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Jane's Guardian Angel:

Jane sat, calmly sipping at his tea, which was growing colder by the second. The body of the man who had murdered Jane's wife and child lay just a few feet away; a pool of blood began to grow, spilling from the gunshot wound in his chest. A gun lay at his feet, Jane's fingerprints all over it. Jane silently fingered the small bullet-shaped hole in his jacket pocket, and smiled slightly to himself. He had got his revenge.

Two security guards ran into the deserted cafeteria, which had emptied at the sound of the gunshot. Jane slowly lifted his hands and placed them behind his head, surrendering completely.

Several miles away, a young red-headed woman was crying silently, staring at the body of her fiancé. Two identical gunshot wounds in his stomach made it impossible for her to tell which one had killed him. Grace Van Pelt was glad of that; she didn't think she could handle the responsibility of having killed Craig. She knelt over his lifeless body, the back of her neck stinging slightly from where he had yanked the necklace from it. She heard Lisbon groan and sit up, talking to someone on the phone. Jane, she guessed.

"Grace, go call 911 from the landline," Lisbon told her, and Grace immediately stood up and walked to the other room. Lisbon was still talking to Jane: about what, Grace had no idea.

"911, what is your emergency?" a cold woman's voice said on the other end of the line, causing Grace to give a start.

"Oh, eh, my friend's be-been shot," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "I need an ambulance. The man who shot her is here too. He-he-he's dead." Her voice broke on that last word and she started sobbing again, fresh tears following the same tracks as the old ones.

The woman didn't care. She heard stories like this every day, she couldn't afford to get emotional. In a calm voice, she asked for the name and address, and then hung up.

Grace replaced the receiver, and then returned to the other room. Lisbon wasn't talking to Jane any more. She was propped up against the wall, her cell phone in one hand, and Craig's in the other. Grace was about to ask why, when Madeleine Hightower emerged from her kids' bedroom, and walked quickly down the stairs.

"Is he dead?" she asked.

Grace nodded wordlessly, tears still spilling from her eyes.

There was silence in the room for several minutes, until they heard running footsteps outside, and then the door burst open to reveal a panting Wayne Rigsby, his gun held tight in his hand, his eyes scanning the room. He visibly relaxed when he saw that Grace was unharmed, and replaced his weapon the second he saw the lifeless body of Craig O'Loughlin. A few second later, he was joined by Cho, who was also wielding his gun.

Rigsby walked over to Van Pelt, and put his arm around her shoulder. She placed her head on his chest and began to sob, letting her emotions overwhelm her for a few minutes. The others stood in an awkward silence, with all of them looking anywhere but at the hysterical young woman who had just lost everything.

Cho knelt down by the boss and inspected her injuries, declaring that she would have to spend a few days in hospital to allow the bone to heal. Lisbon seethed silently; she hated hospitals, but didn't think that now was the time to complain about it. She was alive. That was all that mattered.

A few days later there was a knock on Wayne Rigsby's door. He opened it, fully expecting to see an angry neighbour wanting to complain about the music he had had blaring while he was in the shower. He was surprised, therefore, to see a small, raven-haired woman standing outside, her arm tightly bound in a sling.

"Boss," he said, his voice betraying the surprise he felt. "What're you doing here? Is something wrong?" He searched her face, looking for any sign that would tell him why she was there.

"I want to see Jane," she stated plainly, looking him in the eye. "I know you know where he is, Rigsby."

"Boss…" Rigsby hesitated. "Are you sure it's a good idea? Surely if Jane wanted you to visit him, he'd allow you to know where he's being held."

"Rigsby, I just need to speak to him, okay? I thought you, of all people, would understand."

Rigsby was confused. "What do you mean?"

She stared at him. "If it was Van Pelt, wouldn't you want to know why she did it?"

