A/N: This has been "in the works" (translation: started and then forgotten) for quite a long time now. I thought I might finish it. Oh! And Van Pelt (and the rest, too, maybe) might be a little OOC-ly mean here. I tried to keep her (and them) toned down, but I figure, if Jane just up and left my unit, I'd be pretty ticked off too.

A/R (Author Request): I have several ficlets to finish up, and after that . . . what? I dunno. Therefore, I request any prompts you are willing to give up. PM or review. (Preferably PM; it's simpler for me. ^^) Thanks much!

Disclaimer: I think that if I claimed it, well, let's just say you all wouldn't have the urge to write fanfiction for it. You'd be much too busy writing Strongly Worded Letters to me begging me to take it off the air. So, for now, I don't own anything.

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Out of his peripheral vision, Patrick Jane saw Teresa Lisbon storm into the room where Red John --- Alexander Taylor --- and Jane had each other at knifepoint. The CBI agent fired a bullet from her gun, but a second too soon, Red John hurled his knife at her with deadly accuracy. He fell, but so did she. The terrified look frozen on her face seemed to stab Jane, though the physical knife was embedded in Lisbon's chest.

"Lisbon!"

Jane scrambled forward in his bed, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. After the post-sleep disorientation passed, he calmed slightly. He exhaled as he realized that he was now awake and in the real world, although the dream had been far too close to reality for him to forget it easily.

It had now been a month since Jane had found Red John. They had had a meeting . . . he and Red John had both brought knives, and Lisbon had indeed followed him there. Contrary to his latest dream, however, she had managed to shoot Red John before he could kill her. Since then, Jane had painted over the red smiley and bought an actual bed, but that was about as far as his moving-on had gone so far. He was sleeping a little more now, but he still had nightmares --- more about the death of a certain dark-haired CBI agent than about the death of his family. So far there had been guns, knives, rope, and even an elephant once (though he was fairly sure that that night's dinner had been undercooked).

Contemplating his dream, Jane suddenly felt the urge to visit the CBI headquarters. He had turned in his consultant "badge" prior to running after Red John, and he hadn't seen any of the members of the team since then, excluding Lisbon (when she shot Red John). He told himself that he was just tidying up ends. He was moving on now that Red John was dead. Everything would be different. That said, he was not checking up on Lisbon. He did not miss her. After all, she had spoiled his plan. She wasn't supposed to be there, much less kill Red John before he had a chance to get his revenge. So why exactly, he raged at himself and his inconsistency, were her last words to him hanging so firmly in his mind?

Lisbon's emerald eyes, usually a bright green but somehow darkened by her latest encounter, bored into Jane's cerulean ones. "Remember me— uh, us," she told him, stumbling with her words as she tried to evade the medics looking her over. "Think of us." Her gaze tried to penetrate, and under normal circumstances it might have, but for the moment Jane was shut down, so he didn't see (or didn't process) the distressed look behind her façade. Instead he nodded briefly, turned and headed towards his Citroën DS. Didn't look back.

He wasn't sure why that moment clung to him so fiercely. That entire day was basically a blur . . . his general memory wasn't going (he wasn't that old), but he couldn't recall much from that point in time. Just Lisbon coming in, shooting Red John, telling him to think of them. He shrugged it off, blamed it on nerves. Goodness knows he had dealt with those often enough.

Anyways, he told himself, I can visit the team. Just once. See how they're all holding up since I left. It doesn't mean anything. That was what he repeated to himself as he dressed, locked the door to his house (who would want to break in?), and slid into the driver's seat of his car.

Jane hit the steering wheel . . . for no reason at all, yet for all the reasons he suppressed. He leaned over to buckle his seat belt and quickly sped out of his driveway. The more he thought about visiting the CBI – not that he wanted to go, of course --- his speedometer seemed to inch forward. It was a miracle that he made it there without getting a speeding ticket, he realized as he entered the Department of Justice building.

Jane glanced at a clock on the far wall; it read 5:58. Was it really that early in the day? Oh, well. Someone would be around. He stepped into the elevator, pressed the button (out of habit, he recognized), and waited for it to reach his floor. After what seemed like a very long time to him, the doors opened again, and he walked towards the place where he knew he would find the Serious Crimes unit.

Well, where he would find them eventually. The area was empty, excepting the occasional coffee-runner. Apparently no one came to work at six o'clock except the janitor. Interesting. He settled himself down comfortably onto the worn leather couch once claimed as his. He was surprised to find that the smell, the feel, of the couch was warm. Familiar. Like visiting a relative you haven't seen for a while. He relaxed into it and closed his eyes --- and fell asleep.

