A/N: Welcome to my first collaborative story, with the awesome writer of such great fics as the Mentalist/Castle crossover "It Takes a Village" and the great "Dual Deception," (among many others) waterbaby134. I knew as soon as I discovered her wonderful stories that we had similar styles, and that if we were to collaborate, our story would flow seamlessly together. But we'll leave that to you readers to decide.

This fic takes place post-season 4 finale, and we promise plenty of dialogue, romance, humor, sexytimes, and a bit of angst along the way. In other words, our fantasy of how season 5 would go if we had our way. We hope you enjoy our experiment and will let us know what you think. Chapter 1 belongs to waterbaby134...

Scarlet Woman

Chapter 1

With immense difficulty, Lisbon strove to keep her head for the rest of the interview, even though what she'd just heard made her want to both be violently sick, and to scream at the top of her lungs.

She studied the woman in front of her, the latest in a long line of Red John's stooges (or disciples as Jane had come to name them.) Not for the first time, she marvelled at the level of influence that Red John imparted on his people. Mere hours ago, this woman had been on the point of cutting Jane's ring finger right off on the serial killer's say-so.

What did he do, what did he say to these people to inspire such pure, unwavering loyalty? It was the kind of leadership skill many would envy. Even Jane, more gifted at persuasion than anyone she knew, would be hard-pressed to exercise such complete control over someone.

That being said, however, he'd done a pretty good job at working her over.

She'd let him lob back into her life after six months without so much as a word. She'd let him "shoot" her in her office. She'd allowed him to run his risky, foolhardy scheme, and she'd been there when it all went wrong. For that was the trouble with Jane, just when you thought the worst was over, there was always something else.

It was certainly unexpected to hear Lorelei call him 'lover.' Even more unexpected that he didn't dispute it. But it shouldn't have hurt so much to watch him kiss the top of her head as he left the room. Because it drove into her like an icy knife, even though she recognised the seemingly tender gesture for the veiled threat it actually was.

Nothing much surprised her when it came to her consultant anymore. But this hit her for a six.

He'd slept with her. After almost a decade of self-imposed celibacy, and steadfast commitment to preserving his wife's memory, this was the woman on whom he'd thrown it all away. How could this possibly be?

And how on Earth could he have been so stupid? How could he possibly have not seen Lorelei for what she was? Or was it just that he didn't care anymore?

He may not believe it, but she knew he was worth more than this. He deserved better.

Lorelei raised an eyebrow with an expression of faint amusement.

"He really didn't tell you," she said. "That's interesting."

"Is it?"

"Yes," said Lorelei softly. "Because he seems to put a rather higher value on your life than his own. I suppose I thought that would extend to entrusting you with the details of his little plans."

Little plans. Falling off the grid completely for half a year was hardly a little plan. There was nothing little about the way she'd agonized over him during that time, some days needing to physically restrain herself from jumping into her car and just driving until she found him. Whatever she might have said about him needing to hit rock bottom before he could recover, if it were up to her, she'd catch him on the way down.

"Now he's gone, you and I can really talk," Lorelei went on with a smirk. "Woman to woman."

"You'll forgive me if I decline that offer," said Lisbon, getting to her feet. "As a rule, I don't make a habit of befriending suspects. Sends the wrong message to the man upstairs." She raised her eyebrows to the ceiling.

"As in, God?"

"No, my boss."

Lorelei chuckled. "Oh, come on now, Teresa, go ahead. We both know you're dying to ask. It's just us here, and don't worry-" her eyes gleamed malevolently-"I won't tell."

"Tell whom, exactly? I'd have thought being Red John's lackey would have a pretty negative effect on your social life. Not a whole lot of time for making friends when you're kept so busy with murders and deception."

"You're a little defensive," Lorelei observed, in a gentle tone, which made Lisbon's skin crawl. "Perfectly understandable. I'd be humiliated too if I had such questionable taste in men."

"I'm not the one who works for a serial killer," said Lisbon.

"No," agreed Lorelei. "But you are an enabler to a man maddened by grief, who so far has taken two lives, and is quite capable of taking more. Are they really so different?"

Lisbon couldn't pretend this thought hadn't occurred to her over the years. It was hard to hunt a monster without becoming one yourself, and more than once she had wondered if Jane might be slipping. But he couldn't have crossed the line yet. She'd have known. She'd have seen it.

