When she pulled into the parking lot she didn't even bother closing her car door before taking to the building at a run. In the morning people might question why Senior Agent Lisbon's car was parked across two spaces and left wide open, but time wasn't a luxury she had anymore.

She'd had a call from Jane. A call they'd both known was inevitable and that she'd dreaded from the first day she'd met him.

She was curled up in the sofa when her phone went off. She was mildly annoyed; she didn't often get time to herself, but she answered nonetheless. For a second she prayed it wasn't work calling her in but smiled when she saw Jane's calling id flashing onscreen.

"What's up?" She answered flippantly.

She expected the familiar voice or friendly quip in return but there was a beat of silence which stretched between them and left her uncomfortable.

A pause. "Teresa?" His voice was almost breathy and most definitely thick. Like he'd been crying.

It was bad. She didn't know what had happened but he immediately had her full attention. He never used her first name, only when something had gone horribly wrong. Her spine straightened.

"Patrick?" Her voice was gentle but strong. She needed to know what happened. "What's happened? Where are you?"

There was another second where she didnt think she was going to get an answer. She almost asked again when his voice sounded in her ear.

"I'm at work...Lisbon...he was here."

Her mind froze. It felt as if her whole head had been doused in ice water as she tired to stay calm.

"I'll be there in ten." She promised, already halfway out the door.

She'd broken every speed limit on the way to headquarters inwardly thanking everything she could think of that the roads were empty this time of night. She fumbled her keycard at the front door and didn't bother waiting for the elevator, instead taking the steps two at a time.

When she reached the top her lungs were on fire but the icy disbelief still thawed in her head.

She looked up. Jane was standing at the bottom of the attic stairs. At first glance he seemed fine. Then she registered the blood. It was thick on his hands, like a second skin completely covering the first. It was out of place on his usually smart waistcoat and she had a make a conscious effort to stay strong when she saw a splatter misted across his face.

Two strides and she was infront of him. He refused to look at her even as she ran her hands over him, uncaring of the blood being smeared on her own pale skin. Her hands pressed along his arms and ghosted along his chest before he stopped her and pushed her back.

"It's not mine." He said quietly.

The relief was overwhelming. Despite the blood and the broken man in front of her she smiled. He wasn't going to die. He was going to make it out of this.

He still wouldn't look at her.

Instead he silently held out his wrists, pressed together and red.

"Jane?" His eyes were fixed on a point above her head.

"I killed him, Lisbon."

The break in his voice was almost her undoing. She'd so carefully told herself that this moment was in the unthinkable future that she'd never really planned her actions beyond the immediate. But now it was here it wasn't gut wrenching or panicking. It was calming.

It used to be one of her undisputed facts that after Jane finally had his revenge and he'd completed whatever self imposed quest he had he'd be different. Smug in that fact he'd taken another man's life, glad even. She'd worried that he wouldn't feel anything, that he'd be a completely different man. That he wouldn't be her Jane anymore.

The truth was worse and yet somehow a release. He hated himself even more now. He wouldn't even look at her. His hands shook and his voice was just as unsteady. Maybe he hadn't wated to kill anyone after all.

Gently, she pushed his hands down.

"What happened?" They'd had over a decade of friendship. He was the person, no matter if she wanted to admit if or not, that she held closest to her heart, even if he could never return the favour. The one thing that meant was that she wasn't going to condemn him until she had his side.

"I killed him."

"Before that."

Jane took a shaky breath, "He was just...there. In the attic. He said he'd had enough playing, it was time to finish the game. Then he just...went for me." Jane stopped to fall backwards onto the steps before carrying on, "He had a knife. He told me it was the same one he used the night that-"

He broke off. Lisbon moved as if to sit beside him, or at least do something but he held up a hand to stop her.

"I can't remember much but I know I hit him. He let go of the knife and I-" he thrust his hand out, unable to say the words. "Please just do it."

His meaning hit her. She had to arrest him. That's why he'd called her. He'd always said he was going to kill and she'd always told him that if he did she wouldn't hesitate to charge him. And here she was, hesitating.

She took a step forward. Another. Sidestepped Jane and started to climb the stairs. A hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. For the first time since she'd sprinted on scene Jane looked at her.

There were tears in his eyes and he was pleading, "Don't go up there. I'm begging you, don't go up there."

It was easy to pull her hand out of his blood soaked grip as she carried on up the stairs.

The door to his room was ajar. She opened it slowly. The room itself had no light, only what was reflected in from the moon.

There, in the middle of the room, was the source of all their anguish. Flat out with limbs stopped in mid motion lay Red John. Smeared in blood and with a knife sticking grotesquely from his chest he looked repugnant. An object that had seemed so fearsome relegated so easily to death. She walked a little closer, her heels clicking conspicuously against the bare wooden floor.

There were stripes and daubs of thick red blood where it was easy to was to imagine his struggles to keep the blood from flowing. He'd suffered then. She couldn't bring herself to feel displeased by it.

She didn't look at his face.

"I'm sorry."

Jane's face crumpled as he tried to put everything he had left into those two words. It wasn't much and she didn't want them. She wanted action. She'd always said she'd take it and arrest him when the time came...but she couldn't do it. In front of her sat a broken shambles of a man. He'd been broken before, killed people even, but this was different. Irreparable. He was completely shattered. Glittering ground dust instead of shards that could be held together.

Prison would kill the both of them. He hadn't wanted this and neither did she.

When she spoke she looked at him straight and her voice was low and unflinching, "You're going to go down to the store rooms. We need kitchen towels, bin bags and bleach. You won't see anyone, the buildings empty. While you're gone I'll get started here. Do you understand?"

His face didn't change, "You can't do this. I won't let you." His voice was stronger than it had been but no match for hers.

She stepped closer and took his hand. She squeezed it ignoring the wet squelch of blood. It was already on her hands and cleaning was going to be a messy job. There was no use in worrying about it now.

"We're going to get through this." She tried to smile but it twisted in her face. She didn't want this any more than he did. Only half an hour ago her life had been so blissfully simple, "You're going to come back up here, I'm going to clean up and we're going to take him down to my car. It's going to be okay." He was listening to her. Hanging on her words as she told his what to do. It would have been ironic if not for the circumstances.

He turned to go but stopped at the door.

"You said you'd arrest me. You always said you'd arrest me."

She looked back at him and remembered the conviction she'd felt when she'd said those words. A sense of justice that had crumbled and given way to her resolve. To turn on Jane now would be worse than anything she'd done before.

She smiled.

"I lied."