Disclaimer - The Mentalist belongs to Bruno Heller and CBS. Not me. Obviously.

A/N - Hello again, my wonderful readers! Here I am with yet another story (I can't seem to stop them coming at the moment). This one will be short though, with only one more chapter after this. It's set sometime in Season 6, just after the introduction of Pike, although I can assure you that there aren't really going to be any significant spoilers for any specific episodes. This idea just popped into my head - as ideas often do - and I had to get it down. I hope you enjoy it!

~ Shot Down ~

Part One

When Lisbon first saw Jane go down, it didn't really register with her at all.

She heard the loud crack of the gunshot, saw the white flash of the muzzle as the bullet burst out; she even watched with wide eyes as the blood drained so quickly from Jane's face that it was as if someone had simply flicked a switch to cut off his blood flow. But when it came to understanding what her senses were telling her, it was as if it simply wouldn't compute.

Because Jane didn't get shot. He just didn't.

Except he had.

"Cho," Lisbon heard herself say, her rapid heartbeat pumping loudly in her ears. Her phone was in her hand, fixed to her ear as if it was a lifeline, although she couldn't for the life of her even remember fishing it out of her pocket. Her hand shook almost violently as she held onto the small device, and she took a deep, shaky breath as she tried desperately to focus on what she had been trained to do in a situation like this, a task that was becoming harder and harder as the sight in front of her finally began to filter into her brain.

Oh God. Jane...

"Suspect's headed west on 51st Street," she managed to get out finally. "He's armed."

"On it," came Cho's immediate reply. Of course he was, she thought numbly. She and Jane had been undercover again, and every move they'd made had been monitored by their team at the FBI. Cho would have been "on it" as soon as the gun had been fired. Fisher, Abbott, Wiley; they'd all probably heard everything that had happened because of the microphones that she and Jane had been fitted with, and there was a good chance that there was a team of agents on their way as back up.

Too late, she couldn't help but think. They were all too late.

"And we need an ambulance here," she continued anyway, her mind almost numb with shock. "Jane's down."

Jane's down...

"It's bad, Cho," she mumbled, and then she hung up without waiting for his reply.

Shaking herself roughly, Lisbon staggered over to Jane, her eyes roaming almost numbly over his still body. Lisbon fell to her knees beside his head, the breath almost stopping in her chest as she saw the blood that was soaking through his white shirt so quickly that she couldn't help but wonder how Jane was still alive. She could hear his gasping, stuttering breaths though, and each one a lifeline to her, proving that Jane was still with them. That he was still with her.

"Stay with me, Jane," Lisbon told him, her voice hoarse and shaky. She grabbed his scarf - that stupid scarf he'd started wearing whilst posing as an art thief - and wrapped it into a ball before pushing it as firmly as she dared onto his chest, all the while praying that it would be enough to stem the flow of blood. She pushed as hard as she could, as if the more energy and effort she put into the task, the more chance Jane had of surviving the loss of all that blood.

There was so much though, and it kept coming, the scarf unable to quell the river of blood leaking through the hole that had been ripped open in Jane's chest.

"Oh God, Jane," she mumbled, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes as she looked down at his deathly pale face.

This couldn't be it. It couldn't end like this. They were supposed to be okay now. Red John was gone, Jane was back in the US without being locked up in prison, and her brief fling with Pike had ended weeks ago. She stared at his chest, at the red - the bright, bright red - of the blood still seeping out of it, and choked back a sob. They were supposed to be okay.

"Lis...bon?"

Her gaze snapped upwards, her eyes widening as she realised where the croaky, unstable, but very much alive sound had come from. Jane's eyes were open, and although they were glazed over in pain, he was actually looking at her. He was still alive...

"Jane," Lisbon breathed, hardly daring to believe his eyes were staring back at her. She swallowed a deep lungful of air as she tried not to let her emotions overwhelm her, but she knew, deep down, that it was a losing battle from the start. "Jane you have to stay with me, okay. You have to stay awake."

"Hurts," he moaned, and it became very clear very quickly that he wasn't really in any frame of mind to understand what she was saying. His eyes were open but she could tell that he was barely conscious of his surroundings now, and she felt her heart tighten in absolute fear. He was going into shock...

"Stay awake," Lisbon repeated anyway, unable to get her mind working fast enough to say anything else. All she knew was that she had to keep her hands pressed onto his wound, and that she had to keep him awake. She had to...

"But...m'tired," he mumbled, blinking up at her heavily, as if it was almost impossible for him to keep his eyes open.

"Stay awake," Lisbon ordered when his eyes stayed closed just a second too long, the desperation clear in her voice. "Stay with me, Jane. Help's on the way. You're going to be alright, Jane. I promise. You're going to be alright."

It was a mantra that reverberated around her head - desperation, hopelessness and disbelief all rolled into one - because honestly, she couldn't imagine Jane not being alright. He was Jane. Despite everything, he was always alright.

Except there was so much damage to his chest. So much blood...

"Promise?" he choked out, and Lisbon could see the fear - the absolute, debilitating fear - in his expression. She couldn't bear to see it, and yet at the same time, she couldn't seem to drag her eyes away. Jane; the man with the never-ending supply of masks, the man who always had a smile, even in the darkest of times.

He had never seemed as open to her as he did now. So completely vulnerable and without his usual guile. So completely and utterly himself.

That terrified her more than anything else.

"Yeah, Jane," Lisbon replied shakily, tears finally spilling from her eyes. "I promise. You're going to be just fine."

"Just...fine," Jane repeated, his voice almost a whisper. He was weakening now, she could see it in his eyes...

"Jane, just stay with me," she said desperately, pushing the scarf into his wound with even more force, to the point where she knew it had to be causing him a great deal of pain. He didn't even flinch though, and when he finally closed his eyes - obviously too exhausted to keep them open for a second longer - not even her pleading, her cries, nor her prayers to a God he didn't even believe in, could get him to open them again. She choked out a sob, and pressed harder, but in the end it made little difference.

He was gone.

A/N - Ah, how cruel it would be to leave it there. Fear not, my readers, there will be a part two coming soon! For now though, please let me know if you liked this short beginning, and whether you'd like to read more. As always, I'd love to hear from you! Until next time, and as always, thanks for reading!