In that moment, Rigsby understood. He had always been the slowest member of the team, but even he could see what was plainly written on Lisbon's face. She was in love with her consultant. That settled it; he would help her. If what she felt for Jane was even half of what he felt for Grace, he felt obliged to help. If love could not happen for Grace and him, he would do his damnedest to ensure it happened for someone else.

"Give me a second to grab my keys."

After three quarters of an hour of silent driving, Rigsby felt like his head was going to explode. He was used to sitting in the car with Van Pelt, their journeys always full of jokes and gentle teasing; or with Cho, their time spent discussing the game or Rigsby's progress with Van Pelt; or even Jane, who couldn't sit silently if his life depended on it. He was used to chatter and laughs, not this deathly silence.

"So, boss, how's the arm?" he asked, desperate to fill the silence.

"Alright. I've to keep it in the sling for a few more days, but other than that it's fine." She lapsed back to the deathly quiet of before.

Rigsby tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, staring at his boss out of the corner of his eye. Something was wrong. He just couldn't figure out what.

It was another ten minutes before they reached the centre where Jane was being held. The guard checked Rigsby's ID, and then waved him through. Finding a parking spot was easy; the lot was practically empty, cars dotted here and there like a smattering of tumbleweeds. As Rigsby exited the car, he wondered why he'd never spotted his boss' feelings before. Now that he knew about them, they were so blatantly obvious he felt he must have been blind before.

It was weird thinking of the boss in that way, he realised. He'd never really thought of her as being…a person. As cruel as it sounded, he always just thought of her as "The Boss", the one who he spoke to about work and very little else. The only time he had ever thought of her as being a friend was when she allowed Grace and him to stay together. He remembered that moment like it was yesterday. The feeling of hope, like nothing would break them apart. Even when they had come clean about their relationship, they were allowed to remain in the team. It was the best time of his life, those few months he spent with Grace Van Pelt. Then Hightower had come along and ruined everything. He still couldn't understand why Grace had called it off; he was the one who would have left, not her! He didn't care if she loved the job more than him; he was willing to leave for her. As long as she was in his life he didn't care what he did for a living. Too bad she didn't believe that. The words that ended their relationship echoed in his head. "I know who I am." He still didn't know what she meant.

Casting such thoughts from his head – they were still too painful – he entered the building, following Lisbon who was walking purposefully to the Main Entrance. He smiled at her determined stride and knew that nothing would prevent her from seeing Jane today. He wondered how they would skirt the rule that had ended his relationship with Grace. Whatever their solution would be, he couldn't help but wonder…if he had thought of it, would he and Grace still be together? No, he couldn't allow himself to think such things. What's done is done. He heard shouting from up ahead, and turned a corner to find Lisbon arguing fiercely with a man in a uniform, who seemed determined to deny her access. Rigsby could see the tell-tale signs that Lisbon was getting annoyed, and he moved in swiftly to avoid her doing something she might…well, not regret, but feel slightly bad about later. He flashed his badge, and after the guard had scanned it through, he was allowed to pass through. Lisbon followed him, resisting the urge to childishly stick out her tongue at the security guard. She smiled inwardly to herself; she was more like Jane than she realised.

Rigsby led her to a hallway with several doors down both sides. He stopped outside one about halfway down, and handed her the key.

"Thanks, Rigsby. I appreciate this," she said, and opened the door.

She entered the room and closed the door softly behind her. Light was flooding through a barred window in the far wall, and she could see quite clearly. A small single bed stood in the corner, its duvet meticulously made. A partition to the side of the door hid a clean toilet and a sink from her view. The only other furniture was a round wooden table and two chairs. One of those chairs was occupied.

She could only see the back of his cherubic blonde curls, but she felt a wave of relief flood through her none the less. He was alright.

"Hey Lisbon," he said, his voice sounding just as cheerful as ever.

"How did you…? You know what, never mind."

He turned around and smiled at her, before gesturing to the other chair. "Care for a seat? I'm afraid I can't offer you any refreshments though. Hey, next time you come will you bring some tea with you?"

