A/N: I'm pretty sure this is going to be a multi chapter, but not a long one, so bear with me, I have a lot going on right now! **Fun fact: Sangre is Spanish for Blood, which is where the name/color of Sangria is derived from. The lyrics throughout are "Try" by Pink. Please, listen to this song. It is GOREGEOUS.

Sangre

Ever worried that it might be ruined

And does it make you wanna cry?

When you're out there doing what you're doing

Are you just getting by?

Tell me are you just getting by, by, by

Prelude

All she could taste was the metallic tang of blood. It lingered heavy in the air, a thick cloud of iron. She couldn't breathe.

Her head lolled to the side, pillowed by red feathers. It wasn't a comfort, where she was. The feathers were wet and sticky, and she couldn't move to stand, to get away from it all. It hurt too much. So she remained still.

Her name reverberated off the walls and in her ears and they all seemed so far away. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and nothing sounded better than sleep. Her eyes wouldn't close though, staring wide at an empty black room.

Maybe she should wait. She could wait a little longer to sleep, couldn't she?

Somewhere a light turned on. It grew brighter, taking over the black room.

She closed her eyes against the brightness.

This time, it was easy.

She slept.

XOX

Their easy dynamic had significantly changed in the past year. Maybe too much had happened. Maybe too little. The smiles were more than forced, the jokes stiff and stilted, the happy gleam lacking.

She told herself it wasn't her fault. She hadn't run off to Vegas and ditched her life, her job, her friends, just to come crawling back with a false air of superiority. She hadn't slept with the mistress of the devil himself, hadn't given up a decade of celibacy for a wolf in sheep's clothing.

That hurt, still. Because his apologies had been tactless and trite. He'd all but scolded her for implying he couldn't sleep with whoever he wanted. And the gall to kiss her in the interrogation room still burned bright in her memory palace. The darkness was overtaking the last of the light inside her. She could feel herself becoming detached, drifting aimless in the mess of her own making.

Most days she could get by. The cases were distracting; the conversations with her team would help throughout the day. Even Tommy Volker managed to be a good distraction, if but for a few months before his inevitable capture. That Jane had helped her should have been a sign of something good. Should have been, but wasn't. They both knew, deep down, that when she had to ask, plead, him for help that there was something inherently wrong with the pair.

She'd never asked anything of him, after all.

They were heading for a breakdown. The kind no one saw coming and only ended badly. She could feel that moment building in her veins, in the back of her mind, hidden away where no one could see. Not even Jane.

His fumble had come days ago. Watching her movements for signs of anything, listening to her tone for stress or anger. It was the strange catch in his eye, the slight raise of his brow and the knit in his forehead as her gaze connected with his. Awe, maybe? There was abject confusion in his face as he tried to cold read her body language. She knew she gave so much away, a heart on her sleeve person by nature. His eyes dimmed though, stumped by her offness. The dark smile came and left her lips in the flash of a microsecond. Her body language and her blush were gone, unreadable. He could only see what she wanted him to see now.

She should not have been proud of that. But she was. The student truly had become the master. She'd beat Patrick Jane at his own game. She'd have time to feel ashamed later.

Their relationship chipped a little more when Red John struck again. A psychologist had gone on and on in a scholarly article about her insight into the "Mind of the Mad Man," blaming his controlling mother or his absent father for one fault or another. Either way, Holly Collins was dead.

And Patrick Jane disappeared into his attic, little black book in hand.

It continued to chip, chiseled smaller and smaller as the months went by with nothing to show for every turn they made.

She wondered when there would be nothing left to carve.

XOX

It was an infrequently rainy day, all gray clouds and thunder claps in Sacramento when they broke. She pushed and he pulled and they'd ended up screaming long trails of obscenities and the cruelest of words at each other alone in his attic. So the gauntlet had been thrown.

The worst of it was whispered.

"I've had enough. We're done. I just can't do this anymore." It had come out harsh and bitter with the catch in her throat. And she didn't regret it. She wasn't sure what scared her more.

