A/N: This is dedicated to my lovely Twitter friend Conni who I promised to write an angsty (and hot) one shot for a long time ago as a birthday gift. This has turned into an extended one-shot so will be published in three parts instead of one to assist with reading. I'm also hoping some feedback will give me the inspiration to finish it this week as I'm running around in circles with how to do so over 9000 words in, currently.

She's a bit of a fan of a warring Jane and Lisbon so please be warned there's plenty of that here. Please don't read if that offends you. Also, this is somewhat OOC in places, I feel. I never intended to publish so I thought I'd take the characters for a play about more than I normally would but then decided what the hell, what's the worst that can happen? (Guess I'll find out soon enough lol).

But again, please take heed if you feel this isn't the type of fic for you.

Hope this settles the debt at long last, my dear.

This is set at the end of There will be Blood.

Naturally, it's AU from there or else...why not just watch the show?!

Closed Doors

"She had it coming."

Chapter 1 - Attic

Jane stood at the doorway to the outside of his attic, a cold night breeze washing over his bared arms as he remained there in his suit, sans his jacket and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands buried deep in his pockets.

He didn't feel the goosebumps that had alighted on his skin, curling its soft blond hairs upwards. Motionless, he stared into the blackness before him, starless and bleak, perfectly in tune with his mood. The lines on his face deepened into trenches from his persistent scowl.

An insistent banging came to the metal door behind him. He sighed. Ignored it.

It came again, followed by what he knew would be Lisbon's voice. "Jane, are you in there?"

He denoted worry and some panic in her less than dulcet tones. He said nothing in response.

"Jane? I checked your Motel and you weren't there. Just tell me you're in there and that you're okay and I'll go."

He rolled his eyes and called back to her, "I'm fine, Lisbon. It's two am. Have you no home to go to?"

He listened for the sound of receding footsteps, could imagine her face screwed up in indecision. He'd barked out his reply - a rookie move.

Purposefully he turned his voice softer and more kindly. "I promise you I'm fine. Please, Teresa, it's late. Go home. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Calling her by her forename unsettled her on occasions and made her retract from his presence. He only hoped it would have the same effect on this occasion.

Unfortunately, it did not.

She pulled at the door, surprised both of them that it was already open. Another mistake. Too distracted, he hadn't secured it when he'd returned earlier to this perch.

As usual, she covered up her concern with a snippy comment. "Damn it, Jane. I could have been anyone. Especially after tonight, you have to be more careful when you're up here alone."

His back to her still he made no response. He knows where I am, let him come, he said to himself, his hands balling into fists inside his pockets.

She sighed and closed the door behind her, the sound of metal scraping echoing in the silence she entered.

He injected joviality into his voice. "Why are you here at this time of night? You really need to go and get yourself a life, Lisbon."

She didn't reply that he was as much in need of a life away from the CBI as she was. "Just got back from the crime scene." The one you left within ten seconds of being there.

"And?" he asked with a disinterested yawn.

"No fingerprints or trace of any kind found."

"I wonder, sometimes, why you and your people even bother to check still when it's him."

"It's our jobs. And he might just make a mistake one of these days and we'll get lucky. We have to keep hoping for that, Jane."

"Of course. It's not like he's had years to perfect his craft by now, is it?"

As she rolled her eyes he added, "Hang on, you said you just got back from the crime scene but yet you had time to check on my Motel first? Hm. Interesting."

"It was on my way back here," she argued. She took a few steps until she stood beside him.

He continued to stare ahead. "No, it wasn't."

She tutted, "Fine, no it wasn't. I was worried about you...about how you just left like that..."

"You mean you're worried about what I said before I left," he smirked with that air of superiority he used sometimes that made people want to punch him.

"That too." She pulled her grey suit jacket around her for warmth. "What...what did you mean – she had it coming? You can't have meant that. No one deserves that death, Jane."

For the first time since she'd arrived, he turned to face her. His eyes circled her face for a second before settling on hers. Dispassionately, "I meant just what I said."

He moved past her and sat down on his makeshift bed, swinging his legs up to lie down. He shifted slightly to get comfortable and closed his eyes with a deep breath, effectively ending their conversation.

"I don't believe it's as simple as that for you," she said, coming to stand over him. "Not with her, especially."

