Sphinx!"

She's slippy
You're sliding down…

He's meant to be emptying his head of all the things that keep sleep and sanity at bay. Instead, all he can think about is how little he actually knows about Teresa Lisbon. The woman will give nothing up, and he's tried every method of persuasion he can think of, from flattery to out right attack, to try and breach her walls all to no avail.

He makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a curse, and tries taking a few deep breaths while concentrating on the nothing but the sound of his feet hitting the pavement.

Unfortunately, all his foot falls sound like tonight are…

Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon, Lis-bon.

The current state of affairs between them is infuriating and unacceptable to Jane. He has met very few people who can withstand his methods of deduction, and even less who can outsmart him. He doesn't think Lisbon is necessarily smarter than him, but he is beginning to realize that she will not be manipulated no matter how hard he tries. Jane always assumed there was no one more suspicious or paranoid than himself, but Lisbon gives even him a run for his money. She brings new meaning to the word wary.

She is wary of him-All-The-Time.

It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright

Jane could tell you all you needed to know about the superficial aspects of Teresa Lisbon's life. He can rattle of her favorite food, her favorite color, he knows her opinions on current affairs and how she takes her coffee. He even knows that she doesn't spend Thanksgiving at her brother's like she claims, but he isn't sure what it is she does exactly with her holidays. He's got the vague sense it involves sitting around eating ice cream, but he doesn't know where she eats it, or with whom. There are too many missing variables for Jane to construct anything but a very thin character sketch of Lisbon, and that's the rub. He must have more data if he is to read her accurately, and Lisbon, for her part, seems awfully disinclined to help a brother out.

Jane considers abandoning all hope of a peaceful run in favor of debating and developing new battle plans for the siege of Fortress Lisbon. Before he can decide on what thought path to take he hears foot steps, coming rapidly towards him in the dark. There is a short moment of panic before his ears and brain alert him to the fact that his night stalker is a four legged creature, not a two legged one with a history of bleeding out women. Still, errant animals are known to be a pox on joggers the world over, and Jane slows to a walk out of deference to this fact.

Moments later he realizes the folly of his fear as the animal lopes out of the darkness to reveal itself. There are four legs alright. Plus one wagging tail and a wet nose combined with a lolling tongue. Not to mention that dopey facial expression common to all Labrador retrievers. Jane smiles at the sight of the long haired, golden dog. Quick observation tells him the beast, despite its size, is not long out of the puppy stage.

He bends down and holds out a hand in greeting. "Hello there. Nice night for it hey?"

The dog eagerly approaches to snuff at the offered appendage and Jane wonders if Labradors were bred to be unceasingly happy. "Can I have some of whatever you're on buddy?"

The dog's response is to bark happily and recline into a submissive position. Head down, rump facing skyward and tail wagging. It's as if the animal is telling Jane it will follow him anywhere.

Jane shakes his head. "That's not a very safe approach to life my friend. I could be anyone, even the dog catcher."

The Lab's only response is to whine and wag its tail even harder. Jane rolls his eyes and lowers himself to the dog's level. Seconds later he is vigorously rubbing the animal down and the dog, all excited snuffs and wiggly tail appears to be in heaven.

Jane gives the dog one last pat and stands up. "Alright buddy, it's time to go on home." He snaps his fingers and points back towards were the dog came from. "Go on! Go!"

It would seem however, that this particular dog does not speak even the most rudimentary form of human. It makes no attempt to follow Jane's orders. Instead, it moves closer and starts to nudge his knees.

"Um, okay, well, one more rub and that's it you've got to get out of here," Jane says as he crouches down towards the dog once more.

But, it would seem that the animal is not asking for affection, as it takes off running ahead of him only to pause several feet away as if to say, "Come on". Jane watches, completely rapt as the dog returns and again noses the back of his knees, this time with an insistence that almost propels him forward.

Suddenly, Jane realizes what the animal wants. "You want me to run? And you want to run with me?" he asks, as the dog makes turns around his ankles braking with approval. It would seem the mongrel does speak a little human after all.

"Look, I'm sure you do this all the time with your owner, but I'm not him, or her, or them. You might wind up really far from home."

With that thought he drops to his knees and inspects the dog's neck for a collar. Between rapid licks to the face Jane makes out the animal's name and address, and also the fact that he's fallen prey to gender stereotyping by assuming the dog is a male. It would seem he's actually got a lady on his hands.

A lady named-is he reading that right-Clïes? Jane waves off the urge to let his mind wander through any and all facts it might be able to reference in order to make sense of the dog's unusual name. It's more imperative that he establishes just were the dog lives so he can return her to her rightful owners. He hopes the address is reachable by foot, because he's going to feel obligated to ferry the dog home, and he shudders to think about animal paws on the leather interior of his Citroen DS-21. A man doesn't pay nearly $250,000 American for a mint condition vintage vehicle in order to taxi around kids and animals. That's why God invented mini vans and lesser men than Jane.

Jane loves kids and dogs of course, but the Citroen-it's his other baby, and really the only one he has left. He'll return the dog by car if need be, it's the right thing to do, and these days Jane's all about doing the right thing. Still, he will mourn the deflowering of the unblemished finish on his seats if returning the dog home means a ride in the Citroen.

Luckily for Clïes, and his car, it would appear that her owners reside in the immediate vicinity. Jane doesn't think he's ever passed that particular home on any of his explorations of his new neighborhood, but he doubts it will be hard to find. He's already memorized most of the street names in the surrounding area, and the lay out of the properties. Something tells him the particular home he's looking for lies just outside the bounds of this condo development, in a more modest neighborhood.

Jane loops a finger through the dog's collar so she won't get away and closes his eyes to concentrate on the image his mind is currently building. Streets, homes, bike paths and parks appear and arrange and rearrange themselves according to his adjustments. There are three streets, the names of which escape him, which lie just on the edge of this exclusive community, and each is a contender. That's not a large number, and the distance between them is short, and is easily covered on foot. Besides, he came out for a workout. A little leg work and process of elimination will have Clïes home in no time, and then Jane can get back to his regularly scheduled brooding.

He releases the dog's collar and with a whistle Jane and his new friend are off, running through the night as fast as their legs can carry them. Clïes seems to enjoy the fast pace immensely and Jane continues at top speed for as long as he can. It feels good to push his body to its limit. Finally, he achieves the peace he's been looking for all night. It must be true, he figures, what they say about pets and their ability to calm people. He's never owned a pet, unless you count the animals used in the carnival acts, and they weren't his per se. They belonged to their respective trainers, but were doted on by the collective. Owning a pet had never come up between him and Angie, and then Charlotte came along and commanded whatever attention they had to give.

