This is my second fanfic, and it's going to be a one shot (for now) I have left No Exit unfinished because of the events in the Season 6 premiere. I'd need to adjust the story and eliminate chapters. Instead, I'd like to revisit the story of Jane hiring a hitwoman to kill Red John…but "Desert Rose" was so compelling and raised so many questions in my mind that I had to pursue that avenue. Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this-it's a little rough around the edges, but it expresses the intense worry I'm feeling over Lisbon. It's quite possible that Red John took her somewhere and messed with her mind when she woke up-she might not even be found at Partridge's house. The only consolation I have is that Jane looked way too happy in the promo for this Sunday's episode for anything bad to have happened to her. She doesn't appear in the promo (or if she does, it's for a microsecond and I totally missed it.) Bruno, don't hurt Lisbon!

Teresa Lisbon awoke to find herself lying on the floor of a dark, abandoned house. She ached all over.

Patrick Jane was on his knees leaning over her, with a look she'd never seen on his face: relief, horror, anguish, guilt. She suddenly remembered finding Partridge's body, but she couldn't remember much past that. She'd lost consciousness. Someone had grabbed her…was it Red John? And if it was, why didn't he kill her?

"Jane," she whispered weakly. "What happened?"

"It's all right, Teresa. You're all right now. You're safe. He never meant to kill you. He wanted to scare the hell out of me, and he did. He could've killed you. And our last words to each other were angry. I could never forgive myself. As it is, I blame myself for everything that's happened. I should never have told you the names. Thank God you're not hurt. But we need to get you out of here."

"Partridge…he's dead…"

"Yes," Jane answered grimly.

"He said something before he died…"Tyger, Tyger." The Blake poem. The one that Red John recited."

"Odd thing for a dying man to say. Not exactly a deathbed confession."

Lisbon tried to get up, but she was dizzy.

"Don't try to walk," said Jane gently. "You were injected with something that made you pass out, and they need to check you out at the hospital. And they need to…clean your face."

"Clean my face?"

"Red John painted a smiley on your face, probably with Partridge's blood."

Lisbon writhed in revulsion. "Oh God. Get it off! Get it off!" she cried.

The paramedics were already on the scene. After some arguing with Jane, they finally allowed him in the ambulance with Lisbon when she said it was OK. He sat next to the stretcher and clasped her hand in his.

In the ambulance, Lisbon's head began to clear gradually, and she was aghast at the sequence of errors she had made in answering that distress call. She was obviously not thinking straight when she drove off in a fury after a bitter fight with Jane. Knowing that Red John was about to kill again, and that he almost certainly knew they were tracking the suspects-how could she have left without another agent, without even telling anyone where she'd gone? Those are rookie mistakes, she thought. And I even knew that the police would not provide backup if I called-they were angry with me for allowing a suspect to be shot. What was I thinking? Red John could have killed me. He would have, except his plan was to send a message to Jane that he could capture me any time he wanted to and he had me at his mercy.

She'd been scared before this happened, as she'd told Jane. He'd never before been without any idea what to do. So she had to fall back on her police training. Or so she thought. But instead she'd set in motion a chain of events that led to her capture by Red John. The first mistake was telling Grace. She should never have betrayed Jane's trust-he had good reasons for not wanting the names known until they had a plan in place to protect the team. And if she was going to tell someone, she should have told Cho. He would have kept it to himself. Of course Grace would spill it. And that lame excuse she made for telling Rigsby-that he thought she was having an affair! She couldn't even think of a better cover story than that. It hurt Lisbon that she couldn't even trust a member of her own team to obey her.

The more she thought, the more agitated she became. She knew better than to deny that she was terrified by what had happened. The CBI would insist that she get counseling, and she hated it, but she must have PTSD, she thought. I need to go on medical leave. I can't be trusted to head a team in my mental state. Maybe I can't even do this work anymore. I'm so scared. I have never been scared by the danger of my job before in all these years. I don't want to see any more blood and death. My face was painted in blood. The next time Red John gets me, he'll kill me. I can't defend myself from him. Jane's right. I'm out of my depth.

She began to shake. Her whole body trembled as though she were cold, but it was sheer panic.

Jane, of course, took note of it immediately, and spoke in his most soothing voice.

"Relax, Teresa. Try to calm down. You made a bad judgment call today, we've all done that. You were upset, and it was my fault-I had no right to talk to you like that. None of this would have happened if I hadn't been stupid. You're in no way to blame."

She turned her face away from him. All she wanted was to have that horror scrubbed off her face.

"Teresa?"

"I can't talk now. I can't relax. I want to be alone."

"I know."

When they reached the hospital, many pairs of hands came to Lisbon's aid and whisked her off to a room where a nurse's aide carefully washed the bloody marks from her face. A doctor came in and examined her for cuts, contusions, bruises and internal damage, but found none. The main concern was the sedative she'd been given, but blood tests revealed that it was almost out of her system. The damage that had been done was psychological. The normally composed, clear-headed, authoritative, courageous, heroic Teresa Lisbon had been reduced to a cowering, terrified, agitated woman who had completely lost confidence in herself. The doctor decided to keep her overnight and ordered a psychiatric evaluation in the morning.

She lay in the bed wanting to curl up into a fetal position, but her IV made it uncomfortable. So she remained on her back staring at the ceiling, her face white as snow, her eyes two burning green limpid orbs rimmed with red. Jane sat by the side of the bed and tried to take her hand to comfort her, but for Lisbon there was no comfort. She was deeply, profoundly injured. She wanted to be far away from everything and everyone. Especially Jane. She couldn't bear to be with him now. She didn't blame him for what had happened-she blamed herself-but she feared for him, feared for herself, feared for the team. She was enveloped in a terror she had never felt before in all her years of chasing vicious killers.

They were going to have to replace her at the CBI, at least temporarily. And then what would happen to her? She was afraid to sleep in her own room in her own home, alone. Had she completely lost her mind?

"Jane…I'm glad you're here, but I need some time alone to think. Could you go?"

"Of course." He got up from the chair. "But you'll let me come back?"

"Yes…tomorrow."

Jane leaned over her and kissed her on the cheek.

"I know you're tormenting yourself because you're afraid. I'll help you. You're not crazy, Teresa. And I'll be around to help you with whatever you need, and I'll protect you from him. He'll have to kill me first before he touches you again."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She managed a weak smile.

He looked at her for a long moment, with another look on his face that she'd never seen before. In his eyes she saw compassion and something else beyond that. What she was seeing was his love for her.

After he left, Lisbon seized the cross she wore around her neck and prayed.

She had never felt so destitute, even knowing that Jane loved her. She had asked him to leave because she didn't want him to see her cry. She didn't want any of the hospital staff to see her cry, either, so she buried her face in a pillow. She never cried, but something in her felt like an injured animal, an animal whose bloody paw was caught in a trap. She wailed soundlessly into the pillow as the sky darkened into night.