A/N: okay, so it's been awhile once again but the hubby and I are moving. I've been on my Mentalist kick…and this song by Imagine Dragons is just so inspiring and so Jane-like. The lyrics are from their song "Demons"—clearly appropriate and will follow throughout the story. I'm even thinking about throwing some Brett Stiles in here, since I like their friendly enemy nature. I have no plan for this…just hinting season 5, and I will also make no guess as to RJ since even my detective skills feel shorted out just thinking about it.

*Also, here's this little –official- tidbit to get me through: "eventually they will have a romance. But it will happen slowly and gradually. " - Bruno Heller

Dark Red Demons

When the days are cold

And the cards all fold

And the saints we see

Are all made of gold

When your dreams all fail

And the ones we hail

Are the worst of all

And the blood's run stale

I wanna hide the truth

I wanna shelter you

But with the beast inside

There's nowhere we can hide…

He spent long, grueling, hours of days he would never get back interrogating the unbreakable, illustrious temptress that was Lorelei Martins. Not one of the CBI agents had been able to get more than a three-word sentence from the siren. They'd tried every trick they knew, from threatening, to appealing, even Jane's offer of hypnotizing.

So they left her in a state of solitary confinement, thinking possibly it would weasel out some information that meant anything.

Any outside observer would see the toll it was taking on the team's structure. Cho, Rigsby, and even the overtly compassionate Van Pelt were wary about Jane's faked breakdown, and his somewhat Cain-like return. Regardless of their boss taking him back with open arms.

But no outside observer could see how much Teresa Lisbon suffered. She'd learned how to compartmentalize well after the death of her mother and the subsequent death of her father. After that, the deaths of those closest to her that followed just became another untouched box in her "memory palace." Somehow, even with death hanging over her, the hollowness she felt when Jane had all but abandoned her, the sorrow she saw when he staged her shooting, and the feel of his hand in hers in the gritty dust of the desert—nothing hurt more than knowing he'd slept with Lorelei.

He'd waxed poetic for a decade on his devotion to his dead wife, and that she could understand. Of course he'd been admired by women; Sophie Miller had been in love with him, a love that demanded attention, a clinical love—he was so broken, and like Lisbon, she was a fixer. Kristina Frye followed after. Devious in an honest way, with all the innocence and naivety of a silly teenager teasing and poking—could have lasted, could have gone farther—if not for becoming one of Red John's darker works. Lisbon knew that it would have been more merciful for Red John to have killed the poor medium over leaving her catatonic. And of course, Erica Flynn; the Black Widow herself had about seduced him, had him in her manipulative clutches, and of all his past follies, Erica scared Lisbon the most—perhaps because she felt replaced, perhaps because Erica was so free, so addictively attractive that she could see Jane sparking a connection with her. Yes, Erica frightened Lisbon, at least until she met Lorelei.

Lisbon felt herself caught somewhere between why her and why not me, both of which shook her to the core instantaneously after the disturbing revelation left the vipers lips.

She hadn't worked up the courage to confront Jane about it, though she knew that talk would have to come soon. Then again, he'd downright dismissed his awkwardly timed "love you" confession as hype. Given the chaos, the mania, of the past few days, Lisbon felt like every step of it from the time she sat down in the church pew had all been one of those horrible waking dreams.

She sighed heavily. Her home didn't feel like a refuge anymore, not since her head became a price for the friendship of a serial killer. She wasn't stupid, she knew now more than ever there was a lovely red smile face painted on her back. It was no longer a matter of if he'd come for her, but when.

She'd managed to compartmentalize that notion as well.

Things like that were inevitable.

Lately she'd been sleeping on the couch in her office, the one her prodigal consultant had purchased for her almost 2 years ago—and though she would not ever tell him, and she would make sure to be gone before dawn—she'd stake a claim on his couch from time to time as well. If just to retrieve a memory, a scent, a hint of him. That was when Lisbon realized how much he consumed every part of her life—from the furniture to the paper origami frog she kept hidden in a drawer in her desk. She'd missed him more than she could ever express, and those were the longest six months she ever could have experienced.

The exhaustion crept into her; she massaged her temples, attempting to push the headache away. She closed her laptop gently and moved to her new bed.

All the while formulating how to approach Patrick Jane on his confession…

XOX

So close. Always. Every time.

Two steps forward, ten steps back. Just when he thought he was breaking through, he'd lose the connection, make a misstep, say the wrong word and their sole, still breathing, link to Red John would shut down.

