Okay, things are getting weird now, don't complain… no really, I'm not the mistress of crime fiction, please forgive me… I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. A little ;D.

Chapter 4

„If Red John is one of us, Jane," Lisbon said calmly, folding her hands in front of her, „it's most likely that he knows how close you are to catching him. That makes him unbelievably dangerous. What if he decides he's done playing games with you? What if he decides it's time to kill you now? We have to protect you, Jane. That's absolutely paramount."

"Finding Red John is not an intellectual pastime, Lisbon," Jane replied, "to catch him, I have to get close to him. I don't care if he kills me, as long as you catch him, I told you that before. And I am able to protect myself- I don't need a babysitter. I just need you to back me up so I can set a trap."

She shook her head, her dark hair swishing around her head. She was so beautiful it almost hurt him physically. But she also looked tired, worn.

"You are under observation until we know who he is." She said.

"The observation will push him away from me, Lisbon," Jane pressed out between gritted teeth, "and if he's CBI, he will most likely know that he can't catch me."

"What if he catches you before we are prepared for him?"

"I can defend myself against him, Lisbon," he whispered, "he doesn't want me dead."

"You're wrong," she answered urgently, "you are not rational when it comes to Red John. He's your biggest weakness, and I can't let him use this against you. Protecting you is more important than catching Red John."

"No!" he cried out, "Lisbon, it's NOT, I explained it to you a hundred times…"

"I won't sacrifice you for the catch," she said firmly, "you'll go nowhere alone. I don't care if the killer pulls back because of our surveillance. We'll get our chance, and as soon as we know who he is, we'll get him. Please, Jane, don't try to do this alone."

Jane looked at her. She had dark rings beneath her eyes, her face was flushed, and her voice sounded hoarse and raw.

"Are you alright, Lisbon?" he asked, frowning.

She nodded weakly.

"I am," she said, "it's just a cold, I'm fine. Don't do anything rash, yes? We can't let him catch you. The moment he got you, we have no way of controlling him. Please, Jane."

He nodded. It was her biggest flaw- the feelings. She just loved him too much, couldn't see that catching the killer was more important than he could ever hope to be.

"Okay," he said, "I'm in the attic, trying to guess his identity."

He left the room fast, scared that she would be able to read the truth in his eyes. She had become much too perceptive when it came to him- he urgently needed to escape the entanglement. Too bad he had no one but her.

His chest hurt all of a sudden, and he rubbed the sore spot with a grimace.

Sometimes he almost thought his true nemesis was Teresa Lisbon, with her soft, soulful eyes and the small, strong hands.

The only one who was tough enough to bring him down.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon closed her eyes. She felt awful, but it couldn't be helped. With Lorelei in custody, she was needed here. No time for sick leave.

She took her cell phone out, noticing that her vision was blurry. Damn, she was not equipped to deal with this mess at the moment.

"Cho?" she said when he said his name on the other end of the line,"Jane is about to get into trouble- I think he wants to provoke a personal meeting with Red John, and if Red John sees him as a serious danger, he might want to finish him off. 24 hours of surveillance, my orders- you and Rigs take the first shift, okay?"

Cho acknowledged, and she ended the call. Her breath was wheezing inside her lungs, her head so heavy she could hardly stay upright.

When she opened her eyes, Grace stood in the doorway.

"You need to see a doctor, boss."

Lisbon smiled at her, but it didn't even feel convincing.

"It's just a cold," she said, "but maybe I should go home and try to get some sleep."

Grace nodded slowly.

"If you get a fever, go and see a doctor, boss. A cold can easily develop into something much less funny."

Lisbon grimaced- she already had a fever, could feel the unpleasant, itchy heat spreading all through her body.

"I'll keep it in mind," she said, "I think I just need some rest."

Grace returned to her desk to grab her bag and head out, and Lisbon took a moment to look at the dark city beyond the bullpen windows.