But his words had been far crueler than hers. Hers were honest; his were unkind.

"Did we ever begin?" He said like cold steel, imbedded with a rich hatred. "It's not like this mattered." He'd waved a hand between them and she fell apart at the seams. Watched the gold ring flicker in the flash of lightening with her fists clenched and head held high, defiant. There was nothing left to hold her, and he surely wouldn't. She turned away, keeping her poise. She wouldn't give him that kind of satisfaction.

The team knew something was wrong, but remained oblivious. Or at least, they tried too. Jane rarely showed his face, and when he did, Lisbon was nowhere to be seen. He reported to Cho instead, meeting the Asian's mans curious gaze every time he did so. He rode with Rigsby, not so much a conversationalist now that Ben wasn't allowing him the sleep he was used too. Van Pelt was surprisingly the hardest to shake. Her inquiring glances were connecting the dots, deep romantic that she was.

She didn't realize the romance was a tragedy.

XOX

Another month followed, the silence deafening.

XOX

The message was for her, and her alone.

Be careful what you wish for, echoed inside her head.

She'd inadvertently made a plea of her own to the maniacal serial killer. The force at which she'd cursed the mans name on live TV had the cameras flashing and pens flying rapidly across paper. She'd marked herself, and the media knew it.

Truth was, she'd been marked long ago. She was getting sick of waiting for the end, it's not like it would be entirely climatic.

After, Jane had spoken to her for the first time in two silent months, cornering her in the lobby while she waited for the elevator. "Watch yourself, please," was all he muttered half shrouded in shadow, not meeting her eyes, before hesitantly climbing the stairs once more.

So the tin man had a heart. She hadn't meant to think the comment snidely, but it had become habit.

The message came to her home in the form of a note tacked to her own front door.

If you wanted to meet me so desperately, Agent Lisbon,

You could have just asked.

RJ

It was stamped with his logo; she couldn't help but wonder whose blood he'd used.

Though he hadn't given her a location, a date, a time, Teresa Lisbon had the sinking suspicion he'd find a way to get her alone.

And he did, two days later, effectively separating her team from their leader. She'd sent the team to investigate the location where a murder/suicide had happened, while she'd gone, initially, to interview a selection of doctors that Jane believed had prescribed the victims with a particularly nasty drug that did not belong in their systems. The kind the FDA hadn't approved.

A call came across her cell phone, a number she didn't recognize. "Lisbon," she answered in lieu of a greeting.

A long pause traversed the line. "Since you're alone, I believe we should meet, Agent Lisbon."

She clutched the steering wheel, nails digging into the thick upholstery. How had he known she was alone? "Where?" she asked instead.

He gave a soft laugh. "Just follow my directions. Turn right at your next stop light."

The directions continued for half an hour, until she was so turned around she thought he may have been leading her on. "Are you screwing with me?" she demanded, irritated by the lengthy drive.

"Now, now, Agent Lisbon, haven't you heard? I have quite the temper when talked down to. Besides, your destination is approaching on your left."

The click signified the end of the conversation.

She pulled up shortly to an abandoned house, ground covered in roof shingles and unkempt weeds. This seems like a brilliant idea, she thought plaintively. She really did have a death wish. Jane would surely think she'd gone insane.

Wouldn't that be a trip?

Her hand hesitated on her gun. It wouldn't save her, she knew. He'd had hundreds of opportunities to kill her or Jane, and he hadn't. Red John's game needed its players, but it also needed its spectators. She'd been the spectator too long. It was time to join the game.

For her sake and for his.

She left the gun on the seat, along with her cell phone and her badge. She wasn't a cop right now. Maybe she hadn't been in a while. After everything that had happened with Volker, she'd gotten a taste of the darkness that Jane worshipped so much. She began to understand it.

She began to like it.

