One of my readers suggested that I write about different characters meeting up with Jane (thanks Brennan447). I decided that would be fun – so I'm going to do a bit of a series about Jane meeting various characters from the show who don't know about him and Teresa. The chapters won't be connected, or continuous (it would stretch reality too much) but rather separate stories with different characters. If there's anyone you'd like me to include, let me know.

Oh – and some of them will be humorous, others a little more serious and some with angst (like the one to follow). Thanks!

NOT MINE.

He had arrived that morning in Los Angeles, having had to return to California to deal with some business affairs. When he'd fled the country the government had seized his property, including his house in Malibu. Eventually they would have sold it off, but fortunately the wheels of bureaucracy turned very, very slowly. By the time the paper work had been done, he was no longer a fugitive and all charges against him had been dropped. It was Dennis who had informed him that the house had been returned to him.

He'd been surprised – and a little shocked if he were being honest. He'd let the place go – emotionally – when he'd killed Red John and fled. He had known and dealt with the fact that killing him would mean he'd lose everything he had in this country, including his house, all his possessions, his ability to visit his wife and daughter's graves – and of course Teresa and his friends at the CBI.

The house had actually been the easiest to let go. For many years it had existed as a reminder of his guilt. He would return there when he needed to refocus – to remind himself of the importance of his quest for vengeance. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor, in the room where his wife and daughter had died – kept him moving forward whenever he had thought about giving up.

So losing it had been somehow symbolic of the fact that his quest was over. It had been completed. And he had been relieved it was done, even though, in the end, it hadn't really changed anything. It certainly hadn't brought Angela and Charlotte back.

Not that he had ever expected that. But he had expected to feel a sense of satisfaction. Instead all he'd really felt was relief that it was all over – relief and some regret. Oh, he didn't regret that he'd killed McAllister – never that – but regret that by doing so he had cut himself off from the possibility of a new life.

Instead he'd given up everything to spend the rest of his life in exile, away from anything good in his life.

But fate had played a hand, fate and Dennis Abbott, and he'd been able to return to his life in the US.

And now he'd gotten his house back.

So here he was in Malibu, standing in front of what had been a gift from him to his wife – the gift of a "house without wheels". He looked at the beautiful setting and, for the first time in a long, long time, wasn't filled with guilt and hatred and despair. Instead all he felt was a gentle sadness, a regret for innocent lives lost. He sighed and slowly made his way up the drive to the front door.

He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with the place now that it was back in his possession. He'd told Lisbon that he needed to come here, to spend a few days, and figure it out. She'd offered to come with him, but he'd told her it was something he had to do alone. It was his albatross and she didn't need the worry, not now, especially not now. Fortunately she had understood and had given him a kiss and told him to look after himself. He smiled at the memory of her.

He could sell it, he thought as he looked at the front door, although the agent he'd spoken to had told him it might be hard because of the history of the place. No one wanted to buy a house where a serial killer had committed such a horrible crime.

He could have the place bulldozed – the land would still fetch a pretty penny – but somehow he didn't have the heart to do that. This is the house where Charlotte had spent her short life. This is where he'd taught her to ride her tricycle. This is the house in which he'd spent six wonderful years with his wife.

He sighed and put the key in the lock and turned it. A moment later he pushed the door open. With a deep breath he took a step – and then another until he was inside his house.

The first thing that hit him was that the house didn't smell musty, didn't have that "unlived in" feel. The second was that someone was in his house!

Living in his house. What the hell? He glanced around at the bits of furniture – a mattress on the floor, a small table and chair, a TV? There were other odds and ends strewn around. Clearly someone had made himself, or herself at home.

He felt a surge of anger – uncharacteristic anger – flow through him and he took a step forward without considering if it was safe. Someone had intruded on his property, on his life and he was going to find out who had so dared.

Without warning he heard a sound, but before he had a chance to react he had been tackled from behind and was thrown to the ground. His head hit the bottom of the stairs – fortunately only a glancing blow, but it was enough to stun him. As he faded out he looked up into a face he recognized.

"What the hell?" he said a while later as his eyes regained focus. He was lying on the mattress on the floor, a cold cloth being held on the bump, which now graced the side of his skull.

