AN: Hello again! Thanks, as always, for following this story and for your comments. I haven't had time to respond to them, but I read all of them and always appreciate that you've taken time out of your day to tell me what you think. So here's the next chapter, and I don't think that it will come as a surprise to any of you that it's my favorite so far.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.


Just to keep from being thrown around


Jane lifts his left hand out in front of him in the darkness. He blinks, still getting used to the look of his bare ring finger.

He'd found himself reaching for the absent ring several times since he and Van Pelt had been arrested. He can still feel its phantom weight on his finger.

And since the lights had gone out to mark his first night back in prison, he'd found himself with another phantom presence. He'd grown used to sleeping by Lisbon's side. Every time he shifts on the stiff prison bunk, he half expects to feel her move in response next to him.

It's too cold without her.

Jane mentally shakes himself. He cannot afford to dwell on Lisbon or on Charlotte—he must not worry about whether or not they got out of the city safely. Because he needs to be planning.

Planning will get him back to them.

But this is excruciatingly difficult. He finds he cannot ignore the painful anxiety that has his every muscle tense, his every cell paralyzed for fear they didn't make it out.

Jane takes a deep breath.

Focus.

But a picture of Charlotte appears in his mind instead. Jane can only watch, helpless, as her image breaks up, fading to black.

Lisbon appears next, her eyes questioning and scared as she gazes down at his ring in her small, strong hands.

Focus.

Jane's cellmate coughs, and it is this sound which brings him back to the present. Jane stares up at the ceiling and closes his eyes against the darkness of the cell.

A plan begins to take form.


"Hey, Red."

Van Pelt looks up from The Sound and The Fury—the plot is terrible, but apparently prison inmates can't be choosy—at the sound of the voice coming from the hallway. She climbs down from her bunk and glances at her cellmate, a late twenty-something drug addict who's far from conscious despite the fact that it's well after noon. Van Pelt moves to lean against the bars of the door.

"Me?" she asks, though she's sure the comment was addressed to her. None of the other inmates she's seen have red hair.

The woman in the cell next to her speaks again. "The psychic has a show tomorrow."

"What?" says Van Pelt, nonplussed. She can't even see the woman who's talking to her—the voice could just as well be coming from thin air.

"I'm just the messenger, kid," says the voice, but despite Van Pelt's attempts to respond, the woman will say no more.


A guard opens the cell and motions to Jane, who hops down quickly from the bunk. About time, he thinks. He doesn't think it had taken this long for him to get an hour out of his cell the last time he'd been in jail.

Jane realizes he's been thinking about his "last time in jail" as though it is a common occurrence for him.

This madness has to end.

The guard leads him down the gray hallway, and Jane tries to avoid looking at any of the people in the cells he's passing. At the end of the corridor, though, as he waits for the guard to open the doors to the communal area, Jane catches the eye of the man in the cell nearest him.

Jane cannot look away fast enough.

The man's skin clings to little more than bone, reminding Jane of a case he'd worked once where the remains had essentially been mummified.

Jane swallows and rocks back and forth on his feet.

The guard finally opens the door, and Jane steps into the common area. As he looks around, he notes it hasn't changed all that much since he'd been here last—it's still dreary as hell. But he catalogues everything and everyone, sizing up the inmates and deciding who to use as marks.

Several of the men playing poker jeer loudly as another collects his winnings. Jane immediately focuses in on the group.

By the tattoos decorating their bodies, Jane immediately suspects at least four of them are involved in Sacramento gangs. The two others are muscular enough to be body builders, and Jane doesn't have to wonder why they're in jail.

Jane takes a deep breath.

"Go big or go home," he mutters to himself, and he strides across the room to join the game.


For the second night in a row, Jane sleeps very little.

Instead, he mentally goes over the layout of the prison, making sure he has every hallway mapped out to the best of his knowledge.

He spends the next morning walking through his memory palace, revisiting ordinary days he'd spent with Charlotte and her mother.

His heart contracts uncomfortably when he thinks about Angela, and he wonders how she would react to him taking off his ring. He's afraid to admit it to himself, but he doesn't think he will put it back on. Would Angela understand?

He doesn't have an answer.

The hours pass far too slowly for his liking, but finally the guard arrives to take him to the common area again. And like yesterday, Jane heads for the poker table.

Jane makes sure the man directly to his right wins the first round easily and then wastes no time in setting things rolling.

