A/N: Okay, I just finished watching the season finale and I just had to write. This is *very* different from my previous Mentalist fics, but bear with me, it's still Jisbon centric, sort of. Sorry for being so cryptic. Other than that, read the spoiler alert, leave a review but most importantly, enjoy!

Spoilers: If you haven't watched the season finale, 1x23 Red John's Footsteps, watch it first then read the fic. I've warned you! :)

Disclaimer: The info about the types of guns used is all purely guesses made by my brother and me. Blame me if they're wrong. I own nothing related to the Mentalist. Nothing. Bruno Heller, if you're reading this, adopt me.

Life (Lisbon's POV)

I remember the first time I stared down the wrong end of a gun, as if it were yesterday. I was three months out of Quantico, greener than the well kept grounds at Augusta. My partner at the time was a foul-mouthed North Carolina native by the name of Pete Walstachuk. I hated the man, no, absolutely despised him. He used to chew gum like a horse but that wasn't what really ticked me off. He gave me a nickname that I couldn't shake until I moved to California. Doll-face. Every time he passed by my desk, he'd let his fingers linger on the back of my chair and say, 'Hey there, Doll-face.' Come to think of it, I should have reported his sorry ass to our super but I guess I just didn't have the guts back then.

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon when we were sent to question a possible witness to a double homicide in Georgetown. I followed Walstachuk as he knocked on the front door. No answer. He knocked again and this time a little girl in pink slippers appeared. Walstachuk asked if her parents were home. It was then I noticed something was seriously wrong. There was blood on the bunny ear of her left slipper. I was about to say something when we heard the gun shot. Walstachuk grabbed the little girl and threw her into my arms. He ran in, telling me to call for backup. I remember the little girl kicking and screaming as I put her in the car and made the call. When I finally got her to calm down, I hurried back into the house, gun held out in front of me. The first thing that hit me was the acrid coppery scent of blood filling my nostrils. Breathing through my mouth, I slowly made my way up the stairs. I could hear Walstachuk reasoning with someone followed by the choked sob of an unknown female. I continued up the stairs until the voices got louder. They were coming from the first room on the left, the door cracked open just a sliver. I was approaching the door when something grabbed at my ankle. I yelled and dropped my gun, kicking my leg as hard as I could. A grey ball of fur went flying into the far wall as I heard three successive shots. Bang. Bang. Bang. When I turned around, I came face to face with a Glock 18. I was trapped. I remember my pulse skyrocketed and then suddenly, returned to a more normal level. The man was at least six feet tall, lanky, his green eyes were rimmed red, tears pouring down his face. He looked no more than eighteen or nineteen, just a boy. I tried my best to calmly raise my hands. I introduced myself, my voice sounding distant, as if I was someplace else. He didn't utter a single word, his finger hovering over the trigger. And just when I was imagining what death would be like, I heard the final gun shot. Bang.

The boy's eyes widened and then he crumpled to the ground by my feet. Looking into the room, I saw Walstachuk sprawled along the ivory carpet stained crimson. His right hand was outstretched holding his firearm. My green gaze met his blue. I rushed to his side, tears unexpectedly springing to my eyes. When the backup arrived, they found me cradling my partner's head in my arms. Special Agent Peter Gregory Walstachuk died on his way to the hospital. He was thirty two years old, the same age as I am today.

That memory was what flashed through my mind when Hardy had the barrel of a .40 S&W pointed at me. This time, I didn't think about death at all when I heard the final gun shot. Bang.

Truth be told, I felt my heart stop. I should have died. But when I saw Hardy go down, my head instantly snapped to my left. Green met blue. And like in the movies, time slowed to a crawl and the entire world consisted of only me and Patrick Jane. I literally had to use every ounce of my strength to will the tears burning behind my eyes not to fall. Never in my life did I feel so grateful to be right. He chose life. He chose to save mine.

Fin for now, Jello forever