"What did you do that for?" he asked his brother-in-law, who was looking at him sheepishly. Patrick pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the sudden pain and causing Danny to drop his arm and sit back.

"I didn't know it was you," Danny said calmly. "I thought it was an intruder."

"Yeah – an intruder like you. What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"Well, you weren't using it," Danny said logically. "It was empty and I needed a place to – chill – for a while."

"You mean hide. Who's after you now?"

Danny shrugged. "No one – not now. I'm not lying," he defended himself as Jane looked at him incredulously. "I've been here for months. Things have – died down."

"Months?"

"Yeah. I heard about you killing – him – and that you had to leave the country. I figured you wouldn't be using the house and they weren't selling it. It seemed a waste."

By this time Jane had managed to sit up completely and he swiveled around until he was looking directly at Danny. The younger man didn't look so good. He'd aged since Patrick had last seen him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wishing that he didn't have this new complication in his life.

"So what are you doing back?" Danny suddenly frowned. "Are the cops looking for you?"

"Why would they be looking for me?" Jane asked, confused.

"Because of Red John," Danny said, in a tone of voice that implied Jane should have figured that one out.

"Uh – he's dead."

"I know that! You killed him. Good job, by the way."

Jane gave a small shrug, not willing to accept any kind of praise for doing what he'd set out to do so many years ago. "So what are you talking about?"

"Aren't they looking for you – for killing him?"

Jane frowned and suddenly realized that Danny didn't know. He hadn't thought to contact him after returning to America although he was surprised he hadn't heard it from a mutual acquaintance. "Uh – haven't you talked to Sam or Pete?"

"The Barsoki's? No, not for a long time. I told you, I was laying low. Why, are they okay?"

"They're fine. It's just that they know about me so I thought they might have told you. I've been back for a year and a half. I received a pardon in exchange for working for the FBI."

"The FBI?" Danny suddenly grinned. "Don't tell me you're a G-man?"

"No, I'm not. I'm a consultant."

"Like you were with the CBI?"

"Yeah, like that."

"Wow – I had no idea. You realize your ancestors would turn in their graves if they knew you were working for the feds."

"Probably."

"So you're not going to jail for killing that bastard?"

"No," he shook his head.

"Good! But – what are you doing here? And if you've been back for a year and a half, what took you so long to visit your house?"

"It took that long for the feds to give it back to me – it was siezed when I left the country. And as for what I'm doing here – I came to figure out what to do with the place."

"What to do with it? Why don't you live in it?"

Jane looked around at the almost bare room. He'd hardly spent any time here except in the bedroom. He'd cleared the place out after the funerals – and before being committed to the hospital. All the while he'd been at the CBI he'd paid the taxes and had had someone come in and clean it every few months – at least all of it except the bedroom, which had been off limits.

He couldn't imagine ever living here again. There were too many memories – too much pain.

"I'm not living in California anymore," was all he said. "I'm in Texas."

"Texas?" Danny laughed. "Really? You turning into a cowboy?"

"I'm in Austin. It's a great city – very progressive and interesting."

"Really? You like working for the FBI?"

Jane shrugged. "Sometimes. It can be interesting. I'm actually only working part-time now."

"How come?"

"I'm doing – other things. I'm renovating a house, for one thing."

"You? That's different."

"Not really. I used to love to build things when I was young."

"Yeah, back in the carny days."

There was silence for a few minutes until Danny took a deep breath. "Want a beer?"

"Uh – some water maybe, or tea if you have it. I don't think I should drink alcohol with this headache."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Danny grimaced. "You startled me."

"Not as much as you startled me!"

Danny stood up and walked the short way to the kitchen. He got a pot and poured some bottled water in it and put it on the stove.

Patrick frowned. "Isn't the power off, and the gas? How are you getting that to work?"

"I had them switch it back on," he said. "I told them I was you."

"And they believed you?"

"Mmm hmm. The house is in your name. You should be happy – this way you'll get your tea."

A few sips of tea later and he was starting to feel better. Danny hadn't said too much more – only telling him a few things about his travels since they'd last seen each other.

"So – the house. What are you going to do with it?"

