A/N: I just want to say a couple of things before anything else.

1. This series is going to get a little darker for a short while. It's necessary to address what I need to address in this universe, though.
2. I think that Trip Down Memory Lane may end up being a touch shorter than The Scenic Route or The Path Not Taken was. That's the feeling I have right now anyway.
3. The sequel to Trip Down Memory Lane will (hopefully!) come along much sooner than Memory Lane itself did.
4. Have a little faith in me with where I want to go with this... please? I will eventually get back to the roots of the story as it was in The Scenic Route, but as the good Doctor says: "A straight line may be the shortest distance between two points, but it is by no means the most interesting." Let's just take this journey together.

And for now, thank you to MerriWyllow and Guest for reviewing part two.

Until part four...

x tromana

Part Three

13th January, 2013

Patrick Jane was sleeping by her side. Lisbon found herself almost entranced by the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet snores and mumbles he occasionally emitted. Then there was the fact that, for once, he almost looked like he was at peace with the world. She liked it when she could catch him in a moment of solitude and she wished that she could see him like this more often. After all, during his waking hours, he was usually so wracked with guilt about his family that it made her wish she could have saved him from all the heartache that his life had entailed. Things could have been so much simpler for them, and yet, fate had had something entirely different in store for them.

And, she suspected, there was still far more to come. That was the most worrying thing of all.

Moments like this, they were a reprieve from the daily insanity that was their lives. Lisbon was surprised that Jane had managed to snatch some rest at all. Despite the fact that not much had really happened today – beyond the flowers sent to her from Red John – the whole team had been on high energy and high alert. Then there was what happened just an hour earlier and her eyes fluttered shut as she remembered. He knew how to make her feel special, with the gentle caress of his hands, the use of his silver tongue in ways she had never dared to imagine and the sheer warmth and love he extolled on her. Physical intimacy had only served to deepen their bond and that made what she was planning to do feel all the more heartbreaking.

After all, they had only just rediscovered one another properly and she was about to sever that bond for a second time. It hurt her to know that, and she deeply feared what it was going to do to him as well. All that Lisbon could do was pray that it wouldn't set him over the edge. She hoped that Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho would be able to keep him on the straight and narrow until she had done what she needed to do.

Jane wasn't the only one who had dedicated his life to capturing Red John. Arguably, what she had done was for far more honorable reasons – she didn't wish the man dead (though she did want him to see the death penalty) – she merely wanted justice. Contrary to his beliefs, she could keep some things a secret. Like the simple fact that she had been working on the Red John case, alone. Ever since their union, she had focused more on the case and it had finally gotten to the stage where her theories weren't just theories anymore. She had a list of suspects, and one name was right at the top of that list. All the evidence pointed towards him and Lisbon couldn't help but wonder why Jane hadn't been able to see the links. But then, he was too close and she was a comparatively fresh set of eyes. She could see the things that he failed to do so.

And of course, she hadn't breathed a word to him about this. She couldn't dare telling him that she had narrowed her own personal list of suspects for Red John down to just the one name. Despite the fact he was in love with her – and had even dared to tell her so on a couple of very rare occasions – she didn't entirely trust him when it came to Red John. Jane still hadn't said either way what his intentions were since their latest developments; he had always remained vague. The silence on the subject, naturally, made her feel all the more suspicious.

Lisbon couldn't risk losing him again. He'd slipped through her fingers when she had been just a child and as a consequence, she had forced herself to forget about him. When she had been first reunited with him – under his real name rather than a pseudonym, of course – he had been a broken husk, and she had tried to put the pieces back together again. Now, they were together and she was very nearly 'done' fixing him, Red John had essentially re-emerged and threatened to shatter everything she had worked on. During that process, they had appeared to forget about him to the outside world; Red John had decided to send them a timely reminder.

He hadn't even needed to kill to be able to do that. The bouquet of red roses had been enough to upset the fragile balance of their lives. She didn't have the flowers anymore; they had been taken to the CBI headquarters to be processed and preserved as evidence. Red John hadn't actually handled the flowers, but there was a chance that Van Pelt could find a break in the paper trails and bring them a little bit closer. She might even have half a chance of confirming her suspicions about the serial killer's identity, but she couldn't wait for too long. Lisbon knew that she needed to act and fast.

But, she had needed to spend one more night with Patrick Jane. In some ways, she knew it was a little bit selfish, but what she was doing was reckless and a little bit foolish. She needed this time just in case it really was going to be their last time. Her mind was still set though; Lisbon knew that she needed to do this to save Jane, no matter what. It was what she had sworn to herself to achieve. And she knew that he would hate her just a little bit for that, but it didn't matter so long as he was safe.

From the moment she had seen that smiley face on his attached note, Lisbon knew it was a sign: you're next.

