Disclaimer: Still don't own anything related to The Mentalist.

A/N: I have to give complete and unending gratitude to Hardly Loquacious and SSJL for helping me with this chapter. With out them, you'd never see this monstrosity. Thanks to the show giving us NOTHING to work with in this arena, you can see why it took so long to get out. The first part actually has little to do with the sin of Lust, but Bret Stiles is probably one of my favorite recurring characters on this show, so I had to write him in. This is what I wished he'd have done in "Red All Over". Sorry about the length, but Stiles wouldn't stop being awesome.

The next sins I'll try to set in season 3. Because the Fortress of Solitude must be given props, methinks. Let me know how I did!

Set after 2x20 "Red All Over"

The Straw and the Camel's Back

(Lust)

"Capricious, wanton, bold and brutal lust is meanly selfish; when resisted, cruel. And like the blast of pestilential winds, taints the sweet bloom of nature's fairest forms." John Milton

Lisbon took a seat at her desk, hot cup of coffee in one hand, and the Harrington file in the other. Time to finalize the paperwork on a job well done. Hadn't even garnered a call to Hightower's office for some convoluted display of push and pull that she and the CBI's most wayward consultant seemed to enjoy. If anything, Lisbon could stand fewer calls to the principal's office.

Harrington was safely in custody, and as she thought back to the trap to nab him, Lisbon couldn't help feeling a little swell of pride in her ability to play the game. Using the kid to draw out Harrington's confession, however, was not her idea. But, as she thought back to that resounding smack of Sadie Harrington's hand across Jane's cheek, she felt a little less guilty. Oh, the way he flailed backward…Lisbon smiled into her cup.

Something that should happen more often, she thought.

"I must congratulate you, Agent Lisbon," purred a cultured, slightly gravelly voice, "on a job well done. It seems that you are a woman of many talents, not the least of which is infinite patience."

Her eyes met the knowing smile of Bret Stiles, self-help guru, con man and admittedly charming leader of the cultish Visualize Center. He stood in the middle of her doorway, hands in his pockets, taking her in with an almost proud expression.

"Mr. Stiles. Can I help you?" She asked. Her gut twisted for a moment. He'd probably come to inform her that the CBI would be receiving a suit filed against them for the actions of one Patrick Jane. Wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last.

Stiles' grin widened. "Fear not, Agent. I'm not here to make your life harder by slapping your consultant, and by extension your team, with a harassment suit." He ambled in, casting a quick glance over his shoulder toward Hightower's office. "Although the thought did occur to me."

Seeing the excuses blooming on Lisbon's face, Stiles waved her off, taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite her desk. "Oh, frivolous lawsuits such as that are hardly worth my time, my dear. But you however…" He crossed one leg over the other and cast an appraising eye on his befuddled subject. "I simply had to stop by and tell you how much I admire you, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon's eyes darted back and forth between Stiles and the door, as if she expected the crew of some hidden camera project were going to jump out and tell her she'd just been punked. Brow furrowed, she smiled warily at the well-dressed man across from her.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stiles…but I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

There was no mistaking the gleam in Stiles' eye, and Lisbon had the distinct feeling that all that charm and savoir-faire belied the real Bret Stiles. Underneath the grandfatherly warmth, the dashing silver hair and the wisdom, she could see the predator looking out from those cool blue eyes. Lisbon had dealt with her share of powerful men, and usually wasn't put off by them. But Stiles had his own unique presence, an aura of dominion and superiority, and part of her couldn't help feeling a little like a rabbit being sweet-talked by a very savvy fox.

"You endeavor to bring criminals to justice. You deal with the never ending bureaucracy that goes hand in hand with the justice system. You're responsible for your team. Their lives depend on your judgment." He paused, gesturing out toward the bullpen. "All of that, while holding the leash to a man as unstable as your Mr. Jane."

She let her eyes fall to her desk, knowing where this little discussion was going.

She earned a compassionate smile from the fox. "I don't wonder why you spend late nights, cloistered in this office with your files and your computer – the few things you feel you can exert some control over these days."

Something hard and cold lodged in Lisbon's throat as she snuck a glance at the bean bags she kept on the edge of her desk. The ones she obsessively rearranged when her stress levels had hit maximum capacity. The ones she'd like to ram down a certain someone's throat no less than four times a week.

She was giving away her tells to a man whose sole purpose was to exploit weakness, so she marshaled her features into something less revealing, and shook her head. "I'm in perfect control of my life."

Stiles made a face of such sympathy, Lisbon felt like she was ten again, and her grandfather was telling her that the family dog had just gone to that great dog park in the sky.

"Oh, of course you're not, my dear. Who is in perfect control of their lives these days? That's why we work long hours, sacrifice a personal life, and keep liquor stashed away in our desk drawers."

It took a lot for her not to flinch at that. Brushing it aside, Lisbon reminded herself with whom she was speaking. "And what little things do you use maintain control in you life, Mr. Stiles? Or should I say, maintain control over your …parishioners?"

The compassion faltered for a second, and Lisbon literally felt the temperature in the room dip. But it was gone in the time it took Stiles to raise his index finger and slowly waggle it in a 'no-no' motion. "Ah-ah, Agent Lisbon, no reason for hitting below the belt. I'm simply trying to help you. I know why you resist all outside attempts to help you with your problems, you know. Trust is a rare commodity in your life, not to be given out lightly. Too many people, pillars of support, have let you down in one way or another. Probably going back to your parents, am I right?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. "So you're a shrink too? Do you charge by the hour or does one have to make a sacrifice to your altar?"

