This is my first Mentalist fanfic. I was going to say, "my first fanfic ever," but it's not! I was going through some stuff I wrote when I was about 15, and I discovered two fanfics about The Avengers-good ones, too, especially for a teenager! For those who are not familiar with the classic British spy TV show: it was on in the 60s, and it was my favorite show. It features Emma Peel (her partner calls her Mrs. Peel-we never get to see Mr. Peel!) who was the prototype of all the kickass female spies/police/detectives/crimesolvers: beautiful, brilliant, fearless, expert in the martial arts and marksmanship. It also features John Steed, the very picture of a proper Englishman with bowler hat and umbrella, who looks innocuous but is trained in the use of all sorts of weapons and in street fighting. They are partners, and Steed is secretly in love with Emma, but it's hard to tell how she feels about him. (Sound familiar?) The end of each episode has them toasting their success with champagne. They drive fancy cars (Steed has a Bentley, Emma a Lotus Elan) and you get the feeling that being a spy was a high-paying job!

So, I might post my Avengers fanfics if there is a category for the show!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist. I wish I did, because I want to run my fingers through his hair!

SPOILER ALERT FOR SEASON 6!

I was re-reading Chapter 1 and I realized that there is a too abrupt transition from the present tense to the past tense mid-chapter. I have added my usual fix (line of asterisks separating the two sections) I realize that this is not what Tolstoy or Jane Austen would have done, but this just serves to illustrate the yawning gulf between me and the masters. I wanted to experiment with changing tense and the result was not entirely successful. I hope you enjoy the story as it unfolds...

hmmm...the asterisks never showed up when I edited. Just imagine a line separating the two tenses beginning at "As Jane spoke..."

Someone complained that I practically "regurgitated the promo" in Chapter 8. So I'm including a spoiler alert. But my plan for the next scene in the story was nothing like the season premiere. I have temporarily stopped writing this story because I may include spoilers without realizing it and I always have the compulsion to change what I have written so it fits the action on the show. I want to pursue the "hitwoman" idea, though-I was inspired partly by The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. For now I'm restricting myself to episode tags, because as beautifully as the new season has begun, it is seriously lacking in Jisbon, which after five seasons and in the light of events in episodes 01 and 02, should be more apparent.

Chapter 1

Jane: How can I protect her? I'd have to be with her 24/7 and she'd never allow that. And how can I protect the future victims of Red John's wrath? I don't even know who they are and I have no way of finding out! Is it too dangerous to tell Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt? We can't hunt RJ alone. I need a plan! How did this happen? I have dragged my "family" [Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt] into this deadly vortex from which there is no escape. I have also endangered the woman I love, the only woman I have a chance of happiness with when this is all over, if it's ever over. We might both end up dead. I have to tell her now. She doesn't know. She doubts me, she's never trusted me, and for good reason. How can I make her believe that I love her more than anything or anyone in the world?

Lisbon: I've never been afraid of any killer in my entire career, but now I am afraid. I don't like to admit it, but I'm even scared to be alone in my own apartment, even with all my guns. Red John knows I love Jane. What if he comes after me? And what about the people from Jane's past that he's planning to murder? We can't possibly discover who they are and warn them. What are we going to do? I want to tell the team about this but it might put them in too much danger. What if Bertram is Red John? How am I going to act normal? Use my good poker face? This isn't poker we're playing, it's a high-stakes deadly game. And Jane…this is devastating to him. Does he love me? I still can't tell. Will he try to protect me and should I let him? I'm an officer of the law, it's my job to be in harm's way, I don't need protection…but Red John is powerful. He isn't an ordinary serial killer. He's a monster and he has minions. Jane and I can't do this alone. We are going to need every member of the team...

As Jane stares out the window, he tries to neutralize the despair in his face, and his expression becomes unreadable. His back is turned to Lisbon, who gazes at him with eyes full of her own special mix of sadness bordering on despair, worry, and love that she still can't express in words.

"Jane."

No answer.

"Jane, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

"We have to think of something. People are going to be murdered and as of now we have no way of preventing it. If we don't know who they are, how can we warn them or protect them?"

"My question exactly, Lisbon."

"I think we have to include the team. We can't do this without backup. It's too dangerous, and we could both end up dead with Red John still on the loose."

"We may have to include them, but not yet. There has to be a plan in place."

He turns to face her and walks toward her, away from the window. "Let's sit down and discuss this."

