A/N: This is my second story for the Mentalist. This is meant as a kind of prequel or companion piece to my other story 'Something'. However, both can be read without reading the other, though of course I would love it if you read both.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist

Day and Night

It was a typical day at CBI. Lisbon and the others are doing paperwork, preparing for upcoming court testimony and things like that. Jane was stretched out on his couch. He looked to be asleep but as Lisbon often suspects, he wasn't really sleeping. Instead, he was thinking about his future. It was something he had been considering more often as of late. In the beginning he couldn't even imagine anything after Red John, it was incomprehensible. But lately, he'd been realizing that his life wouldn't end with Red John's, unless things went very off course, and, while he had known this all along, it had never seemed so real. These thoughts inevitably led to thoughts of his wife.

Angela was kind, gentle, flexible, loving and had a great sense of humor. Neither of them had taken too many things seriously, though she had more so than him. She had at numerous times brought up the repercussions of him pretending to be a psychic but in retrospect she had not been extremely torn up of his occupation. Her strongest objections stemmed from their past and their time with the carnival. However, she knew all jobs required sacrifices and he was good at what he did. He was often comforting people, giving hope and revealing problems – not tricking them for the fun of it or for money – so she was more or less fine with it.

His life with his wife and then with his daughter was so simple and happy. It almost seemed like a dream when he looks back on it, too good to be true, too happy to be real. One of the reasons he loved his wife was because of how open and honest she was. It was one of the reasons she had struggled with their early lives with the carnival and such. In that life you survive by being closed off and lying or at least by only telling half truths.

When he saw her he saw someone he didn't have to explain things to, someone who knew and he didn't need to worry about explaining himself to. When they left that life they clung to each other in the strange new world that had always been there, glittering on the edges of their own. They supported each other. Aside from leaving their current life, she wanted easy things and went after them, putting her heart into everything she did and never looking back.

He loved how simple she was. She knew what she wanted and she went for it. He often got tired of people suspecting and cheating and always having to be the one who knew their secrets. With her, he didn't worry or notice or think about bad things because she was a pure white light that blocked out all of the darkness in his world, of his childhood and the way he saw all of others' darkness.

And now, he almost couldn't imagine going back to how his life used to be. Again, it seemed too unreal. Jane realizes that he isn't the same person he once was. When he looks back on his old life he sees another's life, a stranger's life. Don't get him wrong, he wished with every fiber of his being that they were alive, especially his daughter, but he wasn't sure, if they were somehow miraculously both back, that he would be able to see anything the same way. He was a different person now and he wasn't sure his wife would even recognize him. Sometimes he didn't recognize himself.

Even if they were both back in his life he knew he couldn't go back to being a "psychic". In fact he was fairly certain he would want to stay with CBI. He would probably stop sleeping here and would have much more normal, sane, hours – he would want to spend tons of time with his daughter – but he didn't want to leave.

While he had threatened to leave in the past, he knew he wouldn't have actually gone. He was actually very impressed that Lisbon had been able to see through his bluff. When he had announced that he had changed his mind, he told Lisbon it had nothing to do with the work and was simply because he had nothing else to do. And that part was true, he had nothing else in his life, but the more he thought about it, the more the work meant to him, and while a big part was about catching Red John, another part, growing larger by the day, was due to the people.

Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were very different, interesting, good people. He was glad they were on the team; in fact it wouldn't be the same without them.

Cho was dependable and not unpredictable – a foil for Jane himself. He would usually go along with his plans, at least more easily than the others, because of his past – making him a bit more accepting of the consequences if it meant getting the job done. Besides, Jane liked his stoic and infallible attitude along with his dry sense of humor and bluntness.

Rigsby was interesting as well. His love for Grace had become a defining part of his character. He still wasn't quite sure what exactly happened in his past, the clues he picks up on can only go so far before deteriorating into guess work. Jane liked his easy-going personality and how he acted just a bit younger than he appeared.

Van Pelt was idealistic, but not as naïve as she appears due to whatever happened in her past. Her optimism and cheerful attitude are off-set by how realistic she can be, like with the situation between her and Rigsby, demonstrating her maturity.

He struggled with the thought of dating, though not for the reasons one might guess. It wasn't that he felt as if he was cheating on his wife. In the beginning he didn't even consider it because his mind was too consumed with grief for her, for both of them. Now, the grief didn't have the hold on him it used to and while he felt a bit guilty for not feeling like that, he also knew it was only human. To be honest, he felt a bit of relief as well, though that didn't help the guilt. He knew he had more peace of mind about dating more than others in his situation might. This was mainly due to the fact that she had told him it was alright. No, not through Kristina or in a dream or just a feeling or anything so unsubstantial. She had told him herself, many years ago.