Stiles simply chuckled, but his eyes went a shade colder, roughly the color of glacial ice. "Donations are always appreciated, my dear. Visa and MasterCard accepted." He tilted his head, still smiling, though the bite had lessened. "Do you trust your consultant, Mr. Jane?"

Lisbon looked up at him from beneath her lashes, but didn't answer.

"Good girl," Stiles applauded, in a whiskey-rough voice. "Great employee insurance aside, everything I said about him – the recklessness, the carelessness – it's all true, and you know it. His single minded pursuit of evil will be his undoing. A man that hates himself that much," he shuddered, "well, it really is toxic, even for those closest to him."

Lisbon sat stark still, every truth Stiles uttered clattering about inside her soul. The man was a manipulative cult leader who sent others to do his dirty work for him, who obviously thought himself above authority and sanction. Who didn't have a huge problem with murder.

But he was also absolutely correct.

"I truly fear for your safety with a man like Jane under your supervision, Agent Lisbon." Stiles was all grandfatherly concern again. It was eerie.

"You're not the first person to tell me Jane's a liability, Mr. Stiles-"

"Well, I'm glad of that," he laughed.

"– and you won't be the last. But I'll tell you what I've told everyone else. I can handle Jane."

"Can you, really? Handle him?" Stiles raised an eyebrow, almost seductively. "And would you allow him to exact his revenge on Red John, should the invitation arise?"

She was about to answer immediately, but he cut her off. "No, of course you wouldn't, my dear. That is not how you operate. But it is how Jane operates, I'm afraid."

"You don't know that. I won't let him."

"In my experience, men as obsessed as Mr. Jane can rarely be stopped from reaching their goal. Nature of the beast, I'm afraid. That's why he's working with you, isn't it?"

She faltered before giving her standard answer. "He helps with a lot of cases. Not only Red John related material…he…he catches a lot of bad guys."

Stiles 'mm-ed' to himself. "And you secretly hope that will eventually be enough for him, don't you? That he'll see the difference he can make for society and be satisfied with it, just like you are? Making a difference." Leaned forward and pierced her with his glacial stare. "Oh, Agent Lisbon, I do hope you're right. For your sake."

"Your concern for my well-being is touching, Mr. Stiles, but unwarranted," she replied sternly, hoping to put an end to the conversation without ruffling feathers.

"Well, it seems to me that Mr. Jane could be just biding his time until something more concrete on Red John surfaces. Using the," his eyes traveled over her features, "resources, currying favor and friendships where he can. It's easier to achieve your goals when you have the trust of those who might …well…get in the way, eventually."

Lisbon felt sick. She had to swallow once to tamp down on the bile rising in her throat. Stiles wasn't scaring her with empty theories. She prided herself on being pretty smart, so of course, she'd let the thought that maybe Jane was just using them to suit his own motives swirl around her head late at night.

Stiles raised a brow at her silence. "I see you've entertained such thoughts as well. Good. A good leader considers all possibilities of betrayal that could threaten her team."

"Jane's not…he's not like that." She couldn't even make her voice work.

"He's fairly open about what he wants to do to Red John if he ever catches him, isn't he? And you're not about to let him become a killer."

Lisbon felt herself sinking further into her chair as Stiles leaned forward again, clasping his hands together on his knee and giving her an open, curious expression. "Tell me, my dear, when the game has reached its crux, and the players finally meet, who do you think he'll choose?"

No answer. She couldn't even blink, pinned by Stiles' question.

"Mr. Jane is fond of you, that is obvious. But I do worry for your safety. Especially after what happened here a few months ago, an entire CBI team being slaughtered," Lisbon visibly cringed, shying away from his eye, "I can't help but think being close to Patrick Jane is akin to painting a target on your back."

By now, Lisbon was hunched into her chair, the only visible sign of her retreat from Stiles' words. If the seed of doubt had been planted before now, Stiles had watered it. Or maybe shoveled Miracle Grow onto it.

Stiles sat back, and Lisbon couldn't tell if he was genuinely worried about her, or masking the pleasure of getting to her. She suspected the latter.

His voice was thick with commiseration and infinite concern. "I do hope I haven't added to your burden, Agent. That wasn't my intention. I was merely trying to point out–"

"– That you're a vile, patronizing, manipulative con man? Thanks, but we already knew that."

The subject of their conversation appeared in Lisbon's doorway. He smiled – a subtle thing that came nowhere near his eyes, with more edge in it than congeniality. Hands stuffed into his coat pockets, Jane stood there, staring coolly at Stiles as though he'd just bid the man 'good morning', but Lisbon was shocked to see the fury simmering under his well worn mask.

Realization hit her in the head like a stray foul ball. Oh no…


Jane had been in high spirits. The case was solved, Hightower played chicken with Bret Stiles and won this round. And Lisbon hadn't received a single reprimand. Life was good.

He'd waltzed his way around the corner from Hightower's office, garnering a few weird looks from passing workers (the young file clerk he'd nearly twirled into blushed furiously, and he considered taking her arm and spinning her a round once, just because she looked like she could use a good dance) and into the break room. After finding his blue teacup and saucer, Jane set about fixing tea.

