A/N: This story is a sequel to my short one-shot Endings so please read that fic first if you haven't already or you may be a little confused from the outset. But, in summary, the premise for this is that Red John (McAllister) was in that limo at the end of season 4 and was arrested by Lisbon and her team.

I've been wanting to write this for quite some time so I'm excited to be finally having a crack at it (I've written three chapters so far so before I tweak the hell out of the first one again and again thought I'd better publish it to stop myself). Hope you enjoy the setup and any feedback/reviews would be welcomed. (For those waiting on updates to my other stories I'll do my best to get back to them as soon as inspiration strikes. Currently, I'm just glad I'm enjoying writing regularly again after a long hiatus so your patience would be appreciated).

THE EVENTS IN THIS STORY TAKE PLACE SIX MONTHS LATER

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist or any of its characters.

CAGED TYGER

Chapter 1 - Hello darkness, my old friend...

Teresa Lisbon eyed the yacht moored at the end of the dock, a peculiar knot in her stomach twisting, tightening. Seeing Jane again after all these months apart would be...strange.

Well, that was a vast understatement. Last time they'd seen each other they'd kissed, after all. The attic, so long Jane's sanctuary, became theirs for a brief moment in time. Surrounded by cobwebs and bare beams they'd held each other, clung to each other.

Matching quaking breaths.

Equal concession.

And an overriding sense of finality, floating through the air like the dust bunnies that circled them.

But amidst the mustiness and dankness, tremulous timidity gave way to tenderness as their lips met. Courage led to confidence as their mouths sought more.

If they hadn't been interrupted by Wainwright's phone call then who knows what...

Better not travel too far down that path.

So, in the end, it was a kiss of goodbye, a farewell to a different type of life they might have someday had if circumstances had been different.

A chance lost.

New paths taken alone.

She bore him no resentment for his choice. And, in many ways, her decision to arrest Thomas McAllister and stop Jane from killing him that day had curbed whatever may have transpired between them if Jane had stayed at the CBI. For his leaving also meant she didn't have to see the disapproval in his eyes for her decision.

She recalled the events perfectly like they happened yesterday. And unlike today, where the soft breeze of the ocean whispered soothingly over her skin, she'd never forgotten the blazing sun on her skin nor the dry heat in her vehicle as they'd waited for Red John to arrive, the tension in the air so thick she could almost taste it, then bitterness and bile on her tongue as the day's events progressed.

And, in a way, the scorched earth of the Nevada desert was a perfect harbinger to the parting of their ways and the dissolution of their long partnership. Things would never have been the same between them again if he had stayed despite (or, maybe also, because of) what had occurred later between them that same evening. Nonetheless, something impossibly valuable was lost that day. But perhaps something was gained too, she'd later come to believe.

She missed him, of course. Every single day shone a little less bright than the one preceding it due to his absence in her life. She laughed less. Withdrew into the safety of herself more.

But she'd grown accustomed to that dull ache of loss in her gut all those months he'd been in Vegas. Then his sudden reappearance where he'd arrived back like a tornado, sweeping her and her team into its vortex and spinning them into the craziness of yet another one of his plans, left her little time to grow accustomed to his day to day presence again. For that she was grateful. Because then, just as quickly, he was gone again and, along with the loss, her brain left in a wholly different type of headspin.

But she'd started to think her choice and his might have been the right one for them both in the end. Jane onto pastures new and, for her, a chance to get her career back on track. Wainwright had propelled her into the limelight alongside himself for a brief few weeks. She was just thankful he wanted centre stage and did most of the talking. And more thankful when the story became yesterday's news.

Capturing the infamous Red John had given her stature, value as an agent again within the Bureau. Her team were slapped on their backs by their colleagues, commendations issued. For a short time, she could almost feel the ground under her feet, a sense of normalcy inside the madness.

Then, everything shifted. Her world turned upside down again. Blake whispered in corridors.

And now it had shifted on its axis once more.

The press had been whipped up into a frenzy again. But she'd declined every interview request in the past week, ignored reporters clamouring for sound bites. And, for once, Wainwright had understood.

God, she really had been such a deluded fool to think it would really be over that day in Nevada.

She put one foot in front of the other and pushed her shoulders back as she clutched the black leather satchel tightly to her side, the manila folder that lay inside evoking emotions she simply had to keep a hold on. She wasn't normally the type for self-pity or self-recusal so what good would it do to cry or scream or stomp her feet now about the injustices in the world?

What's done is done, right? Can't change the past. Better to move on, don't dwell on mistakes made. Learn and make better decisions from this point on...

Yada yada...

It was easy to recite those platitudes. Not so easy to actually follow them. Certainly not anymore.

