Yay for new stories. So I'm publishing this earlier than I thought I would so I'll have to get cracking with writing more chapters! I'm quite enjoying where this is going and have a few pivotal moments thought out but the in between bits are slightly more difficult to write but I'll do my best! So this is set a couple of months after Broken, so I would recommend reading that first so that it makes more sense. It will be a romance but a very slow romance, just to warn you. It's set just after the beginning of season 4, nowhere in particular but just around there. Rated T for now but we'll see as it goes on. I can't think of much more to say now other than enjoy! Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the mentalist, only my stories and characters, so please don't sue me.

For the past two and a half months, Isabella Sanders had been doing anything to keep busy. Most days she volunteered at a local animal shelter, helping with the cleaning and paperwork. On evenings, she prepared and dished out meals at a food bank for the homeless and in need. It kept her occupied; she found when she sat at home all day her mind would wander to some pretty dark places and she still couldn't deal with that quite yet. She'd received money from Richard's life insurance and, more recently, the sale of the house. She didn't get nearly as much as it was worth, but Issy had hurried along the sale and people don't like living in a house so fresh with murder. The money had allowed her to find an apartment to rent and prevented her from worrying about finding a job, for the time being anyway. She eventually wanted to get back into work as she needed the mental stimulation, but was certain that she wouldn't be able to concentrate for long enough to keep an employer happy. Those at the shelter and food bank knew of her situation and were understanding of it, meaning she could disappear for a few minutes, if ever she needed to, no questions asked.

She had been better when it came to eating and sleeping. Being around people helped with the eating, as they would all break for lunch, but she still rarely felt hungry. Her dreams were still as horrendous as ever, if not worse, though she was managing to at least get to sleep at a decent time and feel somewhat refreshed upon waking, even if she jerked awake countless times each night.

This night, however, had been particularly restless. Issy hadn't managed to sleep at all and by about 3am had resorted to watching late night TV. She flicked between reruns of quiz shows and old black and white films, though none of them held her attention for long. Her mind was too preoccupied with what would be happening in the morning. Her eyes flicked sporadically towards an opened letter on her bedside table. She had read it so many times since it had arrived a week ago that she almost knew it word for word, not that there was much to remember.

She was to report to the Sacramento supreme court at 10.30 on Saturday 15th April to act as a witness in the case involving the brutal murder of her husband and two children. The crime was committed by her former best friend Simon Parker, as admitted by him on a couple of occasions, so Isabella hoped that the jury would come to a quick decision.

Sighing, she climbed out of bed and headed towards the shower. She took her time, and dressed slowly in dark trousers and a light colored shirt. She tied her hair back neatly in a bun and applied a light layer of make-up to attempt to hide her shallow skin and the darkened patches under her eyes. She was unsuccessful, but decided it was the best she could do and left the apartment several hours early.

Issy hadn't seen Simon since the day of his apprehension over two months ago. She had tried not to think about him, too, though this was difficult considering he invaded her dreams most nights. She wasn't sure about how she felt about seeing him again. She seemed a lot stronger recently, but it was easy to be strong when she could wake up and run away from her past. It would be much harder face to face and with no escape.

She arrived at the court so early that it hadn't opened yet so she sat on a bench outside as she readied herself for the morning. It looked set to be a nice day, with the recently lightened sky a cloudless blue. There was a nice breeze in the air that ruffled the flowers that surrounded the building. Her mother had loved flowers, adopting a 'the more colorful the better' motto. Her mom had been her rock growing up, strict but fair, giving her a strong moral compass. She had never known her father, who had disappeared when he had realized that Issy's mother was pregnant all those years ago, and had never really had any desire to get to know him.

When her mom had gotten ill during her time at college, Issy didn't know how to cope. She'd never really had to deal with something like that before and so it had struck her hard. Issy visited her as often as she could, but it was difficult. She called every day to check up on her and sent her a different bunch of flowers each week until the day that she died. This was a tradition that she later stuck to on the anniversary of her mom's death, annually taking great care to find a perfect bunch to lay on the grave. Isabella realized, sadly, that she had missed it this year, with all that had been going on. February 14th, during her second year at college, was one of the worst days of Issy's life.

They had only just returned to college from summer break, and Issy had been visiting Rich after months apart in the rented house he shared with a few of his friends. That was when she had gotten the phone call.

It had started off as a pretty regular conversation, 'hi, how are you' and 'what have you been up to'. Richard knew something was wrong when Issy had sunk to the floor and began to stare blankly at the wall.

