Author's Note: This should have been posted a LONG time ago, but life has gotten in the way.

A brief note on the fic: I started writing this after the episode "The Great Red Dragon" aired. I had already imagined the scene with Lisbon and Jane's teacup, and after TGRD aired, I knew I had to write the scene. I had most of this written before "Red John" aired, and did not want to change what I had to fit the episode's turn of events.

Therefore, this fic is slightly AU, beginning with the ending of 6x07, "The Great Red Dragon." (Note that for the purposes of this fic, Lisbon didn't receive any letters from Jane, and that Cho and Lisbon kept somewhat in contact.)

Thanks to both Donnamour1969 and sirenofodysseus for beta reading and providing insight and constructive criticism.

Disclaimer: I finally own the first five seasons on DVD, but nothing else, sadly.

And then the day she had both hoped for and dreaded had come.

Red John was finally dead.

He'd been killed by Jane's own hand.

Oddly enough, she wasn't angry that the serial killer—the devil incarnate—was now dead. Over the years—and especially in the past few months, as the conspiracy within California law enforcement had come to light—she had come to realize that everyone would be better off if Red John was killed. A part of her wanted to see him go down hard because of all he'd done to Jane, Bosco, her team, and the others whose lives he'd destroyed through his heinous crimes. But another part of her, the more practical side, had always held onto the idea that justice had to be served, even if that meant Red John had to be tried in a court of law.

That was before she had started to realize just how far Red John's sphere of influence went. If Red John were captured and put in prison, his many acolytes would devise a way to spirit their leader out. He might even have some followers who worked in the prisons who could enact an inside job.

No, the world would not be safe until Red John was undoubtedly dead.

She had not been able to keep from hoping, however, that somehow Jane would not be the one to pull the trigger. She hoped she herself would be the one to end Red John's life—if he turned his gun on her, she could cite self-defense. If he turned his gun on Jane or another member of her team—well, it was a no-brainer that she would expend her ammunition to save her team. Saving herself or saving another were (legally) justified reasons for taking another's life, and she wouldn't hesitate to do so.

But no, Jane had murdered the serial killer, just as he had always said he would. He'd conspired by himself to keep her out of it—to save her job, to save her life. She knew he was trying to protect her in his unorthodox way, but she was still hurt that after ten years of loyalty, he still could not bring himself to share the endgame with her.

She and her team had arrived just in time to see Jane empty the clip of a gun into Red John. She had frozen, not believing that this moment was (finally) happening.

During her moments of inaction, someone from the Sac PD had stepped up to arrest Jane. He had immediately surrendered. She'd snuck a look at his face. He looked empty, drained, worn. He moved slowly alongside the police officer until he caught sight of Lisbon, still standing in the wings. He, too, froze, staring at her, so many emotions swirling in his eyes that she couldn't even begin to name them all.

She saw him ask the officer something. He must have asked to say goodbye to her, because the officer had barely started to nod before Jane made his way over to her.

His hands were already cuffed, and that, combined with his forlorn look, nearly shattered her heart. He didn't say anything when he reached her; he just calmly lifted his cuffed wrists over her head and drew her close. They gazed at each other for a moment before he hugged her tightly, as tightly as he had on the beach in Malibu.

She couldn't help it; her eyes started welling up with tears at the memory of his words, his embrace. His words had made her so happy, even for a brief moment. She understood what he had been trying to tell her, the words that he would not allow himself to say.

And then he had left her, and her happiness had been replaced by anger.

She realized with a start that he was effectively leaving her again. He'd get into the squad car and she might never see him again. That thought was more than she could take, and a couple of tears leaked out. She knew he felt them because he hugged her even tighter. She held onto him, knowing that he would be able to discern her own unspoken words.

And then, all too soon, he had drawn back from her, pausing to whisper "Thank you for everything," in her ear, and finally pressing a kiss tantalizingly close to her lips before pulling fully away.

She saw him get into the squad car, but couldn't make out much because the treacherous tears had finally broken through.

She didn't have much time to feel sorry for herself, though, because almost immediately she and the rest of the team had been called back to the CBI.

