Title: Why All The Red Face's?

Author: PretenderGurl aka Harmony

Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I do not own The Mentalist or it's characters. I am only borrowing them to entertain me during my boredom. ^_^

I must say thanks to my twin sister Melody and bestie Cassan for pushing me to write more and helping with any mistakes I may have missed. Though I'm sure we have probably still looked over a few. =P Hope you like and trust me... Cassan isn't going to let me forget to update. She's demanding I update again now, and I've just finished doing so. Eep!

Chapter One:

It took about seven seconds for Patrick Jane to realize that the chirping pulling him out of one of his daily naps on the office couch, was that of his phone, sitting on the desk beside him. He chose to ignore it and, returned his eyes to their closed position, only to have it begin chirping all over again. He opened his eyes once more, but didn't bother to move toward it. It chirped again. Another few seconds and a chirp later, he sat up, grabbed his phone and spoke into it. "Jane."

He was greeted by a faint breathing on the other end. Followed by kniving laughter that lasted a short second. Jane made a face, one that suggested curiosity, before asking in a hushed voice, "Who is this?".

He was answered by yet another laugh before the call was disconnected. He stared at his phone, the curious look having never left his face, before leaving the comfort of his couch to locate Agent Teresa Lisbon, suspecting the call wasn't that of an accidental prank.

"Lisbon," he called out, spotting her down the hall only about a minute later. "We may have a problem," he continued as she turned around to meet his gaze, then turned her attention to the phone he held in his hand. Nothing on it. Not like the bomb-suggesting text he'd run to show her in the past. Instead, just a phone.

Returning her gaze to his, she made obvious the meaning of the annoyed expression on her face. "It's a phone." She shook her head in that so-what manner she did so often, never taking her eyes from his, waiting for an explanation.

"It interupted my nap," He said in an annoyed tone as if to suggest she should have known. Rolling her eyes, she turned to continue on her way as he trailed after her.

"You're wasting my time, Jane. I've got things to do, so unless you have something important to tell me, I've got paperwork to finish." She stopped in front of her office door, turned back to Jane, and stared after him a few seconds. "I'm waiting..." That head shake again.

"A phone. Breathing. Laughing. No... actual TALKING, but definate breathing... and laughing." He watch Lisbon smile her normal you're-an-idiot smile before she turned to open her office door.

He remained where he stood and waited, knowing full well that she wouldn't just leave it at that. After getting her door open and stepping inside, she turned to face him. "So, a prank call?" More a statement then a question.

He nodded, and she continued. "Know how many teenagers live in the state of California?" Before Jane could respond she added. "Like I said, you're wasting my time," she finished, turned and walked over to sit in the chair that occupied the space behind her desk.

Jane followed her inside and turned his head to look at her. "This.. was different. Whoever it was, they were taunting me."

Lisbon looked up from the pile of files she was shuffling around on her desk. "Red John?" She said. Again, more as a statement than an actual question. When Jane just held her gaze, making no effort to deny that's exactly what he meant, she continued. "We haven't had anything to go on since the shooting, Jane. And why call you, huh? This time he killed somebody close to me. If anything, it should be me he's taunting. What makes you so special?" She stood up and walked to the side of her desk. "He has no reason to contact us. It's out of character for him. If he were going to do anything to get our attention, he'd have gotten our attention through another murder, and...." She shook her head slightly. "Nothing. No calls. No news broadcasts... It was a prank call. Nothing more."

Pointing at her, he spit out,"Unless the body, or bodies, weren't found yet." His face serious now, Jane took a step closer to Lisbon. "If you'd been the one to hear this call, you wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it." With that, he exited her office, leaving her standing there to think over what he'd just said, and to realize that he'd been right.

Lisbon search the offices an hour later, trying to locate Jane. Having checked the couch first thing to discover he wasn't there, she really couldn't think of any other place to look, except maybe the kitchen, but he hadn't been there either. She sighed, turned on her heal and went to locate her team instead.

"Van Pelt, I need you to get Jane's phone records. All calls made to him in the last 2 hours. Trace the last unknown caller if you can, and get it to me asap." At Agent Grace Van Pelts nod, Lisbon turned to face Agents Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho. "Find Jane." With that, she hurriedly walked into her office, shutting the door behind her, knowing that tracing the call would only lead to another dead end. Red John was too smart for that.

She picked up the file, freshly printed from the email just emailed to her, including the pictures of the body of a woman about her own age, and a very distinct red face on the wall directly in front of the door. Put there so that whomever opened it, would be sure to see it first thing. Red Johns signature... Nobody else knew about how he made sure to put the face somewhere it'd be seen first. Before any of the body's who's blood was used to create it.