"How long have you known?" Isabella's voice was strange and with little emotion.

She was silent for a while as her mother talked. Rich joined her on the floor holding her hand. She didn't seem to know he was there.

"Okay." She said, getting to her feet quickly. "I'm coming home."

She dashed around looking for her keys before stopping abruptly. "You don't want me there?"

She paused again for a second, before resuming her frantic searching. "Well if that's the only reason you don't want me to come, I'm coming. I'll see you soon."

She disconnected. "Where are my damn keys Rich?" She shouted, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

Her passed them to her from the table where she'd left them. "What's wrong, Iz?"

She could no longer hold back the tears, and choked out, "it's cancer. My mom's got cancer."

They had driven through the night to get to Issy's home. It was the first time that Rich had seen it, and her mother, for that matter, considering he and Isabella been pretty on-off lately. They had made small talk, but the night was really about Issy and her mom so he'd taken a back seat, making coffees and, as the night progressed, preparing stronger drinks. Together, they had laughed and cried, recalling some of the happiest moments they had shared together and slowly coming to the realization of what was happening. They cried themselves to sleep on the sofa bed.

The following morning was calmer. Issy's mom had set a strict no crying policy from now on as they started to prepare for the unpreventable situation that faced them. The doctor had told them that unfortunately the cancer had been caught too late, and that it was terminal, giving her a time frame of anywhere between one month and six left to live. But Issy's mom was a fighter, as she had told, more accurately slurred, the previous night, and made a promise to never give up, under her daughter's request. Isabella was just barely out of her teens, and couldn't bare to think of her mother not seeing her graduate from college.

Issy could not spend as much time with her mom as she wanted to the following few months. College work was piling up and needed to be completed. The Christmas holidays were a nice chance to take a break and spend some real quality time together. Her mom had seemed well and, at the time, Issy didn't question it. She later supposed that she so wanted for her to be getting better that she had seen it when it wasn't really there to see. It was only looking back that she could see that the pink glow that had always tinted her mother's cheeks was this time artificial, and that the laughing and joking when preparing the meal was to disguise the tiredness she was really feeling.

But all was good at the time, with her and Rich getting on well and her mom appearing to be okay. Even Simon, who Issy had seen very little of since the diagnosis, had come round and spent time with them all. Life was good.

That was until one February morning when the hospital called, informing Issy that her mother had been admitted and that she had best come to visit her. The journey home had been a blur. Emotions flew threw her head; she was angry and upset and frightened. Her mom was 45. That was no age for anybody to die, and it wasn't fair. Richard had driven her all the way to the hospital from college, ignoring Issy's protests, telling him to stay as he'd already missed too many classes. Issy could be very headstrong, but so could he, and so he very politely told her to be quiet and that nothing would stop him from coming with her.

When they found Issy's mom in hospital, Issy nearly broke down at the sight of her. She was so frail and thin and weak looking, and in that moment Issy hated herself. She hated herself for not visiting more often. She hated herself for not screaming at the doctors to do more when she was first diagnosed. She hated herself for ignoring what was so clear to see and for the denial that she was in. She couldn't hold back the tears as she collapsed into a chair by her mother's bedside and holding her hand tightly.

"Now what did I say about crying?" Her mother said, voice quiet and crackled and attempting a thin smile.

"What did I say about fighting?" Issy retorted. She always did this, redirected her anger, and it wasn't fair. "I'm sorry."

Her mother shook her head. "I tried, Issy, honey, but I can't fight anymore."

The pain in her voice was evident, and Issy went to look for a nurse to help her. As she was gone, Issy's mother turned to Richard, who was sat on the opposite side of the bed. They hadn't known each other for long, but Richard's charisma and obvious love of her daughter had shown her that he was a good person and they had built up a strong relationship in the previous months.

"I need you to look after my baby when I'm gone." Her voice broke slightly as tears welled at the thought of leaving Isabella on her own. "She's strong, but she'll need someone to help her through this. If you're as good a person as I think you are, then you'll be there for her."

"Of course." He promised, attempting to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

She was the mother he wished he had had; warm, generous and kind. He loved his own, no question, but when he had watched Issy and her mom together, laughing so hard they cried and sharing a bond so deep he couldn't help but feel a little jealous of their relationship. Richard held one of her hands between both of his and smiled at her encouragingly, hoping to convey his sincerity.

Issy returned, flustered and frantic, informing them that they couldn't up her mom's medication because she was already at her limit and sinking down in the chair again.