Jane and Clïes eventually come to a stumbling halt at the top of the first unknown street. The end of their run is much less elegant than the beginning and Jane finds he must bend over and collect his breathe after the exertion. When he can finally stand up straight again he surveys his surroundings in search of a street sign.

Jane quickly reads the sign and squats down to speak to the dog. "Well, we've now determined two things; this isn't you're street and I'm getting old."

A whine and a few face licks are his reward for imparting these truths.

"Okay," Jane stands again and peers about the neighborhood. "We're definitely close though. I'd say just moments away. What do you say we walk the rest of the way? Because I have a feeling you're not going to turn out to be like one of those smart dogs on the news who will run for help if I take a heart attack out here alone."

Clïes offers Jane a haughty look as if to say I might have saved you before-now I certainly won't-but she still falls into step next him as he ambles down the street.

"I'm sorry," Jane says, and doesn't bother to question why he's apologizing to a dog. "If you hang around me long enough you'll come to find I'm a very cynical person who underestimates the usefulness of humanity in general. I'll admit I live for the moments when someone proves me wrong, but well, it doesn't happen that often. At least, not nearly enough to reaffirm what little faith I had in people to begin with."

Clïes lets out a low moan and Jane can almost sense the dog's thoughts. This is a new one for him, he's only used to reading humans like an open book.

"Pity me all you like you wouldn't be the first."

Jane feels the bump of a wet nose against his hand. It's followed by a brief lick from a warm tongue across his palm. He and his new friend walk in companionable silence until they reach the second street on Jane's possible suspects list. Then Clïes takes off running and barking, forcing Jane to break into a run again, much to the dismay of his knees.

"How is it one moment you seem so intelligent and then the next so impossibly dumb?" Jane asks, once he has caught up to Clïes where she is running circles on the front lawn of a small, but cozy looking home.

He spends the next few minutes grappling with Clïes who seems to think that a game of chase has begun. Jane is sure that he and the dog are going to wake the entire neighborhood given the amount of noise they are both creating between barks and cursing. His original plan of simply dropping the dog off and perhaps tying it on, or pushing the door bell and running away goes up in smoke when the front door opens, and a voice calls out, "Clïes is that you". Great, now he'll have to interact with the owners, and no doubt be issued a thank you. Jane hates being told thank you. He goes out of his way to avoid the victim's family once he's solved a case. The teary scenes of gratitude shared between his unit and the people left behind by a homicide have no appeal to him.

However, instead of being greeted by a grateful and emotional owner, Jane finds he is faced with a flashlight and, is that a gun? The light blinds him momentarily and he falls back on his behind.

"Get away from my dog and get your hands in the air!"

Jane doesn't even bother to try and regain his bearings. He simply sits on the grass and raises his arms. Honestly, you try to do someone a solid and this is what you get for it.

"Don't shoot! I'm just trying to return your dog!"

The flashlight is shined directly in his face once more and then sweeps down his body.

"Jane? Is that you?"

He squints against the light, and observes the figure standing in front of him. He knows that silhouette, and now that the adrenaline has worn off the voice is unmistakable.

"Lisbon?"

"Jane?"

"Lisbon?"

"Jane?"

"Teresa?"

Both Lisbon and Jane turn to peer at the third person who has entered their comedy of errors. A petite blonde woman with elfin features comes running towards them. She pauses slightly to take in the bizarre scene Jane and Lisbon make, before rushing for Clïes who has abandoned all interest in the humans around her to roll in the grass.

"There you are," the blonde woman rubs the dog down vigorously before enveloping her in a hug. "We were so worried about you. Yes we were." She turns to look over at Jane and Lisbon. "What's going on? Who is this Teresa?"

Lisbon sticks her gun in the waistband of her jeans and drops the flashlight. She offers a hand to Jane, who accepts it gladly. Once he is standing again he and Lisbon share a look.

Jane has come to find that as much as Lisbon keeps him at bay, she is not opposed to dropping her guard long enough to share a conversation without words. There's no psychic magic to it, just an acute understanding of each other's perceptions and facial tics. They often communicate this way with each other when questioning suspects and conducting an investigation. It allows them to put together the pieces privately and decide their next move without outside involvement. Right now her eyes are telling him, "Let me handle this, and follow my lead". Jane simply nods in response and steps back indicating to her that he will defer to her judgment for the time being. He's intensely interested in finding out just what he's stumbled upon out here tonight, but he also knows that Lisbon only communicates with him this way when secrecy and discretion are absolutely necessary.

Johnny take a dive with your sister in the rain
Let her talk about the things you can't explain

Lisbon leads him over to where the blonde woman and the dog are huddled together on the lawn. "Nic, this is Patrick Jane. We work together."

Jane's eyes widen in recognition. One of the tiny crumbs of data he's managed to gather about Lisbon's private life is that she may or may not be dating someone named Nick. Until this moment he had assumed that Nick was short for Nicholas not, as he's quickly putting together, Nicole. It's blatantly obvious what is between the two women. Jane can see it in the anxious yet relieved looks Nic keeps shooting at his co-worker, and Lisbon is looking equal parts haunted and defiant. He can tell she is both expecting, and daring, him to judge her. If she expects judgment than she doesn't know him quite as well as he's beginning to know her, but then he can only imagine how often she's been disappointed by the world's intolerance.

Never one to let a golden opportunity for snooping pass him by Jane decides to moderate the situation into something more social and comfortable. He starts by plastering on his brightest and most engaging smile. "Hello," he walks towards Nic with purpose and grasps her hand and wrist, of course, in order to gauge her responses to him. "My name is Patrick. I work with Lis-Teresa. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Nic, from what he can tell is all warmth and light, if only on the surface. "Oh, hello, it's nice to finally meet someone from Tess's work. I hear so much about it all, especially you Mr. Jane. I was starting to wonder if you were real, or if Teresa just drove around all day while pretending to work."

Jane's mind automatically goes to work unpacking these statements. He hears genuine pleasure in her greeting, but that's because she's a push over who is nice to everyone. What interests him most is her obvious distress at not being introduced to the people that Lisbon spends the majority of her time with. The jealousy behind her, "especially you Mr. Jane", remark tells him she is also a fundamentally insecure person, probably why she tries so hard to be nice and to please others. His devilish side is screaming at him to respond in some manner that suggests, as is the truth, that he has never heard of Nic before despite how much she claims to have heard about him. This line of action would definitely produce a reaction that would give him more information to work with when assessing Lisbon's relationship, but it would also no doubt cause a scene.

Jane settles for a more subtle approach. "I'm very real I assure you, and it would seem I found your dog, quite by accident."

"She's my dog."

Lisbon's forceful interjection causes both Jane and Nic to pause in their introductions. Jane notes the instant regret in Lisbon's eyes and the anguish in Nic's. So, Lisbon the Unable to Share at Work is equally recalcitrant at home. He must find a way to get invited into the house, even if it's just for a few moments.