She stared at him. "How can you talk like that?"

He looked confused. "Like what?"

"You killed a man, Jane. Yes, it was a crime of passion, but you killed him. You realise you're going to go to jail? There's CCTV evidence that shows you shooting him, there's no way you're getting off with it. Don't you care? Why couldn't you have just let him go? Or even called me as soon as you figured it out, we could have arrested him; he would have spent the rest of his miserable life in jail." All of the resentment of the past several days came bubbling to the surface, and she could contain herself no longer. "Why, Jane? Do you still want to punish yourself because you blame yourself for Angela and Charlotte's deaths? Is that it?"

He looked at her with an expression she had never seen before on his face. It scared her slightly. "How dare you, Lisbon? Yes, I blame myself for their deaths, because it was my fault. If I had just kept my mouth shut, they'd still be here. Who knows what Charlotte could have gone on to achieve? And because of me, she never will. So yeah, part of this is my own self-punishment, but the rest is a need for revenge. That man did not deserve to live. Do you know how many families just like mine he's ruined; how many lives he's taken? Don't you think they deserve justice too?"

"Oh, so you feel better now, do you? That weight you've been carrying around for years has just suddenly lifted because the man who killed your wife and child is dead? You got your revenge; can you honestly say that you feel better now?"

He stared at her for several long seconds, and then looked down at his feet.

"I thought not," she muttered. She stood up to leave.

"Lisbon, wait!" he called. "I'm sorry."

"It's too late, Jane. It's too late."

The drive home was even more awkward than the one going there. Rigsby wondered what had gone on in that room to cause Lisbon to look so…disappointed. What on earth had Jane said to her?

After dropping Lisbon off at her place, and ensuring she didn't need anything, Rigsby headed home. After the…incident with Red John and O'Loughlin, the whole team had been given mandatory time off. He could see the need for Grace, of course – God alone knew what she must be going through – but he couldn't see why he and Cho, at least, couldn't return to work. He was bored every day, just sitting around. It's not like he had a girlfriend or anything, not even someone to distract him from the horrible mental torture he put himself through every day, when he went to his bathroom and saw a scarlet strand of hair in his brush. He knew it was weird keeping it, but he just couldn't bring himself to let it go. It reminded him of all those times he had brushed her hair for her, sweeping it over her shoulder and kissing her neck tenderly when he was done. It was comforting; it showed him that there was a time in his life when he was happy. He didn't regret a single moment of any of those months. Except at the end. Every day he replayed the scene in the office, when Grace had broken it off, and he screamed at his mental self to get up, follow her, talk her round. But instead, he just sat there like a dummy, staring at the spot where she'd stood, not fully comprehending what had just happened.

He had thought he was over her when he had started going on dates again, but when she started dating O'Loughlin, he had been forced to realise he was still very much in love with the flame-haired beauty. When she had invited him to the wedding, he had honestly tried to picture himself sitting there, watching her decide to spend the rest of her life with a man who wasn't him, and it tore him apart inside. He could see the disappointment in her eyes when he told her he couldn't come, and a part of him hated himself for doing that to her. But he knew it was the right thing to do.

He collapsed onto his couch with a sigh, cracking open a can of beer and switching on the TV. He wondered once again what had happened between Jane and Lisbon; would they end up getting together, or were office romances just doomed to fail?

After that cynical thought, he decided it was time for bed. Later, when he was lying in bed, he picked up the T-shirt Grace had always worn to sleep when she stayed over, and inhaled her sweet scent. He had found, after the breakup, that he had grown so used to having her there that he couldn't sleep without something to remind him of her. The smell was fading on the top. He wondered vaguely what he'd do when it became just another T-shirt.