And if he really had turned into a creature like Red John, he'd have killed her when he'd been asked to. He wouldn't have gone to the effort of constructing an elaborate ruse; he'd have simply blown her away. She had to believe there was still hope for him yet.

"Yes," she said stubbornly. "Jane would never kill for the joy of it."

"Ah, but you worry that someday he will," said Lorelei shrewdly. "He's walking a very fine line at the moment, but what will you do when he steps over it? You'll be sitting right where I am."

"I'm nothing like you."

"You do what he asks, don't you? You'd protect him at all costs. You'd kill for him. You'd die for him. Isn't that true?"

She was right. Lisbon would do all those things and more. She put her job on the line on a regular basis. She burned a lot of bridges with superiors and colleagues for his benefit. She knew it was wrong, but she'd done it anyway. But she'd be damned before she admitted that to Lorelei.

"You see?" Lorelei went on. "Mirror images, you and I. And not just in the physical sense." She flicked her dark hair out of her eyes. "Patrick certainly has a type, doesn't he?"

"Much as I'm enjoying this little chat," said Lisbon, with dignity. "I have work to do. And you've got a trip to the remand centre, which I'd just hate for you to miss."

"You're really not going to ask, are you?" said Lorelei. "You're a lot more stubborn than people give you credit for. Now all the stories make sense." She smiled. "How about I just tell you what you want to know?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"He was good," said Lorelei, boldly, leaving no doubt to what exactly she was referring. "I'd give him a solid 7.5. Of course, it might have been even higher had his mind been on the job."

Lisbon didn't trust herself to speak.

"I've slept with enough men to know when their attention is wavering, and Patrick's mind was definitely on something, or someone-" Lorelei paused to let that word sink in "-else. I wonder what that might have been."

"That's none of my business," said Lisbon.

"Of course," said Lorelei. "Just something for you to think about."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In truth, Jane hadn't really missed all that much about the CBI, during his (for lack of a better word) "sabbatical." The endless, tedious cases, full of people insisting they hadn't done anything wrong when they obviously had. Bosses with their own political agendas that they cared more about than solving crimes. People who felt they had more of a right to justice then others just because they were rich or powerful, or knew somebody that was.

In a way, Sin City had been a refreshing change. Most people didn't bother pretending to be someone they weren't. Powerful businessmen hired high-class hookers, and gambled away all their money on the slots without shame, because that's what you were supposed to do in Vegas. People came with their last few dollars hoping to strike it rich and turn their lives around. The hotels and casinos were full to bursting with people running away from something. It was a haven for the lonely, the depraved, the desperate, and the damned. People didn't ask questions or cast aspersions on others in Vegas, because there were too many skeletons in their own closets.

So he had fit right in.

But there were some aspects of the CBI he'd looked back on fondly as he holed up in yet another cheap hotel room, drunk off his ass, and fresh from swindling some other poor sucker of all his money and self-worth.

He'd yet to find a couch that equalled the comfort level of the one at the CBI, and he'd crashed out on a fair few, either too drunk or just too damn lazy to walk the twenty or so more steps to reach the bed. Every so often, he'd caught himself thinking of what Cho might say to the working girl that approached him on a street corner, or how Van Pelt would disapprove of the way he'd count cards at a casino if he were running short of cash.

He'd tried not to think of Lisbon too much, if he could help it. Though she made that difficult, with the never-ending stream of texts and voicemails clogging up his phone. In the first few weeks, he would listen to them every now and then; play one after the other like a medley of misery. She threatened him, she tried to reason with him, she attempted reverse-psychology on him, and she shouted and screamed at a decibel that caused him to have to hold the phone away from his ear.

It was about two months after he'd left when she stopped raging and started begging instead. He'd only been able to stand two messages worth of her pleas for him to call her, to text, to just give some sign he was OK.

"Please, Jane," she said at the end of the second one. "What did I do to make you shut me out like this? I can help you. We can fix it, but you've got to let me. Please let me."

He stopped listening to them after that. It was just too hard. So he let his phone fill up with message after message that remained unheard. He never deleted them though, for fear he'd wake up one morning, face down in a ditch and not be able to remember what her voice sounded like. She was his last grip on reality, and he couldn't afford to let it go.

He could scarcely believe his favourite cup and saucer were still in the break room, but there they were, as if waiting for him to return. His couch was in the same place it had always been, with Elvis on the ceiling right where he laid his head.