She knew she, at least, would have to give some sort of statement, but couldn't help but think that something else was going on underneath the normal rituals of trying to process a case.

Upon arrival, Lisbon and what remained of her team were ushered into the bullpen, where they were promptly met by some FBI agent who obviously thought he was too good to be cavorting with the CBI's black sheep.

"We'll be taking over the case," he said without introduction or even a flash of his probably perfectly polished badge.

Lisbon was incredulous. "Just who do you think you are?!" she snapped. "I'm Special Agent in Charge Teresa Lisbon. The Red John case has been under the jurisdiction of the Serious Crimes Unit for years." She didn't finish—she wanted to say that he had no right to barge into the CBI and announce that he was taking over the case, but figured that might be going a little too far. Her contempt was obvious, however, due to the steely glare she gave him.

The man went bug-eyed for a moment, surprised that someone would dare talk to him like that. Even a team leader.

Obviously, he didn't know Lisbon.

"FBI Agent Abbott. From the Texas regional department. Due to the CBI's less-than-competent handling of the Red John case—and the extensive reach of The Blake Association, which we have discovered has members within the CBI itself—the FBI has redacted the rights to the Red John case from the CBI and will proceed as the main handlers of the case."

Lisbon reacted by commenting that the FBI had been infiltrated by the association as well, but her comment was immediately rebuffed. There was no way to argue effectively with this man, she saw, and so she silently nodded to her team, instructing them to be cooperative.

She hadn't expected for the whole team, including her, to be marched off to be interrogated—"questioned" was too benign a word for the onslaught of accusations and pointed inquiries that she, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt were subjected to during the course of the next few hours. She knew that they would be asked for statements, but this was insane. It was almost as if the FBI wanted them to be responsible for the internal corruption in law enforcement, let alone be a part of it.

This was the ultimate slap in the face, as far as her job was concerned. To question her methods of trying to rein Jane in for nearly ten years was one thing—she was fully aware that she hadn't been as hard on him as she could have. (Not that it would have done much good, but…) However, attacking the integrity of her team and through them, the CBI, was unpardonable. Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt had become the three people in law enforcement she was sure she could trust in a world where corruption had tainted even the highest in command. Their loyalty to her was unquestionable. She could not fathom how anyone would think that any one of those three would betray their commitment to the state of California.

They, in turn, were aghast that someone could think that their fearless, loyal, staunchly principled team leader could be in league with Red John or his minions. She had proven time and time again that her mission in life was to catch those who committed crimes and see that they were appropriately punished. While she might have bent some of her methods over the years, she had only done so when it became apparent that in those few cases, the law as it stood lacked the ability to fully serve justice. Through it all, she had remained true to her principles. Any slights on her character were unfounded and not to be borne.

After a few agonizing sessions, the FBI seemed satisfied with their answers, and the team was allowed to resume working on the case in a provisional manner. It soon became apparent, though, that they would be turned out as soon as the FBI no longer needed their services. Their job was to find what minions of Red John's remained and have them brought in. Once that was accomplished, they were on their own.

A couple of days after the interrogations had ended and they had been cleared to go back to work, Lisbon found herself making her way up to Jane's attic. No one had been up there since he had left. The FBI hadn't allowed anyone up there, not even the custodial staff, because Jane's attic was considered prime evidence in the ongoing case against the consultant. Lisbon, however, had managed to sneak up there soon after the building had shut down for the day. It was a good thing she did, because sticking out from the makeshift mattress on Jane's sorry excuse for a bed was a folder. It was barely perceptible to her eye; she wouldn't have even noticed it if she hadn't been studying the place where Jane attempted to sleep when he was having a worse day than usual or when he needed time alone to think.

She sat down and opened the folder. Inside was a sheaf of papers that, from a quick skim, appeared to list all the possible minions of Red John known to Jane, and usually the team as well. She quickly surmised that this was probably a list of the people Jane had shaken hands with over the years who had not made it onto the final list of suspects. She checked through the folder to see if it contained anything else, but it didn't. She told herself she wasn't expecting him to have left a note or other token, but she didn't quite believe it. Yet he must have known that she would come up here looking for solitude and a place to think, or he wouldn't have left it there. Whatever his motive, she was glad he had left it. It would help them come up with possible acolytes much more quickly. It wasn't as good as having her wayward, unorthodox partner and friend with her, but it was the closest she was going to get, and she would take it.