Patrick Jane was not a stupid man. He knew, as well as anyone else, that Lisbon was in love with him. True, she had done a good job hiding it, and it had taken him several years to figure it out, but figure it out he had. At first, he hadn't been sure how to react; he was flattered, yes, but did he like her? His wife had only died a few years ago, surely it was too soon to be liking someone else; that was a sign he was over his wife. Was he? He wasn't sure. Those first few months…well, they didn't give him sleepless nights, but they gave him something to think about during those long hours he spent staring at the red smiley face on his wall. But then he had realised: he loved her. There was room in his heart to love more than two people, and he shouldn't feel guilty for loving someone else. Angela would want him to move on.

Once he realised that, things became much easier to deal with. He didn't make a move on Lisbon, but he had made sure she knew that he felt something. He almost hoped she would make the first move; he had always figured her as the feminist type. Unfortunately, she had done nothing, and it became almost a battle of the wills, with neither one wanting to be the first to admit their feelings to the other. He laughed bitterly now. What a waste of time it had all been. If he could go back in time, he would have grabbed her and kissed her as soon as he realised how he felt. Life was too short for these kinds of games.

He thought back to the moment when he had shot Red John. If he had known then that he was killing any chance he had with Lisbon, would he still have pulled the trigger? That question haunted him; all those "what-ifs?" that were out there kept milling around in his mind, taunting him with what might have been.

One scenario in particular had been teasing him every night this week. It was about ten years in the future; he was coming home from work with Lisbon, his arm around her shoulders in the car. They were talking about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other's company. They turned into the drive of a mid-sized, blue painted house, with a wraparound porch and flowers in the front garden. They exited the car together, and walked up the porch steps, opening the door and hanging up their coats. As they did so, three small children raced into the hall from the living room, and started clamouring for attention. He grinned, reached down and swung a dark haired girl up into his arms, swinging her around in the air. He collapsed onto the stairs, both he and the girl dizzy, and the other two pounced on him, trying to pin him down. He laughed and grabbed a slightly older boy with his own cherubic blonde curls around the neck and ruffled up his hair, before letting him go and heading into the kitchen. The youngest, a girl with long blonde hair, followed him and reached up her arms silently. He picked her up and she snuggled into his shoulder, closing her eyes happily. He found the babysitter in the living room, clearing up the plates of cookies she had made them, and they chatted happily for a few minutes, before he paid her and she left. The day then fast-forwarded through dinner, all of them looking cheerful and happy, all the way up to bedtime. He tucked in his three children, kissing each of them goodnight, and then crawled into bed beside Lisbon. He kissed her softly, and then put his arm around her waist and lay beside her, a smile spreading across his face. Every time he had this vision, he began to cry silently. Vision-Jane was so happy, so content. Exactly the opposite of real-Jane.

Lisbon sat in her living room, a glass of red wine in her hands, thinking over the events of the day. Did she really mean what she said to Jane? "It's too late, Jane. It's too late." Was it? Surely there was something she could do, something to at least reduce his sentence. She knew, in her heart, she'd do her best to help him. But she also knew that she'd do her best to ensure Jane knew nothing of her involvement. She couldn't back down now, not after all these years. Idly, she wondered if he'd be allowed back on the team when he was released. After all, Cho had a criminal record and it didn't stop him. But that happened when Cho was a kid, Jane knew exactly what he was doing; he all but hunted Red John down to put a bullet in him. She sighed. Why did Jane have to do it? He messed up everything, just to get revenge that he didn't really need. She saw the circles under his eyes when she visited; he wasn't sleeping better. He didn't look happier. There was no noticeable difference, which there would be if the revenge had actually had an effect on him.

She took a sip of the wine, and swirled it around the glass, watching the blood-red liquid flow, drips of it sliding down the side of the glass. She began to plot how to help Jane. She knew he'd have done it for her.

A couple of hours later, she had it. It was not the perfect plan, and was not guaranteed to get Jane out, but it was the best she had. The only thing was, she was going to need the help of a couple of other women to pull it off.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Pick up already! Lisbon sat on her couch, listening to the continuous ringing, praying that the person she sought contact with would answer.