Jane, she thought. Please, take care of yourself and don't be so damn stupid.

She knew it was futile. He was totally irrational when it came to his vendetta, and she was so scared that one day, it really would get him killed.

Sadness was pouring down on her like acid rain. The air between them had turned chilly after his brush-off, and they hadn't touched since that fateful night. Teresa Lisbon was used to soldiering on alone, she had never been dependent and clingy, but she missed him.

Missed the banter, the smiles, his sweet teasing. Pain made her bite her lip. She wanted to hold him, just for a few minutes, everything would be alright then. But she knew it was nothing but a lie. It could never be enough, and what she really wanted, she could never find.

She sighed and returned to her office, hesitating when her gaze fell on Lorelei's file on her desk. She took it and put it in her bag. Maybe she would get some work done after she'd had a short nap. They had to unmask Red John before he could make a move on Jane- she was absolutely sure that he was in grave danger from the killer at the moment. He had made Lorelei talk, and it was unpredictable how long it would take him to find out who the serial killer was.

Patrick Jane's mind was marvelous, but the urgency he showed when he dealt with Red John might slow him down.

She grabbed her bag and left the building.

Traffic was unspectacular, but her head hurt like hell now, and the fever was like a humming rhythm whipping through her system. Maybe she wasn't fit for driving, she wouldn't use the car again until she felt considerably better.

She was relieved when she arrived at her apartment, every little sound unnaturally loud now, the clap of her door, the bark of a dog across the street. She touched the Glock at her side. Were there steps behind her?

She heard the faint echo on the pavement through the haze of fever and headache, pulled the weapon with trembling hands, realizing in a moment of quiet horror that she was too late. Someone pressed a cloth onto her nose, a medicinal smell filled her senses, she tried to kick back, but the powers left her body swiftly and inky darkness invaded her vision so fast she couldn't fight it.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Jane couldn't believe how stupid he'd been.

It had taken him only half an hour to get rid of Cho and Rigsby, who were still waiting in front of his house in Malibu, assuming he was sleeping beneath the faded remnants of Red John's bloody smiley.

He had guessed that the killer wanted to talk to him, taunt him some more, scare him away as good as he could, but when Red John had actually shown his face, he'd known that he had made a crucial mistake.

At that time, he had already known who he was, and ages of pain and hatred had crashed over him in a giant wave. The image to kill him on his own had been too delicious, Lisbon had been right: his only weakness.

But his physical strength was limited, and Red John was a law enforcement officer. He had overwhelmed him and tossed him into a hole somewhere no one would look for him, had left him to starve.

He had left some water, though, which had surprised Jane. Did he want the whole process to take longer? Probably. He groaned in bitter defeat-

Jane was ready to die. He leaned his head against the moist walls, looked at the heavy bars covering the tiny, glassless window on the far wall. A thin ray of sunlight spiraled into the gloomy cool of the basement.

He had tried to look out of the window, but a giant, rusty water tank next to it prevented a clear view, only a small strip of street was visible. It was enough to tell him he was in a part of the city where human beings where a scarce occurrence.

He heard the faint clapping of a car door, his senses going on full alert. He had no weapon, and Red John would most likely enter the room with a drawn gun. Jane had no intentions to die right now- as long as he was alive, he might find a way to get out of this mess.

He knew who Red John was. He just needed to get out of here, and he could move in for the kill. The monster had taken his cell phone, of course, but maybe it was possible to get a message to Lisbon some other way…

He tried to calm down when the door opened, tuning his senses to see, notice everything, take in every little detail that might help him.

His fingernails went cold with shock when Red John grinned at him and tossed his freight into the middle of the room. Lisbon.

No.

She couldn't be dead, he wouldn't survive the pain, crashing through his veins like searing fire. Not her. Anyone, but not her.