"Issy," her mom started, stroking her face with a pale, thin hand, "I love you more than anything in the world. You are going to go on to do such great things, I just know it. Go and help people, like you've always wanted to. You are so smart and beautiful and funny, and this one doesn't know how lucky he is to have you."

She jerked her head slightly to the side towards Richard who grinned at her words. Issy tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob through the tears.

"If he gets out of line, I'll have a word with the big guy, tell him to put a curse on him or whatever."

"I'm not sure that's the way God works really, mom." Issy smiled, remembering previous conversations about religion that had revealed that her and her mother had a similar expectation of the afterlife; that there was none.

"Who said anything about God?" She smirked mischievously, which resulted in actual laughter from Issy at the thought of her mother being sat side-by-side with the devil.

They talked for a while, but it was evident that Issy's mom was deteriorating. She cringed, clutching Issy's hand tightly and looked sadly at her only child.

"I think this is it, honey. I love you. Promise me you won't be sad for too long, and don't shut yourself away. Let people help you from time to time." They all knew that she was talking about Rich. "This one's a keeper."

Her mom lifted Issy's hand to her face, kissed it gently and lay it back on the bed. With a final goodbye, she took her last breath and her eyelids closed slowly, her hand falling limp in Isabella's.

Issy wailed with grief, breath coming out in great sobs and huge tears rolling continuously down her face. Richard joined her, wrapping his arms around her and trying to offer some comfort. Issy refused to let go of her mothers hand until the nurses came to remove her body and even then she did so unwillingly.

The funeral was set up for the following week, during which time she stayed at her old home with Richard. It was so empty without her mothers presence, without her laughter bouncing off the walls.

The funeral was nice, tasteful and, above all, colorful, exactly as her mom would have wanted. Richard stood by her side throughout, as he had done during this whole horrible situation, offering moral support. It was this support that made Issy see Richard as more than just the silly little boy he had been to her just 6 months ago and instead as a rock, as a shoulder to cry on and as the first man that she had ever fallen in love with. She had told him this later and he had returned the words, their relationship intensifying through the grief that she was feeling. It may have seemed strange to other people, but when Richard later announced that they would name their first born girl after the extraordinary woman that had died before her years, Issy fell even deeper in love with this man that she'd spent so much time with recently. And so, as suggested so many years previously, little Elizabeth Sanders was named after the grandmother she would never meet, Elizabeth Flynn, the greatest woman that Isabella had ever known.

From then on, valentines day was a day of mourning. It had never really been something she'd taken seriously and, other than the exchange of her and Simon's cards when they were younger, she had never celebrated it. A few years after the death, Richard had turned it into something silly, buying her something cheesy to make her smile. He had always known how to make her smile.

By the time she'd come round to her senses, people were milling in and out of the court. Checking her watch, she noticed it was almost ten and so decided to enter the building as well. She was directed to a room in which she was supposed to stay until she was called for.

She had waited for a sufficient enough time to build up her nerves. Maybe she couldn't do this? She had no rock anymore. He was gone, thanks to the man she was about to face at any minute. A woman came to lead her to the court room. Heart hammering and beginning to sweat, she entered the room.

Her eyes flickered over the people in the room, from the judge to the jury and then settling on the defendant. He'd dressed smartly in a suit and combed his hair back, looking presentable and every bit as evil as she knew him to be. He smiled at her as she walked to her spot and she continued to stare at him. She declared to tell the truth to the judge and sat down shakily as the prosecutor stepped forward to begin questioning. She was a little older than Issy, with long, straight, blonde hair similar to her own.

"Mrs Sanders. You arrived home late from work on the night of the murders. Can you tell us what you saw?"

Isabella cleared her throat and looked right at Simon before starting. "I saw my husband and two children lying dead on the floor having had been stabbed to death. Then, I saw Simon, covered in their blood."

"In your interview, you said that Mr Parker had admitted to these murders. Is this really the case?"

"Yes. He was... happy about it. He told me that he'd done this for me, so that we could be together."

"And, at any point, did you suggest to Mr Parker that this was what you wanted?"

"No. Never. I loved my family." Issy's voiced trembled slightly, and she cleared her throat to disguise it. "I would never have wanted this to happen."

"What happened after the suspect admitted to the crime?"

Issy took a deep breath before responding. "He raped me."

The jury looked between each other muttering quietly. All the time, Simon had been watching Isabella curiously.

"No further questions, your honor." The prosecutor said, taking her seat again.