He gestures toward the worn mattress which serves as his bed. Lisbon sits gingerly on the mattress, which looks as though it might harbor bedbugs. Jane sits beside her, leaving two feet of personal space between them.

"I think we have to tail each one of the suspects. I'm still working on eliminating more of them. Until I do, we have to assume that all the men on the list are all equally likely to be Red John. We have to be very circumspect, very cautious, Lisbon. We have to make ourselves invisible."

"If we get the team to do surveillance…"

"I don't want to get them involved until I figure out how to keep them from getting killed, especially Van Pelt. He prefers to go after women."

Lisbon is silent for a long moment.

"And especially you, Lisbon." She hates it when he appears to read her mind.

"Jane, you know my position on this. I've told you before, I'm an officer of the law and it's my job to put myself in harm's way. You don't have to protect me."

"Ah, but I do, Lisbon. I've brought this upon you, and if you die as a result, then I'm responsible. You must allow me to protect you."

"So, what do you have in mind? Hire me a bodyguard? Handcuff yourself to me?"

"You don't have to be scornful. Do you really think I could live with knowing I'd caused your death?"

"That's not the point. You could get us both killed. You haven't been trained to pursue dangerous criminals.I can't put your life in danger-I swore to protect and serve. I should be protecting you. I'm the one who knows how to handle a weapon…"

"I'm learning how to shoot. I go to the range almost every day. I bought a Glock."

"Jane! You're carrying an unregistered gun? I should arrest you!"

"Relax, I went through all the proper channels. And I've become a pretty good shot if I do say so myself."

Lisbon opened her mouth to protest, but sighed instead.

"I've never been able to control you, Jane. I've even allowed you to co-opt me into illegal behavior."

"Because you know I'm right and that often you have to bend the law to catch the criminal."

"Can't you even try to understand it from my point of view? If I commit crimes, that makes me a hypocrite posing as an officer of the law. Unlike you, I have principles that I live by."

"And that you give up as soon as I persuade you to see reason."

"I don't give up my principles!"

"Admit it, Lisbon, sometimes the law is wrong and it actually prevents justice from being done."

Lisbon glares at him, but wearily.

"Aren't we supposed to be figuring out what we're going to do next? Are we just going sit back and wait for him to kill his next victim?"

"No, we'll figure this out. I promise I'll come up with a plan."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I have to."

Lisbon is feeling increasingly more uncomfortable-an unaccustomed combination of fear, undermined confidence, annoyance, and the desire to cry. She never cries. She can't even remember the last time she cried. Well, she almost cried when she rescued Jane from drowning. She has always managed to to maintain her professional demeanor, to the point of stoicism. Her reticence, her privacy, the protective armor she assumed when she was twelve years old, against being hurt, against feeling helpless, against fear- this armor served her well until Patrick Jane joined the CBI. The mentalist wasn't deterred by psychological armor: he went right ahead and cut through it, somehow discovering her secrets, things she never told anyone and kept well hidden. He knows her better than she knows herself.

It's so unfair. After a decade, she still doesn't know who he is. She doesn't know if she can trust him.

She has convinced herself that she can will herself not to love him, even though she has been engulfed by his charm and good looks and dazzled by his brilliance for years. She even thinks that she can conceal her thoughts from him, and has told him that she doesn't want him inside her head. But to no avail. Still, she is able to act professional around him, even if it's merely a veneer. She knows that her detectives are too sharp not to notice nonverbal signals between her and Jane and that they drew their own conclusions years ago. But she is determined to keep up the fiction that she is not in love with Patrick Jane.

Now her armor has been removed piece by piece by this man, and she feels naked before him.

She feels the humiliation of a woman everyone knows to be in love with a man who does not love her. At least it seems that way. He sidestepped her question over a year ago after he pretended to shoot her. She distinctly heard him say the words, but then he denied remembering that he said them. And why had he said them? It wasn't as if he were really shooting her. Was she supposed to believe he meant it after carrying on with Lorelei? Did he expect her not to be hurt when he didn't contact her for six months? Maybe, just maybe, despite his remarkable powers of penetration, Jane was unable to tell if Lisbon loved him or not. She certainly never said "I love you" to him. Maybe he thought she regarded him as a brother or platonic friend.

They are playing a game in which they pretend not to love each other. And with every day that passes, the tension increases.

Lisbon abruptly gets up from the mattress and says, "I'm exhausted. I need sleep to be able to focus on this. Let's wait until tomorrow."

