Disclaimer: I wish I did, but no.

A/N: So Lisbon was definitely upset at the end of last chapter. Let's see what the end results of her soul-searching are. Jane might be a little surprised.

Love Letters

Chapter 10: The Strength of My Will

Patrick Jane still hated prison, but every day he found new ways to get along in it.

As a violent offender, he wasn't allowed on any of the outside work crews, but doing laundry had a simple, practical calm to it. It also required almost no critical thinking, which freed his mind up for other things.

The laundry was where he met Big Dave.

Big Dave was, as his name suggested, a large man. He was around 6'8" tall and possibly 4' wide. His shaved head, copious tattoos and pierced ears added to the menace of his presence. But Jane had considered him carefully and discovered that he wasn't at heart a dangerous man. Even though he was in prison for life for murder.

Jane hadn't known Big Dave's story, but when he came over to Jane in the laundry one day and said "Hey, Hat-trick", he'd used the opening to strike up a conversation. The first question of course being: why was his nickname "Hat-trick"?

Big Dave had explained that the name was in reference to using three bullets to shoot Red John in the chest, plus it rhymed (poorly) with his first name. Jane had laughed politely and decided to go with the clichéd "So, Big Dave, what're you in for?"

As he listened to the story, Jane felt sad understanding. Big Dave's younger sister had been raped, murdered, and buried in a shallow grave back in their hometown. Dave had listened in shadows and finally found the man who bragged about getting away with it. He knew he should've gone to the police, but instead he went to his closet, got a baseball bat and beat the guy to death in an alley. He was convicted of murder, and here he was.

"I never killed before and I never would again, Hat-trick. But that was my baby sister," Big Dave had said at the end of his story. Jane believed him. For all his size and fearsome appearance, this was a gentle man by nature who'd felt driven to murder by soul-crushing grief. Jane knew what that was like.

He didn't really consider Big Dave a friend, but at least he was someone who didn't either snarl at Jane or ignore him completely. They never talked about anything serious after that first conversation, but that was all right. Talking about nothing had a bit of charm compared to no one to talk to at all.

Jane was surprised when he got back to his cell how long he'd actually spent in the laundry that day. The mail had come while he was gone, and there was a much-anticipated blue envelope from Lisbon. He grabbed it and flopped down on his bunk.

###

Dear Patrick,

Two months without you. I think at one time I might have been thrilled at the chance of a two-month break from dealing with you. Or at least, I would have expected to be thrilled. The reality is an awful empty space in my life and a pain in my heart that seldom shifts.

I cried at your last letter. Really cried, not just "tearing up at how sweet it was and you are". This separation is seriously starting to wear me down. Maybe I didn't realize how big a part of my world you were. Maybe I just didn't want to admit it to myself.

Don't talk to any news crews or reporters at all, not even to defend the team or me. Hopefully they won't even make the attempt, but if they do I'm asking you to listen to me and keep quiet. This is one of those times when I know what I'm talking about.

I know you wish things were different, at least some things. They're probably some of the same things I wish were different. But one thing I know isn't the same: I wish he was in jail and you were out here with me. I'm not fighting with you about this, I'm not yelling at you, and I'm not arguing with you about it ever again. I'm just telling you how I feel. And a lot of the time I feel the same regrets you do.

I wish I'd yelled less and laughed more. It would've confused the team at first, but they would adapt. I wish I'd told you every time I was frightened. Letting you be strong for both of us sometimes might not have been so bad; I'm just terrible at vulnerability. And I wish, I wish I'd told you everyday how much you mean to me.

It's getting to the point where I need more than letters, Patrick. I still don't dare come and visit you; the conflict between running into your arms and breaking them is still too sharp. Amazing how long hurt anger can remain under the surface, isn't it? But from your letters I know that the main thing that's keeping us apart right now is the strength of my will. And that is fading fast.

So I'm asking for a phone call from you, even though I'm still a little worried about what I'll say. You can call me day or night, and I promise that this time I will answer. Because sometimes I feel like I'm writing to a ghost. I just need to talk to you and actually hear your voice.

Always,

Teresa

###

Jane couldn't even speak. He was too busy rapidly calculating when his next opportunity to use the phone would come. All of a sudden, it was extremely important.

As soon as he could, he raced to the phone. Luckily, no one else was there so he didn't have to wait. He realized his hands were shaking slightly as he dialed her number.

It rang once. Twice. She wasn't picking up. She didn't recognize the number most likely, but she had to know who it was.

Jane's suspicions were confirmed when she answered not with "Agent Lisbon, CBI" but with a simple, soft "Hello."

TBC… okay, would you like the phone conversation in the next chapter?