A friend told me there was some problem with allowing you to read this chapter. I hope this try gets through! Sorry for any inconvenience.

A/N: Sorry for the delay with this chapter. It really ate my lunch, let me tell you. There's a reason I don't write angst that often. Thanks to all who have reviewed and favorited so far. Welcome to chapter 2.

Chapter 2

He could have lied; it was his first instinct. But by the look on Lisbon's face, he was well and truly caught, so lying would just make things worse. No, the best thing to do was to fess up and face what he'd done.

"From Max Winter," he said simply.

She regarded him, and it hurt him to see her doubt, to see her CBI training in lie detection directed at him, even though he knew he deserved it.

"Why?"she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

She was remembering the man whose wife had been brutally murdered, how he'd bided his time waiting for the murderer to go free so he could kill him himself. Their stories had been full of similar woe, and Jane had jumped at the chance to find out if it had been worth all the plotting and years of patience. Winter hadn't hesitated in saying that yes, it had been worth it. Winter claimed to have the peace now that Jane so desperately needed in his life, and he'd gotten it by using a gun. What's more, he'd gotten away with it. That's why Jane had kept the gun.

But despite Jane's resolution to come clean about it now, he hesitated. His own desire for revenge had been the biggest, most fundamental difference of opinion that he and Lisbon had. It was the reason for his secrecy about the gun and for his other secrets regarding Red John. He realized suddenly how foolish he'd been to think that they could just ignore this and have any kind of personal relationship.

"That man understood me, Lisbon," he said at last. "He knew my pain. He gave me a gift he felt would help me deal with it."

She smirked derisively, ignoring the twinge that he'd been able to connect better with a murderer than with her.

"A gift? That man got away with murder. Is that what you want for yourself? You want to use that gun to kill Red John and get away with it? Because that's what it says to me."

"Let me explain—" he began, but she was on a roll now.

"You know what else it says to me?" She moved closer to him, her small stature suddenly seeming to loom over him. "It says that you don't give a damn about risking your life for that twisted quest for revenge that is still eating you up from the inside. It says to me that you are still keeping things from me. After all we've been to each other, you still don't trust me. Admit it."

"Teresa, I—"

"Admit it!" Lisbon demanded, and he could feel her warm breath in his face now, could see the way she was trembling with barely restrained emotion.

His hands went up to her arms. "I trust you with my life," he bit out desperately. "But when it comes to Red John, well, I can't trust anyone, understand? If I'm gonna stay one step ahead of him, my only weapon is knowledge, information that he doesn't know I know. If I tell you things, he will find out and make you a target, to get to me." He swallowed hard, his heart pounding as it did whenever the serial killer's name was spoken. "He killed my family when I merely pretended to have knowledge of him. Do you think he'd hesitate to kill more of my coworkers if he thought you knew something concrete that would help identify him?"

She was unmoved. She'd heard this argument from him before, and while she would always feel his pain when it came to his loss, his reasons behind keeping her in the dark were totally unacceptable, not to mention completely illogical.

"What things?" she asked, calmer now that she knew they were just revisiting familiar territory. Jane let go of her arms and turned away. Of course, she would latch on to the one thing he'd said that he hadn't intended to.

"What do you mean?" he asked, hedging.

"You know damn well what I mean! What things do you know that could identify Red John?"

"Nothing," he answered immediately. "Don't you think if I knew who he was that I would have gone after him myself?"

"Yes," she said, "I suppose you would. You'd disappear one day, gun in hand, with not a word to anyone. And then you'd leave me to find you. I'd walk into some strange place and see a bloody face on the wall, and I'd have that feeling of dread, and I'd—" A sob bubbled up into her throat, unbidden, as they both pictured the terrifying image she'd created for them. Forcefully, she swallowed it down. "Don't do that to me, Patrick. Don't make me have to live with that same horror that you live with every day…Tell me what you know, so I can help you."

"You mean, stop me," he countered, feeling manipulated. She could argue with him for a thousand years over this, but she would never convince him that killing Red John wasn't the answer. Red John had no intention of killing him, of this he was certain. Jane was being used for the madman's pleasure, in Red John's quixotic desire for a nemesis with whom to have an epic battle of wits. After all, he could very easily have killed Jane when he was strapped to a chair, ripe for the gutting. No, Red John would much rather kill or otherwise victimize those who got close to Jane, or to discovering his identity. The man was all about the torture.

"Yes, I intend to stop you. I was a fool to think that loving me would make a difference." Her hands came up to her face, wiping away the frustrated tears she hadn't realized had fallen. "But it's changed me, Jane. I'm more determined than ever that you not get yourself killed or thrown in prison, because now I have more to lose than just a valuable consultant."

His eyes softened as he looked at her, standing in his bedroom in her green terry cloth robe, her face tear streaked and resolute. He moved closer to her, reaching up to touch her face. She flinched a little in response, still upset with him, obviously.

"Loving you has made a difference," he told her softly. "For the first time in years, I actually look forward to a new day. I'm sleeping better. I don't feel alone anymore." He pressed his lips to her damp cheek. "You make me happy. I never thought I would have that again."