. . . Jane's eyelids fluttered open. He sneaked a look at the clock sitting on Rigsby's desk. 6:34. He had been asleep for nearly forty minutes. He straightened up, rubbing the last of the fatigue from his eyes and smoothing down the front of his three-piece suit. His ex-coworkers would be here anytime now.

Indeed, Grace Van Pelt exited the elevator not five minutes later. She nodded tersely at him in acknowledgement, obviously determined not to react until she had had a chance to conference with her associates.

Kimball Cho was the next to arrive. His stoic-faced expression never faltered as he glanced at Jane, glanced away, and sat down in front of his computer, pulling out a book. Jane guessed that there was no recent case for the team, and therefore Cho had made sure to come prepared for boredom.

Wayne Rigsby didn't notice Jane at first. He had already sat down and taken a large bite of doughnut before the figure on the couch caught his eye. Needless to say, the bite of doughnut didn't look nearly so appetizing after he choked on it. However, he found it in him to finish his breakfast, sneaking peeks at Jane every so often.

Another ten minutes passed. No new arrivals. Jane was curious. Not worried. Definitely not worried that he wouldn't get a chance to talk to Lisbon. Nope, just curious.

He glanced around at his inactive ex-associates. Finally he dared to break the silence. "Um, guys? Where's Lisbon?"

It took a few seconds for Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt to decide to answer him. "Was today the day--?" Rigsby whispered to his coworkers.

"What?" Van Pelt gasped. "I thought she said no!"

Cho answered her, "She did. Rigsby's an idiot."

Rigsby shot the Asian man a glare. "Thanks, man. Not my fault. I thought Minelli told her –"

"He did," Cho broke in. "She said no."

Van Pelt caught a glance of a very confused-looking Jane. She turned, feeling obligated to explain their nonsensical chatter. "Ever since – well, you know," she evaded quickly, "Lisbon hasn't been herself. Minelli thought the whole thing was getting to her. He wanted her to switch teams. Narcotics, I think, maybe."

Jane kept his face expressionless, but this news was horrifying. "Rigsby said she said no?" he asked, swallowing hard.

Rigsby nodded. "She didn't want to leave the team." Here he shot Jane an angry Look; his being over two hundred pounds of muscle helped with intimidation too. "Unlike some people, who seem to think that we're just accessories to whatever whims they decide to pursue." Cho --- solemn Cho --- glared at Jane. His face actually moved. If Jane weren't feeling so anxious about all the anger in the room being directed at him, he might have commented on it.

"Hey," Jane started, "you guys don't---"

Just then Lisbon burst through, storming straight to her office. Van Pelt called a "good morning" to her boss but received no response. She gave Jane a Look. "That's what she's been like for a month," she snapped at him. "It's all your fault."

"My fault?" Jane demanded in disbelief, his mask forgotten. "How exactly is it my fault?"

Cho stared at him. "Seriously, Jane."

"He must have lost his touch, staying at home all the time for a month," Rigsby whispered. Van Pelt stifled a laugh.

Jane gave him a Look. (A lot of those seemed to be being exchanged right then.) "I'm right here. I can hear you."

Rigsby shrugged, looking quite unrepentant. "Come on, man. You can't just waltz in here whenever you want and decide you still want to be fr – uh – part of the team." Cho and Van Pelt nodded in hard agreement.

Jane was by this time, as one could imagine, feeling quite unloved. "I was just checking up. Seeing how you all were doing. Y— you know." Since when had he been so uncomfortable he'd stammered?

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt exchanged glances. Then Cho spoke for them all. "We're all good. Obviously. You've done your little job. You can go on home now."

"But what about Lisbon?" Jane asked in what, if it were anyone else, would have been called a desperate tone.

As if magically summoned, Lisbon came out of her office. Her face was hard, drawn. Jane was immediately distressed.

"Cho, I have a form that says you have a physical aptitude exam tomorrow," said Lisbon shortly, dropping said form onto Cho's desk. "Make sure you're available if we get a ca—" Her sentence was cut short when she noticed Jane sitting on the couch. Her mouth closed into a hard line, and she whirled around and stormed straight back into her office. Jane leapt up and ran after her.

"Lisbon!" he called. "Lisboooon! Ow." He had run into the newly closed and locked door. He rubbed his head sadly and then continued to call for her. "Lisbon! Come on. I want to talk to you." Silence from the other side. "Okay, fine. But I'll have you know that I'm going to stand here and yell bad knock-knock jokes until you let me in." More silence. Apparently she thought he was bluffing. "Okaaay," he sighed. "Knock-knock . . . that's where you say, 'Who's there?' . . . Banana . . . Lisbon, you're supposed to say, 'Banana who?' . . . Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Banana . . . 'Banana who?' . . . Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Banana . . . 'Banana who?' . . . Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Orange . . . 'Orange who?' . . . Orange you glad I didn't say banana?"

