"Good morning everyone!" a happy sounding Jane walked through the FBI bullpen, headed towards his couch. "How is everyone this fine morning?"

Wylie swiveled on his chair and grinned. "Hi Jane. I'm good. Guess what? I've been asked to present a seminar to the Cyber Crimes division on the Edwards case. I get to go to D.C."

"Good for you Jason," Patrick told him. "That's what you get for being our resident computer genius."

"I don't know about genius," Wylie shrugged, looking embarrassed, "but it's a great opportunity. How's Teresa?" he asked, changing the subject.

Jane grinned. "She's doing great. A little tired still, but other than that – she's good."

"Say hi to her for me."

"I will."

"And give the baby a kiss from his uncle Jason."

"You'll be able to see him later," Jane told him. "Teresa is coming in."

"Oh good," the young computer genius answered. "I bet he's getting big."

Jane chatted for a few minutes more about his favorite subject – his wife and son. He still had trouble not going around with a constant grin on his face. He hadn't been this happy in years.

The baby was just six weeks old and already had his parents wrapped around his little finger. Fortunately he was a happy baby – and Jane grinned thinking about seeing his son's first smiles just that morning.

The rest of the morning was made up of briefings on the new case as well as listening to Tork, Wylie and Cho all deliver various theories on who the guilty party was. Jane just listened quietly, not contributing anything to the conversation. Today was the first day he'd been in all week and he hadn't yet heard all the details about the case. He needed to spend some time thinking about it before putting forward his own observations. He was pretty sure that the guys were on the wrong track, but he didn't want to say anything yet until he had all the facts.

Teresa would be so proud of him, he thought with tenderness at the thought of his wife. He was much more circumspect these days – and much less secretive or tricky – at least with his colleagues. His attitude to the guilty or powerful or self-satisfied hadn't really changed and he didn't expect it would. He had no tolerance for bad or stupid people and he refused to pretend respect where he had none.

Everyone had gone back to their respective desks after the briefing, and Jane wondered if he should go and have a talk with Cho, to tell the Senior Agent his theory. He was starting to learn to share things more readily, and found that his colleagues got less irritated with him than they used to. Some days though he missed the opportunity to confuse and confound people. But the life he now led more than made up for any loss of impish fun.

"Jane, the front desk just called," Wylie said to him, his hand over the phone's mouthpiece. "They said there's someone here to see you."

"To see me?" Jane asked, surprised. He had no idea who would come to the FBI to see him. He wasn't working any cases right now, and had no idea what it could be about. "Did they say who it is?"

"Uh – yeah. It's someone by the name of Cross, Karen Cross. Do you want me to tell them you're not here?"

Jane pushed himself up in surprise. What the heck was Karen Cross doing here? Somehow he had the feeling he didn't want to know, but he quickly realized it was better he find out. He didn't trust the woman as far as he could throw her.

"No. Tell them to send her up. I'll speak with her in the interrogation room," he sighed.

"Okay," Jason told the person at the front desk, although his eyes remained on Patrick. He could obviously tell something was up.

Jane stood and made his way to the elevator, crossing in front of Tork's desk. The diminutive agent had stayed on the team after Abbott left and although Jane couldn't say he was close to him, not like his other teammates, he definitely got along with him better now. Especially after Teresa had read him the riot act about not tormenting the poor guy.

"Everything okay?" Tork asked as he walked by. Jane could discern nothing but concern in the man's voice. He really was a pretty decent guy.

"Everything's fine," he answered automatically. "Just an old acquaintance coming to see me."

"Okay – let me know if you need anything."

As Jane walked away he realized that he needed to spend some time with Tork. He might actually add him to his small circle of friends.

Just then the elevator dinged and the doors opened – and out walked Karen Cross. She appeared much the same as the last time he'd seen her, although there were a few more crow's feet around her eyes. Still, she had that same gleam in her eyes meaning she definitely had some purpose in mind – probably something he wouldn't like.

"Hello Karen," he said as she walked towards him. "It's been a while."