At the same time, so would his dear Teresa. He watched, painfully, guiltily, as every jab he sent to Lorelei came back tenfold on Lisbon. She was wonderful, beautiful, strong, but even the strongest resolve would break. He was too close to her, she too close to him. And Red John knew it.

He remembered a not so long ago time that every move he made sent her into fits, and every time she came at him screaming, ranting, he would casually wave her off.

As the years passed, that bitter bantering turned into a cagey friendship, and that friendship became her offering ideas and plans and contingencies to the point where he believed she would take a fall for him. And because she'd become that loyal, that…trustful, even, he had faked his long and unfortunate breakdown. He'd meant to steer Red John away from them…from her…but he'd been lured by a lookalike, a woman picked out of thousands, groomed for him, for Patrick Jane alone. Someone he could fall for, a gift as she'd said. Wrapped up in brunette hair and doe-brown eyes, with just the right amount of damsel in distress attitude burning in her.

He knew what she was. But he didn't, at the same time. And every second he wanted her to be the one he really wanted…the one Red John seemed to want so badly too. Why make her ask for Lisbon's head otherwise? One test of loyalty for another?

Patrick remembered another time, when he told her he would do anything, knock down, take down, any one in his way…her included. He told her she'd be sorry, but he ate his words in turn. It wasn't until Dumar had the gun on her that he realized how empty that statement had been. Because without her he was nothing. Had nothing. Had no one to believe him, to believe in.

She truly was a saint.

He'd long ago canonized her in golds and emeralds and all the unattainable things he wanted so badly to give her. No one could surpass her.

Not even his late wife.

Feeling parched and sleepless from these circular thoughts, he made his way from the attic of the headquarters down to the kitchen. Everyone was gone of course, it was a Friday night, most had lives and families to return to. Only he was the ghost that loomed after hours, haunting the walls of CBI with his self-loathing grief.

So he thought.

He heard just the smallest stifled cry. One he recognized instantly. His heart skipped a beat.

Because he knew he was the cause of the sadness.

XOX

She was in that state of sleep where the outside world still dripped into the dreaming one.

A door opened, the smell of tea, a light sinking feeling near her feet. Then a soft tickle at her cheek, wetness.

It wasn't like she had good dreams lately.

Her eyes fluttered. A loose focus, hazy, and she saw her golden haired consultant sitting still as stone, a lonely, grim, look on his typically gleeful face.

"Jane? What's wrong?" she queried with the slur of sleep, brief as it was.

He shook his head, fearing to meet her eyes. "You were crying."

"N-no?" She whispered, confused, brushing at her eyes. She was. "Oh."

"How long?" He asked quietly.

Lisbon pulled herself into a cross-legged sitting position. "How long what?"

"How long have you been sleeping on the couch here in your office?"

Lisbon snorted softly, rolling her eyes. "Afraid I'll steal your glory as couch loner Jane?" she meant it to be candid, but it came out sad, angry, and distant. He cringed. She looked away then, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "Off and on…since you left."

He swallowed roughly. "I'm sorry. Truly, Lisbon, so, so terribly sorry."

"I know. I do. And in some ways I already forgave you for it. But there are other things, Jane…there are things I don't think I will be able to let go…" She trailed off softly, shrugging. How had they gotten to this point? She thought they were finally breaking through, reaching for the same solid goal. And then it was gone. A whisper of hope just out of her reach.

He nodded his acquiescence, sipped his tea.

What a pair. So broken by the pasts they couldn't release. They were a Shakespearean tragedy of their own stubborn making.

He kept strict focus on his tea as he spoke now, unflinching, angry. "Teresa, I know I can't leave you now, as I'm sure you've realized. After everything…I know it's going to be a lot to ask that you be more careful, more guarded then ever. He can't have you, my dear. I won't let him."

The last part was said so darkly that she actually feared Patrick Jane for a moment. A shudder rippled through her, for those were the sincerest, most somber of words she was sure he'd ever uttered to her.

She had never missed the old Jane so much.

Jane stood, set his teacup on her desk, and head bent in nothing short of shame, made his way out of her office.

She merely sat in silence, watching this hollow man she had never met leave her side, her office, and her heart...

XOX

He watched from a distance. It was all as it was supposed to be. The time was coming, to be sure.

Good thing he was a patient man...

XOX

Don't get too close

It's dark inside

It's where my demon's hide

It's where my demon's hide…