He is careful to address his next request to Nic. This will ensure he's given a yes, as she is the type who cannot say no. "Could I trouble you for some water? I was jogging when I came upon Clïes and we've been running for quite some time now. She could probably use some water to, hey pup?"

Lisbon indicates to Nic with the flashlight. "You take Clïes into the back garden and get her some water and maybe clean her up. I'll deal with Jane."

Jane notes that Lisbon does not bother to ask. She is used to giving the orders in this relationship. It puzzles him that this doesn't seem to satisfy her. He can't be sure, unless he gets his wish and is allowed entrance to Lisbon's home, but he feels distinctly that this is a relationship she is not happy in. From what little he does know about her Jane would assume that Lisbon should relish being the dominant force in her love life. She certainly revels in it at work.

He supposes he should be more taken aback by the revelation that his boss is clearly in a same sex relationship, but such things really don't matter to him. Jane has no ability to be judgmental about something he considers as visceral as any other human, biological imperative. The only part of the situation that bothers him is that he didn't figure out her domestic set up before now. He hates being wrong, and he's usually very hard to surprise. He should have known about this aspect of her life without having to barge in on it. It takes every ounce of control he has not to barrel past Lisbon and begin plundering her home to satisfy his immense curiosity.

"Well," Lisbon lets out a resigned sigh. "I guess you might as well come in. You're wearing some of the front lawn. I'll get you a towel."

Jane's response, a comical mixture of wide eyes and swiveling motions, designed to let him view his backside brings an unintentional smile to Lisbon's face. She's noticed from his reaction to field work that Jane hates being dirty. His ubiquitous suits are always pristine, and the smallest amount of sullying requires a change of clothes. She's still getting used to the sight of his starched shirts in her office. It's been a long time since men's clothing hung anywhere in her world. But, Jane refuses to occupy a desk, or utilize a locker at CBI headquarters. The battered couch in the corner of the office, and his tea in the break room are the only indicators of Jane's presence at the CBI. She used to wonder if the unspoken agreement they'd struck about his clothes was a wacky, but typical, Jane ploy to push her buttons. Then she realized how much time he actually spent in their office, without seeming to have anywhere else to be, or anyone to be there with, and she simply pitied him. She's fine with the situation as long as he continues to change seamlessly, behind the scenes whenever she's not around.

It occurs to Lisbon as she watches Jane try to wipe the dirt off the back of his legs that this is the most unkempt she has ever seen the consultant. The clothes he's wearing are the expensive kind designed for outdoor activity, but they're well worn and clearly broken in. Large sweat stains adorn his underarms, back and chest. His curls, usually tousled and clean are matted and tight with sweat. Lisbon isn't sure what surprises her more, that Jane seems to be a seasoned runner, or that he performs any activity without a three piece suit.

Her gaze has lingered long enough for Jane to take notice. "See something you like Lisbon?" he jokes, while brushing grass off his ass.

She doesn't even try to point out the obvious flaw in his logic. There's no need to bring up Nic again. "Actually I was just marveling over your outfit. Has Armani not managed to design a suit for running?"

"You're as droll as a heart attack dear Lisbon. Besides, we both know Mr. Lauren is responsible for my day wear."

Her eye roll is nearly audible. "Of course-how could I forget about all those little polo players hanging in my office?"

"In your defense they're very shy. They tend to hide behind my vests."

"Patrick?" Nic appears in the doorway and the lawn is flooded with light. She holds out a glass of water to the darkness. "You wanted some water?"

Not really, but he does very much want to follow the shaft of light that leads to Lisbon's inner sanctum. To that end, Jane bounds across the lawn and up the front steps. He offers Nic another prize winning smile while simultaneously liberating the water from her grasp and slipping into the house. He wanders between the living room and kitchen, taking sips of water and drinking in his surroundings. Jane is on his second turn around the living room-filing away in his memory every picture, piece of furniture and knick knack-when he hears Lisbon murmuring to her girlfriend in hushed tones, or rather, lying to her girlfriend in hushed tones.

"Jane and I need to discuss an active case. Could you give us a minute alone?"

He wastes only enough time to quirk an eyebrow in the direction of Lisbon's voice before returning to the task at hand. This is the mother load, and he must collect as much Lisbon data as possible before his welcome is worn out. Over the years Jane has developed many mental tricks for memorizing pertinent information. He treats his mind like an attic, and only the useful and necessary clutter is allowed to remain within its walls. It's a set up that allows him to retrieve facts and memories instantaneously, but it also causes a lot of mental slippage to occur. Any fact, action or situation Jane deems boring, irrelevant to solving crimes, especially the Red John case, mediocre, arcane, foolish or irksome has no chance of being retained within the focused, yet immense filing cabinet of his mind. This causes him no particular worries, but often leads to incredulous and exasperated outbursts from the people around him when he fails to remember things they consider important.

He puts down the water and begins running his hands along one of Lisbon's bookcases while scanning the titles it holds. This is quickly abandoned in favor of rifling through the objects on her coffee table.

"Come on, come on Lisbon. Give Daddy some clay to work with."

"Excuse me?"

Jane's gaze is torn from the debris on the table and his eyes fly up to meet Lisbon's. He is caught red handed it would seem. Deflection will have to do.

"Hey Lisbon. Whattcha doing?"

Just when he thought she couldn't look any angrier her nostrils flare. He's coming to find that she will always exceed his expectations. "What am I doing? Jane what are you doing?" His mouth opens and he executes a shrug meant to proclaim innocence, but Lisbon cuts him off. "No, don't answer that. I know what you were doing. You were going through my things, just like you do at every crime scene."

"To be fair it's my job to go through people's things at a crime scene."

"This isn't a crime scene Jane."

He nods and pitches around for a few seconds before clasping his hands behind his back. "Lying is a sin Lisbon. If, you know, you believe in such things. I don't, but still, lying to one's significant other? It's kind of like committing a crime."

Jane's got to give it to Yoda, he's right; angry people are easily led. "What are you trying to say Jane?" Lisbon no longer seems to care about his nosy, poke about her things.

He pitches his voice high and girly, an absurd parody or herself that he knows will only inflame her further. "Jane and I need to discuss an active case. Can you give us a minute alone?"

"Really Lisbon? First of all, we've long since exceeded sixty seconds and second, we don't have an active case. The case closed donuts I've been out trying to run off all night are proof of this fact. Well, and the case closed Chinese we had before the donuts, and the case closed whiskey I drank with Rigsby after the donuts. Tell me why is the term case closed used so redundantly in our office?"

