A/N: This was something that was going round in my mind for some time. How I think that things could go if Lisbon kills Red John

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist

She sat in her office, alone, the light from the window fading into shadows that scattered about the room. Hiding places. Safe. Places she could hide from the outside world while the tears fell softly down her face. Lonely tears and unspoken feelings tormented her, like a suspect that she couldn't put away. Mocking her. Like the serial killer who eluded capture for so long, until finally, she had put a bullet in him, ending his life. She had sought out the tequila in her desk but after one shot she realised that no amount of alcohol would drown the demons, the mocking hurt she felt inside. She had hurt him and he had hurt her. They had argued, fought, until words were spoken that could not be taken back and now they sat, on opposite ends of the office. She at her desk and he on the sofa in the bullpen. Each lost in their own thoughts, their own, private war zone. It had been three hours now, three hours since she had spoken to anyone; the rest of the team had gone home for the evening. Silence was her sole companion.

In the dim light she dared to turn her head in the direction of her consultant. Only a little at first, her fear and anger not permitting her more than a glance in his direction. He lay there, still, unmoving, illuminated by the faint beams of moonlight. He looked so much like a beacon of hope in the night and more than anything, she wanted to go to him, feeling drawn in his direction by the pull of her tortured heart. But she wouldn't, she couldn't, not yet, not while everything was still so fresh, so raw in her mind.

He lay on the sofa, a light draught of air wafted across him causing him to shiver a little. A ghostly caress, cool, gentle, such a contrast to his conflicted mind. He knew he had caused her pain and he hated himself for that. He knew it was selfish, but Red John was his kill. He had been planning that moment for ten years and she had taken it from him, in the blink of an eye. He hated her for that. In that one startling and heated moment, he hated her. He had spent the next few hours in quiet self-rebuke. Beating himself up for the careless use of words and uncontrolled feelings that he couldn't stop from pouring out of him. He hadn't meant to hurt her; he knew he would rather die than cause her that much pain. He knew how she had felt about him, that she cared about him, even loved him and that the decision to shoot Red John came purely from instinct. She was protecting him. She had saved his life but all he could do was hurt her. He didn't want to be protected; he didn't want to be saved. All he wanted was revenge for his family. That was his reason for living, for keeping it together when he could have fallen to pieces. But with one pull of the trigger Lisbon had ended that, and in that moment, a part of him died with Red John. The two of them had gone up in flames at her actions.

He chanced a glance at her office but couldn't see her from where he lay. Slowly he sat upright and that's when he saw the result of his thoughtlessness. Lisbon - his Lisbon was crying. He felt his heart shatter at the sight. He wanted to go to her, to tell her that he was sorry and that he would do anything to make it up to her but one more look at her and he realised that no words would adequately convey his feelings for her, his boundless gratitude to her, for being there for him for so long, for standing by him when anyone else would have walked away years ago. He was a fool and he knew it. He decided to stand up and go to her anyway, unable to bear the cold expanse between them any longer. His heart was pounding in his chest, but just as he started to move, he saw her leaving her office. She was going home. He waited until she was at the elevator and then swiftly followed, meeting her just as the doors parted open. "Lisbon!" he called, a tinge of urgency in his voice, "Wait, please?"

Wordlessly, she turned around to face him, not quite able to meet his eyes. "What do you want Jane?" she asked, her voice weak, tired.

He could see the puffiness of her eyes and the faint tear tracks glistening on her cheeks and his knees almost buckled, guilt tearing through him, weighing him down. He felt like the lowest form of life. "Those things I said earlier, I didn't mean them. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, right." She whispered, half heartedly, she had heard this all before, classic Jane. He would make the biggest mess possible and take it for granted that she would just sweep it under the carpet. She attempted to step foot inside the elevator but Jane stopped her, moving his arm across the doors, keeping them open but blocking her path. "No, please Lisbon. Don't leave, not like this. Come up to the attic with me, let's talk about this."

Lisbon pushed his arm out of the way and stepped inside, Jane stood in the doorway, both arms now holding the doors open. "You hurt me today Jane. After all we've been through…" she couldn't finish the sentence, afraid that if she said anymore the tears would fall again. She didn't want to cry in front of him –the object of her affection and the source of her pain. She knew she wouldn't be able to stop. "I just wanna go home now."

Jane felt his body begin to tremble, "I'm sorry. Teresa. I never meant to hurt you. You….." He paused, caught in his own emotional maelstrom. "You've given me a second chance at life; I don't want to spend it with you hating me. I love you."

Lisbon smirked and replied quietly, "I've heard that before Jane."

"I mean it Lisbon, please just hear me out?

"Let go of the doors!" the authority had returned to her voice, driven by the growing anger at the memory of the last time he had told her those three little words. Jane did as she asked but instead of stepping out of the elevator he walked into it to stand beside her. He could see the debate going on inside her head. He knew that part of her wanted to forgive him. He watched as Lisbon's finger hovered over the buttons. She seemed to be debating which floor to go to. He held his breath. Would she choose to go to the parking lot and leave him there or go up to the attic with him and talk things through? Up or down? Heaven or hell? He waited. Lisbon sighed before pressing the button for the attic. She didn't turn around, just stared at the closed doors. Jane felt hope flood back into his body along with the promise of a new start, new possibilities. He stood behind her and quietly whispered "Thank you."