How else could she explain this meeting? Lisbon had gotten her affairs in order shortly after Jane's return from Vegas. She'd laughed it off before, the ridiculous idea that she was to be Red John's pawn. And then her head had been demanded and suddenly it was all so real. Sure she'd been injured on the job before, but she'd never feared for her life. It was a part of the job; at least that's what she told herself. But as the hits kept coming, the Lorelei's and the Hardy's and the Rebecca's all culminating in an attempt to get Jane to join the madness by killing her, she'd finally began to realize the weight of it all. She'd gone to see a lawyer in the following weeks of Wainwright's death, amending her will.

She'd told no one, with good reason.

Lisbon took a deep breath, knocking on the rickety door, even as the motion jogged its hinges. The door opened slowly by a phantom hand; the inside dark and damp. With the state of the outside, the interior was sure to be full of secret traps of its own. Maybe he counted on that. Another breath, and she was inside the silent house.

A small table lamp in the corner flamed to life.

"I've been waiting a very long time for this meeting, Agent Lisbon."

She cringed at the voice, muffled behind the mask. "That makes one of us," she replied evenly.

"Come now, you're the one that called for me, remember? I'm assuming you're here to discuss our mutual friend," he stated the last part as if he already knew the answer, and he wasn't far off. Red John walked slow circles around her. "Then again, perhaps not. The two of you don't seem to be on speaking terms lately. That's a shame, really. I quite enjoy your conversations, all filled with intrigue and disguised lust."

Her head jerked up. "What does that mean?" she asked, clenching her fists as the darkness washed over her in waves.

"It means what it means," he replied flippantly. "There are reasons I've kept you alive, Miss Lisbon, much as I'd love to see Patrick's anguish consume him a second time. Keeping you alive keeps him actively on guard. Watching him squirm is invigorating."

"You really are a cruel bastard," she sneered bitterly.

"Any less cruel than him?" She stilled at that. "Last I heard, he said you were nothing to him. That you didn't matter. Now, I'm a romantic at heart so I have to say I wholeheartedly disagree. Why tell someone that they don't matter? To keep them away, as he's been doing. He thinks he's keeping you out of danger, that I can't see past this stony exterior he's created so elaborately. I am not a fool, Miss Lisbon. I've known him longer than you have. I know what I see."

"And what is it that you see?" her numb voice asked.

He laughed. She cringed again. "I see a man so in love he will do anything to save her, including forcing her out of his life. I see a woman ready to do the same."

"You couldn't know that. And it isn't true anyways," Lisbon whispered.

"Really? Then why not give me your head? Why not let you get shot by that fool of a protégé all those years ago when he had all the answers Patrick could have used? All the reasons point to you, Miss Lisbon. You have an undeniable hold on our friend, one neither of you will admit too. He's put his revenge towards me on hold for you, time and again. I'd say you were in the way, but really, you've just added another dimension to this. I hold all the cards here, and you have to understand I can take you down at any moment, dear."

"What is it that you want then? Where is this leading, because you're sounding an awful lot like Jane when he has a plan," she said warily.

He finally stilled his circling, coming to stand no more than a foot away from her. "I'm giving you an opportunity, Teresa. One that will satisfy all parties involved. You want to be a part of the game, so I will give you your role. You have ten weeks to get him to admit what I've known all along, and don't come at me with that paltry love he claimed before he shot you. I want the real thing, Miss Lisbon, or I will take you out of the game forever. I will not make trades, this is all I want."

"Why ten weeks, and what do you get out of this? What do we?"

"One for every year he's known you. I get my answer. You get me."

She scoffed. "Why don't I believe that?"

He smirked behind the mask. A gloved hand rose towards her neck and she almost stepped back reflexively, but she held still. He grasped the tiny cross in his thumb and forefinger, turning it over.

"Have a little faith, Teresa."

XOX

She forgot about the interview with the doctors, choosing to drive straight home instead. She'd called Cho, explaining that she'd gotten lost and had been running low on gas. He'd spoken his acquiescence and sent Rigsby and Van Pelt to lead the interviews.

Jane sensed something was wrong. Her gas tank, at a glimpse, had been in the three quarters vicinity.

He had to admit that even he was growing tired of their silence. He missed his friend dearly; the other three members of the team merely rough stand-ins. Regardless of how angry they'd been at each other, he had to admit a fair amount of it had been his fault.