After such a good job, tea was in order. While stirring, Jane paused a moment, thinking about the case. Then, he released a breath that seemed to start at his toes. The Harrington case had worked out well, but it had taken its toll on him. Stiles had found his vulnerable spots and within minutes had poked them with a sharp stick. Sure, Stiles probably researched his adversaries, like any good opponent would, but still. The way that pretentious cult leader looked down on him while talking about scrubbing out his demons like one would scrub out a nasty grass stain – Jane felt his jaw tighten just thinking about it.

Such arrogance, passing judgment on his pain! It was overwhelming. Of course he'd lashed out, threatening Stiles. It was about all Jane could do. Stiles had thrown the first punch, and it was a doozy. Afterward, Jane had needed time to regroup.

Then there was the bomb.

Jane raised the cup to his lips; remembering Lisbon's frantic call caused is stomach to churn ominously. He set the tea back on the counter and closed his eyes. Lisbon had called asking for his help, and for an instant, he was ridiculously pleased.

His Lisbon, the one who could be paralyzed and wouldn't ask him to bring her a cup of coffee, the one who staunchly told him she didn't need to be saved, was calling for his help. And in that instant, his mind had recklessly hoped it was something non-case related. He'd been trying for months to get her to open up to him a little, and been soundly shot down at every turn. Silly of him to think she'd call him for anything other than solving a crime.

But after he heard her say that she was in the same room as a bomb – Jane's heart had actually stuttered in his chest. He played if off well, of course. She'd been fully capable of leaving. Then, he heard her argue with that little girl, knew she'd die rather than leave the kid behind. There were times when Jane wished his memory palace wasn't so detailed.

For a few heart-stopping seconds, he was forced to listen to Lisbon grapple with a bomb. And now he realized, as his heart froze in his chest, that he was almost forced to listen to her die…and he'd been completely helpless. He couldn't save her.

She was going to die and he'd have to listen to her die.

The blue teacup clattered back to the counter top, sloshing hot liquid all over his hand. Cursing under his breath, Jane mopped up his mess, and refilled his cup. Time to put these dark thoughts out of his head. Lisbon was safe, and he'd made sure that everyone knew about her heroism.

Jane thought about her embarrassed smile, the way Lisbon glowed in the limelight. It replaced the icy fear in his chest remembering the bomb incident with a warmth that brought a smile to his face. He'd have to make sure she got recognized for her deeds more often. She deserved it, and he had to admit, he liked the feeling of helping her, even in that little way, a lot more than he thought he would. And if she trusted him a bit more that he'd have her back…

More than enough reward, he thought.

Jane poured Lisbon a cup of coffee, exactly how she liked, and started toward her office. It was then that he noticed she wasn't alone. Stiles, apparently, hadn't skulked back to his den of brainwashed followers yet. But it wasn't Stiles presence in Lisbon's office, lounging in one of her chairs as though he has some regal right to do so, that worried him instantly. It was Lisbon's demeanor.

She looked strained. Almost…frightened. She was crouched back as far as she could in her chair, stone-faced and rigid. Jane stopped in the middle of the hallway, all of his internal warning bells sounding a red alert. He knew Lisbon could take care of herself, but something Stiles was telling her was truly bothering her.

More curious than anything, Jane deposited the two drinks on Van Pelt's desk, which the rookie immediately questioned, but he ignored. He ambled toward the office, watching the two within, not wanting to interrupt. If Lisbon wanted Stiles gone, she'd toss him out by the scruff of the neck if need be.

When he was within ear shot, the conversation he heard poured a bucket of ice down his spine.

"…In my experience, men as obsessed as Mr. Jane can rarely be stopped from reaching their goal. Nature of the beast, I'm afraid. That's why he's working with you, isn't it?"

Jane froze.

"He…he catches a lot of bad guys."

"And you secretly hope that will eventually be enough for him, don't you?"

"It's easier to achieve your goals when you have the trust of those who might …well…get in the way, eventually."

His fists in his pockets slowly contracted until his nails were digging into his palms.

"I see you've entertained such thoughts as well. Good."

Lisbon didn't answer anything to the contrary, and Jane's heart turned to a lead weight.

"Tell me, my dear, when the game has reached its crux, and the players finally meet, who do you think he'll choose?"

His vision began to turn red. Oh, how he wanted to wrap his hands around Stiles throat. But it was Lisbon's non-reaction to those words that made his lead heart fall into the soles of his shoes. Did she really think…that he'd…?

Worst of it was, Jane himself didn't truly know the answer to that.

"I can't help but think being close to Patrick Jane is akin to painting a target on your back," the cult leader suggested.

He couldn't take this. He knew his presence at CBI was probably a portent of doom for those around him. Red John had made that glaringly obvious just a few months ago, and Lisbon still couldn't hear Bosco's name without her entire demeanor dimming a little. It made Jane's chest ache to see her wince as Stiles threw the death of her friend back in her face like a wet rag.

But then, Jane also knew the danger Lisbon was in as well. He'd shoved that little fact as far back in his broken soul as he could, but Stiles knew exactly how to bring it to the forefront. And now, after nearly losing her that day, Jane didn't think he could even fathom the possibility of Red John deciding to use Lisbon as his next "example." It was still too raw, the terrifying memory was too close to him.

He needed to help her. Get Stiles away from her. Not a shining knight, valiantly defending the fair maiden's honor by any means, but at the very least, he could redirect Stiles' energy. Lisbon had had enough stress for one day.