Just as she was giving up hope, she heard a click on the other end, and a man's voice speaking.

"Hello?"

She swallowed. "Hi. Is Van Pe- Is Grace there?"

The man became slightly suspicious. "That depends on who wants her."

"It's her boss, Agent Lisbon."

"You people said she could take off as much time as she wanted! My girl's in no fit state to return to work! How dare you call here to harass her? I bet you were going to try to guilt-trip her, try to make her feel like she has to come back, am I right?"

Lisbon put on a calming voice, whilst inwardly telling herself that shouting at this man would not help matters in the slightest.

"Mr Van Pelt, I assure you I am not phoning in order to ask Grace to return to work. I understand exactly what she has been through, and if she wants to take three, four, even six months off to cope with it, then she can feel free to do so. I just want to have a word with her. It's important."

There was silence on the other end of the phone whilst Grace's father considered this.

"All right," he said grudgingly, and Lisbon heard him calling Grace. She couldn't help a triumphant smile from breaking out across her face.

"Hello?" a quiet female voice whispered, and Lisbon felt her heart break as she heard the agony in Van Pelt's voice. What that poor woman had done to suffer as she had was beyond Lisbon.

"Hi, Van Pelt. Listen, I can't talk for long, I just need to ask you a couple of things. First, have the cops been to see you yet, to ask you what happened?"

Van Pelt sounded slightly confused as she answered, "no, why?"

"Never mind now. If they do come, tell them you don't feel fit to talk about it, and arrange to talk about it with them sometime next week. Now, can we meet up? As soon as possible, preferably tomorrow?"

"Lisbon, what's going on?"

"I'll explain as soon as we meet up. I don't feel comfortable talking about this over the phone. So what do you say? Tomorrow, around one? At O'Malley's?"

Van Pelt hesitated for a single heartbeat. "Sure."

Van Pelt put the phone back, then crossed the room to her couch and sat down. Her father, who she had always been close to, had come to stay with her for a few days while she got her bearings back. She had considered going to stay with him in Iowa, but she couldn't bear to leave this apartment for any considerable length of time. There were too many of Craig's things here – and Rigsby's too, for that matter – and she couldn't part with them. They reminded her of happier times, before this whole mess with Hightower, and Red John, and Craig being Red John's mole. It reminded her of the Craig she had loved, not Agent O'Loughlin who had brutally shot and attempted to kill her boss and friend, Teresa Lisbon.

She wondered idly if it was easier to get rid of all of this and just go cold-turkey to try and forget about him – all of the good as well as the bad – or if her way of handling things by trying to hold onto the good and not let the bad overwhelm her was better.

This thought was interrupted by her father clearing his throat and asking what Lisbon had wanted.

"She wants to meet up tomorrow," she told him.

"Do you think you're up to that, sweetheart?" he asked gently, smoothing a strand of her lank, unwashed auburn hair back from her forehead.

"I'm not an invalid, Dad. I need to leave this place at some point; why wait?"

He looked her up and down, saw the determination return to the eyes which had been so cold and empty for the past few days, and nodded his head. "Okay. Have it your way."

Lisbon did not replace the receiver. Instead, she merely pressing the end call button and immediately began keying in another number. This one answered after only two rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Madeleine, it's Teresa. Have the cops been to see you about what happened yet?"

"No, not yet, but one's coming over tomorrow. Why?"

Lisbon ignored the question. "What time?"

"Around four. Lisbon, what's going on?"

"Can we meet up at one then? At O'Malley's?"

Lisbon heard the other woman sigh. "This better be good, Lisbon. I'll see you there."

Lisbon was first to O'Malley's the next day. She picked out a quiet booth in the back, away from prying eyes and ears. She had only just ordered a small glass of wine when Van Pelt showed up, looking like she hadn't slept in days. Which she probably hadn't. Lisbon raised a hand to let the younger woman see where she was, and slid around in the booth to allow Van Pelt to sit in beside her.