A little while after their daughter had been born, and even for a bit before, they had been discussing plans for worst case scenarios, straightening out wills and the like. And during one late night conversation the subject of what would happen if one of them died in regards to a new partner. Both had spoken about their feelings on the matter, restating their love and how it seemed hard to imagine really being with someone else the way they were now. But both had agreed that if the situation came up they would want the other to be happy and not remain alone for the rest of their lives. This was partly due to them wanting their daughter to have two parents. Therefore, they agreed that anyone new must be approved by her. Though neither really thought anything could happen.

He felt a strong stab of pain at remembering how neither could bring themselves to mention anything about what they would do if their daughter died; the very idea was simply inconceivable and too painful. He still could barely think of her too much, though she was never forgotten, always on the edges of thoughts that he couldn't really bring her into focus because he was sure that pain would never ever go away and he was glad in a way. He was always worried about forgetting her, them, not completely but enough.

In a way he was almost a bit glad his wife had died with their daughter instead of himself and their daughter dying. He wasn't sure she could have dealt with losing her, as well as himself. At least there was a small chance they were together. He wasn't a strong believer but part of him couldn't help hoping that it was true.

He checked to make sure he was breathing correctly to feign sleep because he heard Lisbon come into the bullpen for a status update. He knew it was her even before he heard her voice. She had a specific way of walking and he could even make out a faint whisper of her cinnamon perfume. She briefly conferred with the team before going back to her office.

His thoughts were effectively diverted to the agent. He took a step back and considered Lisbon in his mind. She was intelligent, focused, strong, stubborn and diplomatic. She spoke her mind when she felt she needed to and held her tongue when the situation called for it. She was a strong leader and supported her team through anything. She was so dedicated to her job; he couldn't imagine her doing anything else.

Her slight frame made her seem deceptively small and vulnerable. In actuality, she was strong and commanding, a born leader. He was aware that her past had left many scars, from which stemmed her need to be in control.

When he thought of her difficult childhood, he felt a form of almost companionship with her – both having hard fathers to live with. However, she had had an enormous responsibility thrust upon her – her three brothers – that he wasn't sure he could have handled. This had made him admire her all the more.

She had had more thrown at her than most people and had come out of it more or less intact – not without her scars, but she had survived and it made her who she was. She certainly did have a particular 'damaged intensity' about her. In many ways, though, she didn't deserve all that she had had to endure and the fact that she was still a good person, a great person, really, astounded him. She certainly was a little spitfire.

He was suddenly struck by the thought that Angela would have liked Teresa Lisbon and vice-versa. She would have admired her tenacity and refusal to give in – qualities they shared – along with a fierce independence. However, other than that, they were quite different women. Neither one necessarily better – simply different.

Even in appearance they were opposites. Angela with her long blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall figure. Teresa comparatively, with her dark black hair, green eyes and shorter, slighter frame. Both beautiful in their own way, despite the astounding differences. Day and night really.

In fact, his life was easily comparable to the passing of a 24-hour day. The beginning is dark, uncertain and scary. His childhood with his father at the carnival was much the same. However, the sun was slowly rising and he could begin to glimpse a better life. Then his time as a famous psychic and with his daughter and wife would have been like when the sun finally comes up and everything is bright. However, the sun eventually begins its decent down, a large black cloud covering it, taking his child and wife with it. His life slowly crumbling and falling to pieces. As he tried to figure out his feelings, his mind, his future would be twilight, when nothing seems real or definite. There is the gloomy dusk, with the sun's light now staining the sky red and all that can be see is the encroaching darkness was his attempt to deal with the loss of his family and single-minded quest for revenge.

The night arrives and he's trying to deal with them being gone. It's dark again as he works with Lisbon's team, solving murder after murder and gradually his eyes adjust and he begins to recognize the shapes of friends and people who care about him once more. And slowly the stars come out and the moon shines and maybe it isn't nearly as bright as day – the white light coupled with the tiny pinpricks of the others, but it's softer and he can hide if he wants and he finds he prefers that to the spotlight. The dark isn't quite as scary anymore because he's been there before and he's seen it all in the light so he can make out things more clearly. It's not as busy as day was, but in a way that's a good thing because it's quiet and peaceful and that might just be exactly what he needs.