Surprisingly, the hunt for the minions went off with few hitches. Most of them seemed to have lost their sense of purpose and cohesion now that their leader was dead. A couple of the acolytes put up more fight than the others, but were taken down in due course.

Almost as soon as the final minion on Jane's list had been carted away to the morgue, FBI Agent Abbott had turned to the agents of the former Serious Crimes Unit and demanded their badges. That was it. The storied history of the Serious Crimes Unit was over.

The next bit was somewhat of a blur. Lisbon knew she had moved everything out of her office, had said goodbye to Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt, and had found a renter for her apartment. How she'd done it, she didn't know. But she had.

Soon enough she was on a flight to Chicago to see her family. One thing the aftermath of Red John had taught her was that people needed to keep their loved ones close, because you never knew when someone would walk out of your life. She decided that the family rift had gone on for far too long, and had thrown herself into getting the Lisbon brothers into the same room for the first time in years. It had taken some work (and some Jane-like manipulation) but she had done it. It was good to have her biological family all in one place again, even though their first meeting had been awkward. Tommy, James, and Christopher had all been glad to see her, but hadn't been enthusiastic about seeing each other. It had taken both Lisbon and Annie to get them into some sort of truce. How long that would last, Lisbon didn't know. But for the moment she was just glad to be with them again, to hear about their lives.

They knew all about the last few months of her life, of course. Or, at least what had been shown on national news media. They tried to coax more details out of her, but Lisbon wouldn't say much other than that she didn't know where Jane had gone, that Rigsby and Van Pelt had their own detective agency now, and that Cho had somehow been nudged into working for the FBI.

She enjoyed spending time with her brothers and their families after so many years apart, but missed her second family—her team—with a fervor that surprised her. She had defined herself by her job for so many years that she didn't know who she was without it. The thought of starting over again after nearly twenty years in law enforcement—most of them at the CBI—scared her. Even more disconcerting was that she didn't have the people she trusted most by her side as she made this transition.

She tried to keep up a strong front, and was mostly successful, but her brothers could see right through her. They took to giving her subtle hints that she needed to go looking for a new job, preferably in law enforcement, because that was the only thing that would satisfy her. The now-defunct CBI had given her a nice severance package—more than she had been expecting—but it was quickly running out. She needed to find something, and soon—for both her pocketbook and her sanity. Staying in or around Chicago would be best, her brothers thought, but they would support her wherever she wanted to go.

She stubbornly wanted to go back to California. Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt were there. She felt she could best make a difference in her adopted home state. Work at getting the corruption ferreted out from the inside. Plus (although she never dared to admit this to herself, it was a strong motivator) if Jane ever found himself back on US soil, being in California would make it easier to find her. She didn't doubt that he could find her (if he really wanted to) no matter where she was on earth, but California was just the best choice for many reasons.

But no one in the whole blasted state seemed to want her. She had a feeling that Agent Abbott had pushed such an unforgiving portrayal of her into all the law enforcement agencies in California that no one wanted to hire her, despite her credentials and loyalty to the state while catching California's worst criminals.

Cho had offered to help her secure a position with the FBI, but she held a deep distrust for them now, ever since they had shut down her beloved CBI and cast doubt on the motives and trustworthiness of herself and her team. She would only consider taking a position with the FBI if she could not find a suitable position somewhere else.

Likewise, Rigsby and Van Pelt had offered her a position in their detective agency. Their obvious pleasure at the thought of working with her again had touched her, but she did not want to be intrusive. Their family was growing and she did not want to be in the way of their happiness—especially when she was far from truly happy herself.

No, she had to figure things out on her own. She could see she'd become too compliant over the years in certain instances. She needed to reestablish herself—find her way back to the no-nonsense, strong, firm Lisbon she had always felt to be her true self. She knew that Lisbon was still there. She just had to find her again.