He cracked an eyelid open and turned his head towards her. Coldly, "Then you're mistaken."

She shook her head. "Jane..." Licked her lips. "You can't tell me that this doesn't matter to you or hasn't affected you...this...she meant something to you. You told me as much only a couple of weeks ago. You're not okay. It's obvious."

He sighed and rested his hands on his stomach, turning his head away from her again before he closed his eyes.

Incredulously, "So that's it? Discussion closed?"

He shrugged. Lazily, "What more is there to say? Unless you want to get it over with."

"Get what over with? What are you talking about?"

He puffed out a long breath and sat up again, resting the palms of his hands on his thighs. He gazed at her until her cheeks flushed. "For you to tell me 'I told you so', of course."

She rolled her eyes again. "Don't be so idiotic-"

"Why not? You have every right," he bit back. "Go for it. Get it out of your system by all means." He got to his feet and stood opposite her, almost bearing down on her. "You were right. She played me. Told me absolutely nothing in the end. Is that what you came to hear, Teresa?"

Her name sounded like poison from his lips. "You really think saying that would give me any kind of satisfaction?"

"It should do. Not often you're right and I'm wrong. You should enjoy the win when you get one. Bravo."

She shook her head at him. "You're a condescending ass when you want to be, you know that?"

He shrugged. "Just go home, will you," he snapped, moving back to the doorway he was standing in when she arrived.

"No. It sounds like you want to have an argument so go on, have at it. Hit me with your best shot, Jane, see if it makes you feel better."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Reciting song lyrics? We can do a little better than that for repartee, can't we?"

"It's called a row, I believe, not repartee."

He turned towards her, ire dancing in his eyes. "It's called you not leaving me be when I ask you to, woman."

"What the hell is your problem?!" she exploded. "I just came by to check on you-"

He took a step closer. "Of course, you did. Saint Teresa had to check up on one of her wards, didn't she? She had to make sure the pathetic specimen who just lost his best chance of finding Red John wasn't hanging himself from the rafters up here. She had to attempt to buoy his spirits with a bunch of words and clichés that mean nothing. She had to see if the man who spent six months in the desert hadn't lost whatever marbles he has left. Who went to Vegas and ended up...-"

Sharply, he stopped talking and took a deep breath. Defeated, "I'm sorry, I'm not myself like you said. So just go, will you? Please."

He turned his back to her and sighed heavily.

Softly, "Jane-"

"If I want your pity I know where to find you, Lisbon. Goodnight."

He walked outside and leant his elbows on the stone balcony, his gaze set on the sparse twinkling lights of Sacramento.

"Talk to me," she said quietly from just inside. "I hate to see you like this. Look, this was a blow...of course, it was...but you still have a lead, you still know you met him. It's something to build on, isn't it?"

Silence descended for seconds. She approached until she stood beside him and mirrored his position. Finally, he spoke in barely a whisper. "You know what my first thought was when I saw her lying there? Not that a life was taken...not that her life had been taken...not even anger at him. My first thought..." He licked his lips and continued to stare ahead. "My first thought was that I'd just lost the best chance I had of finding him. Not sympathy...empathy...none of that. I told her I was sorry but I didn't feel it. I felt nothing. And now I'm just angry at her instead."

Lisbon breathed out. "It's understandable your emotions would be all over the place."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Christ, Lisbon, why do you insist on looking at me like I'm a better man than the one I actually am?"

"Stop talking like that."

He turned towards her and stared at her side profile. Her face was set in grim resolve, almost devoid of feeling. But, as ever, her eyes gave her away. Tears pooled in them, glimmering like black pearls in the night.

"You called me a cold bastard once. You were right. You know you were. Now more than ever you know that's true."

She faced him and shot him a look of contempt. "No, I wasn't. You might like to believe that you are. Makes it easier to treat people like crap sometimes if you tell yourself that. Call them marks for getting sucked into your show, no doubt. But I know you better than that. I know you're not that."

"No?" he sighed. "Ever considered that maybe that's just what you want to believe?"

She squared up to him. "You think I'm delusional where you're concerned? Sure, you like to act like a cold fish sometimes and pretend that things don't bother you, that...that people don't matter to you...But I know you feel things more than anyone else I know. Don't kid yourself that you're some kind of sociopath if this is where you're taking the conversation."