The defense was called forward. The name tag on his desk told Issy that he was called John Nelson. He was short and strutted over confidently towards Isabella. As he did so, she looked around the room, spotting Patrick and Teresa in the crowd of people. Jane offered an encouraging smile.

"Is it true, Mrs Sanders, that Simon Parker has been your best friend since you were children?"

"He was, yes." Issy stressed the past tense.

"And, is it also true that growing up you told him that you would, and I quote, 'be together forever'?"

"I suppose so." She frowned. "Kids say that kind of stuff, don't they?"

"Yes, yes they do." He said nodding. "Is it possible, do you think, that maybe Mr Parker took this to be true? And that maybe, as you grew up, he expected a bit more than friendship?"

"No. He knew I loved Richard, and I told Simon that he was only ever my friend."

"Must have been hard on him, though, coming to love you and have you love someone else, all the while being sent mixed signals-"

"I never once sent mixed signals!" Issy countered.

"So you say." He looked at her pointedly. "And you're sure that you didn't express to Mr Parker that you intended to deepen your relationship?"

"Objection, your honor, the question has already been asked."

"If you have no further questions, then take a seat." The judge looked bored.

"Sorry, your honor." Nelson said to the judge. He turned to face Issy again. "Is it also true that you and your husband argued on the morning of your families death?"

"Yes. We did." Issy looked down, ashamed. This was something that she had to carry with her for the rest of her life, that the last words exchanged between herself and her husband weren't representative of how they really felt about each other.

"And so, it might be possible that you had in fact asked Simon to do this? To pave the way for a new life. And," he said, now addressing the jury, "we all know that there's a fine line between rape and consensual sex, don't we?"

"Excuse me?" Issy exclaimed. "How could you even suggest any of that? I loved my family more than anything and I would never... it wasn't consensual." She finished through gritted teeth, eyes welling with tears. No, she wouldn't give Simon the pleasure of seeing her cry over him. She held them back with difficulty, glaring at Nelson.

"We all fall out with people, and screaming kids can be annoying, can't they?" He directed at Issy. "No one would blame you for snapping one day, maybe taking it out on your family and asking Simon here to do your dirty work for you."

Issy couldn't believe this. She frowned at the judge.

"If you have no further questions I urge you to sit down, as that is the second time you have asked the same thing twice." The judge told Nelson, a look on his face indicating his lack of approval.

Nelson shrugged smugly and sauntered his way back over to his place.

"Where did they find that guy?" Isabella heard Patrick mutter not so quietly.

The judge looked up in warning and Jane motioned zipping his lips.

"Does the accused have anything more to say?" The judge asked.

Simon cleared his throat. "I did it. I killed all of them. I had decided to kill them years before, but only then found the perfect opportunity. The husband, first, as he would have been the most difficult. I stabbed him multiple times. Then the boy-"

The judge banged his gavel. "That's enough."

The jury squirmed uncomfortably in their seats and Nelson held his head in his hands. They were dismissed, told to take their time and to come back when they had reached a decision. Isabella stayed seated during this time, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at the crazed glint in Simon's eye. He showed no remorse whatsoever. She hadn't really expected him to, but it hadn't made being faced with the realization any easier.

The jury returned, with one male member standing a little uneasily.

"Has the jury arrived at a verdict?"

"We have." The man said.

"And how do you find the defendant?"

"Guilty of rape and multiple cases of first-degree murder. We would suggest life imprisonment without chance of parole, considering the prosecution hasn't pressed for the death penalty."

"Agreed. Take him away. Court adjourned." The judge once again banged the gavel.

Simon's glare never left Isabella's face as he was led out of the room, and she prayed that this would be the last time she would ever have to be in such close proximity with that monster.

Exiting the court building, Isabella sighed. She still felt no different. The finality of it all was nice, knowing that Simon would be behind bars until the day of his death, but the pain was just the same as it always was.

She made her way to her car, noticing Patrick's in the lot too and thinking that it would have been nice to talk to him. She looked around for him but when he still was nowhere to be seen she decided just to drive back to her apartment.

She was beginning to feel tired due to her lack of sleep the previous night and changed quickly into sweats and a vest top. The trial had finished sooner than expected and so no one was expecting her to volunteer today, and besides, she needed to think about the mornings events. She had just settled down on the worn sofa, ready for a nap, when there was a knock at the door. Expecting the postman, Isabella was particularly surprised to find instead Patrick Jane, sporting a similar three piece suit to the one he had been wearing when they had seen each other last those months ago.