It still didn't make sense. Lisbon just couldn't understand why Red John would call Jane so soon. He'd have waited until the case had been known to the consultant and agents before making any contact under any other circumstances. Unless Jane knew the woman. The thought made her want to keep it from him. To go at it alone. But she knew he'd never go for that. If and when he found out, and she knew he would, he'd never forgive her. And he'd certainly take things into his own hands behind her back, feeling that he just couldn't trust her any further. Nothing good could come from that, she knew. He wouldn't even handle a gun, so he'd have no protection. Except for the time her life had depended on it, she'd never seen him fire a shot before. He didn't even like to be around her when she handled her piece. Even after the shot he had fired, he'd thrown the gun to the ground as if it were infected with a disease of some sort. No. She'd have to tell him. She knew that. But first, she'd have to find him.

It'd been years since his whole life had been taken from him. Though he still breathed and walked the earth, he'd hardly ever considered it living. Not without his other half and their lovely child. He had somehow managed to hide behind his humor to go on, to survive. But there were those days when he'd just as well give up. When he wouldn't mind at all if his life just ended. The only thing keeping him going, he admitted, was the man whose hands had drained the life from the family he'd loved.

As long as that man still lived and breathed and walked the earth, Jane refused to give up completely on his own life, or what was left of it. Everyday since the murders of his two favorite girls, he'd been a walking zombie. Going with the flow of the day, but never actually living in it.

Numb. That's how he'd describe it. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Or maybe he'd just refused to. Though, now that he thought about it, he realized there were a handful of people he'd hate to see hurt. And one he didn't think he could live without. But he refused to admit it. Doing so could get her killed. The man, who'd taken his family... The man who'd taken family from many... The man known as Red John. He had it out for Jane. Which is exactly why Jane would never admit that this particular person, were anything more than a colleague.

He stood up from his place in between the graves, where he'd been having his picnik, dusted himself off then pulled up the little blanket he kept in the trunk. The blanket his wife had made for their little girls first twin sized bed when she'd left the crib to experiance something new.

She'd loved that blanket. Couldn't go anywhere without it and be expected to sleep. Not even daddy could stop the crying that sleepless night when they'd first discovered they'd have to take it with them everywhere from then on. Just in case.

He'd never told anybody about it. In all honesty, he'd never told anybody much of anything. All anybody knew was what they could find online, in papers, or old news broadcasts. What had ended up in the media only after the murders had gone public. Nothing else. Not even Lisbon could get a single detail out of him. The shrinks from his days in the mental ward after their deaths hadn't even managed to get much more that his family was brutally murdered.

Nobody knew the names of his wife and daughter. Nobody knew of the blonde curls his little angel had clearly gotten from him. Nobody knew how his wife and child loved playing the piano together, and how equally he loved coming home to the beautiful music playing in his ears.

Now, though, they were only memories. Memories of what used to be, but were no longer, Memories of a past so painful, that he didn't even like to think about, let alone talk about. Lisbon understood that, and he appreciated her for it. She never forced him to talk, or even tried to do so. Not about that. She knew when to let it go and walk away. When to leave him to nap on his office couch in peace.

Having folded the blanket as tiny as possible, he turned to the smallest gravestone first. Giving his fingers a kiss and laying them on the top of it, then doing the same to the one next to it. This one slightly bigger than the first.

He'd only visited the graves a handful of times. Whenever Red John saw fit to interrupt his life, once again. To mess with his head and his emotions.

A tear slipped down the right side of his face, having escaped the consultants grey-blue eye, before he turned away from the stones that marked the places where his family now resided. Not the bodies, as he had made sure they be cremated. Their bodies too messed up to recognize, seeing no reason to leave them that way.

He made his way to the trunk of his vintage 1972 Citroen DS 20. The eggshell blue paint job, almost matching the color of his eyes, gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. He slammed the trunk closed and looked over, once more, at the two stones before jumping into the driver seat, slamming the door shut, and starting the car. He drove off without another look and headed to CBI headquarters with the best fake smile he could force onto his face.

This is my first fanfiction, and though I know I'm not much of a writer, this idea has been bouncing around in my mind for awhile. Thought it time to get it out. =) Reviews please! Will update again very soon. My bestie, Cassan, who has never even seen the show, (I know! I had the same shocked expression! =O), is demanding more. I'll make a fan out of her yet. =P