So, he stepped in. His face his most perfect mask of calm control, while his fists clenched in his pockets so tightly his knuckles ached.

"I do hope I haven't added to your burden, Agent." Stiles soothed, dripping concern and understanding. "That wasn't my intention. I was merely trying to point out–"

"– That you're a vile, patronizing, manipulative con man? Thanks, but we already knew that." Jane smiled. His focus was on Stiles, but he could see Lisbon's shock out of the corner of his eyes.

She didn't trust him to save her, but he'd be damned if he didn't try.


"Ah, Mr. Jane," Stiles greeted calmly, and if he were caught off guard, he covered like a pro. "Come to level more threats at me?"

Lisbon frowned. Threats? Oh, great, she thought.

"Agent Hightower wouldn't like that, I should think." Stiles angled himself toward his opponent, still comfortable in the chair.

Jane stepped in the door way, tilting his head at Stiles, and the smile had faded a notch or two. Lisbon felt an indefinable hum radiating throughout the room, as though she were standing near a power line. She'd rarely seen Jane so agitated and it was starting to scare her.

Jane shrugged one shoulder. "No threats, Bret. Just an honest observation or two."

"That's all Agent Lisbon and I were chatting about, my dear fellow. Honest observations." Stiles smiled. The Fox liked the way his new prey squirmed.

Jane moved to the corner of Lisbon's desk, perched atop it and crossed his arms over his chest. Stiles merely leaned back in the chair, enjoying Jane's physical display of possessiveness. Even Lisbon could tell that Jane was trying to get between herself and Stiles. The question was, why?

"Don't you have to get back to your flock? Probably can't leave them for too long without your voice in their ears, telling them what to do. How to think. Who to kill." Jane goaded, disdain coating every syllable.

"And here I thought we'd settled all that," Stiles purred.

Jane chuckled. "You may have the DA bluffed, but we know what you are. And where to find you." He leaned forward, his tone dropping an octave. "Go back to hiding behind your brainwashed lackeys, Bret."

The hum in the room increased, and Lisbon eyed Stiles. The older man's expression barely changed, but his eyes hardened. The Fox morphed into a Wolf. "You know, Patrick, I would have thought you'd have learned your lesson by now. Threatening people when you don't truly know who you're dealing with?"

Jane's shoulders tensed. Stiles let that blow sink in a moment before continuing. "One wonders what it will take before you realize that your actions have consequences."

Lisbon's eyes moved back toward Jane, who was staring at Stiles in that same loathsome way he did at the Visualize Center. Eyes cold and empty.

She hadn't formulated a reply before Stiles turned back to Jane, moving in for the kill. "My offer still stands, Patrick. All that self-loathing and obsession is only going to cause you more pain. More loss." He turned to her, conspiratorially. "Wouldn't you agree, Agent Lisbon?"

Very slowly, Lisbon folded her hands on her desk, sat forward, and leveled a stony glare at the Visualize Center guru. "I think Jane is right, Mr. Stiles. We know what you're all about, so you can bet we'll have our eye on you. I'm sure we're not the only agency doing so."

Stiles' paternal air toward her vanished and he bestowed on her the same predatory glare he'd been using on Jane. The Wolf bristled, as he straightened his coat. "Oh. Really?" He sneered.

"Yes sir." She nodded. Standing, Lisbon motioned toward the door. "I think you should leave."

Stiles looked between Jane and Lisbon, seeking some crack in which to poke another stick, but found none. Didn't seem to like the fact that all his good advice to Lisbon wasn't to be heeded.

Jane's mask was settled back in its proper place, a false and tired smile on his face. "Have a nice day," he said.

Stile shook his head as he walked to the door. "Always your stalwart defender, Patrick." Waggled a finger between the two of them, and smirked. "I hope it doesn't ruin you both before the end."

The air seemed to rush back into the room as Stiles left, the almost electrical hum vibrating between him and Jane ebbed. Lisbon felt edgy, angry and bone-numbingly tired all at the same time. Running a hand through her hair, she rounded her desk to face Jane.

The wrinkles around his eyes were deep crags, as though his encounter with Stiles aged him ten years. His shoulders sagged a little more, and it seemed to take far too much effort to summon a small smile for her.

"We sure told him, didn't we?" he said.

Lisbon eyed him warily before glancing toward Stiles' exit. "Arrogant bastard." She turned back to him. "Are you…" She started to ask if he was alright, before another rail-car crashed into her train of thought. "What were you trying to do there?"

Jane's shock was evident. His brow furrowed in confusion, a look she rarely saw on her know-it-all consultant. "What do you mean?"

"With Stiles. Why lock horns with him again when you know he'll go for your jugular?"

Jane looked a little dumbstruck, and Lisbon couldn't figure out why. Usually Jane avoided going into fights that would use his most vulnerable insecurities against him. He couldn't get away from Stiles fast enough the last time they went at each other, as soon as Stiles had finished rubbing Jane's face in his pain. Both struck a nerve with the other, Jane just retreated first.

"I…" He paused, and then shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. "I was trying to help you, Lisbon. I saw Stiles in here, and you looked…well…" He fumbled around, and the more he fumbled the more aggravated Lisbon got.

"I looked…what?" she prodded.

"Like you weren't handling him well." Jane stated, innocently. The man didn't have a tactful bone in his body most days.