Sweaty-palmed, she checked the note in her jeans pocket one last time with a quick nod, satisfied she had arrived at the correct mooring. She took a moment to view the white yacht that met her, smaller than its neighbours but still impressive, sun glistening off its glossy curves, sunlight reflecting off its dark panes as it gently bobbed on the water. Exhaling a deep breath, she was about to step on the passerelle when a slim woman in her late thirties with flowing blonde wavy hair came out of the inside cabin. She walked with the gait of someone accustomed to being on the boat, attractive with deep brown eyes, small pert nose and peach lips curved into a carefree smile. She carried white tennis shoes in one hand, a large cotton bag in the other adorned with birds of paradise, and wore a fluid white and peach patterned sundress that came to just below her knees, bare tanned legs to match her arms and face.

Lisbon stopped at the end of the metal gangplank, frowned as the woman smiled at her. The stranger spoke. Pleasantly, "Good morning, can I help you?"

Maybe she had the wrong yacht after all. "Um-I-um...I was looking for uh-"

Smiling, "Patrick?"

Lisbon nodded dumbly.

"He's just inside, come onboard," she responded with a nod behind her to the interior. She strolled towards Lisbon. "I'm so sorry, have to run, I'm afraid. Late for tennis. Nice to meet you, though! I'm Elle, by the way. Maybe we can meet properly later if you're still around?"

With that, she passed Lisbon with another gleaming smile in her direction. Lisbon walked onto the boat, the frown still set on her face.

Elle? She hadn't asked Lisbon who she was or what she wanted with Jane. And she certainly didn't appear to have any misgivings or in any way felt threatened about a strange woman showing up first thing in the morning to visit her...boyfriend? Jane was actually someone's boyfriend now? Lisbon rolled her eyes at how absurd that sounded in her head. She never thought she'd have seen the day. Or maybe she wasn't that to him, maybe she was just someone who shared the boat? A boat-mate...was there even such a thing? But Jane was such a lone wolf, would he just allow a near stranger to live with him? It was possible, she supposed. Wishful thinking, Teresa sounded in her head before she could stop it.

"Ellie? You forget something again?"

Jane's voice came from inside and she froze where she stood on the deck. His tone was amused, teasing. Her stomach performed a different type of somersault.

Ellie. Not just ELLE to him, then.

AGAIN. So she HAD stayed with him before. Or WAS living with him currently.

Crap.

She shook herself mentally. She hadn't sought him out to process those sorts of emotions. Today her mind had to be focused on what was important and not on her stupid bruised ego.

He came out of the cabin a second or two later, the familiar teal teacup and saucer in his hands, all scruffy beard and bed-tousled hair that looked like it hadn't been cut since they'd last seen each other. He wore navy knee-length loose shorts and a light grey cotton T-shirt. Barefooted, he looked her up and down, brief shock giving way to surprise before a small smile came to his lips.

"Hey, Lisbon."

"Jane," was all she could manage at first. She swallowed hard. She had stupidly expected him to look exactly like he had in the attic that night. This was like looking at a complete stranger but equipped with Jane's voice. Hesitantly, "H-hey."

He motioned to the interior with his head and spoke convivially, "Come on in, I've just made some tea. You look like you might just need some."

Lisbon sat down at a varnished dark wood semi-circular table inside while Jane put the kettle back on the stove. "Would you prefer coffee? I only have instant, though, I'm afraid."

Surprised he had any type of coffee she then noticed a silk scarf beside her adorned in muted blue flowers. She shifted sideways from it and said, "Uh, yeah, thank you, Jane. Sure, that'd be great."

"How'd you track me down?"

Now the shock had worn off he was playing amiable host - friendly but guarded.

She cleared her throat. She had a lot to get through so may as well start with the easy stuff first.

"Uh-it wasn't easy. Couldn't find any trace of you at first. Then...then I remembered you said you always wanted to try sailing. It was a long shot but I started looking at marinas, boat rentals, purchases."

"Clever. Though, for obvious reasons, I'm not registered under my own name at this marina."

"No. But there aren't that many that don't have security cameras installed. So, naturally, those were the ones you were liable to have a boat docked. And when I saw the name Sam Carson registered to this one in the last few months I thought it was worth checking out. Called the Marina manager, emailed him your photograph and, well, here I am."

He came towards her with a steaming mug of coffee. "How'd you know I'd still be in California at all? It's been a little over six months since we last saw each other."

She blushed at the memory of that recollection and looked at the coffee mug in his hand so as not to focus on his lips or eyes. As if that would stop him from reading her. Which he did, his eyes trained on her face intently, assessing her openly.

She took the coffee gratefully, hated how her hands shook, hated even more how he'd noticed. "I didn't. But..." She shrugged, sipped her drink made just as she liked it, "figured you wouldn't stray too far. At least, not yet."

"You mean until McAllister's trial is over?"

She flinched at his name and looked down. "Yeah."

He sat beside her, saw the same scarf she had between them and glanced at her quickly, gauging her again. She watched him move it behind him out of the corner of her eye as she took another sip of coffee.