He raised an eyebrow and huffed, "Wainwright called me a psychopath, actually."

"He was an idiot."

She licked her lips, the Catholic guilt part of her kicking in quickly and making her feel ashamed for talking ill of the dead. She exhaled. "Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?"

He faced forward again, a smile on his lips in contradiction to the tone of his voice. "What, in particular? I'm quite pitiable presently so you'll need to be more specific."

She snarled and pointed at him. "This, for one. This feeling sorry for yourself crap. It's pointless. Won't get you any closer to finding Red John."

He bristled, "If I recall correctly I didn't ask for your company tonight to my pity party. You know where the door is."

She shook her head and sighed. "Fine. If that's what you want I'll go." She sneered, "I'll let you wallow in your damn thinking room. Let you be alone with your ghosts." She was about to walk through the doorway to the inside then turned back. "You're going to push me too far one of these days, I swear, Jane."

He chuckled and taunted her with a sing-song voice. "Sure, Lisbon, if you say so."

He couldn't see the tears that pricked at her eyes. "You don't care less how you treat me, do you?" she asked, anger turned to curiosity, edged with upset and dread. He said nothing in return and a cold shiver raced through her. Quietly, "Maybe you were right, maybe even with me it's all an act and I'm the biggest sap of them all. Is...Is that?...Tell me that's not true, Jane."

He said nothing to the desperation he heard in her voice and just stared into the night with his back to her.

She went to turn towards the door but suddenly marched back to him instead and grabbed his shoulder roughly to make him look at her. "Say it to my face, then, you son of a bitch. If that's true then tell me you don't give a damn about me and you've been merely using me for your own means all these years. If you're this psychopath or sociopath you think you are then say it, goddamnit! If I don't matter to you then say it!"

He stared at her, his gaze fraught with a look she couldn't determine. His eyes flickered from side to side, caught in her stare. It was like he was gearing up to admit something but she had no idea what. Indecision washed over him and she saw the battle in his eyes over what to say and what not to say. Her heart hammered in her chest.

They locked eyes for an eternity, pulses racing. He growled eventually, his pupils dark and blazing, "Leave now, Lisbon."

She got in his face. "Or what?" She laughed at him. "What are you going to do about it? You can't even tell me the truth of how you feel. You're nothing but a damn coward, Patrick Jane. You think you're on some righteous mission where everything you do can be justified because of it? Well, it can't. Because people matter, Jane. They're not expendable. They have feelings and they can hurt! You're not the only person capable of feeling that. And we're not all built like you with stones where our hearts once resided. Assuming you even had one in the first place."

She saw hurt spread across his features, unquestionable pain. The months of him being in Vegas rolled over her like heavy thunder, the nights spent worrying about him flashed before her like lightning. She didn't mean all that she was saying but she couldn't stop herself. She'd buried down the anger she felt at the time like she always did but clearly not nearly deeply enough. It was overtaking her now, growing into a tsunami and its power obliterating everything in its wake.

She'd hurt him. For once, she had been the one to inflict pain. It felt good. She'd hate herself later but, for now, it felt good.

She continued, barely registering what she was saying. Scornfully, "What would they think of you if they could see you now?! You think they'd want this life for you?! You think they'd want this revenge you're set on no matter the cost?"

She grabbed the sides of his opened shirt collar to excite some reaction in return. He allowed her, rocking slightly on his heels as she pulled at him. He'd covered his expression with his mask again, empty of emotion.

"How would your wife feel about you sleeping with his whore?!" she yelled.

She saw the briefest tic of anger in his eyes and capitalised, "Was she worth it now? Huh? Was she?!" she shouted, taking a deep breath as she ran out of steam.

He looked at her hands, bunched in his shirt, shaking. He glanced back at her face and she let go of him as they continued to tremble as she stumbled back. She reddened, mortified at allowing her emotions get the better of her, of the things she'd said.

Calmly, he replied, "Feel better now you got all that off your chest?"

She wanted to punch him for his aloofness. But she was spent, her energy zapped. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "I wish I did," she croaked, shaking her head as she breathed heavily.

