I just realized I forgot to do the standard disclaimer in the prologue, so I'll just do that here and now: I own neither the Mentalist nor Patrick Jane. Would that I did, though... That honor goes to Bruno Heller and the fine folks at CBS. No profit made, no copyright infringement intended.

CHAPTER ONE

"How long have they been in there?" Rigsby whispered. His arms were crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed. He stopped just shy of chewing his thumbnail as he looked at Lisbon's office.

Cho glanced up from his paperwork. "Half an hour."

"That's the third time this week," Van Pelt said, though she looked more annoyed than concerned. "I just don't see why she has to close the blinds."

"Yeah," Cho said, looking from Rigsby to Van Pelt. "That's a real puzzle all right."

"Jane's not gonna like it," Rigsby said, his voice still hushed as he leaned toward Van Pelt.

"Jane's not gonna like what?" Jane whispered, from just behind Rigsby's left shoulder. Both agents jumped, while Cho merely smirked before returning to his book.

Grace flushed guiltily. "Oh – it's just… Boss has some company."

Jane managed to appear impassive. "Montrose again?" he asked. "Why should that bother me?"

Van Pelt merely rolled her eyes.

Six months had passed since the case that had taken Jane and Lisbon – and ultimately the rest of the team – to Mexico in pursuit of a lunatic who had been holding Lisbon's youngest brother Tommy hostage.

While the rest of the team had made it out alive, not everyone had been so lucky. Tommy Lisbon died that day, of a single gunshot to the head inflicted by none other than former CBI Director Gale Bertram.

To say the past six months had required some adjustments would be an understatement. And while Lisbon seemed to be all right when the whole thing was over and done, Jane knew better. The loss of her brother and a marked lack of leads on Bertram or his lunatic protégé, Ellie Jennings, was taking its toll.

She worked constantly, despite the most recent development in her life: Tommy's daughter, Annie, had been shipped against her will to Sacramento, in the hopes that 'Auntie Reese' could sort her out where her uncles had failed. And while it had seemed immediately upon their return from Mexico that she and Jane were actually making inroads to some semblance of a personal relationship…

Jane peered peevishly at the closed door and shuttered windows of Lisbon's office.

Well, now they most definitely were not making inroads. Jane considered sulking on the couch, but dismissed the idea out of hand. This required a more direct approach. This was the third day in a week that Detective Keith Montrose – of the southern accent and freakishly broad shoulders – had closed himself in Lisbon's office during lunch.

Jane was certain nothing was going on; Lisbon was a terrible liar, and she never would have been able to hide a brewing romance. But, Montrose had made it plain more than once that he had designs on Teresa.

No – Jane simply couldn't let it stand.

"I believe Lisbon has a file I need," he announced.

Three pair of eyes turned to him as one.

"I wouldn't do that," Rigsby warned.

"She's been in a bad mood all day," Grace agreed.

"Meh – she's always in a bad mood. My appearance or lack thereof will hardly change that."

"No," Rigsby argued. "A really bad mood. Annie got picked up shoplifting last night – Lisbon's sending her home tonight."

"That's a terrible solution," he said immediately, honestly annoyed. "I suppose that was Detective Montrose's idea." He didn't bother hiding his disdain when he said the name.

Before anyone could respond, he stalked over to Lisbon's door, rapped lightly once, and then pulled on the handle before anyone could tell him to go away.

"It's locked," he said, with frank incredulity.

Even Cho looked up with some interest at that revelation.

Jane reached into his pocket and retrieved his favorite lock pick.

"Bad idea," Rigsby said.

Jane glanced over his shoulder. Cho was clearly not interested one way or the other, Rigsby anxious, and Grace – surprisingly enough – more curious than disapproving. These last few months, he and Grace had gotten along quite well, actually; she was embracing the rebellion and inner fire she'd no doubt held at bay her entire life in an effort to please a controlling father. Shortly after their return from Mexico, she'd broken up with Rigsby, taken to beating wayward suspects, and almost never gave Jane those disapproving glances she'd perfected in the days before she'd been forced to gun down her fiancé in order to save Lisbon and an entire cabin of witnesses.

Now, Grace's eyes sparkled mischievously. She didn't actually say, "I dare you," but it was certainly implied.

Jane picked the lock in mere seconds and pushed the door open breezily.

He was relieved to find that Lisbon was seated safely behind her desk, while Montrose sat in an office chair with his long legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. The detective had brought Thai food with him. Lisbon looked up when Jane came in, but she didn't look particularly surprised to see him.

"Is there something I can do for you, Jane?" she asked.

"Oh – I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were entertaining – "

"We're having lunch, Jane, I'm not throwing a dinner party."

"I just wanted to find out if you have any other leads on that case we're in the middle of?" He looked carelessly at Montrose. "Death. Mayhem. Things are never dull here at the CBI."

"Which is why you slept through the better half of my briefing this morning, I guess," Lisbon said. He started to protest, but she stopped him with a wilting glance. "If you hadn't, you'd know where we are on that case."

"Well – yes," he agreed amiably. "I know where we were this morning… I just meant, where are we now that I've solved the case?"

She got a little bit red. Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. Montrose glared at the floor, while Jane just looked pleased with himself.

"You solved the case?"

"I have," he said. There may have been a trace of smugness to his tone, but he felt entirely justified for it.

"And when were you planning on telling me you solved the case?"

"Well, I just solved it twenty minutes ago, and as soon as I realized that I had, I came straight here. I would have come in sooner, but you were entertaining the good detective."