Lisbon gaped. "Not handling him well? I handle guys like him all day long, Jane." Then it hit her. Oh, he thought he was going to ride in and save her again, did he?

Jane looked at his shoes, scuffing them on the floor a moment. "Look, Stiles is a master manipulator and I just thought…"

"That if he got to you, then I would crumble like a house of cards, right?"

"That's not what I meant, Lisbon, and you know it." Jane said, firmly. "I was just looking out for you."

There was something in his eyes that made her want to forgive him. But she'd had a long, very trying day. She'd come within a second's breath of dying. She'd had to watch Jane threaten some very influential people. And then she'd had a malicious con-man of Jane's caliber poking around in her issues.

Lisbon had lost control of things with Stiles, and it left the bitter taste of violation in her mouth. She needed to regain some control.

"I'm fine." She tried to take some of the sting out of her words. Jane was, after all, only trying to help. "I can look out for myself." Problem was, whenever Jane tried to help, he usually made things worse.

Jane nodded, shuffling toward the door. Even 'he of little tact, and big arrogant assumptions' could see this wasn't going well.

"Of course you can, Lisbon." He gave her a low-watt smile, as though he were too tired to send her one of his stunners. "I'm sorry you had to deal with him at all. My fault. I'll be…on my couch if you need me."

He backed out of her office, more contrite and beaten than she'd seen him in a long time. Worry caused her to fret her bottom lip between her teeth, but the hollow ache of being "read" by such a conniving wolf as Stiles kept her from going after him. Jane usually needed to lick his wounds in private, and Lisbon knew when to give him space. Stiles had delivered a few scathing thrusts to Jane in this round of their verbal sword play, but she'd caught a few herself.

So, she closed her door and drew her blinds, shutting herself off from the world of the office to regroup in her own way: by diving into paperwork. It was well after nightfall before she left, and for once, Jane had actually left before her. This time, he didn't say goodnight.


Just out of the shower, Lisbon hadn't even had a chance to dry her hair fully before her cell phone rang. It was a voice she didn't know, telling her that some guy in a three piece suit had drank his limit, and was now challenging the other customers to silly little games of chance. He was taking money from some guys who didn't like losing their money.

"How'd you know to call me?" It wasn't like Jane went around with a sign around his neck that said, 'If lost, please return to Teresa Lisbon.'

The man she assumed was the bar tender laughed. "When I tried to cut him off, your guy flashed his ID and said he was law enforcement. Not that it makes a difference; no one wants a drunk cop running around."

"He's not a cop."

"Didn't think so. I called the office number on his ID card and the operator said you were his, what? Commanding officer or something?"

"Yeah," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Or something."

She threw on some jeans and a top, barely remembering to grab her badge on the way. She had a feeling she might have to use it to bail Jane out of whatever shit he was about to step in.

O'Malley's wasn't crowded, but it had the requisite regulars for a Thursday night. The smoky haze created an aura around the yellow lamps illuminating the cramped booths. Soft rock emanated from the Wurlitzer in the back corner, and the large oak bar was filled with patrons seated on red leather stools. The whole place smelled of stale smoke and fresh liquor, with a hint of desperation.

It didn't take long for Lisbon to spot Jane, seated at the end of the bar, with two very large, very pissed off looking men flanking him. Jane had a deck of cards in his hand, and a stack of money near his elbow. He'd obviously been working his marks for a while.

Lisbon made her way over to the small group, where she heard Jane expounding on how he deduced what the guy in front of him was going to pick.

"It's simple, really," Jane said, shuffling the cards. "I just deduced what card you were going to pick by memorizing the deck. Then, I lead you to pick the card I wanted using subliminal cues." He shrugged, as though the whole thing was stupidly obvious. "You're threshold for suggestibility is surprisingly low. Probably all the alcohol you've consumed."

"You callin' me a drunk, on top of cheating me out of my money?" The guy was at least 6'3, and built like King Kong. As usual, Jane was blithely unaware of the danger he was in.

Or maybe, he didn't care. As Lisbon got closer, she could see the red blotches in his blue-green eyes. His coat had been shucked off to the side, his rumpled white shirt cuffs rolled up to his elbows. There was something off about the way he moved, not quite fluid or precise. Lisbon had never seen Patrick Jane drunk, but she knew the general look far too well.

He finally saw her, edging her way behind King Kong. "Ah, Lisbon! Guys, this is my lovely little friend, Teresa."

She bristled a little at that introduction. "Jane. You all right?"

He sent her a blinding smile, one that caught the eye of the female inhabitants of the bar, Lisbon noticed. Particularly a big, busty blonde to Jane's right, who hadn't stopped watching him work his magic since Lisbon entered.

"Of course I am, Lisbon," he slurred the 's' but it was so subtle she nearly missed it. "Just hanging out here. With my fellow working stiffs. Having a cold one after a long day, you know."

King Kong turned to Lisbon with a glare. "Your man here has been cheating at cards."

"Not cheating," Jane interjected. "I can't help having a good memory."

"Cheating," Kong repeated. "And he's about to get that pretty face all messed up if he doesn't give us our money back." Kong's buddy beside him nodded ominously. If he'd cracked his knuckles threateningly, it might have been almost comical.

Lisbon put on her game face and held out a placating hand. "Okay guys, take it easy. We've all had a few drinks here," she cut her eyes at Jane, who was downing the last of his scotch, unperturbed. "Why don't we all just call it a night."