One of the poker players—a man with small, black eyes and slight overbite—swears at the winner in Spanish. The winner swears back—in English this time, and Jane is impressed by his creative imagery.

Then Jane wraps his knuckles quietly on the table three times.

All the poker players immediately snap, as do several other nearby inmates. Jane lunges away from the resulting dogpile of bodies, moving toward the door to the common area and waiting just beside it.

The gag is more effective than he'd intended—he'd only planned on hypnotizing the poker players, but it seems as though anyone who'd been within earshot of the game yesterday is getting involved in the tussle.

Two guards immediately rush in, but Jane lets the door close behind them without moving. The guards run toward the pile of flailing arms and legs, and the sound of someone's head being bashed against the floor is accompanied by a low scream so loud Jane nearly puts his hands over his ears. Three more guards run through the doorway, followed by four more close behind, all of whom Jane recognizes as normally manning the security desk.

Jane slips through the cell door just before it shuts, unnoticed by the preoccupied guards.

Though Jane had been counting on all the guards in the area being called in to break up the fight, he hadn't actually expected his plan to work. But desperation is a powerful motivator, so he'd tried anyway.

He can't stop his hands from trembling as he moves down the hall.

The corridor containing the cells is already roused by the sounds of the fight coming from the common area, so the noise the prisoners make when they see Jane walk by them doesn't seem to draw the attention of the guards attempting to break up the fight. When Jane nears a fork in the hallway, he jumps over the desk separating the hallway from the security office, which is now, as he had expected, empty. He heads to the back of the office, toward a door marked "Changing Facilities". Trying to dismiss the slightly panicky feeling that threatens to rise up within him, Jane heads through the door and rushes to the lockers, looking for the first signs of security clothing he can find. He encounters some in the fourth locker he tries, and he stuffs his prison blues in the nearest trash bin after he changes.

Then he heads back to the security office, pulling a cap over his curls.

He frantically heads to the computer screens. Disregarding all the security feeds of male prisoners, he searches for signs of fiery red hair among the female inmates. Van Pelt sticks out immediately.

A walkie-talkie goes off somewhere to his right.

"Hey—heard there was an issue over there. Is everything alright?"

Jane swears under his breath. Will they send backup if he doesn't answer?

Deciding not to risk it, he grabs the walkie-talkie and attempts his best impersonation of the guard who had taken him to the common area.

"Yes, sir," Jane says with a slight Midwest accent. "There was a little scuffle, but it's all taken care of now."

"Copy that."

The walkie-talkie goes silent.

Jane breathes out, then he scans the rest of the feeds from the female prison block. He doesn't see any guards.

He grins.

Have they all been pulled to respond to the fight?

Would this actually work?

He realizes it's about time something went right for him.

Still giddy with disbelief, Jane takes one last look at the computer screens, grabs an abandoned set of keys from the countertop, and leaps over the desk again. This time, he heads down the other hallway, toward the female inmate section.

He has to remind himself to move slowly, to act like he is supposed to be here—but he's all too aware that the pants he's stolen are about an inch too short for him and the jacket is two sizes too big.

After what seems like an eternity, he reaches Van Pelt's cell. She's waiting for him, clearly having received his message, and her unconscious cellmate doesn't even stir from her position on the bed as Jane opens the door and closes it after Van Pelt slips by.

Van Pelt is shaking beside him as they move down the hall, and the prisoners in this block begin to get louder as they realize something is not right about the two figures moving past them. But by the time they figure out what's going on, Jane and Van Pelt have vaulted over the desk, and he leads her to the changing room. He tosses her a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the nearest locker, and Jane exchanges his security guard jacket for a zip-up hoodie.

They rush out the door just as a siren begins to roar.


Van Pelt finds three quarters in her pocket, and they stop at the Burger King down the street in order to call Cho on a payphone.

He tells them to keep moving north and that he'll find them in ten minutes.

Ten minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, a dark, unremarkable car pulls up beside them. Van Pelt chokes back a sob when Rigsby's face becomes visible in the passenger-side seat. He opens up the back door for them, and Jane gestures for Van Pelt to climb in first. He looks around the run-down neighborhood once more, taking in the Burger King back in the distance, as he waits for her.

Then he throws himself in after.


For the third night in a row, Lisbon sits in the passenger side seat of the Airstream and rests her head against the window.