And that was how she had found herself as the chief of police in a small town in Washington state. Not ideal, to be sure, but it was something. She was chasing bad guys again. Putting criminals behind bars. Seeing justice done (even if justice didn't always take the form it should. She knew that now).

For the first few months, she allowed herself to revel in the small things. A badge and gun at her hip. A sense of command. Her own office.

The knowledge that the devil incarnate wasn't after her, her team, or anyone else unfortunate enough to be caught in his web anymore.

But the new started to wear off. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for the job; she was. She had been lucky to find another job in law enforcement so soon, and on the West Coast too. She had made a few friends—the widowed lady next door, a nurse who reminded her of her mother. A couple of people at her local parish. She was on good terms with the deputy and with the officers under her jurisdiction.

It was just—the cases weren't…exciting. They were run-of-the-mill, small-town cases. A few break-ins. Hit-and-runs. The occasional overturned tanker or semi. Family feuds. Land disputes. Easily solved. That meant less paperwork, but…as much as she hated paperwork, and as much as she hated to admit it, she missed the cause of all that paperwork.

Something was telling her that she was wasting her talents on these small-time cases, that her abilities would be better put to use if she was back in the big city—Sacramento, or San Francisco, even—solving more high-profile crimes.

It felt blasphemous to her, but she sometimes found herself wishing that a higher-profile case would pop up so that she could feel the rush of solving an intricate case again. Of course Jane had been the main orchestrator of solving most of those cases, but she had picked up a few things during her years with him.

She continued doing her job, but started musing over ways to regain a place in more substantial law enforcement. Naturally, that brought back memories of CBI days.

She never had forgotten her days as a Serious Crimes Senior Agent, but had attempted to block certain things from her mind, so she could better get on with her new life. Jane, of course, had been one of the main things she had wanted to ban from her thoughts. She had succeeded well enough for the first few months as she settled in to her new job, but as her thoughts turned more inward, he started creeping back into her mind.

She didn't want that. It was partially his fault that she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, feeling adrift and alone. She felt the old ire against him rise up again. How dare he leave her when she had done so much for him over the years? She had put her career on the line for him God knew how many times, and had ended up losing it as a result. She had given him her heart, all her love. And he had left.

She wanted to punch him. He deserved it after everything he'd done. She couldn't quite bring herself to totally hate him, though. She still believed—in spite of everything—that he was a good man. That he just needed time to process everything. That he was looking for redemption, as surely as she was looking for hers.

The question was: would she still be waiting when and if he decided to return?

With so much turmoil and uncertainty in her life, Lisbon had turned to a liquid in search of some comfort. Not liquor—she knew the dangers of becoming an alcoholic from her own past. She wouldn't allow herself to go down that road. She still drank coffee at an alarming rate, even outfitting her new office with a Keurig K-cup machine so that good coffee was never more than 30 seconds away. She had an identical one at her house, a thank-you gift from Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho. There was no shortage of coffee in her life, but it wasn't her drink of choice on her worst nights.

Surprisingly, she'd started to drink tea. About once a week, sometimes every two weeks, she'd pull out Jane's old turquoise teacup and saucer from the back of a kitchen cabinet and steep some of the last of his vast collection of tea.

It seemed silly to her, but she just had to have something of his. The couch was out of the question; it was much too big, and she hadn't been able to afford to have it shipped to Washington with all of her other things. The FBI had snatched it pretty quickly, anyway, on the premise that Jane might have hidden something crucial to the case in there. She'd managed to snatch one of his suits, but it hung in the back recesses of her closet.

The teacup had seemed the logical choice. It was something so essential to Jane's being, and was small enough to sneak out and ship with no trouble. Tea had been one of Jane's few joys in life. So she had taken it with her.

She also had a small origami frog family in her bedroom. The original frog Jane had given her so many years ago was there, of course, sitting proudly in the middle of her dresser. Grouped around it were three slightly smaller frogs, also tokens of Jane's (supposed) repentance. Whatever the thoughts towards their maker now, the frogs always made her smile; they reminded her of happier times, and the thought that she had once been held very high in Jane's regard.