There was still no sign of Lisbon, as he fixed his second cup of tea. She and Lorelei had been in there a while now. So far there hadn't been any thuds or smashing glass or shrieks, which he supposed was a good sign, but still, he'd feel a whole lot better once she came out here again. He'd deliberately left the interrogation as quickly as he could after Lorelei had let it slip about their night together, and he'd hoped Lisbon would follow suit.

She would have found out eventually, he was sure, but he knew that hearing it from Lorelei would have made it even worse. He knew he should have told her. His only excuse was that he hadn't the faintest clue of how to broach the topic. As a rule, he and Lisbon rarely talked about their personal lives, and this, to admit to breaking one of his own most important, intimate codes on a Red John disciple, was about as personal as it got.

Heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of Rigsby, making his usual afternoon pilgrimage to the refrigerator for a snack. Jane knew he was still irritated about being made to fake his own death, and couldn't say he blamed him. No doubt it had been difficult explaining to Sarah why she wasn't forewarned about his supposed "death" being all over the television. Jane could only be grateful that his son was still young enough not to have any grasp of what had happened. Things like that in childhood were what made kids become serial killers.

"Rigsby," he greeted him.

Apparently, Rigsby felt that a simple greeting was not something that he could justifiably ignore, so he grunted a response. "Jane."

"How are things?"

"Freaking fantastic," said Rigsby, sarcastically. "I've got paperwork up to my eyeballs, a girlfriend who hates my guts at the moment and a son whose first word I missed out on hearing because I was holed up in a warehouse with you," he said. "Not to mention I'm really getting sick of people coming up to me on the street and saying that they saw me on the news and that they thought I was dead. Yesterday, I had a lady fall on her knees and start crossing herself in the middle of the supermarket. She thought I was a demon from beyond the grave."

Jane chuckled a little. "Could be worse," he ventured. "You could actually be dead."

"Well hey, if I keep working with you long enough it's bound to happen sooner or later."

"Rigsby, I'm-"

"Sorry, I know," Rigsby interrupted flatly. "You're always sorry. Save it for the boss; she's the only one who might believe you. Where is she anyway?"

"Still in interrogation."

"What's the point? The girl's not going to tell us anything. They never do."

"This one's different," said Jane. "I can feel it."

"Sure," said Rigsby, doubtfully. "But if you don't mind, I'll hold off on ordering the cake for the moment."

"Are you offering to order one when the time comes?"

Rigsby sighed. "Man, if this actually turns out to be the one that cracks Red John for us I'll order two cakes," he said. "I'll order a whole bakery. I'll even get Cho to wear a party hat for an entire day." He sighed again. "But given past experience, I'm not hopeful."

He rooted around in the fridge for a moment, and emerged holding an orange, which he surveyed with an expression of great distaste.

"Slim pickings today?" inquired Jane.

"Sarah says I need to start watching what I eat, you know, to set a good example to Benjamin," said Rigsby, still beholding the citrus fruit as if it were a hand grenade. "And seeing as I just made her spend days under the impression she was going to be a single mother, I'm a big believer in doing what she wants at the moment." He began to peel the orange over the sink unenthusiastically.

"It's probably for the best."

"She's coming by in an hour. And if I were you, I'd be making myself scarce. She might be mad at me, but she's absolutely livid with you. And don't count on me for support," said Rigsby.

Jane had a fleeting memory of Angela, in the first year after Charlotte had been born, overwrought, exhausted, and liable to snap at the drop of a hat. And she'd been a stay-at-home mother during that time as he'd been making more than enough to support them. Sarah was balancing new parenthood with her public defender's job as well. He grimaced.

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"I'm not doing it for you," Rigsby shrugged. "I just don't think Maintenance would be too happy about having to get blood out of the carpet. Again."

"I'll be upstairs," said Jane, referring to his attic hideaway. "Tell Lisbon when she comes out, will you?"

"OK," said Rigsby, "And Jane?" He looked up from the orange. "You know we all really want to get Red John too, right? And not just for your family, but for Bosco and his guys, and now I guess Wainwright too." He paused, the gruesome murder of their latest boss still a little too raw to be tossed out so casually. "But seriously, faking people's deaths, promising the boss's head in exchange for intel? Enough is enough."

"I was never going to do it," said Jane, indignantly. "I'd never hurt Lisbon, not in a million years. That's why I came up with the plan."