And he'd ended their argument by telling her she didn't matter to him, the most vast of understatements in the history of their fights. She mattered, more than he would ever be able to express with words. She expressed it with her devotion, a trait he didn't possess. He could claim devotion to his late wife, as she'd figured; but it wasn't devotion that kept him going. It was the simple guilt of a life unlived with Angela and their daughter. It was to Lisbon alone that he felt that strange devotion forming, the devout desire to keep her alive and away from a monster such as he.

She'd never understand, so he pushed her out. Or maybe he wouldn't give her the chance to understand. He sighed heavily, knowing he had to talk to her. She'd gone somewhere today, a place she shouldn't have gone and it had frightened her and he had to know where and why.

For the first time in a long time he knocked on her front door.

When she answered, she didn't seem all that surprised to find him loitering on her porch. In fact, the look in her eyes told him she'd been expecting him. She took a small step back from the door, allowing him to enter.

He followed without preamble.

"Lisbon, we need to talk."

"That we do Jane," she mumbled. Her motions were skittish, touchy. Her relaxed tone was forced. She was hiding something big.

"You have a at least half a tank of gas."

She looked confused. "You came all this way to tell me how much gas I have in my car?"

"You lied to Cho, earlier. You never lie Lisbon, not even when it's imperative that you do. Not even for your own safety. You're the most honest person I know, so why lie?"

"I got lost," she replied, like she'd rehearsed the line in her head. She may have closed herself off to his ability to read her, but the lie screamed at him. Warning bells and all. "Besides, what do you care? I get lost once and all of a sudden you're concerned for me? What about the last two months? I thought I didn't matter to you. I thought your revenge was more important."

He winced. She'd been holding that back for a long time. He couldn't blame her for it. He was great at ruining things. Repairing them though, that was the tricky part. They were still in shambles because of Vegas, and the fight two months prior had only cracked the foundation more. It would take an army of architects to rebuild them.

He looked away from her. When had she become so good at confrontation? "I didn't mean it, Teresa," Jane whispered, injecting every ounce of sincerity in his body into the apology. Biofeedback was great, but it wouldn't get him out of this. "I was angry at everything. I'm still angry. In ten years we've gotten nowhere. Every lead, dead. Every suspect, dead. I feel like I'm tilting at windmills, hoping to grasp something solid and real and I just can't do it," he paused, looking into her green eyes finally. He saw something different in their depths, not the usual warmth and concern, it was there but diluted by something…else. An emotion, maybe, that he'd never seen on her before, or some new realization. Either way, he found himself hurt by it. Confused by this strange woman in front of him. "I feel like I've failed them, and by association, I've failed you."

As soon as the indefinable emotion came, it was gone. The familiar concern glossed it over eerily quickly. "Oh, Jane. You need to tell me stuff like this. You may be a mind reader but I'm not. You hurt me, Jane. I didn't deserve what you said," she sniffed quietly, swiping furiously at her cheeks. "But you didn't deserve what I said either."

He nodded his agreement, approaching her with slow caution, placing his hands on either side of her face. "You matter Teresa. You matter to me, to such an infinite extent I doubt you'd ever be able to comprehend it. It is hard to push you away, to be so desperate to keep you safe, but so miserable and selfish as to want you close."

She bit her lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. He kissed her forehead gently, pulling her into his embrace.

Oh how she wanted to tell him. But to risk herself now, now when she could prove what she hoped she could prove. When the possibility that she could catch him raged in the recesses of her tattered mind.

The undeniable knowledge that he was quite literally always watching and had been since day one caused ice cold fear to entomb her spine. As if permanent goosebumps would rise on her skin.

Jane seemed to feel her distress through her clothes, the coldness sinking in, settling for the long haul. He was curious, knew something was horribly awry in her little world and she wasn't about to let him fix it.

Ten weeks. She had a deadline to keep.

She'd made it through the first phase unscathed. She guessed she could name them; it only seemed appropriate.

Phase One: Apology.