Jane glanced around again. "I'm not sure. I spoke to an agent and she thought I'd have trouble selling it – the house anyway. If I tear it down I could sell the land. It's prime real estate."

"Could you? Tear the house down I mean?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "It somehow feels like I'd be – destroying my memories of Angela and Charlotte."

Danny looked at him in surprise. "I would think this place would have bad memories. I mean – you left the – thing, on the wall."

"It was a reminder."

"You needed a reminder?" Danny asked, sounding angry.

"Not of what had happened," he said bitterly. "That was etched into my soul. I meant a reminder of what I had to do. There were some days -" he stopped and took a breath.

"Some days?"

"Some days I didn't know if I could continue. I was tired – after years of searching – and sometimes I thought about giving up. But then I'd come back here and I'd see that face and I'd know I had to continue."

"And now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You got him. You won. You finished what you set out to do. Don't you think it's time you got rid of it?"

Jane thought for a moment about that face – that face that still haunted his nightmares. Oh, they were less frequent now, but he still got them on occasion.

"Yeah, I do," he said softly. "But – I don't know if I can."

"Why not?" Danny frowned. "Just get a can of paint and paint over it. It'll take about five minutes."

"It's not that it's -"

"What?" Danny asked, more gently this time.

"I don't know if I deserve to get rid of it." Jane let out a slow breath and closed his eyes, hating to have admitted that. Over the past few years, since he'd killed Red John, he'd slowly begun to heal. The last year had done more for that than anything could. He was happy again – happy like he'd never thought he would be after losing his wife and daughter.

But there was still a strong core of guilt that resided in him – one he was sure would never leave. And somehow that face had become the symbol of his guilt. It was a reminder to him that he couldn't ever become complacent in his new life - because he had been before and he'd lost everything.

Most days he could forget it – could simply enjoy his new life. But every once in a while it would creep up on him and practically consume him. Thankfully it happened less and less – but he didn't think it would ever leave him completely.

He knew that Teresa noticed. In fact he was pretty sure she knew how he felt at those times. But she respected that he sometimes needed to be alone to deal with his demons and she never pushed, never asked him to explain.

And he didn't want to tell her. Not because he didn't trust her – because he did, completely and absolutely. It was just that he didn't want her to suffer for him, to deal with his pain. She didn't need that and he wasn't going to burden her with it.

But Danny – he'd understand. Not only that, he knew the younger man would be able to deal with it in a way that Teresa never could. Danny was the ultimate con-man and carny. He didn't let things bother him because it wasn't worth it. You couldn't make money from guilt – at least your own guilt – so it was best to let it go.

"You're an idiot," Danny told him in disgust.

"What?" his brow crinkled as he looked at his brother-in-law.

"I said, you're an idiot. You killed the man who killed my sister and niece. You found him and you killed him so now's the time to let it go. You didn't kill them Patrick – it was that evil son of a bitch who did it and you got him. Feeling guilty -"

"Is for marks, I know."

"Not what I was going to say – although it's true," he grinned. "I was going to say that allowing yourself to still wallow in guilt isn't fair to the memory of Angie or Charlotte. You need to think of them with love and – remember the good times. If all you do is feel guilty you'll have forgotten who they were. Just let it go."

"Have you?" he asked softly.

Danny stared off into space for quite a few seconds. Finally he chuckled softly. "Yeah, I have. I didn't for a long time – you know I blamed you?"

"Yeah, you told me that the last time."

"Well, that wasn't fair to you – although I didn't care about that at the time. I just needed someone to blame and you became it. But I knew, deep inside, that the only one at fault was the man who had killed them. When I heard he was dead – that you had killed him, I made the choice to let my anger go. There was no point in it and I want to remember Angie the way I saw her the last time."

Jane nodded. "I wish I could see her that way. All I see is -" he stopped and swallowed, knowing he couldn't tell Angela's brother what lived in his mind.

"So, let's do it together."

"What?" he asked, not sure what Danny was talking about.

"Painting the wall. Let's the two of us get rid of it once and for all and then maybe you can start to move on. You need to get yourself a life Patrick and let this go."

Slowly he smiled. "But I have Danny – I've got a new life."