Kong loomed over her, "Not without my money, sweetheart."

"She really doesn't like diminutives…" Jane muttered behind her back.

Lisbon glared at the tree trunk with eyes, before reaching across and snatching Jane's pile of money. Over his indignant, "hey!" she said, "Here," thrusting the money at King Kong, and moving between him and Jane.

"He insulted us," the man growled.

"Yeah, well, he insults pretty much everyone he meets. Now get lost, Grape Ape, before I arrest you for drunk and disorderly."

Just as Kong started to physically protest, she flashed her badge.

The two behemoths lumbered away, but not before they told Jane if they ever saw him in that bar again, they'd rearrange his pretty smile.

She turned back to Jane after they left, giving him the "why do I suffer you" look.

"Spoiled sport. Always playing by the rules." Jane sighed, motioning to the bartender for another drink. "When are you going to loosen up a little, woman?"

His tone bothered Lisbon. It wasn't the gentle, playful banter they usually exchanged. There was a bitter edge to it that made her chest tighten. Something was wrong.

She tried to keep some lightness in her reply. "Maybe when you stop being a pain in my ass."

"Then stop coming to my rescue," he stated, glancing at her over his shoulder with a contemptuous look. The same look he gave her when he blamed her for not waiting when they caught Hardy.

Summoning up the Teresa Lisbon who was used to dealing with belligerent drunks, she took a deep breath and put her hand on Jane's shoulder. "C'mon Jane. You've had enough."

A sad, rueful smile pulled at his lips. "Dear 'ol Mother Teresa, patron saint of lost causes." Jane turned to his lovely bar mate, and gestured toward Lisbon. "She's always the one who thinks she has to save everybody and everything. What's really sad about that is she won't let anyone return the favor for her."

Blondie grinned at Jane as though his words were golden, and then gave Lisbon a pitying look.

"I'd offer you a drink, Lisbon, to loosen you up, but…slippery slopes and all that."

Okay. Now he was hitting below the belt. Lisbon felt her anger and hurt well up in her chest, threatening to leak out everywhere, but she forced it down. "Are you finished?" she asked, trying to keep her expressions muted. She knew Jane was watching her, reading her. She wasn't about to allow him any victory in this little stand-off.

"There she goes, right back behind those walls. 'Sokay, I know that's your usual MO when things get too personal."

"Pot, kettle, Jane."

He smirked. "Touché."

Then he grew serious, studying her. "Why did you come here, Lisbon? You don't have a life outside of work, so I know you weren't busy, but still…"

"I came to bring you home, you idiot." Exasperation bled through her reply. "I'm trying to help you."

"Funny," Jane mused, his eyes never leaving hers. "I've tried to tell you that a hundred times. Why is it you get to do all the helping?"

Lisbon gathered his coat and slapped a twenty on the bar, hoping it would cover whatever Jane had drunk. "Please Jane, just…just leave the questions for morning, okay? C'mon, let's get you home."

Jane moved off the bar stool, and Lisbon maneuvered her small frame under his arm for support. She wasn't sure if he was really that drunk or just being dramatic, but when he leaned heavily on her, the smell of scotch mixed with his cologne made her head swim a little.

He leaned in close to her ear, his voice rough from fatigue and liquor. "You wanna take me home, Teresa?" Her name slipped of his tongue like molasses. But when she looked at his face, Lisbon saw a hint of something she wasn't ready for.

Under the alcohol and the frustration, there was a need coloring the blue-green of his eyes a darker hue. It stunned her for a moment.

Jane turned and bid the bar a cheerful goodbye. To the hopeful blonde, he gave a rueful look, and Lisbon noticed the younger woman's face fall in disappointment.

Outside, Jane turned his attention back to the woman encapsulated under his arm. "I think I like the idea of you taking me home, Teresa. Might be fun."

She shuddered when he actually nuzzled her hair with is nose. "Uh… Jane?"

"Mm?"

"What're you doing?"

He raised his brows innocently. "What? You smell lovely. I've been stuck in a bar with the smell of stale cigarettes, booze and people of questionable bodily hygiene all night. I want to smell something a little sweeter." His hand lifted off her other shoulder and toyed with a strand of her hair. "Didn't even have time to dry your hair before that bartender called you. Sorry."

"It's okay," Lisbon mumbled. Jane's hand was threading through her hair in the most distressingly wonderful way. She batted it away as they continued down the street. She had to park a block or so away. Which meant she'd have to endure Jane draped over her for a while longer. Damn it.

She cleared her throat. "So, uh…where can I take you?"

Jane slowed their pace. "You mean I don't get to go home with you? Well that's a hellova way to get a guy's hopes up." She couldn't help but smirk at his fake disappointment.

"Seriously. Where?"

"I don't know. I suppose the office." When she stopped Jane faced her.

"The office?" she asked. Surely he had somewhere else to stay.

"I have no where else to go, Lisbon." Jane's face was somber, but he eyes were what broke her heart. "Malibu is too far a drive for tonight."

"Maybe you can sleep it off on my couch."

Jane's answering grin wasn't the normal, playful charming grin. This one had a bit of a leer to it. "Wonderful. I've been wanting to get back to your place for a while."

