My first fanfic, so don't be too hard on me! I intend to make this multi-chapter, my version of what will happen to everyone in the end. I've got a pretty massive idea in my head, but I'll only continue if anyone wants me to.

I don't own the Mentalist or anyone associated with it.

Chapter 1: Vegas.

Silence hung heavily at the CBI building that morning.

Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon had risen from her desk and glanced out her office door three times now, to be met by three identical pictures. Grace Van Pelt occupied one of the four desks in the room, filling in paperwork, her long auburn hair cascading to the middle of her back. Kimball Cho was seated at the desk opposite her, lost to the outside world as he worked his way through yet another book, his expression never changing. In the adjoining room, visible through a glass wall, Wayne Rigsby searched the cupboards and the fridge for something remotely edible, his tall, broad figure seeming enormous compared to the small fridge beside him. It was a picture of dull normality, or at least it would be, had it not been Lisbon's team. Any other Senior Agent would acknowledge these moments with satisfaction, there being no victim, no grieving family, no ending to piece together. Any moment without thought of death at the CBI was worth being satisfied about. But Lisbon wasn't satisfied; incidentally, she was mentally bracing herself.

She turned her head to observe the fifth member of her team. Patrick Jane, horizontal on his couch, his blonde curls tussled ever so slightly by the air conditioner, his eyes closed. Lisbon leant against the frame of her office door and crossed her arms, knowing all too well that Jane's façade was simply that, a façade. It had been almost two and a half years since they'd met, and if there was anything she'd learnt in that time, it was to never accept what he let show on the surface. Jane had been uncharacteristically quiet and secluded the entire morning. Any average human being who had ever met Patrick Jane would consider this a good thing. But when the man 'slept', it sure as hell didn't mean his mind did. If Lisbon were to guess, she would say he was planning something.

And that was definitely not a good thing.

The shrill blast of a telephone dragged her from her thoughts, and the team jumped at the sudden noise. Cho set aside his book and answered it. As he did, the couch creaked softly as Jane 'woke up', a thud of footsteps announced Rigsby's return to the room, and, just like that, the eerie silence faded into everyday sound.

Lisbon tilted her head over her shoulder and smirked.

"I see you've finally decided to join the living."

"Better conversation," Jane replied, having moved across the room and leant against the opposite wall, his expression glinting with something she somehow felt she wasn't supposed to see. She noticed the bags lining his eyes and the weariness in his demeanour, and wondered how long it had been since he'd slept. She knew Jane had insomnia problems, which was understandable considering, but she couldn't remember it ever being this bad.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Jane grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and she searched them for any possible explanation. They hadn't had a Red John case for at least six months, nothing particularly gruesome, the usual motives and she couldn't imagine that having anything to do with it. But at that moment Cho put down the phone, and she forced her thoughts to the back of her mind.

"Got a case, Boss. Vegas," Cho told her.

Her fists clenched.

The smashing of glass woke her up.
"You can't keep doing this to us!"
"I just…"
"…I can't!"
Thud.
Silence.

It took Lisbon a couple of seconds to remember how to breathe, and to realise the team was waiting for her to talk. She slowly unclenched her fists, arms folded, and felt a little colour return to her face. She opened her mouth to speak, and was relieved to discover her voice gave away nothing.

"Get your things," she ordered the team. "It's a five hour drive, so bring lunch."

The team did as they were told, and Lisbon turned and headed back into her office for her bag, willing the hallucination from her mind. She had to be professional about this, it was what she was paid for. She could only hope that Jane had been so wrapped up in his plans or his fatigue (she couldn't be bothered wondering which it was anymore) that he hadn't spun his usual crap and fabricated a story that would, as usual, hit not too far from home.

Sometimes she wondered why she bothered to hope.

"Don't like Vegas, huh?" asked an all-too-familiar voice from the doorway.

She ignored him, reaching for her badge and shoving it into her bag.

"You know, it's not healthy to bottle up your emotions, Lisbon."

"Hypocrite," she muttered. Silence.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're an ass."

"Very funny. No, really."

"Jane, there is a dead body waiting for us."

"Oh, yes. How silly of me to forget."

" Do you want to hitchhike to Vegas?"

"No, Ben, please…"

Smash.

She closed her eyes, hearing the dull thud of the floorboards as Jane took a step forward.

"Why do you flinch at Vegas?"

"You tell me, you're the one who knows everything."

"Oh, I have a theory. I want to hear your excuse. Why the grudge?"

"How about the fact that you'll be there in five hours?"

"Come on, Lisbon, we both know that's a terrible excuse."

"It's a perfectly good excuse."

"And I believe it because?"

"Because it's true."

"What's the real reason?"

Lisbon spun around and glared.

"Because I own a gun, Jane. Do you really feel like being shot today?"

She didn't bother to wait for an answer.