"Jane-

He cuts her off. He doesn't like having to work her up this much, but it's the only way he can make her produce honest, unrehearsed reactions. "Given that you must be aware of the closed nature of our last case you must have something to say to me that you don't want Nervous Nic-she is a very nervous person no-to hear."

Lisbon shakes her head as if trying to clear water from her ears. "Jane at this point I don't even know what you're talking about. But, yes there is something I need to say to you privately. And not because I'm afraid of Nic overhearing us, I wouldn't want anyone else in here for a reason. You're easily distracted and I need to have your full attention when I say this. Which means you'll have to stop building a Lisbon corner in your attic like brain as you call it and listen to me."

"Ah, so you were paying attention when I explained my methods to Cho and Rigsby. Lisbon I'm flattered, and-

"Jane less talking and more listening."

"Yes ma'am."

If you want to kiss the sky
Better learn how to kneel
On your knees boy

Lisbon crosses her arms and takes a deep breath before beginning. "I think it goes without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway, that what you've discovered here tonight doesn't leave this room. I won't have my personal life discussed at work." She can tell Jane wants to interject but she doesn't allow him. "Further more, we're not going to discuss this between ourselves either. As in, you're going to stop trying to invade my privacy for your own ends. I'm not blind Jane. I know what you've been doing since you joined the unit-using your sneaky ways to pry information out of everyone, causing scenes to draw people out. I've been a detective a lot longer than you Jane, and while I may not have your skills, I'm not stupid, and I want you to leave Cho and Rigsby alone as well."

She's the way - She turns the tide
She sees a man, inside the child

Deflection will no longer do. "I'm sorry Lisbon but that's not going to happen."

She moves to dispute him, but now it's Jane's turn to command the conversation. She's had her chance. "I'm a part of this unit for one reason and one reason only-Red John. And while I understand your team had a very significant solve rate before I signed up, a significant rate of success in apprehending common criminals is meaningless in terms of Red John. Let me assure you that even the most devious killers you have captured would not be able to outwit him. Ergo, in this area, for this case, your team is in my opinion untested. As the one person on Earth, asides from the man himself, who is most concerned and affected by Red John, I have to know that you and your team are capable of this hunt."

Her face is thunder, but she her words are controlled. "Well then Jane, I'll humor you this once despite the fact you just thoroughly insulted me and my team. Tell me what conclusions have you come to about all of us? Go on don't be shy."

He's surprised, but willing to play along. "Alright, but remember you asked for it."

"Rigsby is by far our weakest link. I don't mean he's in anyway incompetent or lazy, he's just too easily led. If you don't believe me consider this; one feigned moment of concern for you in Rigsby's presence caused him to confess something to me I'm sure you would have rather volunteered yourself, or kept me completely in the dark about." He waits for a reaction from Lisbon, but gets none save a measured stare so he continues. "Your mother's death; Rigsby told me all about how it happened. It was a great little nugget for my Lisbon corner as you call it, but maybe not something in hindsight you wanted me to hear second hand, but don't blame Rigsby, he's a soft touch with a huge heart, we both know this. My point is someone close to us, who cares for us and is easily manipulated by us, is also likely to be easily manipulated by Red John."

Her only response is a quirked eyebrow. "And Cho?"

Jane returns to his assessment of her bookcase. If she's agreed to humor him then he'll take full advantage. His voice comes to her from over his shoulder. "Far too strict for my purposes. Red John is an irregular phenomenon. Catching him will involve breaking some rules. Even if we try to do it clean, he'll force our hand, make us compromise ourselves," he turns to look at her for just a beat. "You understand that right? Red John won't allow himself to go to jail. We'll either compromise our case so thoroughly to catch him that it could never stand at trial, or we'll have to kill him. There aren't any other options. Cho is incapable of bending the rules to the point necessary. This means at the crucial moment he will either fail, or dazzle, us. If he devises some way of maintaining the integrity of the case so it could be brought to court, well, he'll dazzle me at least, if he refuses to be a part of something less than kosher, we're one man down and Red John has the upper hand."

"Wow Jane, thanks for the vote of confidence," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what about me? What's my serious flaw? I must have one."

He turns away from the books once more. "Well, yes, several actually." He watches as she struggles to contain the urge to do him physical harm. "You did say you would humor me this one time Lisbon-remember?"

She clears her throat. "Have at it Jane, I can take it."

"Okay then. My major concern would be that despite your steely exterior and inability to share, you also seem to have a habit of attracting broken people into your personal life with the intention of fixing them. You really are a paradox Lisbon." He indicates the room around them. "I mean look at this place. Your things are strewn about everywhere. You're like an animal marking its territory. Nic can't go anywhere in this room, and I imagine the rest of the house without being confronted by your things, and as such, how much this is your space. You've trained her well though. Look at all her belongings. They're arranged so sparsely and neatly, like she knows she's just renting the space and may have to pick up and move at any moment."

"Jane that's ridiculous. I'm a bit sloppy, always have been. Nic's more into neatness."

He resists making a comment about sloppy women and their aptitude as lovers. "No, she's into pleasing people and being neat and tidy often does this. And she needs to please doesn't she your Nic? Very insecure person, yet I don't suspect there's been a lot of real trauma in her life. Well, you know asides from the judgment our world hands out for being gay, that's probably where her anxiousness stems from."

"That's what grates on you in the end isn't it Lisbon? You continue to take on these broken people and you come to find they don't have much excuse for it, at least in comparison to yourself. Mother killed by a drunk driver when you were just a girl, an abusive, alcoholic for a father, the loss of your brothers to foster care after his death. It's all very sad, and yet you are a productive and rather valiant member of society. No curling up in the fetal position and giving up for Teresa Lisbon."

"But, you have a natural sympathy for those who struggle with life, because of your upbringing or your Catholicism. Again another paradox, I mean you do know about Leviticus right? But here on your bookshelf, are the Bible and several volumes written by legal and religious experts on the futility of the death penalty. Imagine, one of the CBI's top agents, one who has witnessed the worst humanity has to offer doesn't think state sponsored killings deter murderers."

"I don't have to justify my beliefs to you Jane," she says while walking towards the bookcase and him, her hand unconsciously clutching the cross that hangs abut her neck. "If sticking a needle in someone's arm and ending their life changed anything about the systemic cycle of violence in this country I'd be out of a job by now. If something works, I'm all for it, but if it's not working there's no harm in reviewing your options."

Jane mulls her argument over like sommelier tasting wine. "Sure, or maybe you just think God is only one allowed to decide who lives and dies."

Her eyes narrow. "If I did that would be a personal belief that stays at home with me in my personal space. I don't take my baggage to work Jane. I work for the public, and my opinions on the death penalty are borne out of thirteen years experience as a member of law enforcement, nothing more."