"You might wonder why I don't kill you immediately," Red John said slowly, "call me sentimental, but I love the sweetness of this situation- I always adored Romeo and Juliet. The star-crossed lovers. Imagine how good you could have been together if you had just met in another life, another dimension. Too sad, huh? I shall enjoy the images in my mind, of you two fighting for your life for a few more days. Be careful, there are some rather aggressive rats here which come out at night. The water should last you for about five or six more days. But, I'm no monster."

His chuckle told Jane he knew how much of a lie that was.

The killer walked to the door, backwards, slowly. Jane knew he couldn't overpower him. Not even his hate made him strong enough. So he tried to use his eyes, his senses. It was almost impossible, his eyes wandering back to Lisbon's still form again and again. Was she breathing?

Please, he thought, whoever is listening, save her. I ask for nothing more- just save her.

"If you want to finish the whole thing before the time," Red John said, "I'll leave you agent Lisbon's gun. Two bullets, Jane, one for her, one for you. Use them wisely."

He opened the door and stepped out, tossing the weapon into the room a fraction before he closed the door behind him. Jane lunged for it, but thought again when he touched the cool metal of the shiny Glock.

The madman was right. The door was rusty, but solid metal, bullets might not be able to penetrate it. Could he shoot the lock open?

Later, Lisbon was more important now.

He crouched down next to her, rearing back when the heat of her skin registered. Damn, she sported a high fever. She had looked sick when he had approached her about Red John this afternoon, and he had decided not to inquire further, too busy with his hunt. Damn, he had bungled the whole thing big time.

"Lisbon," he whispered softly, saw her eyelids flutter, and relief and pain and sadness rushed through his heart like a flash flood. He almost couldn't bear the onslaught of emotion, so he doubled over and waited until the initial shock passed, using bio feedback to get his mind back on track eventually. He was responsible for her now, he couldn't afford to lose it.

He took off his jacket, folded it several times and put it beneath her head, touching her scorching hot forehead with gentle fingers.

Oh god. He had to get her out of here before the hunger or the fever would kill her.

When she opened his eyes, he almost sobbed with gratitude.

"Jane," she whispered, her voice hoarse from the chemicals she had inhaled as well as the sickness, "where are we?"

"I wish I knew that," he replied, "a damp basement in some unused part of the town. Windows are barred, the door rusty, but massive. Some kind of store room, I guess. He left us your weapon- with two bullets. He wants to force me to kill you. Or you me. He doesn't care, it's the anguish that nourishes him. Do you see any chance of shooting the lock open with only two bullets?"

Lisbon groaned.

"He's not an idiot, Jane. He wouldn't have left us the gun if there were any way we could use it to get free. At least the obvious choices are out."

She was right, of course.

The night was hot and humid, but Lisbon started to shake, dry heaves wrecking her small frame. Jane lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms, warming her with his body.

"You are really, really sick, Teresa," he whispered softly, but she didn't react, unconscious from the fever.

Damn, he was scared. There was not a single thought inside his mind, only: she can't die. No matter what he did- he couldn't let her die.

He tore a strip from his shirt and drenched it in water, using it to cool her blazing forehead.

She looked so small, the freckles on her skin a stark contrast against her utter paleness. Her beauty awed him, he had never really given it much thought, but lately he couldn't stop watching her. She was all that gave him hope at the end of the day. And he simply had to save her.

He started to walk around the room for the umpteenth time, watching every single detail, searching for loose bricks, crumbling plaster, anything that indicated a weak spot in the structure. He found nothing. The bars on the window seemed to reach far into the concrete, didn't give way the fraction of an inch. Jane wasn't surprised- Red John might be a sick bastard, but he wasn't an amateur.

He pushed his head against the metal bars and willed his mind to work, to function. And for a second, all the suffering that marked his existence dissolved into the urge to save Teresa Lisbon.

TBC

As I said- I'm no crime writer, so please, don't hold that against me-it might not be terribly logical, but I always do what I have to in order to get the emotions across. Next chapter up TOMORROW, I mean in….uhm…. 15 hours.