"Really?" Danny glanced down at his ring finger and his brows shot up. "You're married."

"Yeah – last year. Sorry, it was sudden and I had no idea where you were."

"And you wouldn't have wanted me there anyway. And I – well, I'm happy for you, but I'm glad I wasn't there." Danny told him bluntly. "So, tell me about her."

"You met her." At Danny's blank look he went on to explain. "Teresa – Teresa Lisbon? The CBI agent who I worked with."

"You married her?" Danny said incredulously. "Wow, I had no idea. Although now that I think of it – it's perfect. If anyone could keep you on your toes, it's her. And – it's good?"

"Yeah," he smiled slightly, "it's good. I'm – happy again."

Danny regarded him somberly for a few seconds until finally he broke into a grin. "I'm glad for you Paddy. Angela would be too. She'd want you to be happy."

"I – yeah, I think so too although -"

"Nope – no althoughs, or buts, or whatever. Just accept the fact that my sister loved you and always wanted what was best for you. She'd kick your butt from here to eternity if she thought you were still feeling guilty or that you hadn't allowed yourself to love someone again. You know her – she didn't put up with any of our crap!"

"She didn't, did she?" Patrick laughed softly. "And Teresa is the same."

"Good. You need someone who knows all your tricks. So, why didn't she come with you?"

"I wouldn't let – no, let me rephrase that. I asked her not to come. This was something I needed to do by myself and anyway, it's not a good time for her."

"Why not?"

"Well," Jane slowly smiled, "we just had a baby and I didn't really want her to travel so soon."

"A baby?" Danny's eyebrows lifted. "Wow – you're a Daddy again."

"I am," Jane pursed his lips and nodded slightly.

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy," he smiled. "David Patrick. Here," Jane reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. A moment later he was showing Danny pictures of Teresa and David.

"Lots of hair," Danny commented.

"Who? Teresa or David?"

The two men grinned. "I meant the baby. He's got her hair."

"Yeah, and her eyes and nose and – I don't think he got anything from me," he frowned.

"Probably got your personality," his brother-in-law told him with a smirk.

"Poor kid," Jane answered, looking down at the picture of his wife and son. "I hope not."

"Ah – you're a pretty good guy Patrick. You're a much better person than me."

Jane looked up at the younger man – feeling a sudden rush of affection for him. "Thank you. And hey – don't say that about my brother-in-law," he said sternly. "Angela would have your ass for talking about yourself like that."

"She would, wouldn't she," Danny said with a crooked grin. "So Daddy – what's say we go buy ourselves a can of paint and get rid of some guilt?"

He thought about it for a moment, and then looked down again at the picture. For his wife and son – he needed to do this. "Yes, let's do it."

It was only when they got to the hardware store that Jane realized that paint wasn't going to be enough. Danny gave him a strange look when he saw all the supplies he'd collected, but by the time they left the store he had realized what it was for. All he said was "let's do this thing."

It took the rest of the day for them to finish. Jane had had trouble opening the door to the room. It had been a long time since he'd seen it – and he wanted it gone from his life. He'd taken a few minutes to stare at it, to realize it no longer held any power over him. After that it had been easy.

He'd taken a sharp razor knife and had cut a large square, surrounding the face, in the drywall. With Danny's help they managed to remove the piece with Red John's mark.

"What do you want to do with it?" his brother-in-law had asked.

He thought for a moment and decided. "I'm going to take this outside. Can you get started on repairing the drywall?" They'd bought a sheet of drywall from the hardward store and Danny nodded and began to measure the piece he'd need.

Jane carried the piece of wall downstairs and out into the back. He looked around the yard until he found a likely spot and laid it down. He then retrieved four large rocks and placed them on the ground. Next he lifted the drywall onto the rocks and went back inside for the sledgehammer he'd purchased that day.

He returned to the backyard and stared for quite a while at the face. He repeated to himself that it no longer had any power over his life. The man who had painted it had died at his hands – died in terror, the breath and life squeezed from him. It was done and Danny was right, it was time to leave this behind and to move on.