He paused, waiting for some reaction. He didn't get one. So he started on his next one. "Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Scold . . . 'Scold who?' . . . 'S cold out here, let me in!" Again he waited for her to do something. Nothing. "Knock-knock . . ." Then there was a clicking in the door and an arm reached out and pulled him inside the office.

Jane grinned at Lisbon. "I'm glad you gave in. They only get worse from there." Seeing her very much icy expression, his smile slipped. "What? I warned you before I started them!"
Lisbon finally decided she would speak to him. "Warn me? Warn me? I stuck my stupid neck out for you for the umpteenth time — not even just to get a case. I saved your life! And what do I —we— get for that? My team is suddenly consultant-less, and we don't hear from you for a month! I think if anyone is going to be doing the warning, you pain in the butt, it's going to be me." She slammed an open desk drawer closed. She had held in her anger for a month, but seeing Jane in her office, acting as though he had never left, just burst the dam. She felt a new sense of compassion for the camel with the straw on its back.

Jane's slipping smile disappeared completely. "Look, Lisbon . . ."

"No, you look," Lisbon hissed. "You cannot just run off and leave us in the dust whenever you feel like it. That is not teamwork. That is not friendship. That is not even trust. You don't trust us, and therefore, we don't trust you." She glared at him and, her fury suddenly faded into fatigue, turned to her file cabinet. "You can go now."

Jane was silent. He stood there, processing her words. He had had some notion that they would react like this, but . . . he hadn't believed it. He hadn't wanted to believe it. But her angry words hung in the air like a cloud. He wrestled with his options: Option A and Option B. Option A, to walk out. That would pretty much spell the end of any hope he entertained about rekindling these friendships. Option B, to stay. His small sense of self-preservation was warring against this option, but if he stayed, he might (with any luck) be able to win Lisbon back over – oh, and the rest of them, too, of course. After some debate, he chose Option B. He had never been huge on luck, but it was his only hope right now.

Jane slowly approached Lisbon, whose back was still to him. He stopped far enough so she wouldn't feel violated, but close enough that he could still project intimacy. "I'm sorry," he said honestly, his voice raw. "I . . . I hadn't thought about how my actions would affect the rest of you. I've been selfish and childish, and I want to stop it," he added, using the very words she had spoken to him months ago.

Lisbon turned around to face him, a stubborn look on her face. "That's great. But what about a week from now, when you decide you're going to go run off and 'follow a hunch'? You don't trust me enough to even tell me the truth, and that's why I can't trust you. Like I said, it all boils down to trust. I can't trust you because you don't trust me." Both pairs of eyes were looking watery at this statement. Neither wanted it to be true.

Jane closed the distance between them and enveloped her in a hug, burying his face in her dark hair. "I trust you," he insisted, his words muffled from her hair. "I do. I swear to you, I trust you."

Lisbon had begun faintly pushing him off upon initial contact, but she gave up. Instead she took the opportunity to briefly return the hug, then to swiftly twist out of it. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, hoping to erase all signs of having teared up. "All right, all right," she sighed. And for the first time in a month, the corners of her lips lifted into a smile.

Jane, of course, was immensely pleased by this development, and moved to hug her again, but she held up her hands.

"Business first," she declared. "Are you planning on rejoining the team, or is this all just part of your 'moving on'?"

Jane winced; she knew him too well. "Honestly, at first it was," he admitted.

Lisbon raised an eyebrow, silently asking, "'At first'?"

He went on, "But as I saw the rest of them again . . . I wasn't so sure. And then I talked to you, and I decided that moving on wasn't worth it without other people to share it with." She nodded, keeping a carefully blank expression. "So, really," he murmured, leaning in close to whisper in her ear, "in the end, when it mattered, I did think of you." Her eyes widened, blankness forgotten, as she recalled her last request to him.

"Of . . .?"

"Of you." Emphasis on her. That was the way it had always been, really.

Lisbon took a slow breath, smiling again as she processed this new information. "Well," she suggested, "maybe now we can go let our coworkers know they're allowed to play nice with you again?"

Jane let out a chuckle. "Sure, that'd be nice." He held out his arm to her. She blushed and declined, citing "rules" about in-department PDA. He put the flirting on hold as they reentered the bullpen (both in a much better mood than when they had left it). She wouldn't admit it, but she so wanted him.

But for now, he was content with the way things were.

Peace was so good.

AWWWSIMONBAKERISADORABLEWITHBABIES

A/N: Just as a reminder: R&R and PM me with prompts! Thanks much. Oh, have a great day! :-)