Lisbon decided to leave that statement alone. Besides, she had other things on her mind, like Jane's body pressed against her side again. He looped his arm over her shoulder again, almost trying to curl her body into his. His hand drew lazy circles along her shoulder and down the top of her arm. It was starting to be very distracting.

"Today was a very unsettling day, wasn't it?" he asked, as they started into an alley that lead to the parking lot. "Bombs, cult leaders." He looked down at her, and there was pain showing around the creases in the corner of his eyes. "You could have died."

Lisbon smiled. "But I didn't. Thanks to you and your ridiculous knowledge of fake paintings."

She'd meant it as a joke, but Jane didn't crack a smile. "I didn't help you. I couldn't. If that bomb had gone off, I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing but sit there and listen to you get blown up over the phone."

"Hey," Lisbon paused, meeting his eyes. "You helped me find the bomb in time. It wasn't your fault that little girl was still there."

"Maybe," Jane nodded.

"You help me out plenty on cases, Jane."

At that, she felt Jane tense. Then she felt his breath, hot against her ear. "I wish you'd let me help you more. And not just on cases."

Lisbon's breath caught in her throat. The alley was dark, only a feeble street lamp putting out a dim circle of light near the end. Jane had been swaying slightly on his feet, but suddenly, Lisbon felt over-balanced. She teetered under his weight, and they collided with the alley wall.

"Wha – What are you-"

Jane pressed his body flush against her front, his arms on either side of her against the wall. "Why do you have to ask so many questions, woman?"

Lisbon froze. Her breathing hitched as her heart rate skyrocketed. Jane rested his forehead against hers, breathing in he scent. She couldn't make out his eyes in the darkness, only the dim profile of his face lit from the pathetic street light. Her hands went against his chest, but she didn't push him away.

His breath, thick with malt scotch, wafted across her face as he leaned in.

"Jane. Don't do this."

"Do what?" His voice vibrated against her ribcage. Carefully, Jane dropped his face to her shoulder, his nose nestled in the corner between her shoulder and neck. "Don't tell me that this little…scenario…hasn't crossed your mind once or twice."

Her body shuddered at his breath against her neck. "No…"

"Liar." It was more of a growl than a statement.

The moment his lips touched her skin, Lisbon nearly jumped out of her skin. Jane was fully pressed against her, keeping her still with his weight. His lips caressed her neck, lightly, almost like he wasn't sure about what he was doing. Lisbon's gasped when he hit a sweet spot, near her collar bone, her hands fisting involuntarily in his shirt.

Jane 'mm-ed' against her neck. "Just where I thought your spot would be." Then he flicked his tongue out over that sensitive spot, and Lisbon let her eyes close and her back arch slightly under him.

"Ahh…this really…isn't," Her brain wasn't completing sentences at the moment.

Jane hissed against her when her hips ground against his. "Hush, woman."

She felt the evidence of his arousal against her thigh, reminding Lisbon that Patrick Jane was, in fact, a man with needs. He did such an amazing job of convincing everyone that he was nothing more than a robot programmed for revenge. But now, against her body, hot and urgent with desire, Jane was achingly human. And so was she.

He started making his way up the column of her neck, suckling in the spots that made her body hum and her breathing stutter.

Oh God, it felt so good to feel a man's hands on her body, roving down her sides, up under her breasts. Without thinking, she tangled her hands in his hair, and nuzzled his neck. Jane practically purred when her mouth hovered over his neck, her lips ghosting over the flesh. He was near the bottom of her ear when Lisbon, devoid of rational thought at this point, grazed his collar bone with her teeth.

The reaction was immediate. A groan rumbled deep in his chest as he pushed his knee between her legs. His stubble scratched her delicate skin as he continued to ravage her chest and neck. Hands began to fumble with buttons, and Lisbon found herself wondering where they could go. Quickly. Somewhere close.

Oh, Jane's hand was cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing over her nipple. She bucked under his touch, thrusting her hips into his. Then, Patrick Jane forgot all about her neck and rose to meet her eyes. Her eyes were veiled with the haze of wanting him so suddenly and so urgently, but she didn't need to see his face to know the feeling was mutual.

Jane was panting now, pressing his forehead against hers again. Cupping her face with his hands, pausing for one terrifying moment, Jane plunged against her lips with is own.

All his desperate longing, the guilt and sorrow, every emotion she'd ever seen on Jane's handsome face he poured into that kiss. And Lisbon felt like time had stopped. There were no cases, no bad guys to be caught and no victims to comfort. No more ugly people ding ugly things to each other. There was just her and Jane. Right here. Right now.

She felt his tongue slide across hers, plunging in deeply with a passion she'd never thought possible from her arrogant consultant. He was above such mortal needs, it seemed. Jane pulled her against him, as though he were afraid she'd disappear if he didn't hang on.

All Lisbon wanted was to ride this high as long as possible. She wanted him all over her, inside her, in as many ways as possible. She'd denied herself these pleasures for too long, living for the job alone.

Well, maybe right here in the alley was easier. She didn't think she could wait through the car ride. The closest place was the office...

The office.

Somewhere nearby, a car alarm blared to life. Reality was an ugly, obnoxious sound.

The world crashed back in on Lisbon like a tidal wave of ice water. This was wrong. So very, very wrong. She and Jane had to work together. Face each other every day. Alcohol and loneliness didn't make good bedfellows.

Reluctantly, she broke the kiss.