They'd left California behind hours ago and set up somewhere in Nevada for the night. Lisbon is still not exactly sure where they are, but she doesn't much care.

Jane is not with her, and right now that feels like the only important thing.

She'd called Cho early that morning, hoping for some kind of update. But Cho hadn't even been able to tell her what prison Jane and Van Pelt were being held at. Apparently both his and Rigsby's clearance levels had been downgraded after the takedown at the warehouse—clearly the work of whoever the cult had planted in the CBI.

Lisbon had had to take several deep breaths upon hearing this news.

How the hell was she supposed to come up with a plan to get Jane and Van Pelt back if she didn't even know where they were?

She shakes herself and stares out into the Nevada night, knowing she needs to focus on the positives.

Charlotte is with her, and they are safe.

For now.

A loud buzzing sound causes Lisbon to jump slightly, startled, before she realizes that it's the burner phone she'd gotten from Cho.

Puzzled, she turns around to grab it, but Charlotte's already out of bed and reaching for the phone.

"Hello?"

Lisbon stands up in the darkness, barely able to make out Charlotte's face. But she sees Charlotte's eyes go wide, and Lisbon takes a step toward her.

"Dad!"

Katherine is awake at this point, and she sits up on her pull-out couch, rubbing her eyes slightly. Lisbon takes another step toward Charlotte, who starts speaking rapidly.

"What happened? Are you alright? And how is Grace? Where are you? When—"

On the other end of the phone, Jane raises his voice to be heard over his daughter. When Lisbon hears him, she reaches out to steady herself against the side of the Airstream—she can't make out what he says, but it's him, and suddenly she's not sure her legs have the strength to keep her upright.

Charlotte quiets down and begins nodding as she listens to her father, her brow furrowed. She plays with a strand of hair that has fallen out of her bun.

Lisbon watches her intently, relieved to see the tension leave the set of her shoulders. That can only be good news.

"Yeah, of course," says Charlotte suddenly, looking up at Lisbon. "Love you, too, Dad. See you soon."

And she hands the phone to Lisbon.

Lisbon can't keep her heart from going haywire as she accepts the cell.

"Hello?" she nearly croaks.

"Lisbon," comes Jane's voice, and Lisbon feels her entire body shake.

"Jane," she says. "What's going on?"

"I'm fine, and Grace is fine," he says. "Listen—don't say where you are in case this line is bad, but are you guys already on the road?"

"Yeah, we left hours ago."

"I'm familiar with the route the carnival always takes from California—I'm pretty sure I know where you're at for the night. We'll meet you there."

"How did you get out?" Lisbon breathes, leaning against the sink for support as one of her legs buckles beneath her, and she feels herself sway.

Jane gives a wry laugh, and he sounds slightly crazed, like he's been through hell twice over.

It occurs to Lisbon that he has been.

"It's a long story, but I'll be happy to tell you when I see you. If you are where I think you are, we'll be there at dawn."

Lisbon nods, forgetting for a second that he's not right beside her and therefore can't see her. "Thank God," she says, reaching for her cross necklace.

She encounters his ring instead. She grips it tightly.

"I have your ring," she says, feeling it warm beneath her fingers. "That was quick thinking on your part—I'm glad you sent it with Katherine, or I wouldn't have believed her."

I almost didn't believe her, she doesn't add.

She can almost picture his half-smile as he says, "I figured." He pauses as if he wants to say more but decides against it.

Lisbon breathes out. She hates that she feels so dependent on him, but right now she wants nothing more than for him to just hold her in his arms and never let go.

"I'll see you soon, alright?" Jane says softly. "And Teresa?"

She is silent, scarcely breathing for fear she'll miss what he says next.

"I love you."

"I love you, too." The words come as easily as breathing, and just for a second, it feels like she's living a normal life—calling a lover on the phone to hear his voice, simply because she's gone too long without hearing from him.

Then her fingertips touch Jane's ring again, and she realizes she has no chance of normal.

"Dawn," says Jane quietly, and the promise hangs in the air as she disconnects the call.


A few rays of light ghost over the barren Nevada landscape as the sun begins to inch into the sky, casting a soft shade of pink over the ground. A car door slams, and Lisbon blinks blearily from her spot in the passenger side seat at the front of the Airstream. Her hand immediately goes toward the gun she has stowed near her left foot.