"Well, that, and your inability to feel anything but sympathy for world's broken souls. No wonder you hold your cards so close to your chest Lisbon. I've mistaken your extreme guarding of your emotions for a lack of said emotions. Your private nature is a protection mechanism. You feel too much, so you try to regulate how much you allow yourself to feel. I'm glad for that, it wouldn't do for you to find something redeeming in Red John, because trust me, he will use your weakness to his advantage if he's ever caught. But, let me offer you two pieces of advice so you can prevent future anguish for yourself."

Sarcasm laces her voice again. "Oh please Jane, enlighten me."

He steps closer to her and leans in, so close their faces are only inches apart. She can smell the musty scent of his run, almost taste the salt of his sweat. "Set Nic free. You can't change her and it's not your responsibility to fix her. Don't worry, the right woman, or man will come along for you. Someone strong enough to hold you on those rare occasions when you need to let your self control go-

"Why did you say woman or man? Typical-you think I'm just playing at liking girls. Bravo Jane, way to confirm my worst fears re your tolerance levels."

He smiles one of his megawatt smiles and chuckles a little. "Oh Lisbon, you know I wouldn't say something like that unless I was sure, or well, at least sure enough. I found something else amongst your bleeding heart non-fiction."

He backs away to rummage through the back of the bookcase, and she can feel a blush beginning at her toes, it will no doubt reach her scalp by the time he finds what she knows he's already discovered is there.

Jane pulls a tattered paper back from behind her collection of works regarding the justice system. She keeps her fluff reading back there. She's not ashamed to be caught reading pulp fiction. It's more the subject matter of this particular book that is causing her to turn tomato red.

Jane opens the book, clears his throat and begins what Lisbon is sure will be a dramatic reading. The man cannot resist a little drama.

"The Lady and the Count by-oh wow, this is perfect. They always have names like this-Anastasia St. James-Rutherford."

Lisbon's mouth opens and a protest in right on the end of her tongue, but Jane holds up a finger for silence. "Shall I read the blurb on the back?" He nods his head yes, and flips the book over. "Lady Catherine Montague was raised to be a proper lady, and has always lived a quiet life, until now-well of course only until now. Why would anyone want to read a book about an 18th century virgin who follows the rules?"

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, proper lady, quiet life, etcetera, until now. It is on the night of her coming out ball that Catherine meets a dashing, masked stranger. And you accuse me of being typical Lisbon? Right, back to Lady Stereotypical-a dashing stranger who just happens to be the Count of Montpensier whom she mistakes for a common footman," Jane shakes his head in weary exaggeration. "Such an easy mistake to make you know? A common footman that Lady Catherine allows to lure her into the gardens-to her surprise, and pleasure, not completely unwillingly- to take part in a grand indiscretion. The only question now is whether or not Catherine's hasty decision to sample the Count's sensual offerings will lead to her ruination or true love?"

Lisbon has been slowly dying of embarrassment ever since Jane began reading, and has determined that lying, skillfully, is the only way out. "Jane, those books were my mother's. She loved them. I keep them as mementos, not bedtime reading."

"Liar!" Jane laughs and smiles one of his rare, real smiles, the kind that make his eyes crinkle up and Lisbon knows she has lost this battle. "You think that didn't occur to me Lisbon? I've checked the publishing date on most of your collection, and they were all printed in recent years, and clearly, given their physical state, read many times over by yourself. Any woman who reads novels in which fiendishly handsome men ravish naïve young misses in a manner that is really nothing more than excused rape, because you know, he's handsome and she's secretly a free spirit and she's not-what's the phrase-completely unwilling, just unwilling enough to remain on the reader's good side while also titillating them, is not a gold star, lesbian or not."

Lisbon eyes widen at his use of the term "gold star". "How do you even know what a gold star is?"

Jane makes his get real face. "Please Lisbon. Show me a straight man who hasn't watched at least one L Word marathon and I'll show you a liar, or a man without cable. Tell me why is women's literature so banal and predictable? All of these books are the same story, just in different settings."

"Says the man who just admitted that he likes to watch pretty girls make out. That's not predictable at all Jane."

He shrugs and places the book back on the shelf. "I didn't claim to be something more than my peers on that front Lisbon. Besides, I'm a man who lives in self imposed celibacy, of course I like to watch beautiful woman kiss each other every Thursday night at eleven o'clock on Showtime. Who's your favorite? Mine's Shane. Is yours Jenny? You look a bit like her, and she, like you, is an equal opportunity employer."

This conversation has gotten far too personal. Lisbon is tired of Jane's conversational gymnastics, plus she's not yet had the chance to tell him what she really needs to say. Now it's her turn to give Jane a taste of his own medicine, and cause a distraction to get this dialogue where she wants it.

"You said you had two pieces of advice."

"What?"

"Before your foray into literary criticism you said you had two pieces of advice for me Jane. What's the second?"

"Oh yeah, the second," He invades her personal space again to look her squarely in the eyes. She must know how serious he is. "Don't take me on."

Lisbon crosses her arms over her chest to try and force space between them. She leans her head back and goes for levity by plastering a mock, puzzled expression on her face. "Don't take you on? What does that even mean Jane?"

"It means you still cling to the delusional hope that I can be saved. That I can reconcile myself to fact that stopping Red John won't bring back my wife and child. You expect me, through your example, or prodding, to abandon my need for vengeance." He places his hands on her shoulders. "I promise you this Lisbon, I will work with you, support you, protect you, and your team to the best of my ability, but I won't let you, or anyone else for that matter, sway me from my intended path. I will bring down Red John, and I will do it by any means necessary."

She brushes off his embrace. This is exactly where she was hoping he's take the conversation. She backs away and he watches as Saint Teresa leaves the room to be replaced by Senior Agent Lisbon. "That's not going to happen Jane. I'm never going to stop trying to reign you in, and save you from yourself. You know why?"

He gave her an out, there's no reason to mince words now. "Because you're as I said before, delusional?"

She holds her ground. "Not even. It's because for all your claims that Cho's moral code, or Rigsby's softness are going to lead to our downfall, the truth is, you're our weakest link when it comes to Red John. You can't be rational when it comes to Red John. Don't take you on? It's too late for that Jane. You're a part of my team. The team whose safety I'm responsible for. You think I don't know that Rigsby would follow you to ends of the Earth even if it meant he sacrificed far too much on the way? And let me tell you this- Cho may seem like a straight arrow, but for you, eventually, I can tell already he'll bend. I don't need you to protect me, or them Jane. What I need to be able to do is to protect you, and them, from, well, you!"