"Hello Patrick. It's nice to see you." She looked around the office. "You've come up in the world since your CBI days."

"Mmm – I guess so. So, you wanted to see me about something?"

"Yes I did. Is there a place where we could talk privately?"

He nodded and ushered her into one of the glassed in meeting rooms. He waited until she sat and then took the chair opposite her. He simply looked at her, waiting for her to begin the conversation.

"I heard about what happened," she started, "with you and Red John."

He nodded. "I thought you might."

"Congratulations. You did a good thing."

He shrugged. "I did what I had to do. I don't think it was good – or bad."

"Well, I think it was great. He deserved to die."

Patrick didn't say anything – there wasn't really anything he could say, or wanted to say. That period of his life was over, and the last thing he wanted to do was to revisit it.

"Patrick," she leaned forward and spoke to him earnestly. "I read everything I could find about what happened, although there wasn't as much information as there should have been. The FBI covered a lot of it up."

He continued to watch her, not saying anything. He had a bad feeling that he knew where this might be going.

"And the public has a right to know," she said. "He infiltrated every level of law enforcement, the judiciary, the Attorney General's office, the Governor's office – every government office in California – and he killed dozens of people at the same time. And yet very little of anything has been written about him. And I think that's wrong! I think the world needs to know and I'm going to write a book about him."

"Other people have written about him," he pointed out. "And the Blake Association was in the papers for months." He'd avoided reading too much about it, but even on his island the news had surfaced. It had been quite the scandal.

She snorted. "They only scratched the surface of everything that really went on. But I'm not worried about the Blake Association – at least not primarily. Instead I want to write a book about you, aboutwhat happened to you and your family, and your ten-year search for vengeance. I want to tell your story."

"No," he answered firmly. "Absolutely not." He leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye. "You're right! It was a ten-year journey – ten years of my life. I've given enough of my life already to that man - and now I've gone on. I am not interested in revisiting any of it."

"But Patrick, people have a right to know!"

He looked at her incredulously. "No they don't. They have a right to know about the Blake association and what it did, but they don't have to know about my private life."

"But you killed a man – that makes it no longer a private matter. Come on Patrick – this is a book that people will love. In fact, I wouldn't even be surprised if they wanted to make a movie about you. I mean look at the story! Your beautiful wife and little girl are killed horribly because you went on air and taunted a serial killer. And then you spent the next ten years searching for him. And during those ten years you solved – how many crimes? And at the end of it you found him and you killed him – and helped bring a major criminal organization down. It's an incredible story Patrick – and one that I'm going to tell."

"I won't have any part of it," he said softly. "You will not get a single thing from me, or from any of my colleagues."

"I don't want to write it without your cooperation – but I will," she warned. "And if you don't want to be involved I'll have to write about the fact that you killed a man – in cold blood – and you haven't been prosecuted for it. That might raise some questions, don't you think?"

"You're trying to blackmail me?" he asked incredulously.

"I wouldn't use such a dirty word," she smiled. "Let's just say – I've given you an incentive to cooperate. Look, this could be big – will be big and I'll make sure you get a percentage of the profits."

"Generous of you," he said sarcastically. He had to keep up his façade with her, but inside he was seething – seething and scared. He took a deep breath and looked down – trying to figure out what he could do. This was the last thing he needed. He'd gone on. It had taken him two years on his island and then months afterward to let go of that former life and begin a new one with Teresa. Now he had a child – a precious little boy – and all he wanted to do was to enjoy life with his new family.

He couldn't relive that time. He was afraid of what it would do to him to bring up all the old memories, to have to relive the years searching, the years watching McAllister kill other innocents. He didn't want to do it – and he wasn't going to.

He slowly lifted his head and looked at the woman across from him. "What about your TV show?" he asked, more because he was trying to buy time, than because he was interested.

"It was cancelled," she said bitterly. "And there's no way I want to go to work again as a lawyer."

"You've dealt with lots of crimes over the years. Why not get someone to work with you who wants his or her story written?"