"You want a drink? I'm buying." She offered. The young woman looked like she could do with some alcohol.

"I'll just have what you're having," Grace said, her voice as quiet and full of pain as it had been the previous night.

Just as Lisbon stood up, the door opened once more and the trio was complete as Madeleine Hightower entered, saw Lisbon and strode over. She looked surprised to see Van Pelt there, and vice versa. Lisbon offered Hightower a drink too, and she accepted. Lisbon returned from the bar carrying the two glasses of wine, and set them down in front of the other women.

"So, Lisbon, what's this about?" Hightower asked, getting straight to the point.

Lisbon took a deep breath. "As I'm sure you both know, Jane shot and killed Red John. No doubt about it; we have CCTV footage which shows it clearly. He's being held in a centre right now, awaiting his trial. When that trial comes, he will almost certainly be found guilty, and since California has the Death Penalty, he'll be put on Death Row. The best possible outcome would be a life sentence in jail. I cannot allow this to happen to him."

She paused for a second, and met the eyes of the other two women who were staring at her oddly, unsure of where she was going with this and why they were involved.

"I've devised a plan, of sorts, to try to get him off with this, or at least reduce the prison sentence. But it requires your help. I'll understand if you both decide not to give it, but at least hear me out first."

Lisbon talked for about half an hour, outlining her plan to the others, and afterwards both agreed to help, without a second's hesitation from either of them.

Madeleine soon made her excuses to get home to her children, and Van Pelt left not long after. But Lisbon remained in the booth, thinking over what she had just done, the wheels she had put into motion. Was it the right choice?

Later that evening, a young man pulled up his car outside Madeleine Hightower's home, and knocked on the door. He was shown into the living room, and offered refreshments, which he declined. He then asked probing questions about what happened the day Red John and O'Loughlin lost their lives. She gave him the answers she had agreed on with Lisbon earlier that day. He left after half an hour, and the answers she had given him caused a slight trickle of doubt to enter his mind. But he shook it away. He had still to interview another two people. Surely they would tell him something completely different.

Madeleine watched the man get into his car and drive away, and felt a doubt enter her mind also. But hers had nothing to do with whether a man was guilty or innocent. Hers had everything to do with the fact that she had just lied to the police for a man she did not even know all that well. But Patrick Jane had helped and believed her when no-one else did. She owed it to him to do the same in return.

Two days later that same young man pulled up outside Grace Van Pelt's apartment. Again, he was shown inside and offered refreshments. Again, he declined. Again, he asked questions. And again he was told baffling answers that threw everything he knew about the case up into the wind. He left more confused than he was when he entered. His only hope was that Agent Lisbon, his next stop, put a stop to all of this and told him what he wanted to know. If only he knew what a futile hope that was.

When the man stopped his car outside Lisbon's apartment, he took a moment to collect himself before leaving the safety and security of his car. Whatever this woman told him would sway the case one way or the other. He took a deep breath, then exited the car and strode up the steps.

Lisbon was waiting for him. She, unlike the others, did not offer refreshments. She simply led him to the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at him expectantly.

"So, Agent Lisbon, could you please describe the events leading up to the death of Agent O'Loughlin and the man known only as Red John?"

Lisbon opened her mouth, and told him everything, from beginning to end. She started off by detailing Hightower's return, and Jane's plan to catch Red John's mole. She told him about how they had caught the assassin in Room 605, and that had led them straight to Bertram. How they had arranged to take him to the café, so that Jane could extract a confession from him, and catch Red John at the same time. And how, when it was too late, Jane had realised his terrible mistake.