"Suit yourself, Lisbon," is the cold reply as he turns his back on her. And then, suddenly angry. "I might just take this on alone. You won't be able to stand up to him. I thought you were brave, but here you are, cowering, but trying to assert your authority over me with this "officer of the law" crap. And you don't trust me. Why do you assume that I never registered the gun? You think of yourself as the great upholder of the Law. And you consider me a con man and outlaw who respects no one's law but his own. I couldn't possibly be a crimefighter like you. So go. Get thee to a nunnery, Lisbon. That's where you belong anyway."

She feels like she's been slapped. Slowly she opens the heavy door of the attic and makes her way downstairs to the sanctuary of her office. It's late, probably around ten, and she would normally have been home and in bed by now, "lying awake thinking about Jane," she thinks bitterly. But she realizes that she is afraid to go home. Afraid that Red John is already there waiting for her like a tiger stalking his prey. It's foolish to think that her office is any safer than her home, but somehow knowing that Jane is in the building, awake, makes her feel safe.

She switches on the lamp in her office and sits down at her desk. The usual stack of paperwork awaits her, and she digs into it grimly, trying to forget that he has hurt her yet again. What triggered that outburst? What did she do? He really must hate me, she decides.

It helps to have work to do, but she can't shake the feelings of dread and despair that have settled upon her. She opens her file cabinet drawer and slowly takes out the bottle of tequila. She has the two glasses with which she and Bosco would toast the end of a case, back in happier times.

Bosco. Dead. Because of Red John.

She fills one of the glasses only halfway, raises the glass, and contemplates the golden liquid. She brings it to her lips and swallows some. Just like Dad, she thinks. I'm turning into someone who just gives up when there seems to be no reason for living, no solution to terrible problems that keep you awake nights. But I need a drink. If I don't have a drink or two, I won't be able to fall asleep. And I need to sleep.

She drinks one glass, then another, and this time she fills it to the brim.

She begins to slip into that pleasant oblivion which leads to sleep. She staggers unsteadily to the leather couch that Jane bought for her, still holding the tequila bottle in her right hand and the glass in her left. She doesn't even bother to take off her jacket and shoes; she just curls up into the fetal position on the couch and closes her eyes. Sadness still weighs so heavily upon her that she can't even cry, but she can't really remember why she is so profoundly hurt. Soon she falls asleep.

She is awakened by a rapping on her door. She sits bolt upright and reaches for her gun reflexively, but immediately realizes that it's Jane who's knocking.

"Go away."

"Please-I'm sorry-I was an arrogant bastard again-please forgive me, Lisbon."

"How many times have I forgiven you? Ten? Fifteen? Fifty? Excuse me if I can't remember, there's so many! Well, I'm done forgiving you. I'm done, Jane. With you. You can conceive a master plan to catch Red John, and I'm going back to honest detective work. I'm telling the team everything."

"You can't! Not yet!"

"Oh, and I'm only supposed to do it when you say so? Go to hell, Jane. Go to hell and sleep with a few more of Red John's girlfriends. Live out your pathetic revenge fantasy, but don't try to get me to join you."

Jane seizes the doorknob and rattles it.

"You're right. I am an egotistical, self-centered, controlling, insensitive bastard. I've hurt you and lied to you so many times-why should you ever trust me to protect you?"

"I don't need your protection!"

"Lisbon…Teresa…just let me in for five minutes and I promise to leave. Five minutes."

She goes to the door, unlocks it, and lets him in.

He's a mess. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair dishevelled, he has the bleary and wild-eyed look of a man who never sleeps.

He's standing there in his shirtsleeves, having taken off his jacket and vest.

"May I sit down? And will you sit next to me on the couch?"

Lisbon doesn't respond but silently sits next to him.

"I'd ask if you'd like a cup of tea, but I see you've already been getting into the hard stuff."

"Get to the point."

Jane sighs. He looks down, hanging his head like a chastised child.

"Teresa. I've lied to you a lot, and I'm not proud of it. Some of it was necessary to give you deniability or to catch a criminal using means I knew you'd disapprove of. But a lot of it was just pure cowardice. The worst lie I ever told you is the one about not remembering what I said to you that day when I pretended to kill you.

I was horrified by what I was about to do, even though I knew the bullets were blanks. How could I even pretend to kill you when I…when you're the woman I love more than anyone or anything?" He runs out of breath and has to stop. Beads of sweat are standing out on his forehead. He can't look at her, so he continues to look down. "Pure cowardice, Teresa." He holds his breath awaiting her response.