"But there aren't any stories as fascinating as yours – or frankly any people as fascinating as you. You're an incredibly interesting man, Patrick Jane, and people are going to want to read your story. I mean look at this," she swept her arm to the room and the area outside. "You're actually working for the FBI after killing a man. How many people end up like you?"

"I'm not going to have any part of this," he said. "In fact, if you insist on writing this, on publishing it, I'll do everything in my power to refute what you say."

Her eyes narrowed and she glared. "You wouldn't?"

"Watch me," he told her. "I've told you – I've gone on and I don't want to revisit that time in my life. Don't you understand? He's dead and gone and all of us who were his victims just want to get on with our lives. I will not spend any more of my time on this." He stood quickly, pushing the chair back with his legs. "I suggest you find a story with more willing subjects because I will not cooperate." He walked to the door and pushed it open with one hand. "I trust you can find your own way out. It was – nice – seeing you again Karen."

Jane walked away from the interrogation room and towards his couch. He was both worried and upset. He knew Karen Cross – and knew that she'd do whatever it took to get more attention, to make more money, to build a following. She must have hated having had her show cancelled. He felt slightly sorry for her, but not enough to have her blow up his life for everyone to see.

The thought horrified him.

The elevator opened and he glanced over to see whether Karen was leaving, but instead he saw his wife arriving. In her arms was the small bundle that had become the second of the two most important people in his life.

"Teresa!" he swiftly walked over to her and put his arm around her. He bent over and kissed her briefly on the lips and then bent farther to kiss his son's forehead. The little boy was sound asleep – his beautiful bowed mouth pursed as if dreaming of something wonderful.

"How are you?" Jane asked softly – thrilled and relieved to see Teresa. He still felt shaky from his meeting with Cross.

"I'm fine – we're fine," she frowned, looking intently at his face. "What's wrong Jane?" she asked, reverting to the name she had called him for so many years. "What's happened?"

Jane sighed. "Nothing."

"No, don't say that. Something's happened."

He breathed in and out deeply. "Karen Cross – you know –"

"Yes, I remember her. What about her."

Jane nodded his head in the direction of the interrogation room, where Karen still stood. She had a hand with her cell phone held up to her ear. She was talking to someone – about what he could guess.

"She came to see me this afternoon. She wants to write a book."

"A book?" her forehead crinkled. "What kind of book?"

"A book about me – about my search for vengeance."

"She wants to write a book about you?" she asked, glancing back towards where Karen stood.

"Hey, I'm pretty interesting," he told her, a bit put out by her reply. Lisbon laughed and patted him on the arm. "I know. I'm just teasing. So, you're telling me she wants to write a book about the last twelve years?"

"Ten I think," he clarified. "I don't know if she wants to know about my time on the island or the time now – other than to say I work for the FBI."

"Well, if she's going to write about you, she'd better include everything, especially the happy ending!" She reached up and gave him a gentle kiss. "Don't worry," she told him softly. "We'll figure it out. We're not going to let Karen Cross destroy what we have."

With that his lips moved – and slowly he began to smile. He reached over and gently pulled her to him, the baby sandwiched in between. "Yes, we definitely did get our happy ending, didn't we!"

Whether it was because he was squashed by his parents, was feeling hungry or simply wanted to make his presence known, little baby Jane decided to let out a squawk at that moment. His parents laughed, and separated.

"Is he hungry?" Jane asked, looking down at his son with total love in his eyes.

"Probably," his wife said, rolling her eyes. "He's definitely your son!"

Jane grinned and reached over and took the now wriggling bundle from his wife. "Hi little man," he said. "Are you just like me?"

The baby cooed and waved his tiny fists in the air. His father caught one of them and brought it to him mouth and kissed it. For that he got a toothless grin from his son.

"Who's that?"

Jane looked up to see a shocked looking Karen Cross staring down at the baby. He had an irresistible urge to turn away, to hide the baby from her. Suddenly the happiness of the last few minutes faded, as he again remembered the plans this woman had.