Patrick lifted the sledgehammer above his head and, with a deep breath, brought it down with all his strength on the face. It split with a loud crack. After that Jane continued to hack away at it – so lost in his need to destroy this thing that he only came back to reality when Danny's hand grabbed his arm.

"Come on Patrick – enough. It's done."

He stopped and blinked in surprise. It was only then that he realized that his arm was shaking and he was covered in sweat. He looked at the ground – to see nothing but small, shattered shards of drywall.

"Uh – I guess I demolished it," he said, looking slightly embarrassed.

Danny gave a crack of laughter. "Paddy – I don't think you could even make a toothpick out of this crap." He looked searchingly at his brother-in-law. "Feel better?"

Jane considered that for a moment and then his face slowly erupted in a big smile. "Yes – yes I do." He reached out a shaky arm and grasped Danny's shoulder. "Thanks!"

"My pleasure! I would have liked to take a swing at it myself, but I figured you needed to be the one to do it. I would like to collect this stuff and burn it though, if you're okay with that?"

"Better than okay – let's do it." So the two men collected the pile of smashed drywall and shoveled it into the fire pit in the backyard. Patrick let Danny be the one to light the match – and the two of them watched until there was nothing left but ash.

By the time the embers had died out it was late. Jane decided to get a room at a hotel that night – pretty sure he didn't want to sleep on the floor. He told Danny he'd be back.

The next afternoon he looked at the freshly painted bedroom. Danny had finished fixing the wall – and the two of them had spent the morning painting it . They'd done it in a pale blue color and had removed the mattress from the floor. It was bright and clean and fresh – and Patrick felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders. No longer would that face look down on him. It was gone – destroyed – and he refused to let it control any more of his life.

As he and Danny shared a late lunch he glanced over at the other man. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For –making me deal with some demons. For making me realize I had to let go of Red John once and for all. For letting me pound the hell out of that wall until there was nothing left and then helping me burn it. For making me realize I need to also let go of my guilt and go on with my life."

"Oh." Danny sat for a few seconds, staring at his sandwich. He finally looked up. "You're welcome." He paused again and then took a deep breath. "I didn't get a chance to face that bastard or to kill him, even though I wanted to so badly – so thank you for letting me help you destroy that fuckin' symbol. And I hope he's burning forever in hell." Danny said softly.

Patrick laughed softly – although without humor. "I don't believe in an afterlife – although I wish I did because I'd hope for that too." He stopped and frowned. "No, on second thought I don't want to ever think of him again." He slowly looked up and took a deep breath– and then let it out slowly. As he let that breath out he also let go of a lot more. "As of this moment – I am never going to think of him – or that face – ever again. I'm not going to remember finding Angela or Charlotte. I'm only going to remember them as they lived, not as they died. I am no longer going to let guilt control my life."

"That's the spirit, Paddy," Danny said softly. He reached out and squeezed the other man's shoulder. "Angie would be happy to hear that."

Patrick found his eyes filling with tears, and blinked rapidly, embarrassed to let the other man see him like this. But then he noticed Danny rubbing his eyes and he laughed – this time with humor. "We're a pair."

"Oh yeah," Danny laughed. "We've really got to stop this Patrick. Every time I see you I end up blubbering!"

"Well, if you saw me more often it wouldn't affect you quite so much."

"Are you saying you want to see me?" the other man said, his eyebrow lifting in surprise.

"Yes, as long as you stay out of trouble. I'd like – I'd like you to meet my son."

Danny was quiet for a moment and then answered softly. "I'd like that. Do you think - ?"

"What?"

"Would you mind if he called me – Uncle Danny?"

Jane couldn't have answered if he tried. His throat seized up as he felt emotion overwhelming him. He closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them and looked at Daniel – and nodded. "Angela would like that," was all he said.

Coming to his house had been difficult, and he hadn't known how he would feel He still hadn't figured out what he was going to do with the place – but right now it didn't matter. He looked around at the bare room and walls – and realized it was no longer a place of horror – or a reminder of his guilt. It had been cleansed of evil – and now he could allow the good memories to live again.

And he had Danny Ruskin to thank for that.

He grinned. "Hey brother-in-law," he grinned, "how about a game of poker? Loser buys dinner."