Lisbon couldn't deny that he had changed, that his bouts of depression were now rare and short-lived. But the changes hadn't touched the dark part of him she couldn't reach, the part of him that she instinctively knew hid all kinds of secrets and lies.

She moved away from him and turned to the chair where her clothes lay, shrugging off her robe and allowing him a beautiful glimpse of her backside. "I'm glad you're happy Jane. Now tell me what you're keeping from me." Her emotional progression had run through anger, hurt, fear, and accusation and settled now on coldness. He wished they could skip back to anger; he knew better how to deal with that.

He watched in silence as she put on her undergarments, then pulled on the same jeans and brown t-shirt she'd had on last night. She slipped on the loafers beneath the chair and turned to face him. He considered her request, and wondered, if he were about to share, what secret he would start with. Red John's quote from William Blake? Bosco's last words? Johnson's? How Minnelli gave him LaRoche's list of murder suspects? Or maybe the latest—his faked hostage ordeal with Hightower and his subsequent aid in her escape? He shook his head, throwing each one out in turn. She interpreted his movement as a response, and she heaved a great sigh and walked into his bathroom, nearly slamming the door, but catching it at the last minute. Jane grinned. She always did the right thing—precisely why he wouldn't tell her anything he knew. For both their sakes.

She emerged a few minutes later, face washed, hair brushed, her expression now blank.

"Where are you going?" he asked, but of course he knew. He was just making conversation, trying to maintain the connection that he felt was about to slip away from him for good.

"LaRoche wants me to come in, no doubt to discuss why my consultant would be keeping an unauthorized weapon on CBI premises. I'm sure he's going to reiterate all the accusations he's made about you and your suspicious behavior, maybe even speculate that you were a co-conspirator in the Johnson murder."

"What are you going to say?" he noted that his monotone reflected hers exactly. How had it come to this so abruptly?

"What can I say, Jane? Nothing. Because I know nothing. Thanks so much for all that great deniability you've given me." He guessed she'd reached the sarcastic stage now. She moved past him and he followed her to the living room, where she grabbed her purse and blazer jacket from the coat rack by the front door.

"I'm sorry," he said, because that was what one said in these situations. Jane was sorry, but not for keeping this information from her. He was sorry that he'd hurt her, that he would more than likely lose her now. It didn't mean he was giving up, however. She loved him, which meant she was still vulnerable to his charms. That improved his odds considerably, but it would take some major planning and finessing to make her forgive him. She just needed time to think, to—

"I'm sorry too," she replied, and from the look on her face, she meant those words for different reasons also.

"I love you," he tried, looking into her blank eyes with all the feeling he could flood into his own. She blinked rapidly, so he wouldn't see her eyes watering, and turned toward the door, letting herself out. She didn't return the sentiment, and it tore into his heart, literally stealing his breath for a moment. He caught the door before it closed behind her.

"Will you call me later? Tell me how things went with LaRoche?"

"I don't know," she said, and continued her walk to the parking lot. Jane watched her until the SUV drove out of sight, then closed the door and leaned his head against the cool metal.

He wasn't surprised that this had happened, had expected it, really. The past five months had been so good with her that looking back on it now it could have sprung from his imagination. But it hadn't; it had been very real. They'd kept their affair secret—well, from everyone but Cho, and he wasn't talking—had managed to build their relationship to heights he'd never thought to reach again. He loved her passionately, and she was his best friend. He couldn't let that go without a fight. But it wouldn't be easy. He'd known she suspected him of hiding things for some time, but that damn gun had been concrete proof of it. It was a good thing he'd brought his journal home, which he had since they would be out of the office for a week, and it was snug in its hiding place, where not even Teresa Lisbon could find it.

A thought suddenly struck him. That bastard LaRoche was to blame for all of this. He'd waited until they were all out of CBI Headquarters, with no likely chance that he'd be interrupted. Jane could picture him now, pawing through his things in the attic like the bulldog he was, sniffing out anything incriminating to hold against him. He'd probably even wagged his stubby tale when he'd found the loose floor board underneath a stack of crates in a dark corner. And he would have had a wondrous moment of Eureka! when he'd discovered that Patrick Jane actually had hidden an unregistered weapon. How suspicious. How nefarious. How exactly what LaRoche had expected of a misanthrope such as Jane.

Well, it takes one to know one, you busybody son of a bitch!

And so it was that Jane realized that his war effort would have two fronts-win back Lisbon and overthrow LaRoche. Make that three fronts, amended Jane. For, once LaRoche was out, his battle with Red John would need a new commander. Someone Jane could trust to make sure the focus of the unit remained squarely on Red John, and not on the members of the unit themselves. Someone like…a certain drunken fisherman who really wasn't ready to retire.

A/N: I am always very uncomfortable writing angst, but for the sake of character development, I had to get them out of their comfort zone, out of the fairy tale world I'd created for them in the last few stories. Reality strikes back in this one. I promise it won't be all about the angst, and Jane has a plan now. Please sign in and let me know if you like where this is heading.