I'm not sure if it's foolish of me to attempt a new multichapter, for I've been going through a dry phase lately…no idea how fast I'll be able to update this story, but I'll try!

This story will probably stay T for some chapters, but may turn M eventually…I'll warn you if that happens!

I apologize to the Mashburn-fans for making Lisbon reject him :D. But I had to destroy the last bridge to make this story work.

One last remark: I'm aware the characters are OOC in my stories, at least sometimes, maybe even most of the time. I always try to bend and twist them a little, to discover something I don't normally see. So forgive me if I let them cross some rivers they normally wouldn't, and act a little bit out of control with each other. It's just part of my fun.

There is not much actual plot in this story, it is very much about interior monologue, emotions, sudden revelations, quiet times. Some kind of reflection. Nothing more.

It won't have that many chapters, but some. Maybe five or six, I don't know yet.

Disclaimer: still not mine. Darn.

Someplace Warm

Chapter one

The candle flame flickered restlessly in the attic's darkness, and he could barely resist to put his skin in its center. Smell the sharp stench of burnt flesh. Feel the cleansing pain consume his body.

But Patrick Jane just watched, looking at the fusion of colors in the middle of the dancing flame.

A part of him wanted to avoid the memories. But he couldn't help it…not tonight.

The laughter of a beautiful woman at her wedding day, her body moving gracefully in her cheap white dress while she threw the bunch of flowers she'd carried to the ceremony high above her head. A warm, wriggling newborn placed in his arms, faint traces of blood encrusting her blond hair. Blood. Toenails painted in gore. Mangled flesh. Blood. Everywhere. A smiling face on the wall. He cringed, his eyes fluttering shut.

Eight years since his life had ended. Eight years since he'd had a good night's sleep. Eight years since he'd felt like a normal, sane person.

Eight years since his heart had shriveled and shrunken into something hurting and disgusting, barely able to pump the blood through his body. But not able to feel much beside the determination to find revenge and utter despair.

Eight years. This day.

Jane dipped his finger into the flame and savored the sting for a second, pulling back before it grew into real pain.

And suddenly, he realized that despite everything he had built for himself, everything he had mended, everything that was somehow back in working order…there was a threshold he couldn't cross. He wasn't able to form decent relationships any longer. He had tried. It hadn't worked out.

So it was time to face the music, wasn't it?

He would never fall in love again. Never be a husband, a father again. The peaceful existence of normal people lay in his past- here, in his personal little hell, there was just him, him alone and his reflection in the dusty window panes. His features looked devious and haunted in the gloomy illumination of the single candle, and he noticed that this was pretty much what was left of him. The schemer. The liar. The sufferer.

But there were things he felt. Disgust for those who hurt others for their own good. Empathy for the hurting, the grieving, the desperate, even though he managed to mask those feeling until he hardly recognized them himself. He didn't want to feel, it made him stupid and vulnerable, and it made him want foolish things he'd never have.

It made him feel lonely. And yes- the loneliness hurt. It stung and burned, made him run through the streets at night, aimlessly, not knowing what he hoped to find, watching kissing lovers with a sensation of deep, unfathomable loss in his heart. He wasn't part of this world any longer. But he was so, so lonely.

He would die of the loneliness one day.

Jane licked his fingers and extinguished the flame. He would sleep on his couch tonight, in the bullpen. It wouldn't make the loneliness more bearable.

But he knew: nothing would.

So everything was just a question of choices and decisions.

xxMentalistxx

The pavement was wet and cold, but she couldn't walk in the high heels any longer to save her life, so she simply pulled them off and walked through the dark streets on naked feet.

The rain kept pouring down, wetting the short red dress she was wearing, making the satiny fabric cling to her frame. She shivered. Imagined that her mascara had probably run all over her face, making her look as if she'd been crying. Maybe she had. She couldn't remember through all the cold and frustration.

She wanted to throw something. Maybe break it in the process.

She got rid of her shoes at the next trash can she came upon. She had no need for high heels any longer. Never again.

For after tonight, she would never date again. Would never let a man near her. Would face the loneliness like a big girl.

Damn, she simply wasn't made for this. Teresa Lisbon was a loner. And she would stay that way.

Yes, she had had high hopes just this morning. Walter Mashburn had invited her for dinner, something exclusive, fancy, and she had felt like a little princess for a moment. Had entertained thoughts about a future, a One-night-stand here and there, and maybe a little bit more eventually, who knew. She'd had sex with him once, hadn't she? Had been fun. She could do it again, huh? Sure, she could. Piece of cake.

But when she'd sat down with him, looking at his face in the bright illumination of what seemed like a thousand candles, the service so exclusive, their table romantically secluded, Walter's smile so superior and easy, she had suddenly realized that she felt hollow. Utterly empty. Not excited. Not attracted. Certainly not in love.

She'd suffered through dinner, nearly jumping out of her skin every time he had touched her.

Hell, what was the matter with her? She hadn't sex in what felt like eons. It was about time, wasn't it?

But when he'd extended his hand to lead her to his waiting car, a bright red status symbol that gleamed in the streetlights, everything inside her had recoiled. She couldn't go with him. Couldn't touch him. Couldn't kiss him.

She'd fled.

And just like that, special agent Teresa Lisbon's bright dating career had been over.

She would never attempt something like this again. Men made her feel inept and awkward, love was so far away it seemed like an alien concept after all those years. She was pretty old now anyway. And she had her work. She liked her work. That was something, wasn't it?

She stepped into a shard of glass and hissed when the pain flared through her. Nothing bad, though, just a tiny cut.

The rain was cold, almost freezing. Fall in Sacramento.

And she was so, so lonely.

A sob caught her attention. So she was crying after all. Pathetic, foolish Lisbon. What have you been thinking? Happily ever after, tonight? Just like this? She snorted, almost disgusted with herself.

She looked up and wasn't surprised to find herself in front of CBI headquarters.

Maybe she should move in here? Would make things so much easier.

She certainly would be able to find something to do, wouldn't she? Some paper work. There was always paper work. And she preferred the unobtrusive silence of her office to the suffocating muteness of her apartment anytime.

Good thing she had the CBI. Even though she had no shoes.

So she went inside, dripping and shivering, her foot bleeding softly.

xxMentalistxx

She felt like chuckling when she stepped from the lift. Jim had looked at her as if she was an apparition. Well, she guessed she was quite a sight, wet like a drenched kitten, shoeless, her make up all over her face. The watchman had possibly thought she was crazy, pathetic and needed to get a life ASAP. Which wasn't too far from the truth, pretty close actually, so…what the hell.

She passed the bullpen and stopped dead in her tracks.

For on the worn leather couch at the back of the room, dressed in an immaculate three-piece-suit, a turquoise cup in his hand, his blond curls combed to shining perfection, sat Patrick Jane. He watched her quietly, the cup raised as if he'd been about to take a sip.

"Lisbon, as a friend?" he said softly," This doesn't look good."

And she smiled despite the dreariness of the night.

TBC…

That is, if you want to read more. Tell me what you think of this, will you? I'll be forever grateful.