He leaned back comfortably, sat his saucer on the table and drank some tea. "So, that's why you're here? Trial date been set? I was expecting you'd be in touch about it at some point. Though admittedly, not today. Didn't expect the evidence to be gathered so quickly. You want my testimony, I gather? Play the grieving widower card so I can help get you your conviction?"

Lisbon's head jerked up in surprise at his tone. The affable front wasn't holding up entirely. Maybe in the months apart, his bitterness had been growing. Maybe it didn't matter she wasn't by his side every day or not. Or maybe seeing her again had just brought it to the surface. But, with all that had happened in the last week or so, he was more than entitled to feel how he did.

She blinked, "You-you really have no idea why I'm here, do you?"

Eyes narrowed, "It appears not."

"I thought..." Her voice trailed off. "I wondered why you hadn't been in touch...I was annoyed, upset you hadn't, actually...I really thought you would have contacted me...well, the team, I mean, despite everything that happened in Nevada but this explains..." She shook her head, focused on him again, "You really haven't seen the news lately, have you?"

"I don't own a television."

"Okay, but surely the radio-?"

"I only listen to the weather forecast." He glanced through one of the large picture windows beside them. "Just to gauge whether I can take her out or not."

"Her?" Her eyes flicked to the scarf behind him again.

He smiled, "The yacht, Lisbon. The feminine gender is normally assigned to most types of vehicles, including-"

"Oh, right. Yes-yes I know." She took another sip of coffee.

He leaned forward, "So, fill me in? Why exactly are you here? Because by how you're gulping down that coffee and your generally pale pallor it's something that's been keeping you awake at nights. Plus, you're certainly not as astute as normal. Something important is quite obviously on your mind. And the fact you went to the trouble of seeking me out here I'm guessing it must have to do with McAllister in some way."

"Jane," she sighed. With that one word expressed, her limbs suddenly felt like stone, tiredness winning against caffeine.

"He's escaped, is that it? Someone broke him out?"

She laughed humourlessly as tears gathered in her eyes. "God, I really wish that was it."

"Just tell me, will you? You're beginning to frighten me now, Lisbon."

She nodded as she took a deep breath, opened the bag she brought with her and extracted the file from it. She sat it on the table between them, her fingertips running over it gently before she took another long draw of her coffee.

He went to grab it but she stopped him. "Wait, I-I need to explain something first."

As she fought to find the words for a second he surmised, "This is a CBI Serious Crimes case file. So, a murder has been committed in all likelihood. And since he's still locked up I'm assuming someone else has picked up his mantle. Someone else is killing in his style. Either as a means of showing respect, a deranged fan of his, or on orders directly from him as a more sinister means to cast doubt on his identity as Red John. A way for him to escape the death penalty or, possibly, prison at all if handled and spun correctly. He could end up a free man."

Same old Jane, spot on as usual.

And briefly, Lisbon was surprised Jane didn't seem horrified by his own words. If anything, he was excited as he spoke, passionate, even. She'd weighed up the possibility he'd react in such a fashion on the drive to the marina but hearing the unabashed frisson of near delight in his tone was still highly disarming. Because, naturally, if McAllister could walk free then Jane would also be free to kill him – and he'd make certain it was without interference this time.

She debated internally, and not for the first time in a week, if she had been wise coming to see him.

"Yes," she agreed with as much neutrality as she could muster, "you are correct. Another Red John type murder was reported just over a week ago."

She licked her lips, eyes set on the folder again. "But it's much more complicated than that, Jane."

Lisbon looked him in the eye. She owed him that. "This time the victim is someone we both know. Someone we both know really well."

He saw pain wash across her expression, regret and fear flood her features. She shook her head, attempted to regain her composure. Shakily, "Jane..."

He spoke before she could, a question but also a confirmation in the same sentence. His voice shook, "It's...Grace?"

She nodded, lost for a response momentarily. Finally, "Yes. It is."

He stared back at her for a long second then stood up without another word. He walked over to the kitchen area and put the kettle on the gas again. Then he sighed as he stared out of a window ahead, eyes on a seagull that had taken up residence on his deck rail.

She didn't move from where she sat but asked him quietly, "You okay? I-I know this must come as quite a shock."

He responded, his back to her, "You need me to read the file, tell you if this is a copycat or someone trained by him, I assume."

"If you can, yes. Save us some time so we can focus on the correct way forward."

She thought she heard a snort in response but she couldn't be sure.

"What did the M.E. decide?" he asked.

She cleared her throat. "She said it was likely it was someone trained by him. That the..." She drew a breath, "That the cuts were much too like his for someone who didn't know him directly." She added quietly, "But you're the expert where he's concerned and I-I need to be sure."

He turned to face her again, opened his mouth as if to speak but then licked his lips, shut it again. Like he'd seen something in her expression that made him change his mind on what he was going to say. He sighed deeply again, flicked off the gas as the kettle began its whistle and looked to the side instead. He spoke softly, "Of course. Get some air on the deck and I'll come find you when I'm done."