"In order to do that I have to be able to tell you no Jane. There have to be boundaries between us, parts of me and my private life that you can't have access to. That's what I came in here to tell you, and that's why I asked Nic to leave us alone. I know why you're so concerned with assessing Cho, Rigsby and myself. You want to be sure we're capable of leading you to Red John, and that's fair, but I think you're also searching for clues on how to manipulate us along the way, and I can't let you do that Jane. If you're not willing to change, then the best I can do is control the damage you cause the team and yourself. I'm not going to let Cho or Rigsby pay the price for your outlandish behavior. If the center doesn't hold then we all fall apart. I'm the center Jane, as team lead protecting your life, protecting all of our lives, is my responsibility. I won't let you compromise me by creating a situation in which I can't say no to you."

She comes to a breathless halt and waits for his response. The expected tantrum doesn't come. Instead she is gifted with yet another magnificent, real Jane smile.

"Thank you Lisbon. That's all I needed to know." He turns abruptly and makes to leave the living room. "I should leave. I'm tired, and these clothes are starting to become uncomfortably ripe. And you need to get back to Nic, or else she'll become unreasonably suspicious of our relationship, even more so than she is now. My suggestion stands Lisbon, unload her, you deserve better."

"I-Jane-wait-

Will he never fail to leave her sputtering whenever she thinks she's won this ongoing battle between them? She chases after him as he makes for the door, and is about to reach out and grab his shoulder, to try and restrain him, to satisfy herself that he indeed understands that she will have the final word on all work matters, when he whirls around and encircles her by the waist.

One of his arms holds her close. The other pulls open her front door. "I mean it Lisbon," he whispers into her ear, "free yourself. Love shouldn't feel like an obligation. It won't take you long to find someone else, after all you have twice as many chances as the rest of us."

"Um, Okay?" Lisbon shakes her head and wonders at his sudden display of affection. But then, Jane's moods are mercurial at best. He regularly veers between overly enthusiastic displays and morose pouting. Clearly, Jane's own personal brand of mania is on the upswing and she's along for the ride. His other arm abandons the now open door and joins the other to crush her against him. Lisbon gives up trying to make sense of Jane's actions and simply hugs him back, offering a strictly friendly pat on the back as well. It's the kind of action that says, I accept you're a weirdo, but I've got your back anyway.

"Thank you again," he is no longer speaking in hushed tones. If anything he's projecting his voice. He pulls away to peer at her face. "You've lifted a great worry from my shoulders tonight dear Lisbon," the proclamation is followed by a noisy kiss to her temple before Jane shoots out the door.

He is halfway down her driveway before Lisbon recovers. "Jane! Jane? Are you sure you're okay? Maybe I should drive you home."

He turns around and jogs in place. "No need Lisbon! I'm fine-perfect even! Never better!"

He jogs to the end of her property before turning around one last time. "Lisbon?"

She's still in the doorway, trying to ensure herself he has not in fact gone mad. "Yeah?" she calls back.

"Why Clïes?"

"Why Clïes what?"

She can practically hear him sigh even at this distance. "The name Lisbon! The name! Why Clïes?"

She smiles. He'll like this, he loves obscure facts. "Sappho's daughter was called Clïes!"

His grin splits his face in two against the night. "Of course she was! That's perfect! Perfect!" he gives one last shout and a salute before running out of sight.

Lisbon closes the door, shutting out the cold and putting an end to her interesting night. She supposes she should be mad, or at least exasperated, but if she'd wanted a normal life, full of normal people and situations, she wouldn't have become a cop. She chuckles to herself at Jane's parting behavior, but her mirth is short lived as she turns to find Nic staring at her, arms crossed and eyes full of censure.

"Well, that took a lot longer than a minute Teresa. Do you always let your co-workers kiss you when you part ways, or is it only Jane who can do that? You looked pretty cozy in here all pressed up against each other. Let me guess, you're just really good friends."

God damn him, he's done it again! She's been manipulated and set up moments after telling him she wouldn't allow such things to continue to occur. He must have known Nic was eavesdropping on them, hence the whispered words, followed by the booming compliments meant to be heard at the back of the theatre, and the overt physical display. The rat bastard didn't trust her to handle her own business, so he created a catalyst for her. Lisbon squares her shoulders and gets ready to have an awkward, but necessary conversation, all the while planning her revenge on Jane. His perfectly starched polo players are about to meet her leaky fountain pen.

Then Lisbon says the words no anxious lover wants to hear. "Nic, Sweety, we need to have a talk."

One day you will look back
And you'll see
Where you were held
How? By this love
While you could stand there
You could move on this moment
Follow this feeling

Back on the pavement Jane is making his way home full tilt, with a huge grin on his face. Tonight he will sleep soundly for the first time in awhile, because he can rest easy in the knowledge that Lisbon is more than capable of seeing him through to the end. Jane knows in his heart of hearts that he's the weakest link on their little team, at least when it comes to Red John. He can't control his response to the killer's actions and taunts. Cho will need to be cajoled into breaking the rules and Rigsby will have to be toughened up but, Jane will need moorings, serious moorings.

Until now he was unsure if Lisbon would be strong enough to resist his siren song during Red John cases. Jane is at his best and worst in those moments, and therefore an intensely compelling leader. Lisbon is right. Cho and Rigsby may very well follow him down the rabbit hole. He is immensely relieved that she is determined to as she said, "hold the center" to ensure they all survive the journey to Red John's end.

The darkest, most destructive part of his brain is also pleased with her display of moxy. She will fight tooth and nail to ensure he doesn't meet a destructive end in his quest for vengeance, but more importantly he knows now she will survive the loss if he does. Her determination to not allow him to take her away from herself, and then hand her back in pieces is admirable and well advised. He takes heart in the fact that she is clearly able to see the value of a life lived with, or without him. He is a selfish and damaged man who has the potential to use up, and burn out the people who work with him, the people who much to his jargon he suspects are coming to care for him, the people he is, despite his best efforts to the contrary, starting to feel a certain camaraderie with. There is too much worry and regret already clouding his thoughts, he can't risk causing harm to anyone else he holds dear. And yet, he cannot trust himself not to throw caution to the wind where Red John is concerned. For this he needs Lisbon, and now he knows, for better or for worse, he's got her.

Four years later, in the CBI's makeshift headquarters in Palm Springs, California….

"Stop it." Cho says tonelessly to Jane while slamming his latest novel down on the desk in front of him.

Lisbon, Rigsby and Van Pelt have left the two men alone in order to go pick up dinner for the team. It's not a task that requires three people to pull off, but Lisbon asked Van Pelt to accompany her so she could get to know the new agent, and Rigsby quickly foiled that plan by opting to join them. He'll go anywhere to spend a few moments, free of Jane, with Van Pelt.

"Stop what?" Jane asks without looking up from his tea.