"Yeah, but what if they'd asked for Grace's head, or Cho's, or mine?" said Rigsby. "Would you still have done the same thing? Or just cut your losses and killed us?" He continued without waiting for a response. Jane suspected he was afraid of the answer. "Lisbon might be immune to your lunacy, but the rest of us aren't. This has got to stop."

"I agree," said Jane. "But there's only one way. We just have to be patient."

"You keep saying that," said Rigsby. "But I'll believe it when I see it."

It was several hours before Lisbon sought out Jane. She'd heard from Rigsby that he was up in the attic, and so she left him there. She was still mad at him for throwing her in the deep end with Lorelei, and she knew from experience that she wouldn't get the best results if she confronted him while she was upset.

She couldn't help smiling a little to herself as she rapped on the attic door. Finally, it was starting to feel like old times again, with Jane closeting himself away, and she now going to fetch him. She took the lack of response as permission to enter. He was lying on his makeshift bed staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey Lisbon," he said, without turning to look at her.

"How did you know?"

"Who else would it be?" he said. "None of the others can stand the sight of me right now."

"They'll come around."

He sighed.

"What are you doing up here anyway?" she asked.

"Apparently, Sarah is baying for my blood," he said. "And hardly without reason."

"She'll calm down after a while. They all will, and then everything will be fine again." She didn't even believe herself as she said this, but she had to at least hope for a good outcome. The alternative was too upsetting.

"Much as I admire your optimism, Lisbon," said Jane. "I don't share it."

"I forgave you," she said, irritated by his pessimism. "Doesn't that count for something?"

"Not everybody has your incredible capacity to overlook things, Lisbon," he said.

"So," Lisbon said with an attempt at breeziness. "Lorelei was interesting."

"Indeed."

"You should have told me about her."

"How?" he asked. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Lisbon, long time, no see. Oh and by the way, one of Red John's girlfriends bailed me out of jail, and I nailed her in my motel room.' Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Jane!" she said reproachfully.

The Patrick Jane she'd always known may be a pain in the ass, but he'd always been well spoken, and rarely crass like this. He normally used the kind of language better suited to the ninteenth century; in fact, practically his whole life was homage to the Jane Austen era, with the three piece suits, the intimate knowledge of Shakespeare, and the ridiculous contraption he called a car. He was unique, and she'd always kind of liked that. What had happened to him during those six months?

"What?" he snapped.

"I just kind of hoped there'd be a reason why you abandoned your principles and your morals. I guess I thought-"

"That I'd never sleep with another woman again?" Jane finished for her, angrily. "That I'd spend the rest of my life alone and miserable?"

"Well, yes," she said. Lying wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Did you know she was working for Red John?"

He took a long, slow breath before answering, playing for time. She knew this meant that he'd been hoping they could avoid this question for now, or preferably forever.

Experience told her he was about to tell her something she wasn't going to want to hear. But no matter how it hurt her to know the details of their little tryst, she'd still prefer it to being lied to.

"I had my suspicions," he said, and she felt her heart sink a little. "I saw her around the place a few times, and it was just something about the way she was always there. Because the thing about Vegas is that there's so many people that even the ones who work there, you rarely see two nights running. So that seemed a little fishy. And then one night we really got to talking. I guess she must have got word from the boss that it was time to reel me in."

"And what exactly did you talk about?" she asked.

"Nothing of consequence really," he said. "The difference between wrong and right, stealing money from people, killing Timothy Carter last year, though I didn't refer to him by name of course-"

"Sure, just the usual light-hearted conversation you have at a bar. Don't want to introduce the heavy stuff too early, after all," she said, sarcastically.

His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but he bit it back.

"She barely reacted when I told her those things. A normal person would have been shocked, repulsed, but she wasn't because of course, she'll have done far worse as one of his cronies. That's when I knew for certain. And then when she bailed me out of jail that was just the icing on the cake."

"She did?"

He nodded. "That was overkill, in my opinion. So much so, that at one point, I had the idea it might even have been you that did it."

"How could it possibly have been me?" she said, "I didn't even know where you were, let alone what you were doing."

This time he really did smile, as she scowled at him. "I know it's been a little while Lisbon, but that doesn't mean I don't still know when you're lying to me. I know how you cops all like to gossip. I'm sure it got back to you somehow. No doubt you were trying to teach me a lesson?" he asked.

