A/N: I don't know how fitting the quote is for this story, but I liked it and let's face it Lisbon suffers willingly on a daily basis because of Jane.

Disclaimer: I - along with a bunch of you out there - will continue to suffer in silence because I don't own The Mentalist.

"The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."

- Bob Marley

Legs pressed to her chest and head resting on her knees, that's how she was sitting. Huddled on the floor, her back pressed against a corner in the dark room. She wasn't crying and she wasn't afraid, but she was tired, sleeping on cold concrete floors wasn't the best way to spend the nights. She was hurt, badly even, but she wasn't discouraged. At least she wasn't dead. If the years had taught her anything it was that no matter how hard it got, you could never give up, because once you did, you'd lose.

She had not given up, but she had accepted her fate. There was a difference. Attempts trying to escape had been fruitless, and she had paid dearly for them. She definitely wasn't going to try that again. Now all she could do was wait, and hope, maybe her luck would change.

Thump, thu-thump, thump, thu-thump. She thought it was the sound of her heart. In the overwhelming silence, small sounds like that was magnified tenfold, but it wasn't. The door creaked as it opened. Blinding white light streamed in and the man entered, the cane at his side was a new addition to his person since the last time around. She smiled to herself, one moment of inattention, quick reflexes and one precise stab in the upper thigh, a small victory for her, but a victory nonetheless. She was no doubt going to pay for that one now.

xXx

She awoke, and before the fog lifted she could imagine it was all a dream, and if it wasn't for the soaring pain, and the bone chilling cold, she would have believed it.

Days came and days went, and without having any tools to scratch the wall making a line for each passing day (like someone in a bad prison movie), she left count. And deprived the ability to observe the change from light to darkness, morning to night, she soon had no idea whether it was one or the other. Time just seemed to stop, whereas she kept on living, suspended in an endless vacuum of pain and suffering. Hanging on by her fingertips, clinging to a hope that the person she was in here suffering for would find her eventually.

xXx

She could no longer sit up, she was too weak. She remained flat on her stomach, her chest pressed to the cold and dirty, grey floor. But she was still alive. Her mind was all mushy, she couldn't keep one coherent thought at lengths, they would just melt together, scramble around and fade in and out among each other. By now her eyes had gotten used to the darkness and she was able to see the cockroaches scavenging around the little room, and the spider webs in the corners moving softly in the light breeze that entered through the cracks and crevices. At times a thin line of light would appear at the place where the door met the floor. And it was always followed by the heavy thumbs of feet on concrete. That's when she knew he was coming back.

Except for the sparse food and water he hadn't been in much lately, growing bored of her lack of response no doubt. Or maybe he didn't need her anymore, maybe her people had given up on her, had moved on, forgot she ever existed... This wasn't good, despair was creeping its way into her otherwise positive mind, she was acutely aware that at this point the only thing left for her now would be death.

xXx

The light switched on outside the door. She braced herself. This was it. She could feel it. The exhaustion had finally overtaken her, she was done, could hold on no more. Then... something felt different... there were voices..., talking... There were never voices. Always silence. Always one man, followed by pain. Maybe he'd brought friends, he was known for his following. Maybe that'd been the holdup as of late, more people, more pain. She strained her ears, but the voices were too low, almost whispering, the footfalls soft and stealthy. There were at least four, maybe more, this was gonna be a party, but not one she was looking forward to. The light changed as they walked past the crack under the door, shadows danced as they repositioned themselves on the other side of it, getting ready for who knew what. The play of light and shadow was a fascinating sight in contrast to the otherwise all-consuming darkness she was used to. She stared at it, memorized the moves, like a ballerina her ballet, so on the off chance that she'd survive the gathering outside, she could occupy herself later, keep herself from going crazy, by playing it out in her mind's eye.

She waited. Nothing happened. The sounds were getting fainter, then very close by a male voice shouted: "Here, behind here!" She felt she should recognize the voice, and maybe she did, she just couldn't place it. There was a sense of urgency about it, desperation even. It felt strange, somehow not fitting for the situation. Something was off and she couldn't put her finger on it, she felt powerless, her mind didn't have enough strength to process the clues in front of her, to connect the dots. The bustling sounds of people filling into the room on the other side of the wall again were back, heavy objects were being moved, pushed and shoved this way and that. She listened. Her deprived senses once again awakened could almost feel the buzzing of anticipation like the flow of an electric current through the floor.

When the door finally creaked open – slower than usual she noticed – cautiously, she did something she had never done before, not even once. She closed her eyes, uncertain of what was to come, afraid. Just wanting it all to end, and end quickly. She lay perfectly still, eyes closed, unmoving, like a good, little, well-behaved prisoner. For a second all the sounds stopped then there was a sprint of feet coming towards her and then it stopped again. She tensed slightly. No one said anything. Someone knelt down beside her, brushed her unkempt hair from her face, then placed two fingers on her neck. Silence. Then an audible sigh, followed by a shaking, but commanding voice: "She's alive, she's alive, get the paramedics in here, NOW." Wait what...? Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? She had to be. This had to be the end. She was delirious, hearing things that weren't there, her mind was creating a pleasant escape from this world. She still dared not open her eyes for the fear that this mirage would disappear, that she'd be left all alone to die.

xXx

The room was alive with activity, she was turned and lifted and a lot of hands were all over her body. Poking her at uncomfortable places. People were talking, were they saying something to her? She couldn't hear them clearly, why did they mumble so? Then out of all the humming and buzzing going on around her one voice got through clearly, like it was set on another frequency than the rest, one only she could hear, it was the one she'd heard twice already. "Lisbon, Lisbon..." It whispered with concern. She felt joyous that it knew her name, well duh, she thought, this was all conjured up by her mind, so of course it knew her name. "Teresa?" Now it was going personal. What did it want? She wondered, and by reflex furrowed her brow almost imperceptibly, but the voice noticed, she could hear it as it continued a little more uplifted by the response it had evoked. "Teresa, it's okay, everything is going to be fine, just hang in there, okay." She knew she'd heard that voice before, somewhere.

There was a quick jerk, and she was lifted up further, she felt weightless, like she was flying. Her pain was disappearing and warmth was gradually spreading throughout her body, together with a feeling of calm and happiness. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. She was ready, ready to let go, to surrender to the warmth and the light, to forgive and forget, to finally be at peace. Just before she slipped away, something big and warm took her hand, and squeezed lightly, while reassuringly making small circling strokes.

As she drifted off one word graced her cracked lips, it came out barely a hoarse whisper: "Jane." For a flash of a second she remembered. It was his voice, his hand. Him. He hadn't given up. A weak smile spread across her face, softening her features. Then the second ended and nothingness engulfed her and swallowed her whole.

A/N: Someone send me a less gloomy muse, please! I'm getting tired of all this darkness.

I'll leave it up to the readers to decide if she died or pulled through.