"Stop screwing up and then trying to worm your way out of trouble with meaningless gestures." Cho leans forward in his seat, unconsciously slipping into his interrogation stance. "That origami frog stunt earlier, that's classic Jane, but it's gotta stop my friend, you know why?"

"Not really, but then I'm not really getting where the conversation is going anyway."

Cho simply stares at Jane in that timeless manner he has before continuing. "Do you know how Sherlock Holmes' story ends Jane?"

Jane opens his mouth, but doesn't get a chance to respond.

"Let me tell you how it goes. Watson leaves Holmes for a woman named Mary. They get married and Holmes goes over the falls with Moriarty. You can fold up as much paper as you like into the cutest animals you can think of Jane, but Lisbon's going to leave you in the end. Just like Watson. If the prospect of that scares you, even the tiniest bit I suggest appealing more to Lisbon's good side, or preparing yourself for the inevitable."

"I see," Jane punctuates his words with dips of his teabag. "Thanks for the, er, warning Cho. The thing is, I've perused Conan Doyle's works and if memory serves me correctly Holmes survives the tumble over the falls only to return to civilization and Watson who by that time is a widower."

Jane pauses to blow on his tea before taking a long sip. "If you insist on using Sherlock as a metaphor to explain your feelings about my behavior towards Lisbon then perhaps I should remind you of something he once said- One drawback of an active mind is that one can always conceive alternative explanations which would make our scent a false one. Loosely translated that means, nice try Cho, but no cigar."

Cho's face remains impassive. "Really? I'm that off hey? We'll see."

Jane stands and leans against the wall while continuing to take long pulls at his tea. "Oh, your theory isn't completely without merit. I may very well go over the falls yet. And, I may even be left behind in favor of a woman named Mary, or even a man named Mark, but," he breaks off to stare into his teacup as if it holds the answers to all life's great mysteries. "My Watson may very well stick around. Something tells me all it would take is the acquisition of an aristocratic title, some very tight breeches and an insistence that no means maybe-metaphorically speaking of course. It's not like I could actually become a duke or something, and I'd never wear tight breeches, whatever breeches are."

Cho's face is no longer blank, instead he appears dumbfounded. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jane grins and pushes off the wall. "Exactly. Today's lesson Cho is; save confrontation for when you have enough verifiable data to prove your hypothesis. I think Holmes would agree, don't you?"

Cho's rebuke, if it was ever to come, does not come fast enough as Rigsby makes a loud entrance followed by Lisbon and Van Pelt.

Janes eyes light up at the sight of take out bags. "Lisbon you gorgeous creature bring me my food! If you've forgotten my noodles again you're going straight to bed with no supper!"

"So much for chastened humility," Cho mumbles under his breath.

Lisbon sits the take out bags on her borrowed desk and turns to face Jane and Cho. "Change of plans Cho-

"Lisbon didn't you hear me?"

She runs her tongue over her teeth and counts to ten. "Yes Jane I did, but most child psychologists suggest that parents ignore children who act bratty to get attention."

Van Pelt and Rigsby titter to themselves at Jane's equally childish reaction to her explanation.

Lisbon continues to ignore Jane's whining and pouty "Cho?"

"Yeah boss?"

"Here's some petty cash. You, Van Pelt and Rigsby are going out for closed case dinner and drinks on the CBI. Jane and I are going back to the hotel to eat our dinner and then Jane's going to sleep."

"Thanks but no thanks Mary Poppins," Jane says while reaching for his suit jacket. "As fun as take out and going to bed at," he checks his cell phone, "seven at night doesn't sound, I'm afraid I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your demands. I'm going with Cho and co."

"No you're not," Cho says, just as Lisbon says, "Well, if you're sure you're not too tired."

An astounded chorus of, "What's?" come from Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt. Lisbon ignores them and moves closer to Jane who is watching her with eyes less wary than they should be.

"I was just thinking you might like to get some rest, because you've been up for forty-eight hours now."

"Lisbon dearest, your concern for me is flattering, but-hey!" Jane looks down to find Lisbon's willingness to compromise was just a clever ruse and he is now handcuffed to nearest desk. "Really Lisbon?"

"Yup. Really." She turns back to her other teammates. "Get lost you guys. I'll handle Jane."

Jane yanks at the cuffs impotently. "This isn't fair Lisbon!" his voice takes on a distinct whine. "Rigsby's going to have closed case whiskey and-

"Sure am," Rigsby taunts.

"Jane," Lisbon draws his attention back to her. "Little boys who get themselves suspended from work for two weeks, only to violate that suspension by going over their immediate superiors heads while proceeding to make trouble on their current case don't get to have closed case whiskey. Know what they get?"

"Handcuffed to a desk evidently," Jane offers dryly.

"Well, that too, but they also get," Lisbon pauses to rummage through another plastic bag on her desk. She produces a small pill bottle from its depths and shakes the container in front of Jane's face as if he is a belligerent toddler who needs distracting. "Over the counter, closed case sleeping pills!"

Rigsby lets out a few guffaws. "I'm sorry. I've been waiting for that joke since we left the pharmacy."

"Nice one," Cho concedes to Lisbon. He puts on his jacket and slaps Jane's shoulder. "See ya in the a.m. buddy. Not so smug now are we?"

Van Pelt simply offers Jane a quiet sorry and follows Cho. Rigsby makes to leave with a promise to buy Jane a whiskey next time. There is no response from the consultant who simply sits at the desk with his head down seemingly defeated for the moment.

Once he is sure the three agents have left the building he raises his head swiftly and smiles at Lisbon. "You were masterful my dear, now get me out of these cuffs."

He's sorry they have to deceive their teammates so thoroughly, but it wouldn't do for anyone to know that Lisbon plans not only to put Jane to bed early, but to join him between the sheets.

"Don't be lazy Houdini. You're always bragging about how easy it is for you to get out of these things."

"Fine," he grumbles and uses his free hand to retrieve his wallet. Inside are the tiny metal pieces he uses to regularly break and enter at crime scenes. Seconds later the cuffs swing free and Jane rubs his wrist. "Ta-dah! Did that display of cunning illusion turn you on at all? Because seriously, this is the first night we've had alone in a week and I'm not going to waste it sleeping."

Lisbon smiles at him indulgently and leans over to peck him on the lips. "Yes you will. You know the rules. There will be no hotel misadventures."

Jane sighs. He does know the rules. They were devised shortly after he gave into the dangerous temptation to allow anyone into his life on more than a superficial level, and discovered that Lisbon could be led to commit "great indiscretions" with completely inappropriate men just like her literary heroines.

He looks up at her with plaintive eyes. "Is this one of those no means maybe scenarios?"

She shakes her head. "Nope, those only happen when we're completely alone, in my home, behind locked doors."