"Patrick! What are you doing here?"

He smiled at her. "Just checking up. How're you doing?"

"Better." She responded, feeling that finally she could say so truthfully.

"You look better." He noted.

She looked down at the sweatpants she was wearing, thinking he must have been joking, but saw no sarcasm in his features. She didn't need to pull the strings quite so tightly to hold then up anymore, she realized. Perhaps that was what he meant. "Uh, thanks I guess."

He stood awkwardly at the door for a few seconds.

"Oh, sorry. Come in. It's not much, just a place to sleep really." Issy cleared papers and old plates from a coffee table attempting to hide the mess.

Patrick entered the apartment, eyes scanning everything. It was only small, with only a few rooms separating the space of the bottom floor apartment. There was one bedroom, a bathroom and an all-in-one kitchen, dining room and living area. It was messy, messier than her last home, in fact, with clothes dumped in corners and papers littering every available space. There were noticeably less possessions than Patrick had expected. There didn't seem to be much more than he had provided for her months ago when she had left her previous home, other than the furniture that looked like it had been there when she moved in. There was no eating table, he noticed, so she must have been eating out or on her knees most nights. Shiny, metal containers stuffed into a bin and a pile of takeaway pamphlets suggested that she hasn't yet gotten back into a routine of normality, but that wasn't uncommon with how recently her life had taken a complete U-turn.

"Can I get you a drink of anything?" Issy asked.

"Tea would be lovely." Patrick said as he tilted his head to read one of the printouts on the coffee table. Some involved news stories of criminal activity in the area, others held real reports of wanted suspects.

Isabella noticed Patrick looking as she prepared his tea and, embarrassed, said, "I know I shouldn't have some of that stuff but I asked the guys at my old office for it, just to keep me busy. Guess it's kind of hard-wired. It seems to be the only thing that stops me from thinking about them."

She brought his tea to him and settling down on the sofa. He joined her, taking a sip of his drink.

"You put the milk in first." He said, impressed.

"Yeah, don't most people?" She asked confused. "So, how are you Patrick? I heard about all of the Red John stuff."

He smiled sadly, surprised that Issy had remembered with all that had gone on in her life recently. "Unfortunately the man that I shot wasn't Red John. He was an imposter."

"Oh." She said, sipping her own drink. "So you killed-"

"A man who deserved to die." He finished for her.

She shrugged, not wanting to get into a debate. He noted this, along with Isabella's obvious avoidance of the death penalty for Simon, and came to the conclusion that killing was obviously not something that she agreed with lightly.

"What are you doing here, Patrick?"

He placed his cup down on the table before answering. "You're a good cop. Excellent, according to your peers, and you've not been doing much with your time recently, at that shelter and food bank."

Issy frowned. "I wouldn't say that. How do you even know about it?"

"It doesn't matter." He said waving a hand dismissively. "I'm here to offer you a job, at the CBI. We've been receiving more and more cases recently and could do with an extra agent to keep up with it all. We've interviewed a couple of people but none of them seem particularly up for it."

Issy looked unsure. "I don't know, Patrick. I'm not sure I'm ready to be back doing something like that full time. It's a big responsibility."

"One that I know you're up to. You said yourself that you've been trying to keep busy, what better way than to get back into the field?" He smiled that encouraging smile again that, against her better judgement, made her trust him. "Just give it a couple of weeks. If it doesn't work out you can walk away, and go back to mucking out and filing adoption papers."

"You shouldn't mock." She told him. "Hard work for not a lot of money, those people do a good job."

"They do." He agreed. "But it isn't what you're meant to be doing."

She thought for a while, running a hand through her hair as she did so. "Fine. Just for a couple of weeks."

"Great!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I'll see you Monday, then."

Issy followed him hastily to the door. "Monday?"

"Yeah. Gives you time to let your volunteer places know and... do whatever it is you need to do." He said vaguely. He squeezed her shoulder. "You're doing the right thing."

"Uh, okay."

He grinned at her once more, and started down the path to his car.

She paused before realizing what had just happened and shouted after him, "hey, don't be trying that hypnosis mumbo jumbo on me, it won't work you know!"

Patrick chuckled as he readied himself for the short trip back to the bureau. He was rather excited about the new addition to the CBI team. She was smart, and knew her stuff when it came to policing. He was certain that she would be of great help to them. First, though, he thought with a smile, he would have to tell Lisbon about his covert recruitment.