He walked inside and sat down on his bed again. She trailed after him with a sigh and sat in the chair beside the desk. She saw his notebook there where he was gathering his Red John names. She pushed it to the back beside the window and closed her eyes briefly. She'd thought enough about that monster lately to last her a lifetime. And his latest handiwork was fresh in her mind to give her chills. But here she was in the middle of the night discussing him once again.

Jane had called himself pathetic earlier. How was she any different? If anything, she was worse. At least he had a reason behind his quest, a personal connection why it mattered to him. And here she was riding his coat tails after him on it. She didn't even tell herself she wanted Red John caught because of the murders he'd carried out, the lives he'd taken. Not anymore. Of course, that was still important to her but, primarily, she wanted him caught so that the man sitting opposite her could put it behind him, hoped that it would end his suffering and stop the darkness from invading him permanently. If it wasn't already too late.

It had been hard coming to that realisation but now she had there was no getting away from it. Just as there was no getting away from the other realisation that had struck her recently after years of denying herself another truth – she was in love with him. The jealousy she had experienced over Lorelei Martins only proved it.

She was pragmatic enough to understand that even if Red John was defeated and even if Jane somehow lived through it without being sent to prison or getting himself killed or ending up in a Mental Hospital again not to expect more than that. She had fantasised, on occasions, of course. Dreamt of them being together when his spectre was behind them, of them building a home together, perhaps a family, a dog even. She'd dreamt of some gormless mutt they'd fawn over with a wiry coat and docile eyes, a baby in a crib.

Then she'd woken up and found her cheeks wet and a longing in her belly.

She swallowed thickly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jane watching her studiously. She looked outside into the black so she could turn her head from him, away from his line of sight. Although she knew he wouldn't bring up the subject even if he could read her thoughts. He preferred to live in this fictional world where they were only colleagues and friends too. Although currently, it was more blurred than ever as to what they actually were to each other.

"What did you mean earlier when you said I feel things more than anyone you know?" he asked after a lengthy silence between them.

She screwed her face up as she looked at him again. "What? That's what you want to ask me? What about everything else I said after that?"

He shrugged. "You were letting off steam."

She laughed softly but without humour. "Jeez, Jane. Does nothing ever get to you?"

He troubled his bottom lip then cleared his throat, went back to his earlier question. "What did you mean?"

Wearily, "I don't know, really."

"Of course, you do."

She ran her tongue along her lips. "I guess...I guess it's just that...well, you always know what people are thinking or are going to do-"

"Not always. Obviously," he interrupted, some bite to his words.

"Mostly, then," she amended. "That...that insight you have into people. It must make you more attuned to how they feel than most people, doesn't it?"

He raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "What it does is make me realise how many liars there are in the world, the depths people will go to in order to betray others, the crimes they're willing to commit for money, prestige, whatever, even with people they purport to love. Makes me realise how many people lie to themselves on a daily basis."

He looked at her, a question on his face.

"I don't lie to myself, Jane. Believe me, I know more than anyone where I stand with you. Tonight confirmed that for me."

"Oh, and where do you think that is exactly? I didn't answer your question. And I didn't actually say I was talking about you."

She got off her chair and stood in front of the table. She sighed, "Yeah, I know you didn't. But who else would you be talking about, huh? Anyway, that in itself tells me everything I need to know. Look, it doesn't matter. Never mind. And you're hardly one who has the right to be appalled by people lying on a daily basis, are you?"

"We're back to this old argument again, are we?" he sighed, flopping back onto his bed again. "Then it really is time to say goodnight, Lisbon."

She hovered over him for a second, his eyes closed and lying on his side. "Guess it is," she mumbled. "Night, Jane."

She stopped at the door. Awkwardly, "Look, about what I said...about your wife-"

"Don't worry about it," he responded without stirring.

"It was uncalled for," she admitted meekly.

"Yes. But you were right, in any case."

"It wasn't my place to say those things even if I was."

He snorted softly. "It's nothing I haven't already said to myself at least a dozen times, Lisbon."

"Jane-"

His voice cracked. "Goodnight, Teresa."

She nodded quickly, her throat constricted. She wiped away a stray tear and pulled the door open. Before she went through, she uttered quietly, "And this, too. This is how I know how deeply you feel things, Jane. Pain is an emotion like all the others. I just hope the others are merely dormant, not dead."

She crossed the threshold.