But back to the teacup. Usually she was simply content to sit on her couch and watch an old movie or read the latest crime novel while nursing a cup of tea. It helped distract her—oddly, it was a comfort to her to have his teacup there.

Some days, however, were worse than others. She had been in Washington about fifteen months. The first six months after Red John's death were spent catching the minions; the next three had been spent with her family. In the two years since Red John had perished and her world had been turned upside down, she'd commemorated a few "anniversaries": Her birthday. Jane's birthday. The day he had lost his wife and daughter. The day she and the rest of her team had been turned out for good. She'd even brought out the teacup on the anniversary of her mother's death.

This day in particular was the second anniversary of Red John's demise. She was taking it harder this year than she had the last, because now she realized the extent of the influence Red John had had on her life and on the lives of those around her.

The first anniversary had occurred when she was still fresh in her new job. She had brought out the teacup, but was still enlightened by the prospect of getting back out into the field and doing good work.

This year, however, as uncertainty and discontent had begun to seep back in, she felt a hollowness inside her that she hadn't felt since she had finished packing the last box from her CBI office.

The collapse and closure of the CBI had felt like Red John's last act of hatred towards the Serious Crimes Unit, even from beyond the grave. His animosity was so strong, even in death, that the association that he had built and commanded had ruptured a branch of the federal government. It was almost like he was mocking them still. As if, even in death, he had won.

And so she sat on her couch with a book and Jane's teacup. She had not been able to get past the first page of the book, and the tea sat nearly untouched and now cold. Absentmindedly, she picked up the teacup and started running her fingers around the rim. An absurd thought had popped into her head: Jane's lips had touched this cup, had fastened themselves to the rim. Touching—no, caressing—the rim of the cup with her fingertips felt oddly intimate, like she was kissing him. She had never gotten to do so, and it surprised her how badly she still wanted to.

Suddenly, she shook her head. She had to get out of this mindset. He wasn't coming back. If he did, he would surely be arrested. There was nothing she could do, except to continue to pray for him. She might not be able to ever love anyone else as much as she loved Patrick Jane, but she couldn't go on like this, fueling desires that would surely never be fulfilled.

She turned her thoughts to the possibility of a new job. After mulling over her options for a while, she finally decided to call Cho in the morning. She was still hesitant about working for an agency which had shut down her own, but far better to work on the inside and prove her worth than to be shut out and continually condemned. If the FBI offer wasn't still available, she would call Van Pelt and Rigsby.

Having made up her mind, she decided to take a quick shower and then head to bed. Halfway up the stairs, she heard a soft crunching noise outside her door. Her yard was full of trees, and those trees had shed their leaves, creating a carpet. She quickly glanced at her gun, which she'd placed on a side table in the entryway, assuring herself that it was within her reach, and headed for the front door. She snuck a peek out the small windows on either side of the door, but couldn't see much, except—There. Was that a slip of blond hair? She hadn't heard her dog start barking; he should have been on the porch where he waited most nights until it was time for bed. Maybe it was her neighbor, Darlene, coming to check on her—Lisbon suspected she knew the significance of the date. Darlene's whitening hair could have reflected yellow under the porch light, couldn't it?

Lisbon slowly opened the door, ready to grab the gun at the first sign of trouble or suspicious activity. Her mouth fell open and her heart jumped. It couldn't be—no. It was a dream. The person she most wanted to see in the world couldn't have found his way to her small house in the middle of the night.

The figure moved, and the man's head swiveled slightly up to look at her. Blond hair, bluish-green eyes, the laugh lines around the eyes—even with the stubble and the exhausted look, she'd have known him anywhere.

He seemed to register her presence, who she was, and stumbled through the doorway towards her. He stretched his arms out towards her. In her shock, she couldn't move. He grabbed her and held on to her, as if she were his anchor, his rock.

She couldn't help it. Her arms came up and around him, almost of their own accord. She whispered his name. She hadn't dared to speak it in months.

"Jane."

Hope you enjoyed my take on what I thought was going on in Lisbon's head during the two years between Red John's death and Jane's return! Just to clarify, this was meant to be an introspective piece—that's why there's not much dialogue.

Please review—I would love to know what you think!