It had been an incredibly boring drive, Jane decided. Nothing to see, the road stretching out for miles, promising dead grass and run-down farms for at least another half hour. He glanced over his shoulder at Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt, ignoring their obvious leg cramps in the back seat. Van Pelt because it wasn't professional to complain, Rigsby because it would make him seem less of a man to Grace and Cho simply because he was Cho.

Jane turned to face the road again, but not before stealing a quick glance at Lisbon. She'd been staring straight ahead without a word for the past four hours, which he would have interpreted as frustration with him, had the vein in her neck not been twitching and her knuckles been a healthy colour as she gripped the wheel. The truth was, he had no answer to why she hated Vegas. If he were to guess, he would blame a childhood trauma, perhaps a brief foster home stay somewhere near. But Lisbon was not the kind of person to be haunted by something such as this. She'd let it out for a moment, alone, if only to give it air, and then compress it back into the folds of her mind until it lay all but forgotten. It wasn't healthy, as he'd pointed out earlier, because sooner or later the darkness would burst from it's shell. Sooner or later, her strength would destroy her, that much he was sure of.

Then again, he thought as he resumed staring out the window, who was he to judge a person on their past?

A faint wave of fear overcame his stomach.

The key in the lock.
Everything was fine.
The house had not been disturbed.
He didn't smell blood.

Twist.

Turn.

Breathe.

Jane closed his eyes, and took his own advice. In, out. He relaxed his hands, knotted together subconsciously, and forced his thoughts back to Lisbon, the fabulous view of nothing, anything but the memory that had been haunting him all morning. Lisbon had called him a hypocrite, and about an hour ago, he'd realised that she was right. But it wouldn't change things. He'd still follow the usual plan; annoy the hell out of her until she let him in that little bit more and he could immerse himself in her problems and forget his own for a while. Because he was going to get to the bottom of Lisbon's grudge, and if it meant leaving his cold world for the time being, then all the better for him.

They weren't that dissimiliar, actually, he noted, as once again he rested his eyes on her. No matter how much Lisbon would loathe and deny that fact, she couldn't ignore that they both were anything but innocent. Neither had experienced any fragment of an orthodox life to date. And they both 'bottled up their emotions', as he'd called it earlier. Though there was one difference in that- Lisbon clearly felt it necessary to mask her pain for the good of her team; she did it because it would be unprofessional not to, because she was the strong one, the fearless leader. But when he did it, smiled the darkness away and threw himself into the case as hard as Lisbon did, it was translated as being reckless, immature.

He preferred to think of it as being helpful.

Jane didn't realise that half an hour had passed until the setting slowly became more colourful, the landscape dotted with a few suburban houses, the outskirts rushing by. Lisbon weaved the CBI car through the streets, heading for the city, and Jane observed her as she drove. He was surprised to find that her cheeks were a healthy pink, not the pale white he'd come to expect. It had taken her most of the drive to fully calm herself down, and the beginnings of the city did nothing to alter her calm. That was interesting; it seemed she associated the word Vegas with a certain memory or place that had no relevance at present. He filed the thought away for future reference, and found relief in the fact that he was breathing normally again as well. The memory had retreated to the back of his mind for the time being, and he fully intended to keep it there.

A few blocks before the true city of Vegas reached them, they turned right down a side street. It had the appeal and the vibrance, but somehow seemed to promise a noticeably quieter night than the main stretch. The buildings all appeared relatively expensive, decorations well-made, the majority hotels or casinos. Lisbon turned the car into the car park of what seemed to be the largest structure in the street. A large neon sign reading "LAVA" rested dully against one side, waiting for night, for the moment when it would light up the entire neighbourhood. The black car slowed to a still in it's park, and the team opened the doors and stretched gratefully, all but Lisbon, who probably didn't need to, considering her height. She'd opened the case file that Minelli had given her before they'd left, and just before she began to read, the vein in her neck began to twitch again. Jane looked over his shoulder at the building for a millisecond, found it to give the air of both a hotel and a casino, and turned back before she noticed. She was hardly likely to dislike hotels, so that left the casino, he thought. Lisbon hated casinos. He smiled softly to himself; he was definitely going to have fun figuring out this one.

"The victim is Sam Tyler," Lisbon read, speaking for the first time in five hours, he noticed. The team began to walk as she spoke. "Thirty-four years old, Caucasian male. Owns this place, found in his room here with multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. Married with two children, the wife lives a few blocks from here."

"Jealous rival?" Grace thought aloud.

"We'll see," Lisbon replied, although Jane thought it unlikely. When a victim was murdered at work, it was rarely about work. Murders like this were generally the result of an affair, power gone to the head, creating an illusion of immunity and resulting in having too much fun and denying there being any consequences until karma shot you in your own hotel room. He followed the team into the building, hit by the atmosphere before he'd even set foot inside, and wondered whether people with power ever lived a full life.

He doubted it, and it irked him for reasons he didn't understand.

Again, I'll only continue if you want me to, and if you do, please review!
Constructive criticism is very welcome.

Jess xx