A/N: this is my first story! i heard james morrison/nelly furtado's "broken strings" and immediately thought of these two and couldn't NOT write something. this is based loosely on the lyrics, and there may be more chapters...

i own none of these characters or any of the reused dialogue, and none of the songs lyrics or rights.

GRACE

Jane is like a child. If you had a chain, he would yank it; if you had a gourd, he'd get it; if you had panties, he'd put them in a bunch; if you had strings, Patrick Jane would play them. Even if they were already broken. And boy, were they broken. Broken and so ragged at the ends that they had no hope of being reattached.

It usually took me two or three days to get over a guy. Granted, I haven't been in really any sort of serious relationship- I was always focused on school work or job work, or finding a job in between those two. So, I really didn't have time for boys/men. That was usually, but he wasn't usual.

Now, five weeks later, and I still cry at least twice a day. I cry pretty much everyday when I wake up and he isn't there, and most of the time when I make only 1/3 of the amount of dinner I used to make, and sometimes even when I have to do the dishes instead of being able to sit at the table and watch his back muscles ripple as he stands over the sink. The other day, as though I needed MORE prodding to lose it, I found one of his t-shirts under my bed. God knows how it got there.

Actually, I know exactly how it got there. He had come home oh God, home, from a late night out with some of his old Arson buddies. The last time we had seen each other was around 11:30 that morning. I was asleep already, but woke up when he came in in a frenzy. I was worried…I shouldn't have been. He ripped off all of his clothes, throwing them around the room like a madman. Hastily, but still so gently, he launched onto the bed, scooped me up and kissed the life out of me.

"Baby, it's been more than twelve hours since I've seen you. Since I've talked to you. Since I've touched you. Since I've kissed you." He growled. "Goddammit, that will never happen again."

Now, it happens all the time. We only speak if we have to- if it involves the case. We don't talk about each other to anyone. No one talks to us about the other. And, we certainly don't talk about it.

Until today.

Jane brought it up. I guess he thought enough time had passed. Probably not though – Jane doesn't really do that whole "thinking of others' feelings" thing. He does what he wants. Today, he wanted to pluck the strings and see what kind of music they made.

"Take Rigsby. Van Pelt breaks up with him now he's in the best shape of his life. I mean he's hitting the gym three or four times a week. Look at him, he is brimming with sexual confidence. "

Flat. That's how they played back.

"Not on my account. It's fine"

They didn't sing sweetly like they used to when he or his physique was mentioned. They were flat. I was flat. Like I had been hit by a Mack truck. But I had stood in front of that truck. It was my fault I felt this way.

Then he did it again.

It was like he couldn't hear the first chord go flat. So he had to make sure this time. I had to go undercover. Order a hit.

"Uh, Grace do you happen to have any photographs of, you know, ex-boyfriends?"

He received the death glare, immediately followed by the sorrowful stare. Rigsby was RIGHT THERE when he did it. Jane knew. He didn't need to hear my words now. He could read everything he needed to know from the look on my face. And the body language the two of us were giving off. I think he winced. He felt the sharp pain I did. The sharp pain I had inflicted upon myself.

This time, she did it. Well, I blame Jane really, but she let him let me do it. I mean I guess it's her job, she is my boss, and it's what we needed to do to solve the case. Couldn't we have used a picture of Cho? Hell, JANE, instead? I already hated the bastard for killing Kelly Flowers, but now I had to get all dressed up and order a hit on my baby. And I had to do it convincingly. While he watched. From twenty yards away.

"I want you to kill him. How much do you charge? Are you gonna answer me or not? I want the bastard dead. Soon."

A sour twang. I said what Jane told me to say through my earpiece. God knows I couldn't have done that on my own accord. I did add some words in, but that was only because that bastard had a knife to my throat and I had to do something. I thought about not saying anything though. If he slit my throat and killed me, I'd be done with the pain. But he'd be worse. He'd be inconsolable. God knows what he'd do. I couldn't do that to him. So, I spat out the words. They sounded convincing, but tasted so sour.

And then, they snapped. This case had played and plucked at them so much already that they just flat out broke. He came up to me in the kitchen. We circled each other, both knowing what was coming next. Both knowing had this been five weeks ago, we'd be circling each other in the bedroom – his or mine, it didn't matter – making a game of prey and predator, reflecting the sting. Both knowing he would win and knock me over and fuck me into oblivion, mainly out of fear. Both of us making sure I was still alive after having a knife to my throat, and that I wasn't going anywhere.

"Hey, so, we're good right? You're not gonna put a hit out on me?"

It was so hard to look at him. The string that used to hold our eyes together was gone. The string that used to pull our bodies closer together whenever we were in the same room was gone. The string inside my body that pulled my head up to the perfect height to look at him was gone.

"You've moved on. That's good. I've moved on too."

Pop!

Snapped. It hurt. The recoil of the last string holding me together broke. They say that the truth hurts, but the lie's worse. He's moved on. Tiffany is his new girl. But I haven't moved on. I lied.

"I'm glad. That's a relief."

I promised him I'd never lie to him. I broke when I broke that promise.