She shot him a glare that suggested he would be wise to be quiet. He did so happily, while Lisbon apologized to Montrose and pushed him out the door.

"Lovely seeing you again, Keith," Jane called after him. "Shame you couldn't stay longer."

The detective, who had been perfectly pleasant when they'd first met months before, mumbled something less than civil under his breath as he walked away. Jane grinned that much wider.

When he was gone, Lisbon motioned for Jane to take the detective's seat. She pushed some of the Thai leftovers toward him, which he gladly accepted. With the door closed and Montrose gone, Jane had a moment to study Lisbon as she idly pushed noodles around on her plate and waited for him to speak.

She looked tired. More than tired, though, she looked… sad. No – she'd been sad when Bosco was murdered. This was different. It seemed bottomless; a chasm of fatigue and darkness from which Jane, thus far, had been unable to provide any kind of relief. The scar Ellie Jennings' right hand man had left on the CBI agent's cheek had healed, but it was still impossible to miss – a deep, angry pink fissure from her right cheekbone nearly to her chin. Jane had suggested plastic surgery more than once, but she wouldn't even consider it. This was her punishment for letting her brother die, he knew – a bold reminder to her and the world that, when it mattered the most, Teresa Lisbon had failed.

"Did you really solve the case, or are you just trying to torture me?" she finally asked when he said nothing.

"I did – if I wanted to torture you, don't you think I could have come up with something more creative than this?"

She smiled faintly. "Yeah, I guess this would be pretty tame by your standards. So… Who did it?"

"Mike Billings," he said. He wasn't happy about it, and it was clear in his voice. The tiny bit of good humor Lisbon had shown vanished.

"Dammit," she said softly. "You're sure?"

He nodded.

Mike Billings was ten years old, and – as far as Jane had been able to tell – had been brutalized by his grandfather for most of his young life, while the old man raised him and his younger sister. His father was in prison; his mother was dead. A week ago, Grandpa Billings was found floating in the neighbor's pool with a hatchet in his back. Jane had known immediately that it was the boy, of course; the sister wasn't strong enough, and Mike hadn't been able to look Jane in the eye during any of their three informal interviews.

"I thought you said it wasn't him," she said.

"I lied."

She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "I know," she said.

Outside her fishbowl of an office, Jane could hear the others talking. The blinds were closed, but he suspected that at least Grace was lingering near the door trying to hear their conversation. He was suddenly, inexorably tired of ferreting out bad guys and getting a front row seat to watch all the horrible things the human race did to one another.

"So, why'd you decide to tell me the truth now?"

This was the part that disturbed him the most; the memory of his last conversation with the boy, just an hour ago. "He'll do it again," he said. "I thought it was just him protecting the sister."

"But it's not?"

He shook his head. "It might have started that way, but it won't take so much to incite him next time. He enjoyed it too much."

She stood. "Well, then – let's go get him."

Her blazer hung off her and her jeans sagged just a bit; Lisbon – always a little on the thin side – was losing weight. He got up as well.

"So, you're sending Annie home?" he said, just before she reached the door.

"Don't start."

He held up his hands. "I didn't say anything – just making conversation."

"She stole an iPod last night. And a six pack of Miller Lite."

"So, she has bad judgment." He shrugged. "And her taste could use some refining. That's no reason to send her back to Chicago."

She turned back toward him, her hand still on the doorknob. There was a trace of fire in her eyes.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with her?" she asked. "She hates me – and why shouldn't she? I got her father killed – "

"Ellie Jennings got her father killed," Jane corrected her, reflecting just a little of that fire back at her. "Gale Bertram got her father killed. You didn't get her father killed, Teresa. Honestly, woman, how many times do I have to repeat myself?"

She got that lost look in her eye again. Jane wondered briefly if this was how it had been being around him those first years after Red John struck, then dismissed the thought. He'd been a thousand times worse. Lisbon wouldn't let herself become mired in self-pity; she would punish herself by working long hours, she would suffer in silence, would deny herself personal happiness… But she would never lose herself the way Jane had.

She still didn't open the door. Their eyes met. It seemed for a moment that she was searching for something—waiting for him to say something, do something. Not for the first time (or the hundredth), he thought back to their night together in Mexico: the way she'd felt in his arms, the look in her eye… How close they had been, in those moments before they went to meet Ellie and Lisbon's life changed forever.

"I don't know what to do with her," she confessed quietly, her defenses unexpectedly lowered.

Jane nodded. "I know that. But tell her that. Don't send her away… she needs a home."

"She needs stability," Lisbon argued. "Someone who's there every night, instead of traipsing off to crime scenes at two in the morning. I can't give her what she needs."

Before Jane could argue the point any further, Lisbon's cell phone rang. She answered it as she opened the door, effectively ending the conversation. Jane listened as that boor Montrose wheedled and cajoled and eventually managed to convince Lisbon to take the evening off and go out with him.

He was really beginning to dislike Montrose.

By the time Lisbon hung up the phone, the others had gathered around and it was time to arrest the budding psychopath who had axed his abusive grandfather and thrown him in the neighbor's pool.

It was official: the job was definitely starting to get to Jane.

What they needed, Jane realized as they piled into the van and set out for their destination, was a change of pace. Something new. Something different. And preferably something as far from Chief Montrose as humanly possible. Jane looked out at the passing highway, an unexpected sense of optimism unfurling in his chest. He had a mission.

He just needed to get Lisbon to go along with it.

TBC

And there we have it... A prologue and chapter one. Chapter two will be up on Sunday. Don't forget - reviews are like crack for we lowly fic writers. I'd love to hear your thoughts!