He thinks again of how he has changed – from the man he was with Angela and Charlotte, from who he was in the hospital, from who he was when he first began working with the CBI. How even his plans for Red John have evolved, almost against his will. His original plan has been unseated: to simply work with them to find him and kill him the way he did his wife and child, to block everything and everyone else out until it was over because they simply didn't matter – nothing mattered then, except revenge.

But now, he liked the work, it wasn't merely a means to an end. He was close to the people, not something he needed to endure. In fact, they were very important: Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt and Lisbon. Especially her, Teresa Lisbon. She had gotten inside his head somehow and now he cared for her, missed her when she was gone, occupied many of his thoughts. And she would not leave. Of course not, he thought ruefully, she's far too stubborn to give up. He thought this not without a bit of pride in his Lisbon, his Teresa. She wouldn't leave him alone no matter what, even if it was for the best. Damn woman was too good-hearted for her own good.

The problem was he couldn't even make the excuse that she didn't know what she was getting into, because she did. At least mostly. She knew him, something he realizes he should have worked harder to prevent. But it was so easy to let her in. Partly because she really tried; no one had ever truly tried to get to know him before and he couldn't help giving in, though he told himself it was only a little, that it was to help him fool her in the end, to get his way, to get to Red John.

That was the major problem right there – Red John. Once again ruining things. He had told her from the beginning his plans and she announced right off the bat that she whole-heartedly disapproved and would do everything in her power to stop him. She had remained steadfast in her claim and he believed she always would. But he hated to admit it, even to himself, especially to himself, he was slowly crumbling – at least to an extent. In the beginning he wanted to torture him, force him to feel at least a portion of the pain he himself had felt for his wife, his little girl.

Now, though, he just wanted him dead, gone from the world, erased from the face of the Earth forever. He doesn't even particularly care who does it, as long as it gets done, and if no one steps up, he would do it himself. But now, whenever he thinks of him dead he also sees her, face creased in pain, broken, looking oh-so disappointed, like her worst nightmares had come true, before her walls would come up and her face would harden and she'd do what needed to be done, as always. He hates even imagining her like that.

A new factor added to his revenge equation: Teresa. He never expected to meet someone like her and now his whole plan is off by the smallest margin. A new question has dropped on top of the millions he now considers. The same question that now lurks in the back of his mind, always the same.

For the past few months, the question has always been: do you let one evil man have a bit of pleasure so that one good woman who has lived through so much might not be made to suffer with him? What is more important: that the evil suffer or the good do not? Because it seems in this case he can't hurt one without hurting the other. Torture Red John to make him pay for all the people he has killed, all of the other lives he has destroyed or merely catch him and let the courts deal with him, getting a death sentence through a needle instead of revenge so that the one he cares about most that is still here, with him, won't lose him and suffer herself, so that she won't break as he has. Red John deserves every bad thing that he wants to do to him and more. But does she not also deserve the little bit of happiness he would take from her if he did such a thing, ending up in jail by her hands. Which is it? What's it going to be?

He doesn't know the answer. He tries to tell himself that it might not affect her as much as he imagines, but he knows that's a lie because he knows her. He briefly deludes himself into thinking he might be able to get away with it, but he's seen them work and he never put much thought into getting away with it because that never mattered before. He shakes his head; some things are too big, too pressing, too utterly life-altering to think about, even for a mentalist.

He tries to go back to the lighter side of his thoughts, where this train of thought had come from. He still had to adjust to having friends, because really that was what they were, not merely co-workers. He had never had many friends, not growing up, not as a famous psychic. It was strange having people care about him and a good-bad way. It certainly complicated things, but he couldn't blame them. He didn't want to.

He had never had any real girlfriends either. When Angela and he had first escaped, they had dated other people a bit but came back to one another rather quickly. It was another reason he kept his wedding band on: he didn't know how to date and, in the beginning, had no desire to. He still didn't, not really, but every once in a while things would spring to mind. Kristina Frye, for instance, had certainly grabbed his attention, but that had ended rather poorly to say the least.

He once again blocked the other things that sprang to mind whenever she entered his mind, and somehow that led back to Lisbon. He had to admit, whenever he considered moving on, trying to love someone else, the way he had his wife, she tended to jump to the front of his mind.

Regardless, he thought, twisting the ring on his hand, perhaps it is time to at least let Angela go, even if it was just a bit, and only in that sense. She had always loved, always craved, to be free.

A/N: Thank you for reading my story. I hope that you liked it and will consider reading my other story and if you have read it then double thank you - lol. I would like to mention that there will be no more additional chapters (some people always seem to put my one-shots on story alert and I always forget to explicitly state that they are complete since apparently having the story labeled as complete isn't enough) - are the best ever so - review please! Thanks! :D