"Hello Ms. Cross," Teresa said, her voice cool. "What are you doing here?"

Karen looked over at her and frowned. "I came to speak with Patrick," was all she would say.

"Yes, he told me. You want to write a book, is that right?"

"Yes I do. He has an amazing story, and it needs to be told."

"Why?" Teresa asked bluntly. "So that you can be famous? So that you can make lots of money?"

"That's not the reason I'm doing this?"

"It's not? Because I can't see any other reason. Patrick definitely doesn't want it, and neither do I and really – the public has all the information it needs. Admit it, you're doing this for yourself! You're willing to harm others for your own selfish purpose."

"Who am I harming," Karen shot back, looking angry. "I'll only be telling the truth."

"You'll be harming Patrick," Teresa said. "He's had to live through it once, and you're going to make him live through it again. And then there's me."

"You? What do you have to do with it?"

"Well, there was the fact that I was his partner for ten years – and helped him in his search for Red John, and now there's the fact that I'm his wife."

Karen looked between them, looking at first shocked – then pleased. "So, you got married? Is this recent?"

"Does it matter," Jane asked. He closed his eyes briefly. Now she would really want to do the story – especially since she would see them as having had a storybook ending. Which he had to admit, they had.

"Yes, of course it does. This is amazing and my readers are going to love it. After searching for your wife's killer for ten years, you finally kill him, and then you marry the woman who helped you in your quest. It's classic!"

Just then the baby squawked again, this time sounding not so happy. Jane looked down at him, and knew that he was about to cry, probably either hungry or wet. He sighed and lifted the baby onto his shoulder, and began to pat his back gently.

It was only then that Karen's attention came back to the baby. Her eyes narrowed and she watched as Patrick rocked the child. "Who is that?" she asked.

"Oh boy," Teresa muttered softly, looking both angry and disgusted. "Who do you think it is," she asked. "It's our son!"

"Your son? You had a baby?"

Neither Teresa nor Patrick said anything, instead focusing on the baby. Karen continued to stare at the three of them for a few, silent minutes.

"Congratulations," she said finally. "He's beautiful."

"Yes, yes he is," Patrick said softly. "And he's the reason I don't want you to do this Karen. Please, if not for Teresa or me, then for our son? We just – we want to lead a happy, normal life – no serial killers, no quests for vengeance – just Sunday picnics and going to the park and to little league. I don't – I can't – I can't relive that time."

Jane stopped and swallowed, not used to wearing his heart on his sleeve for others, but knowing this was too important to leave.

Karen continued to look at them, and then she sighed. "It would have been a great book."

Teresa blinked and looked uncertain for a moment, but then she began to smile. "You're not going to do it?"

Karen sighed. "I'm going to regret this – but no, I won't do the book." She looked at the baby as she said this. "I know I seem like I don't care but – I'm not so selfish as to harm a small child." She looked over at Jane. "Just promise me one thing?"

"What?" he asked, his head tilted and a small smile on his face.

"That if you ever do decide to write a book about your experiences, that you'll give me first right of refusal?"

Jane regarded her for a moment, and then gave her his full watt smile. "It's a deal," he told her. "And thank you – you don't know how much this means to us."

"Oh, I think I do," she told him with an answering smile. "I can see that you're finally happy – and as – one-track minded as I can be, I don't want to be the one to destroy that."

"Thank you Karen," Patrick reached out with his free hand and offered it to her. She laughed and shook his hand and then shook Teresa's.

"I thought I was going to come down here and convince you to let me tell your story – but I see you've written your own – and it has a wonderful ending. I'm happy for you both."

"Thank you," they both told her.

"Well, now I have to go and find another story to write! And remember – if you ever change your mind …"

"We'll call," Patrick told her. The two of them – or three, he smiled as he looked at his son, watched as Karen got on the elevator. Soon she was gone and he looked again at the now-content baby. "So, let's go see Uncle Cho!" he said to his son.

With a grin Teresa linked her arm through his, and together they went to show off their son to his honorary uncles.