"Jane," she tried again. She tried leaning her head away from him, but his hand came to rest on the side of her jaw, keeping her in place. "Jane, this is wrong. We can't do this."

Something between a whine and a moan erupted from Jane. He held her face in his hands. "Don't ruin this by over-thinking, Lisbon. We both obviously want this."

"We also have to live with each other the next day, Jane." Lisbon gasped his wrists. "You're drunk and lonely and –"

"And so what? Neither one of us is ever going to get the 'normal' answer to this problem," Jane surmised. "People like us don't get normal, Lisbon."

Despite the bitterness in his words, Jane's thumb gingerly traced back and forth against her cheek. He was pleading with her to help him stem the loneliness and the emptiness that plagued them both. And part of her was more than willing to accommodate him. His lovely face was riddled with desperation and fear. The self-imposed isolation from the human world was starting to take its toll on the once consummate conman.

Lisbon realized that maybe deep down, Jane wanted to break the stagnation of his life. Maybe his heart wasn't a cold little thing, locked away in an iron box of hatred and guilt. Or maybe he was just looking for a temporary fix. And perhaps, so did she. Either way, giving in would forever change their dynamic. And Lisbon wasn't ready for that kind of change.

She put her hands angst his chest, and Jane gave her some space. "I'm sorry, Jane. But I want 'normal' someday."

"Incurable optimist," Jane gave her a half-smile, one hand still cupping her cheek.

"Maybe I secretly believe in happy endings?"

Jane sighed, "Well at least one of us will. That's good, I suppose."

For a moment, they just stood there, staring into each others eyes. Perhaps looking into each others souls, cataloging the wounds and hoping that someday, they could fix each other.

Jane seemed to come back to himself first, stepping back and clearing his throat awkwardly. He readjusted his clothing, and after a moment, decided it might be best if he carried his coat in front of him. Obviously, certain areas hadn't gotten the message that the foreplay had been canceled for the night.

Lisbon hid her smirk, brushing her hair out of her face, while Jane paced away from her for a moment, trying to collect himself. A few deep breaths later and he turned back to her. Now his eyes darted from his shoes to Lisbon and back down.

"Listen, uh," he started, "Why don't I just, y'know, call a cab."

"I'll take you where ever you want to go, Jane."

A smile, small, but the first real one of the night. "Thank you, Lisbon. But I think it might be best if we just…went our separate ways for the night." When Lisbon looked at him oddly, he clarified rather awkwardly. "You know, just to …I mean, maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea for us to be in, uh, close quarters…right now."

It was an odd sight to see words fail the great Patrick Jane. He floundered for a second before he readjusted his coat in front of himself.

Want flashed across his shrouded features again and Lisbon nodded jerkily. "Oh. Yeah. Gotchya."

"Yeah." He seemed to be debating something in his head, before he ambled toward her. "Uh, Lisbon? Listen…I'm-"

"No, there's no need. We're good."

"But –"

Lisbon waved him off. "Really, Jane. We're fine." It was the drinks. That's all. A moment of weakness. For both of them.

Jane looked like he was about to argue, but finally nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Now who's questioning everything?"

"Right." Jane shuffled closer, looking more like his old self again. The fog of booze must have been clearing. "Well, I'll just call a cab."

"Where are you going to go?" She couldn't help but worry for him. If he wouldn't let her take him somewhere to sleep it off, then she wanted to know where she could find him. If he'd be safe.

The alley nearly lit up with Jane's answering smile, all 1000 watts of it. "Don't worry, Lisbon. I'm just going to head back to the office. My couch is starting to sound very comfortable right about now."

She answered his grin with one of her own, and was about to move away when Jane's hand snuck out and snatched hers.

"You shouldn't believe him, you know." he murmured, eyes uncertain and searching hers.

Lisbon's brow furrowed. "Who? Stiles?"

Jane nodded minutely. "I…I don't know what will happen in the future." He was deliberately keeping Red John's name out of this, Lisbon noted. "But I need you to believe that I would never hurt you intentionally, Lisbon. Please believe that."

Lisbon watched him for a moment, reading his honest, unmasked emotions. He wasn't promising her anything about Red John, and she understood that. A lot of what Bret Stiles had said was true, and she still wasn't a hundred percent sure she trusted Jane not to do something dangerous and drag her along with him. The cult leader had drug all their dirty laundry out into the middle of the room and forced them to take a good look at it. But they'd crossed a line tonight, one that they couldn't escape from no matter how many walls either of them put up.

Jane cared about her, maybe more than she'd realized before. And he was trying. That counted for something.

"I believe you, Jane," she said finally, and watched the tension evaporate from his presence with the breath he let out.

Before she could think, Jane gently pulled her a step closer, leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

For a moment after he stood up, Lisbon saw the hunger pass over his eyes. But he recovered in a flash, a genuine smile of gratitude crinkling the wrinkles around his eyes.

"Thanks Lisbon. For coming to find me."

She could only nod in answer. Jane squeezed her hand once, before he turned and walked away, his cell phone already out, dialing the cab company. Lisbon shoved her hands in her pockets and walked back to her SUV. Once behind the wheel she paused, her hand reaching up to touch the place where Jane had kissed her. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.

Jane liked to think of himself as a lost cause, but Lisbon knew she'd always find him when he needed her.

Maybe someday, she could count on him to come find her too.

END

Next, "Anger". Shouldn't be hard when you work with someone like Jane…*grin*