Then she looks through the windshield, and her breath catches.

Jane is walking towards the Airstream, wearing jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a leather jacket that she's pretty sure Cho has loaned him. Cho himself is at Jane's left side, and Rigsby and Van Pelt lag behind, their heads angled toward each other as they converse.

Jane looks up suddenly and catches Lisbon's eye. A look of intense relief flashes across his features so quickly she's not sure she's really seen it, quickly replaced by an ear-to-ear grin.

She smiles back.

"Charlotte!" says Lisbon loudly, but the teenager must have already been awake because Lisbon hears the door to the Airstream open with a bang as it hits the side of the trailer and bounces back. A few seconds later, Charlotte appears in view, launching herself into her father's arms.

Lisbon moves more tentatively, opening the passenger side door and climbing down slowly. After a night sleeping—or, more accurately, not sleeping—sitting up, she's seriously regretting having neglected to take her pain medication.

But in a few steps, she's within arm's reach of Jane. He looks up from Charlotte, who's still in his arms, and reaches for Lisbon immediately, one arm moving from Charlotte's back to pull her in. Lisbon melts into him willingly, pressing her face into the hollow of his neck.

They stand like that for several minutes, just the three of them, and it occurs to Lisbon that for the first time in as long as she can remember, she has a family again.

Then Charlotte moves away to greet the others, and Jane gathers Lisbon fully into his arms.

His grip is tight but not tight enough.

There are so many things she wants to say to him, but words feel inadequate somehow. Instead, Lisbon wraps her arms around his waist and lets him crush her against his chest. She closes her eyes when he presses a light kiss to her forehead.

Eventually, he pulls back to rove his eyes over her face. By the concerned look he's giving her, she knows he's noticed the redness of her eyes and the bruise-like shadows underneath them.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Lisbon," he says, "but you look like you've had a rough couple days."

But he smiles as he speaks, and Lisbon cannot help but laugh, though it comes out mixed with a sob.

He kisses her temple again and lets her lean against him, recognizing that she's nearly dead on her feet. "Come on," he says. "Let's get you inside."


Jane leads Lisbon to sit down on the pull-out couch, and the others sit near them at the table as Katherine bustles around the kitchenette, preparing coffee and breakfast.

As Jane explains how he and Van Pelt escaped, Lisbon's eyes grow tired, and she leans her head against his shoulder. Before he realizes it, she is asleep.

Charlotte grabs the blanket from Lisbon's bunk and hands it to Jane, who throws it over Lisbon and himself. He shifts so that he can lay Lisbon out on the couch, her head in his lap.

"She barely slept while you were gone."

Jane glances up at Charlotte, who's now looking at Lisbon with a concerned gaze.

"I know," says Jane, brushing Lisbon's bangs out of her eyes tentatively. "And it looks like she barely ate either. Which is saying something—because she already lost so much weight at the hospital."

He looks down again, and he can't help but reach out to touch Lisbon's hair again.

"We had to remind her to eat," says Charlotte softly. "And even then, she barely did."

Jane smiles at Charlotte. "Thanks for looking out for her," he says, reaching for Charlotte with his other hand, and he pulls her against his side in a one-armed hug. "I'm so glad you're okay," he says quietly. She hugs him back then moves away to help Katherine with breakfast.

When they've finished eating, Katherine turns to Jane. "Patrick, I'm assuming you'll be tagging along on our journey out east?"

"You assume correct." Jane smiles. "When are you planning on getting started for today?"

Katherine glances at Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt. "Well, I guess that depends on how you all are feeling. You'll be following in another car, right? You need a few hours of sleep first?"

Rigsby shakes his head. "Jane drove most of the night while we slept. We're ready to go whenever you are."

"Shotgun!" calls Charlotte from the back of the Airstream, and even Cho smiles at the teenager's eagerness.


They've been on the interstate for about half an hour when Jane begins to feel the emotional toll of the past few days. He stretches and shifts Lisbon away from him slightly so that he can lie down by her side, then he sets her against him, letting her head come to rest on his arm.

She doesn't stir.

He breathes deeply, feeling a calmness rush through his veins at the sound of Charlotte's voice from the front of the Airstream and the feel of Lisbon's body pressed against his.

He vaguely registers Lisbon's hand searching for his, and the feel of their intertwined fingers is the last thing he remembers before sleep pulls him under.