This will probably seem weird, but here's how it came about: I love the Mentalist. There've only been two seasons so far. So I got sick of waiting for new episodes and decided to go back and watch the Guardian, a show I never really got into. I don't like it as well as the Mentalist, but it has certainly won me over. It struck me that Simon Baker has changed quite a bit in the eight or so years between the shows, but also that he has stayed very much the same. I thought over the similarities and differences between the characters Patrick Jane and Nick Fallin. I thought that under some odd circumstances, Nick could grow into Patrick. Or perhaps they could be related...

So that's where this story came from. I hope you like the idea as much as I did.

"Seriously, we need to call it a night," Lisbon told her team. "It's been fun, but…"

"Today is gone, today was fun, tomorrow is another one," Jane recited. When Lisbon gave him a look, he said, "Dr. Seuss."

"Seriously," Lisbon repeated.

Rigsby nibbled at a now-cool slice of Case-Closed pizza. "Why the rush?" he mumbled.

Lisbon looked to the wall clock for support. "We all need to be rested for whatever tomorrow throws at us. It's already three quarters past the witching hour."

"Actually it's three quarters through the witching hour," Jane corrected. "We still have fifteen minutes in which to be bewitched and bewitching."

Van Pelt and Rigsby exchanged a quick smile.

Cho, his usual deadpan in place, quietly observed Lisbon's growing annoyance.

"You really think we should all just hang out here until morning? Last I checked, you were the only insomniac here, Jane. And I thought you got help with that."

Jane opened his email inbox. "I got some good drugs," he admitted. "But they're gone now. Uh-oh…"

"What?" Lisbon asked, looking like she was tempted to cross the room and look over Jane's shoulder at the computer screen.

"An email," Jane answered.

"OK… from whom?"

"I believe…" Jane clicked the message open. "…from my sister's ex-husband."

Lisbon blinked. "You have a sister?"

Rigsby put down his pizza. "Hell, you have family?"

Van Pelt kicked him under the table.

"Ow."

"Had," Jane corrected. "She died. About eighteen years ago."

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said.

Jane shrugged.

After a silence, Rigsby said, "So, what's her ex got to say?"

Lisbon turned away from Jane. "Rigsby, you know better than to ask your colleagues about their personal lives," she reprimanded.

"It's ok," Jane said, sounding carefree. "He says his son recently went through a difficult experience and he doesn't want to see a real shrink, and would I talk to him."

Rigsby glanced at Cho. Cho glanced at Lisbon. Lisbon turned back toward Jane. "Well, it's fine if you want to do that, but please let me know when you're not going to be available, all right?"

"Sure, sure."

"This is your job."

"I thought there was this saying… 'family comes first.' Ever heard of it?"

Lisbon sighed. "Of course it does. I just don't want you to disappear where I can't get a hold of you, all right?"

"Where does he live?" Van Pelt queried.

"Pittsburgh. Don't worry, though. I'm confident he'll come here."

"Why?" asked Lisbon.

"Because this will be awkward enough without Nick or his father feeling indebted to me for traveling to see them. And because they can afford it easily."

"Rich relatives are always nice," Rigsby commented.

"Oh, no, sometimes they can be beasts."

"I meant it's always a plus to have them," Rigsby clarified.

"If you say so."

"Anyway," Lisbon interrupted a bit louder than necessary, "I'm going home. I suggest you all do the same."

Not one to make idle threats, Lisbon soon departed. Rigsby walked Van Pelt out a few minutes later.

Cho swung his jacket over one shoulder and headed for the door, tossing a pizza box in the trash on his way. He paused in the doorway. "Jane?" he said.

Jane didn't look up from his computer. "Yeah."

"Do us all a favor: don't stay up all night."

"I hear ya." Jane continued to draft his reply to Burton's message and didn't hear the door close behind Cho.

"An informant just sent CBI a message," Van Pelt told Lisbon the next day. "Red John killed a hooker in her apartment in downtown LA."

"Let's go," Lisbon said, reaching for her keys.

"I wouldn't rush off if I were you," Jane forestalled her.

Lisbon paused. "Why not?"

"Because the message came from an informant. You don't volunteer that kind of information that way. When you find a body, you call 911, right? And why would the informant bother to mention the fact that the victim was a hooker? Sounds like a red herring to me. Let the local P.D. confirm it first." Jane's phone rang and he answered it. "Patrick Jane speaking."

Lisbon frowned. "How much did the informant say?" she asked Van Pelt.

Meanwhile, Jane heard a voice he hadn't heard for many long years. It had deepened and matured.

"Hey… Uncle Patrick, it's me. Nick."

"Hello. I got an email from your dad just last night."

"Yeah; he told me he sent you one."

"Do you agree with his idea? That you come to me for counseling?"

There was a short pause. "I don't know," Nick admitted. "I guess maybe it would be good. I definitely can't talk to anyone here at the firm—or at the clinic where I've been working."

"Clinic?"

"Dad didn't tell you? I'm on probation. I work at a child advocate agency as community service."

"Drugs?" Jane guessed.

Nick sighed. "Yeah. So, you don't know what's bothering me either."

"Your father just said a recent difficult experience. He didn't specify."

"That figures."

"Do you want to tell me what's going on, or do you want to wait and say it in person?"

Lisbon had gotten all available information from Van Pelt and seemed to Jane to be trying to get his attention without interrupting or looking like she was listening in—which she was, he was sure.

"I… I don't know. I think maybe if I just throw myself back into work, it'll be OK, and…"

Jane raised a hand as if to cut Nick off, even though his nephew couldn't see the gesture. "Listen, I completely understand about not wanting to see a shrink. I don't like them either. But I do think you need someone to talk to. And shutting yourself off and trying to cover it with work is not going to help you. Besides, it would be good to see you again. It's been too long."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it would be nice to catch up."

"Does your dad still hate me?"

"Uh… I don't think I knew he did."

Jane smiled. "Just hone your observation skills a little. You'll see."

Lisbon gave Jane an impatient look.

"OK, Nick, I've got to go—work. But send me an email, all right? I'll be in touch."

"OK. Thanks," Nick answered.

Jane tucked his phone away. "What?" he asked innocently.

"You don't think this is Red John."

"Nope."

"As usual."

"Have I been wrong about it before?"

Lisbon had no reply. "All right—what do you suggest we do? Ignore it?"

"Send the information to the police ourselves and ask them to confirm the report before we go."

"Won't they have gotten their own alert about it?" Rigsby asked.

"Not if it's fake," Jane said cheerfully.

"OK. Fine. Cho, make the call."

Rigsby looked at Cho.

"I'm guessing he's right, if you're about to suggest placing bets," Cho told him.

"Five bucks," Rigsby said.

"Your money," said Cho. Then he paused. "Actually, it'll be mine soon."

Rigsby rolled his eyes.

Jane picked up a piece of scrap paper and began folding it into a paper airplane. "Rigsby, you need to learn when to place bets and when to sit on your assets."

Rigsby opened his mouth to answer, stopped, then tried again. "Are you trying to be offensive, or—?"

Lisbon shook her head. "You know him better than that. When Jane offends someone, he doesn't have to try."

So that is that. Like the opener? Want more? Think it's stupid? :p Let me know, but please be polite.