"He realised that the assassin had rope with her, and was planning to swing down to the balcony of room 505. This meant the mole was not Bertram, but Craig O'Loughlin, the fiancé of my youngest agent, Grace Van Pelt. The only thing is, he realised this too late. He called me and told me, but O'Loughlin had just entered the house. I drew my gun, and turned to level it at him, but he was too quick. He shot me, right in the shoulder. I was wearing protective gear, so luckily it didn't hit anything major, but obviously it hurt like hell. I dropped the phone, so Jane couldn't hear what was happening. He just heard the shot. Then O'Loughlin turned on Grace and Madeleine, and said a few words to them; I'm sorry but I don't remember what he said exactly. Next thing I knew, they had both pulled out guns and shot the bastard in the stomach, giving him exactly what he deserved. I don't know which wound killed him, but either way, he was dead. Madeleine rushed up the stairs to make her children go back into their room; they had emerged at the sound of the double gunshots, and she didn't want them seeing a body. Grace started sobbing and just stood there, staring at him. I heard someone shouting my name faintly, and realised it was coming from the phone, so I crawled over to it and picked it up. I told him O'Loughlin was dead, and that I was wounded, but I was okay. Then I told Grace to called 911 from the landline and she left. I stayed on the phone with Jane, and he told me to call the last dialled number on O'Loughlin's cell, so I did. Then he told me to tell whoever answered that O'Loughlin was dead, and then tell him what he said. I told him the man had replied "Oh well, you win some, you lose some." He said that the man at the table opposite him had just answered a phone and uttered those exact words. I asked if Cho and Rigsby were still there, but he said no and that they had taken off the instant they had realised Grace and me were in danger. I thought about it for a second, then told him to ensure the man stayed there. If he made a move to leave, he was either to arrest him, or shoot him. The man was too dangerous to be allowed to simply leave and walk free. He's killed too many people."

She stopped, and stared at the officer, who was shaking his head sadly.

"You're the third person to tell me that story," he said.

"Who were the other two?" she asked innocently.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "It means that Patrick Jane did not kill the man in cold blood. He killed him under your orders."

"Does that make me responsible?" she asked, feinting panic.

"No, not exactly. Since you are a Law Enforcement Agent, you have the right to shoot a criminal if you have sufficient evidence of their crime. By the sounds of it, you did. However, Jane is not an Agent, so he does not possess this right. Normally that'd be the end of it and he'd go to jail, but because he was acting under your orders, that makes it more bothersome. Since there were no other Agents around who could have arrested the man, and if Jane had left for a second to get the mall security Red John would have left, he had no option but to kill him to stop him from killing other innocent women."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means your consultant has a chance."

A few months later, Lisbon was sitting in her office typing up a report on the case they had just wrapped up, when there was a knock at her door.

"Come in!" she called, finishing the report with a final press of a button, and turning in her chair to see who the visitor was. When she caught sight of him, her breath stopped in her throat.

"Morning, Lisbon!" he said cheerfully, carrying his cup of tea with him as usual.

"Jane! You're out!" she exclaimed, then reined in her pleasure a little.

"Yupp," he said with a smile. "As of three o'clock yesterday afternoon, as a matter of fact. Now, I need to have a word with you."

She motioned to the seat opposite her, and he sat down, taking a sip of his tea as he did so.

"Oh you have no idea how much I missed this," he tells her and she smiles.

"I can imagine."

"Right, to business. I heard tell from a little birdie that I have you to thank for my shortened sentence."

She shrugs. "I don't know what you mean."

He smiles knowingly. "Lisbon, both you and I know that I was not operating under your instructions when I killed that man."

She smiles. "Okay, so I lied to the police. Is that so bad? Do you know how many cases we've closed in the three months you've been in jail? Take a guess."

"One."

"How did you..? Never mind."

He laughs at her expression, and then turns serious. "Lisbon, I just need to say thanks. Really. I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes. You're like my own Guardian Angel." He smiled as he said the last sentence.

Lisbon smiled modestly. "I'm sure you'd scrape by."

They share a look that causes butterflies to erupt in Lisbon's stomach. She's just wondering what she should do when Cho opens the door.

"Boss," he says. "We've got a case."

Lisbon grins at Jane. "Wanna come?"

"Try and stop me."