But she wasn't going to be next. She was going to force Red John's hand, try and play him at his own game. She prayed that it would work, that this nightmare would finally be over. Only then would they truly be able to put the past behind them and actually move on.

Jane's grip around her midriff tightened and he mumbled something incoherent. She tensed a little and that was more than enough to spur him into some semblance of wakefulness. He blinked at her through sleepy eyes and smiled wanly.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied.

She wasn't sure if he'd believe her, or if her honest eyes would give her away. It didn't matter; she would be away before he had a chance to know what was happening.

It had to be this way.

xxx

23rd July 1988

He stared around at the blank canvas that their studio apartment in Chicago had now become. As empty as the apartment now was, he also felt a little hollow inside. When he and Angela had picked out this place, Patrick had pinned so many hopes and dreams to the walls as well. Now, they were all gone, disappeared into the ether, only to be locked away in some small compartment in his memory palace. That was a place he wasn't willing to visit; it hurt too much now. He wasn't running away, he reminded himself firmly, he wasn't giving up. All that Patrick was doing was seizing an opportunity, making sure that things were right for both Angela and himself.

She was right; he had to stop living in the past. Only when he finally accepted that he had to let go of the past, would he then be able to move on with his life. Then, he would truly be able to give her the justice she deserved. Angela Ruskin had sacrificed so much to be with him, and all he had ever done was take things from her. Patrick knew that she only wanted one thing and one thing only: him. Over the past few months, he had reassessed his entire life and now, he was willing to give her exactly what she wanted.

And, again, it was all down to her. If she hadn't managed to get Joshua Redding's contact details, then he would never have considered using his skills professionally (and legally). They had thrashed out a deal that satisfied the both of them; Patrick Jane would continue to play the role of a psychic, but he got to choose who his marks were. No longer did he have to use and abuse the sick, the elderly, the frail, and the vulnerable. While it wasn't the complete abstinence from being a 'psychic' that he had wanted when he had initially left the carnival circuit, it was enough of a compromise for him to feel satisfied with it.

Part of the deal involved moving to California, Los Angeles to be precise. That was where the glitz and glamour was, ergo, that was where the money was to be made. There were rich people, happily living promiscuous lives, willing to throw money at anything and not all too likely to focus on the flaws between the lines. They had a thirst for the unknown, the afterlife and answers. If somebody could happily supply them with that little thrill and confirmation that yes, their husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/significant other was cheating on them, then they would play big money. And even better, there was the distinct opportunity that he could go onto bigger and better things. If, for some reason, he miraculously managed to get into television with his act, then he would finally be able to provide Angela with the level of stability that she not only craved, but wholeheartedly deserved. After all, he had already put her through more than enough grief to last a lifetime, what with his obsession with a certain Miss Teresa Lisbon.

He heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him. Patrick didn't need to turn to know who it was; he could recognize Angela's footfall in a huge crowd of people if he had to. For years, their lives had been completely and utterly in sync. Nobody understood him the way that she did. In some ways, it was very reassuring to know that she would always have his back, but now it was also becoming more than a little bit frightening. He was still so young; he didn't know what the future would entail. And yet, he couldn't help but think – in spite of his cynicism for religion, for the afterlife and for fate itself – that somehow, their lives would always be intertwined. Maybe, this was what was always meant to be and now, he had finally accepted that it was time to stop fighting it. It was kind of like he was always meant to play the role of a psychic in order to make money and live.

Angela's hand slipped comfortably into his, and Patrick didn't object. On the contrary, he appreciated her support at this moment in time. This was a big change and everything had happened so suddenly. But, their signatures had been collected, Angela had a new – and far better – job which she was due to start imminently, and there was an apartment waiting for them on the outskirts of LA. Now, it was time for them to move cross-country. As much as he wished he could deny it, Patrick was sad to be saying goodbye to Chicago, especially as he had failed in his quest. A part of him wished he could see Teresa once, just to say goodbye. But then, that would just open up a whole new set of problems. Maybe it was just for the best that he slipped away unnoticed. Besides, she was just a kid. She had probably long since forgotten about him. It was highly likely that she had gotten lost in her studies, boyfriends her own age and whatever else. Besides, he had Angela now and he shouldn't have even been thinking about her anyway.

But this, this moment staring at his empty apartment, it was his goodbye. Silently, he promised himself that he would box her away and would no longer let her run riot in his memory palace. Otherwise, she was going to end up being his downfall, regardless of her lack of presence in his life.

"You okay?" Angela murmured quietly.

"I'm fine," he answered.

Slowly, he turned on his heels, and exited the apartment hand in hand with her. When he closed the door, Patrick realized that this was definitely the end of an era.

And more excitingly, it was the start of a new one.