As he fell silent, she knew they were both thinking the same thing. Would she have bailed him out eventually? For all her talk of letting him hit rock-bottom, and not giving him any help unless he asked for it, she wouldn't have liked the idea of him spending an extended period of time incarcerated, given his fragile (or so she thought at the time) mental state. She knew in the end, she would have scraped the money together somehow and gotten him out of there. She was just a glutton for punishment that way.

"She thought she was playing me the whole time," said Jane. "When in truth, I knew I was the one playing her."

"That still doesn't explain why you slept with her."

"It was a necessary evil," he said. "In order to get her to show her true colours, I had to present myself like a man who had no hope. I knew Red John would see it as an act of desperation when I spent the night with her, and I had a hunch that he'd make his move. I was the perfect target, alone in the world, friendless…"

"You were only alone because you chose to be!" she said, firing up at once. "You took off to Vegas without a word. You made my life hell for half a year. There's nobody else you can blame for that, Jane. It was all you!"

"And do you really think it was easy for me to cut you out of my life like that?" he asked her, not shouting like her, but as calmly as though he were simply pointing out something they'd missed at a crime scene. "Do you think even a single day went by that I didn't miss you?"

"You didn't give me so much as a second thought while you were gone," she said, accusingly. "You were too busy living it up, getting into fights, taking people's money…"

He rolled his eyes, and fished in his pocket for something. She recoiled slightly as he withdrew it. After all, it hadn't been long ago that he had pulled a gun on her, which despite the plan had still sent a little thrill of terror up her spine.

She wasn't even going to think about the other things that had happened, or had been said, at that particular point in time. Jane had no idea what she was talking about when she'd carefully raised the subject, and she'd prefer to keep it that way. At least, that was the notion she clung to, ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind that kept insisting that "hyped-up" or not, she had never known Jane's memory palace to fail him before.

Luckily, this time he presented her with nothing but a cell phone.

"Take a look at the messages," he said.

She grimaced, not really in the mood to read flirty texts between him and his cocktail waitress. "No thanks," she said, holding it out to him.

"Will you just look?" he asked, sounding slightly exasperated for the first time.

She opened the inbox reluctantly and scrolled down the list. The words "Teresa Lisbon" flashed in front of her eyes again, and again and again, in a solid block until she reached the end. She let out a small gasp.

"Voicemail's pretty much the same," he said. "Except for a message from the phone company reminding me to pay my bill."

"You kept them all?" she asked, in a small voice.

"They were the only link I had to you," he said.

"But you didn't even open half of these," she observed, scrolling through the list a second time.

"Didn't need to. I knew what they'd say." He smiled humourlessly. "And I couldn't listen to you pleading with me anymore. I couldn't stand it. You know what a coward I am."

"You're not a coward," she said, automatically.

He let out a tiny chuckle. "What do I have to do to you to make you give up this ridiculous faith in me?" he asked. "Any sane person would have dropped me like a hot rock by now."

"Are you calling me insane?"

"You do the same thing over and over again, and continually expect different results. The very definition of insanity," he said. "I shot you, for heaven's sake!"

"You shot at me," she corrected him, "With a gun full of blanks."

"The plan was already ruined by then," he said. "Red John was already onto us. I think the game was up the moment Lorelei suggested it to me."

"How?"

"I refused. Oh, I tried to smooth it over but the damage was done. The whole exercise was pointless. In fact, all I did was hand him another weapon." He looked up at her, sadly. "He knows you're my weak spot now. I think he always suspected it, but now it's been confirmed." He sighed. "I'm so sorry. You're in more danger now than ever before."

She couldn't say she was surprised at this news. Ever since the Hardy incident, Jane had been making it clear where he drew the line in terms of her. It was always going to be a matter of time until Red John realized it too.

"I'm a cop. I'm always in danger."

"But you shouldn't have to be."

"But I am. That's the way it is."

There was a brief silence, before Jane exhaled softly and then raised his eyebrows.

"Believe it or not, I have one more piece of bad news for you," he said.

"Oh God, what now?" she said, not sure she could handle anything else today.

"I kept my distance from you because I was trying to protect you," he said.

"I don't need you to protect me," she said firmly.

"However," Jane went on, as though there had been no interruption. "With circumstances being what they are, I don't think staying away is going to do much good anymore."

"You can say that again."

"So I'm sorry Lisbon, but the bad news is, you're stuck with me."

A/N: So the stage is set, and the next chapter will show how much Loralei is getting to Jane. I'm up next...

Thanks in advance for any words of encouragement.