As Jane spoke, a sullen Lisbon pretended not to be interested. She'd had a lot to drink and was starting to feel combative. But when he reached his confession, she felt as though she'd had the wind knocked out of her. She was dizzy (was it the booze?) and a little disoriented. When the full impact of his words hit her, she flushed a deep red. She didn't dare to raise her eyes to meet his. It felt like the moment on a first date-that awful, apprehensive, sweaty moment-when you don't know if he is going to kiss you or not, and you're waiting, waiting…She didn't want to be that girl on a date. But she'd lost control of the situation.

"Teresa," he whispered tenderly. "Look at me."

She raised her eyes. He reached out and stroked the side of her face. Then he grasped her face gently and kissed her.

It had been so long since she'd kissed anyone that her first reaction was panic. But he just continued to kiss her, not expecting anything in return. She allowed him to explore her mouth, then her neck, and then he put both arms around her. "This was worth waiting ten years for," he said mischievously.

Lisbon let her head drop on his shoulder. She found to her dismay that she was utterly speechless and shy. She wanted to say it, but the words strangled her. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding, and tears began to leak through her tightly closed lids. Damn it, Jane, she thought. You don't deserve my love, and you know it. And now you're forcing me to confess what I wouldn't even confess to myself until a few weeks ago.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, stroking her hair. (How considerate of him to pretend he doesn't know, she thought angrily.)

"I thought I was transparent and you know everything that I'm thinking."

"It's the one thing I can't read in you: what your feelings are for me. I feel like I'm plucking the petals off a daisy, saying She loves me, she loves me not. I suspect that you don't want to love me-I'm a piece of work, we both know that, damaged goods, you could do so much better, and I don't mean Walter Mashburn," he said with the shadow of a grin.

"I don't want to love you. I want to go back to being the woman I was before I met you. Now I feel trapped. I feel like I have to let you protect me, which isn't the same as loving, all because I'm so damn scared!"

"You're afraid to go home, so you are going to be sleeping here from now on? Don't you think the team will think that's a little strange?"

"I don't care what anyone thinks. I want to escape. Run away from Red John." She was astonished to hear herself sob. She angrily rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

"Teresa…" Jane held her more tightly. "Don't you think I'm scared too? Don't you think I want to escape?The problem is, there's no escape! We have no choice. We are in this until death, if necessary. It's like some deadly marriage. We can't escape, and we can't be angry with each other and avoid each other, because that will weaken our partnership and make it easy for him to overwhelm us. "

The truth of this was not lost on Lisbon, despite the persistent haze of alcohol.

He continued to speak, less shakily now.

"I never thought I could ever love another woman after Angela. But the more I think back on it, I realize that I was already half in love with you, though I didn't know it, that day when I came into the CBI and you let me have the Red John files. And the more I worked with you…well, you know." Lisbon suddenly noticed that he was no longer wearing his wedding ring. Reading her thoughts again, he said, "I wasn't going to take it off until after Red John was dead. Angela and Charlotte- I felt I owed them that. Taking it off would give me permission to start a new life with another woman. And I had to earn the right to a new life by killing Red John and avenging Angela and Charlotte. But now the game has changed. We could both end up dead. Do I really want to wait until you're dying to tell you that I love you? Or what if I die before I get a chance to tell you? We have to live for today, Teresa. And that means being honest with each other. How ironic, me talking about being honest."

Lisbon stroked his hair timidly. "Remember when I rescued you from drowning? I really thought I was going to lose you, and I kept saying No, No, and giving you CPR, and I think I realized then that I would be devastated if you…and I knew then that I loved you."

His face brightened, but he didn't smile.

"So you do love me? "

"Yes, God help me, I love you…Patrick." She stumbled a little over his given name. "It's going to be weird calling you Patrick." She tried to force a smile.

"It doesn't matter what you call me. Teresa is a lovely name. It rolls easily off the tongue. But I hope you don't mind if I call you my angry little princess from time to time."

"Oh, God, I was so mad at you when you said that! I think you'll agree I'm not exaggerating when I say that a suicide bomb strapped on you can really ruin your day. And then to have to try on Grace's damn bridesmaid dress! It didn't even fit me. And then to hear you tell me that B.S. about telling Grace to ask me to be her bridesmaid. I wanted to strangle you." She smiled. "It wasn't the first, nor the last time."

Jane's grin expanded to full size.