This to, is another one of the rules. They can only indulge when it is guaranteed no one is watching. Jane's home and his condo are off limits. Red John could be easily staking out either. Lisbon has continued to date, almost exclusively women, off and on, to throw off any prying eyes. The dalliance never lasts more than three or four dates, and she consummates none of the relationships. Still, they both hope it's enough to convince anyone who may be watching them that there is no possibility that Patrick Jane regularly uses his tiny lock picks to enter Teresa Lisbon's home in the dead of the night.

"Okay, but let's at least eat. I'm starving. You did get my noodles right?"

"Yes Jane."

Later as they finish their meal on Jane's hotel room floor he remembers the tiny bottle in the take out bag. "I'm not going to take those pills just so you know."

Lisbon grimaces. "Please, I don't expect you to. They were just a prop," she says while taking a final bite of her egg roll.

"Good," Jane replies and slurps up the last of his soda obnoxiously just because he knows it agitates her.

"Besides, I crushed up two pills and put them in your drink right after I left the Chinese place."

It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright

"You did what?"

"Stop abusing that straw Jane. It sounds horrible," is her only reply to his open mouthed shock. "Look you can sit here and be indignant or you can change into your pajamas and get into bed, because you've only got about," she glances at her watch, "thirty to forty minutes before the pills take affect. I asked the pharmacist for their most potent OTC. You might have a little dry mouth when you wake up, but he assured me it's nothing to worry about."

Jane gives her a dirty look before standing and walking over to his suitcase. He tosses a few things about and comes up with a pair of striped pajamas bearing the same polo players as his oxford shirts. "I'm going to put these on, and I'm going to get into bed, but I want you to know I'm only being gracious about this because I know what kind of an effort it takes to trick me. Bravo Lisbon."

"Whatever Jane, I don't care why you do what I say, as long as you do what I say. Now go brush your teeth."

"Fine."

An hour later, after much cajoling, Jane is sound asleep with Lisbon curled against his back. She has been planning to leave his room any second now for the past fifteen minutes, but has given into her always present urge to run her fingers through Jane's hair. She resisted all his entreaties to get her out of her clothes, and she even refused to wear his used work shirt, a treat she usually delights in. It would be to risky to explain why she was naked, or half naked in Jane's room if one of their colleagues should decide to check in and see how her sleeping pill plan worked out. With her clothes still on she can explain away her continued presence in Jane's room easily-she wanted to be sure he took the pills and really fell asleep.

She's quite proud of her little deception, because Jane is right, even pulling a small con on him is a great feat. But then, being one step ahead of Jane is her job now personally and professionally. He was right when he said one day she would meet someone, man or woman, who would be strong enough to hold her, and now that she has she won't give him up. Not for him, and not for Red John. Both men are going to learn what it's like to be unequivocally out maneuvered by Teresa Lisbon. She says a quick prayer for resolve and then kisses Jane sweetly on the temple before slipping from his bed, and then the room. Tomorrow they would return to Sacramento and he could tumble through her window to play the Lady and the Count.

It is sometime just before daybreak when Lisbon awakens with a start. At first she can't remember where she is and it takes several seconds for her to realize she's in a hotel room in Palm Springs, and that Jane is sleeping soundly several doors down. Her next realization is that she is cold, very cold, and it would seem there is only one warm spot on her entire body-the spot on her left calf that Jane, who is supposed to be sleeping, is slowly running his tongue over. Closer inspection reveals she is naked, and so is he. To add shame to shock, she's been handcuffed to the headboard, of course. She'd kick him, but he's anticipated this move and is gripping both her legs as he makes his slow progression from calf to thigh.

Lisbon drops her head to back onto the pillow and sighs resignedly. "I guess I should have expected something like this after the sleeping pills."

"Hmmm," his mumbled agreement ripples up her thigh before he tears his lips away from her leg. "Your first mistake was going with over the counter drugs. You're looking at a man who can ingest closed case whiskey plus an Ambien and still not get a full eight hours. That drugstore stuff put me down for a couple of hours tonight, but I was tired anyway. It wore off around three a.m. giving me ample time to exact my revenge before Rigsby gets up to use the hotel gym."

"Technically your revenge, if I understand what you're aiming at correctly, I mean unless there's another reason I'm in handcuffs and we're both naked, is against the rules. So, just how do you see this panning out in your favor?"

"Well," Jane begins before pushing his hands up her thighs, further parting her legs to him. He rests a stubbly cheek against her stomach, just under her navel. "I took into consideration your sympathetic nature, and your, shall we say open, but wishy- washy stance on sexual preferences, and decided you could probably be talked into breaking your own rules."

"Jane that is so insulting! How many times have I told you-

Lisbon's words are replaced by a sharp intake of breath as Jane's face migrates south of her navel and his tongue begins intense negotiations with her clit, which unlike her brain, seems to agree with his reasoning. Her low moan in response to his continued ministrations produces a knowing chuckle from Jane. He tears his mouth from her center and looms up over her onto his elbows.

"Plus, given your choice of bed time reading," he nods to the trashy novel on her nightstand. Its cover, and no doubt its plot, is eerily similar to the one he found in her home four years ago. "I figured you wouldn't be-completely unwilling."

"What about the rules?"

"Everyone's asleep Lisbon. There's no way anyone on the team saw me come in."

"That's not who I'm worried about. You know who the rules are in deference to."

Jane drops his head to her neck and his next words are murmured softly into her ear. "I know the rules are important Lisbon, but just this once I want to break them. I'm tired of him controlling everything I do, every decision I make. This thing, it's between us and nobody else. I don't want him in the room tonight."

His words cause a bubble of hope to push against her ribcage, but she tamps it down quickly. Every now and again Jane shows signs of being frustrated with Red John's preeminence in his life. It makes her wonder if there may actually come a day when he can picture his existence as more than a bid for restitution. But, it doesn't do for her to fixate on this slim possibility, to the detriment of reality. She has to be prepared for the fact Jane may one day leave to face Red John, never to return, while simultaneously striving to outwit the two men working towards this goal.

"Okay," she says wrapping her legs around his waist and dropping a few more breadcrumbs for him, with the hope he'll follow her into the light. "Just this once."

To touch is to heal
To hurt is to steal
If you want to kiss the sky
Better learn how to kneel
On your knees boy

She's the way - She turns the tide
She sees a man, inside the child

It's all right, it's all right, all right
She moves in mysterious ways
It's all right, it's all right, all right
She moves in mysterious ways
Love
It's all right, it's all right, all right
lift my days, light up my nights
Love

Lift my days, light up my nights
Love…

A/N: Please don't flame me over Lisbon's bi-sexuality, because honestly, it won't change my values, and it will just make you look ignorant. Especially if you do it anonymously, because there's nothing worse than being an ignorant coward.